Well I'm back again, and decided to continue this story further than originally planned. Watch this space, I'm not sure how best to deal with the fact that we're not really in the Tower anymore. But I think I might give the whole game a go. I have some very interesting ideas about where things might go further on. And, things actually get a bit more light-hearted in this chapter, surprisingly! Mainly down to the arrival of a certain young Templar as different as can be from our tormented Cullen. Do let me know how I've got Alistair!

Thank you for reading, again, and leave a review if you like!

Duncan knew better than to assume anything of a new recruit. Once ripped from what might have been a stable life and now facing an entirely uncertain future, even the most willing volunteer might quail. He was always vigilant, an escaped recruit was a disgrace that he had never yet faced. He had his ways of dealing with even the most unwilling conscript, though part of his success was to avoid selecting the truly fraught. He preferred to take those who had no choice, no future, anywhere else. Most understood that, if they did not, well…a firm word if necessary, a black glance, even restraint if he had to…the sooner they understood the necessity of their calling the better, and each of them, in their own way, came to understand. Meanwhile, they filled the long silences of the journey in their own way. Many coped by talking…the young Templar, Alistair, he had done his best to fill every silence with an inconsequential and irreverent commentary that Duncan had found to his surprise he had come to rather enjoy. He had spent rather a lot of time contemplating the boy since Alistair had passed his initiation. It was wasteful, as well as dangerous, to grow too attached to anyone before the Joining was complete. But now Alistair had, Duncan had wondered where he would best be deployed. It was strange, one might have expected a leader, given who the boy was, but Alistair was not given to command. A strong arm, a strong will, certainly, and a smile to brighten the dark days of any vigil. Useless to consider what he might have been, he would be deployed for the good of the Order exactly like his peers. Of whom Lillian Amell might well be one, soon. The others he had recruited just before his journey to the Circle Tower, the knight Jory, and the thief Daveth, as different as could be, who would be tested with her, well…he had done as he always had with them. He had guided them to Ostagar, to their fellows, and while on the journey he had given them what information they needed and no more, while at the same time he had observed them, their strengths and weaknesses. Nevertheless, he had trained himself to expect no one outcome for any recruit. If they succeeded, he would know exactly where their particular talents would serve. If they did not…well, that was not in his hands, and though he knew the situation was dire enough in Ostagar that to lose them would be almost catastrophic he knew better than to hope too much. That was more of a struggle with Lillian.

He glanced back from his saddle, his horse was yoked to the gentle mare she had clung to for dear life every second of the past few days, and he led her at the gentlest pace he dared, given that time was so critically short. He knew that she had never ridden before, that her every muscle must be protesting, that her legs would be scoured raw by the flanks of the horse, her back aching, and her seat bruised, but she never complained, never offered the slightest commentary on her agony. It was like the desolation she had endured already was so complete and entire, that the merely physical pain was almost inconsequential. She sat shrunken in the saddle, swathed head to toe in shapeless grey robes, with a hood about her hair. Her eyes were downcast, fixed on her hands which were white with the strength of her grip on the pommel. She never looked up, though even the shapeless hills and dales of the Hinterlands must have been as new to her as this whole world was…and she never looked at Duncan. Once the day's travelling was done, he would help her dismount, at which she would murmur her thanks, and then she would collapse by the fire, as he set up camp, watered and fed the horses, and prepared supper for them both with his own careful, practiced grace. She would pick at the food, take a mouthful, maybe, with bird-like delicacy, and then she would lie, leaden in her bedclothes, until it was dawn once again when she would rouse herself as if she had not slept at all, and wait, still and unseeing, until he could lift her to the saddle once again. Thanks were about the only words she had uttered so far, and they were three days from the Tower now, nearing Ostagar itself. Duncan did not mind the silence in the slightest, he was not much given to conversation himself, but he had never begun his explanations until a recruit asked him first. They had to accept their new circumstances, that was crucial. Lillian…well…he might have called her resigned to them, but…it was a malaise deeper than that which gripped the young mage. He'd seen new recruits grieve on the journey, and he always let them grieve freely for now. It was a step on the path to that acceptance that was so crucial. Lillian wasn't even taking that step. She was frozen in place, but if she did not move herself soon, she would never be ready for what was coming. He knew better than to pity her, though she was pitiable, but his thoughts were disturbed in a way they had not been about Jory and Daveth. She was a mage, the first mage they had recruited from Ferelden's circle, and the only Grey Warden mage they would have in Ostagar. While Jory and Daveth might each add a sword arm to their ranks against the Darkspawn, and each sword would be crucial with the slightness of the host facing the horde, Lillian could turn the tides of a battle. They needed her, and so his reserve was more and more tested as Ostagar loomed closer.

"Ser Duncan…" So when he heard her ragged voice behind him, he had to hide his relief. Perhaps she would be enough after all. He turned in the saddle, letting the horse pad on along the well-worn path, and found her eyes upon him for the first time. Yet he was struck again by how weak she looked, malnourished at the least, if not anaemic…and he felt an unwelcome, unfamiliar tremor of disturbance once again. How could this frail child face the Joining, let alone the Darkspawn? So much depended on her, though she'd never know it. "What…will we find at Ostagar?" She asked quietly.

"The fortress is a very great one, and very old" He said, his tone was as cool and distant as he had made sure it always would be with his pupils. Girl or no, mage or no, he could not let himself be bound by anything, even pity, to her. "The Tevinter Imperium built it long ago, on the very edge of the Korcari Wilds, to prevent the wilders invading the northern lowlands."

"A Tevinter Fortress…." She murmured, unable to suppress a shudder.

"Abandoned for centuries" He shrugged. "But its fortifications are fierce, they will serve well enough, though we face a very different threat from within those forests."

"Darkspawn" Again her gaze met his, soft and grey. He couldn't help but find it curious that, though she shuddered at the Tevinter, she was less openly afraid of the Darkspawn. She'd learn better, soon enough. "You have fought them, before?"

"I have" He answered. "We Grey Wardens know our enemy, better than any other on Thedas, and they can be killed."

"Would you…tell me about them, Ser Duncan…the Darkspawn, if I am to face them?" Her hood fell back as she raised her head at last, the fine curve of her aristocratic neck straightening. Her black hair tumbled free. This was curious, he had trained himself never to be surprised by a recruit, to expect nothing, to assume nothing, but she was drawing on something he hadn't yet suspected.

"The Chantry teaches us that the hubris of men created the Darkspawn" He said quietly, the standard words, hallowed by their long repetition to many in her position. Most knew the story, but one did not treat a recruit differently, be he a Dalish elf who had never heard the Chant of Light, or a devotee of the Chantry's version of the truth. They had all heard the same words from him, and they had all listened, as she did now. "The mages sought to usurp heaven but instead…"

"Those who had sought to claim Heaven by violence destroyed it." She murmured reverently, with a hint of a tune on her lips. The Chant, the Canticle of Threnodies…morbid and maudlin, but it got the point across close enough. "What was golden and pure turned black"

"They were cast out, twisted and cursed by their own corruption" Duncan continued. "And returned as monsters, the first of the Darkspawn. And so became a Blight upon the lands, unstoppable and relentless." There was more, there was always more, more dark secret, forbidden knowledge, but again, not for her like, not yet. "The dwarven kingdoms were the first to fall, and from the Deep Roads the Darkspawn drove at us again and again, and finally we neared annihilation. Until the Grey Wardens came…." Again silence, which he felt was heavy with long secrecy. This was the approved version of events. "Men and women from every race, warriors and mages, barbarians and kings. The Grey Wardens sacrificed everything to stem the tide of darkness, and prevailed…" She had asked only about the Darkspawn, but the story of the Grey Wardens could not be separated from their story, and theirs from the story of the Grey Wardens. One day she might live to understand that. "It has been four centuries since we stemmed the last Blight, the fourth by our reckoning, but we Grey Wardens have kept our vigil all these long years. We are few, now, but as many as I can muster will stand with King Cailin at Ostagar. We must stop them there, or all Ferelden will be laid open"

"You do think this is a Blight, then?" She said shrewdly, surprising him again.

"Some do not believe it" Duncan answered, levelly. "But I do, yes." He would tell her no more, she need know no more. Slowly, she lowered her head, and her thoughts drew a veil over her features. She was silent again. He held his gaze upon her for a moment longer, rocking with the steady step of his horse. Well…he had waited for her to speak, and she had. But if he had let himself hope that their small conversation would pierce the cloud of despondency around her, he would have been disappointed. While he never hoped for anything, Duncan had an instinct by now, after many years locating, leading and training recruits on the cusp of this new life. He had an instinct which of those he found would step up to join the ranks of his brothers, and who would fail. Of course, he never showed his answer, never let himself speak it, even to the silence of his own mind. But he often knew, and he was rarely wrong. For example, he'd been certain Alistair would measure up, and so the young Templar recruit had. With Lillian, though, had he even allowed himself to ask, he would have found no answer ready. In the end, it would make no difference to how he faced the coming battle, whether she prevailed or did not. It was not sentiment which drove him, but the consideration of her possible utility. But, if all his efforts to pry her from the Tower had been in vain, it would be a blow. She would face the same test as Jory and Daveth. But it was much harder not to hope on her account than theirs…it was much harder not to hope that Lillian would not die…that he would not have to kill her.

Oooo000oooo

Nothing could have stopped Lillian gasping in awe as the fortress of Ostagar loomed before her. Not even the fact that the whole journey thus far had been glimpsed through a haze of grey nothingness that was as impenetrable as cloud. The world, the world that everyone in the Tower had longed to see, to experience in all its myriad wonders, which had come alive to her only in books, she had faced entirely without interest. She had only quailed at its openness, the vast skies above and the horizons beyond, without the walls that had enclosed her for so many years, that had kept her safe all her life. Her world was the Tower, her home was the Tower, she needed nothing else, wanted nothing else. Through the long, long days of unremitting travel, and unremitting pain, everything had contracted to a point, a pin-prick, of loss and desolation. Everything she had known was gone. The one person she had loved, Cullen…was gone. She would never see him again. His kiss…their last meeting, it had run through her mind over and over again every day as she clung desperately to the rolling horse Duncan had perfunctorily placed her on each day. She still felt her lips burn with Cullen's touch, though she felt little else as the forested autumnal landscapes of the Hinterlands, their valleys and dales, went by, their beauty not even touching her. But even so, even so…she gasped at Ostagar. Its walls were drawn between the mountains, and seemed like mountains themselves, only mountains shaped and carved into a network of archways and balustrades. The vast body of the fortress reared up in fortifications that were thick and strong, yet each one was crowned with spires that pierced the sky, throwing themselves up in great points and spikes that seemed impossible to her trailing gaze. Buttresses and arches hung in the clear mountain air, suspended by the merest kiss of stone on stone, yet proclaimed their permanency with arrogant solidity. And above it all loomed a single great tower, layer upon layer of white marble, with great windows, and sprouting from its solid sides a forest of arched buttresses. How could human hands have raised such a thing? But, of course…human hands alone had not accomplished this. Like the Tower itself, each stone had been laid, founded, on forbidden Tevinter magic. The fortress had been abandoned for centuries, Duncan had said, but though the forests of the wilds had grown within it, trees clasping its sides as if to throw a feeble challenge to this great stone permanence, the signs of its long neglect were few to her untrained eye. Surely they could never lose to the Darkspawn within this vast citadel? She hadn't considered the possibility of defeat, or victory…or what either would mean for her. It didn't seem as though she had much to live for, whether they prevailed or not. But seeing Ostagar rear into the sullen grey sky above the Korcari Wilds, she couldn't stop a sort of hope blooming inside her. They needed to win, to protect Ferelden and all the thousands of people who were in the path of the Blight, and maybe, just maybe, they would. She considered, for the first time, her place in that.

"Ser Duncan…" She raised her voice again, finding it rough from long silence. "Are the Darkspawn really going to attack this place?"

"It is all but certain" Duncan showed no surprise at the question. He took it, with the same calm unbroken equanimity as he had the long silence before it, broken only by her moment's curiosity yesterday. She couldn't explain what had made her speak to him for the first time, then, or now…but she supposed it showed there was some part of her that did care what happened. "The king's forces have clashed with the Darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself." He drew in the reigns, and his towering chestnut horse drew to a halt as they pulled into a vast crenulation, and onto a somewhat dilapidated road that led towards a side gate. With practiced ease he dismounted in one fluid sweep, and for the first time Lillian moved to dismount herself alongside him. It was excruciatingly painful and awkward, and she fell in a heap by her patient, long-suffering mare, but she managed it. "It is here we must draw the line" Duncan continued, again with no hint of emotion. "If the Blight spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall" Lillian swallowed…he had never offered her anything but the grim truth, but…this massive fortress, how could it fail? How could the army of the king ever fail?

"Ho there, Duncan!" Suddenly the silence of the forest was broken by a raised voice, and Lillian jumped, then the clank of mailed footsteps, the ring of steel on stone, and out of the fortress emerged a group of men who were armoured so splendidly that even the weak autumn sun shone like fire in their plate. Most of them were grim and frightening, fighting men, armoured head to toe with helms that swathed their faces in shadow and steel. They carried great weapons, and shields, fearful things, despite their savage precision. But the man who raced forward, bounding like a young colt, at their head, could not be more different. He was bare-headed and carried no arms, but magnificent in plate armour that was gilded so heavily that he seemed like a statue carved from gold but given life. A rampant lion, roaring, was emblazoned at the centre of his chest plate. His shoulders were broad, and his frame precisely proportioned, so that armour fitted him like a glove. There was something statuesque in the beauty of his level, regular features as well, but nothing of that in his manner. A cloud of blonde hair fluttered around his head as he bounded towards them, so light it was almost silver, and long enough to reach his shoulders, but sleek and shining in the sallow light. Normally his skin would have been as fair as a maid, but his cheeks had been gilded by the hint of a newly-acquired tan, and his forehead and nose were somewhat sunburnt. But he was…extraordinarily handsome, she noticed with mounting embarrassment that put a flame in her burning cheeks. The fine bones of his features were sculpted and refined, his eyes were grey, long-lashed and vibrant. But his exquisite features were tarnished by a fine scattering of stubble that had been cultivated with almost rakish air over his chin and cheeks, as if he fancied himself a rogue, or a pirate. Nothing would have suited him less, but somehow it added to the breathtakingly sincere charm of his broad, entirely unfeigned smile of joy on full lips. As he reached them, the man clasped Duncan's wrist in a martial greeting, something the grim warrior returned with equal force if not quite the same gusto. "The sentries saw you on the pass, and of course I had to come out to meet you…" The man gushed, with a gleaming charm.

"King Cailan" Duncan bowed his head with respectful deference. Lillian's jaw dropped like a peasant yokel…this man…was the king? King Cailan Theirin? Of course the richness of his armour could only have belonged to one man, but there was nothing of a king's distant authority in this young colt's enthusiastic greeting. He was like a boy, though he was older than Lillian, in his twenties. She'd imagined a fairy-tale monarch, and it was true Cailan was devastatingly handsome, but…he was nothing like she'd expected. "I didn't expect…"

"A royal greeting?" Cailan grinned with amusement. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty" Duncan answered dryly. That was new…it was almost like a sense of humour.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side after all. Glorious!" The king turned, spreading his arms wide, as if welcoming adulation already. He certainly acted like one accustomed to praise, and to power…she supposed only a natural monarch could wear the crown so easily. But she wondered at the contrast between his excitement and Duncan's grim warnings earlier. And then the king's gaze fell on her, and every coherent thought left her head. "One or two of your fellow wardens mentioned you might have found a promising recruit, my friend" He glanced at Duncan with amusement, then the regal gaze fell on Lillian again. She could only gape as Cailan stepped towards her, his golden armour was dazzling, but no less so than his sheer shining beauty. He straightened before her, and after a terrifyingly awkward second she realised that he was the king, that she was supposed to curtsey. Of course, after three days in the saddle, her body was not going to agree with that and the curtsey gave way into a stagger and a tumble into Cailan's all too willing grip. The king caught her gently by the arm, chuckling loudly, and she staggered back into balance, too mortified even to think. The king…the king…and she had swooned like a peasant. "I take it this is she" Cailan smiled back at Duncan over her blushing head.

"Allow me to introduce Lillian Amell, your majesty" If Duncan was amused, or angry at her ridiculous reaction, he didn't show it.

"Your majesty…" She managed to stammer out, a high-pitched squeal. Should she curtsey again? Oh Maker, help her…

"Ah there's no need to be so formal" The king answered. "We'll be shedding blood together, after all" He leaned slightly in, as if to see her closer. "I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi, Lillian. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle…?" She sensed that Cailan would have had something endearing and interested to say no matter who had appeared before him…that was his manner, as if anything and everyone was worthy of his full and sincere attention. Of course that attention only made her excruciatingly flustered.

"I…will do my best, of course" She managed to reply, her words were choked, and meaningless, but at least something came out.

"Excellent" Cailan beamed broadly as if she'd told him the best news of his life. "We have too few mages as it is, and another is always welcome, particularly one as charming as you." At that she blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, but Cailan didn't even seem to notice. Of course it wasn't flirting…she might be a Grey Warden recruit but she was still plain Lillian… "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar" He gave a gallant sweep of his hand, as if about to bow, with the grace of a dancer. "The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks"

"Your Majesty" She bowed her head humbly, hiding as best she could behind her hair. "Thank you…" Of anything she might have expected out in the wider world, to be welcomed and praised by the king was the last thing of all. She was still a mage, still a pariah, and yet Cailan treated her like…a welcome joy. It confused her entirely, and she was relieved, and yet at the same time somewhat bereft, when the king's lingering gaze at last left her face, and he turned to his friend Duncan again.

"I apologise, I must cut this short" Cailan said "Loghain waits to bore me with his strategies." He tossed his mane of golden hair, rolling his eyes, as he turned to leave.

"Your uncle sends his greetings" But Duncan pressed forward suddenly, with unusual zeal for him. "And reminds you that forces from Redcliffe could be here in less than a week." The words were common enough, and calm enough, but Duncan clearly meant something significant by them.

"Ha!" But Cailan, if he noticed, didn't care. "Eamon wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters already, and I expect our next will be no different." He gave a little shrug, perpetually in motion. "I don't even think this is a true Blight, after all. We've seen plenty of Darkspawn, but no sign of an Archdemon, alas"

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Duncan raised an eyebrow, there was no other sign that he found the king's attitude incomprehensible, but for Lillian who had seen Duncan barely turn a hair when face with a blood mage, the small motion spoke volumes.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales" Cailan turned, glancing up into the trees longingly as if hoping for a vicious dragon to burst out of them ready to be slain. "A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But I suppose this will have to do." His bodyguard quickly formed up, in response to the slightest signal that he was ready to move on. "I suppose I best go before Loghain sends out a search party" He said wistfully. "Farewell, Duncan…" His leonine eyes found Lillian again, and a friendly little smile touched his lips. "And Lillian. Once the battle's over, I look forward to celebrating alongside both of you and all the Grey Wardens" And then he was gone, loping away back through the great ruined hallway before him, hung with his own gleaming banners that stirred in the wind, as if he had not a care in the world, as if his bulky armour was as light as a feather on his shoulders. Lillian stared after him, dazzled…she could barely believe what had just happened. She had forgotten that she was entirely alone, in hostile and dangerous world, about to face an army of terrifying demonic beasts, and she had forgotten that she had left her home behind and everything she had ever known, and a king had smiled at her and called her charming. Then she remembered herself and turned to Duncan with quick, apologetic deference. The Grey Warden was frowning.

"Come, Lillian" He said slowly, gesturing her to follow. She padded beside him as they walked deeper into the fortress. The mournful ruins of what must have been halls and barracks loomed about them, great stone monuments with the gaping voids of their roofs open to the sallow skies, but beneath their feet the leaves and soil stirred under their feet. The low roar of activity hummed in the air, and she knew the army's encampment must be just ahead. "What the king said is true" Duncan muttered, almost to himself, as they walked. "They have won several victories against the Darkspawn so far…"

"But…he doesn't believe it is a Blight" Lillian murmured, confused at the thought that she might be criticising the king. Cailan's optimism had charmed her for a moment, and she wanted to believe he was right…but the Darkspawn weren't a glorious enemy, surely? They were nightmares given flesh, the punishment for all mankind and the embodiment of sin itself. To take them lightly was to take the Maker's wrath lightly.

"He does not" Duncan lowered his head. It was astonishing he was confiding in her, she didn't dare speak again to interrupt him. "He thinks our legend alone makes him invulnerable, but he will not wait for the Grey Wardens from Orlais. We are too few here, but we must do what we can and trust Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference…" His gaze cleared, as if he remembered to whom he was speaking. "To that end, our Joining ritual must proceed without delay…"

"A ritual…?" She couldn't stop herself murmuring. Ritual had guided her life for as long as she could remember, but somehow she couldn't imagine a Grey Warden rite would be something entirely sacred.

"An initiation" Duncan nodded, as if that was a sufficient response. Her heart froze as she considered her last initiation, the Harrowing…but she dared not speak her fear to Duncan. "And one I must prepare for…" And then they passed through a gatehouse, under a spindly arch festooned with ivy and the banners of Ferelden, and the whole world opened out before them. Lillian found herself swaying with vertigo, she gripped at the stone to anchor herself. Before them was a great bridge, suspended over a towering ravine. Sheer stone cliffs rose up on either side, and before them, stretching out, was all the great flat expanse that she assumed must be the Korcari Wilds, brown and smudged until the distant horizon. She hadn't even realised they had climbed so high. The bridge itself was of that Tevinter style, it looked like the spine of some vast creature, with its protrusions of delicate stone that ended in fearsome points. Statues lined its every metre, once they must have been grand and fierce spectacles, proclaiming the might of the Empire to all, but now they were worn and mournful. At the other edge of the bridge was the great keep, Ostagar's heart, with that great tower she had seen before looming above the domed vestibules and towering walls that seamlessly rose from the cliffs themselves. It seemed utterly impregnable. "We Grey Wardens are garrisoned with the king in the keep…most of the army occupies the valley below." Duncan explained, once Lillian had regained her balance. "I would advise you remain in the Keep yourself, Lillian. We do not wish to attract undue attention…" Lillian nodded, biting her lip. Because she was a mage, he meant. "Otherwise you may wander as you choose. There are a number of matters to which I must attend before the ritual, though, and I'd recommend you seek out your fellow recruits, and in particular Alistair, our newest Grey Warden."

"But…Ser Duncan…" Lillian turned, aghast. Surely he wasn't simply going to leave her? In a camp filled with soldiers? She didn't have Templars to protect her anymore, Cullen wasn't here to watch over her, how could she dare to be alone here?

"There is nothing to fear, Lillian" Duncan again showed no exasperation, though he must surely be considering what a poor bargain he had made to get her all the way down here. "Find Alistair, he will accompany you for the beginnings of your training…" Duncan paused a second, as if considering whether to tell her something. "And he was once in training to be a Templar, so perhaps he may help you adjust." Lillian blinked, that made her feel instantly better. Even though she was so far from the Tower, if this Alistair had once been a Templar, maybe he would carry with him the sense of watchful security they had given her former home. She would feel…safe again, if she could rely on someone like that. But, as Duncan turned to leave, she wondered what would make a Templar trainee abandon his vows to become a Grey Warden. She'd have to find out, and not be so quick to rush to anyone for safety. Trusting Jowan too far had gotten her into this mess…this Alistair could be anyone at all. He certainly would not be another Cullen, no one ever would be.

If the Keep held only a limited part of the army, she couldn't imagine what the main camp was like, and nothing could have persuaded her to go down there. Even the terrifying experience of feeling her way across the ruined bridge, trying desperately not to look down into the vast ravine, wasn't as traumatic as bursting suddenly into the chaotic crowds of the soldiery. She suddenly realised that it was only rarely in the Tower that you ever saw a crowd, and never one that hummed with as much purpose. The whole keep throbbed with activity, everyone was heading somewhere urgently, and the roar of shouted orders, and the rough, jaunty brogue of the soldiers, was deafening. Most were Ferelden men, rough, seasoned warriors who barged through and around her with laughing affability. Others were plain-clothed, merchants hawking wares, suppliers and stewards hauling bumping carts of provisions. But she saw elves, too, but very little like the elven mages, who had caroused and conversed with their fellows freely. Here, elves were uniformly quiet, and doing their best to be invisible, just like she was, clothed in ragged anonymity. She reeled around tents draped in dazzling colours, pennants and banners she knew must represent the highest nobility of Ferelden, Was that not the Cousland wreath? And there, the royal standard above a shimmering canopy that was so vast and grand that it seemed like a canvas palace. She almost wished she could duck inside. At least Cailan was a friendly face…but who would believe someone looking so pathetic as her, a mage no less, knew the king? Ducking into a tiny, shadowed alcove which was somehow not occupied, she gasped tremulously with delayed shock, struggling to right herself while the crowds thronged all around. How in the name of the Maker was she supposed to find someone named Alistair in this crush? She was going to fail in the very first thing Duncan asked of her. No, she straightened…drawing her courage to the sticking point. She was here, and she had to make the best of it. She might not know what would happen next, how on earth she of all people could be a Grey Warden, but Duncan had saved her from Tranquillity, and he deserved better for his efforts than someone so useless. Think, Lillian…think…she scanned the flowing, fluttering banners that rose above the crowds and suddenly spotted one she knew, with a rush of relief. The Sword of Mercy…the Templar banner…maybe Alistair would be there! And, even if he wasn't, she thought as she leapt back into the crowds without hesitation, slipping past and darting around those on their various errands and drills, she was desperate to see a Templar again either way. Maybe they'd have advice, maybe they had a way to save her…she didn't even stop to examine how irrational that thought was before she burst out into a walled-off corner, where a beautiful purple and gold tent rose festooned with icons of the Circle. This must be where the mages who had travelled down to the front were staying. Two Templars stood there, fully armoured and splendid, and Lillian paused to relish the familiar sight of them, the feel of home that their steady watchful presence evoked.

"Excuse me…" Carefully she padded over.

"The mages have entered the Fade" One of the Templars said, his voice warped and echoed in his helmet, and his gaze was distrustful. She didn't know him, and felt very small under his reprimand. "They are not to be disturbed."

"Yes, of course" She tried to peer round him into the tent, avoiding the man's hard eyes. A strange, unearthly light played around the entrance, and a warm hum like song danced on the edge of hearing. So, inside this tent the mages were travelling the Fade, as she had during the Harrowing? She wondered why, what possible aid could these mages be seeking in the Fade? Something to help the king? If only…she had stayed in the Tower longer, found the knowledge she had intended to seek out once her Harrowing had alerted her to the complex half-reality of the world of dreams and what waited there, maybe she could have been more help for everyone here in Ostagar instead of being a dead weight. But then she would never have left…never have come here at all.

"I strongly suggest you leave" The Templar crossed his arms, drawing to his full, intimidating height. "This area is off limits, for your own protection."

"Sorry" She gasped out, but fought the ingrained urge to flee. "I was looking for someone…a Grey Warden, Alistair…"

"We have no business with Grey Wardens" The other Templar snapped. "If you are one…"

"I'm a mage, I'm from the Tower" Lillian answered, quickly, automatically. The moment the words left her mouth, both Templars sprang into sudden, deadly action. There wasn't even a moment for her to react, one second they were facing her with disinterested hostility, the next swords were at her neck…both blades naked and extended with deadly stillness, inches from her suddenly heaving throat. She gasped….she had barely enough time to be shocked, but terror beat a sharp tattoo against her skull.

"Apostate" One Templar growled. Maker…they thought…that is, she seemed like…"Another word, and we will end you"

"What's going on here?" Suddenly a shockingly familiar, shockingly friendly voice broke apart the horrific tableau. A tall lady in flowing, elegant robes emerged with a single graceful and almost noiseless tread from within the mages' tent. Lillian blinked, still entirely unable to compute the events but helpless with relief that someone was here to sort out this terrible misunderstanding. It was Wynne, her teacher. As she always did, she brought with her a sense of safety and calm that Lillian had never needed more. "Why are you threatening the girl?"

"Go back inside, Enchanter" One of the Templars ordered coldly, not even bothering to look back. His steely gaze was fixed on Lillian, pinioning her in in place as much as his blade. "The girl is an apostate."

"Nonsense!" Wynne strode forward instantly with shocking disobedience, given that swords were out. "This is Lillian Amell, one of our own!" Thank the Maker…Wynne was here, Lillian fought back tears of relief that the enchanter knew her, and had come to save her. She was on the verge of collapsing with shock.

"She has no Templar guard" He retorted. "No mage shall leave the Tower without a Templar. We have no record of her, she has no authorisation to be here."

"Because the girl was recruited by the Grey Wardens, you dolt!" Wynne cried. "Irving sent word of it the moment she left the Tower, as well you know" Irving…had sent word? How? And what had he said? Did Wynne know the story? Did the Templars? Was that why they had threatened her, because they knew she had assisted a blood mage?

"We do not allow a mage to walk free" The Templar growled.

"You do if she's a Grey Warden, my boy" Wynne, amazingly, stood her ground. She had no fear. "The king's orders."

"The king should not interfere in our charge" But he knew himself defeated. He slowly, reluctantly lowered his blade, as did his companion, and Lillian finally let out a breath, trembling with aftershock. "Do not think you have escaped our vigilance" He warned her, at the last, with a growl. "We will be observing, and no Grey Warden shield will protect you if we come to learn you have done what is forbidden" And then he said no more, though neither he nor his companion looked away from Lillian for a second. It was the same threat Greagoir had uttered. But what did it mean? The Grey Wardens had more power here than the Templars, this was not the Tower. The thought felt almost blasphemous. But her mind was reeling in the aftermath of the confrontation with men she had come to for safety, always, and she finally saw that she should not have come here at all. Of course the Templars would not welcome her, a mage who was free of the Tower, however little she had ever desired that. There was no safety amongst them, not for her. Would Duncan's Alistair be any different? She doubted it.

"Lillian" Wynne strode forward, glowing with delight, as if the confrontation had been little more than a misunderstanding. She took Lillian's hand gently in her own. "I am so sorry that you were welcomed by that." An irreverent smile touched her lips. "You know as well as I how our guardians can get." Not knowing how to respond, Lillian only smiled weakly back. Wynne was a tall and graceful woman, beautiful but not despite her age. Her wrinkles only seemed to dust her pale features with elegance, as if a silvery haze had settled upon her with the passage of time. Her white hair had been tamed back into a severe ponytail, where normally in the Tower it had hung free, but the style accentuated her fine, pointed features, and she wore robes of dull cloth, where normally she would have been swathed in fine, tasteful silk. Her eyes were a soft, kindly hazel, always glowing with a smile that was often present on her thin, pale lips. The poise and the stillness with which she held herself hinted at the contained power within, meaning she could never be mistaken for harmless, despite her motherly aspect. Wynne had been Lillian's favourite teacher, Irving notwithstanding, kindly, encouraging and challenging. She had known Wynne was here, on the front, but it was still a shock to see her outside the Tower, though the elder mage seemed so at home amidst the bustle of the camp. "It is wonderful to see you, child" She said kindly. "I heard you passed your Harrowing, my warmest congratulations. The Fade is a dangerous place"

"Thank you" Lillian murmured. Wynne must know more, if she knew that Lillian had passed her Harrowing, and what she chose not to mention hung heavy on Lillian's mind, as did the unwelcome reminder of the Harrowing. If anyone could explain what had happened in the Fade, Wynne might have been able to, but there was so much Lillian would rather see left unsaid, that she couldn't bring herself to confide in her teacher as she once might have done.

"And now a Grey Warden, fighting alongside the king" But Wynne only nodded. "Something to be even more proud of" Now, at last Lillian looked up and met her teacher's gaze, miserably aware she deserved none of Wynne's praise. Proud….she'd done nothing to be proud of, she'd left the Tower in disgrace, because she had no choice. Only good fortune, if it was indeed that, meant she was not a Tranquil right now. "The Grey Wardens are the key to defeating the horde, and all of us must work together to support them. I am glad the Circle is doing its part, and glad one as talented as you, Lillian, is representing us amongst them"

"Have you…fought Darkspawn, Enchanter?" The habit of class-room questioning and her continued discomfort with Wynne's words, made Lillian slip into the posture of a student again.

"Stragglers, yes" Wynne said. "Not the vast horde the scouts speak of. They are tougher than you can possibly imagine, it is best to hit them with everything you can, if you fight them at all. With your talents, I think supporting your fellow Grey Wardens would help make the greatest difference." She looked up. "Speaking of which, I imagine your new commander, that Duncan, might have something more important for you to do than idle chatter with me."

"Oh yes…" Lillian stepped back, drawing her hand from Wynne's grip. Though part of her longed to cling desperately to her old teacher, whose compassion at least was still a certainty, the more Wynne spoke to her as though she were still a daughter of the Circle, as though she were still a mage that her teachers could be proud of, the worse she felt. "I'm supposed to find another Grey Warden…Alistair?"

"Ah yes…I know the boy" Wynne smiled, with pure natural warmth, her eyes twinkling, like they did when she looked at a favourite student She liked Alistair, thought Lillian, a lot. "Actually, he was here not long ago. He was trying to find Enchanter Uldred, and I directed him to the old chapel, up on the ridge. I imagine the pair of them might still be there, since Uldred's pride won't take kindly to the summons of the Revered Mother."

"Thank you" Lillian nodded, surprised. That was lucky. The last thing she felt like right now was venturing back into the crowds with no idea where she was going. The encounter with the Templars, who still watched the exchange beadily, had shaken her so badly that she didn't know if she could bear that again. She'd acted as if her home could be picked up and translated to this bustling fortress, as if everything hadn't changed. But it had. She was Lillian the Grey Warden recruit now, not Lillian the mage, and the Templars looked at her with suspicion rather than with care. She was so glad to have seen Wynne. But she couldn't go back into that tent with her, sit at her knee, and let the Enchanter instruct her in everything, and let the Templars order every minute of her life, in safety. That time of her life was over. She was alone in this dangerous world now, and she had to find Alistair on her own. If that was her first task as a Grey Warden, and a very small task it was, still it was the first thing she had ever done in her life on her own, not supervised at every step by the rules of the Templars and the Tower, and if she had any chance of salvaging anything in this new life, she had to do it by herself. Seeing the Templars had shown her, savagely, that there was no turning back. "Farewell, Enchanter" She bowed formally to Wynne, as she had at the end of their every lesson.

"I'm glad Duncan sent you to see Alistair" Wynne twinkled. "I think he will make you feel at home here, Lillian. And good luck, my dear, I am not sure what the Grey Wardens will require of you, but I know you will rise to the challenge and do the Tower proud" With that, she turned back and entered into the tent, into the cool embrace of everything Lillian longed for…safety, security, order…the vast edifice of the Tower's systems and the Templars. What a mage was supposed to be. They were nothing without that, Lillian was nothing…

"Do not come back here" But one of her former guardians had one last thing to say, one last barb to stab into her. "We will not suffer you to spread discontent, Grey Warden or no" She fled.

Once she'd recovered herself, the chapel was easy enough to find, with its huge walls, the vacant emptiness of its roof and the vast cavernous spaces of its blank windows, their arches rising towards the sky and yet enclosing only hollowness. It was ruined more than most of the fortress, but it had a strangely hallowed dignity, particularly since it was so much quieter than most of Ostagar. There were just two people standing right at its heart, enclosed by its great walls. One she knew. It was Enchanter Uldred, once Jowan's patron. The mage's baldness gleamed like a skull, his heavy-set eyebrows were arched in discontent, those beady black eyes glinting. He had a slightly hooked beak of a nose, and hollow cheeks, but his was a face that drew the eye, an aspect that drew attention, regardless. He wore authority heavily, but no less potently, and it took a strong will not to wilt under those eyes. But facing him, with nothing but a glib shrug, was a man far younger, he had to be only 20, if that. Even Uldred's powerful magnetism couldn't draw back Lillian's eyes, once they had fallen upon his sparring partner. This had to be Alistair. She couldn't quite tell what it was about him that so caught her attention. Something about him seemed strangely familiar, but that was no more than a shadow of something she couldn't even grasp, and it faded the moment she considered it. He was…handsome, yes. But not like Jowan. Or any mage she'd seen, and like very few Templars. His were features that were somewhat stocky and square-jawed, flushed with vitality, and browned by the sun. He had a strong profile, but there were the lines of laughter around his eyes, and the twitch of a smile on his full lips, something she'd never seen before in anyone faced by the terrifying Uldred. His eyes were dark brown, one slash of an eyebrow raised sceptically, and his hair was tawny blond, cut short to military standard but ruffled up at the front somewhat roguishly. Roguish too was the shadowed hints of a beard around his chin and beneath his lips, where he was otherwise clean-shaven. He was of no more than average height, but his shoulders were broad, and looked well in the plate armour he wore, forged of a multitude of interlocked plates. There was a shield strapped to his back, with the Grey Warden griffin crudely painted across it, and a long-sword at his belt. And then she realised that she'd spent probably a minute or so simply staring at her contact and hadn't even been listening to what Uldred was haranguing him about.

"You Grey Wardens have certainly asked enough of the Circle already" Uldred sneered dismissively, as Lillian quickly, but quietly, stepped up to them, unsure how to inject herself into what seemed like a serious matter, at least on Uldred's side. "Here I am preparing for your damned ritual, as if I don't have anything better to do." Lillian's ears pricked up…there was that ritual again, so it needed magic?

"Yes, I'm sure" Alistair answered, a picture of pious respectfulness that rang entirely, joyously false. "But I think I said already that it's not about the Grey Wardens at all. I'm just here to deliver a message from the Revered Mother. She desires your presence, ser mage."

"What her Reverence desires is of no concern to me" Uldred snapped. "I am here on the king's orders…"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Alistair shrugged, innocently.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner" Uldred drew up to his full height, his high sense of his dignity threatened.

"Yes" Alistair's voice dripped with sarcasm openly now. It wasn't malicious, but he was enjoying baiting Uldred, clearly. "I was harassing you by delivering a message"

"You Grey Wardens should watch your step" Uldred leaned in, his beady eyes narrowing frigidly. "Not everyone was pleased to see the Wardens return to this country, and meddling with the Tower will win you no friends. Meanwhile, your glibness does your Order no credit."

"And we were getting along so well" Alistair shook his head, ignoring Uldred's open threat spoke of a joyful boldness that Lillian watched with awe.

"Enough!" Even Uldred knew he could win nothing here. The more he bristled, the more Alistair would mock him with that wide-eyed sincerity. No one in the Tower would have dared to behave like the young Grey Warden had with Uldred, and how the Enchanter hated that Alistair could! After years of Uldred's slimy mockery, Lillian found she rather enjoyed the sight. "I will speak to the damned woman, and endure her obfuscating suspicions if I must." He turned abruptly, with a dramatic sweep of his dark robes, and almost drove himself straight into Lillian. "You…!" Seeing her at last, he instantly drew up short with the gasped exclamation, and Lillian braced herself for the usual patronising comment. But Uldred said nothing more, his dark, dark eyes only focused on her with a laser precision, as if he wished he could peel back the skin of her face, and…find…something. The more he gazed at her intently, the more uncomfortable she felt, but she found she couldn't look away. The deep black pits of his eyes were mesmerising. There seemed almost to be something inside them…inside them…some…deeper, darker light.

"Weren't we on our way out a second ago?" Alistair's voice, dancing with mockery, interrupted them, the moment before Lillian thought she saw movement inside Uldred's eyes…and immediately the senior Enchanter looked back, throwing a last disgusted glare the way of the Grey Warden and then he bustled away, without another word. Lillian stood there a second, slightly shaken, as if Uldred had…brushed against something inside her. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together" Alistair commented, stepping towards her, and she looked at him again, and instantly found herself feeling a little better. She almost smiled…the comment was so inane, so stupid, so ridiculous in the face of the terrifying Blight, the Darkspawn, everything…but it was funny. "Say, I don't think we've met before" He cocked his head, appraising her with friendly interest. "You're not another mage are you?"

"I…am…actually" She looked down, hating that she instantly felt as though she had to apologise for that, as if she were worried about losing his regard.

"Really?" But she caught the boyish flush that ran through Alistair's cheeks, and knew that the comment had been simple harmless thoughtlessness. Alistair was not the sort, it seemed, to filter what he said at all. "You don't seem at all like the mages I've met. Ah…that is…" He paused, realising that he was digging the hole further, a position he seemed all too familiar with. "I mean…how interesting…" was the banal conclusion. Lillian didn't reply, feeling absurdly self-conscious. It was excruciatingly clear to her that she'd only ever spoken to mages, and to Templars, and then Duncan, or at least a few words to him. If Alistair had trained as a Templar, he certainly seemed like none she'd ever met, and there were no safe conversations she knew, no scripts to follow, with a man so vital and carefree. "Wait I do know you." He said suddenly, before the silence stretched on from awkward to painful. "You're Duncan's new recruit, from the Circle of Magi. I should have recognised you right away, I apologise"

"You're Alistair, then?" Lillian looked up, suddenly finding something to say, and then realised that the question was a ridiculously stupid one. Who else could he be?

"Duncan mentioned me?" He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, but something in his straightening posture suggested he was proud. "Nothing bad, I hope?" When there was no reply to that, he went on. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining"

"I am Lillian" She quickly interjected, before he thought she was a complete simpleton. "Lillian Amell, that is." Well, that effort was ruined completely. Well done Lillian.

"That was the name" He smiled, and then his eyes glinted as he considered her more closely. "You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?" Lillian stared at him…was he…teasing her? "Please stop looking at me like that" He stepped back, shame-faced. "I'm not some drooling lecher or anything"

"Do…you know the other recruits?" Lillian finally found something to say to change the subject. She was curious about them…if they were anything like Alistair, who was nothing like what she'd been expecting in the slightest, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take it.

"I've met the pair of them, Jory and Daveth" Alistair assented. "I think you're my favourite so far, though" Again…no one would have ever said that to her in the Tower. What exactly did he want? "I think they're probably back at the Grey Warden encampment, which is probably where we should be heading…five minutes ago" But he didn't seem to be any hurry, smirking cheerily. Lillian flinched. Were they going to be in trouble? She knew she'd taken too long to find Alistair. "You…don't know where the Grey Warden camp is yet, do you?" Alistair noticed suddenly. She shook her head mutely. "Maker's breath, but Duncan likes to throw you lot in at the deep end. I swear I had things easier…but then again, I didn't get initiated in the middle of a war." He strode forward, with a light, jaunty step. "Well, come on then, I'll show you round." Lillian followed quickly, more confused than ever. Weren't Grey Wardens grim guardians of legend, like Duncan was? Alistair was…different. She wasn't sure how she'd be able to deal with his strange idea of humour constantly, and it seemed it would be constant, but…somehow for the first time since she'd left the Tower she felt her spirit lighten a little as she took her place at the young Warden's side. She hadn't considered she might find a friend in the Wardens. But he could be, maybe…? And, there, just like that, just like him, she had forgotten about the war, the Darkspawn mere miles away in the wilds, and the hum of military preparation. And this talk of a strange initiation, which sounded…ominous. With Alistair here, none of that…seemed quite so bad. As foolish as that was, as fly against the face of all logic stupid as it seemed, maybe…he was a sign. She wasn't sure of what it could be yet, but…her certainty that her life had been ended the moment she left the Tower was blunted a little.