Chapter Text
Ser Jory looked utterly scandalized as Daveth and the dwarf began to debate the best way to relieve a noble of his purse, the two had been making a game of pick-pocketing each other most of the afternoon.
“Don’t worry Ser Jory” Alistair settled next to the Knight, tone light “I’m sure they don’t intend to rob anyone at the camp.”
Across from them Brosca laughed, loud and distinctly un-ladylike as Daveth recounted the story of Duncan’s chase through Denerim.
“Well, fairly sure” eying the pair dubiously, Maker only knew what Duncan had been thinking.
“But they are no better than cut-purses” Jory whispered, trying not to be overheard “I had thought the Grey Wardens to be a noble order.”
It was the kind of thing Alistair himself might have said not six months earlier and the irony wasn’t lost on him, he tried not to be amused by the man’s obvious discomfort about his fellow recruits, instead opting for a more diplomatic route.
“Not everyone can learn their skills in the traditional manner and the Grey Wardens have always valued skill.”
“Perhaps” Jory grudgingly replied, sending an uncertain glance towards the others.
Alistair grinned, clapping the man on the shoulder “Have no fear good ser, between the wolves, chasind and darkspawn, I’m sure a pair of thieves will be the least of our worries tomorrow.”
“That is not as reassuring as I would hope.” Jory muttered, frowning.
Alistair thought for a moment before responding. “Well look at it this way…” giving him a wry smile “…at least they’re on our side?”