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[Freckles04]

This is my new short story about how Alistair's recruitment and acceptance into the Grey Wardens might have occurred. It's a bit longer than my other one-shots, so I'll be posting it in sections, but it's definitely not as long as Repercussions. It was really interesting to write about an earlier version of Alistair, before he's changed by Ostagar. I hope you enjoy it!

EDIT:  I changed the title because I realized it was a little too spoiler-ish. Whoops.

---

Selection

Alistair stood in front of the raised platform, trying desperately not to fidget. Bouncing from foot to foot or, Maker, shouting "Pick me!", wasn't going to help his cause any. He needed to remain calm and collected, like the full templars standing on either side of him. Ser Kalvin, Ser Eryhn and Ser Talrew waited in their glistening armor, motionless, for the Grey Warden to speak, as impassive as the rock faces that surrounded Redcliffe. That was what a templar should be, or so Alistair was told.

Andraste's ass, who was he kidding. He closed his eyes briefly as disappointment shivered through him. He'd won some of his sparring matches, sure, but he was by no means the best on the field. He was an initiate, not even a true templar--though rumor had it that he would be by the time the week was out. If the Grand Cleric didn't change her mind again, hoping that another year of training might teach him to hold his tongue a bit better. He sighed quietly, resigned to his fate. No, the Grey Warden would choose one of the more seasoned warriors, and Alistair would be left to take his vows and his allotment of lyrium, and become a good little mage hunter as was decided for him long ago.

"Have you made your decision, Duncan?" Knight-Commander Glavin crossed his arms as he regarded the participants. Alistair forced himself not to look at his feet as the senior templar's eyes lingered on him.

"I have, Knight-Commander. Thank you for organizing this tournament that I might see who would be best suited for the Grey Wardens." Duncan's voice was softer than the Knight-Commander's, more fluid due to his Rivaini heritage, perhaps, but no less strong.

"I hope you weren't...disappointed...in the performance of the candidates."

Alistair swallowed as the Knight-Commander's glare intensified. Maker, the look on the man's face when the Grey Warden had suggested he--a lowly initiate--take the field... He groaned, knowing the senior templar would likely banish him to the kitchen, again, for his presumptuous participation, despite it not being his idea at all. The Chantry was like that, he'd discovered: everyone had a place, and Maker spit on them if they stepped beyond it.

"Not at all. The participants conducted themselves as I expected they would, with honor," the Grey Warden said. "I have decided that I will recruit Alistair."

Alistair nodded as disappointment wound through him, then froze. His eyes snapped to the Warden. "Wait...what? Did I hear you right?"

The Knight-Commander's arms fell to his sides in shock. "Duncan, I implore you to reconsider. Alistair is barely fit to be an initiate. He certainly has not earned the honor of becoming a Grey Warden."

"I believe that is something only I can determine, my friend. I have said I will recruit this young man, and I will." Steel entered Duncan's dark eyes at his proclamation. "I came here seeking a warrior of character, and I believe I have found him."

"Absolutely not!"

Alistair turned at the indignant shout from the Grand Cleric. The woman might look old and frail, but he knew from experience she could wield her cane with impunity. She thumped up the steps to join the Knight-Commander and Grey Warden, her body practically vibrating with anger. Odd...Alistair had thought she'd be happy to be rid of him.

"I refuse to allow this...this initiate to be recruited," she fumed. "He is a disgrace to the Chantry! I will not allow his insolence to pollute your order."

"Your Reverence, it is not for you to decide." Duncan's lips curved in a cold smile. "King Maric reaffirmed the Grey Wardens' Right of Conscription, and his son, Cailan, has continued to support it. I hereby invoke that Right and welcome Alistair to the order."

"You--you--"

Alistair held his breath, certain the old harpy was about to have a stroke. Or call for their arrest. She could do that; Alistair had seen it on a handful of occasions when the Chantry had been asked to mediate a dispute. Her face had reddened to match the rust-colored dirt of the tournament ring. All at once, she deflated and shook her head.

"If you must," she said. "I cannot deny you your Right of Conscription." She turned narrowed eyes to Alistair. "Maker watch over you, son. Perhaps the danger you'll face as a Grey Warden will smarten you up."

"You're actually serious?" Alistair turned to Duncan. Part of him thought someone would jump out any minute, declare this whole thing a jest, and send him off to scrub pots. "You want me to be a Warden? But..." He blinked and gave his head a shake. "Why?"

"We can discuss it as we travel," Duncan said, still smiling--but now his expression held a warmth that hadn't been there before. "Go get your things, boy; we leave immediately."

Stunned, Alistair turned and began the trek to the barracks. Him. A Grey Warden. By all the holy...

His steps quickened into a run, and he didn't bother to stifle the triumphant shout that burst forth.

#

The miles fell away beneath their feet. Alistair barely noticed the passing of time, so caught up was he in the joy of being free. For the first time in ten years, he was beyond the yoke of the Chantry, free from disappointed gazes and intolerant sighs. He wanted to kick up his heels and whoop with delight, but he restrained himself. Barely.

As some of his exuberant energy wore away, Alistair noted the lengthening of the shadows. He'd never travelled this way before, but the countryside looked the same as that surrounding Redcliffe. His stomach gurgled, and he hoped the Grey Warden would decide to set up camp soon.

"So, Ser, are we going to Denerim?"

The Grey Warden chuckled. "You may call me Duncan."

"Ser Duncan--"

"No, just Duncan. I'm no knight, believe me." The dark-skinned man cast a smile back at Alistair, which the younger man couldn't help but return. "And yes, we'll be going to the Grey Warden headquarters at the palace in Denerim. There, you'll undergo the Joining."

"The palace?" Alistair closed his eyes briefly. Maker's breath. "Wonderful."

"You have something against the King's quarters?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "Not at all. I'm sure it will be just fine." He patted his stomach as it rumbled again. "Duncan, will we...be stopping soon?"

"Tired already?"

"No! I mean, sort of." He gave the Grey Warden a crooked grin. "It's just that I'm rather hungry. Trail rations don't go very far."

"True enough." Duncan chuckled. "We're nearly to Lothering. We'll stop there for the night. It's another hour, perhaps two. Think you can make it?"

Alistair nodded. "I know I can."

"That's a good lad. Come on now, enough chattering."

Modifié par Freckles04, 28 février 2010 - 02:34 .

[Sandtigress]

Awwww, unjaded Alistair! Yay, so excited to see where you'll take this!



And...am I the only one who sees Alistair turning around and blowing raspberries at the monastery as he leaves?

[Sisimka]

I look forward to seeing where you will go with this.

[amethyst_rose2009]

Aww, I love it Freckles!   Alistair was so cute all awkward and nervous, hehe.  It's good to read about how he joined the Gray Wardens.  Can't wait for the next part.

Modifié par amethyst_rose2009, 25 février 2010 - 09:44 .

[Freckles04]

A Grey Warden's Welcome

Lothering was a tiny place, smaller even than the village of Redcliffe. Its two largest buildings were the Chantry on one side of a small bridge, and the tavern on the other. Boisterous conversations and music erupted from behind the inn's closed doors, while the Chantry stood silent, like a vigilant templar. Alistair smiled as they passed the quiet building, eager to experience the revelry of the tavern instead.

"I'll speak with the barkeep to arrange for a room," Duncan said as they paused at the entrance. "Find a seat, if you can, and get yourself a plate of dinner."

"That sounds like an excellent plan."

Duncan swung open the door, and Alistair's smile grew. A real, honest-to-goodness tavern, filled with villagers drinking and celebrating and otherwise making merry. How wonderful it was to be surrounded by noise, for once. To not feel like screaming because the silence was so oppressive.

"You're all right?" Duncan frowned, trying to read the expression on Alistair's face.

"Perfectly all right," the younger man said, and stepped inside.

It was easier than he thought to find an empty seat. He sat at the end of a bench, and the other occupants made way for him good-naturedly. The man sitting closest to him looked Alistair up and down, as if trying to figure out what he was.

"Soldier?" he said finally.

"No." Alistair opened his mouth to say more, but was distracted by an ample female chest intruding on his line of sight. He swallowed past a suddenly tight throat.

"Aye, lad, what can I get you?" The serving girl gave him a wide smile and Alistair found his lips stretched stupidly in return.

"Dinner," he said. "And, er, something to drink?"

"Right, lamb and pea stew it is, and a tankard of ale," she said, sashaying away.

Ale? No, that wasn't a good idea. He'd never had ale, and now wasn't the time to experiment. "Wait..."

"So, if yer not a soldier, why're you wearing armor, eh?" his bench companion asked.

The serving girl slapped a tankard of lukewarm ale on the table with a wink and continued on to another customer. Alistair sniffed at the beverage, then took a sip. Not as bad as he'd feared. They probably watered down the swill to make it last. One tankard surely wouldn't hurt, then.

His eyes darted to the man sitting next to him and Alistair realized he was waiting for an answer. "I'm a Grey Warden," he said, a tingle of pride rippling through him. "Or, I will be soon."

"A Grey Warden, is it?" the man roared. "Well, now, congratulations to you! Emma, another round for the lad, when you can. He's a Grey Warden!"

Alistair's cheeks heated. "Oh, no, that's quite all right..."

"Nonsense. If we can't celebrate that with you, then what can we celebrate?" He stood and clanged his pewter spoon against the tankard to get the rest of the tavern-goers' attention. Alistair groaned and sucked back a mouthful of ale.

"Lads and lasses of Lothering," the villager began, swaying slightly. "We have amongst us tonight an honored guest! This chap is a new recruit into the Grey Wardens, ready to fight the darkspawn to ensure our safety. Three cheers for him!"

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered, taking another swig as the room erupted into cheers. He raised a hand and waved self-consciously, barely noticing as Emma replaced his tankard with a full one.

The heat remained in his cheeks as newfound friend resumed his seat. In fact, Alistair's neck and face both felt rather flushed. He drank another mouthful or two of the ale, wishing it was cold. But wet worked...it soothed his dry throat, anyway. He picked up his tankard again and frowned. It was full...again. Wait, how many mugs did that make now? A giggle bubbled out of his chest.

"Making friends already, I see."

Alistair's face split in a grin. "Duncan! Hey! What took you so long?"

"The innkeeper had some interesting news to share, and I--" Duncan's brows drew down. "Maker's breath, are you drunk?"

"No!" Alistair shook his head, but...funny...it felt like it would just keep on shaking, and maybe detach itself from his neck to tumble to the floor. "I am most certainly not drunk." His brow furrowed as he regarded his new village friend. "Am I?"

"Oh, aye, lad, yer definitely drunk." The villager nodded sagely.

"But...I've only had one tankard..."

"Three," the villager corrected.

"Three?" Alistair frowned. "Seriously?"

"You're not much of a drinker, are you, boy?" The villager chuckled. "It takes most men half a dozen mugs to get drunk off of this horse ******."

"Well, I was raised in the Chantry..."

"Aye, that would explain it."

Duncan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"Um." Alistair tried to remember, but his thoughts had gotten rather fuzzy. "No?"

Duncan strode over to the serving girl and spoke quietly to her. In moments, a bowl of stew materialized in front of Alistair.

"Eat," Duncan ordered, sliding onto the bench opposite Alistair. "Maybe the food will soak up some of the alcohol. If not, there's the trough outside."

Alistair paused, his spoon partway to his mouth. His mind supplied an image of Duncan forcing his head underwater, and he shuddered. "Right. I will do my utter best to sober up, Duncan. Though...can I just point out that I got drunk accidentally?"

"Just eat. The sooner you're done, the better." Duncan's expression darkened. "We have work to do."

"Work?" Alistair shovelled a spoonful of stew into his mouth and spoke around it. "What kind of work?"

"Grey Warden work. There are reports of darkspawn south of town." The Grey Warden's eyes grew unfocused for a moment. "A good number of them. We need to investigate."

Alistair took a breath, his heart thudding against his breastbone. "I'll be ready," he said.

Duncan's lips thinned. "I hope so."

[nos_astra]

*sigh*
You gotta love him. He's just so sweet.

[MireliA]

I do like the non-angsty version of Alistair. And I'm intrigued to see where it will go too

[Treason1]

Ha! This is definitely how I imagined Alistair to be.

[Sialater]

Oooh! Freckles! I like!

[Sandtigress]

*giggles*  Yay, drunk Alistair!  Fighting darkspawn!

Two things I hope you address, Freckles!  1) Alistair screaming like a terrified girl with his nightmares post-Joining, and Duncan thinking he had someone in his room.  2)  Alistair mentions "those women in Denerim" who called him handsome, and says how they were "....not like you" to the PC.  Can we have a "flummoxed meeting brothel girls" scene pweeeeeeese?  

Modifié par Sandtigress, 25 février 2010 - 11:39 .

[Freckles04]

Sandtigress wrote...

*giggles*  Yay, drunk Alistair!  Fighting darkspawn!

Two things I hope you address, Freckles!  1) Alistair screaming like a terrified girl with his nightmares post-Joining, and Duncan thinking he had someone in his room.  2)  Alistair mentions "those women in Denerim" who called him handsome, and says how they were "....not like you" to the PC.  Can we have a "flummoxed meeting brothel girls" scene pweeeeeeese?  

Both good points! Stay tuned!

And I'm glad everyone is liking this so far.

Oh, and it was very fun to write his "welcome" in Lothering and imagine what life could have been like for my PC if not for Loghain. *grumblegrumble*

Modifié par Freckles04, 25 février 2010 - 11:44 .

[K9miles]

yay, more Freckles!!

[Miliat]

Yes, more Freckles! Can't wait for more.

[Sisimka]

Very endearing side of Alistair!

[Freckles04]

Darkspawn in the Night

It was surprising how effective adrenaline was at clearing one's head. And thank the Maker for it. If the tension pouring off of the Grey Warden was any indication, Alistair was going to need all of his faculties for this battle. He let the fear come and sharpen his senses, as he'd been taught. Fear was natural, so one might as well use it. Mastering one's emotions in battle gave maleficars one less weapon against a templar.

He frowned. Except he wasn't destined to be fighting apostates anymore, was he? No, his future held much darker, more meaningful battles.

"Some darkspawn can wield magic," Duncan said softly, his eyes on the blackness before them. They'd crouched behind a pair of boulders at the end of a wagon trail, where the two ruts met the more travel-worn highway. Alistair could see nothing in the gloom, but the Grey Warden was focused on it, almost like he could see movement. "They're called emissaries. If you see one as we're fighting, attack it. Your templar skills will be just as useful against darkspawn casters as apostates."

"Understood." Alistair took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"There's a lad." Duncan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "This won't be like a tourney. These aren't men you'll be facing. Humor and wit won't help you here, just your skill with sword and shield."

"Right." Funny, he didn't think he could make a joke right now if he wanted to.

Duncan squeezed his shoulder through the scale armor. "Let's go."

The Grey Warden crept forward and Alistair followed. He could see no more than a few feet in front of them. The woods around them were silent--no rustling from small creatures, no sleepy birdcalls, nothing. Almost like the forest was holding its breath.

They rounded a corner in the road, and a shadow moved. Duncan leapt forward, his sword and dagger in his hands as though by magic. With two quick strikes, he removed the creature's head from its neck.

And Alistair hadn't even equipped his sword and shield.

"Maker," he breathed.

The dead thing…stank. He'd smelled death before, and this wasn't the same. Rancid, yes, but corrupted too. It burned his nostrils and set his stomach to roiling. He couldn't see many details of the thing in the dark, thank the Maker. The smell alone was enough to give him nightmares.

"They'll know we're here now," Duncan said. "Be prepared."

No sooner had the words left the Grey Warden's mouth before half a dozen figures stormed out of the trees, weapons raised. Grunts and inarticulate cries filled the air. Alistair shoved the surprise and the terror aside and charged. He bashed his shield against the nearest target. It thundered to the ground. He slashed downward with his sword, finishing it before it could rise again. He lifted his shield as he spun and angled it so the edge caught the next darkspawn across the face. It froze, stunned. Alistair ran it through, then pushed it off his blade with his shield.

"Emissary!" Duncan shouted.

Alistair looked up, his eyes drawn to the colorful flashes that indicated magic. A darkspawn took advantage of his distraction, knocking him back with its own shield. Alistair staggered and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He raised his shield in time to block a sword, and the impact shot along his arm. He shouted his fury at the thing that had attacked him and, sweeping his sword in an arc, decapitated it.

He rushed the emissary, wincing as electricity sizzled through him. He gritted his teeth and summoned the abilities he'd spent the last decade perfecting. They responded eagerly, easily. He felt the emissary's mana disperse as he struck it once, twice. It screamed. The air tingled as it began to cast another spell. Alistair shoved his shield against it, interrupting its attempt, then sank his sword into its gut. The thing leaned forward, and Alistair found himself staring into its black, dead eyes. With a cry, he disengaged himself from it and lurched backwards. The emissary toppled to the ground, motionless.

Something landed on his shoulder, and Alistair spun, his sword and shield at the ready. Duncan stepped back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "It's over," he assured the younger man.

"Over?" Alistair blinked. He cast his gaze around the area, but he could see little. The smell of death and corruption seeped into him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Duncan placed a hand on Alistair's sword arm and pressed it down gently. "You did good, lad."

Without a word, Alistair led his sword and shield clatter to the ground. He stumbled away, bent at the waist, and vomited.

#

The morning sun brought with it additional evidence of the darkspawn's malignancy. Occasionally, as Alistair and the Grey Warden walked, they would come across a black trail etched into the land like a knife wound. Invariably, Duncan would stop and survey the damage for a moment, before rising and pushing onward, faster than before.

Alistair's hands itched to hold his sword and shield, but Duncan assured him there were no darkspawn about, not any more. How the Grey Warden knew, Alistair had no idea. They shared few words as they walked. The joyous feeling of freedom that had buoyed Alistair's mood the day before had dissipated entirely, replaced instead with fatigue, trepidation, and disgust. Despite the brightness of the day, every time Alistair closed his eyes he saw again the emissary's ugly, twisted face inches from his own.

Maybe this whole Grey Warden thing was a mistake. But...no. Anything was better than the Chantry.

"How many darkspawn are there?" The question tumbled from his mouth, unbidden, and hung in the silence of the road.

"No one knows for certain," Duncan replied after a moment. "Tens of thousands, perhaps. They have held the Deep Roads in the dwarven kingdom for centuries, since before the last Blight."

"So they could be walking around beneath us? Right now?" Alistair eyed the weathered grass. "Creepy."

"They're not likely to burst to the surface." Duncan frowned and cast a glance to the south, then shook his head and continued on. "We see infrequent raids, like the one we defeated last night. But the darkspawn rarely appear in any numbers unless a Blight occurs."

"That's when they discover an Old God, right? One of the Tevinter Imperium's dragon deities that the Maker imprisoned underground?" Alistair shrugged at Duncan's raised eyebrow. "I did more in the Chantry than learn to swing a sword, you know."

"Essentially, yes. That's a Blight. The darkspawn are compelled to search for the Old Gods. When they find one, their touch taints it, and it becomes an archdemon. The archdemon organizes the darkspawn into a horde, which then attacks the surface." Duncan stopped and looked to the south again.

Alistair paused too, his eyes travelling from Duncan's frowning face to the southern horizon. "You're making me nervous, Duncan," he said finally.

"What's that?" Duncan glanced at Alistair, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "Sorry. I've been trying to decide if my senses are deceiving me."

"Deceiving you how?" Alistair squinted through the trees. "I don't see anything."

"All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. And I'm sensing…" His eyes grew unfocused again. "A lot of them. Enough that I can feel their taint even though they're far to the south." His gaze cleared. "I'm not sure what it means, but we need to get to Denerim as soon as possible. I'll have to arrange for a scouting mission. That many darkspawn…"

"You don't think it's…it's a Blight, do you?"

The Grey Warden shook his head. "No. There would be other...signs. Come, we haven't the time to waste standing about talking."

[Sisimka]

Three chapters in one day, you're spoiling us!

[Freckles04]

This is probably going to be posted quickly. It's just about complete, so I don't see any point in holding back...

[Sisimka]

So -that's- why you were so quiet today.

[Sandtigress]

Bleh, totally incompetent at posting today.

Modifié par Sandtigress, 26 février 2010 - 01:29 .

[Sandtigress]

Sisimka wrote...
Three chapters in one day, you're spoiling us!

Totally what I was going to say, Sisi. I'm loving this, keep going! Makes the work hours go by faster. :-)

[Kulkodar]

oooo this is delightful! Freckles you are very good at capturing personalities, even Duncan's, whom we didn't really get to know very well. Enjoying immensely

[MsSouthpaw]

Awesome as always, Freckles!



I miss Duncan.

[Freckles04]

Dark Decisions

They came across the burning farmhouse during their fourth afternoon on the road, a day from Denerim's gates. Black smoke billowed into the sky, dissipating into a greyish haze that dimmed the sun's light. Alistair tensed as he heard a woman crying and men shouting, and his mind painted an image of what was happening out of sight. A child's wail warbled above the roar of the flames. He reached for his sword, but Duncan's hand stayed his.

"There are no darkspawn here," the Grey Warden said quietly.

"But--" Alistair turned wide eyes on the older man. "We can't just walk by and do nothing!"

Duncan took a deep breath, his face somber as he watched the smoke. "We can. And we will."

"No. That isn't right." Alistair shook off the Warden's hand. "That family is in trouble from--from bandits, maybe. We need to help."

"It is not our job to police Ferelden," Duncan stated. His face had grown hard, unyielding. "We must reserve our efforts to battle the darkspawn."

"We can help," Alistair ground out. His hands clenched at his sides.

"And what if we fall here?" Duncan said. "Who would carry the news to the Grey Wardens in Denerim of the darkspawn amassing to the south?" He looked at the farmhouse again and his firm expression faltered for a moment. "Our duty is to protect humanity from the darkspawn. Not from each other." He strode ahead.

Alistair watched his retreating back, then eyed the farmhouse again. "This is wrong," he shouted after the Grey Warden.

Duncan stopped. "There is very little in this world that is purely right or purely wrong, Alistair. This is necessary. No more, no less." He gestured at the younger man. "Now, come. I want to get closer to Denerim before we set up camp for the eve."

Alistair turned back to the farmhouse. He could go off by himself, see what he could do to help. He didn't need Duncan's assistance. He shifted in that direction.

"Don't." Duncan's voice was laced with warning and command. "Alistair, you are a Grey Warden. Fall in."

He closed his eyes, his jaw tensed. Then, with a muttered, "Maker's breath," he fell into line behind Duncan.

#

Alistair sat before the small campfire, tossing bits of grass into the flames. The dry strands glowed incandescently for the briefest of instants before vanishing. The repetitive motion kept his dark thoughts at bay, for a time. Duncan sat silently on the other side of the fire, his face obscured by sparks.

"Is this what I have to look forward to?" Alistair braced his arm on an upraised knee and regarded the older man. "A lifetime of difficult decisions that I can't agree with?"

"You would have had that regardless, Alistair. Life is filled with difficult decisions." Duncan gave him a rueful smile. "Do you think being a mage hunter would have been easier? What if you came across an apostate who was married, with children, living a life that harmed no one? You would still be required to capture that person, or kill him. So says the Chantry."

"I--" Alistair pressed his lips together. "That's different."

"How so? Either you choose to spare the mage and betray your vows, or kill the mage and thereby destroy his family. A difficult decision, either way." Duncan shook his head. "Our purpose goes beyond one family, or one village, or even one nation. We can't forget that. We can't allow ourselves to be distracted."

The child's cry reverberated through Alistair's mind, and he threw the remainder of the handful of grass into the flames. "I just don't understand how you can separate yourself like that."

"We do, because we must." Duncan sighed. "You'll understand more, after the Joining."

"Yes, the mysterious Joining." Alistair brushed a hand over his hair. "Are you going to tell me any more about that?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Not that it matters." He tilted his head back to watch the sparks dance into the darkness arching over them. "Anything is better than being stuck in that Chantry another day."

"Joining the Chantry wasn't your idea?"

Alistair snorted. "I was ten. What do you think?"

He leaned back on his elbows, his eyes fixed on the heavens. Duncan remained silent, obviously putting the option to speak more of his childhood, or not, firmly in Alistair's hands. He took a deep breath. Tomorrow, they would reach Denerim. More significantly, they would reach the palace. The chances of running into...him...were slim, but not non-existent. If Duncan didn't know...it could be awkward all around.

Maker's breath. When would his blood stop haunting him?

"I'm a bastard," he said, his gaze on the sky. "Arl Eamon of Redcliffe took me in and raised me until I was ten, then I was sent to the Chantry to be educated as a templar."

"I see."

"I doubt that," Alistair muttered. He took another deep breath and forged onward. "Eamon isn't my father. King Maric is...was. Cailan is my half-brother."

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," Duncan said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Wait--you knew?" Alistair shot upright.

"I considered your father a friend," Duncan said with a shrug. "Your resemblance to him, and your brother, is remarkable."

"Wait. Just...wait." Alistair rubbed his forehead. "You knew, and you still recruited me?"

Duncan arched a brow. "Was I incorrect in assuming that you did not appreciate the Chantry life?"

"What? No! I hated it there. I never wanted to be a templar."

The Grey Warden inclined his head. "And what is it that you do want?"

"I--" Alistair blinked. What did he want? No one had ever asked him that before. All of his decisions had been made for him, starting right at his birth, when it was decided that he would be raised by Arl Eamon.

Certainty bolted through him and he averted his eyes so Duncan wouldn't see the telltale glimmer in them. What he wanted was a home. A place he belonged. Even...a family.

"I don't know," he lied.

Duncan smiled. "You've some time yet to figure it out. Go on, off to bed. I'll take first watch."

Alistair lay on his bedroll for some time, awake, unable to sleep even with the soothing rhythmic crackle of the fire. For the first time in his life, he actually found himself looking forward to the future. Despite the hints of darkness that came with being a Grey Warden, his life was looking much brighter than it ever had.

[Sandtigress]

Yay, I was going into withdrawal. :-) I like this part about leaving the farmhouse - it helps make more sense of being able to leave Redcliffe to its fate, which seems a very non-Alistair thing to do, but something he'll also fall in line with. Also brings home the fact that most of my Grey Wardens don't act very Grey-Wardenly...but they're new to the order, so I guess that excuses them. ;-)

[xxxombie]

freckles, you rule!

i think i squeaked aloud. in excitement/pleasure/whatever!