Chapter Text
Will dreamed, but not in the hall where the demon dwelled. He did not see the demon at all, and for a moment, after first drifting off to the Fade, Will stood in a room that looked very much like the tavern inn, and he looked around, waiting. He wore his black robes. There was no demon. The light from the fire he had lit with Hannibal still crackled, even in the Fade. Disappointment wasn’t the word he would use to describe how he felt at the lack of antlers and shadowy, black-eyed creature. Perhaps his skills as a Dreamer were beginning to bloom, now that he’d left the constrictions of the Circle. He didn’t want to see the demon and so he wasn’t there. Will sighed and sat down before the fireplace. He could rest easy.
--
In the morning, he was beautifully rested. He sat up in his bedroll with a happy grunt, for the thin blankets felt like puffy clouds beneath him. All through the night he had slept without interruption, without nightmares, without upset, and without an unsolicited visit from the demon. Even his muscles, which he’d predicted would feel strained and weary from such exercise the day before, felt fine and relaxed. When he stood to straighten his robes from their wrinkled folds, Will fancied that even his bones felt jubilantly well. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could accomplish!
His companions were cleared out from the room already, so after he’d washed his face in the water basin, Will made his way downstairs to join them. Jack and Hannibal were sitting at a rickety wooden table, hovered over a spread of bread and butter, steaming mugs held up to their lips. The stairs creaked, and Will was greeted with welcoming smiles. It was such a domestic scene that Will paused on the stairs for a moment to register it fully. He hadn’t forgotten he was in Lothering, of course, but it was easy to ignore in the coziness of the sight before him. The fire was lit, settling a comfortable glow and pleasant warmth about the tavern. A meal awaited him, as well as moods that seemed, Will thought, quite earnestly improved by his arrival. Such a contrast to the years he’d woken up in the tower, with nothing to look forward to and no one to care whether he woke up at all.
“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said, lifting a mug toward him. “Do you take cream and sugar?”
The three men broke fast together, and Will enjoyed it while it lasted, but they couldn’t very well lounge in that tavern for the rest of their days, and after their stomachs were full and the coffee pot was empty, they said goodbye to Lothering – Will literally, with a kick of rocks beneath his boot – and set off on the road to Ostagar.
The road was busier that far South than Will had expected, with soldiers headed in the same direction. They traveled within the confines of their little party however, and for that Will was thankful. It was difficult enough conversing with the templar and Grey Warden; he couldn’t imagine being forced into socializing with a team of outfitted Ferelden soldiers. The sky was overcast, the mood gloomy, and Will’s high spirits from the morning began to evaporate as they took every step toward their destination. In fact, Will began to feel overwhelmed at the prospect of arriving at Ostagar, and everything that would unfold in result. His shock was waning, that’s what was happening. The supreme, electric shock that had been dealt to his person the last few days was finally easing, and the veil of reality was re-settling over his eyes. Suddenly he had a future, a plan. Will had hardly been capable of thinking on it, and now it was the conquering source of his concentration.
By the time they reached the place itself, Will was glad. It felt a bit like the night before his Harrowing, when he just wanted to get it over with; finish it so he could move to the next step. But he had to take the first step first and that involved crossing a terrifying bridge to a gigantic stone ruin. Will wasn’t sure if a dilapidated building of yore was the best place, symbolically, to stage a battle against the Blight, it looking as conquered as it did, but he wasn’t the King of Ferelden, was he? That man was, the one standing on the opposite side of the bridge, apparently waiting for them.
“That’s King Frederick,” Jack whispered before they stopped before him.
King Frederick wore gold, daunting armor that shimmered majestically even beneath the sunless sky. His boots made him taller than Will guessed he probably was, and he looked older than he had thought he would be, from Jack’s description of him. Not old by any means, but not a supple-faced youth either. But he sure did smile like a delighted child at the sight of Will’s party. He thrust his hand out immediately to Jack, shaking it vigorously. Will remembered what Jack had said about the Warden fetish, and raised his eyebrows as his own hand was grasped – a little too tight than was customary?
“Jack Crawford, welcome,” said the King, though his attention was utterly turned on Will. “Who is this you’ve brought with you, hmm? He must be the new Grey Warden?”
Will thought he detected an unseemly snort from Hannibal, but it was masked by Jack’s response. “Your majesty, this is Will Graham, a mage from the Circle Tower. He’s our newest recruit.”
King Frederick didn’t release Will’s hand, but squeezed it tighter. “Pleasure to meet you, Will. I trust your journey was pleasant?”
“Delightful,” said Will, trying to politely extricate his hand from the King’s. It took Hannibal extending his own hand in greeting for Frederick to relinquish his hold on Will. He immediately hid it behind his back so it could not be reached so easily again. The King took Hannibal’s hand with hesitance, but at least his gaze was finally on someone besides Will.
“A templar recruit, as well? My, my, Jack, your recruitment has proved fruitful.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” said Hannibal, “but I am not a recruit.”
“Just sight-seeing then?” quipped the King with a sideward glance toward Will.
“Something along those lines.” Hannibal released the King’s hand and discreetly wiped his own hand on the handkerchief Will had never known the templar kept tucked at his belt. Will couldn’t blame him. There was definitely something squiggly about the King.
“That’s too bad.” King Frederick linked arms with Jack and began walking them through the grand stone archway, leading into the Ostagar ruins, where soldier’s tents filled most every square inch, blacksmiths were hammering out steel, and a pen of mabari hounds were barking. “I say, the more Grey Wardens, the better! I can’t wait to ride out into battle, on the front line, with you at my side, Jack, and an army of Grey Wardens at our backs.”
“Then your plan has remained unchanged?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Will and Hannibal, who were following behind. Will thought he looked quite grim. “Is it wise to expend your Grey Wardens all in one place?”
“Oh, Jack, you jest. The darkspawn will be no problem for the Grey Wardens. This supposed Blight will be over before it’s started! Really, you sound just like Mason.”
“Mason’s here with his men?” Jack asked, and the King sighed exasperatedly.
“Yes, yes, they arrived from Denerim a day ago. They won’t be taking charge with us. Mason insists on hanging back.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In case there’s trouble, he says.” He stopped outside of a luxurious, velvet curtained tent. “I simply must leave you now, my friends.” He put an amiable hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Will found himself meandering back a step so as not to be reached in kind by the handsy king. “We will meet later on the battlefield. There will be glory for all of us!” With a wink to Will, and slight sneer delivered just for Hannibal, he disappeared into his tent.
Jack led them away from the King’s tent swiftly, passing by a med station, where injured soldiers were being bandaged.
“Has the fighting already started?” Will looked around as if expecting darkspawn to pop up from around a pillar.
“Scouts have run into some trouble,” Jack said, stopping Will and Hannibal by a large bonfire in the center of the ruins. The air of that place smelled like ashes and blood and filled Will with a foreboding that unsettled his stomach. Over the crackling, spitting fire, he could still make out the groans of the injured scouts. He suddenly began wondering what had happened to them, how they had sustained their injuries. What exactly did a darkspawn look like and how did it fight? With tooth and nail? Blade?
“I wish I could say you had all the time in the world to relax and put up your feet for a rest, but the battle begins at sundown, and the hour is already growing late.” Jack frowned up at the sky. It looked like rain. “Will, I need you to find another Grey Warden in the camp. Her name is Katz and she’s looking after the new recruits.”
“Alright.”
“Find Katz and have her bring the recruits. I’ll meet you back here.” Jack looked at Hannibal. “Now that we’re here, is it safe to assume you’ll be heading back to the Circle?”
Will hadn’t even considered it, and he looked at Hannibal, anxious for his answer. The First Enchanter had insisted he join them, at least for the journey to Ostagar. Surely the templar wouldn’t wish to linger in this place longer than was required?
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to offer my assistance, see that Will is safely settled before I take my leave,” Hannibal said, straight-shouldered and straight-faced.
Jack smiled. “Fine by me. Could always use another blade.” He patted his griffin-etched tunic and began to turn away. “I’ve got some errands, but I’ll meet you back here shortly. Don’t let Katz dawdle.” And with that, Jack wove through the row of tents. Will followed him with his eyes until he couldn’t make him out anymore, and then he looked up at Hannibal.
“You don’t have to stay, you know.”
“Would you prefer if I left?”
“No.” Will shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Let’s go find Katz?”
“Let’s go find Katz,” Hannibal agreed, and they left the warmth of the bonfire in search of a Grey Warden belonging to that name.
They walked past the med tents again on their search, and Will had to look away. He remembered the templar guards he had killed in the tower. He thought ahead to the darkspawn he would be expected to kill next. Hannibal didn’t let him linger long beside the injured, lightly touching his back and steering him away, where the air was fresher and a breeze was carrying the piney scents from the forest.
After several minutes of unsuccessful hunting, they happened upon a heavily armored man, hair crazy and pointing in all directions atop his head. As they walked nearer, it became apparent that everything about the man had a touch of madness to it, from the wild glint in his eyes to the jerky movements of his body. His very way of speaking was sluiced with mania. Will couldn’t help but stop to listen.
“He’s simply MAD, I tell you. He’ll end up getting us all KILLED.” He leaned over a table, jabbing his finger at a cloth map spread out on its surface. “He’s a KING, not a GOD. Those darkspawn will have us for BREAKFAST.”
Will leaned in to whisper at Hannibal’s ear. “He’s talking about King Frederick. Who is he?”
“Mason, I believe. With the Denerim troops.”
“That’s right. I AM Mason, with the Denerim troops.” They had been spotted, and the man was sauntering up to them, his great armor clinking and clanging with every step. “And you’re a mage,” he continued, looking at Will with venom, “and you’re a TEMPLAR. The question is WHY you’re standing there AGOG. Honestly, I’m BLUSHING.”
Will opened his mouth to apologize, but Hannibal stepped in, paying Mason a nominal tip of his head. “Official Grey Warden business. We were just leaving.” Again, Hannibal’s hand grazed Will’s back, ushering him forward.
“UGH. Get out of here. I am SO SICK of Frederick’s playthings,” Will heard Mason saying as they were walking away.
Once out of view, Will cocked an eyebrow at the templar at his side. “He’s crazy.”
“And he is the King’s backup plan,” said Hannibal. “Explains Jack’s dubiousness.”
“Between Mason and Frederick, it’s a good thing the Grey Wardens are here,” continued Will as they walked up a stone ramp of sorts to a higher tier of the ruins. He saw a feminine outline, a woman standing in the center of a platform, two men in front of her. He nodded toward them. “Do you think that could be Katz?”
“Let us see,” said Hannibal and they approached the group, Will with wide, quizzical eyes that the woman zeroed in on almost instantly.
“Please tell me you’re Jack’s recruit and not another Circle mage coming to boss me around on behalf of the blasted Chantry.”
Will frowned at her, confused. “I’m a recruit. Well, and a mage. But the Circle sort of disowned me, and I’m definitely not from the Chantry.”
The woman who was most definitely Katz, put a hand over her chest and quirked up a thin black eyebrow. “My kind of mage. And you come with your own templar. Be still my heart.” She held out her hand for Will to shake. Her smile was kind, genuine. He liked her immediately. Even Hannibal gave her a polite nod of his head. “Sorry,” she said, sleeking back a wisp of hair. It was jet black and silky, and she kept it smoothed back in a high ponytail. “Jack told me your name but I’m such a scatterbrain today.”
“Will,” he provided.
“Will! That’s it.” She set a hand on her hip, looking to Hannibal next. “And who are you, other than damn intimidating?”
Will cringed, but Hannibal reached out, taking Katz’s hand in his and kissing it. “I am Hannibal. I’m the templar charged with Will’s well-being.”
Katz’s blush was nearly enough to contest Will’s, but she masked it well, turning swiftly from the templar to wave forward the two men who’d been waiting impatiently behind her.
“Oh, is it our turn?” said one with a sarcastic smile.
“This is Price,” Katz said. “Recruit from Highever. And Zeller’s the taller, grumpier one.”
Zeller crossed his arms, looking, as she’d said, taller and grumpier than Price. But despite their feigned air of annoyance, Will rather liked them. He looked at the three of them and wondered if that was his future. Only Katz was a Warden, but the others were recruits just like him. Would they soon be his brothers in arms, the lot of them charging into battle together? It was such a different feeling than he was used to in the tower, when all he’d had was Peter and the tomes in the library and the countdown to his Harrowing.
“Hi,” said Will, feeling silly. No one tried to shake anyone’s hand, so they all just stood staring at each other, nodding their heads in quiet acceptance. Then, Will remembered the latter section of his task. “Jack will be waiting for us by the bonfire.”
“Oh, best not to keep Jack waiting,” Katz said. She waved her hand at the others. “Hop to, recruits.” She batted her lashes at Hannibal. “You too, templar.”
Jack was, in fact, awaiting them when they reappeared around the fire. Beneath the overcast sky, the Warden’s face was brilliant in the glow of the flames, and ominous shadows played across his stern features. He nodded upon their arrival, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Welcome, recruits. Usually, our Joining process isn’t as rushed, but as the battle is soon to begin, there’s not much time to draw out the process.”
Will glanced at the other recruits and was relieved to see they looked as confused as he felt.
“What does this Joining involve, Jack?” Hannibal asked. He stood at Will’s back and his voice was clear in Will’s ear. Steady.
If Jack was annoyed by the templar’s out of place nosiness, he didn’t show it, probably because there was no time. “The Grey Wardens require more than a verbal agreement upon initiation. The Joining is a ceremony, one that’s finer details are a secret. All you need to know as of this moment is that you’re going into the Wilds.”
“The Wilds?!” asked a supremely shocked Zeller, thick eyebrows arched high. “We’ll be killed!”
“Now, now,” said Price with a sly grin, “the chances are we’ll be captured by witches and tortured. Possibly turned into toads. Then, yes, maybe death.”
“Witches?” Will asked in alarm. “Mages, you mean?”
“Legend has it an apostate mage dwells in the Korcari forest,” whispered Price, leaning in conspiratorially to Will. “They call her the Witch of the Wilds.”
“EXCUSE ME.” Jack’s authoritative bellow paused the twittering of the recruits. “You will listen. You will not argue. If you wish to be a Grey Warden, these are the steps that must be taken.” He waited until he’d received a head nod of understanding from each of them, and then he continued. “You will go into the Wilds. You will retrieve three vials of Darkspawn blood. Katz has special orders to retrieve important Warden documents, and you will assist her. When you’ve completed your tasks, you will come directly back here and we will continue from there. Is that understood?”
Zeller made a soft sound - akin to a whine - and Price elbowed him in the side, while Will attempted his best indifferent face. Behind him, Hannibal pierced the Warden with gleaming eyes, contesting the flames themselves for brightness. “I will be accompanying Will into the Korcari Wilds,” he stated. Jack took in a breath, an expression working over his face, as if he were trying to judge whether or not the issue was worth arguing. In the end, however, it wasn’t, or so Jack must have thought, because after another glance at the sky and thought of the late hour, he nodded once, sharp, abrupt.
“Good luck, recruits,” Jack said. “Katz will see you safe.”
“You bet, boss,” she said.
Jack turned away from them in dismissal, and Katz nodded her head as she took off in the opposite direction, cueing them to follow her steps. Their group marched through the camp, a silence captivating the mood up until the point they arrived at the watchman and the gate into the Wilds.
“Under strict orders not to let anyone out there at this time,” the watchman announced, his chin tipped with authority. “It’s a dangerous place out there. Just got a team of scouts back. What was left of ‘em anyway.”
“Maker’s breath,” Zeller cursed.
Katz held out a silencing hand to the haughty recruit and then smiled at the watchman. “We’re Grey Wardens. Check the griffin.” She pointed to her own chest, and the symbol stitched across the leather of her chest piece. “We have orders to enter the Wilds.”
The watchman paled slightly before his cheeks grew pink. “Of course. Grey Wardens. Right.” He turned around, fumbling with the lock of the gate. It swung open for them. The watchman held the gate with trembling hands. “On you go. Quickly.” He looked so eager to close the gate, they all shuffled through quickly. He gave them each a worried once-over before locking the gate. It shut with a clang.
“Well that was menacing,” Price commented after an awkward silence.
“Look, you guys,” Katz said, turning to face them as they gathered in a line. “There’s a reason I’m with you out here. I’m a Warden. I’ll be able to tell when there are darkspawn nearby. We won’t be taken by surprise.”
“Which is great, except we’re out here collecting darkspawn blood,” complained Zeller.
“Does that mean we actually have to fight darkspawn?” Price asked. “Couldn’t we sneak up on a few while they’re asleep and draw some samples? I have a very soft touch.”
“I don’t want to die for the Wardens before I even become one. This is crazy.” Zeller’s voice had an edge of hysteria to it that Will recognized. It sounded almost like Peter, when he’d been on the cusp. Price’s attitude might have been jokingly light, but Zeller…Zeller was on the verge of full-blown panic.
“This is what we’re being asked to do,” Will said, with a commanding tone that surprised even him. “You want to join the Wardens? This is the price. Either do it or don’t do it. But don’t stand around like a coward, complaining.” He was aware of Hannibal giving him a quizzical look. Price looked amused. Katz looked relieved. And Zeller…Zeller looked mortified. Good. He’d be too ashamed and pissed off at Will to be scared. “Now let’s get this over with.”
“Points for the bossy mage,” Katz said, unsheathing her sword. “Everyone, stay close. We have vials to fill. Watch out for their blood touching your skin directly though. It could, you know, kill you.”
They didn’t so much stay close as they did huddle – Will included. But it couldn’t be helped, not with the frightening mood of the forest. The Korcari Wilds was a beautiful, terrifying place, made even more so by the known threat of lurking darkspawn. The walking path was narrow, the line of trees thick. The howls of wolves echoed in the air. And then there was a groan. Katz sped up until they reached a clearing in the path. There, strewn about before them, was a scouting group. Will gasped and turned his head, almost knocking into the templar close behind him.
Limbs had been ripped. Blood was soaking the ground. A severed head teetered in the grass. Will heard the sounds of vomiting, saw Zeller bent over in his peripheral. He could relate; his own nausea was threatening rebellion.
Hannibal was the one who noticed the survivor first, sweeping past Will to kneel at his side. Katz crouched down as well, reaching for her pack.
“Scout, can you speak?” she asked. The wounded man groaned again as Hannibal set his fingers to the pulse at his wrist. Will forced himself to look. One of his ankles was mangled, but other than that, he looked mostly whole. He spoke to them as Hannibal took bandages from Katz and proceeded to wrap his ankle.
“We were ambushed,” the scout said, coughing wetly. “Darkspawn everywhere.” Will met his eyes unintentionally, but the man locked on. “They were so organized.”
Will frowned at the comment. From his studies, he knew a little about the patterns of darkspawn. In random surges of activity, darkspawn were randomly wandering, mindless monsters, killing whatever they happened upon. But to be organized in their attacks? To plan an ambush? That spelled a Blight. That spelled a master plan. An intelligent leader. A glance at Katz told Will that she was thinking the same thing.
“How did you survive?” she asked the scout.
“They wanted me to,” he answered.
Hannibal finished dressing his wound and looked at Katz. “We should take him back to camp.”
The scout shook his head adamantly. “No. No, I can walk. Just help me up, please.”
Hannibal and Katz exchanged frowns, but they each hooked an arm around his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. “You’re sure you can make it back alright?” Katz asked.
“It’s not far, and I can walk okay.” He took a step, testing his steps. He hobbled on his hurt ankle, and his speed was impeded, but he didn’t topple. “I don’t want to keep Grey Wardens from their business.”
They parted ways. But the phantom of the scout’s words resonated within their group, even after his departure. They left the gruesome carnage behind them and continued on their way, deeper and deeper into the Wilds, but the images were ingrained permanently, and they traveled in worried silence.
Will had gone his whole life without seeing death, and now, within the past several days, he had seen murdered, mangled bodies. He had been the cause of the destruction, even, and that bothered him the most. He had not enjoyed killing the templar guards in the basement. It had left him shaken and disturbed. And he did not relish the ghoulish sight of the mess the darkspawn left behind. It gnawed at him. How could he expect to be a worthwhile Warden when he could hardly stomach the violence it required? Would he even be able to fight the darkspawn they faced or would he freeze up in terror and be useless? He did not need to wait long before that question, at least, was answered.
“Will,” Hannibal growled by his ear, reaching out a hand and touching his back. A second later, Katz whipped her head around to face the recruits.
“We have company. Get ready,” she whispered.
Will gripped his staff and held his breath, and then he saw it: a small swarm of darkspawn. They roared and beat their chests with terrible fists, crude weapons held high, stained with blood. They were hideous. They were ugly and monstrous and headed straight for them.
And that’s when Will’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the creature nearest him. The rest of the world, for the time being, faded, blurred, and all he could see was the fiend racing toward him. He raised his staff in the air and slammed it down to the earth. It felt hot against his palm. He slammed it again, let the mana multiply in his veins and then he powered it through the staff, and a violent stream of flame shot from the staff to the approaching darkspawn. Its feet were set afire, but it didn’t slow down in its pursuit of Will. It held a rusty blade in its hand, hacking it in wide arcs through the air. Will let it come closer, until he could count the teeth in its bloody maw. He let the dastardly thing slash at him, ducked, swept out with his staff, knocking it to its backside, and he slammed his staff down, into its eye socket.
It oozed a blackish ichor, twitched, and then died. Will loosened his staff from the corpse and spun, just in time to zero in on a swiftly approaching darkspawn. He hit it with a potent fire spell, balls of flame raining down on its head and setting its sparse strands of hair on fire. The stench of burning flesh filled Will’s nose, and he lit it on fire anew, with a second, stronger spell, weaving his mana like a craftsman. It was thoughtless, natural, an instinctive desire to destroy every monstrous creature in his path.
Will was aware of nothing else as he whirled and spat more flame, and soon there was a pile or slain darkspawn at his feet. Sweat dripped from his forehead, but his breath was easy. Calm. He stared at the corpses, at the smoke rising from the smoldered skin, and he felt at peace. No. He felt powerful. It was different than before, when he’d been forced to kill the templars. This felt necessary. This murder felt righteous. This murder felt…good.
“Will?” Hannibal whispered at his ear, ripping him from his nearly-hypnotized state.
He looked about him at the others. The darkspawn were dead, littered around all of them, but the bulk of deaths lay directly in front of Will. He had killed most of them. Katz’s mouth was open, half-smiling, half-shocked. Zeller and Price each looked to have killed a single darkspawn, and they were staring at Will as though he were as inhuman as the monsters on the ground. He glanced at Hannibal, whose face revealed no expression but relief. His own sword was coated in crimson. He had done his own killing. From his proximity, Will guessed, the templar had been downing every darkspawn approaching Will’s back.
“Everyone okay?” Katz asked, stepping quickly into action and pulling three glass vials from her pack. Not just Will was in a daze. Price had to nudge Zeller to grunt in response, and they accepted a vial each with trembling hands. Will’s hand was surprisingly steady as he took his own vial. “Don’t let their blood come into contact with your skin when you fill your vial. Their taint will kill you.”
Will bent down with his vial and carefully held it beneath a darkspawn’s wound, a deep gash he’d landed with his staff, over its brow, and he let the stream of dark, thick blood ooze into the container. He then stoppered it closed and handed it back to Katz. As she collected the vials from the others, Hannibal took a hold of Will’s arm and turned him round to face him, his face uncharacteristically rumpled in concern.
“Are you injured?”
“No,” Will answered. “I don’t think I was hurt at all.” He allowed Hannibal’s hands to smooth over his arms, searching for hurts and finding none. He hummed softly, seemingly satisfied, and released Will with a sigh.
“You fight beautifully,” the templar told him in a whisper. “Like a dance.”
Will only had time to gawk stupidly at the compliment before Katz clapped her hands together. “Okay, recruits. We have our blood, but we’re still under orders to retrieve the sensitive Warden documents, so we’re not out of the woods yet.”
Price chuckled. “Out of the woods.” Beside him, the color finally back in his face, Zeller rolled his eyes.
As they continued on, Will walked as if floating, strung out on the feeling coursing through his blood. Thump-thump-thump, the adrenaline pulsed. His palms sweated. His fingertips tingled. He was torn, once again, between feeling guilty for feeling so good after such violence, and feeling satisfied at the work he’d done. He thought of the black demon in the Fade and wondered what he would think of what Will was feeling. Darkspawn were evil. That was cement. There were no shades in that regard. And killing them? Participating in their murder? That was an evil he thought he could stomach.
They traveled, the lot of them on edge, save for Hannibal perhaps, who emitted little but serenity, and a keen devotion to making sure Will didn’t trip over upended tree roots. But they were silent. Katz kept her ears pricked up and Will watched the swish of her ponytail as her stalk swung it back and forth along the armor plates of her shoulders.
But on edge or not, one thing was evident: the sky was growing darker. Will watched the heavy clouds as they swirled above with the foreshadowing of a storm. Dramatically, as Katz finally halted their march beneath the columns of a ruined foundation, thunder rolled and rocked the Wilds.
“The documents should be in this,” Katz said, kneeling down before a rusty old chest whose lock looked long ago knocked wonky. She threw open the lid of the chest with a huff. A plume of dust billowed free and she fell to a fit of sneezes. The templar at Will’s side reached to his waist and extracted his handkerchief, offering it to the sneezing Grey Warden. She eyed him amusedly before taking it with a grin. “I could get used to you.” She looked past Hannibal to Will. “Can we keep him?”
Will was fighting the blush on his face, but was saved from making a verbal response when Katz slammed her fist down on the lid of the chest.
“Uh oh,” Will heard Price whisper to Zeller.
Katz pulled herself up, dusting off her knees. “Uh oh is right.” Her hand fluttered helplessly at the innards of the chest, and Will noticed, as he took a step forward, that it was empty. “Jack’s precious, top secret Warden documents are a no-show.”
Hannibal peered down into the chest with a quizzical brow. “You’re sure there’s no false bottom? Could this possibly be the wrong location?”
“No, this is the spot, this is the chest. He was obnoxiously specific when he gave me my orders.”
“I guess since it’s not here we should get out of these Wilds.” Zeller crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed, and, Will noted, still brimming with barely suppressed anxiety. “I don’t want to risk my life for something that’s not even here.”
“What would you risk your life for?” Price asked him with squinty-eyed delight.
Zeller pinched up his face in concentration, and then: “I’m kind of hungry. So maybe a piece of cake?”
Price nodded appreciatively. “A noble cause. It’s obvious why the Grey Wardens wanted you.”
“I was recruited outside of a bakery.”
“Hello.”
Their group turned in unison at the unfamiliar voice. The speaker leaned against one of the columns, one hand on her hip and the other behind her back. She had appeared out of nowhere. Will eyed the dark-haired arrival with utmost apprehension. Hannibal took a step forward, efficiently blocking Will from her should she prove threatening. Behind him, Will made out Zeller whispering to Price, ‘It’s the Witch of the Wilds!’
“You kill your way through my woods, trespass on my property, and call me names without asking me what I prefer to be called? Rude.” The petite, rather strikingly pretty woman shook her head in disapproval.
Katz answered first, taking a cautious step toward her with her hand held out. “We’re Grey Wardens. This ruin used to be ours, so we’re not trespassing.” Katz, on realization that she probably wasn’t about to be turned into a toad, regained a segment of her sassier disposition. “In fact, if anyone’s a trespasser, it’s you.”
Hannibal piped up in front of Will. “Let us not repeat our mistakes and set a low standard for Warden manners.” His head tilted in the stranger’s direction. “What is it you prefer to be called?”
She smiled at that, and Will decided that yes, she was attractive. Her eyes were wondrously blue. Her hair shone despite the darkness of the day. “Since you asked so nicely, you may call me Alana.”
Hannibal bowed his head. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I am Hannibal. This is my companion, Will.” Will blushed furiously beneath the title and glared at Hannibal.
Katz spoke up in an attempt to regain her control over their party where the templar had seized it. “I’m Katz. This is Zeller and Price. We’re here on official Warden business.”
Alana sauntered forward, eyeing each of them. Though, to be fair, she was eyed in return. How could she not be, beautiful as she was, in the worn leathers draped about her body, exposing much of her snowy-white midriff? “Official Warden business? That does sound important.”
Katz sighed and squared her shoulders. “Do you know anything about that chest being broken?”
“I didn’t break that chest.”
“But do you know anything about it being broken?”
“Was there something important inside that’s now missing?”
Will stepped from around Hannibal, and Alana focused on him at once. “Please,” Will tried, “if you know anything, help us.”
“A mage,” Alana said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Would you come here?”
Will swallowed hard. The woman was clearly a mage herself, and, not being member of a Circle, was an apostate. Apostates, Will had learned from his life in the tower, were supremely dangerous, with no code of the Circle to live by. He glanced at Hannibal and approached her all the same. He had faced worse things in his life than a woman alone in the woods. He heard Hannibal walking close behind him and wasn’t sure if he should roll his eyes or smile. His face screwed up in indecision as a result, and Alana laughed.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I won’t turn you into anything unseemly.”
“I know,” said Will. She arched a brow at him, but it was true. He felt unexplainable warmth in regards to this unfamiliar woman. Like he had implicitly trusted the demon in his Harrowing, so he similarly trusted the Witch of the Wilds now. An inherent camaraderie, perhaps? An instinctual understanding between their kind? Will, having never met an apostate, felt in awe of her, as though he were meeting a character from a fairy tale.
“Will?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And Hannibal? Either I’m crazy or you’re a templar.”
“You aren’t crazy, at least not in regard to my position,” Hannibal answered. “But you are quite safe from me.”
“Safe from a templar?” she asked, obviously dubious.
“I assure you, I am only here as Will’s protector.”
Will made a small noise of complaint at that, but Hannibal and Alana were too busy staring daggers into each other to pay mind. “Alana,” Will said, dragging her attention back to himself, as was the original plan. She set her eyes to him, a sharp, clear blue. “Like you said, these are your Wilds. If anyone knows what happened to the items in that chest, you do.”
“These documents, you mean?” she asked, presenting a scroll of papers from behind her back. She blinked at Will. Then smiled. At his gawking expression, she thrust the papers into his chest. “A gift for the prettiest Grey Warden I’ve ever seen.”
Will had to wonder for a moment just how many Wardens this apostate had seen, living out in the Korcari Wilds, until he realized he was, as of that moment, still a mere recruit. He told her thus and something crossed the gleam in her eyes, a flash of pity. He didn’t dwell on it, accepting the scroll given to him with eager fingers. He turned immediately back to Katz and the others, who were whispering together anxiously. Katz, her arms folded over her chest impatiently, widened her eyes as Will approached her with the documents. He wasted no time handing them over.
“Thank the Maker.” Katz carefully placed the scroll into her pack. Another rumble of thunder sounded, making all glance to the ever-darkening sky. “We better get back soon or Jack will be furious.”
Will looked over to Alana, her long, dark hair blowing in the bluster of the coming storm. “Thank you for keeping them safe.”
She nodded at Will, smiled at Hannibal, and then she moved silently into the tree line, disappearing from view.
“So that was the Witch of the Wilds,” Hannibal said at Will’s elbow. “A pleasant young woman.”
“Yeah,” Will said blankly, watching the trees where she’d vanished. He wondered what it must feel like, being able to disappear into the woods and not worry about anyone following. She didn’t have to worry about Harrowings or First Enchanters. Templars hunted apostates, of course, and for some, for many, it was their only purpose. But Alana didn’t seem overly fearful of Hannibal. In fact, Hannibal had presented zero threat to her. He eyed the man at his side curiously. Why hadn’t Hannibal been more interested in an apostate mage roaming free? Wasn’t it his sacred duty to apprehend her kind? Was Hannibal so deep in his duty of ‘protecting’ Will that he was willing to sacrifice his actual, Chantry-given orders?
Hannibal caught him looking, and he tilted his head, lips working as if to ask a question of the younger man. A raindrop fell at that moment, splashing against the tip of the templar’s nose. He and Will both looked up to the sky as more drops, fat and cold, began rapidly falling. Close by, Zeller and Price were lamenting the rain, and Katz was ushering them forward.
“Let’s get out of here,” Katz said.
Hannibal looked back at Will. “Shall we?”
Will took a final look back at the trees where Alana had stood. He shook his head, raindrops flying free from the ends of his curls. “Let’s go.”