Fifty Shades of Grey Wardens

The White Fortress

Light filtering dully into Alistair's vision, fragmented and broken, as though reaching him through a thin sheen of water. The feel of a cool air, lapping at his skin and chasing itself playfully through his hair. An irregular clopping of horse's hooves upon hard earth, accompanied by the jolt and bump that came with the movement of a cart along uneven ground. Then, lastly, and least welcome, the scent of... ash?

The Grey Warden's eyes flickered open, resulting in a groan of dismay as the brightness of day preformed a sudden and unprecedented assault on his light-starved eyes. As he attempted to adjust, he found himself momentarily blinded, and flailed weakly- only to have his right arm caught in a firm grasp. Alistair's vision cleared then through sheer necessity, and he swung around to face his would-be attacker. The person he saw, however, was not quiet the ugly bandit with lank, greasy hair and several missing teeth that he had expected.

On the rickety wooden bench that was all the comfort afforded to cart drivers sat a woman. Dark shoulder length hair fell neatly over one eye, leaving the gently inquisitive deep brown orb half obscured. Slender of build and average in height, she was the picture of feminine elegance; or would have been, had it not been for the axe slung across her back, as well as the crushing grip with which she held Alistair's wrist. The knight withered somewhat, embarrassed both to have been about to strike a woman, and to have been stopped by her.

"You're awake then." She laughed, in a voice like silver and honey, light and sweet and strong all at once- a voice the young man recognised at once.

"You," He realised, as his mind, still addled by sleep, finally made the connection, bringing along with it memories of death and golden fire. "You saved me."

The woman released his wrist to hold up her hands in mock surrender. "Yes, that was me." However, Alistair had ceased to listen, for her movement had revealed her chest. Upon the rough leather tunic- an odd garment for a mage- was emblazoned a griffin, worked in fine detail as though captured mid-shriek; a symbol he was all too familiar with.

"You're... a Grey Warden."

Taken aback, the young woman followed his gaze until her own eyes rested upon the shape of silver thread. When she come across the source of his surprise, a fond smile twitched her lips. "I won't tell if you don't." She proclaimed, gesturing behind them to where the griffin insignia was once again clearly visible upon the front of a familiar rectangle of metal. Beside the shield lay Alistair's sheathed sword, and beside that, a large, unadorned wooden box. The sight of it sent pangs of distress through the knight's entire body.

"I'm... Sorry. About your friend I mean. I hear she was a good."

"She was." Then the man stiffened, detecting an irregularity. "Hold on... How do you know about her? She was made a Warden after contact was lost with everyone outside Ferelden."

"I'm a Warden. It's only natural that I'm informed of what's going on during a Blight."

"You knew? Weisshaupt knew?! Why didn't they send reinforcements? More Wardens, mages knights? People could have been saved, someone else could have-"

"Men were sent to provide aid. Healers, soldiers. All were turned back at the border. In the end... Only Riordan was allowed to enter Ferelden. I ...don't see him here. Does that mean...?"

The question seemed to hang heavily in the air, laughing at the man cruelly. Alistair shrunk away, suddenly guilty, his anger extinguished like sand on a fire.

"Riordan... died attempting to slay the Archdemon. We couldn't have killed it without his help."

"That is grave news. I met Riordan once, when he journeyed to the Anderfels. He seemed like a good man. A just man. I only wish the Grey Wardens had more like him."

"They did." Alistair murmured, as much to himself as the woman beside him, before turning away, abashed. His rescuer cast him a look that could have been either been accusatory or inquisitive, but diverted her gaze without a word. The silence that ensued between the two Wardens was thick, not hostile, but uncomfortable, awkward, as though something impolite had been said. Alistair kept his eyes turned away, watching the rugged, stone strewn countryside rumble passed, determined not to say anything more that might offend this woman who had saved him from being ravaged by darkspawn. Then a realisation came to him like a summer storm, so obvious that it had been staring him in the face all this time without raising so much as a flicker of suspicion. This was not the rolling golds and browns of the flat Orlesion countryside; it was harsh and desolate, dry as come, almost charred. It seemed devoid of life, save for the few wiry bushes that poked bravely up from small crevices in the rock.

Turning back to the woman beside him, Alistair gave her a level stare. She was concentrating so intently on the road that he was afraid that it might burst into flame- which, when he thought about it, was more plausible than it had first sounded.

"We aren't in Orlais anymore, are we?" He asked the side of her head. The Warden seemed relieved at the sudden distraction, and flashed him a grin. "You were asleep a long time.welcome to the Anderfels."

The Anderfels. Alistair looked about him once more with new eyes. He had expected it to be more... beautiful, he supposed, but it would have taken a special grade of idiot to call this 'beautiful'. It looked positively uninhabitable, a land carved from black stone and fire- or at least shaped by it, though it was hard to imagine this land as anything else, green and verdant and throbbing with life, or barren and cold, frozen with a sheen of icy white.

"It gets better." The young woman informed him, brazenly interrupting his thoughts. Looking back, Alistair saw she was pointing forwards. Directing his attention where she gestured, he realised they were nearing the top of the ridge they had been climbing the whole time he had been awake. Not sure what to expect the Warden craned his neck, trying to a first glance over the top. And then, so suddenly that he wasn't sure how he had missed it, they crested the incline, and Alistair's breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. For there, still some miles from the elevated position they currently occupied, sat a huge fortress, squatting like a sleeping golem upon the side of a mountain.

Weisshaupt dwarfed any castle Alistair had ever seen, Redcliffe looking like a boy's stick fort in comparison. Even Denerim's royal palace seemed to considerably shrink at the structure's colossal form. Between the journeying Wardens and the mighty fortress were several miles of downwards trekking, and then another similar straight, but up. The horse seemed strong and able, but all the same it did not appreciate the extra weight of a wooden carriage and two fully armoured warriors, and every so often one of them would get off and walk some way out of pity for the poor beast. Just as the steep ascent began to level off, the elegant monstrosity of the colossal fortress truly dawning upon the Ferelden Warden, the woman beside him put out a restraining hand. For a moment she simply stoid there, regarding Weisshaupt's enormous gate, a slight frown playing across her slim face.
"Before we go in..." She said, almost hesitant as she gave Alistair a sideways glance. "I know you, but you don't know me yet, do you."
It wasn't a question. The young warrior cast back his mind, and was surprised to discover that he hadn't even considered asking. Feeling foolish, and a little rude- after all, she had saved his sorry rear- he turned fully to face her, putting out a hand.
"Alistair Therein, previous Templar, Grey Warden of Ferelden."
"Tarja." She supplied, smiling at his formality, and taking the hand warmly. "Tarja . Previous Circle mage, Grey Warden of the Anderfels."
Alistair stiffened as he realised that if things had played out differently, he may have had to put this woman down as an abomination. The thought disturbed him, so he directed his attentions instead to the gate before them.
"Well, my lady Tarja, shall we?"
"We shall." The mage replied with mock formality, seemingly unaware of the young man's brief displeasure, and led him forwards towards the gaping entry way. It was only when they neared it that Alistair noticed she hadn't yet let go of his hand.