Fifty Shades of Grey Wardens

The Grey Wardens

Pillars of white rose from a marble floor so smooth it could have been glass, like the trunks of great trees if ice, soaring up to a vaulted ceiling a hundred feet or more above.
The entire scene gave Alistair pause, and his steps faltered as he entered in though the great white oak doors. It contrasted so sharply with blasted wastelands he had left behind that it felt like stepping straight into the Golden City. Just... less golden.
As the Warden's echoing steps ceased to reverberate about the impressive chamber, a chuckle took its place. The noise was soft, but the white walls took it and tossed it about like a child's ball, until it sounded like there were twenty women laughing, rather than just the one.
"It does that to everyone, on their first time." Tarja smiled, approaching Alistair as the two Grey Wardens who stood guard upon the door, their armour shined to a point where its lack of use was obvious, pulled it closed with a roaring boom that seemed to shake the very stone. The mage's boots clicked upon the white surface as she came forward and quite calmly linked arms with her charge, before leading him onwards through the long entrance hall. The closeness made Alistair feel simultaneously awkward and reassured. A Warden he may be, but this place was alien to him, and it was comforting to know he has at least one friend here.
The two strolled leisurely down the length of the enormous room. Despite its impressive size and grandeur it wielded, the warrior noted that it was actually rather plain. When he put the query to Tarja, she smiled indulgently, as one might smile at an overly curious child. "The Wardens give up a large portion of their lifespan to serve the order. I suppose the lack of decor is to symbolise sacrifice."
By then, they had already reached a doorless archway that led deeper into the fortress. Corridors as wide as rooms shot off quite suddenly in both directions, and Alistair was amazed to find that he could not see to the end of either.
"Just how big is this place?" He marveled softly to himself, not fully expecting a reply.
"It would take you more than a day to visit all the rooms. Several more to find your way back here."
Both Wardens turned in surprise at the voice. There must have been hundreds of people within the white fortress, but the intrusion shocked them all the same. The elf who stood before was all but grey and white. He was tall for an elf, and elegant.  His hard eyes were shades of steel, and his long, slicked back hair was pure as snow. He was adorned in a simple tunic, breeches and boots, but the eagle sewn in delicate silver thread high up on his right arm marked him out as a man of some rank; whilst the real eagle perched upon his shoulder just above it just about described his rather unique interests.
"High Constable Zathwen!" Tarja exclaimed, her voice touched with a subtle note of delight. Alistair felt a stab of unexplainable jealousy, but brushed it away like an irritating insect.
"It's good to see you again, Tarja." The older Warden replied, a smile just barely detectable upon his lips, the steel of his eyes softening slightly. Alistair found the elf disconcerting, completely unreadable. Even his age; he could have been anywhere from twenty five to forty. "It's been far too long since you were in Weisshaupt. You know the it's hard reign in the First Warden on my own."
Even as he spoke, the Ferelden warrior knew the High Constable was watching him, reading his every reaction. He felt like he had his thoughts written across his face under that intense gaze.
"And you must be Alistair Therein," Zathwen continued, turning his face fully towards the younger man for the first time. "The only one living Warden to fight through a Blight. We've heard a lot about you at Weisshaupt." He cast his gaze about them in what seemed an almost theatrical gesture. "I see neither Warden-Commander Duncan nor Senior Warden Riordan. Do I take it..."
"Dead." Alistair replied bluntly. "I'm sorry." He added straight after, instantly feeling guilty for his abrupt response. Riordan had seemed a good man, and his death was sad, but the Warden-Commander had been like a father to him, and he refused to think about that man's death right now.
The High Constable nodded, accepting the statement without emotion. If he was saddened by their passing, he didn't show it. "'In death, sacrifice'. That is the most important line of the oath. There are few exceptions to whom this is not true. Riordan and Duncan made the biggest sacrifice, to stop the greatest threat. They died well. Would that we could all die with equal valor. However... I don't think it is them we have to thank for stopping the Blight. Is it?"
Alistair started. He had been so overwhelmed with all this that he had almost forgotten went he was here in the first place. A wash of guult hit him. "That's why I'm here... sir," He confirmed, realising for the first time that he had no idea how to address Zathwen. "The remains of Warden Lyna are in my care. We left her... them, in the courtyard."
"They are calling her the Hero of Ferelden." Zathwen murmured, looking of at something distant that Alistair could not see. His voice was soft, thoughtful. "A Dalish elf, no less. I imagine none of them saw that coming."
"Where you Dalish?"
Alistair froze as he realised he had spoken out of turn. Duncan had never been so strict, and Lyna had been as much his friend as she ever had his superior. But this was Weisshaupt, this was the High Constable. Maker, had he just questioned the High Constable? Hard eyes swung towards him, and in that moment the young warrior knew that that gaze was many times more terrifying than a Hurlock's axe. The elf stared at him for what felt like several ages, and by the time he finally moved, Alistair thought they might be in the Stone Age, or something similar.
The flicker of a smile that touched Zathwen's lips was not the reaction the Warden had expected. Averting his gaze a little, the taller man partly turned away before answering. "I was a city elf. A slums elf, from the Alienage in Kirkwall. Perhaps I would have joined the Dalish, given time, but the Maker chose me for the Wardens. Does that answer your question?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned fully around so that he was facing away down one of the long corridors. Gesturing for them to follow, he began to make his way towards a grand staircase.
"Come. I think now would be a good time for you to meet the First Warden."
----------------------------------------------
Alistair hadn't even known so many stairs existed. After the sixth flight, there was sweat running down into his eyes, and he had to remove his gauntlet to wipe it away. Every time they reached a new landing, he felt a wave of relief that they had reached the top- just before they began to climb the next. The worst thing was, neither Tarja nor Zathwen seemed in the slightest affected by the ascent.
As they neared an enormous door, which must have been at least as large as the entrance, and flanked by two Grey Wardens, the mage touched his arm lightly. Alistair stopped, blinking sweat away from his eyes, and looked to her.
"The First Warden is a little... eccentric. Please don't mind her." Tarja murmured close to his ear, so that no one else could hear. The man shivered as her warm breath brushed his skin, but nodded. The demand Warden, seeming satisfied by the response, took his arm once again, and led him forwards.
The room must have filled the entire top section of the tower. It was a single circular space, wide and open, its walls lined with bookcases, weapons, pieces of armour, and all manner of strange items besides. The centre of the room was just as cluttered. Stacks of papers rose up to Alistair's waist, filling the space until it looked like a white lake, with a single small island; a desk, pushed towards the back of the room. Behind it, a solitary figure bent almost double, peering at the letters and documents slung there as though in careless irritation. As the three Wardens entered, the gust of wind that accompanied the massive thoom of the closing door behind them scattering papers in every direction, she straightened. Blonde hair that might have been soft once, but was now lank and messy with lack of washing, fell almost to her waist, and green eyes that could have been carved from jade glinted with excitement. She couldn't have been less than forty, but in her childish elation, she looked much younger. The clothes she wore were almost the same as the High Constable's, with two major differences- the eagle upin her arm was gold, not silver, and the attire itself looked about as well cared for as a beggar's.
"Zathwen! Tarja! It's good you're here, I've worked out how we can gain more land in Orlais!"
"We don't need more land in Orlais, Reiyna." Zathwen muttered in a tone that suggested they had been here before. The eagle perched upon his shoulder squawked in what sounded like agreement (which Alistair found more a little worrying, but decided better than to voice his opinion because of the look the bird was giving him).
"You're so boring..." Reiyna murmured, but her voice had lost some of its vehemence, probably because her gaze had fallen across Alistair. "And who is this?" She inquired, her voice juddering irregularly as she fairly bounced through the papers, tossing them this way and that carelessly. The warrior thought he detected a slight movement from his side, as though Tarja intended to move in front of him, but she seemed to rethink the reaction and stayed as she was- though he felt her tighten a little about his.
"This is Alistair Therein, the only surviving Grey Warden of Ferelden." Zathwen stated loudly, but the First Warden seemed only to be half listening. She was far too busy inspecting him from every angle, as closely as possible, with caused both him and Tarja to shift uncomfortably.
"Therein?" Reiyna grinned, staring into Alistair's eyes at a distance that made him squirm. "Then you must be Maric's rumoured bastard. Not so much a rumour afte-."
Before she could even finish her sentence, the great door crashed open, scattering yet more papers. Three of four of them jumped on shock, and the eagle screamed its displeasure, flapping great grey wings. High Constable Zathwen simply turned his head to look over the most recent arrival.
Through the door stumbled a Warden. His armour was tarnished and dirty, and he sweating heavily, his breath coming in irregular bursts. On a normal day he might have been handsome, but with his blue eyes wild and blonde hair plastered to his forehead, he simply looked desperate.
"F-First Warden..." he stuttered, hardly able to even force the words from his throat. "Darkspawn... There are darkspawn attacking Val Royeaux!"