Kelch

The elderly man walked through the echoing halls with a confidence born of years of living among them. His stride was purposeful and in stark contrast to what one would normally expect of someone of his age. Even in his twilight years, the man made sure that his body was in prime condition.

After a lengthy journey through the winding corridors he finally reached it. A door, set into the stone, it had no particular markings or characteristics that would let it stand out among the others. Yet here the man stopped, and after a short pause, as if gathering himself, walked up to it and used the knocker to rap a quick staccato – the noise bouncing off the stone walls and magnifying exponentially.

Several seconds later, one could hear a bolt being withdrawn on the other side, and golden candle-light spilt into the corridor as the door opened a crack, a worried face peering through to see who the visitor was. Recognising the elderly man, the face mumbled an apology and moved to open the door further.

"First Enchanter, it is good to see you!" the mousy woman who had opened the door said breathily.

Behind her was a small chamber with a simple bed. There was a tray of bread and water set on a small table that stood against the one wall and domineering over it all was the figure of a fully-armoured Templar. While it seemed that the holy soldier was trying not to be out of place, he was failing miserably. In the far corner, on the other side of the bed was a small form huddled away as if trying to hide. Even from where the First Enchanter stood, he could see that the body was shivering, the tremors only being interrupted by the occasional sob.

"I take it that there has been little change since last week?"

"None at all M'lord," the woman replied demurely.

"Hmmm," the man mused to himself, "A pity, she showed such potential."

He turned to leave, and as he reached the door he looked over his shoulder again, "Keep up the vigil, what the poor girl bore witness to that night was far too much for a mind that tender. We do not know how it may have affected her and if demons will be able to exploit it."

The Templar brought his right fist over his heart in salute, bowing his head slightly. With that, the First Enchanter left the room and the maid spared a pitying glance for the dishevelled form in the corner and closed the door after, leaving to retire for the night.

"In the dark where dwarves do die,

Creatures of the darkness cry,

Hear the monsters' hollow roar,

Hear the drums of holy war,

When the legends of the sky

And the shackled do defy;

Know that she approaches,

A heraldship she poaches.

From the world across he comes

Thedas into turmoil runs."

The Knight-Templar shivered as the haunting words carried across the still air from the girl huddled in the corner. He tightened the strap on his shield and then gripped the hilt of his sword. Maker willing they would decide what to do with her soon, for even as much as he pitied the thing, the red-haired girl scared him more than anything natural had the right to.

~o~

Elisa walked into something large, and from the texture, leathery. She bounced off it and landed in the dirt of the road, groaning. "Urgh, did you have to stop in the middle of the way?!" she complained as the large leather object before her turned around.

The leather object happened to be her twin brother's travel-pack and he was wearing a weak smile as he leaned down to help her up. "No, but someone has to make sure your zombie-walks don't last forever."

She grumbled as he lifted her, "Not everyone has the endurance of a Qunari like you. Besides, switching off helps in more ways than one…."

At this Erik only nodded. No words were needed. They had lost everything at Highever, everything but the clothes on their backs and the weapons they bore. So far the only survivors of that nightmare that they knew of had been them; even their parents eventually died in protecting each other and their home.

Alfonse walked up besides Elisa and pushed his head into her hand, licking it. She smiled at the dog's attempt at comforting her and crouched down before him, wrapping her arms around his thick muscled neck. "At least we still have you Alfie," she said, the fur muffling her words.

"The reason for our stopping, Lady Cousland, is that we have finally arrived at Ostagar."

It was Duncan who spoke; the aged Grey Warden commander had also survived the attack by Arl Howe on their family home, attesting to the skill that was always attributed to those of the Order. He was now also the lifeline for the twins. While they might have survived the slaughter of their family, they no longer had much in the way of land or resources. They would be defenceless against the machinations of whoever had instrumented the death of their parents.

With his last words, Teyrn Bryce Cousland had asked Duncan to take his youngest into the Order, so that they might survive the oncoming storm and perhaps even recover what the family had lost. Now they were at Ostagar, the first line of defence against the recent Darkspawn incursions.

Elisa looked up and around, noticing the marble ruins for the first time. "Well, if that's the case, then let's get to whoever is in charge here and tell them to kill Arl Howe."

The small group set off together again, towards where the army was camped. "That might not be an immediate option, my Lady," Duncan said as they walked, "The king himself has been fighting and recently we have been victorious in every engagement."

"Well it seems like everything is perfect then! Forget the Darkspawn -- kill...Howe."

"My Lady Cousland, with every attack the Darkspawn numbers are growing. Many doubt us Wardens, but this is indeed a Blight and it is not won until the Archdemon shows itself and is destroyed."

"Hmph!" Elisa pursed her lips and folded her arms, sulking. "And stop calling me 'My Lady'. I hate it. Plus I'm not a lady of anything at the moment anyway."

Duncan's face cracked into a grin, most of it hidden by his beard. "As you wish… my Lady." At this Erik burst out laughing, the sound coming out somewhat strangled. Elisa merely harrumphed again and sulked deeper.

Soon the party came upon a barricade in the ancient road. Two soldiers that were playing cards on stumps of wood looked up at their approach. One got up and walked up to them, lifting his hand to indicate that they stop. "State name and business, Citizens."

As the last word left his mouth the pip of a peach flew out from under one of the nearby pines and bounced off his head. He turned sharply, addressing the tree, "Oi, what was that for?! Hi'm conducting official business 'ere!"

"Don't be such a potato, Garrod," the tree responded in a female voice, "That beardy one is the Warden-Commander and by the looks of those threads and armour the other two are nobility, not to mention a Mabari! Never question a Mabari."

Alfonse barked enthusiastically, agreeing.

"Ah," the man responded, "right you are ser. Pardon me, Warden-Commander, I'll have the barricade out of the way in a moment."

The man moved past his comrade who was snickering to himself and kicked the stool he was sitting on from under him, sending the man into the dust. "Don't sit there laughin' an' all that, help me with this thing."

Duncan and Erik waited calmly while the two soldiers laboured to move the barricade aside. Meanwhile, Elisa was looking at the trees with a strange expression. But as soon as the way was clear the party moved onwards, heading into the camp.

The woman's voice came from the tree again, "Soon as you got that thing in place again, Lond, take a message to the king and let him know the Warden-Commander has returned, probably with more warden recruits in tow."

"Yes ser, ma'am ser."

Lond flinched as a pinecone bounced off his shoulder.

~o~

Sorana watched as the small group went past from her place beneath the low-hanging boughs. The girl had stared at her for a while; well, at the tree. There was something about them that the eldest Hawke could not put her finger on, something that seemed to be screeching for attention at the back of her mind. But try as she might, nothing came. So she did the soldier's thing, and did nothing while she could. Leaning against the tree beside her was her spear, the wood now nocked and the blade chipped from the encounters she'd had with the Darkspawn.

There had not yet been need for her to use magic to defend herself, but if it arose, she would be ready. The oil she had been treating her spear with had by now worked itself well into the wood and would conduct magic as well as any average mage's staff.

Her prior experience had won her some attention higher up though. She had been put in command of a small group of soldiers from the auxiliaries, all of who had been blooded in combat by now. It had taken some a few days to recover from their first exposure to the harsh reality of war, but Sorana had promised herself that she would do her best to protect those she was responsible for.

The travellers had been coated in dust from the road, and their equipment seemed to have seen recent use, but there was no doubt about it - they were not your average Warden recruit, stolen off the gallows. Both the man and girl had a fluidity to their step that spoke of years of marching experience, and their physique was too hard to be that of anything but fighters. But there was something else about them that nagged at Sorana, a hollowness to their eyes that betrayed the somewhat-forced looking smiles on their faces. These people knew the truth of this hard world, and had been reminded of it recently.

There was also the fact that the Warden-Commander had gone so far as to recruit nobility. Sorana had heard the talk around the campfires; some thought that this was no true Blight, as those of legend; there was talk that even the king might share this sentiment. But the Grey Wardens were adamant in their belief. In their eyes, this was a Blight and as they were supposed to be the foremost authority on the matter there had to be something to the claims.

The recent influx of recruits was proof of how the Wardens felt; elves, dwarves and humans of every stripe seemed to have joined the Order over past month that the Hawkes had spent at Ostagar. Every week, one of the more seasoned wardens came in with fresh blood in tow. But these were not what one normally thought of when one pictured a recruit. The ones that followed the Wardens to join their order all had the same look about them: bodies that bespoke a lifetime-struggle to survive and coming out on top, eyes that were haunted with sights that would cause the faint-of-heart to collapse, and, strangely enough, an unwavering faith in those who led them.

Another oddity was that there seemed to be two of every race recruited by the Wardens. Sorana wondered if it had been planned that way, or if it was just chance. A squad had returned from scouting the deep roads beneath Orzammar for clues to this Blight with two dwarves in tow, a scruffy male that seemed to want to fade into the non-existing crowds at every opportunity and a proud woman that kept pace with the taller human's stride using a brisk march. There had been a warden that had returned from Denerim after retrieving some wares from the Warden cache there. He had been tailed by two elves, one clearly Dalish if one were to judge by the exotic armour and face-markings, the other had probably been picked up in the capital, seemingly uncomfortable in the wilderness.

Now the Warden-Commander himself returned and he too had a pair in tow, humans this time. The man wore plate armour of a quality Sorana had rarely seen – if not a full set. Traveling in full plate-mail was not a pleasant experience; he probably shed the less vital pieces and had them stored in his pack. The hilt and sheath of the sword at his side seemed of a metal and craftsmanship that one would be hard-pressed to find. She smiled at that, thinking of Wade, the smith whom she had requisitioned to forge the blade of her true staff.

Then there was the woman. She wore primarily tight, form-fitting leather that would be sure to catch the eye of any man – and some women. In vital areas, though, it had armour plating bonded to the leather, as though it were armour created for dexterity instead of actual protection. Sorana was curious to see how the woman fought; no doubt it would be a spectacle worth beholding.

She idly wondered about what it would be like amongst such a company as the Wardens. Where no one had a similar beginning, but all lived, worked and fought together as equals. Lond returned to his post at the barricade, having relayed his message to the King. He and Garrod had moved on from their game of cards and were now playing with dice. Sorana was so lost in thought that when one of them cried out she almost lost her seating.

"Shit boss! It's you!"

Trying to regain her composure, grateful for her spot behind the branches having spared her pride, she called, somewhat angry at the outburst for it having caught her so off guard.

"The hell do you mean?!"

"There's another one of them Warden people coming back, that strange blonde bloke with the fancy hair."

"You mean Alastair?"

"S'pose."

All of the women in the camp had eyed up the handsome young warden at some point or other. Sorana had worked as a mercenary for several years now, but even so, some of the plans the girls came up with for the poor man had made even her blush a colour she was not used to seeing on the outside of people.

"What's that got to do with me?" She wondered if this was just her companions trying to get her to fall victim to some prank.

"Well…I dunno, but you're there, with him. Ser, you should just see this for yourself."

~o~

Celestine could not believe it. She had lived her whole life knowing – if not always wanting to – that she would spend all her time in the Circle, under the watchful eye of the Templars and mistrusted by the other mages. Now here she was, tailing a Grey Warden who had no right to be such fun to watch.

Admittedly, the events that had led up to her coming here had been…less than stellar. But now she was here, and she was free – or at least as free as a mage could probably get without being branded Tranquil.

After her Harrowing, she had woken to find a very worried Jowan waiting for her outside the dormitory; the reason for his state was the belief that he would never be Harrowed, that he was destined for Tranquility.

This claim had been backed by his finally exposed lover, a sweet thing called Lily. She had said that she'd overheard it from Templars while she had been performing her duties at the Circle chapel. Celestine had not entirely believed the girl, but Jowan was the only friend she could recall ever having, and so she had pledged to help.

The small group had managed to break into the Circle's vault, and after briefly getting side-tracked, tried to find an entrance to the Phylactery Chamber. After Jowan's Phylactery had been destroyed they planned to have him escape with the help of Lily. But it was not to be; both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter had been waiting for the trio just outside the vaults.

Everything fell apart then. Jowan had been accused of practicing blood-magic, the reason for his getting slated for Tranquility. It had shocked both Lily and Celestine, when the young man had pulled a dagger from his robes and cut his palm. Using the power gained from the blood, he had rendered everyone in the room unconscious and fled.

Lily, horrified at the prospect that she had been accomplice to a blood-mage…that the man she loved had been a blood mage, immediately turned herself in. Celestine pitied her; she had read of the Templar prison at Aonar – the place Lily was no doubt destined for after her part in this. Irving and Greagoir had argued about the fate of Celestine. The First Enchanter was the closest thing the newly-minted mage had to a father and it seemed he had similar feelings.

The Knight-Commander, on the other hand, had always been weary of Celestine, ever since the events on their journey to the Circle when he had first picked her up. When it seemed that despite having passed her Harrowing that Celestine still might face the rite of Tranquility, an unexpected party stepped in and wrenched her fate from both Templars and Mages.

Alastair, the Grey Warden who had been visiting the Circle to request additional mage support for the fight against the Darkspawn, had invoked the Rite of Conscription. This seemed to please Irving no end, while having the opposite effect on the Knight-Commander. So it came to be that Celestine packed her meager belongings together and for the first time, took the boat that left the Circle.

The Grey Warden proved to be interesting company; the first thing he did as they set foot on the other side of the lake was jump from the ferry and, whooping, called out: "Freedom!"

His mage companion looked at him with a raised brow, "Sirrah, I believe the role of formerly oppressed mage is mine."

Alastair looked around, as if seeing her for the first time, he blushed. "Er, well, by all means, if you feel inclined to yell at no-one and everyone in particular, go ahead."

Celestine looked as if she were contemplating it and after a short pause replied, "Naah, I'll leave that to you, since you seem to have it so well in hand." She smiled sweetly at him. "That said, why would you feel oppressed there to begin with?"

"Oh, uh, I suppose it's best to spill all the dirty laundry before it becomes an issue." The Grey Warden was trying to talk to her by looking at her, but not actually looking at her, eventually he settled for just staring at the ground at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "The reason I was given this assignment was because of my previous ties to the Chantry. Duncan hoped my knowing something of how things worked would help in the negotiation."

Celestine's eyebrows evened out -- now both were raised. There were few roles for men in the female-dominated Chantry which meant that the most likely….

"Yep, you guessed it! Half-baked Templar at your service. Well almost half-baked, well actually maybe a bit burnt? A burnt-dough Templar!"

Celestine had started to worry, but the manner in which the Warden ended up trying to describe himself as a state of culinary process just caused her to burst out laughing.

"Heeey, don't laugh, you'll injure my self-esteem."

"I've never met another Templar like you," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Of course not! You have any idea how much effort it takes to get this hair to look like it does?"

"Hmm, I was not referring to the hair…actually when it comes to looks you remind me a great deal of Cullen. Who'd probably be the nicest Templar I knew in the entire Circle, were he to actually talk a bit more."

"Seems I'll need to work on something else then. Hmm. Well I'll try to think of something while we travel; long road ahead of us! A few days until we reach Ostagar."