Chapter Text
The mage stormed off in a huff, muttering about Chantry mothers and errant Templars. There really was no point in telling the man he wasn’t even a Templar recruit anymore. He wouldn’t listen to Alistair anyway. No one ever did, really.
“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” Alistair muttered to himself and shook his head. It wasn’t like he was trying to antagonize the mages, but how did they expect him to get off on the right foot when the Revered Mother deliberately chose him as an insult?
Alistair almost jumped out of his skin when someone answered. “You’re a strange human.”
He turned toward the voice and saw a young elf slouching beneath the archway, arms crossed and a militia-issued sword hanging off her scabbard.
“I get that a lot.” He took a step toward her and held out a hand.
The elf didn’t take his hand or meet his eyes.
“Wait, we haven’t met yet, have we? I don’t suppose you’re another mage?”
She shifted. “No… You just look familiar. Are you from Denerim?”
“I’m afraid not. I guess I just have one of those faces.”
Nodding, she said, “You must be Alistair. I was looking for you.”
“Were you now?” He groaned inwardly, feeling like an idiot. Duncan must have gotten back with the last recruit by now. “You must be one of the recruits. I’m sorry, I should have recognized you right away.”
“No offense taken. Anyway, pleased to meet you. I’m Kallian Tabris.”
“Nice to meet you, Tabris. You know … there aren’t many female Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is.”
Kallian stepped back and glanced to the side. “Stop thinking of me as a woman and it won’t be a problem.”
Had it been a problem to begin with? “Fine, fine. Whatever you want. Have you met Ser Jory and Daveth yet?”
“I have. They were all right.”
“Ah, well, alright.” He scratched the back of his head “As a junior warden, I’m supposed to accompany you on your Joining.”
“Let’s get going then, I guess. Sorry it took me so long to find you. I’ve never been to an army camp before.”
“Oh? Were you part of a militia then?”
Kallian looked up at him and her determined pace stumbled. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Huh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “So how did you get Duncan’s attention then? Some act of heroism or daring, I suspect?”
“I’d...rather not say, at the moment.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. Past is in the past and all that.”
They returned to the fire and Duncan gave the recruits their Joining quest and he led them into the forest to gather the Darkspawn blood.
All three recruits were valuable on the trip. Ser Jory was an experienced knight and better with his sword and shield than Alistair. Daveth moved with the stealth of a thief and shot with the certainty of a hunter. It was clear both why Duncan had recruited them and where they came from.
Kallian remained a mystery. While she slew her fair share of Darkspawn and fought ferociously, it was evident that she never had any formal training. She swung her sword in a sloppy, haphazard, peasant-fighting-for-her-life kind of way. Alistair and the other recruits attempted to talk to her, but though she listened intently, she remained tight-lipped.
Eventually, Alistair asked her about her attire. Her loose tunic, plain hose, and leather shoes seemed more appropriate for a villager than a Grey Warden. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get, oh, I don’t know, stabbed? Armor would help with that.”
“I guess I’ll just have to be careful, won’t I?” was the response he got. “Maybe you like to get hit a lot, hm? That’s why you wear so much armor.”
“Eh. More than I enjoy having my blood and guts inside my body.”
“That’s fair. Makes you awfully slow.”
“And delightfully not dead,” he added. “How old are you anyway? You look too young to be recruited.”
“I’m old enough to hang,” she replied wryly. “What about you? You can’t be more than twenty.”
She was right and he told her so. “It still doesn’t tell me much. You could be as young as fourteen, small as you are.”
“I’m an elf, Warden. I meant to be smaller.”
“Shorter, maybe, but I didn’t mean that. Come on, it can’t be that personal.”
Kallian groaned. “You’re impossible. I turned eighteen two weeks ago. Happy?”
She didn’t speak much more for the rest of the trip, except to the witches they met, whom she was surprisingly chummy with. The treaties in tow, they returned to the encampment.
He felt a little guilty on the walk back and he heard Ser Jory cheerfully announced that the ‘test’ had been a success and they were now Wardens. Daveth and Kallian were a bit more wary, with Daveth commenting on the seeming easiness of the task. Alistair wanted to tell them that this wasn’t even a test--Duncan needed the blood for the actual Joining and this was the quickest way to get it. Slaying darkspawn was just the added bonus because everything in their order was about killing darkspawn.
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“You want us to drink darkspawn blood? Is that safe?”
Sometimes Alistair wondered if telling them before they got to the Joining wasn’t the better idea. This was one of those times.
“You may die, but your sacrifice will not be forgotten,” Duncan said.
Shaking his head, Ser Jory said, “It just doesn’t seem fair. If I’d known--I have a wife, a child!”
“And wouldn’t you give your life to protect your pretty wife from the darkspawn?” Daveth challenged, surprising Alistair. “ I would give a lot more if it would stop the Blight.”
“There is no turning back. The ritual must be completed now. Alistair, if you will please speak the sacred words.”
Alistair bowed his head and spoke the sacred rite, silently praying for all three of them. He liked them a fair bit, some more than others.
Daveth stepped forward first and drank from the chalice. He was fine for a moment, and Alistair let himself hope that all three would make it. But the cutpurse collapsed and twitched on the ground. After a few moments, it became apparent the Blight killed him.
Duncan shook his head. “I am sorry, Daveth. Ser Jory, it is your turn.”
Ser Jory backed away and drew his sword. “No, I have a wife and a child. There is no glory in this!”
Alistair bit the inside of his cheek. There was no glory for Grey Wardens. They existed, they fought darkspawn, they died. Ser Jory should have stayed a knight if he was seeking glory. Kallian watched Duncan intently as he unflinchingly approached Ser Jory, eyes wide.
“There is no turning back now.” Duncan parried, backing the knight against a pillar, and drove a dagger deep into his gut. He lowered Ser Jory with care onto the ground.
Kallian flinched. “Shit... ”
Duncan offered her the chalice then. The elf took one look at her fallen companions, inhaled deeply, and drank. She passed out almost immediately, but there was no movement as she hit the ground.
Alistair dropped down next to her and checked her vitals. Her heartbeat and breathing were shallow, and she ran a high fever, but she was alive. Good, we need every Warden we can get. “She’ll make it.”
“Good. She should wake soon, then.”
Alistair’s eyes drifted to Ser Jory’s corpse. “It’s too bad about the others.”
“Yes,” Duncan sighed, sounding weary. “I wish there had been another way. I recruited Ser Jory myself. Perhaps I should have realized then that he would never truly join us, but you can’t always know who can do it until the moment comes.” He smiled bitterly. “Few from Daveth’s small village knew how brave he was in the end, I’m sure.”
“Fat lot of good it does him now, though. And us.” Alistair hated how they sprawled across the stone, how Ser Jory’s blood turned brown as it congealed. He remembered when his cat--an old, one-eyed, fat she-cat--died. The Arl told him it was the way of the world that things died, but he pitched a fit until it was agreed there would be a small service for the animal. “Can we at least lay them to rest?”
“There will be enough time for mourning tomorrow,” Duncan replied gently.
Alistair nodded, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He straightened both the men’s corpses, anyway, and closed their eyes. Duncan observed silently.
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When Kallian woke up she sat up and swayed side to side for a few minutes, groggy from the ritual. Staring at Duncan, she slurred, “I can’t believe you killed Ser Jory.”
“There was no turning back at that point. I had to.” Duncan sounded exhausted, more so than before. “I did not enjoy killing him, but he would not go through with the ritual, and only Wardens may know what it entails. Once you are recruited, you must complete the Joining.”
Kallian wrinkled her nose and frowned. She stood up unsteadily and opened her mouth.
Alistair jumped in and turned the subject from Ser Jory. “I remember my Joining. Only one of us died, but it was horrible. Did you have nightmares? I had awful ones.”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Duncan. The older Warden sighed but readied to leave. “I’m going to speak with the king. He wants you to be there, Warden Tabris. Please join us when you’ve gathered your bearings.”
After he’d gone, she shook her head. “No dreams.”
“Not yet, I suppose,” Alistair said. “Well, welcome to the Grey Wardens.”
“Thanks.” Her voice was strained, but she sounded like she meant it. “I’d better go.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t keep Cailen waiting if I were you. He’ll start crying, I bet, and you wouldn’t want that.”
“Oh, perish the thought.”
Chuckling, he wandered toward Duncan’s fire, the coming battle on his thoughts. Tomorrow would be better, when it was all over and the darkspawn defeated and they could plan for their next move.
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Alistair groaned. Cailen had sidelined him again . He and Kallian were meant to go light the beacon, something Teyrn Loghain’s men could’ve done perfectly well on their own. Whoever told his half-brother about their relationship owed him a personal apology if these were the results. It was almost ironic, he thought. They met once as children, and Cailen, who had no idea he even had a brother, was completely disinterested. Now that he knew about him, he set him up with some do-nothing easy job. Nepotism was a real kidder like that.
“This is an important mission, Alistair,” Duncan reminded him, as if sensing his inner thoughts. “If the beacon is not lit, then Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case?”
Duncan shot him a hard look and nodded towards Kallian. Her ears pricked up at his tone and she glanced at him out of the side of her eye. He sighed and remained silent.
“The Tower of Ishal...that’s the one outside the camp, where we came in, right?” She bit her lip. “Alright. Do we join you on the battlefield after we light the beacon?”
“You may, but it is essential that the beacon is lit at just the right time.”
Alistair conceded reluctantly. “I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”
Kallian shot him a toothy grin. “I don’t know. I’d like to see that.”
“Well, maybe for you,” he laughed. “But it would have to be a pretty dress.”
“Alright, both of you. Be careful and go straight to the Tower,” Duncan said. “I don’t want any heroics, from either of you.”
That gave Alistair pause. He expected to hear it from Duncan who always insisted Alistair bit off more than he could chew, but the old Warden’s gaze was locked firmly on Kallian. Again, he wondered how the skinny, untrained elf had attracted his mentor’s attention.
Kallian insisted on stopping by the quartermaster before they left. “I need to purchase some armor. And stock up on medicine.”
“Why? You should’ve gotten that earlier,” he complained. “We shouldn’t dally.”
“I didn’t have any money,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who said I needed armor.”
“And you have money now?” he asked. Though, she did linger behind the group when they were traveling… No, she couldn’t have. The thought of her looting the corpses of innocent people made him ill.
She glanced away. “I have a dress I can sell. And while we were in the Wilds, I … found some.” She scowled at his expression. “Don’t look at me like that! The corpses weren’t using it and who knows where the darkspawn got it. Maybe you have the funds to be high and mighty about where your money comes from, but I don’t.”
She sold the quartermaster a beige linen chemise and off-white cote for ten coppers. Kallian looked miserable for the rest of the exchange, but carefully packed the injury kits and poultices into her bag and began a clumsy attempt to equip her armor. It was obvious she had never worn armor before, and her cheeks blushed a darker pink with each failed attempt.
Alistair took pity on her and stepped in. “It’s easier with help.”
He deftly did up the buckles on her brigandine, pausing when he reached the top one. This was as close as she had allowed him to get, and despite the faint smallpox scars, she was quite pretty.
“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, pulling back. “I appreciate it. We, uh, ought to get to the Tower now.”
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The trip to the Tower was more exhilarating than Alistair expected, and he regretted wishing for excitement. It was terrible. The bridge shook as projectiles exploded on impact, and one tremor was strong enough to knock him and Kallian down. His ears rang as he forced himself back to his feet. A handful of soldiers closer to the point of impact stayed down, blood pooling around them.
Alistair stumbled past them with a twinge of guilt, but there was nothing he could do for them. They were dead, and he needed to get to the watchtower and light the beacon. Kallian struggled to keep up and lagged a few feet behind him. He called out to her over the din, “Hurry, we need to light that beacon!”
His heart dropped when they reached the foot of the Tower of Ishal. Corpses bearing Fereldan heraldry lay scattered on the ground and the scaffolding was aflame. This place was shielded by stone walls and an army. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Kallian stopped next to him and doubled over panting. “Why...are we...stopping?” She paled at the destruction. “Sweet Andraste, what happened here?”
The faint song in the back of his mind, his Taint, grew from its usual soft buzz, building into a symphony. He drew his sword. “Darkspawn. Draw your weapons, and be ready to fight.”
She pulled her longsword from its scabbard and a small dagger from her belt and crouched into a fighting stance. She winced. “My ears are ringing. Is that normal?”
“Yes. Here they come.”
A band of hurlocks rounded the corner. Alistair threw up his shield to block one that lunged at him. It screamed in his face, advertising a mouthful of needle-like teeth and bad breath. He rammed his shield into the creature’s chest, shoving it a few feet away and driving his sword through its chest. “Alright, let’s go.”
He blocked another while he yanked his sword free and slashed at it ankles. It bellowed and stumbled, giving him the opening he needed to behead the beast. A few others surrounded him, and he fought them off, maintaining a few injuries. Once he dealt with them, he checked for Kallian.
She was across the clearing, finished off a genlock with a dagger to the throat. Behind her, a hurlock lifted its claymore to strike.
“Tabris, behind you!” he shouted, running toward her.
Kallian whipped around and crossed her blades to block the hit. The claymore stopped its arc where her dagger and sword met, but it left her vulnerable. As he neared, he saw her attempting to untangle her sword and hold the claymore still with just her dagger, but she had panicked when she blocked. Her dagger was on the bottom of the cross-block, and even if it wasn’t, it was clear she didn’t have the upper body strength to hold it with one blade. Even with two, the claymore was gradually lowering.
He picked up speed. He was fifty feet away. “Hold it there! I’m coming!”
She didn’t hear him over the chaos. She dropped her weapons down and slid in the mud underneath her opponent, getting in a kick below its belt as she went down. It howled and turned to face her. She had gathered a handful of mud and threw it into its eyes.
Alistair was ten feet away.
Kallian blocked another swing, this time with her blades positioned correctly and held the claymore steady long enough for Alistair came up behind the hurlock and drive his sword through its back. Blood splattered over Kallian’s face. She spat it out as she shoved the corpse forward and stepped back.
“Thanks,” she wheezed.
“Yeah, well, nice one with the mud.” He yanked his sword out and advanced toward the foot of the Tower, sword and shield at the ready.
He caught her half-smile as he turned from her. “When everyone’s twice your size, you learn a few dirty tricks.”
He chuckled at the pun. “Come on, it’s almost time.”
A mage and a guard greeted them outside the foot of the Tower and offered to help them fight their way to the top to light the beacon. The mage glanced at the tower and ran his thumb along the length of his staff. “They overtook us. We have no clue what happened.”
“Well, I guess our easy job just got a little harder,” Alistair said. “Can you get us to the beacon?”
The soldier nodded, and the four of them entered the tower.
“There aren’t supposed to be darkspawn here,” he muttered.
“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” Kallian suggested. After a brief pause, she added, “When I arrived, there were men outside the Tower keeping people out. They said Teyrn Loghain was securing it for use during the battle. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. Alistair was baffled. Loghain spent two entire days securing this place, how was it that it was full of darkspawn still? How could they not have known that the whole damn was perched atop a nest of the monsters? “Maybe something went wrong?”
“He didn’t want us here,” she said. “At the strategy meeting, he wanted to send his own men, but His Majesty insisted on us.”
“King Cailen always had a flair for the dramatic. There doesn’t seem to be anybody on this floor, at least not this chamber. Let’s move on.”
Kallian tilted her head to the side. “You don’t think it’s suspicious?”
Alistair shrugged. “I doubt Teyrn Loghain would endanger Ferelden like that.”
The four of them slunk down the halls until they stumbled upon a roomful of darkspawn. There were about twenty in the room, outnumbering them five to one. He cursed. “Anybody have an idea?”
Kallian inhaled sharply. “That ballista, it’s loaded.”
“So?” Ballistae were siege machines, used to defend castles and forts from invaders. Considering the enemy was inside already, he doubted a ballista could help.
“So it’s pointed right at them.” She pointed at the darkspawn. “They’re all gathered in a clump down the hall, see? If we sent a bolt flying right at them, they’d feel that!”
“Right,” he said. They were clustered close enough to take out a few in one hit--and one hit was all they were getting. The ballista was loaded, but he couldn’t see any other darts lying around. “They’ll hear us, though.”
“They won’t hear me ,” she assured him. “I’ll go and fire the ballista, you--” she pointed at the mage “--hit them with whatever you got, and Alistair, you and the soldier charge them.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Alistair agreed.
He slipped into position, ready to charge. The guard stood beside him with his shield held firmly in front of him. The mage readied a spell behind them, the hum of magic almost enough to drown out the singing in his head. Kallian skulked along the wall, blending in with the shadows.
She fired the ballista, and the iron-tipped dart tore through three darkspawn and left at least one bleeding heavily. Before they could regain their footing, a hail of fire rained down on them, killing four more. Alistair heard a snarl at the end of the hall as he charged, bashing his shield into a genlock’s squashed face. The odds were better--three to one now--but they were wary now, avoiding the mage by staying behind barrels and crates, even Alistair and the soldier. Without a clear shot, the mage risked hitting an ally.
“Alistair, duck!” Kallian screeched, and he dropped to the ground and rolled, just in time to see another dart hit a hurlock wielding a hammer. It didn’t die, but it was unbalanced long enough for him to strike it down.
Kallian whooped as she entered the fray somewhere nearby.
He glanced back and saw that there had been a second ballista in the room. He shouted over the battle, “Nice one!”
A fireball whizzed past him, singing his cheek and exploded on impact, killing two more darkspawn behind him, and Kallian cried out in glee upon taking down one of her own. Alistair had a rush of adrenaline. They were winning. He pushed forward, taking down two more. The tower guard bashed the skull in on one and lined up another for the mage.
He ran his sword through the last one. “It’s over.”
His companions gathered around him triumphantly. The soldier held up a fist.
“Huzzah! We’ve done it. Just a bit further, and we’re there.”
Kallian was bent over again, hands on her knees, and miserable. “There’s more? So tired… ”
They pressed on, confident that they would reach the signal in time.
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Dead.
Cailen. Duncan. The Wardens. Every single soldier.
He felt like he was just settling in, just finding his place in their order. He felt at home for the first time in his life, and now they were dead, slaughtered where they stood. And Loghain was probably halfway to Denerim by now, if not already there, and living like a king. A traitor, who’d let their king die, serving as regent.
Alistair wondered what the queen would think of her father if she knew what he had done to her husband.
The door to the witches’ hut squeaked open behind him and he turned around. Kallian limped out, grimacing.
Morrigan’s mother nodded her head. “See, young man? Your friend is alive. You worry too much.”
How could she say that, when Kallian was the only other Warden left in all of Ferelden? When there were only two of them, and neither of them knew the first thing about being Wardens?
Kallian reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Duncan.”
“You’re alright,” he breathed out. Only a few hours ago it looked like she would die and leave him alone to fix this all. “Oh, thank the Maker.”
“Rather, thank Morrigan’s mother,” she laughed. “She’s the one who saved us. I do appreciate the concern, though, Alistair.”
“Without Morrigan’s mother, I don’t know where we would be. Still up on that tower, I guess.”
“Do not speak as if I were not here, boy,” the woman warned.
“I’m sorry, but you never told us what to call you.” He hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
She snorted. “Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind call me Flemeth. That will do.”
“Flemeth…? The Flemeth?” His eyes widened and Kallian shot him a glare. “Daveth was right, you are the Witch of the Wilds.”
There was an awkward pause.
Kallian coughed. “I suppose we should thank you.”
“I suppose you should, if you know what’s good for you.” Flemeth cackled. “So, what are you going to do now? The Blight is still a threat.”
“Alistair’s the real Grey Warden here, not me.” Kallian crossed her arms and turned to face him expectantly.
Oh, Maker, he had no idea where to begin. Duncan always knew what to do, so Alistair even considered what to do if they failed. He figured he would do what he was told, kill the darkspawn when he saw them and be a foot soldier. He never dreamed that he would be upgraded to the position of de facto Warden-Commander.
“We could go to Arl Eamon. He’s a good man, and Cailen was his nephew. He won’t let Loghain get away with this.” Eamon was a good man, Alistair knew. Whatever disagreements they had in the past, that was a certain thing.
Kallian wrinkled her nose. “An arl? Are we sure we can trust him?”
“He’s an honorable man,” he insisted. He helped Alistair out when he didn’t have to. He gave him a place to sleep, food to eat, even an education.
“So was Loghain, supposedly. You thought so.” She pursed her lips. “What about the treaties?”
“Yes!” He’d almost forgotten about them, but yes, they had the treaties. The other factions of Ferelden had to help them. “We can recruit the elves, the dwarves, the mages--oh, can we?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he kicked himself. He just asked a junior Warden if they could use the treaties. He waited for someone to reprimand him. Or laugh.
Instead, Kallian eyes sparked with hope. “Of course. Isn’t that what Wardens do?”
“Elves, dwarves, mages, this Arl Eamon… Forgive me, but this sounds like a real army,” Flemeth chimed in. “Before you go, there is one last thing I can offer you. Morrigan, come here.”
Morrigan sauntered out of the hut. “Shall we be having two guests for dinner, or none?”
She didn’t hide what she preferred. Alistair scowled.
“They are leaving, and you will be joining them.” Flemeth spoke matter-of-fact, as if this had been decided already.
“Such a shame--what?” Morrigan’s jaw hung open. “Mother!”
“Close your mouth, girl, before you swallow a fly. You’re going.”
The witch looked ill. Alistair felt the same way.
A stray Mabari found them on the road to Lothering, covered in blood and mud. It circled Kallian, barking happily and nuzzling her leg.
“Disgusting mangy thing!” Morrigan shrieked. “Send it away.”
“He’s not mangy,” Alistair cooed at the panting dog. “Are you? No, you aren’t!”
Kallian knelt down and looked into the dog’s eyes. “I remember you, from camp? How did you survive the battle, I wonder.”
The dog barked and nuzzled her shoulder.
“Hmm,” she bit her lip. “I suppose you wish to come with us.”
He barked an affirmative.
“Then you shall need a name,” she said. “From today forth, your name is Alf.”
Alf barked happily and licked Kallian. She laughed and scratched his ears.
They fell back into silence as Morrigan led the way north. Alf bounded through the fields and, to Morrigan’s irritation, the mud, flinging it at the group until Kallian told him to behave himself. He whined, but obeyed his new mistress.
On the bridge, they encountered a group of bandits. Alistair expected they would step out of the way of an armed group, but they stepped out to greet them.
“You folk seemed well-armed and led by an elf, of all things,” their leader commented. “Well, you should know there’s a toll through here.”
Kallian stiffened. In a low voice, she said, “A toll , you say? You’re charging people coming into Lothering? Fleeing the darkspawn?”
“They don’t look like refugees. Maybe we should leave them alone,” a large thug whispered.
“Nonsense, everyone must pay the toll . That’s why it’s a toll, and not say, a refugee tax.” The leader laughed nervously.
Morrigan glared at them. “I suggest you get out of our way.”
“Our friend is right,” Kallian spat. “Move.”
He was surprised at her venom. She’d been standoffish, but generally polite.
“Tsk tsk.” The leader shook his head and motioned with his hand. The bandits drew their swords. “Really wished it wouldn’t have come to this. Attack!”
The battle was quick and decisive, and when the leader begged for mercy, Kallian struck him down without hesitation. The remaining bandits watched her in terror; Alistair didn’t blame them--he was a little terrified of her, too. He’d only ever seen her against darkspawn, not living men begging for their lives. She gestured to the high road. “Go, and leave what you stole here. Anyone not out of my sight in thirty seconds will die.”
They scrambled into the woods. Morrigan smiled.
“Was that necessary?” he asked.
She sheathed her sword and dagger. “They were robbers, Alistair. Who knows how many people they’ve killed, robbed or sent to their deaths. I am out of sympathy for shem like that. If it bothered you, you should have said something.”
He didn’t respond.
They met a refugee family in the village.
“Those bandits took everything we had,” the father explained. “Even my daughter’s pet lamb.”
“Did you try talking to the Templars? They should run them off, shouldn’t they?” Alistair jerked his thumb at the Templar behind him, ushering refugees seeking aid toward the Chantry.
The man shook his head. “We did, but they said they were too busy.” He turned his gaze on Kallian and pleaded, “If you can spare anything, I beg you. No one cares for a few elves. Surely you understand.”
Alistair watched a shadow pass over his companion’s face.
“The bandits are dead now. You can go collect your things now.” Kallian ruffled the little girl’s hair and smiled. “Perhaps your lamb is still there.”
The father shook her hand. “Oh, thank you. Even if we don’t get everything back, it’s good to know others will be safe.”
“I have a wonder, Alistair, if you’ll indulge me.” Morrigan’s lips pulled up in a wolfish smirk. “You are the senior Grey Warden are you not? I find it curious you let another lead…and a new recruit, at that.”
“Do you now?” He didn’t know why she insisted on needling him.
“Is it Grey Warden policy to let such a new recruit take charge, or a personal one?”
“Do you want to hear that I prefer to follow? I do.” Following meant he didn’t have to be responsible for his companions’ lives. If Kallian was willing to take it upon herself, then that was fine with him. Maybe it was selfish to let her lead--she was even younger than he was--but if she couldn’t handle it, he’d be there for her. He just hoped she knew what she was doing, because he didn’t.
Morrigan laughed. “You sound so defensive.”
“Just because you enjoy having power doesn’t mean we all do.” Then, grinning, he added, “Your nose looks just like your mother’s, has anyone ever told you that?”
She huffed in disgust. Good.
“Let’s stop at the tavern over there,” Kallian said. “We can get something to eat, pick up some gossip, maybe figure out the deal with that Sten fellow.”
Kallian had found Sten locked in a cage and decided she wanted to add the giant to their party, insisting that he was a perfect addition. Also that leaving him for the darkspawn was too cruel. She wouldn’t be deterred on this, and even Morrigan was on board.
“I thought you already made up your mind about taking him?” Alistair asked.
She shrugged a scrawny shoulder. “I like to know who I’m travelling with.”
They were recognized the moment they stepped in the building. “Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve been blessed.”
Alistair groaned. “Loghain’s men. This can’t be good.”
“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about an elf of this very description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen her?” one soldier asked.
“It seems we were lied to,” another said.
Odd. How could they know to search specifically for us? The bandits had said Loghain outlawed all Grey Wardens, not them in particular. Which either meant he knew they survived or expected them to.
One of the lay sisters approached them. In a lilting accent, she said, “Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt more poor souls seeking refuge.”
She had to know they weren’t. Alistair’s shield bore the Chantry heraldry and Morrigan didn’t try to hide her staff in the slightest. No elf walked around as heavily armed as Kallia, especially if they were a refugee.
“They’re more than that,” the soldier growled. “Stay out of the way, sister. They’re traitors, and if you protect them, you’ll suffer the same fate.”
“Please stay out of this, sister,” Kallian said. “I don’t want you hurt because of us.”
Alistair rested a hand on his sword and stepped forward between the sister and the soldier. He wasn’t about to let an innocent woman get caught in the crossfire.
“Enough,” the second soldier said. “Take the Wardens into custody and kill the sister and anyone who gets in our way.”
Kallian brandished her longsword. “If you insist. Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
The sister surprised all of them when she pulled out a dagger mid-fight and joined them, moving fluidly and with practiced ease. Loghain’s men, outmatched, begged for mercy.
Kallian released them with a message for Loghain: “Tell him that the Grey Wardens know what happened, and if he wants to cover up the truth, he’d better try harder.”
The men nodded and thanked her, fleeing from the bar like bats out of hell.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to encourage him to kill us?” Alistair asked. “It’s not like he doesn’t want to already. Like he wants us dead, but now he’s going to want us… dead .”
“There’s only one kind of dead, Alistair.”
It still seemed risky. “I guess.”
The sister introduced herself and offered to join them on their quest. “The Maker told me to. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I had a dream, a vision.”
Kallian raised an eyebrow and glanced at him for help. He didn’t know what to say. When he said nothing, Kallian said, “Sister Leliana, are you sure you wish to join us? You will likely be branded a traitor like us.”
“Yes, I am certain this is what the Maker wants,” she replied.