They’re more than a couple days away from the Circle, far enough to be out from under the long shadow of the templars, but Duncan keeps seeing his new recruit twitching out of the corner of his eye. He’s sure the young elf thinks he’s being surreptitious, because his gaze never darts around when Duncan is looking at him directly, but as soon as his attention is suitably diverted, the furtive movement of the poor fellow’s head is enough to give Duncan an ache in his own neck, just by watching. He’s pretty sure his recruit didn’t sleep the first day, either, and instead spent the night crouched at the mouth of his tent, staring out into the dark. Perhaps his Harrowing was more tortuous than he let on, for all Duncan heard it was the quickest ordeal in many long years.
“They won’t come after you,” he says at last, trying to be kind. “You’re to be a part of the Grey Wardens now, and they shan’t dishonor that.” They are walking alongside a field, sun shining hazily overhead, passing farmsteads on their way to Ostagar. Duncan has been setting a hard pace as they push onwards, but Lyall hasn’t complained yet.
“What?” asks Lyall, as he whips his head back from where he’d been craning it towards a copse of trees, almost tripping over his own feet. “Ser,” he adds belatedly, “sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“The Templars,” says Duncan patiently. “It’s regrettable what happened to your friend, but they’ll honor the agreement we have with the Circle, and the Rite of Conscription.”
“What?” asks Lyall again, brow beginning to crease. “Sorry, ser, I don’t think I understand - “
“You keep looking around like you’re expecting something to jump at you,” Duncan explains. Most of his recruits and fellow Wardens are older than this mage, fresh as he is out of his Harrowing. It’s been some time since he’s shared company with someone so young.
“Oh!” says Lyall, looking sheepish. “That’s - Well - ,” he rubs at the back of his neck and gives Duncan a small, unsure grin. “I haven’t been out of the Tower since I arrived there, and I arrived when I was very small, you see,” he says, hesitantly. He hikes his pack higher on his back. “So everything is just... very new. Ser.”
“Very new,” repeats Duncan.
“Yes,” says Lyall, growing in confidence when Duncan does not interrupt him. “The windows in the Circle tower are really only for light, and they can’t be opened, so you can’t really look out them,” he says, sketching the shapes of them in the air with his hands, “I just never knew everything was so different, outside! Wind, and stars, and real live birds not in cages! I’ve never walked so much in my life but it’s wonderful. I thought I caught sight of a herd of deer just a furlong back, and it’s - there’s so much space - there’s so much to see!” He stops to take a breath, eyes bright, spots of color high in his cheeks. “I just have so many questions, about everything,” he finishes, hands gesturing wildly at the trees, the sky, the tilled fields.
“Well,” says Duncan thoughtfully. He supposes there’s no harm in indulging a young person’s curiosity. It’s certainly better than he was expecting. “If you have questions, I suppose you can direct them towards me, before we reach Ostagar.”
Lyall’s face lights up like one of his lightning spells. “Oh! Thank you, ser!! In that case - um, I was wondering about your sword - “
At least, Duncan thinks to himself, the road to Ostagar will not be dull.
