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Chapter Text

“I convinced myself that I would never find you when suddenly I saw you…”

Elinore

The bustle of activity throughout the keep did nothing to mask the feeling of emptiness. Troops throughout Highever are gathering here in Castle Cousland, as my father decided to answer King Cailan’s call to arms against the Blight. My brother Fergus himself is supposed to lead the main body of our army while our father and a smaller group would accompany Lord Howe and his men, the latter which would be arriving tomorrow due to some kind of delay.

 Watching everyone jog around, preparing for the march, I feel a pang of envy. I should be going with them. My father might have agreed, since he was the one responsible for my tutelage in the art of war. The problem is that my mother would not let me do anything that a lady should not. Which is infuriating. I would have thrown a fit if I was younger, but I knew better.

It’s not like I’m not having a busy morning, either. What is supposed to be just a small errand to look for Fergus and tell him that he will be leaving before our father turned into being ordered around to look for my Mabari, Interceptor, who is currently terrorizing the kitchens.

I heard a loud bark behind me and I turned to watch my other brother, Evain, running toward me with his black Mabari, Shadow, at his heels. His curly black hair was on his face, and his dark eyes shone with glee.

Evain is the second eldest in the family, and it was the reason why he was not allowed to join the troops either. He was to act as Teyrn while our father, and our eldest brother were away. Every lord and lady we’ve met in our lifetime mentioned that he is the one who looks the most like our father, except for the curly hair. That’sinherited from our grandmother.

He brandishes a rolled-up scroll to my face with a cheeky smile. “Elissa wrote back,” he told me. “Finally!”

As the youngest child, my twin sister Elissa wasn’t expected to wed until I did, but somehow she had so many suitors that she finally settled down… in Dragon’s Peak of all places. She married Bann Sighard’s son, Lord Oswyn. It was a good match, and neither of our parents objected to it. It did frustrate my mother, though, because no suitors approached me for marriage yet – except Nathaniel Howe, but I let them know quickly that I would rather be a spinster than marry someone like him.

Luckily Lord Howe laughed it all off.

I don’t really mind not having suitors. Unlike Elissa, with her glossy dark ringlets and bright green eyes, I have unruly waves in a messy bun and plain blue eyes. Besides, she is the perfect lady, and I am not good with anything but my swords. Now that she’s living near Denerim though, I can’t help but miss her. Well, at least she still has mountains surrounding her. Huh.

Evain watches me as I read the letter, which was just Elissa talking about the different lords and ladies who visited during the past weekends and the bolts of cloth that she purchased during a recent visit to Denerim.

Nothing about the unrest throughout Ferelden since King Cailan decided to fight against the Blight while it’s still young.

“I miss her,” I told Evain.

He nods, not needing any words to let me know that he feels the same way. “Where are you going anyway?”

I shrug. “Interceptor is terrorizing the servants in the kitchens again,” I tell him.

“Let me help you,” he replies. We begin to walk to the kitchen together. “There are a pair of Grey Wardens recruiting here. Warden Commander Duncan himself is doing most of the scouting. I heard some people discussing Roland joining.”

Ser Roland Gilmore, the red-haired young knight we grew up with, used to give my sister the moon eyes. He started avoiding us when Elissa got married. He is one of the best knights in Castle Cousland – no, in Highever – and he is the leader of the castle guards since the older men and the veterans are off to fight the Blight.

Joining the Wardens would be more interesting than being married off to some lord or another. Maybe I could ask the Warden Commander or his companion to take me with them. I could fight almost as well as Evain, anyway.

“Well, I suppose that you had a more interesting morning,” I mutter. “Mother is with Lady Landra and Dairren. You do remember them, right?”

“Bann Loren’s wife and son. How can I forget?” Evain makes a face, remembering the wild-haired lady’s advances on him when she got too drunk. I think that was during the spring salon a couple years ago. She also tried to make a match between Dairren and I.

Dairren. Ugh.

Alistair

Castle Cousland sure is busy. Or maybe that’s just because almost everyone is off to fight the Blight. Families are seeing the warriors off, the Teyrn’s son – Fergus? Angus? – was leading the force. Northerners sure are a grumpy lot, but the Teyrn was nice enough to meet Duncan and me when we arrived.

The only thing that made me uncomfortable is the fact that he seemed to recognize me.

I eventually find myself sitting in the small room assigned to me, stretching my legs after the long journey from Ostagar. It sure was colder here than in Ostagar and Redcliffe. Duncan says that it’s because we’re in the mountains, but still… not a nice place to live in, in my opinion. He also told me along the way that the other parts of Highever are slightly warmer, especially the small coastal plains a little to the north.

The silence eventually started to get to me, and I go out for a walk. We would be here for a while, so I might as well as see the sights. At least this feels more like an adventure than going to the Circle Tower with Gregor and Duran. Too many mages glaring at former Templar me would definitely not be good for my health. Nope, definitely not.

People in the keep greet me as “Ser Warden.” It has a nice ring to it.

It’s smack dab in themiddle of spring, and I’m dressed for winter. No wonder they say that people in Highever are hardy folk. A few of the guards nodded to me when they saw the Grey Warden insignia on my armor as my wandering feet took me to the northern wall, which is right near the edge of a cliff facing the Waking Sea, raging against the grim grey horizon and the beach. It was a pretty sight, I guess, though I’d rather not go for a swim there. I’d probably be frozen with some bits falling off after a minute or two.

“Lovely scene, isn’t it?” someone says behind me.

I nearly jump out of my skin as I turn to see a woman watching me. She’s probably my age, or a little younger, and definitely beautiful. Beautiful, and dangerous. She has this pale, delicate face that seemed to glow, framed by bits of dark hair falling off a messy bun. Her eyes are like those sapphires I once saw in some marketplace or another. She’s probably a daughter of one of the knights or something, since she’s dressed in light armor and armed with a pair of swords across her back.

“Sorry, please don’t freak out,” she quickly says, taking a step back like I’m a startled puppy or something.

“No, not freaking out. Most definitely not,” I tell her.

“Good,” she says, and proceeds to stand up right next to me, her eyes on the sea. “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you one of those knights from the other cities?”

“Uh, no. I actually came here riding on a griffin that breathes fire,” I tell her.

She cracks up and shakes her head. “Ah, you’re that Warden!” Her eyes drift to the insignia on my armor, and her smile widens. “I should have known. Please tell me you’re the Warden Commander or something and kidnap me when you leave!”

I strike up a pose and raise an eyebrow. “Do you want to be ravaged by a Warden Commander, then?” I hope I my voice sounds like a purr. “I’m afraid Duncan will knock that notion off your head, My Fair Lady.”

“Ugh, no! I’d rather keep my dignity intact, thank you very much!” Her eyes sparkle when she smiles, and I hope she does it a lot more. “It must be more interesting than being married off to someone just because I’m a woman.”

I’ve heard of many knight families marrying daughters off to other knights. “I suppose it is more interesting, if you put it that way,” I say. “It’s not exactly as glamorous as you might, think, though. We wake up, eat breakfast, and get hacked to pieces. I’ve suggested forming a circle and dancing to drive them away before, you know.”

“You’ve never tried wearing dresses to complete the dance, have you?” she asks, gazing at the sea again. There’s this distant look in her face that keeps nagging me, telling me that I should know her. “You know, I haven’t even asked your name yet.”

“I’m Alistair, most junior Grey Warden at your service.” I bow to her with a cheeky grin.

She turns to me so quickly that I’m afraid she might get hurt. Her blue eyes lock onto my face as they widen. “I’m Elinore Cousland, my good Ser Alistair. If I may ask, have you ever been to Redcliffe?”

With those six words, I suddenly feel stupid.

Elinore

The first time our parents deemed us fit to accompany them to Redcliffe, Elissa and I were seven. Evain was eight, and Fergus was fifteen. It was a year or two before Arl Eamon married, and we were invited to dine with the Arl for Satinalia. It was a particularly boring affair, as Satinalia in Highever can get a little wild. The other noble children there weren’t so interesting so I found myself wandering the estate after dinner.

I met the Arl’s fosterling in the library. His name is Alistair, and we became sort-of friends. He was eight, or so he said, and told me a lot of things about female knights and the Grey Wardens. We talked a lot with each other over the next two days, and I threw a tantrum when we were about to leave.

I never saw him again after that, because when we visited again two years later, the Arl mentioned that he was sent to train with the Tempars at the Chantry.

Now, this Warden I found on the wall did resemble him, though his red-gold hair is cropped short. Even his hazel eyes sparkle the same way Alistair’s did when we were kids. I don’t know how that particular memory survived for twelve years, but I’m glad it did, because when Mystery Warden Hunk finally introduced himself, I nearly choked on my own spit.

“I’m Elinore Cousland, my good Ser Alistair,” I finally manage to say. “If I may ask, have you ever been to Redcliffe?”

It’s his turn to be surprised, and his eyes widen as I finish speaking. It takes him a moment to reply, and when he does, he sounds breathless. “Elinore Cousland. I should’ve known.” His cheeky smile returns and he leans a little toward me. “Yep, I’ve been in Redcliffe. Bet no one can miss my charming face, after all. I hope you don’t threaten men with castration anymore, or else I’ll be running off screaming back to Ostagar.”

Of course, I wasn’t trained for combat yet when we first met, but I did have the habit of threatening boys back then. Of course, gullible fellow children that they were, they all believed me.

“Nah,” I tell him. “Castration lost its appeal years ago. How about you? Do you still spark debates about the taste of griffin meat?”

“Nope, but I never did get my answer,” he tells me. “Andraste’s holy knickers, I never expected to meet you again.”

“I bet you forgot that I actually live here.”

“Well, uh, yes. That’s one reason.”

We catch up over the next hour, with him telling stories about being bullied during his Templar training and me telling him that the most exciting thing in my life is being trained to defend myself. I don’t ask him about why he was sent away, and he does not ask about life as a Teyrn’s daughter.

Evain finds me still talking to Alistair after lunch and tells me that our mother is looking for us. He stares at Alistair curiously. The Warden shrugs and smiles. “Go on, Lady Cousland, you can find me later if I haven’t bored you to death yet.”

I smile and pat his arm before we part. Evain leads the way down and stops at the foot of the stairs. He crosses his arms in mock-disapproval. “Flirting with a fit and young Grey Warden, my dearest sister? I never thought that you had it in you.”

“I’m not flirting with the Warden,” I snap, though a big grin forms on my face. “You don’t seriously remember Alistair?”

Evain blinks. “Wait, you don’t mean to say that he’s the scrawny boy from Redcliffe who follows you around like some adorable puppy?”

“He wasn’t scrawny, and he did not follow me around.”

Evain just laughs as we walk on. We find our parents in their room, our mother standing by her mirror, our father by the bed. He smiles when enter.

I can’t bear the fact that he’s off to fight the Blight tomorrow. Smiling back is difficult. “You called for us?” I ask.

Our father nods as Evain closes the door. He clears his throat and takes his place beside our mother, wrapping an arm around her waist. “The Blight is upon us, as you both know very well. I myself will be leaving with Rendon and his men tomorrow morning to join King Cailan’s forces. If you must know, I am not completely sure if you are both aware that Fergus and I might not return alive after the battle.”

“Father, surely you can’t say that,” Evain says, making a face. “I have not even married yet.”

I see faint amusement in our father’s eyes, but I have never seen how old he truly is until now. “Ah, you have gotten into the topic that I wished to discuss,” our father says. “I might not be here to see the day that you will be wed – to someone who loves you, and that you love, I pray to the Maker – which is why I am here to give you the heirlooms that we planned to give you on your wedding day.”

“Father, don’t speak like this,” I say, finally finding my voice. “You’ll return after the battle.”

“It will not be an assurance, child.” Our father’s eyes have never been so sad before. He smiles and heads to the small chest by their bed. “We should at least prepare for the worst.”

Chapter Text

“Darkness exists to make light truly count.”

Evain

I wake up to the sound of Shadow barking.

It’s still well into the night, and I am groggy as I take note of my surroundings. I sit up, hearing more as my mind became more and more alert. People were shouting outside, and I could hear the unmistakable sound of weapons clashing.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Shadow stopped barking long enough to give me an understanding look before continuing his barks. I roll out of my bed, alarmed by the sounds of fighting. Iulling on the nearest clothing in reach when the door slams open.

A warrior peers in, wild-eyed in fear. “My Lord! We are under attack!” he cries out as an arrow strikes through his armor.

With a growl, Shadow leaps out of the room, leaving me to grab my sword and shield, plus my emergency pack – just in case. I’ll have to get armor later. I step outside, where our guards were fighting unfamiliar warriors.

I join the fray with Shadow, saving the nearest guard’s life with a swing of my blade. A nearby door bursts open, and my mother steps out garbed in armor. She nods to me, and we finish off the rest of the attackers.

“Rendon Howe! I should have known,” she cries out as she examines a swordsman’s shield. “These is the sigil of Amaranthine.”

I remember my history lessons, of the Howe family being in conflict with my grandfather during the Orlesian occupation. It seems like they haven’t forgotten.

The entrance to our sleeping quarters open, and Elinore steps in, her armor stained with blood, Interceptor hot on her heels. Behind her is Alistair the Warden. Both of them look like they’ve been fighting longer than we were. My wild-eyed sister turns to our mother. “Who did this? Where’s Father?” she roared.

“I don’t know where Bryce is,” our mother admits tiredly. “You will be telling me what you are doing with a man at this late hour after all this is over, young lady.”

Elinore turns red, exchanges a glance with her companion, and turns back to us with a serious glint in her eyes. I realize what she is thinking of. “Oriana and Oren…” I gasp.

“Maker help us, please let them be alive,” our mother moans as we run to Fergus’ room.

I kick the door open, an arrow comes flying toward us. I dodge, but it nicks my cheek. Anger clouds my mind, and I run into the room, stabbing the archer before he manages to fire another arrow. I could hear the others fighting around me, but I focus on the pair of warriors running to me. I duck to dodge one’s blow, and lash out with my sword to strike the other in the knee, sending him down. My mind narrows down into thinking only of the battle, staying well away from the implications this may have regarding the people who own this room.

Time seems to stop as I turn and realize that all the enemies in the room are dead. Two other corpses lie on the floor too, and my blood runs cold.

Oriana and Oren.

Andraste’s tears.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m vaguely aware of anything but the sister-in-law who taught me more about the lands beyond Ferelden, and the nephew who shared my interest in songs and tales of adventure. I hear Alistair murmuring condolences, and our mother uttering a prayer.

Elinore began to sob. “What kind of monster would do this? They were helpless!”

“They are not taking hostages. They mean to kill everybody,” our mother whispered.

At those words, anger finally surges through my surprise and anguish. “I’ll make everyone responsible for this pay. I swear to the Maker, even if it takes me decades – lifetimes – I will hunt them all down and make them pay.”

Elinore nods and wraps an arm around my waist. She wipes off her tears on the back of her hand and sniffs. “Let’s go. We need to find any other survivors.”

Our mother nods. “Meet us at the end of the quarters. Elinore, take your emergency pack. Ser Warden, please stay with her in case you get attacked. Evain, we must see if Lady Landra still lives.”

We split up. Our mother and I jog through the hallway and I throw the door open, shield raised at the ready. An arrow lodges itself on the wooden surface, knocking me back. Before I could move forward, the archer was already dead, my mother’s sure aim taking care of the matter. I knock down the swordsman with my shield, giving my mother time to rush into Lady Landra’s quarters. Shadow rips off the man’s throat.

I stay outside as I hear her weeping.

Loud barks herald Elinore’s arrival. Her mabari yips at Shadow, apparently some form of communication. Our mother steps out of Lady Landra’s room, head held high. “We need to get to the treasury,” she announces.

“The treasury?” I ask. “What are we going to do in there?”

“We’re retrieving the family sword and shield. Without those, Rendon will never truly get his hands on Highever.”

Of course. The family sword and shield are ancient treasures, not just symbols of our family, but of Highever as a whole. We leave the quarters and run through Castle Cousland, my eyes tearing up from the scent of fire and smoke. Soldiers fight soldiers, and the screams of pain and fury wafts through the air.

We exit into a courtyard, and cross it into a mesh of paths leading to the guard post which protects the treasury. It was deserted, but thankfully the treasury door seems intact. Our mother unlocks it and steps in. We wait outside, ready for an attack.

Minutes pass in silence.

Our mother steps out with the sword and shield in question. “Evain, darling, it would be more fitting if you use these.”

The sword’s balance is good, better than my current weapon. The shield is bigger but lighter, which will take some getting used to. We step out and right into a battle raging just a few paths away. Elinore joins the fray, throwing knives into enemy warriors’ backs before grabbing her twin swords.

We find ourselves into the entrance hall after a few more small fights, guarded by a number of warriors while the rest escort servants, children, and the elderly through the exit in the larder.

My leg was burning in pain, but I threw myself into the clash without any second thoughts while our soldiers tried to seal the entrance. Roland Gilmore approached us, hacking his way through the enemies. “Teyrna Eleanor!”

“Roland! Where’s Bryce?” Our mother seems to be holding in her fear as we dispatch the last of the Amaranthine warriors.

Roland shakes his head. “He left to look for you, My Lady. He was with the Warden Commander.”

“Duncan was with him? Where were they going?”

“They wanted to see if you left through the servant tunnels.”

Our mother nod, as if that settled everything. “Very well. We will be heading for the ladder. Maker protect us all.”

Elinore

We eventually reach the kitchens, where all non-combatant survivors are gathered with some warrior escorts. One of them approach us with a grim look. “The Teyrn is in the larder, badly injured. We do not want to leave without him.”

“Bryce would not wish for you to be killed simply because he cannot fight. Go on, move,” our mother barked, the stress of the situation getting the better of her.

Our father was lying in a pool of blood, softly murmuring encouragements for the sudden rush of survivors fleeing through the exit, some also stop to ask for forgiveness – because who would leave their wounded lord without being forced to? With a cry, our mother rushes to him, hand pressing against one of his numerous wounds.

“Father, what have they done to you?” Evain growls, kneeling before him.

“Age got the best of me. I am too old to fight,” our father admits sadly. “I was struck by a warrior and would have bled out there, but Duncan found me.”

“I’ll kill him!” Evain yells.

“Where is the Warden Commander?” I ask.

Father turns to me. “He should be here shortly.”

As all the survivors pass through the exit, Duncan himself appears, blood-stained and sporting numerous cuts. “I’ve made sure that no soldiers will be arriving here to surprise us,” he says grimly. “I’ve bought us enough time to leave. Alistair, are you ready?”

“Yes, but the Teyrn…” the Warden in question begins.

“I won’t survive the standing, if that’s what you mean,” our father says.

“That’s not true,” I whisper. “You’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will,” our mother growls. “We’ll find you a healer once we get out.”

Our father laughs. It is pained, and that terrifies me. “I won’t make it out of the tunnels alive, my dear. If only your words could make it so.”

“Father, please, don’t say that,” I tell him.

“We will all leave for Ostagar,” Evain agrees.

Our mother’s face looks grim. “It seems like it will not be possible. Fergus and Elissa must know about this.” She turns to Duncan. “Warden Commander, if I may ask this as a favor… could you take my children with you?”

“If you think we’re leaving without you, think again,” I blurt out.

“You will,” our mother whispers sadly. “My duty is here, with Bryce. I can buy you some time to escape with the others. So I ask once more, Warden Commander, will you take them with you? Invoke the Right of Conscription if you must, but keep my children safe.”

“Very well. I came here looking for a recruit, and I shall return to Ostagar with two. But I promise you, Lady Eleanor, I will take care of your children.”

“Mother! You can’t!” I don’t care if I’m crying. Even if the last time I cried was when I was twelve.

“Howe will pay for this, I promise,” Evain said, face hardening into a stone mask. He takes my hand comfortingly. “We will survive for you. We will seek vengeance. Fergus and Elissa will know. They have a right to. Elinore, our duty is to Highever, and we cannot do our duty if we’re dead.”

“Very well,” I whisper.

“Evain, Ser Alistair, please take care of our Pup,” our father whispers. “Make your marks upon the world, young ones.”

Evain nods. Alistair bows his head. “Yes,” they both say. “We will.”

“We will find justice, Father,” I swear.

We hear shouts and footsteps outside, and Duncan approaches us. “Let’s go.”

Arl Rendon Howe should pray to the Maker for mercy, for when we meet again, we shall have none.

Chapter Text

“True tests never end…”

Alistair

It’s been three weeks since we fled Castle Cousland, and our small party is as silent as a funeral. We did see Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland sacrifice themselves to buy all other survivors some time to escape, after all. It’s enough to upset everyone. Even me.

We make camp near a small stream. We’re well away from the mountain road, keeping to a small path. A few survivors are still with us, making their way to Denerim in a roundabout manner - southeast through Dragon's Peak. The rest already departed for the villages and freeholds they came from. Their homes.

Home. That word still feels odd to me.

Duncan leaves to hunt with the dogs and Evain, who seems to feel the need to vent out his anger and pain upon the animals around us every night. I can’t blame him, though. I barely knew his parents and maybe talked to them once – when we arrived – but I’m not exactly happy with their fates either. Why exactly would the Maker let good people like those die like that? Betrayed by their oldest and closest friends?

If the Maker truly was good, hey, I probably wouldn’t even be born, anyway.

I find myself sitting awkwardly beside Elinore, who seems a little lost. If I were in her place, I probably would feel that way too. She seems a far cry from the young woman who showed me around her home the night that it was taken away from her. I want to give her a hug, but she might castrate me. Castration is worse than swooping. I prefer to keep my manly bits, thank you very much.

“I suppose I got my wish in the end, then,” she finally says. “I wanted to run away with the Wardens, and here we are. I wonder if the Maker is punishing me for wishing more than what I already have.”

“No, don’t think that,” I tell her. “If that were the case, I would’ve been reduced to wearing a dress and dancing for a living.”

That makes her smile. Finally. The teary sensitive Elinore of late was starting to scare me. “I’ve mourned enough. They wouldn’t want this. They’d rather see us keep moving forward. And I’d like to see you in a dress. And dance for me.”

I smile back. “It’s not so easy to make me bend to your whims, woman!”

She flicks her wrist, producing one of the knives hidden in her armor. She mentioned them to me in Castle Cousland. Apparently, my old friend loves wielding two swords and keeping throwing knives concealed in case of emergency. “We’ll work on that, Ser Warden.” Her smile melts away, and she tucks her knife away again. “Have you ever lost someone important to you?”

I stare at her. I don’t want to tell her exact details yet, since I might send her running away while screaming… or she might not believe me. Either way, bad-itty bad. “I never met either of my parents. I think Arl Eamon was friends with my father. That’s why he raised me. My mother died of childbirth, so no chances of meeting her either. I don’t want her to come back from the dead and haunt me whenever I forget to wash my clothes or when I’m too lazy to take a bath.”

She shudders and laughs. “That would be a nightmare,” she tells me. “But I’d really like you to dance for me someday.”

“Maybe, if you could teach me,” I tell her. Dancing is not part of Templar training. Though seeing  a thousand heavily-armed and muscular men dancing would probably instill fear into the hearts of foes. Maybe we can combine it with singing. I remember my former roommate, Cullen, singing. Singing and dancing muscular men might burn someone’s brain and cause foes to surrender. So maybe it was a bad choice not to include it. Yes, the image in my head is that good.

“Of course. But not now. We need to get you a pretty dress first.”

Luneth

The last thing I remember before the darkness was the fire.

When my sister told me about her Harrowing last year, she made it sound so easy. I’m not sure if she was trying to boost my confidence or reassure me, but it didn’t work. Meeting a dead mage’s spirit that turns into a mouse? No problem.  Dueling a Spirit of Valor? Not bad. Answering a Sloth Demon’s riddles to teach some transformations to aforementioned mouse? Even non-intellectuals can do it. Fighting a Rage Demon? It ain’t a big deal.

Finding out that your trusty mouse spirit friend is actually a Pride Demon and tries to kill you? Now then, I thought I was going to die. All I could remember during our fight was the fire and pain.

Then, I wake up in bed. Jowan, my friend and fellow apprentice, hovers over me, dark hair falling all over his face. I hate being surprised, and I almost blast him with a fireball.

“You dimwit!” I tell him as I sit up. I realize that I’m still wearing my grey apprentice robes instead of sleepwear. How odd. I brush away a lock of hair from my face as I regard my friend. “Jowan. You should know better than waking me up like that!”

Jowan grins, and it’s so tempting to just smack him right then and there. “Sorry.” He doesn’t look like it.

“One of these days, I will skin you alive.” My head hurts, and I rub it. “Ugh, what happened?”

“They carried you in this morning. I’m glad you’re alive.” He shakes his head. “I’ve heard of apprentices who never came back from the Harrowing. What happened?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” I mutter. “But you know what? It was… harrowing.”

“Come on,” he begs. “Just a hint?”

I shake my head and reflect his grin. “You know, I really shouldn’t. But fine. I had to enter the Fade, defend yourself from demons, and if one fo them possesses you? They kill you!”

He nods in understanding. “So they test our strength of wills to resist becoming abominations? And now you get to move in to better quarters. I envy you. I hope they call me for my Harrowing soon.”

“Any day now, of course,” I tell him. To be honest, I think Jowan has better control of his powers than me. I’ve set my bedsheets on fire multiple times before.

His grin falls. “I’ve been here longer than you and your sister. Sometimes I wonder if they don’t want to test me… They might turn me into a Tranquil.”

“You worry too much,” I tell him as I pull on my boots and stand.

“I’m sorry.” Still doesn’t look like it. He turns away. “Irving wants to see you as soon as you woke up. Must be something to do with your Harrowing. But whatever it is, best not to keep him waiting.”

Some of the girls in the quarters are giggling and pointing at me as I shuffle into one of the bathrooms. No time for an actual bath, but I change into my cleanest robes – also terribly ruffled, of course – and try to flatten my wildly curly red hair with some water. I tried using magic before, and ended up coating my head with frost instead.

Not a pleasant experience.

My grey eyes are swolen and a little bloodshot, but there’s nothing I can do about it either. Hopefully I would bump into Nineve before I meet Irving and annoy her enough to get her healing magic working.

Whispers follow me as I walk through the rest of the Apprentice Quarters. While some are understandably about my Harrowing, I hear word about blood magic too. Apparently, someone in our tower is suspected of dabbling with it. Which is badder than bad.

I bump into a couple of Senior Enchanters along the way, and one of them even explains more about the Fraternities – not that I’m interested in joining any for now.

I even bump into some Chantry fanatic apprentices who pray daily for their “curse” of magic to be removed… when it can be seen as an opportunity to do good.

When I finally reach Irving, he is deep into an argument with Knight-Commander Greagoir and a pair of strangers. I rub my eyes in surprise when I realize that one of them is a fair-haired dwarf with a sparse beard and thick armor. The other one is tall. A very, very, tall human with unkempt dark hair and an even wilder beard.

“It seems like someone’s here to see you, First Enchanter,” he booms, cutting the argument short. Greagoir threatens to continue the conversation – or was it an argument – at a later time and stalks out.

“Uh, hello,” I mumble.

“Ah, our new brother in the circle. Hello, child.” Irving smiles. He never did scowl when ‘Lona or I are around.

They all turn to look at me, and the dwarf cocks his head in curiosity. “First Enchanter, is this the young new mage that you speak of?” Judging by his voice, he’s barely older than Solona and Nineve.

“Yes, this is he.” Irving motions to the two strangers. “This is Gregor, Senior Grey Warden.” He nods to the tall man. Then he turns to the dwarf. “This is Duran, one of their newer recruits.”

“Uh, pleased to meet you?” My voice came out as a squeak. Wardens! In the tower! Solona is fascinated by the tales of their heroic feats.

“You did hear about the trouble to the south, correct?” he continues. “Many of their comrades are sent all over Ferelden to recruit, and our friends here have come to join the king’s army at Ostagar.

I did hear words about a Blight a few weeks ago and feel myself shudder. “I’d like to have a chance to defend Ferelden,” I tell him.

Gregor laughs. “You know, lad, we need all the help we can get, and that includes the Circle. Your power would be an asset – especially against hordes of darkspawn. We need to drive them away.”

“Gregor,” Duran scolds. “Irving already said that this is supposed to be a happy day for him! Do stop that.”

“You worry him too much,” Irving scolds him. “Your Harrowing is now behind you, Luneth, and your phylactery is on its way to Denerim. You are now officially a mage within the Circle of Magi.”

My phylactery. My blood preserved since I first arrived, so I can be hunted if ever I turn apostate. I did consider it before, but hearing Anders rant about the Circle and his multiple attempts to escape? Nevermind.

I am presented with a new staff and a ring with the Circle’s insignia, and robes are apparently sent to my new quarters. Irving pointedly tells me not to discuss the Harrowing to any apprentice… probably remembering that Solona blatantly gave me the details of her own.

Heck, having relatives in the same Circle is not really allowed, but apparently Solona threw a fire-hurling fit when we were kids, since we were taken away at the same time.

Irving asks me to escort the Wardens to their quarters. He promises that the rest of my day will be mine to spend.

I nod and leave, the two Wardens walking behind me. Duran nods to me. “You must be very skilled, to be inducted in your order at such a young age.”

“I’m eighteen,” I tell him. “We usually take our Harrowing between that age, and twenty.”

“Ah, I am a little older than twenty,” the dwarf admits.

“Your teacher is quite impressed with you,” Gregor says.  He smiles an strokes his beard thoughtfully. “You would make a good Warden – if the Templars permit us. Duncan wants at least one from your Circle, though at least two or three more won’t hurt either. As long as you don’t scare our poor Alistair.”

We reach their quarters and they say their goodbyes. I exit and bump into Jowan.

I scowl. “What exactly are you doing here?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your lessons?”

He looks nervous, so I drop my surly attitude. “I – I need to talk to you. Remember what we, er, discussed earlier?”

“Well, yeah?” When he does not reply, I cross my arms. These are the times that I wish I had Solana’s creativity with Primal Magic and breathe fire on him. “You’re starting to scare me.”

He motions for me to follow him, and I do.

We find ourselves in the chapel, where the newest – and youngest – Chantry initiate, Lily, was tidying up after the morning service. She smiles at me. I can’t help but smile back, though all the need for this secrecy is starting to drive me mad. “Alright, what’s happening here?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“I told you that I, uh, met a girl a couple months back, right?” Jowan begins.

I vaguely remember ‘Lona turning all mother hen when she heard about it. “Oh. Oh. An initiate? Jowan, you know that’s forbidden, right? Lily, my condolences.”

“Very funny.” Jowan never did understand humor.

“No, seriously, I’m happy for the two of you and all, but what in Andraste’s exploding feces is this about?”

“Well, they’re planning to turn me tranquil. That’s why I haven’t been put through my Harrowing yet. You know what that means, right? They’ll take away who I am. My hopes, dreams, fears? My love? I won’t be able to feel anything. I won’t be me anymore.”

I clench my fists. I know exactly what happens when a mage is made tranquil. It’s a fate worse than death. You lose your humanity, end up as an empty shell. “Wait, wait. How did you find out about this? What should we do?” Jowan is annoying, but he’s my friend.

“I saw the documents on Greagoir’s table, authorizing the Rite on Jowan. The First Enchanter even signed it already.” Lily’s face falls, and she looks down to hide the tears glistening in her eyes.

I remember the rumors about Jowan being a blood mage. Preposterous, but sometimes people tend to believe such rumors. Even when unproven. No wonder they are afraid of inducting Jowan into the Circle.

“It’s not safe for me here anymore. I need to escape, destroy my phylactery. Lily should come with me. We can finally live our own lives. Please give us your word that you’ll help, and we’ll tell you our plans.”

“I need to… think about this first,” I finally say. Knowing that your friend is about to be stripped of what makes him himself is one thing. Being asked to help him escape the Tower with his lover is another. “Meet me in my quarters in an hour, and I’ll give you my answer.”

With that, I leave them to finally acquaint myself with my new quarters. I was to share them with a couple other mages, who turn out to be Solona and Nineve themselves.

Solona, my dear elder sister – just for two years! – throws her arms with a squeal, and I get a mouthful of her silver hair. I keep telling her to let it grow long, but she always keeps it at shoulder-length. She pulls herself away and looks up at me, amber eyes gleaming in pride. “I knew you will make it! You don’t know how proud I am of you, Luneth.”

Nineve Surana, petite even by elf standards and the most skilled Healer among the younger mages – if sufficiently enraged, that is – stands by the door, arms crossed over her purple robes. Her dark hair, as usual, is braided down to her waist. “Congratulations. Now we can bother you day and night again. Oh, and since I still am quite friendly with the some of the Circle staff, we also got you a bigger variety of robes than the drab green and yellow ones most prefer.”

“Thank you,” I tell them both. Finally, I do feel like a Mage of the Circle, instead of an apprentice. I break into a smile.

Chapter Text

“We’re leaving now, and never go home.”

Luneth

After lunch, Solona and Nineve leave me alone to start their lessons with new apprentices. I stay in my room, dressed in one of my brand new robes – blue trimmed with silver – which Solona herself picked for me before she departed.

I start scouring the shelves for some book to read when the door opens and Jowan slips in. He still looks worried and afraid as he sits on Solona’s desk without invitation. “It’s been an hour,” he says. “Are you going to help us, then?”

“Fine,” I tell him. But I’ll be telling Irving about this. Jowan is my friend, but I have to know too, whether I’m doing the right thing. “Tell me your plan, but make it quick. Just make sure it’s a good plan. I don’t want us pulling an Anders.”

“Lily can get us to the repository, but there are two locks in the phylactery chamber which can only be opened by the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander. Together. But we can break through it. There’s enough power in the Circle, after all, to destroy all of Ferelden.”

“We’re not going to blow up the Tower.” I give him a flat look.

“A rod of fire can melt a lock. You can request one from Owain in the stockroom. You’re not an apprentice.”

I nod. That makes sense, though I have a feeling that it’s not as easy as it sounds. “Let’s not waste more time, then. Meet me in the chapel after dinner.”

Once Jowan leaves me alone, I steel myself to confess everything to Irving. I’m not sure whether it’s the right thing to do, but I can’t just ignore my conscience, can I? With a sigh, I leave the room and make my way to Irving’s office.

He is sitting behind his desk, reading a thick, ancient-looking tome which must be older than Ferelden. He looks up as I approach and nods to acknowledge my presence. “Ah, Luneth. I trust you saw the Wardens back to their quarters?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” I ask him.

He chuckles at that. Being his very own apprentice, I always did what he asked of me. Even when I felt ridiculous doing so. “I am glad that you met them both. They are honorable men. Gregor may seem rough about the edges, but he is a good person.”

I nod. “It was a privilege to meet them.”

“They are peerless warriors who sacrifice much to protect the land. We have much to learn from them. Now, did you need something?” He always knows what I’m thinking. Maybe it’s part of his powers, or maybe because I’m as close to a son as he could have.

“Jowan says that he will be made tranquil.”

“Ah, I suppose the young initiate he dallies with has informed him.”

I nearly choke on my own spit and grin. “So you know?”

“Why would you think that I won’t? I did not become First Enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut. News and rumors will always reach me in one way or another.”

I suppose that makes sense. “So it’s true, then? I suppose you also know that Jowan is planning to escape the Circle? He actually approached me for help.”

He raises an eyebrow. “See? News will always reach me. What else do you know?”

I throw caution to the wind and sigh. “He and Lily are plotting to destroy his phylactery and escape.”

“Of course she must be helping him. She knows more about the repository, so her presense would be needed.”

I wonder whether Jowan is simply using the initiate. Hmm… “They asked for my help. I said yes, but…”

“Decided to approach me?” Irving smiles. “I suppose you would. I never expected them to actually attempt to break into the repository, though.”

“He is my friend, but I’m afraid that he might be taking things too far. What do we do?” Maybe I did do the right thing, telling Irving about this.

“Reporting him to Greagoir and the templars will not help. The Circle must punish one of its own. But the Chantry will do us the same courtesy. Lily cannot walk free if one of my apprentices suffer.” Irving taps his chin thoughtfully. “If we simply report her, then they will protect her and claim that she is framed. She needs to be caught in the act.”

The Chantry would do the same to us. Yes. I love the Circle and believe in the Maker in my own way, but that does not mean that I think the Chantry is always right. “I see your point.”

“Sometimes, sacfices are necessary. Jowan will become Tranquil, and Lily must learn the consequences of her actions. And face them. Return to them and carry out their scheme. We can act once we have solid proof of their crime.”

Terrifying, but as I said, I always follow Irving’s orders. He has never led me astray before. “I’m not exactly comfortable deceiving them, but I’ve already told you, haven’t I? And you have a point. I’ll do as you ask.”

“Go on, convince them that you will risk all for their cause. I will be waiting outside the repository with some templars. Perform well, childn and you will be rewarded.”

“I need no reward,” I tell him. “But thank you.”

Wanting to clear my head for a moment before approaching Owain, I walk into the library. At least here I don’t feel suffocated. My quarters feel too small to hold what I’m feeling – torn between my loyalties to my friend, and to my teacher.

I didn’t realize that Duran, the dwarf Grey Warden, is sitting across the table from me until he clears his throat. “Luneth, right?” he says in that quiet, steady voice of his. If I were a Warden and in the middle of a battle with darkspawn, I wouldn’t mind having him as my commander. His calm demeanor is quite infectious. “Good to see you again. Being surrounded by people I do not know, in a land so far from my home, is quite unsettling.”

“It is good to see you again. I rarely hear of dwarves among tales of the Wardens, but it must be such an honor.”

“More than an honor, to have something akin to family again,” he agrees. “I cannot go home again, not after what happened there, but the Warden Commander and all the others have been kind to me. And the books of your people, and the elves, are quite interesting. You seem preoccupied, though.”

“I don’t want to bore you with the details.” But he was quite nice. “It is just that I wonder if I am doing the right thing.”

He nods in understanding. “I wonder that too, at times.” He pauses for a while. “Your government is quite interesting. It functions well, and lacks the intrigue and backstabbing known among my people. Your king mostly rules without contest. He is gathering an army to aid us in fighting the darkspawn, have you heard?”

“Yeah.” I heard the Senior Enchanters discussing that during a lesson before my Harrowing. “We’ll be useful in this war, I think.”

“Your people do have quite the gift.” Duran peers at me. “But they distrust you because of it. But is not everything necessary dangerous too? Do you not fear what you have at your disposal?”

“Only if we are not taught to control it both with our strength and our hearts.”

Duran smiles and nods. “I like you. Maybe we can talk again at a later time. Gregor might be looking for me already. I will see you later.”

“And I you,” I tell him.

Evain

We stop for a respite when we reach a small town near the woods. We head to the inn and book rooms while Duncan leaves to buy us horses. Elinore and Alistair both watch me like a I’m a trap about to explode at any given moment, but to be honest, my rage burned out last night as I lay in my bedroll.

We take a table for ourselves in the slightly crowded common room, and Alistair leaves to buy food for us. Elinore and I stare at each other for a while. After everything that happened, we haven’t talked to each other yet. And I feel bad, for I promised our father that I would take care of her – and here I am, practically neglecting her.

“Look,” I begin. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked on how you were feeling. I was so consumed by my need for revenge. I sort of forgot that you’re also going through the same thing.”

She smiles tiredly. “You’re forgiven. It’s not like I’m any better, am I?” She brushes hair away from her eyes and leans forward. “How do we break the news to Elissa?”

Elissa. Oh, Maker. She will be devastated too. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I don’t advice breaking it to her gently.”

Alistair joins us with bowls of porridge, one which he slides under my nose with a cheeky grin. “Checked their menu. It’s either this, porridge, or more porridge.”

The food was actually pretty okay. “I wouldn’t mind more porridge,” I tell him.

Elinore laughs and shovels her food quickly. I think of how mother would disapprove. Fergus and our father would have been amused. With a pang, I remember that we’ll never have such moments again, and hope that the Wardens treat us as nicely as Alistair does.

“What’s life among the Wardens like?” my sister begins after demolishing her dinner.

“They’re good people. There’s around two hundred or so of us in Ferelden right now, give or take. Not enough to quell a Blight,” Alistair begins. “We have ritual darkspawn dismemberments every Tuesday. We offer darkspawn bits to appease elven gods.”

“Wait, you’re not serious, are you?” I ask. Ritual dismemberments? Elf gods?

Elinore grins and shakes her head. “You really were out of it these past few days if you don’t get our friend’s jokes.”

Alistair turns red and shrugs. “We laugh and bicker and eat and fight and drink together. But don’t drink with Gregor. You’ll probably pass out and wake up wearing someone else’s underwear. And nothing else. Even if you outdrink other Wardens, you will never put a dent on Gregor.”

“So what you mean is that if I have to choose between drinking with him and trying to appease the elven gods, I choose the latter, right?” I begin, catching on.

“That’s my boy.”

Luneth

If we do survive this, I am going to personally strangle Jowan. Or maybe ask Irving about any spells that will let me do that undetected. I’m sure he knows a few.

We got the Rod of Fire, alright, but before Irving signed the form, I had to help Senior Enchanter Leorah get rid of spiders in the storerooms. Spiders! Luckily the newest Senior Enchanter is quite handy with healing magic. She even repaired my damaged robes, thank goodness. Nineve would never forgive me if I ruin one of the best on my first day.

Lily helps us get through the creepily-named Victim’s Door.

The rod of fire doesn’t work on the next door – and none of ous can use our powers either.

We go through the other door in the room, which Irving actually told me about. Thankfully the other door opens – and we get attacked by an enchanted suit of armor, which Lily calls a Sentinel. More of its kind, and vaguely reptilian creatures – apparently called Deep Stalkers – attack us as we move from room to room. The Sentinels I deal with no problem. The Deep Stalkers twist my stomach whenever I hear the fleshy squelch of magic striking them – or of Lily’s knives finding their marks.

We finally end up ina repository, where we end up conversing with a talking statue. It mentions holding the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, consort and advisor to Archon Valerious, who was punished for foretelling the fall of said Archon’s house. An Archon… a Tevinter lord, powerful in magic.

“You should know above all that Tevinter lords are wicked. They have dabbled in forbidden arts,” Lily warns me.

“Must be very old… how could they do something like this? She is still alive, somehow, right?” I realize with horror. It is a fate worse than death. “It must be very old!”

“Weep not for me,” the statue whispers. “Stone they made me, and stone I am. Eternal and unfeeling, it matters not to me anymore, and endure I shall, ‘til the day the Maker returns to light their fires again.”

Jowan scoffs. “Gibberish! I could say such nonsense too! The sun grows dark, and lo! Here comes the dawn!”

“It feels more like a riddle,” I muse.

“Stop talking to it,” Lily snaps.

“Fine. Fine,” Jowan and I grumble.

We examine a part of the repository, where a bookcase is situated. The books were nothing unusual – we have many copies of those in the libraries. “I think the phylactery chamber is on the other side of this wall.” Jowan’s eyes widen.

I rub the weak stubble in my chin. “We can break down the wall,” I tell him excitedly. “Why not?”

We move the bookcase aside and scour the room for something to help us break through it. We find it, in the form of the Tevinter artifact that Irving also told me about. It’s nothing eye-catching really. It just looks like a weathered statue of a dog. “Let’s try this,” I tell him, inserting the rod of fire in the statue’s mouth… and blasting the wall to bits. Solona will be proud.

A creeping chill and dim blue lights let us know that we did reach the phylactery chamber. We fight off the last of the Sentinels, and scour the labels. They are mostly names of apprentices, since those who pass their Harrowing have their phylacteries sent to Denerim. In a few minutes, I find Jowan’s.

For one wild moment, I wonder what it would be like, finding mine – and maybe Solona’s, and Nineve’s.

Then, I kill the thought and hand the vial of blood – ironically bound to the Circle and the Templars by blood magic – to Jowan.

“You found it! I can’t believe this is all that stands between me and my freedom!” Jowan grins and breaks it. “I am free! We’re free!”

I was tempted, oh so tempted, to tell him that I told Irving about this, but change my mind. “Let’s get out of here,” I tell him.

We make our way out of the basement – and stumble right into a group of Templars, led by Greagoir, accompanied by Irving, Solona, and Nineve.

“So what you said was true, Irving,” Greagoir says grimly.

I turn to Lily and Jowan grimly. “You two are in big trouble.”

“An initiate conspiring with a blood mage? I expected better of you, Lily. You seem to be in control of you mind. Not a thrall, then.”

Things take a turn for the worse when Irving takes full responsibility and sentences Jowan to death, while Lily is sentenced to be imprisoned in the Aeonar – which is supposed to be for mages.

As the tempars move forward, Jowan throws himself in front of Lily, slitting his wrists with a dagger. “I won’t let you!” he screams. Blood spurts out from him, taking the form of whips and knocking us back. He takes out the eye of the nearest templar, who screams and writhes in pain. With a yell, he lashes out with stronger waves of magic, and my consciousness grows fuzzy for a moment.

“You little piece of garbage!” Nineve screams as Jowan and Lily engage in a shouting match. She stomps her foot, and healing light surround us all as Jowan escapes.

 “I can’t believe it! Scaredy Jowan, a blood mage?” Solona wails.

“I never thought him capable of so much power to overcome many,” Greagoir says grimly.

I clench my fists. “He lied to all of us!”

Irving shakes his head. “None of us expected this.”

Greagoir near explodes. “If you let us act soon, we could have done something about this! Now we have no way to track down a blood mage. You’ve let him loose upon the rest of Ferelden.”

“We can think of something,” I offer, rage bubbling in me. “You could still capture him. A lone mage cana’t have gone far.”

“We will use every source,” Greagoir confirms. He turns to me after ordering Lily taken away. “You made mockery of the circle with your antics, young man.”

“Jowan made him do it,” Solona says fiercely. “He has nothing to do with it. He just did as Irving told him, didn’t he?”

Irving nods. “He worked under my orders.”

Greagoir throws a fit, until Grey Wardens Gregor and Duran step in. The boisterous human turns to us. “Such talent would be wasted if you bring him to the Aeonar too. He shows promise, as Irving has so kindly told us. He would be a great asset to the Wardens.”

Duran nods, and glances at Nineve. “Her skill with Healing is also quite amazing. I have seen your folk wield magic in Ostagar, but nothing of that scale. Nothing!”

“They are among my most promising pupils,” Irving admits.

“If you think I’m letting you take my brother away from me, then you better think again,” Solana roars. Fire dances from her mouth, they way it always does when she is angry.

“Oh, that would be terrifying. And quite interesting. Hmmm…” Gregor turns to Irving. “I need all three. Duncan won’t mind. The better to fight the Blight with.”

“No. I must investigate this issue, and I will not release any of them to the Grey Wardens,” Greagoir snarls. “Not until this young man here faces the consequences of his actions.”

 “If they will have us, it will be an honor to join,” Solona says, glaring at Greagoir. “Our place is in the Circle, but if we are called to fight the Blight, then we will do so.”

“There are worse things in the world than blood mages. I’ll take them all gladly under my wing, and take responsibility for what they caused here,” Gregor growls. “We will invoke the Right of Conscription if need be.”

Elinore

We finally reach Dragon’s Peak a month after fleeing Highever. It is not as cold, nor as beautiful, as home, but it has its own charm. I think of home, and it aches, but I learned days ago to fight it, not let it take root upon my heart.

The mountain pass and the road leading to Dragon’s Peak itself is crowded with merchants hoping to sell their wares to the troops that will be departing for Ostagar soon. Hawkers in the streets shout their wares as our small party makes its way to the northern edge of the city.

People stare as we pass, apparently recognizing me. Our mother used to tell me that I did look like Elissa, except that my eyes are blue, but not really. The family resemblance is there, but she’s the pretty one. I’m the violent one, but everyone probably knows that by now. It is not as cold here as it is in Highever, but cold enough to warrant thick clothes like those we wear at home.

We reach the gates to Bann Sighard’s estate, where guards block our passage. Duncan exchanges a few words with them and shows them the Grey Warden heraldry embroidered upon his cloak. The guards exchange looks, and one of them departs – to look for Lord Oswyn, who is apparently ruling as Bann while his father is away in Denerim.

I dread the moment that we will be breaking the news to Elissa.

Lord Oswyn greets us a few minutes later, dressed in his finest clothing. He bows to Duncan, and his eyes widen as he recognizes us. “Evain, Elinore! It’s good to see you both,” he says as two of the guards accompanying him relieve us of our horses. “The weather today is not good. Come inside, I have asked the servants to prepare tea. Elissa will be glad to see you.”

Not for long, I think, though I don’t say so out loud. They will learn of what happened soon enough.

Relieved of our burdens, we are led to the sitting room, where true to word, Elissa is waiting for us. She is dressed in the ivory and black of Dragon’s peak, adorned with the green and blue of the Couslands. Her hair was pulled up in an elaborate style, her face still perfect, eyes still like emeralds. Her face lights up as she sees us, and she stands. “Elinore, Evain… it really is you,” she whispers in glee.

Evain nods. “Yeah. We’re here with Warden Commander Duncan and his fellow Warden, Ser Alistair.”

“And so I have noticed. Do take a seat,” she says as Oswyn joins her. “And I suppose that you are joining them? You know that Mother and Father will not approve.”

“They have,” I whispered. “But we cannot see them again. Rendon Howe has made sure of that.”

Elissa’s joy at seeing us melts into grief as we tell her what happened in Highever. Oswyn holds her as she weeps, and I wonder what it would be like to be in love, and loved in return.

My own tears spill as we finish our account, and I have to turn away to dry them.

“We will appeal for assistance to King Cailan once the darkspawn threat is over,” Oswyn announces finally. “I am sure that as our families our related now, Father will not hesitate to turn his troops upon Highever to aid you in reclaiming it.”

I spend my time after dinner in the library, as Evain spars outside with Duncan, and Elissa asks for privacy with her husband. The pain of relieving the events in detail seep through me, and I feel colder than I should. I wrap my cloak around myself and curl up on the seat. I don’t know how long I stay like that. I think of Father and Mother, who loved us enough to sacrifice themselves for our survival. I think of sweet Oriana, who is all silk hiding steel beneath, of Oren, who was but five years old, and with so much life ahead of him.

“I think you do want to see me don a dress and dance.” Alistair’s loud voice breaks through my thoughts, and I realize that my face is wet with tears. The Warden himself is sitting across the table from me, and shoves a cup of Orlesian chocolate under my nose. “Besides, you’re pretty so crying would be bad. Baditty bad. Here. Your sister thought this might cheer you up.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, sitting up straight and using my cloak to dry my tears. “And I’m not pretty. You need to ask a Healer to check your eyes. That’d be Elissa you’re talking about.”

“You’ve got nothing on her,” he tells me. He turns red and looks away. “Alright. Shutting up now. I’m not going to swoop down on you again like that.”

“Good. Swooping is bad,” I tell him.

He smiles. “Hey, I like that. You don’t mind me using it someday, right?”

“Nah.” I smile and take a sip of my drink. “How did you end up bringing me drinks from my sister, anyway?”

“She talked to me,” he replies with a shrug. “Lady remembered me from Redcliffe, and that’s more than I can say for everyone else.”

I raise an eyebrow, though a smile forms on my face. “You’re not scrawny anymore, you know?”

He turns even redder, and his eyes drift to the floor. “I’m going to run away screaming from this library if you don’t stop flattering me.”

“I’m not, you idiot!” I snort and almost choke on my drink.

He pauses for a while, then bursts out laughing. “HA! You’re finally laughing again! I did my job well. Where’s my reward, woman?”

I pinch his cheek hard, leaving red marks as I withdraw my hand. “There’s my reward. If someone asks, tell them the Teyrn’s daughter left a kiss mark.” I stand up and force a wider smile on my face. “Thanks for cheering me up. I won’t forget that.” With those words, I leave him, finally feeling warm enough to sleep peacefully for the first time in days.

Chapter Text

“Trapped and caught in between darkened skies, tidal waves.”

Auberon

“Lethallan? Where are you?” I call out, searching for my cousin and best friend, Tamlen.

The forest is our home. It is not ours, far from it, but our clan has lived and thrived within its great green roof and the bark-brown walls. How our people have fallen. Nevertheless, our pride prevents us from joining the flat-ears. We shall never let humans subjugate our people. We shall endure. We shall wander wild and far until we regain the lost glory of our kind.

I hear a rustle of leaves and the sound of panicked voices outside, and I run toward the sound, hunting knives drawn. That was always our strategy. Tamlen shoots, I stab them in the back.

Tamlen looms over poorly dressed humans – shemlen in our tongue – who are unarmed, but nevertheless might be dangerous. They plead for their lives, and Tamlen turns to me. We have hunted for so long together that we always sense each other’s presence and movements.

“Lethallan. Just in time. What do you think shall we do with them?” he asks with a smile.

I tilt my head to the side, studying my friend’s prey. While Tamlen hates humans with all his might, I simply pity them for being so misguided and selfish. I do not kill their kind, unless we need to protect the interests of our people. “Killing them may bring trouble,” I say. “Let’s find out what they’re doing here.

Tamlen sighs. “Hunting or banditry, it will be the same,” he scoffs.

One of the shemlen – barely a child, as a matter of fact – stares at us in terror. “We’re not looking for trouble. We just found a cave.”

“Yes, a cave with ruins! We simply came looking for treasure,” his companion adds. I can’t believe it! Tears stream from his eyes as he stare at us, a whimper escaping from his mouth.

“Treasure? So, thieves, not bandits?” Tamlen raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. “We know this forest more than any other, but I must admit, we do not know all of its secrets. Ha! I’d like to see these supposed ruins myself, to be honest. What say you, lethallan?”

“Interesting. Most interesting.” Tamlen nods. “I haven’t heard of such ruins in these parts.”

“Here, I found these in the ruins,” the child shemlen says, presenting a carved stone statue with curious inscriptions to us. “But we didn’t get very far in…”

Tamlen blinks. “These look elvish. What else have you found?”

“How do you know that’s elvish, lethallan? And you, shemlen, why have you not been able to get very far.” I get suspicious, afraid that this may be a trap. Humans are not inherrently evil, but they are capable of such things.

“I’ve seen something like these in the keeper’s scrolls,” my cousin admits. He turns to the humans. “Answer Auberon’s questions.”

“There was a demon. It was huge, with terrifying black eyes! Thank the Maker that we were able to escape.” Huh.  Humans and their foolish god.

“Demon. Really, now? Where are these ruins?” I ask.

“A little to the west. In the rock face, you will find a huge hole just inside.”

Tamlen rolls his eyes and lowers his bow just a little. “Do you trust them? What do we do?”

“We’re not playing games with shemlen,” I say tiredly. “We let them go. I’m sure we’ve frightened them enough to make them stay away.”

“Very well! You’ve heard him. Run along now, little shems. Don’t come back until we’ve moved on. ” Tamlen faces me with a smile. “Let’s see if there’s any truth to their story. These carvings make me curious.”

“Shouldn’t we inform the keeper? I have a bad feeling about this demon. If it’s true, we may need more than just the two of us to explore,” I mutter. I’m not the reckless one.

“They might be interested, but we should know more before we tell the rest of the clan.” Yes. My cousin is the reckless one. “Stop being so skittish.” He scampers away with a laugh.

I groan and run after him. One of these days, that foolish behavior of his will get him in trouble. I manage to catch up and hit him lightly on the crown of his head with my fist. “You are a fool. Fine. I’ll come with you, but we leave should we find something dangerous.”

He laughs out loud and leads the way west. We encounter a pair of wolves feasting over the corpse of a halla, and turns as they catch our scents. They growl and strike, but before we are harmed, I disembowel one with my knife, and Tamlen shoots the other one through the skull. We stare at each other and I bow my head in respect to our fallen friend. Ghilan’nain will guide her child, the halla, to the Beyond.

We move on through the forest, silent as spirits.

At least the humans were not lying. We find the cave they spoke of not one hour after they left us. Ornate pillars line the path to the abandoned cave – a remnant of our once great people.

Tamlen smiles. “So this is the cave, I suppose? Have you seen this before? I definitely have not.”

“No.” I feel worried, but try not to let it show. I can at least humor Tamlen and explore a little before I drag him back to the camp and report this to the keeper. “Let’s check it out for a while, then?”

“Exactly. With luck, we will be hailed as clan heroes for discovering this!” Tamlen bounds forward.

We explore the curious ruins, careful not to touch anything. We have learned enough from tales, which tells us of such an act’s foolishness. “I don’t think these are elven ruins,” I begin.

Tamlen shrugs. “This is definitely elven. They even found that artifact.”

We move deeper into the area, where massive spiders now reside. I stumble backward in terror and trip. “L-Lethallan,” I gasp as one of them climbs over me. Of all the creatures to attack, why must the one I am afraid of appear now, of all times? I begin yelling as I hear movement behind me

Two quick shots end their lives, and Tamlen approaches me warily. Fear still burns through my veins and I lock eyes with him. His green vallaslin seem to glow in the semi-darkness.  “Auberon. Cousin. I will not harm you.”

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and stand up. I take stock of my knives and we press on, turning our backs upon the spiders.

We eventually reach a most curious statue, which looks vaguely familiar now that Tamlen mentions it. Statues for the creators that our people created back when we lived in Arlathan. The architecture looks human, but the statues are elven. Yes, it is most curious.

I bow my head, lamenting the loss of our rich past and culture.

The ground rumbles behind us, and the ground parts. Half-rotten corpses rise, armed and hissing. I barely have timeto pull out my hunting knives before one of them is upon me. I remember tales of such hauntings from my mother when I was a child, and aim for the dessicated throat.

“This place is haunted,” I tell Tamlen. “We should turn back.”

“No. We’ve gone far enough.” He pushes the door open and is almost gored by a creature that looks like the child of a boar and a bull.

Still maddened by battle, I scream and lash out. One of my knives strike leather-hard skin and I am thrown off balance. It catches my foe’s attention though, and it turns to me. I thrust forward with my other knife hand and meet my mark – its eye. It bellows in rage, and Tamlen rams himself against it, toppling it to its back through sheer luck. I strike down with both knives, tearing open its belly. Its innards spill, wafting a tear-inducing scent.

“By the Creators! What was that thing?” Tamlen wails.

“I told you,” I snarl. “We should turn back.”

Tamlen’s eyes widen. Fool that he is, he approaches the mirror in the middle of the room that we discovered. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I wonder what the writing stays?”

“Stay back. It might not be safe,” I tell him. “It probably is a warning not to touch the glass. The keeper can translate it for us.”

“We won’t leave a fingerprint on it.” Tamlen blinks. “Wait – did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror.”

Fear strikes my heart, and I grab his arm. “Don’t touch it. Get away.”

“Don’t be a fool. I just want to know what it is. There it is again! Can’t you see it? It might sense that we’re here.”

“You idiot, stay away!” I snarl. “Lethallan, please listen to me.”

“I think it knows we’re here. Look. It’s some kind of underground… city…” Tamlen pushes me away forcefully touches the surfaces. “A great blackness? Creators, I think it saw me…” My cousin screams, and a great flash of light engulfs us.

Elinore

Morning comes, and with it, new hope.

The chill of the morning air greets us as we step out of the Bann’s estate. Bundled up in sensible clothes, Elissa and Oswyn both follow our party to see us off safely. My sister holds my hand tightly, face still pale from grief. “Do take care, and send my love to Fergus,” she says softly. “I can’t bear it if I am to lose any of you either.”

“I know how you feel,” I say darkly. I do not want to let go, but I know that I must, eventually. “I know that Mother and Father were both very proud of you. You are lovely, and you are the most perfect woman I have ever seen. There would be nothing more that they can ask for.”

“I have none of your steel, sister. I am all silk.” Elissa laughs softly and shakes her head. “I think neither of us will truly be perfect unless we embrace each other’s traits alongside our own.”

I shrug. “If you say so.”

“I know so.” She smiles and lets go of my hand, as if willing herself to stay composed. She gazes at me with her emerald-hued eyes with all seriousness. “Watch us soar… our family words now fit you and Evain. I can feel that you will spread your wings and fly high. Ferelden will remember you both.”

Evain chuckles and joins us, our hounds barking at his feet as he tosses the last bits of dried jerky to them. He was dressed in armor that Oswyn found for him.“If you flatter us even more, I don’t think my body will be able to handle it.”

Elissa lightly swats his shoulder with a soft laugh. “I hope I will be there to watch you burst into flame.”

“If not, I will write to you and not spare any details.” I smile and wrap my arms around my sister briefly. “You will hear from us as soon as we can write to you.”

Farewells exchanged, we mount our horses and ride off – onward to the east, and toward the sunrise.

It isn’t as dramatic as it sounds. First, the sun is interfering with our vision most of the time – which is doubly worse as we traverse a rough, mountain path. We take the road less traveled for fear of encountering Arl Howe’s men. Hours pass slowly as we follow a small trail beside a spring.

The wild land was beautiful, and it’s such a shame that nobody passes by much. But then again, maybe it’s better this way to preserve it. People tend to destroy beauty. And don’t even get me started on darkspawn.

Fea

I stumble through the trail, crushing the vegetation in my way. There’s no time to summon my powers and burn them off. Master Amlin might be dead or dying – all to buy me enough time to flee. Had this been our forest, I would not have any trouble, but we were training in the mountains when some passing Templars discover us.

I channel my fear and terror into determination, and I leap over a rock. I thank my master for letting me dress like a man. I shift direction, leaving the small woods behind. I begin to channel my power as I wade a small stream, ready to submerge and hurl fists of stone at any approaching Templar before they dispel my magic. When none of them emerge from the woods, I turn and follow the path, drying my clothes with a quick spell.

I hear voices behind me and turn, summoning and hurling the stone fist toward them. My pursuers yell, and oddly they sound about as old as me. I turn and blast them with fire, following up with a paralysis spell. It hits its mark, and one of the armored figures goes down, .

“How dare you?” the second one shrieks. In my terrified and desperate mindframe, I barely register the fact that the speaker is female.

“Leave me alone,” I snarl. No time for creativity, I try to blast her with an arcane bolt.

Before I strike her, the third figure moves forward and flicks his arm, parting the bolt with a soft touch and blowing up the ground to their left. “Look, lady, we mean you no harm,” he says.

“Liar!” I screech. How can he say that he means me no harm when he blatantly displays his abilities as a templar? Before he can get around to immobilizing my powers, I summon another surge of fire which he promptly dispels, again.

His female companion moves forward, her hands flashing as she draws her two swords. I don’t notice until it is almost too late that she hurled a knife at me, and I dodge. Too slow, the weapon grazes my arm and searing pain engulfs it.

It was a distraction – she knocks me down, her lightly armored form still heavier than mine, and we fall. Above us, her companion looms, hair gleaming like the sun.

The fight is over.

Their third companion rises, my glyph losing its power. He stands side by side with the other man, dark eyes glaring at me malevolently. “Here we are, hunting for food, and a wild mage attacks.”

The girl never takes her eyes off me. “An apostate?”

“I think so. She doesn’t look Circle trained. Not that I’m any authority on that,” her sun-haired companion says. I try to keep my thoughts away from the fact that he’s pretty. “Not like I can walk around saying ‘hi, I’m an ex-Templar trainee. Am I talking to an apostate?’”

“Put on a dress and earn their trust first. It might work,” the dark-haired man mutters.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

I turn my gaze a little to the left, where three armored men appear – the actual templars who were pursuing me. “Seems like some kids found our little duckling,” one of them croons. “What say you, children? Will you give us your spoils of war?”

Comprehension dawns upon the face of the girl on top of me. She withdraws and stands beside her companions, who are all staring at the newcomers. “You were pursuing this girl, I suppose?” she says.

I stop breathing, realizing that I wasn’t fighting with actual templars despite the fact that one of them apparently has their abilities.

The leader of the actual templars chuckle. “Of course, missy. If you want to, you can even join our festivities once we are done with her. You are both quite lovely things, aren’t you?”

Evain

Hearing anyone treat one of my sisters like that would be enough to make my blood boil. Hearing a templar treat my sister and another woman like that makes my vision turn red. I face the templars side by side with Alistair, our blades drawn and our shields held up.

Elinore joins us, brandishing her twin swords. “No one treats me like that and gets away with it unscathed,” she growls.

“Look out. She’s going to castrate you. And it’ll be messy,” Alistair says.

“I don’t think she has the stomach for that,” I announce.

The templars watch us warily, though I’m sure one of them leered at my sister and the apostate behind us – who oddly enough does not bolt away.

No one moves for a while, until one of the templars turn to my sister. “You know, dearie, you can come play with us and we can let the apostate run free for now. Then we’ll hunt her down, play with her, make her hurt so much that she’ll ask for more.”

I snap and run forward, forgetting for a while that I’m charging at three people and I’m alone. As I slam my sword against a templar’s shield, I am aware of other weapons and armor clanging against each other. It seems like Alistair and Elinore ran to my aid – or are as mad as I am. I lose balance as the templar I’m fighting swings his greatsword, and I am not fast enough to dodge it perfectly. I raise my shield instead, and the impact sends me flying.

He plunges his sword down and I roll away, the blade tip barely missing my neck. I get to my feet as he tries to pull out his sword, and I aim a kick straight to his face. The templar topples over, but I am afraid of killing in cold blood, despite my rage.

I slam my shield on his face, bloodying his nose and knocking him out.

I straighten up and look around. Alistair was sitting on his shield, which is resting on his unconscious foe’s back. He waves to me with a grin. “Just enjoying the view,” he says.

Elinore still glares at her foe, who is beaten bloody and his armor dented and rent in all places. Arms crossed, she nods to me. “Nasty pieces of shit, aren’t they?”

“Manners, Lady Cousland,” I tell her with a grin. I motion to the unconscious templars. “What do we do with them?”

“I have an idea.” The apostate approaches us warily, manly clothing swishing with the wind. Huh. She’s actually quite pretty, with unkempt brown hair, sun-tanned skin, and violet eyes, the latter which is common among many Gwaren natives. She smiles and motions to the templars. “Simply tying them to trees or something would be bland, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” I shrug and turn to Alistair. “You’re the senior junior Warden here. You think we should hear her out?”

Alistair grins and nods. “I suppose.”

The apostate blinks and stares at us. “Wait. You’re Grey Wardens?”

“Uh, technically this guy here is the Grey Warden. We’re initiates,” I tell her. “So he’s the most junior one that you can find… and he’s still our senior.”

Alistair scowls. “She’s an apostate. I don’t want to get turned into a toad.”

“And you’re no templar,” Elinore reminds him. “She doesn’t look that threatening, and she didn’t blow us up while we’re trying to get rid of the templars.”

 The apostate snorts. “You’re talking right in front of her,” she snaps, and pauses to watch Elinore smack a stirring templar. “How ‘bout this? You hear out my idea, then you can decide whether or not to go through with it. Then we part ways and pretend that this never happened.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I admit.

She grins, and I realize that she’s no older than my own sisters. “You’re going to love this.”

Chapter Text

“Never coming home.”

Fea

Watching a group of random warriors beating up the templars pursuing me? Cool. Finding out that these random warriors are actually Grey Wardens? Awesome.  Getting the Wardens to tie them up? Hilarious. Convincing the Wardens to strip them stark naked – two of them, at least – before tying them up? Priceless.

Pretty ex-templar Warden – he introduces himself as Alistair – stares at me distrustfully while his two juniors do the deed. “You’re not going to turn us into toads, I suppose,” he says.

“I’m not,” I tell him. “I’ll probably forget all about you tomorrow.” Most likely not. Those two men, they’re quite beautiful. And the woman is terrifying. Despite looking young, it seems like she and I are of the same age. Or so.

The dark-haired man – Evain – turns to me with a grin. “Try telling him that everyday, and I think you might permanently break him.”

“Not on my watch.” His apparent sister, Elinore, straightens up with a smirk and walks over to Alistair. I do not understand if they are lovers or not. “Well, we’re done here. You better run along now if you don’t want them to track you down.”

“Or you can join us.” An armored, older man emerges from the nearby woods, accompanied by a pair of warhounds and hoisting a deer carcass over one shoulder. His skin is darker than your average Fereldan’s. He must be foreign. His dark hair is tied back, and a golden hoop glints from an ear. He turns to the three Wardens. “I’ve been wondering why you haven’t returned to camp yet.”

This day sure is getting stranger and stranger.

He turns to me. “You must be Amlin’s pupil.”

I feel the sudden chill of dread in my gut. In the midst of all the action, I forgot about my master. “Yes, I am. You know him?”

Auberon

I faded in and out of consciousness. I knew not how much time passed, but I did remember what seemed to be a human peering at me and apologizing before darkness took me again. I remembered being on my bed. I think Merrill even watched over me for a while.

I wake up dazed and terrified. I sit up, ignoring the fact that I am unclothed. “Tamlen?” I cry out. “Lethallan?”

I realize that I am in my aravel – which I shared with my mother before she passed away from a wasting sickness two years ago. Not even Keeper Marethari was able to save her life with magic.

“Tamlen? I’m sorry, I don’t know who this Tamlen is.” A voice jolts me out of my thoughts, and even more so when I realize that it came not from an elf. Not even a shemlen. It is from one of the durgen’len – a dwarf. He peers at me with eyes as gray as the durgen from which his people were named for. “It is good to see you awake.”

“What is a dwarf like you doing here?” I blurt out, forgetting my manners in my distress.

The dwarf smiles, apparently not taking offense. “I suppose few Dalish clans would turn down a Grey Warden.”

“A Grey Warden?” I remember Hahren Paivel talking about them when I was younger. They are a noble group, taking in people of all racess. They must be formidable warriors, to be able to fight and slay so much darkspawn.

“Yes. I am Duran. They say your name is Auberon. Is that correct?” The dwarf was most polite, making me feel shame for my outburst.

“Abelas. Yes, my name is Auberon,” I tell him.

Duran explains that he and his group of Grey Wardens found me unconscious outside the ruins three days ago. Huh. I don’t even remember being anywhere near an exit. He was traveling with another Warden named Gregor and three recruits that they hired from a Circle Tower. I know not what that is, but I shall ask later. We have more pressing matters to attend to. Fenarel, one of the clan hunters, arrive to greet Duran and check on me. He informs me that Tamlen remains missing, though most hunters are on the search for him. He fetches Keeper Marethari, who brings more news.

First would be about the need for us to move north, as the shemlen we drove away have warned their village about us, and we might get attacked.

Apparently, I was sick for a while, and even the Keeper’s powers were almost not enough to save me. We worry that Tamlen may be in the same state, and is unable to move in pain. Or he may be dead, which I do not want to think about.

The Wardens suspect that there may be darkspawn in the area, but we saw nothing but the attacking skeletons. I tell her about the mirror, though, which she mentions to not be among any of the lore our clan has collected – which means no one really knows what it is but the possibly the gods themselves.

I am asked to lead the way into the cave once more to look for Tamlen. Merrill will be accompanying me, and so will Duran, who volunteers himself.

I still feel weak, but I worry so much for Tamlen that I have no second thoughts. Once they all leave me for privacy, I don my ironbark armor and strap on my hunting knives. I want to take my mother’s bow, but it may do more harm than good. I never was an archer.

On my way to find Merrill, my mother’s friend, Ashalle, greets me and asks about what happened. I tell her, as I should, and I give her a quick embrace before I move on. I also meet and greet Pol, a flat-ear who joined us recently after running away from shems who wanted to hang him for theft. Life among humans is worse than I have heard from those of us who trade with some villagers.

Ilen gives me some health poultices to rub on wounds, some supplies, and new hunting knives – they are called the Dar’Misu, and are relics of the days when we first traveled to Ferelden. I feel the sadness and longing engraved deep within the weapons, and I hold them with pride. I am also given an ancestral bow that Ilen wished to give to Tamlen – if we ever find him.

I locate Merrill, and we wait for Duran to join us. Poor Merrill. As Keeper Marethari’s First, she has a lot of knowledge in both magic and lore. She was quite close to Tamlen, and is quite devastated with his fate.

Odd creatures attack us on the way to the cave. Duran identifies them as darkspawn – a specific type called genlocks.

Hopefully I get to Tamlen before they do.

Evain

Apparently Duncan knew the apostate’s master. Oops, not just an apostate. Her name is Fea. It seems like, the master, Amlin, died to buy his pupil some time to run. He must’ve fallen quickly, if the Templars were able to catch up to her just a few minutes later. Then again, if Alistair alone could disable her after some time with no lyrium drinking, what could three fully-armed and lyrium-infused fully-fledged templars do?

We leave Fea for a while to let her grieve. Even from a distance, I hear her wail of distress. I am horribly reminded of our parents’ death, and their sacrifice to buy us some time to flee Castle Cousland.

Elinore stares at me, her face as white as a linen sheet. Our parents’ deaths are also too fresh to her, and we hold on to each other, sharing pain. “It will be fine,” I tell her, putting my other hand on Shadow’s back. “We will be fine.”

Fea rejoins us, eyes red and puffy from tears that she busily wipes away with a small smile. She turns to Duncan. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “It will take some time to bury him, then I must flee, maybe catch a ship to Orlais.”

Duncan inclines his head. “If you are Amlin’s pupil, then surely you are as formidable as he. If you have nowhere else to go, you can join us, become a Grey Warden. It will let you hone your powers, use them against a mighty threat, and keep you away from templars.”

Alistair nods sagely. “I’m the only one there with templar skills, and I promise not to smite you. Unless you try to burn my underwear off,” he says with a grin.

“Burning underwear off is a bad idea overall, though,” I muse, earning a snort of amusement from Duncan.

Fea watches us apprehensively, as if unsure of how to proceed. One of her hands raise to touch a curious amulet hanging from her neck, made of silver and amethyst. I remember seeing one when I was younger, but I do not remember where. She beams and nods. “It would be an honor to join you, though I do not know how much I will be able to contribute.”

We help her dig a burial place for her master, and Alistair mutters a Chantry prayer before we cover the corpse with reddish dirt and mark the site with a small cairn. I bow my head, uttering a quiet prayer to the Maker to watch over us before we follow Duncan back to the camp.

Shadow barks at me, as if telling me how glad he is to see me.

“After everything that happened since we parted, I definitely am glad to see you too,” I tell him.

Remembering the unconscious templars we tied up and whose armor we threw into the river, we pack up our camp and hike a little out of the way and downhill. I think of those templars, and I now know without a doubt why mages hate them and the Chantry. Andraste’s fiery wool socks, I’m not a mage but I hate the templars too.

No wonder Alistair was so eager to leave them behind.

We behind a small rocky outcrop that will protect us from the winds. Fea lights up the campfire in no time, and she works on the stew with Elinore. I recline on a rock with Duncan and Alistair, drinking some tea that Elissa supplied us with. It’s a peaceful end to an action-packed day, but I won’t have it any other way.

We talk more about the Blight, and the fact that Duncan sent two of his Wardens to recruit among the Circle mages in Kinloch Hold and among the Dalish. He expects at least one recruit from each, but more would be better with the Blight looming over our future.

It seems like the fate of Ferelden will be in the hands of two hundred or so warriors against tens of thousands – if not millions – of darkspawn.

Auberon

The forest is too still. No halla, no deer, no wolves move around. I cannot hear the birdsong that soothes me during hunts. Merrill says that it may be because the evil of the mirror is spreading. I do not like the way she speaks. I love her like a sister, but sometimes she acts like she is a righteous know-it-all.

More darkspawn attack us, and Duran leads the fight to protect us from something he calls the Taint. We eventually reach the cave, and Merrill confirms that it is of human origin… except for the elven artifacts that are scattered around. She also doubts that Tamlen still lives with darkspawn crawling around, and it takes all my willpower not to yell at her.

I let out a sigh and tell her to move on.

Darkspawn lurk in most every corner, but with a Grey Warden on our side, we easily overpower them. The hall outside the mirror room teemed with them, and one of them blasts us with magic. I yell and duck, while Duran surges forward, short enough not to be grazed. He promptly beheads the monster with his greatsword.

More of its kind surge from the nearest corridor, but before we can dispatch them, arcs of lightning and waves of fire burst from the mirror room, killing the darkspawn. Two humans emerge from the mirror room, clad in golden robes like spun sunlight. One was male, with curly hair the color of fire. He is tall, even for his kind, though he is probably the same age as me. Silver eyes stare at me curiously. Beside him is a woman maybe a little older than both of us. Her hair is fair, so fair, like starlight, and her eyes were a bright molten gold. They stand together, maybe lovers, maybe brother and sister, and burn the darkspawn corpses to ash.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Duran scolds them.

“We were also fighting darkspawn in there,” the man says, pointing behind him to the mirror room. “We heard fighting here, and Gregor asked us to investigate while he and Nineve study the mirror. It is most curious.”

“Yes, it is,” the woman tells him before turning to me. “I am glad to see that you are more… well… than you were when we found you. I am Solona Amell, and this is my brother, Luneth. We are Grey Warden recruits. Your keeper mentioned that you are the best hunter in your clan.”

I feel myself turn red. Keeper Marethari thought that way? Curious. “That is most kind. My name is Auberon Mahariel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Luneth says. He turns back to the mirror room. “Gregor may want to talk to you. Come.”

We follow them to the mirror room, where there is still no sign of Tamlen, but is filled with dead darkspawn. The one who I assume is Gregor, a massive human with an equally massive sword slung across his back, turns to us curiously. Beside him… is an elf. A flat-ears, I suppose, as she is dressed similarly to her companions, a staff in hand. She is most lovely, with dark hair and big, brown eyes, but it is marred by her scowl.

“And I suppose you are up and about already, trying to undo the hard work that your keeper and I have done to save your life?” she asks.

“Let him be,” Duran says tiredly. “He simply wants to search for his friend.”

Not even they apparently saw Tamlen anywhere, and Solona mentions that they were exploring the cave for hours. I tell them about how Tamlen saw things in the mirror before the burst of light made me black out. He mentions some records among the Grey Wardens regarding such Tevinter artifacts that are used for communication. Sadly he also tells us that they eventually become tainted with the same darkness that fills the darkspawn.

Sadly, it seems like Tamlen’s touch activated it.

It made me – and possibly Tamlen – both sick. I realize that I am tired, though I do more running and fighting when on a good hunt. Gregor confirms that I have it still, and that they must destroy the mirror to prevent others from getting infected. He promptly does so by smashing it with his blade. Sadly, my recovery by the way is only temporary, and will spread in time. He offers to discuss my healing with the keeper.

He insists that we must leave, and that there is nothing we can do about Tamlen – especially since he was infected for three days. With heavy hearts, we know and understand that this odd shem is telling us the truth, and we follow him back to camp.

May the gods forgive me, Tamlen, for we have done our best.

I touch the faint blue vallaslin on my forehead and down the bridge of my nose. I remember that I received it the same day as Tamlen, and we have discussed it for days on end. In the end, we chose Mythal the Great Protector, for she shall watch over us until the end of our lives.

We return to the camp, where Keeper Marethari expresses familiarity with Gregor. Merrill is asked to warn the hunters about the darkspawn, while she brings the Grey Wardens and their recruits to her aravel to discuss matters. I fear that some of it involve me, which is why I am tasked to look for Hahren Paivel. I break the news to him, and he murmurs a poem and a prayer for Tamlen before assuring me that none of it is my fault.

He is upset that he remembers us as babes, and now he must prepare the service for his death.

After some time, he asks me to seek the Wardens and the keeper, to let them know that the preparations are ongoing.

I find them talking outside the keeper’s aravel, and they turn as I approach them. Duran smiles at me and mentions that the only cure for my sickness would be to join the Grey Wardens. As they have an agreement with the Dalish, our people send some of their best warriors to join every now and then – especially during events such as a Blight. Gregor, Duran, and Keeper Marethari all believe that not only am I strong enough, I am also skilled enough to join and serve with distinction.

I am reluctant, as my place is with my clan, but I will waste away and die within weeks if I don’t leave. It means probably not seeing my clan again, but I will live and probably face a bigger destiny, fulfill a greater duty.

I do not cry during Tamlen’s service that night. But when the entire clan gathers to embrace me one last time as I depart at dawn, I could not stop. I wrap my arm around Merrill and then turn to Keeper Marethari, who gives me a ring. Hahren Paivel gives me his father’s amulet, to remember our clan and his tales during the coming days.

With that, my head held high, I march behind the Wardens and my fellow recruits, the song my clan is singing keeping me warm.

Once we quell the Blight, I hope the gods will guide me back to them, even just for a short time.

Chapter Text

“I all alone beweep my outcast state”

Rand

As our caravan slowly inches its way through the main road, the distance between Ostagar and Gwaren feels larger than it actually is. My patched cloak billows with the spring wind as I ride down the length of the caravan, making sure that everything is complete. The outlying farms in the city promised all the crops they had available to support the army in Ostagar, and my father tasked me to overlook their delivery to the king’s army.

We didn’t exactly have much, but we pooled together everything we stored for the winter, and any that we harvested this season. We were paid generously, and that is enough for us.

I mount my horse, bow at the ready as we begin to move to the southeast. It is supposed to be a two week ride to Ostagar from Gwaren, but with the weight of the supplies we bring, it might take at least three, four if we are unlucky.

I hear rumors from the other men hired to protect the caravan – rumors about darkspawn attacking travelers, well away from the bulk of their forces.

“I wouldn’t mind shooting one or two for target practice.” My cousin, Maudin, is the best archer in our village, and he doesn’t mind flaunting it.

I shake my head. “They’d probably kill me before I even nock an arrow,” I tell him. “Andraste’s dancing shoes, we country bumpkins probably won’t stand a chance against a couple of hurlocks.”

We laugh again, and I’m struck once more about the fact that he looks more like my sibling than my actual ones do. We share the same hair the color of rust, and blue-gray eyes like stones.

It begins to rain after noon. I pull up my hood to shield most of my face, but I am sure that we will end up being miserable by nightfall. The talk turns to news of unrest from the north. Apparently some lord or another and most of his household were slaughtered for conspiring with Orlesians. According to one of the older men, Wiscot, believing such conspiracies bring nothing but chaos. The noble was most likely innocent.

But hey, why do we care? We’re all commoners here.

The caravan stops as the rain does. Our camp is damp and muddy, but we make the best out of it. We eat little of our rations, making sure that it will last all the way to Ostagar and back to Gwaren. The fires dance weakly to the cold winds, as another torrent of rain threatens to wash our camp away.

Some of the guards leave to hunt for food to bolster our rations, but only one of them returns.

“D-darkspawn, to the north!” Ulfred screams before collapsing.

Maudin and I rise to our feet. Darkspawn! So the rumors were true, after all. We exchange dark looks. “We have to make sure that they don’t find the camp,” he says, stringing his bow. “Even if we manage to pack up on time, I’m sure we can’t outrun them.”

“What can we do?” I ask. “There aren’t any warriors here. No knights. No Grey Wardens that your father talks about so much. What if we’re outnumbered?”

“You think too much,” he says.

He organizes a hunting party that comprises of me, him, our best swordsman Clayve, Glaidor our trapper, and Wiscot, whose hunting knives would probably be useful in close quarters combat.

We stumble away from the camp and into an area with sparse plant life. Thunder peals above us, like a promise of rain to come much later. I grip my bow in terror, afraid that darkspawn will jump at us from any direction. Glaidor begins to pray some litany to the Maker.

If he had any mercy in the first place, there won’t be any darkspawn. No distinct lines between social rankings. My mother would still be alive.

We stumble in the darkness. No one bothers to light a torch, in case it actually draws the darkspawn to us.

I keep my bow drawn, ready to fire in case of attack. Maudin leads the way, back straight, confidence emanating from him. We all keep close together as we stalk through the semidarkness. We hear a rustling before us and a loud shriek. Wiscot cries out and stumbles against me, sending us crashing down as creatures which can only be darkspawn descend upon our group.

Clayve rushes forward with his two-handed sword, only to be struck down by a tall, muscular creature wielding a massive ax. The smell of his blood and innards permeates the air, and it takes all of my power not to gag. We retreat as Maudin and I begin to shoot arrows. The enemies we faced were unrelenting, and they continued to push forward. Arrows rain down from the darkspawn forces’ rear, and one of them strike Glaidor in the eye before he could plunge a knife into an enemy’s skull.

I could not stop myself screaming in terror as a number of darkspawn converge upon him with a roar.

Fea                                                                                                                                                                      

I’ve never been to Denerim before. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been somewhere so populated before. My master brought me to small towns and villages to buy supplies as we traveled around Ferelden, but never somewhere as big as a city. And Denerim isn’t just a city. It’s the city.

I lost my staff in the mountains surrounding Dragon’s Peak, so all I had to do to blend in was to borrow some clothes from Elinore, which were a little too masculine and hung loose on my slight frame.

We stay in the Gnawed Noble Tavern, which is loud and chaotic. Dinner is a loud, communal affair where we share the table with a number of well-to-do men. Some of them recognize Duncan and make small talk.

By morning, Duncan leaves early to visit an old friend’s family, leaving us to explore Denerim by ourselves. I find myself walking beside Elinore, who asked me last night to accompany her in the market.

The sights and smells of the market district are close to overwhelming me when we stop in front of a small stall displaying lovely and expensive-looking bolts of cloth. Elinore grins at me. “Duncan asked me to buy some clothes for you,” she explains. “We can’t have you in ill-fitting clothes all the time. We’ll get a few robes that you might be more comfortable with, and some regular clothes if ever we need to blend in.”

“Is that really necessary?” I ask, embarassed that they should spend money on me. “I can wait until we actually get funds as Wardens.”

Her grin widens infuriatingly, and I wonder whether I could get away with burning her trousers off. Maybe not, but it might be worth trying.

“As you can see, I prefer men’s clothing when I can get away with it, especially since they go together better with armor,” she continues, as if not noticing my threatening thoughts.  “I might not find something you’d like, so feel free to look around. Just try them out, and if you think they fit you well and you like them, then I’ll pay. Not as good as getting something from seamstresses, but these are faster and cheaper. We need to do everything fast.”

I stare at her, barely comprehending half of what she is trying to tell me. “I can sew,” I mutter. “You can just buy some bolts of cloth. I’ve got sewing materials in my pack.”

She laughs. “That’d take longer.” She points at a few plain but expensive-looking tunics, and a number of soft cloaks best suited for the warmer months. “See? These will help. You might want to look at a few mage robes for official Warden business too – or so, that’s what Duncan told me.”

I sigh. She does have a point. I just hate having them spend money for me when I could do most of the sewing myself. Getting clothes from a big city like Denerim would not ever be a part of my wildest dreams, but here I am, blending in with the crowd, an apostate mage shopping for clothes with a fellow Warden recruit.

Elinore nods appreciatively as I pick out a few clothes in shades of blues and greens. “My sister would probably tell you that you have good taste, but all I might end up saying is that you are, most definitely, as girly as her.”

I sigh and pick out a few other colors as she stares sadly at some clothes labelled as “Highever’s Finest.”

“Were you from this Highever, then?” I ask. I’ve heard my master talk about Wardens taken away against their wills.

Elinore stares at me for a while, and I was afraid that I might have stepped on some unknown line. “I was,” she agrees. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

I get the feeling that she might end up bawling if we talk about her past, so I keep my mouth shut and we finish our shopping.

We find Alistair hanging around a food shop, a big bag full of cheese in hand. He grins as we approach, and my stomach does an odd flip. “Denerim really has the best cheese in all of Ferelden,” he says as a greeting. “That isn’t saying something though, as Redcliffe has pretty limited choices and we barely have any to savor in the Chantry.”

“You should’ve tried some in Highever,” Elinore says, a flash of pain in her eyes. She grabs a small ball of goat cheese from Alistair’s bag and pops it in her mouth with an appreciative grin. “This ain’t so bad, though.”

“Of course! You just ate the best in the bag,” Alistair said. “Though I guess it would d well better in your pretty mouth.” He pauses, as if realizing what he just said. “Okay, I’ll just stand here. Shutting up now.”

I laugh, though I feel a small pang of envy. But then again, no one, not even a man as kind as Alistair, would probably dare call a mage – especially an apostate – pretty.

“There you are!” Evain jogs toward us, dressed in armor like the other two. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Duncan wants us to accompany him to a wedding.”

Chapter Text

“Dancing all alone to the sound of an enemy’s song…”

Rand

“Run,” Maudin whispers to me as the darkspawn army advances. “Someone needs to alert the camp and make sure you outrun this horde.”

“No. I’ll stay here,” I hiss as we stumble through the brush.

Maudin smiles grimly as arrows fly by us. “They’ll catch us sooner or later. I’ll try to keep them at bay.” Before I could object, he ran the opposite way, straight into the arms of the waiting darkspawn.

My cousin. My often prideful but nevertheless favorite cousin sacrificed himself so that I can flee, survive, and help the caravan move away from the monstrous horde of darkspawn.

I steel myself and forge onward, ignoring the screams of my probably dying cousin.

I reach the camp in five minutes, never stopping for breath. Luckily, the others are one step ahead of me. The camp is ready to go, the defenders armed for battle. Aware of the horrors awaiting us, I am painfully aware that we are still awfully outnumbered.

Selmor, one of the older men, is already directing men to place logs to mark the archers’ station. The caravan begins to move away in an orderly fashion as I am dragged to my place, barely able to take a swig of water. I hear the crashing that heralds the arrival of the darkspawn, and I ready my arrow. I know that I will not live to see the sunrise – or even last an hour – but at least we will be buying the caravan some time to escape.

We fire a volley of arrows, and most hit their mark. A few of the darkspawn are taken down, but it still is not enough.  Our fighters surge forward as some of the previously set traps trip capture and ensnare some darkspawn.

A big number go down. Maybe it is because the darkspawn now lack the element of surprise, but most of our fighters survive the first half-hour. We almost decimate the Maker-accursed creatures when I realized that their rear ranks were made up of six massive beings that began to pick off our warriors one by one. The other archers move forward with other weapons – knives, woodsman axes, battered swords – but I stay put. I feel ashamed that I have no other skills aside from my archery.

I do what I do best, and keep firing arrows.

My other companions go down, and the two remaining darkspawn stare at me with ominous eyes. I bite down my terror as I realize that I’m down to one arrow. I hear voices nearby, and I realize that people are approaching from the road. I am not sure if they would be of much help, but I hope tht the Maker did send me some saviors.

My arrow hits its mark, and the darkspawn’s eye – and what passes as its brain – are punctured, killing it instantly. That draws the last one’s ire, and it charges at me.

Luneth

Like the men from the fleeing caravan told us, there definitely are darkspawn in their aforementioned clearing. Apparently our Warden escorts can also sense them the nearer we get.

By the time we reach the abandoned camp, most of the darkspawn – and men left behind to fight them – lie dead. The last poor sod standing manages to kill one of the hulking giants – ogres, Duran calls them – by piercing its eye.

We close the distance and I hurl a bolt of lightning on the last ogre’s face.

It doesn’t really do anything much aside from angering it, which is a shame. It draws the freak’s attention away from the poor sod it was going to attack, thogh, which is a good thing. Of course. But it charges right toward us.

Ashamed I may be to say it, I let out an unmanly scream.

“Luneth!” Solona faces down the ogre and the tips of her index fingers touch the bridge of her nose. She opens her mouth and breathes fire on the ogre’s ugly face.

I still have no idea how she manages it, but it’s an amazing trick.

Duran, Gregor, and Auberon – damn elf, already ill and still battle-ready – finally hack the freakish ogre to bits. And I’m sure we regret nothing.

Poor survivor stares at us with blank, unbelieving eyes. Nyneve approaches him first with a loping grace. Before the poor sod could say anything to her, she touches his temples and is filled with the bright glow of healing. “Stupid damn darkspawn. So many deaths,” she growls. “Too many wasted lives.”

“Fear not, shem’len,” Auberon says in what he probably thinks is an assuring tone. I’m not buying it. He sounds like a small crack away from slicing someone to pieces with those hunting knives. “She is merely employing the healing arts upon you.”

Poor sod stares at us with wide blue-gray eyes. “Who in Andraste’s fiery smelly socks are you?”

“Language!” Nyneve growls.

“After an ordeal like this, I propose that he may say anything he pleases,” Auberon tells her pointedly.

Duran nods. He turns to Nyneve. “Is he harmed in any way?”

“No, he’s fine. Just shaken and a little bruised.” Our irate healer steps away, the glow of mana vanishing as she withdraws her touch.

Gregor nods sagely. “Good. No Taint, then.” He turns to the young man in front of us, who was maybe a few years older than me. “That was impressive archery, lad. What’s your name?”

“Rand. Rand Ursel.”

Gregor smiles. “A good name, lad. Now, have you ever thought about joining the Grey Wardens?”

“Wait, I thought you were only supposed to recruit from the Circle and the Dalish,” I point out, remembering Duran’s lecture as we crossed Lake Calenhad.

Duran nods, staring at Gregor. “Duncan advised us to do that, but he also told us that if we meet any worthy candidates along the way, then we definitely should ask if they wish to join.”

“You’re Grey Wardens?” I’m starting to wonder if our new chump Rand needs a few brain excercises.

“Technically, Greggie here and Duran are,” I drawl. Gregor snorts at the nickname I gave him. “The rest of us are Warden recruits. See tough Auberon here? Came all the way from his Dalish clan.”

Auberon rolls his eyes. “I wonder myself how this lunatic was chosen, do not fear.”

Merane

I don’t look forward to my wedding – not really. Despite the assurances I whisper to my cousin, Shianni – also known as the drunkest bridesmaid in the world – I’m not really looking forward to my wedding. Nelaros seems very kind and would probably not react that badly to my martial skills, but I feel like there is still so much out there for me. I’m twenty, and I am going to be married off to a stranger.

Soris seems to be enjoying himself, at least.

I feel better after helping Nessa and her family, and I don’t regret losing ten silvers. Money is hard to come by, but every bit is worth it if it makes your friend happy.

The double wedding day Soris and I are having is shaping up to be quite eventful. Aside from the usual scene of Vaughan harassing the young ladies, Shianni actually has the guts to knock him out… with a wine bottle. The rest of us – sadly including me – were afraid to say anything. In this case though, it may be for the best.

Elder Valendrian also introduces us to a human named Duncan – who is apparently an old friend of his, and the leader of the Grey Wardens – and one of the Warden recruits traveling with him – Evain, a stately younger man. Apparently, three more of their order will be arriving shortly once they hear that I am going to be married today.

I eventually wind up in my room again, dressed in  simple white dress for the occasion. Amethyne, the little girl from across the street, place a crown of green flowers on my fair hair to apparently bring out the color of my eyes.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and not all of the thoughts I’m having are pleasant. What if Nelaros starts to take too much advantage of me on our wedding night?

I am called eventually. It’s time.

Alistair

We make our way through the Alienage with Evain. I didn’t know what to expect, never being inside an Alienage before, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to dejected people with defeated lights in their eyes. Elves also walk our way, so we wouldn’t really get lost even if Evain didn’t know the way.

An elf woman brushes past me before looking back, eyes widening. “K-King Cailan?” she stammers.

Ugh. Right. Everyone in Denerim knows Cailan’s face. I hoped no one would make the connection, but this lady sure has sharp eyes.

“Nope, sorry. We’re Grey Wardens,” I tell her quickly before running after my friends.

The Couslands stare at me all the way to the wedding, where Duncan waits for us at the very front of the congregated crowd with the elder, Valendrian. We watch the beginning of the ceremony properly enough, and Duncan quietly points out that one of the brides is a daughter of an old friend. She was quite pretty, I suppose, with wavy golden hair tied back with a red ribbon. The other groom – a dark-haired, slim fellow – was apparently her cousin.

The first part of the wedding is pretty much your garden variety Chantry-type wedding, until someone crashes the pre-party.

A bulky man swaggers through the aisle with a group of well-dressed and definitely armed men, shouting and laughing on the way. One of them, a red-haired idiot with a patch over his eye, shoves poor Fea over with a laugh.

I wonder if my friends are also regreting their choice to walk around unarmed.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mother,” their leader croons. I’m pretty sure this guy is grosser than an entire horde of invading maggots. And I’m not sure that “grosser” is a word. “I’m throwing the best party today, but we need some female guests to play with.”

“Milord, I’m sorry to interrupt.” The revered mother growls back the man’s words back at him. I like this priestess. “But as you can see, I’m presiding over a wedding here.”

The man spits at him. Yep. Grosser than gross, he is. I feel Elinore growling beside me, and I stare at her. “Look, my fair lady, I do want to smash his nose into his skull as much as you do… and maybe puke on his shirt for good measure, but we’re supposed to stay neutral unless stated by our senior otherwise – and Duncan is the senior here. Senior of most seniors.”

The men on the platform knock down the men and take the brides and bridesmaids away. I hate feeling powerless, and this is one of the times where I definitely can’t do anything about the situation. It’s like Castle Cousland all over again.

The place bursts into chaos the moment that the lordlings are out of sight. A man – the bride’s father – pleads with Duncan to help him. The two grooms eventually join him, and they whip the crowd into a frenzy.

This isn’t going to end well.

Merane

I slowly regain consciousness.

The first thing I am aware of is that I’m lying on something cold, hard, and damp. I can hear Nola murmuring a prayer nearby, and Shianni is whispering directly above me – talking to what sounds like Selna and Valora. I open my eyes, suddenly aware of the painful throbbing in my head.

I remember the wedding, and Vaughan hitting me. My breathing quickens as I sit up with a gasp.

“Merane, don’t sit up you quickly, you dolt!” Shianni pushes me down as pain erupts on my head. “Take it easy.”

I slap her hand away, ignoring the fact that she would most probably erupt. “Is everyone all right?” I ask briskly. I’m never brisk.

“What happened to the gentle Tabris of the Alienage?” Shianni sighs. “Fine. We’re all fine, but we’re locked in here until the bastard is… ugh…”

“Until he’s ready for us,” Valora supplies eagerly.

Bad. Bad bad bad bad. I fight off the tears that threatened to form in my eyes. “What do we do?” I whisper.

Selna puts a hand on my shoulder. “We should be asking you that. Didn’t your dear departed mother teach you how to fight? You even taught Soris a little. I’ve heard him boast when we were little.”

I look away. I can fight – and well – but we can’t stand up to humans. We’re lower than dirt. Nothing but servants. But then, I think about it more and realize that maybe this could help us start making a difference. If we stand up to humans, why can’t they?

If someone as quiet as me could do it, who’s to say that others couldn’t?

“We can do it,” I say, standing up with a smile. It wasn’t confident. No, I was always far from that.

Valora stares at me blankly. “Five unarmed women against an entire estate full of armed and lusty men? I don’t think we’ll standa  chance.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds, Nola’s prayer trailing off in the background. “Just do as I say. Trust me,” I tell them.

We hear people approaching and rise to our feet. A group of armed men march in with disgusting leers on their faces. Every instinct in me tells me to cower or prostrate myself to them, but I fight the fear away.

“Ah, hello, wenches.” Their leader smiled. “Lord Vaughan has asked us to escort you to his party. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Stay away from us!” Nola yells. She definitely wasn’t listening to what we were discussing earlier.

The guards strike her down, sword slitting her throat. Blood splatters us as she falls, and I bite back a scream.

The men approach us, leering, and take away the others, who stop resisting. So much for fighting back. We’ll be raped, beaten, and killed. In no particular order. They approach me with ropes, apparently sensing that I won’t go without a fight.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

They laugh and jeer at me, which is probably what they would’ve done no matter what I do.

The door flies open and Soris charges in, sword in hand. The guards turn and laugh at him. “Oh, look at this!” one of them hollers. “The little elfling found a stolen sword!”

Soris flashes me a grin and slides the sword down and between the guards’ legs as a pair of armed humans charge in as if by his bidding. I grab it quickly and brandish it threateningly – just the way my mother taught me. “Alright, humans die now.”

“Oh, sod,” the leader groans.

I roar and charge at him, exchanging blow after blow. The humans Soris brought with him join the fray, one of them brandishing a pair of blades, the other one blowing up a guard with… with magic.

Soris cheers as we kill them, then wraps his arms around me. “Cousin, I was so afraid,” he admits. “They didn’t do anything to you, did they?” He turns to Nola’s corpse. “I can’t believe they killed her.”

“Vaughan’s been a little piece of shit since he was young,” the swordswoman says, kicking one of the dead guards with a scowl. She stares at me with bright blue eyes full of concern. A human showing concern for an elf? Odd. “C’mon, your betrothed is keeping watch at the end of the hall. We have to rescue your friends too.”

We jog out of the room, kicking a couple of doors open as we do. “Who are you?” I ask.

“Grey Wardens.” The woman smiles, eyes sparkling. “Or at least, initiates. We were at your wedding with the Warden Commander himself, and he supposes that as initiates, we can still help you out without breaking the rule of neutrality. C’mon.”

We crash through room after room, dispatching any guards we come across. The two initiates take out as many foes as I do, and the mage commends me on my fighting skills, saying that her teacher is – or was – an elf.

We reach the hall Soris mentioned – and find a group of rushing guards strike down Nelaros, who could do nothing more than scream.

“They must be the one who killed our boys,” a guard roars.

“And you killed my boy,” I hiss, anger and disgust boiling in me.

I barely knew Nelaros, and there he was, doing his best to save me – and dying in the process. I charge headfirst into the fight, ignoring the warden initiates’ warnings. I feel searing pain as one of the guards’ swords slice through my wedding dress and leave a cut on my arm. I shriek and fall back to catch my breath. I manage to take down two before that, though.

As the guard raises his sword to strike me down, there is a flash of silver and a knife plunges into his throat. I look back to see the warrior lady smiling feraly, a spark of rage in her eyes. The last guard falls with icicles embeded in his back, and the mage straightens up from her spellcasting stance. “That was cathartic,” she exclaims.

“Definitely.” The warrior narrows her eyes. She takes me by the arm. “C’mon. We have to rescue your friends.”

We run through a few more rooms, dispatching more guards along the way. My lovely wedding dress is getting more and more soaked with blood, which I guess would be fitting when I finally come face to face with Vaughan.

We reach a set of solid doors. The warrior turns to the mage with an angry glint in her eyes as she tries and fails to open them. “Fea, be ready to blast them open.”

Fea the mage nods and blows the door open into Vaughan’s private quarters, where he and two of his companions hover over a naked and crying Shianni. I feel my blood boil in rage and my fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword.

Vaughan turns to us with a sneer. “My, my, what do we have here?”

“More than you’ve bargained for, I’m afraid,” the swordswoman says, stepping forward. “I’ve always known that you’re a little piece of shit, but it seems like you’ve gone too far this time.”

“Lady Elinore Cousland.” Vaughan almost spits every word out with undisguised harted. “What a pleasure. Do you wish to join our party?”

The swordswoman is a noble! I could barely wrap my head around the fact. Her hand flies to her wrist, where I think she has a knife concealed. Before she could flick it, I hold out a hand and step forward too, mustering as much courage as I could. “Get away from my cousin if you want to live a little longer.”

“Are you sure that would be wise?” Soris quips nervously.

Vaughan’s sneer returns. “All right, my knife-eared friends, there is no need to be hasty here. We can talk this over, can’t we?”

I hear Shianni’s broken sobs and moans. She is never like this. No matter how much we are oppressed, she always takes it in stride. Seeing her so broken and defiled… I am sure that I am facing the worst kind of monster right now.

With all the rage and pain and desperation in me, something finally snaps and I raise my sword in the ready stance that my mother taught me. “No. You’ve had your chance. Years ago. I’m not the only one who wants your head right now, and it would be small mercy to let me have it instead of my angrier brethren.”

“Kill me, and you ruin more lives than your own. My people will b athe the city with elven blood.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Lady Cousland growls. “I am no executioner, but you are nothing but a monster, Vaughan. And you know what must be done to monsters. Especially those as terrible as darkspawn.”

Her mage companion smiles, fire dancing on her fingertips. “They must be put down.”

“I will gut your carcasses and take your heads. There would be no greater pleasure.” Vaughan spits at us.

They draw their weapons, and I jump straight at Vaughan. I release the pent up rage I’ve ever had, and with out comes the most terrifying roar rising from my throat. We match each other, blow for blow. He is bigger and stronger, but I am wielding my favored weapon and I am smaller but faster.

I am unawareof the battle raging around me, my eyes focused only on Vaughan. The mage was right. He deserves to be put down if we wish to protect the elves – and less-privileged humans – of Denerim from misery.I grit my teeth and ignore the pain from previous injuries as I close in for the kill. I want to take off his head cleanly, but I think it would be impossible with my blade. I plunge my sword into his eye and step back as he wails and flails in agony.

I step back to survey my surroundings. The clatter of weapons died down seconds before, and I watch my companions staring at me in awe – even Shianni.

“I hope we did the right thing,” Soris groans.

Lady Cousland nods. “We will figure this all out. My brother, the Warden Commander, and another Grey Warden are waiting for us in your home.” She touches my shoulder gently. “Your father has been most worried about you.” She detaches her bloody cloak and heads to Shianni, murmuring softly.

Soris leaves for the back room, and I find myself standing beside Fea. It seems like she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Shianni. “I almost suffered this fate and worse once, if two Warden initiates and their Warden friend did not save me,” she murmurs numbly.

“D-don’t leave me alone. Please. I want to go home.” Shianni sobs louder, and I run to her side, wrapping the cloak around her body. I let her sob into my shoulders, and I let my own tears fall.

Nelaros is dead. Shianni is broken. I am not who I was this morning.

Lady Cousland is still kneeling beside us. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’re safe for now.” Her voice hitched at the word “safe” and I wonder what tragedy would compel a noble lady to join the Grey Wardens.

“Let’s go home, Shianni,” I whisper. “I killed them all for you. They will not lay a hand on you anymore.”

Soris arrives with the other women, who seem unharmed. Some of them have blood-drenched dresses, though. I feel my heart breaking for all of them. No one has to go through what we all have tonight. No one deserves it.

“Are you all right?” Lady Cousland asks, in command once more. She stands up straight, her armor gleaming even in the dimly lit room. “We have to sneak you back to the Alienage.”

Fea

We reach the Alienage at dawn. Most residents are awake, waiting for us by the entrance. Much grief is brought by the news of Nelaros’ death, and is worsened when they find out that another of the captives – Nola – was also murdered.

Shianni barely stirs in Soris’ arms, weak and frightened still.

Duncan, Alistair, and Evain wait for us too. They approach together, worry etched on their faces. Evain rushes straight for his sister, followed by Alistair. I find myself facing Duncan. “Is this what it’s like for all elves?” I ask him.

“Most. Those from Highever have always fared much better, but now that the Howes are in charge…” Duncan shrugs. “I cannot say for sure.”

The bridesmaids escort Shianni home, while the rest of us stay to recount the night’s events. Elder Valendrian looks afraid. Not for the alienage, but for Merane and Soris.

“The garrison could already be on the way, then. There is little time,” Duncan begins.

“W-what do we do?” Merane stammers, shivering lightly. I put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

An elf runs to announce that the guards are here, and I leap into attention. We will fight them if need be – I can see it in my new friends’ eyes.

Evain holds Elinore to his side and Alistair just sort of hovers in front of us all protectively. I’m not sure how he’d fare against Denerim’s guards, but it’s still pretty sweet of him. My knees bend, my arms warm with the magic alight at my fingertips.

The captain of the guard leads his men into the gates and seek Elder Valendrian himself. He faces them calmly, and I admire that. The guards immediately demands the guilty killers, and before we could do anything about it, Merane steps boldly, green eyes glaring at the guards. “It was Soris and me. He raped our cousin. What else can we do to save her?” she all but roars.

“Do you expect me to believe that two of you did all of that?” the captain retorts.

I am about to claim that they had help, but Duncan stops me with a look. Elder Valendrian inclines his head. “We are not all so helpless.”

Soris steps forward, head held high. “If I have to do it again to save my family and my people, I’d gladly do it,” he all but spits, throwing his knife away and approaching the guards.

Before they can grab Merane though, Duncan clears his throat and disrupts them. “I hereby invoke the Grey Warden’s Right of Conscription. I wish to have this young woman under my custody.”

We all stare at him. Merane’s eyes widen – in awe or terror, I do not know. “Y-you c-can do that?”

The captain lets out a curse. He shakes his head and glares at Duncan. “Very well, Grey Warden. We do not dare challenge your rights. But get her out of the city today. Today, hear me?” He jostles Soris painfully.

I tense and almost lob a shard of ice on his face, but Evain holds out a hand to warn me. I feel sorry for Soris, but I understand that only the skilled are recruited – and despite his big heart, he really isn’t that much of a fighter.

The guards leave, dragging a still proud-looking Soris with him.

Merane leaves to say her farewells and pack her belongings, while we are asked to retrieve our packs from the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Elinore is still seething, but now at least I understand why Highever is such a touch subject with her. It seems like she was a lady from that region. So I guess that makes her brother a lord.

I look back toward the Alienage. There truly is so much oppression in this world, it makes me wonder if we can do anything to change that.

Chapter Text

Rand

It's been three weeks since the survivors of our caravan were joined by the Grey Wardens and their recruits. A steady drizzle follows our group as we travel to Ostagar. As my faithful gray steed clops along at the back with the other surviving guards, my thoughts stray to the offer made by the hulking Warden, Gregor.

Never even in my wildest dreams would I ever think that the Grey Wardens would invite me to their order - an order of the best warriors that the land has to fight the ever-looming threat of darkspawn.

I want to join them. I want to join them so much, but if I leave, who could say if I would ever see my family again?

The famed ruin of Ostagar looms tantalizingly closer and closer as the hour passes by. Duran the dwarf says that we will be arriving by nightfall, which I am thankful for. I don't think the elf Auberon will last another day traveling if we keep this up. He seems to get paler by the day, which is most definitely not good. Solona assures me that it's just because of the weather, but I can see her exchanging looks with her brother.

I'm not one to pry, though.

By the time we reach the main road that connects Ostagar and Denerim, the rain has gone on a brief respite.

Another group of travelers head the same way as us. They are a bit too far for me to make out, though I am sure that at least one of them is a woman. I hear Duran calling out at the head of our own group, and the strangers stop where they are. One of them seems to be waving his hand in cheerful greeting. One of the travelers detach himself from his group to approach ours.

The person who comes into clear view is a tall, dark-skinned man with an impressive pair of swords strapped across his back, and plain but tough-looking armor. He inclines his head in greeting, and exchanges a few words with Duran.

The four Warden recruits join them, while I hover curiously nearby.

"Warden-Commander Duncan, these are the recruits we managed to conscript." Duran smiles proudly, and for a while he looks much younger than he usually acts like. "These are Luneth and Solona Amell, former apprentices of First Enchanter Irving, and Nineve Surana, former apprentice to Senior Enchanter Wynne. They are among the youngest Circle Mages, and the most powerful, too. And this is Auberon Mahariel of the Dalish Elves, the best warrior in his clan."

Warden-Commander Duncan greets them warmly, then his dark eyes snap up to look at me. "Oh, and who might this be?" he asks.

Gregor smiles. "Lad here is Rand Ursel, a farmer from Gwaren, was it, boy?" When I nod, he goes on. "Sole survivor of the main guards hired for the supply caravan, fought off darkspawn with just a bow. You should have seen him, Duncan."

"I'm sure I should have," Duncan says with a smile. "It seems like you have impressed Gregor here, and if he is not exaggerating, you must know that shooting down even just a darkspawn or two to death is no easy feat. Have you ever considered becoming a Grey Warden?"

"I have," I admit. "Gregor offered me a place among your order but I'm not sure my family will like it."

"If we fail to quell the sodding Blight soon, you won't have a family to come home to," Solona points out.

She has a point. I want to do something worthwile with my life. I have grown up resigned to the fact that I'll take over the farm from my father, despite desperately yearning for something much more. I might have to write a letter to my father explaining what exactly I've got myself into, and I'm sure he won't be happy about it. The moment Gregor mentioned me to Duncan though, I am pretty much sure that the maker is forcing me to make this decision. I am not sure what I could do that other Wardens cannot. I am but a moderately skilled archer. Maudin would've done better, Maker rest the poor sod's soul.

I still have nightmares about his death.

I turn to Duncan, who watches me with expectant eyes. "I'm in," I tell him.

"Good. We will be starting the Joining tomorrow morning, but for today, I will introduce you to your fellow recruits."

Elinore

We watch Duncan approach us with the people leading the caravan. Apparently it includes the Wardens that left to recruit down south. Alistair seems to know the two armored figures there, at least. He points at the tall man who would probably tower over most people. "That's Gregor. Not a good drinking buddy," he mutters in my ear. His warm breath tickles and I suppress a pleased shudder. "There's Duran, the fair-haired dwarf, whose stormy eyes wander as much as mine. We don't really know much about his life in Orzammar but he's a good person."

My eyes wander to the approaching recruits. The two standing nearest to the full-fledged Wardens were dressed in ornate mage robes. The young man was probably the same age as me, with shoulder-length red hair tied back neatly. His pale gray eyes seem to glow with so much life. He smiles awkwardly, and it makes him look much, much younger. The woman beside him was a little older, if not the same age. Her silver hair is tied back messily, amber eyes wild and excited. She is quite beautiful in a wild, fierce way.

A little behind them is an elf woman, also dressed in expensive-looking mage robes. She is small in stature, but the way she brings herself, from the tight braid that falls down her back, her canted dark eyes and rigid back, paints her as someone not to cross. She walks beside another pale elf, whose bright blue-green facial markings mark him as one of the Dalish. Interceptor takes a liking to him, as he immediately bounds over with a happy bark. The elf greets him like an equal, pushing back his dark-gold hair with a small smile. His bright violet eyes dart to us with uncertainty.

I nod almost imperceptibly, and his face lights up as he turns to Interceptor with glee.

I glance at the last recruit - the lone figure on horseback. He seems uncertain and excited at the same time. His fiery hair is as vivid as his mage companion's, and I wonder if they are cousins or something. His blue-gray eyes peer at us curiously, and Evain beams at him.

I feel Merane and Fea press closer to our group, as if they are both trying to make themselves invisible.

Alistair approaches Duncan and almost drags me along with him due to our proximity to each other. I stumble and almost fall from the sudden movement if it wasn't for Evain. Alistair looks back and mouths an apology, golden eyes wide with horror.

I wink at him and he grins nervously before turning back to Duncan. I feel my stomach flutter in glee, and I resist the urge to askMerane to kick it. Well, I suppose I won't be able to get her consent. She's too nice.

I catch Alistair staring at me while he talks to Duncan, and I stare back. Maker help me, I can't tear my eyes away from him anymore.

Luneth

Andraste's frozen socks, the Warden-Commander's team of recruits absolutely terrify me.

The junior Warden that approached him seems harmless enough. He's a tall, well-built man, maybe around Solona's age, clad in standard-issue armor, red-gold hair and even brighter golden eyes peering at us good-naturedly. He gives us a nervous grin before talking to Duncan in a low whisper. I focus on him, and I feel something.

I could feel the void of the lack of magic - more specifically, the void around someone who capitalizes in his lack of magic to combat spellcasters.

He's a templar.

Solona seems to realize it too, as she shifts from her position, stepping a little closer to me and making herself more visible. Nineve simply scowls and huffs as she always does. I guess it's better than the alternative. I don't want to have to explain her setting the man's hair on fire.

I avert my eyes and observe the other people in Warden-Commander Duncan's party.

The one nearest us is a pretty but fierce-looking woman clad in armor, maybe my age or just a little older. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun, her bright blue eyes peering at us curiosly before flitting to the Templar Warden accompanying them. It's not a look of fear, though. Nope. Not at all. It's more like adoration. Oho, so it seems like even the sodding Templar has a lover. Interesting.

I think the Mabari that is taking a liking to Auberon belongs to her.

Beside this woman is an elf lady, short and fragile-looking, with wide green eyes, pale flaxen hair, and pretty rosebud lips. A big, mean sword is strapped across her back though, so I shouldn't judge by mere appearances.

The next recruit I observe is a man as tall as their Templar companion, dressed in similar armor to the Templar's apparent lover. They must be siblings, since they resemble each other, from their pretty girly faces to their dark hair. His eyes are dark, though, and watch us with unabashed curiosity. Another Mabari stands beside him, tongue lolling out as it regards us the same way as its master.

The last member of their party is a slender, willowy young woman. She toys with her long brown hair as she peers at us nervously. I notice her eyes - they have a lovelier shade fo violet than Auberon's. Hey, hey, I don't think I'm interested in Auberon that way. Anyway, this woman is staring at me too, and I stare back. I start feeling the tingle of magic, and I am pretty much sure it's not from Solona. Not even Nineve seems willing to cast a spell.

The lovely woman I was staring at smiles beatifically as I realize that she's a mage. And she's not someone I know, so she is either from the Denerim Circle, or an apostate. She does not have the bearing of a Circle mage though, so I'm betting on the latter.

An apostate traveling fearlessly with a Templar? Interesting. I suppose she's not doing anything illegal, unlike certain people in the Circle.

My fists clench when I remember Jowan's betrayal. The filthy blood mage is probably having the time of his life now.

After a little introduction, we continue together to Ostagar, the caravan still lumbering behind us. I learn that the mage's name is Fea, and it seems like she is not as dangerous as the Chantry tells us apostates should be. She doesn't even seem to be afraid of the Templar Warden, Alistair.

We reach the very edge of Ostagar - a long marble pathway that must have once been ornately beautiful. Vestigial shadows are all that remains of this aforementioned beauty, though. 

Soldiers and Wardens alike are stationed in makeshift wooden outposts, and they all salute Duncan as we arrive.

"Of course if it's just us, they'll just laugh and show us the way out," Alistair quips. "Well, of course, unless you have pretty dresses on hand. Then we all just don them on and dance until they let us in."

"Well, as long as it's anything but the Remigold," Evain quips.

"And I thought you were a fool," Auberon mutters. "It seems like we have bigger fools in our ranks now."

I stare at him, raising an eyebrow. "Coming from you, I'll have to take that as a compliment."

He snorts and turns away to strike up a conversation with Merane, the elf from Denerim.

At the entrance to the main encampment in Ostagar, a small contingent of warriors are doing their drills. Observing them is a man as tall as Alistair, clad in armor as golden as his shoulder-length hair. He turns as we arrive, and he smiles brightly. "Duncan! It seems like your trip is successful."

"Yes, Your Highness." Duncan inclines his head respectfully. "King Cailan, my new Warden recruits."

King Cailan? With looks like that, he could easily pass as Warden Alistair's older brother. He doesn't look so... kingly. "I am honored to meet you, future Wardens." He smiles at us, and I wonder just how prepared he was when he took the throne. He doesn't seem that much older than us. Maybe five or six years at the most is my best bet

"And we are honored to meet you too, Your Highness," Solona intones, slapping me into a bow.

King Cailan nods, apparently pleased with us, then turns to Elinore and Evain, the black-haired siblings with a small jump of surprise. "Lord and Lady Cousland, what are you doing here? I thought we were expecting your father and his forces."

Lord and Lady Cousland? Cousland? Like the Teyrns of Highever that we discussed in history lessons?

The siblings' faces darken simultaneously. "The Teyrn and the rest of Highever's forces will not be arriving, I'm afraid," says Evain. "Arl Howe and his men slaughtered every man, woman, and child the could lay their hands on in our castle. It was all we could do to flee with everyone we could find."

"Your parents? Fergus' family? What happened?" King Cailan's voice drops to almost a whisper.

"Dead. All dead." Evain's fists clench, and he looks away.

Elinore steps forward. "That is not the only justice we seek."

King Cailan nods. "There will be time for that after we quell the Blight. If it pleases you, we will discuss everything after I go over the strategy with Teyrn Loghain. Warden Alistair, a word if you please."

We leave Alistair standing uncomfortably before the king, and with the two of them together, the resemblance is more pronounced. They must be distant cousins or something.

Auberon

I am growing weaker and weaker with every passing day. Sometimes the sensation is ephemeral enough for me to ignore, but most of the time the chilly weakness lingers in my very core.

I don't want to die from this Taint.

My new companions ask no questions and make no comments, for which I am glad. It is enough to be thrust into this new, unfamiliar world. There is no need for me to appear weak.

The elf from the Warden-Commander's party, Merane, is most kind despite the fact that she is a flat-ears and I have retained the old ways of our people. She teaches me about these tents, and more about the land of the shem'len. I, in turn, tell her about life in our clan, as she seems very interested.

Dinner is a quiet affair, as it is mostly us recruits sitting around the campfire. Duran stays with us and introduces us to a fellow dwarf and Warden.

Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Tella is a striking dwarf. She has a commanding air about her, though I could see that she led a life of as much hardship as our clans. She is a little aloof and sharp-tongued though she seems to get along well with Duran. I suppose that's because they're the only dwarves here.

We are joined by two more recruits who arrived earlier than us. First is Daveth, a wiry shem with a quick wit and even quicker hands, eyes always on women's backsides.

The other one, Ser Jory, is a warrior of Highever, which I am told is the place the siblings Evain and Elinore left behind. I think he's a too full of himself, attempting to ingratiate himself to the children of his former liege.

Waking up is difficult when you barely got any sleep in the first place. My dreams were so filled with gaping shadowy maws and bloodstained claws, I couldn't bear it anymore and had to take my early morning walk long before it was even morning.

It must be because of the discussions we had about the Korcari Wilds last night. We will be venturing into that area today to combat darkspawn and get one vial of their blood each. I most certainly am not looking forward to that. Despite the fact that the ritual we will be undergoing tonight wit hthe help of this blood will cure me of my affliction, the prospect of facing hordes of darkspawn in the dark Wilds does not sound appealing.

Accompanied by Wardens Alistair and Tella, we plunge into the shadowy reaches of the Korcari Wilds a mere hour after our meal. The sounds that I hear are not the sounds of wildlife that fill our forest. This place reeks of something more sinister. I feel the energy draining away as we move farther and farther from Ostagar. I murmur a silent prayer to the creators, that they may guide me through this day. I do not want to succumb to the Taint. I want to help quell this Blight. I want to do more, in honor of Tamlen's memory.

Fight after fight after fight, we slash and hack our way through the darkspawn horde sent along our way. My hunting knives are stained with the thick, dark blood of the creatures threatening the land, and I kill every single one I encounter with relish.

The dwarf Tella is formidable fighter, despite her size. She wields her ax with deft hands that tell me she has been trained in the art of fighting for as long as I have been.

It is so easy to fill the vials of blood, but unfortunately we are also tasked to search for the ruins where some important Grey Warden documents are housed.

We were clearing away the remnants of our quick midday meal when my knees give out. Pain flares out in my entire body, and it feels like the faint midday sun is burning through my eyelids. A cold, cruel shudder runs down my spine, and I hear an impossibly painful scream that drowns out everything else I know.

I don't know how long the sensation lasted, but the next thing I am aware of is lying down on a bed of leaves. The others in our group peer at me with worried eyes.

"What happened?" Merane asks, her hands pressed against her mouth.

Alistair and Tella seem to know what I am going through, as they exchange dark looks. The mage Nineve huffs, arms crossed as she alwas does. "Well, I did my best to stave the pain off. I don't know much of this affliction but..."

"You did great," I assure her, and she gives me one of her rare smiles. "Thank you. I'm fine now, I think."

"Don't you want to rest here? We could double back on the way back from the documents. Maybe half of us can stay with you," Tella says in her sharp accent. "We can't afford to let you get hurt."

"I'm fine," I insist, forcing myself to my  feet. I sway slightly but ignore it, afraid to let them know how much my Taint has progressed. "Let's go."

The others still keep an eye on me, as if worried that I might collapse again. None of them are even letting me fight when we encounter darkspawn. I feel like an invalid.

It is drizzling lightly when we finally reach the pillared ruins of an ancient Tevinter building. Tella kneels by an old-looking chest. "The sodding documents better be here, or someone is going to get hurt."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a deep, unfamiliar voice purrs.

Chapter Text

"I am but a shadow in the night."

Evain

A tall, slender woman approaches us, clad in odd clothing that barely conceals her body. She's tall and graceful, though, approaching us as if she was a queen and we are but her lowly subjects. Her hair is as dark as the night, tied up in a bun reminiscent of Elinore's. She stops to regard us with a smirk, unnatural gold eyes seemingly aglow in the shadowed patch that she is standing in. It takes me awhile to realize that she is beautiful in a way that the forces of nature are beautiful - unpredictable, wild, and dangerous.

"Are you vultures, come to rummage among the bones of a corpse long picked clean by their fellows?" She smiles coyly as she follows my gaze. "Are you thieves, come to search for treasure and wonders that are beyond their rights? Or are you intruders, invading my woods already overrun by darkspawn in search of easy prey?"

"I-It's the Asha'bellanar," Auberon whispers weakly, stepping back. "Forgive us, Lady. We were not aware that these are the woods that they have spoken of in the lores of old."

The woman turns her eyes upon him, and I shift my hand to my sword, prepared to retaliate should she decide to harm him. "I go by many names, stranger, but this name is not mine to claim." Her smirk grows as she approaches us with a cat-like prowl. "But perhaps I must remind you that I asked a question. Are you scavenger or intruder?"

"The Wilds may have claimed this tower in the passages of time, but we seek something that belongs to us," I tell her.

"Besides, it is none of your business, woman," Tella points out, hefting her ax.

The woman narrows her eyes and stops right in front of me, sending my heart racing in terror. "You are most interesting. Why must you arrive to disturb those that your people have long since forgotten? I believe the items you seek are long abandoned, possibly ravaged by time imemorial."

"Still, we must try," I tell her. "For the sake of the land we live in."

"Don't answer any questions," Alistair suddenly warns us. "I think she looks Chasind."

"Afraid that barbarians will swoop down on your little army?" The woman throws back her head and laugh. My skin prickles, and something under it seems to burn. I am afraid of her, but she is very compelling.

"Oh, no, no, no." Alistair glares at her, gold eyes against gold eyes. "Swooping is bad."

"Alistair, I don't think that's a good idea," groans Elinore.

Daveth, one of the recruits we encountered in Ostagar, steps back. "I think you just insulted a Witch of the WIlds."

That term rings a bell. I recall Old Nan telling us stories about the Witches of the Wilds who take away clueless travelers and consume their blood for power. I'm not sure how much of the tales are true, but I don't want to risk anything.

The woman blinks slowly. "Witch of the Wilds, you say? I believed that you Grey Wardens are above such idle fancies."

I incline my head. "Idle fancies they may be, but scholars have proven that there are always grains of truth hidden among the sifting sands of rumors and tales." I remember that quote from one of Brother Gentivi's writings in the Highever library. My gut twists as I remember our ruined home once more, and wonder if those books are still there, or if they have gone the same way as half our family.

"It seems you know who we are, Lady, and what we seek," Elinore ventures, laying a hand on Alistair's arm to silence him. "We implore you to help us."

The woman's lips twitch. "Oh, a polite one. Courtesy is so much rarer than knowledge in this age. Tell me your name, polite one, and I will tell you mine."

"Elinore Cousland of Highever."

"And you may call me Morrigan." The woman smiles predatorily. "I am aware that you are seeking something that is not there anymore."

Alistair bristles with rage. "And I'm sure you stole them, you sneaky witch thief!" Smooth.

I cross my arms. "Not there anymore, yes, and they are very important documents. So if you don't mind, maybe you can show us to them."

Morrigan bares her teeth in a grin, like a predator cornering her prey. "Even if I would like to give them back, I cannot. I am not the one who took them away."

"Then may you take us to the person who has them, then?" Auberon seems stronger as he faces Morrigan. "Time is of great importance."

"Most of all for you, it seems." Morrigan eyes him, and once more I fear for his well-being. "You do not play with your food, do you? Very sensible. I like you, too."

"Be careful. Now it's I like you. Later it's zap! Frog time!" Alistair huffs. He really, really hates this Morrigan, it seems.

Daveth shudders. I would have felt sorry with him if I haven't caught him staring hungrily at Elinore and Merane last night, and tried to touch Fea inappropriately. "She'll put us in a pot, mark my words!"

"I don't mind. It would be warmer there," Ser Jory says.

Auberon suddenly scowls. "I think she is the daughter of Asha'bellanar, and it would be wise for us to follow her. True misfortune will befall us and the Creators will not be able to help if we do not heed her words."

Morrigan inclines her head in apparent amusement. "Very well. Follow me."

She spreads her arms wide, and the shadows around her seem to lengthen as she apparently shrinks and turns into a crow.

"That should be impossible," Fea whispers in awe behind me.

"It must be a thing of witches, then," Solona tells her.

Solona

I could sense immense power within Morrigan. There are only a handful of people in the Circle that could match the raw energy within her, and three of them are standing right here. The other apostate in the group, Fea, was not yet that strong, but I could feel so much untapped potential within her.

Morrigan transforming into a crow is a shock, though. According to our studies, that should be impossible outside of the Fade, so how can this woman achieve such a feat?

She - as a crow - leads the way deeper into the Wilds and into a small clearing with a small hut. An old woman awaits us, broom in hand.

If this is Morrigan's mother, she looks nothing like her daughter. She looks as old as Ferelden itself, her gray hair dry and unkempt. She is dressed in a simple dress of deep violet, made of the same material as Morrigan's - er - clothes.

Morrigan is momentarily wrapped by shadows again as she transforms back into a woman. "Greetings, Mother. I have visitors with us."

"I can see that, girl," her mother all but spits. "I am old, not blind." She twists her lips as she regards us, eyes lingering on everyone. "Much as I expected."

"Uh, pardon?" Nineve growls, matching her scowl.

"And you expect us to believe that you were expecting us?" Alistair says with a nervous laugh.

Tella peers at him. "Well, if she has the documents with her then she would naturally expect us to arrive."

"I require nothing of you. I do not ask you to believe." Morrigan's mother regards us with eyes as golden and bird-like as her daughter's. I sense danger in them, and immense power darker and more ancient than I expected.

The more she exchanges banter with my group, the more fear takes root in my heart.

"Mother, they did not come here for your tales." Finally, an impatient Morrigan cuts through their conversation.

The woman blinks, as if in the middle of straying off into a tale of the old days. "Oh, yes. The treaties are with me. Now before you go on barking, I actually put back protective wards around them when the original ones faded away." Sensible of her.

Alistair blinks as he accepts the treaties, thrown off from the angry retort he was about to make. It seems like his time in the Chantry made him wary of apostates. Well, I am, too, but I don't really mind traveling with Fea.

We part with Morrigan and her mother bearing a warning to Warden-Commander Duncan.

It seems like the Blight is much worse than we all feared. I hope for the sake of Ferelden that the Witches of the Wilds are wrong.

By the time we return to the path, Auberon seems to be much, much weaker. I'm afraid that he does not have much time. Nineve is sufficient enraged to do her healing, but even that does not seem enough to ease the elf's pain. He refuses further help, though, and I admire his independence, but still I am hoping that he would learn to trust us.

Elinore

The sun is just a bright strip of gold in the horizon by the time we reach Ostagar, which is bathed in deep shadows and vivid firelight. In rhe semidarkness, I could almost imagine it in its former glory.

How long until Castle Cousland is nothing but ruins?

I hang back from the group, who are all eagerly talking about the Joining that will take place before dinner. I rub my chest, feeling the emptiness where pain used to be. I miss my home, and I worry about Fergus, too. No one heard from him since his group went scouting. We encountered an injured member, but he claimed that he was and his dead comrades were separated from the rest of their men during an attack.

We just lost half of our family. We can't lose Fergus too.

Lost in my thoughts, it took me some time to realize that I am leaning on a makeshift wooden wall, struggling to catch my breath. I can't keep losing my mind. I will be a real Warden tonight, and I have a duty to fulfill.

"Lady Cousland?" I look up and see the mage, Luneth, watching me with anxious eyes. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, forcing a smile on my face. "Thank you."

I don't think he believes me, though. "Come, let's get some tea to warm you up before the Joining."

"I'm fine, don't worry," I assure him. "And just call me Elinore. We're all Warden recruits here."

He relaxes and returns my smile. We join the others and Duncan, who watches us with expectant eyes. Alistair shifts nervously beside him, while the dwarves Duran and Tella, and tall human Gregor, watch nearby.

Auberon, weak and clammy, is being supported by Merane and Nineve, his fellow elves, worry etched on their fair faces. Fea and Solona stand nearby, ready to provide help. Evain watches me curiously, though he maintains his conversation with Rand and Ser Jory. Daveth is picking his nails with his knife, and I make a face as he leers at me.

Duncan beckons us to come closer, a chalice in hand. More of its kind were set on a table behind him.

"I'm liking this Joining less and less," Ser Jory moans.

"Maybe not," I muse. "The Wardens only choose the best of them all, don't they?"

Ser Jory grumbles some more, and I have the feeling that someone is getting cold feet.

"The Joining is finally upon us," Duncan says, his warm, commanding tone silencing us all. "The Wardens rose during the First Blight, where all races stood on the verge of total annihilation from the threat that we came to know as the darkspawn. The first Grey Wardens learned to master the Taint by drinking the blood of their enemies."

Nineve scowls. I am starting to learn that she does that a lot, as she cannot tap into her magic without being sufficiently enraged. "Are you saying that we're going to use blood magic?"

"Quite similar to that, yes," Alistair says. He was awfully quiet since I arrived, and I guess that the Joining still makes him uncomfortable. He was a Templar-in-training after all. "As a matter of fact, Wardens are allowed to use blood magic against darkspawn."

Duncan nods in approval. "But do not fear, my young mage. This is different from blood magic."

I filter out their talk, staring at the deep red liquid swirling in the chalice. Not something I'd drink someone's health to.

"Not all who drink the blood will make it," Duncan continues in a mournful tone. "We will be changed irrevocably if we survive. It is a price we must pay for our power to combat the darkspawn, and the best-kept secret of our order."

"Not so sure what to feel about that," Daveth said, setting his dagger aside.

I take a deep breath and try to look unfazed. 

"There are a few words spoken before the Joining, but they have been used since the very first," Duncan continues.

"Join us, brothers and sisters, join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant." Alistair's eyes seem to harden as he speaks. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and know that, one day, we shall join you." His eyes flicker to me.

Merane helps Auberon take a sip from the goblet, as directed by Duncan. The Dalish elf coughs and splutters as the apparently vile blood reaches his throat. He groans and pitches forward. Luckily Nineve seems strong enough to manhandle him, and rests him beside a pillar.

Tella approaches us and peers at the unconscious elf. "He'll live."

When Daveth takes a sip though, events take a terrifying turn. He drops the chalice and collapses, writhing and screaming, clawing his throat. Blood dribbles from his mouth and leaks from his eyes like nightmarish tears. He goes still as he hits the ground.

"Forgive me, Daveth." Duncan bows his head.

Ser Jory's knees buckle as Duncan offers a fresh goblet to him. "No, no. You can't expect me to do this! You know I have a wife and child!"

"There is no turning back. You have chosen your path," Duncan says, hand flying to one of the swords strapped on his back.

"You asked for too much," roars Ser Jory.

He draws his sword, but Duncan is quicker. The knight is struck down, and is dead before he falls. Wardens do what they must, even if it means taking a life, to keep the secrets of their order.

I let out a breath that I was not aware I was holding. Another good man from Highever gone.

I watch my new comrades fall down, one by one, but confirmed alive by the Wardens. None of them stirs, though, which worries me. Even Evain lays still, seemingly dead to the world. Duncan offers me the chalice. I take a deep breath and lock eyes with Alistair. I take a sip, and let out a choking cough. Everything goes black.

Chapter Text

"I set out to rule the world with only a paper shield and a wooden sword

Elinore

I am a leaf adrift in a wind. Fire flows in my veins, and ice holds my heart. I could hear a song in my head - a song so enthralling, I am tempted to give up everything just to search for its source. I hear roars and murmurs, screams of pain and agony.

I drift further and further through murky darkness and fire. Fear starts to grip me as I realize that I cannot control what is happening. There is nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep me steady.

"Elinore? Elinore, stay with me, please."

The voice is a familiar arrow of light in the muddled chaos. I cling to it like an anchor, try to pull myself out of the raging torrent of Tainted darkness.

I return to consciousness slowly. I am aware of the fire slowly receding from my limbs, burdened by the light armor I prefer. I feel someone's arms cradling me, their warm breath ruffling my hair. My body feels so sore, I couldn't help but let out a groan.

"By the Maker! I thought you wouldn't wake up!" Alistair's breath softly tickles part of my head.

I slowly look around. My fellow Warden recruits stand around me, peering with concerned eyes. Even Auberon seems stronger and healthier than before. Duran and Tella peer at me with identical terrified looks.

"This never happened before," Duran muses softly.

"I don't even know what happened," I croak. I hate the way my voice sounds.

Duncan strides into view, placid as always. "We were not able to determine immediately whether you would live or not."

I move a little, and the arms around me shift nervously. I realize that they belong to Alistair, and I feel my face burn despite the cold and clammy feeling in the rest of my body. He slowly helps me sit, but I am so weak that I still have to lean against him. I feel one of my hidden knives digging uncomfortably against my arm.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He smiles and waves his hand idly. "You don't think you're getting my services for free, are you?"

I grin back at him. "We can discuss the fee for your services, then."

Alistair

I still keep an eye out on Elinore throughout our dinner. She still looks pale and  clammy, and I'm worried that she might not be able to fight with us much later. She seems cheerful enough though, as she exchanges stories with a reserved Rand.

I still am not so sure what made me hold her while she thrashed, but it seems to be amusing Evain now that we're sure she'll be fine.

I need to tell her the truth soon. I just hope she doesn't run away screaming once I do.

I watch Duran and Tella hand out the Warden's Oath to our new members. My hand flies to mine, remembering the others who fell during my Joining.

I catch Elinore staring at me. I stand up and motion for her to follow. I lead her through the small crowd, and up a partially collapsed guard wall overlooking the old courtyard where the healers are now stationed in. I sit at the very edge, feet dangling from my precarious position. She sits beside me, and I can feel her blue eyes peering at me.

"So, is there something you're not telling me?" She flicks her wrist, bringing out one of her knives. "Need me to gut someone?"

"Nothing of the sort, m'lady," I mumble. "Look, there's something I have to tell you."

She makes a face. "Don't tell me that you're married."

"It's not easy to snare me," I point out. "If anyone tried, that is."

She smiles. "Well, that's their problem. They haven't tried." I like the way her eyes glitter in the firelight as she speaks. "So, what were you trying to tell me?"

I look away. "Look, since we'll be around each other more often now that you're officially a Warden, I want to tell you something. Well, everyone else will find out eventually, but I trust you the most and... well... shutting up now."

"You trust me?" Her eyes widen, and she turns red.

I can't look at her. Maker, I can't. She will hate me for this. "It's bound to come out anyway, especially after what Cailan did earlier today."

"Elinore, the reason Arl Eamon raised me is because I'm a bastard - oh, no, not his," I quickly add. "My mother was a serving girl. She died when I was born. My father is, uhm, King Maric. So that makes me King Cailan's half-brother."

I wait for her to burst out laughing, but she doesn't. "That makes perfect sense. You do resemble him. I wish you could have told me sooner."

"Well, er, I wanted you to like me for who I am first," I admit. "Among the Wardens, only Duncan knows anyway."

Her eyes widen. "B-but I do like you, you know. I trust you with my life." She shakes her head and laughs. "So does this make you a royal bastard, then?"

I like that. Royal bastard. Huh. "Why didn't I think of that first?"

She laughs again, but I don't mind. I think she's very beautiful when she does. She flicks back a fallen lock of hair that strayed off from her bun. "So, this will be our little secret for now, then?"

"Andraste's flaming knickers, yes please," I groan. "They'll give me a hard time."

"Why did you say that it's bound to come out?"

Oh, that. "Cailan knows. About me. And, uh... yeah. You know that he doesn't have children yet, right?"

Elinore nods. I suppose she knows about the rumors too. "They say Queen Anora's barren." She makes a face. "Fergus thinks there's just too little love between them."

"Well, crazy fool half-brother actually legitimized me behind my back. Says he needs an heir. He sent out all necessary documents and announcements all over Ferelden while I was off on an adventure of a lifetime with Duncan." I show her the ring Cailan gave me, carrying the Theirin line's crest. "If he dies, he's practically doomed Ferelden."

She shakes her head. "You're not that bad. Let's just pray that Cailan survives and fathers a child soon."

"I'm really sorry to ruin the moment, but Duncan wants to talk to us."

Rand's voice nearly makes me fall off from my precarious position, and I scramble back from the edge of the wall. "You nearly killed me," I tell him.

He grins. "I am so sorry about that, Ser Alistair."

I grumble all the way back to the campfire.

There's even a bigger reason to grumble once Duncan lays out the battle plans he discussed with King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain. Apparently we're supposed to babysit a fire. Not exactly babysit, but a team of four that includes Elinore, Rand, Nineve, and me will be climbing the Tower of Ishal and light a fire at the very top to signal Teyrn Loghain that it's time for his forces to attack. Not a glamorous job. I think King Cailan's doing this to force me to stay safe.

Well I guess that's not as bad as Duran, Solona, Fea, and Auberon assisting in the evacuation of the non-combatants. Or Tella, Luneth, Evain, and Merane helping to secure the evacuation point we'll be using once fighting ensues. The rest of the Wardens will be in the battlefield, though.

I peer at my new comrades' determined faces, wondering who would not make it out of this night alive.

Nineve

It's raining.

Dressed in nothing but my most practical brown Circle robes and boots, I feel the cold much more than my armored comrades. Even Rand is now garbed in standard-issue Warden light armor. All my belongings are now in my pack, along with the treaties Duncan handed over for safekeeping. Lady Cousland's mabari, Interceptor, sniffs at my heels and whines.

The weather is depressing, not enraging, and I wonder if I would be able to heal if needed.

"Be ready to run to the tower once the battle starts," Duncan calls out.

We nod, and I clutch my simple wooden staff like a lifeline. So many possible scenarios run through my mind's eye. Elinore Cousland stands beside me. "I know you have no armor," she says. "I wouldn't ask you to stay behind us if you don't want to, but I'll stay close just in case, okay?" She grins, and I start thinking that maybe we could be friends. "I think you'll blast foes to pieces before we can lift our weapons, though."

I smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm just a healer."

"Healing is good." She motions to the swirling dark mass at the edges of Ostagar. "We'll need loads of it soon."

I'm afraid that she's right. So many people will be dead tonight because there are not enough healers.

"Have you ever felt like no matter how much you do, it will not be enough?" I cross my arms, motioning to the medic stations set up by some Circle mages, Wynne at the head of their group. "That you are doing your best, and giving your all, but in the end it won't make that much of a change?"

"All the time," Elinore sighs. "If we were faster, stronger, much more alert, maybe things would've been different."

"Do you regret joining the Wardens?" I ask. I don't. I want to do as much as I can with my gifts.

She shakes her head. "Not for the world. About the circumstances behind it though... that's another matter."

A loud hunting horn blares through Ostagar as one of the scouts come running into view. "The darkspawn are coming!" he cries out.

Elinore's eyes harden. "Come on," she says, leading our small party away from the battle.

I follow her lead, and we are soon joined by Rand and Alistair. We run to the Tower of Ishal, the wind whipping at our faces and the rain soaking our clothes. The cold sends shivers down my spine, but I shrug it off. The sounds of battle erupt around us, and I find my nails digging into my staff. It hurts, but it keeps my head clear despite my budding terror.

There is a loud crashing sound as we cross the bridge. Part of the bridge explods as a spell hurled by a darkspawn mage misses its mark.

Alistair falls back, shield raised. I remember that he is trained in Templar arts, and could protect us from magic if needed. I'm not sure how efficient it would be, as he has been weaned from lyrium and has not even taken his vows when he left the order, but we'll have to trust him.

Interceptor whines and yelps as fiery debris hits his flank. I wince in empathy and summon enough rage in me to heal a minor injury. I've got plenty of rage, most of it directed to myself and my feeling of inadequacy.

I barely healed him when the bridge shakes from the impact of a darkspawn projectile. One of the soldiers guarding us loses balance and plunges down.

Elinore shouts at the head of the group, encouraging us to keep moving forward. A soldier meets us near the tower.

"Darkspawn," he pants. "They found a way into the tower... the lower chambers! Most of our men are dead."

Rand sighs. "It seems like we'll have to fight our way through."

"We don't have any choice," I point out. "Teyrn Loghain will be counting on us. The tide of battle will still rest on our shoulders. We can't fail them."

"Hopefully the rain means the darkspawn can't set us on fire," Alistair quips. "But, uh, that means we can't set them on fire either."

"I can't set anything on fire, either way," I assure him.

Much fighting was already underway when we circled the tower. I stop breathing when a smoking projectile blows a hole in the bridge we just left, rendering it useless. The darkspawn might end up crossing at any moment.

Alistair raises his shield and takes the lead. We charge through the fray with a scream. My mind cycles through my knowledge of combat magic, which is pitifully small compared to what I know about healing. I am afraid that I'll be just a burden.

I raise a chunk of earth from the ground and hurl it like a projectile into the army of darkspawn besieging the tower. Alistair leaps between them and a wounded shoulder, bashing the nearest darkspawn with his shield while Rand flanks him, shooting arrows at the enemy's rear.

Elinore charges next, jumping into the fray with her twin swords after throwing some knives at the enemies. I've heard about her keeping some concealed in her clothes, but this is the first time I've seen them in action. It seems like she was hiding a lot of things up her sleeve back then.

Heh.

I focus on my magic again, hoping to help Rand rain down death upon the enemies. I channel the fiery rage slowly building up in me, and instead of using it to heal, I focus on doing damage to those who are in my way.

Lightning dances out of my fingertips.

Primal magic. I am using primal magic, but there is no time to focus on this achievement. We march forward, melee fighters cutting a swath through the enemy forces.

They clear the way to the tower, but unfortunately the fighters inside are slowly being slaughtered too. "Damn," Rand hisses. "I'm nearly out of arrows."

"Kill darkspawn. Scavenge what can be reused," Elinore yells, hurling herself into the fray again.

Rand

I loot corpses - darkspawn and defenders alike - and I replenish my quiver and actually manage to fill two more spares. I also grab a pair of hutning knives from a fallen fighter. My skills with it are rudimentary, but at least I will not be useless when there's not enough space to shoot. I'll have to ask Auberon to teach me about them later.

If we survive the night, that is.

We fight our way through the tower, freeing some mabari hounds held by darkspawn along the way and saving more soldiers.

We are almost at the top now, just one last circling flight of stairs left between us and our destination. Battered, bruised, weary, we pause for a short while.

"Well, we're alive," Alistair says. "Not better off than apples thrown down the top of Castle Redcliffe, but alive."

"It feels a lot worse than that," I tell him darkly, rubbing my bruised wrist.

We reach the beacon at the top, where part of the roof and most of the walls are collapsed. A massive darkspawn awaits us, its club raised. It roars as we approach.

"Great. An ogre." Alistair hefts his shield.

I turn to Nineve, who is scowling as always. At least it's directed at the darkspawn. "Alright, Nineve, I've seen you use lightning and rocks. Can you light a fire?"

"It is theoretically possible," she squeaks. "But I've never been able too, no matter how angry I am."

"We'll buy you plenty of time," I assure her. "Please find a way to do it."

"First one to scream like a little kid will be buying ale," Alistair yells, slamming his shield into the Ogre's belly.

"You're on," I hiss, nocking an arrow and aiming for its eye. I realize just how difficult it is with the wind and rain pouring in from the holes in the room.

Damn. I missed.

The ogre throws off Elinore with a swing of its meaty arm, and I move forward, drawing my new hunting knives. Dressed in lighter armor than even Elinore, I am faster and more nimble.

I weave through my companions and try to plant one of my knives into the Ogre's knee. Unfortunately my new weapon glances off as I slip in a puddle. The ogre tries to step on me, but Alistair bashes it with his shield, throwing his whole weight into that point. Behind us, a sudden rush of heat preceeds the fire that Nineve managed to conjure.

The Ogre topples, and a knife flies out of nowhere, embedding in its throat. It gurgles and goes still.

"Ha. Take that, bastard," Elinore roars from behind us.

There's no time for rest. The door bursts open, and entire swarm of darkspawn surges in.

"Damn, they've brought in an Emissary," Alistair groans. "Templar duties for me, then."

"What are you talking about?" Nineve asks, raising her staff.

"Spellcasters - look out!" Alistair raises his hand as the unusual darkspawn hurls ice at us, which promptly dissipates. "I'm getting rusty. A little help?"

The darkspawn rain down arrows upon us, and I barely had time to duck behind a pile of rocks. Nineve and Elinore are right behind me. "Maker, we're not going to make it," our lone mage observes.

"There has to be a way." Elinore hurls her last knife and leaps forward, taking the Emissary by surprise. She plants one of her swords in its chest as a bolt of lightning from its hand strikes hers. She crumples down, motionless.

Nineve screams, and fire blooms from her outstretched hands, razing the front ranks of darkspawn. The rest rain arrows upon us again, and three strike her in the abdomen. She goes down without another spell.

"No, no," Alistair yells, raising his shield as he runs to me. I leap out of my hiding place, but there is a resounding explosion as more darkspawn find their way here.

A larger volley of arrows strike us, and not even Alistair's armor and shield could protect us.

Chapter Text

"We were amateurs at war, strangers to suffering."

Evain

We barely make it to the evacuation point. The entire battle is in chaos - well, it was like that since it started.

We head to the evacuation point, which nothing more than a hole in the wall of the ruins. Other warriors line the way outside, ready to assist the injured, the healers, and the members of the Chantry who will be fleeing once the battle commences. We are not so well away from the battle to avoid small squads of darkspawn heading our way, but I suppose our lives are easier compared to those who have to climb up the Tower of Ishal.

A shout emerges from the midst of the actual battle when the darkspawn projectiles blow up the bridge. Maker, please tell me that my sister and her group have already crossed it.

I observe the battle, disappointed that I cannot truly be a part of it despite the darkspawn we fend off every now and then, and the evacuees we guide out of the field. I observe the shadows for any darkspawn that might try to sneak in, and I briefly imagine a dark-haired woman in minimal clothing observing us.

Morrigan. Her name is Morrigan.

I briefly close my eyes, recalling her vaguely Chasind features, and that golden, bird-like gaze. I can see her spreading her arms wide and transforming into the shadowy crow.

The ground shakes, nearly throwing the fresh batch of evacuees off their feet. I rush to aid them with Tella. Duran's party are right behind them, faces blackened with soot.

"That's the last of them for now," Fea announces to our group. She looks behind her. "The darkspawn are better prepared, it seems. We nearly got killed by exploding projectiles three times."

"We better help, then." I gesture at the battle raging a small distance from us.

The wind begins to pick up pace as the sounds of battle suddenly stops. Fire blooms at the distant Tower of Ishal, and I am confident that the small party sent to light it survived.

Duran nods. "We should look for more survivors in the battlefield."

I heft my sword with a smile. Actually killing darkspawn in battle instead of waiting for them to ambush us is a good choice. By the time we reach the thick of the battle though, everything has worsened. No reinforcements have arrived, though the beacon has been blazing for some time.

I fight my way through some angry hurlocks and my sword is red with blood in minutes. Even my new Warden-issue armor is now worse for wear. We pull off more of the injured away from the battle, assisted by the last of the mages who begin this last retreat.

"I think we're losing," I hear Luneth whisper fearfully behind me.

"Ah, Evain!" King Cailan jogs toward us, face streaked with water and soot, armor dented in some painful places. "It seems like the good Teyrn has left us."

"But why?" I ask. Teyrn Loghain and King Maric were best friends. His loyalty to his king and Ferelden never wavered, despite all the rumored disagreements.

King Cailan purses his lips. "I don't know, Evain." He looks like the young king he really is, barely older than Fergus himself, and definitely knee-deep in something way beyond him. "There is so much we don't."

Duncan approaches us, a tired look in his eyes. "Let us sound the retreat," he says. He turns to me. "I expect you and your comrades to survive this night. Find Alistair's party, regroup, and keep fighting. My duty ends here, but yours has barely begun."

"Duncan, what do you mean?" I all but howl.

Cailan pushes me forward. "You need to live to tell the tale and finish the fight. Look for my brother, understand? He needs to live. Ferelden needs him."

"Your brother?" I stammer. Cailan was an only child.

"You'll find him." Cailan thrusts a small leather satchel into my hands, and I grab it clumsily. "Now go, go. We'll sound the retreat."

Retreat horns sound all around me as I flee, searching for the rest of my companions in the chaos.

I spot Luneth and Auberon first, fighting back to back against a horde of what I think are called genlocks. I rush to their aid, but Duran and Tella beat me to it. They work flawlessly together, as a perfect team should. I suppose they go a long way back, being dwarves.

"Are you alright?" I call out as I run to them, the wind and rain whipping at my face.

"Yes," Tella snaps. "Where's Duncan?"

"Covering our retreat." I think. I sling the satchel over my armor and look around. "We have to go."

"Is there anywhere not overrun by darkspawn?" Solona calls out as she arrives, Merane and Fea in tow. All of them look worse for wear.

Lightning flashes above us, and I see the silhouette of a slender, lithely-built woman dressed in little more than dark rags. Morrigan. She inclines her head as if to acknowledge my suspicions.

"Isn't that her?" Auberon whispers in my ear. "Asha'bellanar's daughter? She must be here under her mother's command."

Luneth shakes his head. "She could be planning anything."

We continue heading for the previous evacuation point, but find it overwhelmed by darkspawn. The guards stationed outside seem to be dead - so are the evacuees that headed this way.

Maker help us.

We fight the darkspawn as they come, wave after wave. We can hear screams and shouts behind us, but we can't do anything to help. It's all we could do to survive in our own little space. Not even having three mages will suffice.

Somehow, we overpower them, despite the fact that we are exhausted and close to dropping dead. Still, there is nowhere to run. Everyone retreating has scattered. I see an Ogre smash at Cailan with its fist and behead Duncan. I bite back my scream.

"Well, well, it seems like you do not want to leave this place alive."

I spot Morrigan standing by the wall, arms crossed.

"What do you mean?" I call out as I head for her.

"I have shown myself to you, wishing to guide you out of this chaos that your foolish king has brought upon you," she points out. "And you ignored me."

"Oh, is that what you're doing?" I say. "I thought you just wanted to watch us get slaughtered."

"Greetings, Morrigan," Auberon says as the rest of them catch up to us. "Have you come with a message from the Asha'bellanar?"

"That depends on how you perceive it, elf of the Dales," she quips. "I have come to offer safe passage."

I frown. I've heard enough legends about her mother and the Witches of the Wilds. "I suppose this will come at a price."

"Something that we can reasonably discuss with her mother," Duran said. I suppose that he will do well. He seems to be the diplomatic type.

"Have you made your decision?" Morrigan's smirk reeks of danger, I wonder if we're actually doing the right thing.

"Show us the way, Lady," Auberon says, sealing our fate.

Fea

A cold breath of wind shakes the trees as we plunge right back into the Korcari Wilds, following an unfamiliar path oddly devoid of the darkspawn swarming it.

"Well, I wouldn't mind being put in a sodding pot if it means being warm," Luneth quips behind me.

"I'd rather hope not," I tell him. "I don't want to be eaten for dinner."

He grins, though I can see the exhaustion and sadness behind it. We have found a new family, a new pack, only to be ripped away from it cruelly.

I don't fight off the tears that follow, though I distance myself from the others so that they won't notice.

By the time we arrive in Flemeth's hut, we find Rand waiting outside the door. He looks terrible, bandages poking out of his ripped clothes and an ugly wound sits uncomfortably close to his left eye. His face lights up when he sees us. "You're alive," he breathes tiredly. "Maker, she's right. You're all alive. Where are the other Wardens? What happened?"

"They're gone. All gone. There are few other survivors from Ostagar, if any," Duran said dully.

"That bastard Loghain just sodded off with his troops." Tella scowls. "Is that what your nobles do? Leave people to die and save their own skin?"

"Not everyone sees the world in black and white," Evain informs her somberly. He turns to Rand. "Where's the rest of your party? My sister?"

"Still recuperating." Rand rubs his wounded forehead tiredly. "None of them are awake yet."

I have a feeling that it's going to be a long night.

Flemeth joins us eventually, and since it is a bit cramped in her little home we set up our tents in the clearing instead. With Rand still good enough for a quick hunt, we manage to help our hosts whip up a simple dinner under the stars.

Morrigan barely makes her presence known, staying inside the hut apparently to tend to our friends. I think she just doesn't like having company that much. Not that I can blame her, of course, as she probably grew up as isolated as I.

Alistair joins us in the middle of the meal, but Nineve and Elinore are still dead to the world.

We decide to postpone breaking the news until morning. No one has the heart to tell him that his father-figure is dead.

By the time we turn in for the night, so many questions whirl in my head. Why did Teyrn Loghain leave his king, his son-in-law, to die? Why would someone like him leave Ferelden to succumb to the Blight? From what my master taught me of history, Loghain is fiercely loyal to Ferelden and to his best friend, King Maric... who is King Cailan's father.

Nothing makes any sense, but then again I'm just an apostate mage, I don't know much about the state of affairs here in Ferelden.

I may not be able to sleep tonight, after witnessing so much death and betrayal. I'm afraid of what sleep will bring, and I do not trust Morrigan and her mother.

With only the most junior Wardens in Ferelden alive, I wonder if we will be able to quell the Blight.

Chapter Text

"I bear little resemblance to the king I could become."

Evain

In spite of all the chaos that happened, Fergus' scouting team never emerged, and was never found. Not even Morrigan and Flemeth have any idea as to what happened to them.

My gut twists when I think of him. There's so much that needs to be done, and worrying about him makes things worse. We can't lose him too.

I wake up near noon. I didn't even expect myself to sleep after everything that happened last night, but it seems like I was so tired that my body just shut itself down. It takes me a while to take in the sight of my tent, and the fact that I'm alive. Bruised, battered, and a little worse for wear, but alive.

My eyes wander to the grimy satchel I received from Cailan last night, and curiosity gets the best of me. I open it carefully, afraid to damage whatever it is inside - documents. I pull them out gingerly and start to read. It seems like Cailan is a lot smarter than people give him credit for. Since he had no son, he actually sought the other person in the entire kingdom who actually has the blood of the Theirin line running through his veins and named him heir while this person was off to Highever.

King Maric had a bastard son. And his name is Alistair.

That explains their resemblance. That might also explain why King Cailan wanted to talk to him in private when we arrived in Ostagar, and why our Warden friend seemed nervous. Andraste's tears, this completely changes everything too. We have to watch out for him and find a way to get him on the throne. I have a feeling that Queen Anora and Teyrn Loghain will be our staunchest opposition, and we'll be needing the help of someone capable of political maneuvering to help my friend survive the coming days.

I step out of the tent, the satchel of documents slung over my shoulder. I am still sore from the battle, and I hobble around like an old man. I find Alistair sitting cross-legged by the hut, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Yes?" he begins as he notices me.

"Elinore?" I ask.

His face falls and he turns away. "Still unconscious. I guess you're more worried than I am."

"I think you're infatuated with her," I say, trying to lighten the mood. I haven't seen my sister since the battle, as Flemeth locked us out of the bedroom last night. I'm worried that she's worse off than we are led to believe.

"Maybe," he says, still not meeting my eyes.

I decide to bring up King Cailan's last orders for me. "So, Alistair..." I pull out the documents from the satchel. "King Cailan told me something about the two of you being, uh, half-brothers."

He blinks and stares at me. "Yep, that's me. King's half-brother, royal bastard slash templar in training slash Grey Warden, specializing in ritual dismemberments and cheese."

"I can't blame you for not telling us," I admit. "Bastards - especially royal bastards - are usually treated like dirt. But Cailan chose you as his heir."

"Yeah, until he sires a child." He stares at me, bright eyes suddenly sharp. "We're going back to them later, right? When everyone's okay?"

"Alistair, I don't want to break it to you, but we've lost the battle." I avert my eyes, afraid of being the bearer of bad news. "Duncan and your brother are dead. I'm not sure how many survivors there are aside from us and those that fled before we were overrun."

"But the Teyrn had plenty of reinforcements," Alistair says. I can feel the numbness in his voice - the same numbness that overtook mine when we fled from Highever."

I sigh. "Teyrn Loghain betrayed us. He led his forces away from the battle when they saw the signal fire. If my suspicions are correct, he and Anora will be taking advantage of Cailan's death and might fabricate lies about you."

Alistair stands up. "I can't be king," he muses.

"Can't let the kingdom be run by the people who betrayed your brother," I point out.

The hut door opens, and Flemeth peers out. "Awake. As much as I expected," she says in that snappy tone of hers. "If you want to eat something, you better help around here."

Auberon

In my short time outside of the clan, I have met many honorable shem'len, and even two durgen'len worthy of respect. But now, many of them are dead, all because their foolish king trusted the wrong man. Perhaps I should not judge him too harshly, for this Loghain was apparently Cailan's father.

This Loghain has no honor.

I return to Asha'bellanar's hut after hunting, and she offers to cook them for our midday meal.

I find Elinore and Merane talking quietly by the tents. They still bear marks of the battle like me, but we are all looking better by the hour. Merane smiles at me, and I find myself once again wondering why someone like her, who lived a life of oppression by the shem'len, is still so beautiful.

"Auberon, did you even sleep?" she asks. "I haven't seen you leave your tent."

"I rise early," I tell him. "Early to hunt, early to eat."

"Life must have been so hard for you and your people," she muses.

Anger wells up in me. "It is better than supplicating ourselves to the shem'len."

Merane looks hurt. I see tears well up from her eyes, and I feel guilty for lashing out on her. It's not her fault, not really. "We did what we could to survive. Isn't that what your people did, too?"

She's right, and I know it. I turn away and avert my gaze. "You're right."

"It all comes down to it, right? We have to do what we can to survive, even if it means facing the Blight itself." Merane stands up to face me. "We have a lot of work cut out for us, Auberon."

"I know." I feel Elinore gazing at us, but I do not care. If we will all be traveling together then I suppose it's only right for them to see who I am. "Merane, I'm afraid that we will perish in the Blight."

"We might," she admits. "But we need to keep fighting. Should we die, we just need to make sure that the darkspawn and the Archdemon regret it."

Solona

I've kept myself away from the others since shortly after lunch. The nightmarish memories I have of Ostagar keep interfering with my thoughts. I could still remember King Cailan's last, agonized scream as the ogre crushed him. Duncan's shouts and the sound of his armor being torn apart still haunt me.

I know that there wasn't anything we could do. If the older, more experienced warriors and mages were slaughtered easily, the rest of us would have been mincemeat. Still, I have a nagging feeling that we could have done more to help.

"My, my, 'twould seem to me that you are unhappy with our hospitality." Morrigan's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I almost fall from the tree that I'm perched from.

"I'm sorry." Despite being sullen most of the time, our hosts have been most gracious. "I just needed some time to think."

"'Tis most difficult to think, with the sound some oafs make." Morrigan crosses her arms and lean against the tree. Despite the fact that she is an apostate, I can't help but trust her. The others dislike her, and in Alistair's case, outright hate her, but I don't sense any ill intent from her.

"They are not oafs," I argue. "They are quite loud though."

"Hopefully they know the difference of what is good and what is right," Morrigan says darkly before she stalks away.

My mind is still full of those parting words when I rejoin the rest of our group.

Does she have any inkling of what will happen in the future? Is there something that they're not telling us?

I eventually follow her back to Flemeth's hut. Everyone is gathered by the tents, possibly discussing our next course of action. "Solona, we've been waiting," Luneth calls out. "We're going to make our plans."

"As I was saying," Duran says with a smile, "there's a dozen of us right now. I think the best thing to do would be to review the treaties Duncan left us with."

Elinore lays them out on her lap. "There are three of them - for the Circle of Magi, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Dalish." She peers at us. "We could split up and make the work faster but..."

"But it will make it easier for us to get attacked and overwhelmed by darkspawn," Evain finishes his sister's sentence. "If our assumptions about Loghain is true, though, he would be sending men to look for us. He'll be aware that there are survivors, and judging from the stories I've heard from Father, he's pragmatic enough to try and make sure that no one lives to tell the tale of what he's done."

"But why exactly did he do it, though?" I ask. "We've discussed the nobility and the affairs outside of the Circle during our days as novices. He sounded like an honorable man."

"He's a very capable general, and King Maric's best friend," Alistair murmurs. "But he's had disagreements with him, and King Cailan too."

"Many times," Elinore agrees. "He never really trusted the Wardens and was heavily opposed to letting them return to Ferelden. But I think he's also the kind of person who'd choose to do what he thinks is right for Ferelden even if it means opposing his king. And there won't be any Orlesian Wardens to the rescue with Loghain in charge. He hates Orlais."

I groan. "So we'll have to be wary of darkspawn and Teyrn Loghain's underlings?"

Luneth nods sagely. "Seems to be it."

"Now, just wait a sodding minute," Tella cuts in. "This Loghain bastard's  daughter is the queen, right?"

"Yes, but that's only because he thinks Cailan has no heir," Evain muses. "But Cailan already issued the official proclamation that he legitimized his half-brother as the current heir until he sires a child."

I groan. Great, just great. More work for us. "Where in Ferelden could this man be?"

"He's here with us," Elinoire says nervously. "Alistair."

Alistair himself covers his face, as if in shame. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the royal bastard, yadda yadda. I can't be king. I don't want to cause burning pants every other day and with the kingdom waking up smack dab in the middle of Tevinter or something."

"You're the... whoa." I peer at him, and I do see the resemblance. "Then technically you're our king now. The king." Yep, I do understand why he doesn't want to rule.

"We'll deal with it when it comes," Elinore says, patting Alistair's arm. "We have to think of what we're going to do next, first."

"Lothering isn't so far from here," Rand explains. "I've been there once. It doesn't have much, but maybe we could forage in here for something to trade in there? We won't be able to buy everything we need."

"So we go to Lothering to restock and maybe gather news? Then what?" Nineve scowls. "Orzammar? The Circle? How do we even find the Dalish if they move around a lot?"

"Let's start with the Circle first, then. That sounds the easiest to approach." Fea looks nervous at the prospect of visiting it, though.

So Lothering it is, then to the Circle tower. This feels like one messed-up homecoming.

Chapter Text

"We’ve learned to brace for the worst and to read the last pages first."

Merane

We gather in the clearing for one last time before we depart, so as not to be rude to our hosts. Flemeth regards us with a dangerous glint in her golden eyes, and I wonder if it truly was safe to ask for her hospitality.

"So, leaving are we? Have you finally made your plans?" she asks.

"We are leaving, my lady," Evain murmurs. "We are truly grateful for your hospitality."

Elinore smiles, trying to mirror the witches' dangerous looks. "We have a plan - gather help using these treaties. We'll wing it from there."

"I have one more thing to offer you," Flemeth says.

Morrigan strides out of the hut, arms crossed. "Mother, the stew is bubbling. Shall we be having them for breakfast?"

I am not really sure I could stand another meal with her.

Flemeth glares at her. "They're leaving. And you're coming with them, girl."

Morrigan makes a face. "Such a shame - wait, what? Have I no say in this?"

"It is not like we have any say in this either," Alistair shoots back.

Flemeth rolls her eyes. "Girl, I tire of you whining about seeing the outside world. Besides, this is the only repayment I ask from the Wardens for saving their lives."

"As long as she doesn't turn us to toads behind our backs," mutters Rand.

"It would be wise to heed the Asha'bellanar in matters such as this," Auberon states.

"This is not how I wanted to leave," snarls Morrigan. "I am not yet ready."

"You'll have to be," Flemeth tells her with an idle wave of her hand. "They will need you to fight the darkspawn."

"I understand." Morrigan sighs, and gives us a collective glare.

"Then we shall keep her safe as much as we can, Lady Flemeth," Evain chirps with a grin.

Morrigan excuses herself to gather her things.

I find myself facing Auberon. "I hope for our sakes that you're right about trusting Flemeth."

Auberon smiles. "I am." He's beautiful when he does that. "Forgive me for lashing out on you yesterday. Recent events have thrown my life out of balance."

"Recent events seem to be making a habit of it," I note. "Apology accepted."

Elinore

As planned, we begin our trek to Lothering. I hear Morrigan and Alistair sniping at each other right behind me for a number of petty things - apostates, Templars, religeon, and even our new king's competence as a Grey Warden.

Andraste's flaming underwear! Alistair is, for all intents and purposes, our new king. Ugh. And I think I'm smitten with him. Not that it'd go anywhere, of course. I shouldn't be bothered by this.

Besides, as the last remaining Couslands accounted for - though Maker have mercy, I hope Fergus lives - it is our duty to protect him and see to it that he rightfully ascends the throne.

We eventually make it to the bridge leading to Lothering, but unfortunately the path is blocked off by a group of at least thirty grimy men dressed in ill-fitting armor and an assortment of weapons. With all the chaos caused by the Blight and Loghain's betrayal, this should definitely not be out of the question. I move my hands subtly, ready to whip out my knives, as we approach them. I hear Merane whimper nervously behind me.

"Halt, who goes there?" one of the bandits call out to us. "Don't think you can just pass through here without paying the toll."

"I've never heard of such a thing. Ferelden's roads are for everyone," Alistair argues.

Another of the bandits crosses his arms and leers at him. "Oh, you think you know everything about the law, do you, pretty boy?"

"Don't you dare disrespect the king," Luneth growls, lobbing a ball of rags at his face.

Maker's breath.

"A mage," another bandit yelps.

"The king? Don't make me laugh," their leader scoffs.

The one to his right shakes his head. "Uh, boss, he does resemble the drawing in Lothering."

"He was killed by the Grey Wardens beside his brother!"

"Looks mighty like him. And those must be the Wardens he's supposed to be with."

"All the better then. More money for us." The leader leers at us, and I grit my teeth.

They draw their weapons, and I flick my wrists, sending knives right at the nearest bandits' faces. Chaos ensues, and I dodge a couple of arrows clumsily while I pull out my swords. My body still aches from our time at the Tower of Ishal, but Flemeth's healing did wonders. I slit a bandit's throat and stab another one through the eye.

Fire, lightning, ice, and earth are lobbed by our mages while a number of addled foes flee from Morrigan, who is shrouded by a dark mist. I feel something pierce my back and whip around to behead my knife-wielding assailant.

I turn, trying to look for more of the bandits, and realize that they're all taken care of. The pain in my back flares, but I ignore it.

"All healed," Nineve says behind me.

"So we'll just march into Lothering wearing bloodstained stuff?" Rand yelps.

I shrug. "They should be thankful that we got rid of the bandits."

There was nothing to fear. As we near Lothering, we see refugees camped around the village. Most of them look worse than we do, and a number of Chasind warriors are actually busy bandaging each other nearby.

We decide to split up once we arrive in the city proper itself. Evain takes Rand and Luneth to gather news, while Morrigan, Fea, and Merane head for the marketplace. Duran and Tella walk around the refugees, urging them to move on. Lothering might not hold out for much longer, after all.

Auberon, Nineve, Alistair, and I head for the Chantry to return a fallen Templar's locket which they found among the bandits' possessions - most of which we already sold or added to our supplies.

I wait outside of the Chantry, watching a Chasind doomsayer "preaching" to a terrified crowd. He turns his eyes on me and begins ranting about the Taint.

Could he truly see it? The Taint coursing through a Grey Warden?

I glare at him. "You're terrifying the people here. Everyone is worried enough as it is."

"You will bring doom upon us," he roars.

I straighten up. "Doom? We're the only chance Ferelden has against this Blight. If you don't man up enough to fight like the warrior you are, Lothering would be better off without you stirring paranoia in its premises." I slowly draw one of my swords, and the doomsayer backs away with an apology. "Scram." He runs off, joining the rest of the Chasind warriors who tilt their heads to acknowledge me.

Alistair

My head swims as we head out of the Chantry. It seems like the Blight is every bit as bad as Duncan feared, and more. More and more refugees from the south appear every day, and on top of that Arl Eamon is apparently sick. Most of his knights were not in Ostagar as they're off looking for the fabled Andraste's sacred ashes, which might be his only hope of surviving. This does not bode well.

The fact that the proclamation and a drawing of me is in the Chantry board is equally troubling. It seems like traveling incognito will not work. Loghain might find out that I'm still alive and try to do me in too. Definitely not good.

Nineve and Auberon discuss recent affairs in Ferelden, but I tune them out. I notice a dying bush by the door to the Chantry, and spot a single red rose standing there as if trying to make a statement - trying to show that there's still brightness despite our bleak future. I pick it carefully, avoiding the elves' gazes, and decide to give it to Elinore later. She was my first friend, after all. That's that.

Speaking of Elinore, I find her standing by the Chantry board, arms crossed. The glare she gives me is so venomous, I'm afraid she will castrate me on the spot.

Her face relaxes when she realizes who we are, and she smiles. Maker, she's beautiful. "I'm sorry, some Chasind was causing some trouble, but I scared him off."

"No seducing?" I blurt out and turn red. "Sorry. Shutting up."

"I don't think I can even seduce a rock," she mutters with a roll of her eyes. "So where to now, Your Majesty?"

She could seduce me anytime she wants. Huh. "Please stop calling me that," I beg her. This is what I was afraid of.

I can see a sad flicker in her eyes. I'm not one to pry though and pretend to ignore it. "I'm still your friend. You can call me an idiot and kick me around anytime you want to."

"Can I castrate you, then?" she asks.

"Ferelden will collectively kill you if you do that," I say in a singsong voice. "I won't be able to father heirs."

She smiles. I love the way it lights up her blue eyes. "Well, I'll make sure you have heirs before the castration, then?" She turns and walks away.

"What was that about?" Nineve asks loudly. I want to ask the same thing.

Auberon smirks. "Better you did not know, lethallan."

Chapter Text

"Against all odds, we're still here."

Duran

Seeing all these refugees makes my blood boil. How could King Cailan have failed to aid them? Was he so focused on defeating the Blight that he forgot about casualties and the people who would be caught in the middle? Truly, he is a good man, but it seems like he was not fully prepared to take the throne when he did.

I suppose Alistair is the same, especially since he was raised as a bastard, but it seems like he is not as addled by songs of chivalry and heroism as his brother. From what I have seen in the past year, it seems like it is so easy to get lost in such tales and forget the realities of life.

I watch Tella soothe the child who lost his mother, and I am surprised at her sudden gentleness. I've known her since I left Orzammar, as she and Duncan stumbled across my path and recruited me when I would have died otherwise. Her tongue is as sharp as she is beautiful, but I can always trust her.

Seeing her soothe the poor child and encourage him to join those who are fleeing Lothering is truly an amazing sight. Her tongue is usually as sharp as she is beautiful.

She withdraws from the bridge and looks at me. "Don't give me any sodding excuse for that face, Duran. I know you want to gut the Archdemon too."

I shrug. "We're still not ready for that. It's been a year, and we've never been prepared for anything like this."

"I know, I know." She glares at the sky - the sky that we were both so terrified of when we first took our first steps outside of Orzammar. I remember her, face pale, as we clung to each other in fear. "This Ferelden does not seem to have the messy politics your folk has, but that Loghain is one damn bastard."

I nod. He would do well in Orzammar. Not that what he did was right.

Bhelen's face flashes across my mind, and I feel long-buried anger suddenly writhe within me. If I see him when we return to Orzammar, I may end up killing him. It won't be a pretty sight.

We walk to the small marketplace, where Merane and Fea are in a discussion about some herbs being sold. Morrigan stands in one corner, arms crossed, lips curled in a feral smile.

I fear her not as much as the others do, on account of Orzammar never having heard of these Witches of the Wilds. She turns her smile to me with a tilt of her head. "What say you, Prince of Stone? Do you think we are wasting our time here instead of doing what we must to stop the Blight?"

"Perhaps not, mighty Witch." I smile. "We are Grey Wardens, and our purpose is not merely to defeat Blights, but to protect people against darkspawn - and that is what we are doing right now."

"But you dally so. You might lose so much precious time doing such acts."

"We'll take the risk," I tell her.

"It's not your business, may I remind you," Tella points out, glaring at the Witch. "We don't expect you to understand Warden matters, but if you're traveling with us, you will respect it."

I glare at her. "You didn't have to say it that way."

"Best be clear." Tella rolls her eyes and pulls me off to a stall, leaving a seething Morrigan behind us.

We pass by the tavern, where we can hear the sounds of fighting. I just hope that none of our companions actually caused a brawl to break out. That would be a most embarrassing start to our careers as the last Wardens of Ferelden.

That would be hilarious, though.

We find a massive cage situated at the edge of the town. None of the local folk pay it any mind, but I sense their unease. I exchange glances with Tella. "Why would they imprison someone so humiliatingly?" he muses.

"Maybe the actual prison in Lothering is brimming with miscreants?" she jests. "Let's look."

The imprisoned person is not a human at all, but someone much, much taller than even them. He introduces himself as a Qunari, Sten. Apparently he was imprisoned for murdering a family in a fit of rage. It is a crime that is equally dire in Orzammar, but leaving him to die from the darkspawn is too cruel.

He seems to be an interesting person, and would have made a good Warden if we had any idea on how the Joining is actually conducted. It does not mean that I condone what he did, but I think it is a matter of differences in our culture.

I explain the situation in Ferelden to him, and about the Blight. We need all the warriors we can get. We meet up with our companions who exit the tavern after a group of terrified thugs.

We're introduced to the lay sister Leliana, who is a little odd but seems kind. Apparently she helped the group in a tavern brawl of some kind - yes, I was right! - and accompanies us to the Chantry. Apparently she knows the Revered Mother in this place - is that what they're called? - and vouches for us when we ask for Sten's freedom.

As they race off to free the Qunari, I hold back and stare at the altar. I am not religious. There is no Chantry in Orzammar, and the closest we have to the maker is the Stone. I stay still, hoping to feel something, some kind of connection or reassurance from a higher being that all will be well in the land.

Alas, it seems like my prayer is not answered.

Fea

We eventually camp out in the fields just outside Lothering, far enough not to be mistaken for refugees, and near enough just in case of trouble. The marble arches leading out of the area are also in view, and we plan to head for those tomorrow morning.

I could still see the mounds where we buried the bandits who tried to attack us while we set up camp, the dead woman near the stream, and the creatures that killed her. So much deaths, and none of them were caused by the Blight. Has our world truly reached its lowest point? If there really is a Maker, what in Thedas is he supposed to be doing right now if not helping those who call out to him for aid?

Why let something like a Blight exist in the first place?

I bring these thoughts with me as I begin the first watch with Leliana, the Chantry lay sister with wicked knife skills that Evain's group brought with them from the tavern. Apparently she helped them fend off a group of thugs who were sent by Loghain.

It seems like those unaccounted for in Ostagar now have a bounty on their heads, including me. Luckily the power-mad Teyrn who also declared himself as Regent for his daughter, Queen Anora, still thinks that the group that was sent to the Tower of Ishal are really dead. Maybe no one was able to check after the chaos that ensued.

We're now wanted for treason - for betraying and killing King Cailan, and sending the new Crown Prince Alistair to obvious doom.

Right.

So here I am, poking the fire with a stick while Leliana is singing a song written on a scrap of paper. Beside me is the new staff that Luneth Amell managed to procure in replacement for the one I've lost when my master died.

I extend my hand, willing the magic to flood to it. I make the fire dance in a hundred different colors - a small trick I've learned when I was fifteen.

Leliana looks up from her song, her eyes gazing at the flames. "That's beautiful," she says.

"It's just a simple trick I've learned," I explain with a smile. "Whenever I felt sad, I lit colorful flames like this to make myself feel better. It's a way to reassure myself that there's still a bright spark of light left in the world, no matter how small."

"That is most wise of you," the bard notes."I followed your friends because of a dream that I had - a dream that also guided me to a lone rose growing by the Chantry doors."

"That is... a most interesting tale." I'm not sure if she's joking. If she's not, then she must truly trust the Maker with all her heart or she is simply not all there. Well, at least she is not as terrifying as that Qunari that Duran brought with him. "So, do you think we can offer what you seek?"

She throws her head back and laughs. "I don't think. I believe."

"Belief is a strong force," I admit, echoing my master's words when I started learning magic. "Parts of magic run on the strength of our belief - in ourselves and in our powers both."

Leliana reaches out and pats my hand. "Magic truly is a gift and a curse. You must use it well and take care not to drown in it."

Evain

I take the last watch with Morrigan. Dawn is just a few hours away, but the chill lingers around us. I keep stealing glances at her, as she doesn't look that happy to be stuck with our group. Well, her mother all but chucked her out of her home. I can relate to that - oh, the circumstances are different, but the sting would be similar. The feeling of not being needed, not being good enough.

I stay by the fire, afraid to approach her and her tent which she isolated from the rest of our group. She taps the ground idly with her crudely-made staff, whose tip sparks with light whenever it makes contact with the ground.

We stay that way for a while, neither of us talking or acknowledging each other's presence.

She is the one who breaks the silence. "You have been watching me for quite a while," she muses. She turns to me slowly, her eyes seemingly aglow in the darkness.

"I am simply curious," I begin cautiously. I know the tales wrought around her mother, who is seemingly tied to Highever's past - and therefore, my family. Now that I study her, I could definitely see northern features on her face, mixed with some Chasind. She could pass as our cousin or something, especially as she pulls up her hair similarly to Elinore's.

I shrug. "Well, you are quite interesting, if you may permit me to say it."

She stares at me, distrust and loathing mingled on her face. "It is easy to capture the interest of men. I have found that out, once, when I ventured away from my mother's home for the first time... Do you find my form pleasing?"

"Pleasing though it may be, there are many such women in Ferelden - in all of Thedas," I admit. I'm starting to speak a little to formally, but with her antiquated speech, I think it fits. "If a pleasing form was all I sought for, I would have had a dozen bedmates already. But I do not seek bedmates, Witch of the Wilds."

She tilts her head. It seems like her interest truly is captured. "Then why gaze at me with the intensity of a man possessed by such thoughts, may I ask?"

I smile. "Perhaps it is because I find it hard to believe that some legends to exist. They may not be accurate, but they are real."

She purses her lips. "The truth, at times, is much more terrible than the lies that legends have wrought," she muses. "Knowledge is not for everyone to behold."

With dawn just around the corner, our companions begin to awaken one by one. First to emerge from her tent is Leliana, looking ruffled and half-awake. She's dressed in more practical clothes than those frumpy Chantry robes, a bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back. How a mere Chantry lay sister is proficient in them - especially one as odd as her - is a question I may never find an answer to. Luneth insisted on us letting her tag along, though, and I'm afraid that he will set my hair on fire if I refused at the time.

She peers at the pot hanging above the main campfire and makes a face. Oops. I forgot to make breakfast, and I'm not really sure how to ask for Morrigan's help.

"Poor souls, unable to feed themselves. Let me help," Leliana says sincerely. She beams and hauls the pot off the the spring while I exchange looks with Morrigan.

"She's odder than you," I point out.

"Must I take that as a compliment?" she asks.

I shrug. "Take it as you will." As Elinore and Fea crawl sleepily out of their tents, I head back into mine.

Might as well have a lie-in while Leliana's taking care of breakfast.

By the time we leave Lothering for good, I could see a group of refugees preparing to flee. Good. I murmur a silent prayer to the Maker, so that they may find safe haven from the Blight.

Chapter Text

"I'm writing the future, I'm writing it out loud."

Rand

We take the Imperial Highway once we leave Lothering. I have a bad feeling about the place - like I'll never see it again. Well, it's true in a way, I suppose. Nothing will survive the Blight unchanged. Not even Wardens.

At least the Couslands' mabari that we thought were killed during the battle rejoined us shortly after we set off. It seems like they tracked us down all the way from Ostagar. Interesting.

We barely get out of Lothering when we encounter a small merchant cart beset by darkspawn. We fight our way through them, and I personally shoot the eyes and brains out of at least five of those vile creatures.

The dwarf merchants - Bodhan Feddic and his son, Sandal - start tagging along with us. Bodhan seems to think that following travelers like us would be more interesting and profitable than roaming the darkspawn-infested land. He promised a discount, but it isn't like we have anything much to buy things with.

He seems pleased by the loot we scavenged from the darkspawn, though. I suppose in troubled times, we make do with what we can get.

We make camp some distance from the highway. It's a windy night, and I decide to take the first watch. Auberon joins me, wrapped in a patched coat the color of leaves. He eyes my bow contemplatively.

"You are a most wonderful archer," he finally begins. "But when the enemies close the distance, you are as helpless as a babe, lethallin."

I glare at him. "D'you think I don't know that?"

He smiles languidly and shows me one of his Dalish-made knives. I'm sure he has about a dozen of those. He's almost as bad as Lady Cousland herself. "I can teach you to protect yourself."

"Me? You're going to teach me?" I ask. "Maker's breath, Auberon, there I was thinking you hated all humans."

"Many shem'len have no honor, and even more of them are fools. But I have seen many that live with honor." Auberon's eyes seem to darken as he speaks. "For all intents and purposes, the Wardens are my clan now. And in a clan, everyone protects and helps each other."

I take the knfie he offers and observe it. "Like you've noticed, I'm no good at this thing. How to we start?"

He leaps up with a smile. "We test your strength, of course."

I wake up in the morning feeling so sore, it's as if one of my father's prized horses trampled me last night. I crawl out of my tent with a groan and see that the rest of our group is already up. Auberon smirks as he catches my eye.

"Good morning," Leliana chirps, handing me a bowl of stew.

Morrigan, sitting on a rocky outcrop, smirks at me. "So glad you could join our merry group," she croons, making my blood boil - not in the good way, mind you.

Over breakfast, the Couslands lay out their plans to us. We're off to the tower formally known as Kinloch Hold. Luneth, Solona, and Nineve will request for a meeting with First Enchanter Irving, the head of the Circle of Magi in the area, and ask for his assistance in accordance with our treaties.

I suppose it sounds easier that way, but if Irving really is as reasonable as his pupils make him out to be, then I guess we won't have much trouble, then.

The Imperial Highway is now swarming with refugees. A number of them are from Gwaren, and fear grips me. My family should be fleeing too, if the area is already swarming with darkspawn. What good is a farmland if everyone is dead?

I steel myself and keep those thoughts at bay. I'm a Warden now, and I have my own duty. I don't have to like it, but it's how it is.

Luneth

I don't know why, but I'm sodding afraid of returning to the Tower. I know that Irving is very reasonable, but what if other mages don't want to honor the treaties? Everyone knows that a good number of them died when Loghain betrayed us in Ostagar, and they might not be eager for a repeat performance.

Can't blame them for thinking that way, of course. Thank you so much, Slimeball - er, Teyrn Loghain.

Then, there's Greagoir to contend with. Even if Irving agrees to help us, he can't do anything unless the Knight-Commander lets him. And knowing the Templars, chances are slim, even with those treaties. Andraste's smelly socks, we have to make him understand.

We head somewhere a little far from the highway again when we make camp for the night. Seeing the Tower, so close yet tantalizingly far, makes me queasy. I barely finish my dinner, though maybe my appetite is just affected by the horrible taste of our food. I just sip the stew frequently enough so as not to hurt Alistair's feelings. The others gag their way through the meal, but I don't think it's that bad.

If he ever does get crowned king, he needs to stay away from the sodding royal kitchens.

It is a little past midnight when I take my turn on the watch with Fea. She watches me warily as I sit beside her near the fire. Up close, she looks so tired and weary. She turns as I approach her. "Ah, it's you," she murmurs sleepily. She turns to the Circle Tower with a wistful look in her eyes. "I wonder how they would react should they see me?"

I stare at her. "You're a Warden. They won't do anything to apprehend you for being an apostate."

She looks down. "Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be one of you."

"You'll be wishing that you were free every single day," I mumble. "You'll question your beliefs. Start resenting the Chantry. Wonder if the Maker was real, and if he truly believed that mages are cursed." Everything floods out of my sodding mouth - years of resentment and disappointment, all my youthful rage and angst. "Solona believed that it's a gift. It's just misunderstood, but it's a gift. I hated being caged. I love the Circle and what it stood for, but I hated the restraint put upon us by the Chantry."

She smiles. "But now you're free."

"But at what cost?" I ask. It's a question I've been asking since the battle, and still I haven't found an answer.

We travel for two more weeks, taking it slowly and avoiding the highway itself every now and then. We would have made faster time with horses, but unfortunately we're too broke.

Halfway to the correct side of Lake Calenhad, it begins to rain. Bodhan is prepared with some coats, but there's still not enough to go around. The rest of us end up huddling in his wagon with his son, Sandal.

He's a curious lad. Most people would call him simple, but he's definitely got a great hand in enchanting. Solona finds it interesting, especially as dwarves cannot use magic.

We camp by the lake, and Rand tries teaching me how to fish. Luckily Bodhan has a couple of fishing poles with him. Seems like it really is very handy to have a merchant trailing around behind us. So, back to fishing. I find out that I'm no good at all, and end up hooking in weeds and pebbles. Rand is an expert though, and we manage to have roasted fish and fish stew for dinner.

Thankfully Leliana stepped in to save the day before King Alistair poisoned us all with his nonexistent culinary skills.

Speaking of Alistair, it seems like he's bickering with Morrigan whenever they're in each other's presence. The Couslands have been trying to control the situation by keeping one or the other company, but they're not infallible.

Dinner is the usual rowdy affair. Leliana is discussing Orlesian fashion with a very rapt audience - Fea, Merane, Solona and oddly, Sten the Qunari. Auberon is trying to educate Nineve about Dalish lore. Duran, Rand, and Alistair are arguing about the best weapons to beat darkspawn with. Tella and Evain are testing some traps that the former came up with. Elinore is trying to coax the reclusive Morrigan to join us, and seems to be failing.

And me? Well, I'm too hungry to participate in anything for now. I slip some of my food for the happy mabari hounds, though, and they lap it up. I want my own mabari hound. They seem like good partners.

I look around the camp again and catch Leliana staring at me as she graces the group with an Orlesian song. She smiles at me and I feel my cheeks turn red. She's a little older than me, maybe three, four years, but she's very pretty.

Finishing my meal, I stand up and wash my bowl and spoon by the lake. Then I sit down and look at its murky depths, dreading the hour that I'll step back into the tower tomorrow.

Merane

The air around Lake Calenhad is cool and lovely, and as we begin circling it to reach Kinloch Hold, I notice that a number of our companions visibly start to relax - except for the mages, that is. None of them are very forthcoming with their reasons though, and no one dares pry.

We reach the docks leading to Kinloch Hold by late afternoon. I feel myself shiver with the lakeside breeze.

Rand, Evain, and Auberon marched to the Spoiled Princess, the inn by the lake, to get some news. I stand under a tree, watching watching Sten dangle a ball of yarn above a kitten. No one else seems to have noticed, and I find myself smiling.

"Terrifying giant man interests you so much?" Tella's voice breaks through my thoughts, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

I glare at her, but it's not really so effective. "It's not that," I snap.

She smiles. "Yes, it seems like even the greatest and toughest warriors have soft spots." She nudges me and points to our right, where Duran is busy playing tag with the mabaris, Shadow and Interceptor. "Hard to judge by looks alone, eh?"

Loud voices waft to our direction.

"I'm not even sure that it's a good idea for me to come with you up there." That's definitely the king. "I'm a former Templar-in-training, and a lot of the actual Templars are still unhappy about me being chosen as Warden instead of them. I'm sure you won't be happy when you need to pick up the pieces of your king at the bottom of the lake while he's howling bloody murder. Do you?"

"Preposterous." That's Nineve. "If King Cailan really sent word all over Ferelden that you're his successor, then they're going to grant you hospitality as our king. No hard feelings. Some younger mages might jump at the chance to swing your sword though, if you know what I mean."

"Swing my sword? That's dangerous, they might hurt themselves." I'm sure he did not understand what Nineve was implying.

"Oh, Alistair." That's Solona sighing.

We eventually assemble by the small ferry that leads to the tower. The young Templar in charge tries to intimidate us while refusing to grant passage. He reminds me of the young nobles in Denerim who are having their first taste of power.

He is adamant not to let anyone pass, as Knight Commander Greagoir ordered, and not even Wardens will receive special treatment.

"On one hand, I commend you for following orders," Elinore says. "But on the other hand, you're impeding our efforts to aid our new king in the wake of the new Blight. You have received the decree, have you?"

"The King and his bastard brother are dead. The Grey Wardens saw to that."

King Alistair grins and pulls out something from his pocket. "Oh, the bastard brother is very much alive, yes he is. And he's excited to try out new methods of punishing insubordination."

The Templar stammers something and grants us swift passage. We reach the Tower in the next half-hour, sunset just a few hours away. 

Chapter Text

"I know we won't be home at all."

Solona

Seeing the Tower stirs something in me. It isn't the feeling of finally coming home after being astray for a time. I don't even feel like I'm coming home at all.

Elinore throws the tower doors open, and strides in purposefully. I suppose she heard a thing or two about Greagoir, and thinks that intimidation is the best way to get his cooperation. I'm not really sure how effective that will be, but it won't hurt to try, eh?

The entrance hall is eerily empty. I remember it swarming with Templar guards when we were escorted out of the Circle by Duran and Gregor. Oh, Maker. I already miss the boisterous Gregor.

"Where's everyone?" Luneth wonders. He seems as uncomfortable as I'm feeling, and I resist the urge to put an arm around his shoulder. I know he wouldn't be too happy if I treat him like a child, especially now that we're both Wardens. "Aren't there supposed to be Templars here to greet us with a smile and a song?"

"Oh, I'm not so sure about a song," Alistair calls out behind us. "If Templars could sing, I'm sure they'll be a force of destruction and terror."

I shudder at the thought of actual singing Templars.

We finally make it to the main hall, which should be full of mages socializing or discussing new discoveries. Greagoir and a number of injured Templars are standing nearby, all of them watching us with wary eyes.

Greagoir's eyes wander to our faces, and he recognizes us. "Grey Wardens, then?" he says tiredly.

"Yes." Elinore brandishes the treaties, and our copy of King Cailan's royal proclamation. "We're here to call upon the help of the Circle, as outlined in the ancient agremeents they made with our order. The rightful king is here with us to see to it that no one shall break the treaty."

The Knight Commander's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Alistair, recognition clear on that face. "When they said that the king's current heir was named Alistair, I never expected it to be you, boy."

"Look, it wasn't my idea either," Alistair quips.

"So can you take us to Irving, please?" Luneth asks. "We can't sodding wait around all night."

Greagoir scowls. "Lad, Irving might be dead or worse by now. The Tower's overrun by abominations. I've called for the Rite of Annulment already."

"And wipe out everyone inside?" I yelp. "But there are children in there! Surely there are also survivors."

"Do you think we have enough time and energy to sort out who's an abomination and who isn't?" Greagoir snaps. "I and my Templars here barely made it out alive in time we sealed off the rest of the tower. It's all we could do to prevent the abominations from rampaging throughout Ferelden."

"There has to be a way," I implore him. "We can't just let everyone get killed or worse."

Nineve crosses her arms thoughtfully. "We need to find the survivors. You can't just leave them off to die."

Greagoir watches us, as if weighing us. "If you enter, you will not be able to go out unless Irving himself tells us that he's safe."

"A deal, then." Elinore crosses her arms with a victorious grin. "What do you think, guys?"

Morrigan stares at her flatly. "Would such an action be wise? You may find that you are throwing your lives for a worthless and hopeless cause."

I shrug. I'm starting to get used to this unusual woman who seems averse to lending a hand to those in need. "We'll need to risk it."

Elinore nods in approval. "Not everyone needs to go, of course." She looks worried. "I'm in."

"Me too," Alistair announces.

Evain laughs. "Do you think either of us will be leaving you to fend off for yourself, dear sister?"

"She won't be alone," I blurt out. "I'm coming too, of course. Nineve, Luneth, will you stay here? We'll need someone to spread the word should we not make it. And we'll need your magic in the coming days."

"And go on without a healer? You're going to get killed," Nineve growls.

Evain nods. "We'll need her."

"You will stay here, or I will bind you to the wall," I tell Luneth.

Luneth huffs. "I hate it when you're being overprotective. You haven't even mastered Glyphs. Or even the basics of healing."

"You know the basics of healing. That's the point. We'll also be needing you here," Duran says placidly. "You'll need to tend to these wounded Templars, and be ready to assist any survivors once the doors open. Nineve might be too exhausted to fully heal them, so it will be up to you to take care of the rest."

Leliana smiles dreamily. "We could make a song about this once it is over. Please, let me accompany you."

Sten grunts and crosses his arms. "Why are you doing this? Are we not supposed to be fighting the Blight?"

"We are. And we'll need the mages' help if we're going to succeed," Elinore says, standing straight. "That's the point of actually lugging these treaties around. A dozen inexperienced Wardens might not stand a chance against hordes of darkspawn and an Archdemon."

Sten relents and offers to lend his sword as well to the fight.

All the healing salves are passed over to us, and we relieve our packs of everything else that we might need for this little adventure. Finally, Elinore gathers our party and we venture forth into the tower, the Cousland hounds at our heels.

Evain

As we prepare to pass through the barrier, I could sense Morrigan staring at me with those impenetrable eyes of hers. I'm afraid that she's right, and we're walking into certain doom, but I push it out of my thoughts. We are Wardens, and this is our duty. Without the Circle, the forces we will have an even lesser chance of quelling the Blight.

We pass through the door, which closes behind us with a resounding boom. A soft blue glow begins to emanate from it, marking the barrier between the abominations and the rest of Ferelden. Shadow and Interceptor don't seem too happy about the place. They keep sniffing around and whining. We reach a long hallway, which Solona describes as the dormitories.She rushes into each room, and we follow her, afraid of what we might see.

There was no need to worry. The apprentices managed to escape and our now huddling with their friends, shaking in fear. Their eyes light up as they see the familiar faces of Solona and Nineve.

We reach a small study, and encounter a small number of mages inside, most of them children. I feel my gut twist as my thoughts stray to Oren's broken body in Highever. A tall, elderly woman with a gray hair stands over these children, staff in hand. She's battling a fiery abomination that broke through the glowing green barrier they must have set up beyond the door she's facing.

I think she was at Ostagar. She looks so familiar...

"Wynne," Nineve cries out. She runs to the mage in question, and the abomination flails around angrily, hitting her right across the torso.

Solona straightens up and lobs a ball of fire right on the abomination's face, but it does nothing more than enrage it. The elderly mage clucks her tongue and freezes the creature with a blast of ice, while Alistair and I hack it to pieces.

"Wynne? Are you okay?" Nineve asks, standing. She looks shaken but otherwise unhurt. "Good to see that you survived Ostagar."

"I could say the same to you," Wynne says, eyes narrowing. "But I suggest you come no farther. Grey Wardens or no, former pupils or no, I will strike you all down."

Solona sighs. "Wynne, we're not here to fight you. We're here against Greagoir's advice, as a matter of fact. He requested for the Rite of Annulment, but he promised us that if we can find Irving alive he will call it off. We would never go along with a plan that will get you killed. We're Grey Wardens and members of the Circle of Magi."

"Lady Wynne, we came to ask for your assistance in accordance with the treaties between the Wardens and the Circle. Please, let us assist you," I add.

Wynne relents. "I believe you. Greagoir is reasonable, despite his differences with Irving. Come, then. Let us find the First Enchanter quickly."

There is barely time for introduction as she leaves the children under the care of the older apprentices, and help us walk through the barrier she made. As we pass through the door, an unpleasant and sadly familiar smell greets us - the scent of death.

Abominations swarm the library, which is the first floor that we step into. With the mages and the former Templar-in-training in our team, we make short work of most of them. I feel myself shuddering in terror as I see the broken bodies of some mages who tried to fight off these monsters by themselves. We rescue more survivors as we move through the rooms, and someone mentions a name - Niall, I think.

Our mage friends seem to find him familiar, and mention their hopes of him being alive. If he's alone though, there's a very slim chance of it.

We reach First Enchanter Irving's study, which is sadly empty. I was all for hoping that he locked himself inside to stay safe. I can't blame him, though. If there's one thing that my father taught me all the time, it's that a leader must always protect the people under his command in times of trouble. I've seen Duncan and Cailan do it in their own ways.

Having secured the inner and outer chambers of the study, we decide to stop for a brief respite and a quick meal. It's not exactly appetizing, as we're covered in abomination blood and gunk, but we need to keep up our strength if we're to survive the night. I make my way into the study itself and spot a black tome on the table. It seems like Irving was busy studying it when the attack started.

It's unremarkable, to be honest, but there's something about it that caught my eye. The cover itself is adorned with black feathers similar to those on Morrigan's clothing, and the image of a very familiar hut is embossed in gleaming gold. I show it to Shadow, who sniffs at it and barks. Good enough for me. Morrigan might be interested in this. I take the book with me, securing it  at the very bottom of my pack.

I'm not really sure why I even bothered, but I suppose I find the Witch of the Wilds quite engaging.

Alistair

We eventually press on after our short break, bruised, battered, but feeling much better. I'm not enjoying our ritual dismemberments here, and I'm starting to crave for cheese all of a sudden.

I find myself walking beside Wynne, who stares at me curiously. I try not to fidget. I suppose it's somewhat like a mother about to comment that her kid is getting too scrawny. "I hope you're not falling in love with me, because it's not that easy to get a hold of me," I quip.

She smiles wryly, and I see a sharpness in her eyes. "So, you'll be our king, then?" she says. "I've heard them mention your name, and I've seen the proclamations."

"I'm sorry, but that's my smarter and more competent twin," I say nervously. "Can we please not talk about that right now?"

Wynne's smile turns into a smirk. I suppose everyone is out to get me nowadays. "It's good to see that the situation in Ferelden is not as hopeless as everyone else makes it out to be."

I make a face. "If I really do become king, everyone in Ferelden will probably end up lost somewhere in Nevarra with boots for underwear and cheese for hats."

Wynne smiles so knowingly, I'm actually reminded of Flemeth all of a sudden. "Oh, young Warden," she says before walking for discuss something with Nineve.

The Couslands take the lead, and I find myself walking beside Evain this time. He looks nervous. "We haven't encountered abominations for a time," he muses. "It feels like we're missing something in here."

We throw the next door open, and are attacked by blood mages. I stand right in front of my mage friends, deflecting spells coming their way while they lob their own spells at our foes. The Couslands lead the charge with Sten and Leliana. I raise my shield as one final blast of blood-red light fly our way, and I lose my concentration. It's so much difficult without lyrium, after all. The spell fizzles out as it makes contact with the shield, but I am thrown off my feet from the impact.

The battle is over, all blood mages gone except for one girl who's a little younger than us. She flattens herself on the ground, lip wobbling. "We were just trying to free ourselves! Spare us," she wails.

Elinore's eyes flash in rage, and she looks like a violent maiden of war. She brandishes her swords and rests them against the mage's neck. "Spare yourselves? Right. You were trying to gut us alive!"

"I-It was Senior Enchanter Uldred," the mage stammers.

Solona peers at her, a look of pure hate in her eyes. I did hear that a blood mage was involved in the event that led to them being recruited by Gregor and Duran. "Uldred? What's Uldred have to do with you?"

"Now that I think of it, I have not seen him since all of this started," Wynne says thoughtfully.

"He said that the Circle will be supporting Loghain," the blood mage wails. "He said that if we do that, we will be granted freedom from the Chantry. But now Uldred's gone mad. We're scattered and doomed."

"Stop using doomy doom dooms of doom," I grunt. "Does this Uldred also have something to do with the abominations?"

Her nod seals the deal. It seems like this Uldred is in cahoots with Loghain, which is not a pretty thought, and he's every bit as crazy as our elusive Teyrn.

Elinore exchanges a look with her brother, then catches my eye. I could see so much hatred and fear in those, and I'm surprised that no one burst into flame yet from the intensity of her gaze. I nod encouragingly. I'm no king, no leader. She's free to make her decision in this matter.

She turns right back to the mage. "Keep your life then," she growls. "We won't raise a hand to help or harm you."

The mage stammers her thanks and runs out of the room. Everyone visibly relaxes as they realize that she's not waiting outside with a fresh group of foes, prepared for an ambush. Nineve shudders. "Blood mages in the tower! Bad enough that Jowan was one."

Wynne taps her chin thoughtfully. "Many dark things are happening in the tower with no one the wiser for it."

We eventually encounter an unusual demon dressed in skimpy clothing. She seems to have enthralled a Templar, and is pretending to be his wife. Nineve calls it a desire demon, which traps people in fantasies while they feed upon the unfortunate sod's life essence. Oddly, Solona tries to appeal to its better nature to release the Templar. I'm not sure why she thinks it's a good idea. It's a freaking demon.

The conversation turns sour, and we end up in a fight with both the Templar and the desire demon. With us sorely outnumbering them, it's over very quicky, which is good.

We climb higher and higher up the tower, like the story of that knight who rescued the lovely princess. I think I read about it during my training. It was a very stupid story, as the princess was so helpless. I prefer women who can protect themselves. Preferably with two swords and knives up their sleeves.

Anyway, odd fleshy masses begin lining parts of the walls and the ceiling. Leliana begins ranting about them as she accidentally steps on these bits, earning Nineve's amused laughter. Curiously though, Leliana gives her a glowing look.

Oooh, I think she swings that way.

We eventually encounter one big sod of a demon looming over an unconscious mage - a mage that Wynne confirms to be Niall.

"Ah, visitors! I rarely get some these days," the demon says in a languid voice. "I do hate the effort of entertaining them."

My head feels fuzzy, as if I've lost a few nights of sleep. It's not even past midnight yet, and I can usually stay up this late even after a long day of traveling and training. Wynne identifies it as a sloth demon, which continues to speak and I feel myself drifting off to sleep...

Elinore

I awaken in Highever. I'm lying on my bed, still as soft and as warm as I remember. Oddly I'm wearing my armor, but my body is not sore at all. As a matter of fact, I'm very comfortable.

The door opens, and Oriana peers in. There's something very wrong about that, but I can't point it out. I'm just relieved that I'm back home. She smiles at me ever-so-sweetly. "Elinore," she says in that playful sing-song voice she reserves for light hearted days. "It's good to see that you're home. Come, come, everyone is waiting for you."

She tugs at my hand and we walk through the lovely, familiar walls of Highever and into the grand dining room. I don't know what the occasion is, but everyone's in here. Mother, Father, Fergus with Oren on his lap, even Elissa and Oswyn are here.

I feel it in the depths of my heart, as if we're lacking something. I rub my armored chest, wondering what's wrong. We've got everyone here, and I'm happier than I've been since... wait. I don't remember.

The door is thrown open, and Evain steps in, a dangerous look in his face.

"Little brother," Fergus calls out, knowing that Evain hates being called little. "So glad you can finally join us! Is something wrong? Did one of the knights try challenging you again?"

Evain glares at him, and I can't blame him. He doesn't seem to be in the mood to bicker good-naturedly. "Fergus, may I borrow Elinore for a while?" he asks. "There's something we need to take care of."

"Hey, we just got home," I whine. "We could at least eat breakfast with them first. Right? We haven't been to Highever for a while."

"Elinore, we haven't been to Highever for a while, yes. Think about why."

No one seems to be pleased about what he said. Oriana begins to rant about him being drunk. Mother and Father are scolding him simultaneously, while Fergus walks out in a huff.

That's when I realize something else. Where are Shadow and Interceptor?

Everything comes flooding into my head - the deaths, the fire, fleeing, becoming Wardens. "We need to get out of here," I gasp.

"Die!" Father shrieks, and the place shimmers and changes into a hazy and empty field.

A pair of desire demons take the place of our parents, while the rest of our family turns into reanimated corpses. I don't want to know where they came from. I whip out my swords and dispatch one of the corpses with a knife.

With just the two of us, getting rid of the demons is actually not that easy. We manage to fight them off, and everything goes black.

When I pull myself back into focus, I'm standing with the rest of our team in a rocky outcrop. Shadow and Interceptor are still mysteriously absent. The sloth demon emerges from the haze, hulking and angry. He opens the fight by striking down my brother.

Oh, Mr. Sloth Demon, you just made the wrong choice.

I jump up and hit it with my sword. It's big and hulking, meaning it's terribly clumsy. It loses balance and the mages make its face explode with lightning.

The place shimmers, and we find ourselves standing in the room with the fallen mage. Luckily no more sloth demons.

Evain begins searching the fallen Niall's body and pulls out something called the Litany of Andralla from his pouch. He mentions having met this poor sod, and there's no saving him. Solona and Nineve sob into each other's arms.

Sten stares at us impassively, and I wonder if he even saw anything in what Wynne explains is the Fade. Leliana leans against the wall, looking so exhausted.

Evain crosses his arms and frowns. "What now?"

"There's only one place left," Solona says darkly. "The Harrowing chamber."

Chapter Text

"I will stand and fight."

Elinore

We pass by a Templar named Cullen. Alistair and the mages seem to have recognized him, but unfortunately it seems like seeing the abominations kill his companions - and maybe torture them - didn't do his sanity any good. He begs us to kill all mages, and even Solona consoling him doesn't do any good.

Uldred doesn't notice us at first when we step into the chamber. The slimy old coot is busy with the incapacitated mages in the area, which unfortunately includes the First Enchanter himself. Damn it. Seems like Uldred is trying to turn them into abominations with the help of some very powerful demons. Not that I understood most of it. I'm no mage, and most definitely no Templar.

Our entire team faces Uldred together. Shadow and Interceptor move to stand between him and the captive mages, while our mages rain down fiery death upon him - well, except Nineve, who slips away to try and heal Irving and the others. Sten tries to draw Uldred's attention away from them, while Alistair does his best to redirect spells. I really should ask him how he does that.

Wynne and Evain work together using the Litany of Andralla which my brother found in Niall's corpse to weaken and eventually incapacitate Uldred long enough for Solona to blast his head off.

It ain't a pretty sight.

Nineve helps Irving to his feet, and the First Enchanter regards us with interest. "Ah, many thanks," he says. His voice sounds strong enough despite the fact that he still looks weak and clammy. Seems like our healer did her work perfectly.

I clear my mind, remembering what I brought everyone here for. "First Enchanter Irving, I am Elinore Cousland of the Grey Wardens. We came here to find you. Knight Commander Greagoir requested for the Rite of Annulment and he said that we can only stop it if we bring you to him."

"We must hurry, then," Irving says. It seems like he couldn't walk properly yet, though, so Evain and Alistair lend their helping hands.

Interceptor sniffs at my heels, and I kneel down to pet him. "We did good, boy. Very, very good."

We gather all the survivors as we make our way down to the first floor, and we spill into the entrance chamber. Our companions rush to us quickly, though Morrigan still holds back. Greagoir looks stunned as he watches our ragtag bunch of misfits with the First Enchanter in tow.

The two greet each other as old friends, but Nineve mutters in my ear that it's not always the case. It seems like they bicker more than old married couples do. Cullen steps forward and tries to convince Greagoir to proceed with the Rite of Annulment, but Wynne was correct - the Knight Commander is a very reasonable man.

I could feel Solona grumbling under her breath. It seems like she knew Cullen from her days in the Circle and actually liked him.

Greagoir agrees with Irving and sends a messenger to the Chantry to confirm that the tower is now safe.

Irving regards us with his tired, wise eyes. "I suppose you did not just come here for a visit."

Luneth turns red. From what they've told me, he and Solona were Irving's most recent pupils. "Ah, First Enchanter, we need your sodding help."

"Language!" Solona barks.

Duran presents the treaties to Irving. "Shortly before the Battle of Ostagar, we were tasked to retrieve these agreements. We are the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden now, First Enchanter, and with Loghain at the helm, I'm afraid that we might not be able to get more help against the Blight."

"We know you've lost many of your own," Rand adds. "But we need your help one more time."

Irving nods thoughtfully. "We cannot simply let the Blight ravage Ferelden," he agrees. "You will have the Circle behind you in this struggle. Just ask, and we shall provide all the help we can give you."

We thank him, and Wynne steps forward. "First Enchanter, I would like to request for your permission to remain with the Grey Wardens."

"Wynne, it'll be dangerous," Nineve exclaims.

Irving nods. "And the Circle will need you."

"The Circle will do well without me. They have you." The Senior Enchanter raises her chin defiantly. "Our young Wardens have proven their courage and devotion to their duty. Should they accept their help, I would be more than happy to provide all I could for them to defeath the Blight."

"Wynne, it would be an honor," Nineve murmurs. "I would be so glad to get my teacher back."

Irving offers us quarters for the night in a part of the apprentice dormitories. We do not sleep immediately though, and help everyone clean up the place and transfer the bodies to the entrance hall. They will be buried at dawn. Speaking of dawn, it was only mere hours away when I stumbled into the nearest possible bed, half-blind from exhaustion and definitely ignoring the fact that someone else was lying down on it. I'm asleep the moment my head hits the edge of the pillow.

Nineve

I only get a few hours of sleep, and wake up early in the morning. All the others are still asleep. Amusingly enough, Elinore and Alistair are cramped on the same bed, and the mabaris have invaded the free bed for their own. I'm not sure that Irving will be pleased about that. I notice two other beds that are currently empty, but they seem to have been used fairly recently.

I head out of the room and find Luneth and Fea talking quietly. They are sitting so close together that I avert my eyes quickly and pretend that I didn't see them. I find my way to the library and sit in a corner, leaning against the wall. I try to dispel the visions of the nightmares I had in the Fade - of my family in the Denerim Alienage welcoming me once more with open arms.

My memories of them are hazy at best. I remember my mother's voice, my father's temper, my brother's laughter. I don't even know what they look like anymore. I was barely four when I first manifested my powers, and they packed me off to the Circle shortly afterward.

It doesn't matter. It shouldn't. Luneth and Solona and the rest of the Wardens are my family now.

I stay lost in my thoughts for a long time, until a warm hand touches my shoulder. I look up and see Leliana peering at me with concern in her eyes. "We have been looking for you everywhere," she says.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer. "It's just that there are so many things I've been thinking about and..."

"Our experience in the Fade made us all think," she agrees, peering at me. Maker! Must her eyes be so green? "But the Maker has his reasons for putting us where we are. You must always believe."

Believe. "Of course," I say. How could I say otherwise, when I can see that her faith is so absolute, so pure?

We begin heading down to the dining hall.

"Leliana, do you still have a... y'know, a family?" I ask.

She ponders for a while, tapping her chin with a finger. "Yes. My father was from Ferelden, and my mother was Orlesian. They both died when I was very young and I was raised by... unpleasant people. I guess you could say that it's the reason why I decided to join the Chantry."

There seems to be something more in this story, but I decide not to pry. There would be enough time to know Leliana later. We eventually reached the room they appropriated for our meals until the tower is fully cleaned. It is jam-packed with a mixture of mages and Templars, but a table has been cleared out for our party, which is now joined by Wynne.

It seems like Lady Cousland and her king are still sound asleep.

Luneth waves Leliana over, and the lay sister sits beside him. I feel a small twinge of envy and find myself sitting with Fea, who watches them wistfully. "It seems like all the men I am growing fond of are already invested in other women," she murmurs.

I rub my chest idly. "And the woman who caught my eye seems invested in a man," I mutter.

Fea raises an eyebrow and smiles as she piles some bread and eggs on my plate. "Oh, you swing that way?"

I recall the twinge in my gut whenever I saw Cullen passing by, and I laugh softly. "Fea, dear, I swing both ways."

Alistair

The first thing I realize as I wake up is that my body is still freaking sore. I've used my Templar skills last night far more than I ever did before, and that's saying something. We did climb the Tower of Ishal in Ostagar, after all.

The next thing I realize is that I'm not the only person on the bed. Elinore is lying beside me, an arm and a leg draped over me. I'm sure she's dressed in a very thin tunic. I could really, really feel every curve of her body. Moving would be a bit difficult though, as she might be startled and think that I'm some kind of a pervert - which would be hilarious, as I've never even come close to kissing a girl before.

Not that I'm not tempted. Elinore is brave and beautiful and definitely the most wonderful lady I've ever met, but I'm sure she just sees me as an oddball who happened to be the currently displaced heir to the throne. Maker, the rose is still in my pack, but I never even got the courage to give it to her. Luneth was nice enough to magically preserve it for me, though not without a few jibes.

She lets out a small groan and moves her head to my chest. I'm pretty sure she would awaken very soon to the sound of my heart hammering wildly.

Luckily Morrigan isn't here to swoop down on us.

We stay this way for a while, and I wonder what it'd be like being married to her. She would probably threaten me with castration every other day and use me for target practice at least twice a week. Fun times.

She lets out another groan and her eyes open. She freezes for a while before peering up at me. "Um, hi?" she says quickly.

I feel myself turning red. "And there I was, wondering who invaded my personal space all night."

She goes white and sits up. "Oh! Um, right! Sorry about that!" She leaps to her feet and wobbles around, still too tired and sore. "I was so exhausted last night, I just kind of... plopped... on the nearest possible bed."

"Which is mine. Makes sense." My thoughts stray to the rose in my pack, but I decide to let it stay there until later. I don't want her to gut me.

She smiles sheepishly. "I hope you didn't mind."

"Aside from getting a faceful of your hair, it wasn't that bad," I point out. "Well, and the fact that you startled half my life out of me."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, right. Very funny."

By the time we join the others, they're all staring at us weirdly. They give us a wide berth when we sit down, aside from Sten who is busy discussing something with Irving over on the other table, and Morrigan who is mysteriously absent. Not that I really mind. Everything's much better when she's not around.

Elinore seems oblivious to what's going on, as she wolfs down the porridge without any comments. She only looks up when she finishes her food. Oh, and I'm staring at her again. Bad-itty bad.

Luneth clears his throat. "Alright, now that this sappy couple has joined us again, where are we off to next?" he asks.

Duran frowns. "It would help if we proceed to Orzammar or the Dalish immediately, but I was thinking... we're not just contending against the Archdemon, but also Loghain. Everything we're doing will be for naught if he opposes us at the worst possible time."

Hearing the news about him being made Regent makes me shudder, but I can't be king. Nope nope nope. But I suppose Duran is right.

"And are you quite sure that this will help us against the Blight?" Sten voices out his concerns.

Auberon nods. "It makes sense. We could prepare all we want, but if the kingdom itself goes against us, we will be helpless. So is there someone who can help us oppose Loghain, then?"

It seems like I can't run away from everything, eh?

"Well, I suppose Arl Eamon wouldn't mind helping us," I say. "I was his ward for a while. Not that we parted on good terms, but I suppose he's the best we've got. He never liked Loghain."

"But we've heard in the Chantry that he's... ill," Merane murmurs. "How can he help?"

Tella smiles. "It seems like we're making a habit of this. We'll help him find a cure, of course.

Chapter Text

"Doesn't it feel like our time is running out?"

Auberon

We take our leave in the afternoon. The Circle does not seem to have enough resources to aid us after what has happened, but their shem leader - ah, First Enchanter - mentioned that they will simply need a week the fully cleanse the area. I fear that there is not enough of them to provide us ample assistance, but Irving assures us that mages from the Denerim Circle will join them shortly and will be informed of our agreements.

The weather steadily grows warmer as we begin to circle Lake Calenhad, as our companions have suggested. It seems like playing this shem game called politics will be needed if we are to defeat the Blight.

Despite my offers to do it instead, Rand begins to scout ahead of us with the horse that the Templars loaned to us. He returns in the afternoon with news.

It seems like Loghain's men are on their way to their tower - presumably to search for us. Merane whispers that he could also be trying to communicate with Uldred. Of course, no one would know that he's dead already.

We head to the woods to conceal ourselves. It means that our traveling might take a bit longer, but it will keep us safe from any assailants. We spend our time making slow progress through the path. This is far from the peaceful forest my clan lived in, and it takes me some time to get accustomed to it. By this point, I start leading the way once more.

Sten does not seem to be pleased by us, and keeps asking questions about the relevance of our quest in regards to fighting the Blight. The shem'len explain it to him patiently. We need to eliminate any opposition to the Wardens if we could ever hope to unite everyone long enough to have a fighting chance against the Blight. I must admit, it is a great challenge, but we must do everything it takes to fulfill our duty.

We camp in the woods that night. While our meal is being cooked by Leliana and Tella, Rand and I make our way to the road. We have to know if it is safe enough to traverse it once more by morning. We find the immediate area empty, and decide to check both directions. Rand is anxiously thumbing the hilt of the knife Leliana lent him.

"Ah! I did not expect travelers at this late hour," someone says.

I nearly jump out, annoyed that I did not notice someone spying us. I see an elf like me, sitting on a rocky outcrop. He is quite slender, even in the standards of our people, his skin quite darker than what is commonly seen in the area. His hair is fair though, and falls down like a thick curtain to his shoulder and over his sharp blue eyes. An odd black marking is etched on the left side of his face, but I am sure it is not Dalish, and neither is he.

He is polishing what looks like a hunting knife, but he is observing us like a hunter stalking his prey. "It is dangerous to travel Ferelden at night," he says in his highly unusual accent. It is not Orlesian like Leliana's.

"It is, flat-ears," I tell him. "But what is it to you?"

He smiles, baring his teeth. This flat-ears seems to be a predator. I can see the glint in his eyes. "You, unlike I, seem to not be a part of a trade caravan. Better find somewhere safe before the darkspawn get you." He stands up with what he probably thinks is a friendly wink and departs in the same direction that we will be heading tomorrow.

"That's no Fereldan, mark my words," Rand mutters as we make our way back to the camp. "Must be a mercenary. I've heard that wealthy merchants hire them for their caravans."

"These... merchants... are mad if they hire people such as he," I note. "He looks like someone who would slit your throat in your sleep if he finds it amusing."

"Some of them do tell stories of such a thing happening before," he muses. He looks back at the road we just left. "They must be desperate if they hire someone like him, then. Better be safe than sorry, though. Seems like we'll be traveling through the woods again tomorrow."

I nod. I feel safer there than out in the open, anyway - especially with Loghain's men and darkspawn on the prowl. Only Tamlen would be mad enough to actually enjoy such danger.

My gut twists, and I utter a silent prayer to the Creators for him.

We rejoin the rest of our party in time for our nighttime meal - rabbit stew. The taste reminds me of the home I was forced to leave. I am thankful for my survival, but sometimes I cannot help but think of what could have been.

"Almost like family, eh?" Alistair says as he sits down beside me. "Well, with more violence and less nagging mothers, of course. Not that I'd know, I haven't had a mother."

"I never knew my mother either," I muse. "I was very little when she... left."

Alistair nods, and I see a glint of understanding in his eyes. He knows more than he shows, truly. "I think they can't handle nagging hardheads like us, eh?"

I smile. Maybe humor is a very useful shield. "I suppose, lethallin."

Morning arrives, warm and comforting. For a moment, I half-expect myself to wake up in my aravel, Tamlen and Merill watching me with similar impatient frowns. It takes me a while to remember where I am, and how I ended up in this point of my life.

It's not a good way to start my day, but it will have to do.

As always, the smell of last night's left overs being heated wafts through the air, and I could hear conversations outside. It seems like some of them have woken up early. I make my way out of my tent in my armor and find that Duran and Merane have bested me today.

They nod to me, acknowledging my existence, and Merane hands me a bowl of soup. The way it is so easy for her to serve everyone so submissively makes my blood boil - not because of her, but because of the circumstances that reduced half of our people to such a state.

I smile and thank her to be polite and sit down on one of the fallen logs that work as our makeshift fences. Bodhan Feddic joins us shortly afterward, showing us a small selection of amulets that he acquired in the Circle of Magi.

Merane purchases one that is supposed to increase her stamina, and I believe that she does need it. For such a slender lady, she is bringing quite a large sword. I've seen her use it though, and she's quite good.

"Auberon, how are you adjusting?" she asks. "About life outside of your clan, I mean."

I shrug and take time to taste the stew. It actually reminds me of home. "It is not that bad. There are some shem'len who are as unhonorable as our elders imply, but there are those that I think I would trust with my life."

"Funny how people are often like that," she whispers with a laugh. "There are those that you can't help but like. You know, not even the Alienage elves are all oppressed but good people. There were nasty pieces of work - like that thief who nearly cut off my cousin Soris' nose two years ago... Lian, I think her name was."

I nod. "Sometimes I still miss my home, of course. It feels like I am a bird forced to live his life in the lake." I shake my head. "I think of my clan, and how they are faring. But when I look at everyone, I am also home. The Grey Wardens are my new family, my new clan."

She smiles and takes my hand. "I'm glad to hear that," she tells me.

She stands up and leaves to change into her armor, leaving me speechless.

Tella

Our sodding madhouse, sorry, our party finally leaves after breakfast. We stay in the humid woods because there is a slight possibility of crossing ways with some merchants with an untrusty mercenary guard, and I eventually find myself bored enough to start counting my insect bites to pass the time.

Evain mentions that we should be in Redcliffe within the week. Oh joy.

Trees, trees, more trees. I join Luneth in his customary moaning and grumbling, but at least I have the excuse of being a dwarf. I suppose he's complaining because he hasn't had any exercise while he was cooped up all nice and cozy in the Circle of Magi. I'm actually complaining because I've never seen trees until I left Orzammar.

I catch Duran staring at me with his placid eyes every now and then. I still have no idea what caused him to turn into that peaceful thing. I've heard that he was every bit as haughty as other dwarf nobles before we met. It's amusing trying to irritate him though.

I can hear angry voices behind me again. That'd be Mighty King Alistair arguing with that witch, Morrigan. They always fight, those two loonheads. Learning to live with them will be hard.

I've tried talking to Sten, but I may as well as talk to a particularly unfriendly piece of pet rock. Hey, the pet rock I owned when I was little had more personality than this giant.

We stop for lunch, which is more stewed rabbits. Seriously, how many rabbits will we be consuming in these woods, and will we not murder all of those little fluffy things at the end of this week?

Duran sits beside me, calm as always. "You don't seem to be happy with this," he says.

"Normally, I'm not some sod who hates walking." I gesture to the beastly things surrounding us. "I want to see Ferelden, though. Not trees, trees, and more trees."

He stares at me with wide eyes.

"Don't. I might think you're finally falling in love with me after six months of chummy chum chums."

He blinks then laughs. "Goodness! Tella, I was just thinking, you dolt."

"Language! You used that language!" I laugh with him. "I think I'm falling in love with you!"

"I'll hold on to that, then," he says with a grin. "You know, I think you're just bored. You expected a life of action - traveling, seeing the sights, blasting darkspawn and bad guys left and right. Of course being in a repetitive place would bore and annoy you."

"That, and the fact that I don't have anyone engaging to talk to," I point out dryly. "The poor sods are all busy trying to kill each other."

That makes him frown. "No, they're not. Well, Morrigan and Alistair do, but the others are alright."

I try to socialize again as we walk after lunch. It isn't like there's anything else to do aside from walk. I spot Duran being all chummy to Auberon and Merane, so I look around for someone to talk to and eventually decide upon Wynne.

Well, actually, it's more like she decided to talk to me.

"Dwarves in the surface world is getting rarer and rarer these days, I hear," she says.

I shrug. "Maybe they're all busy funding expeditions to the Deep Roads or whatnot."

"It must have been a curious experience, to see Ferelden for the first time after spending your entire life in Orzammar," she continues. "It's not the same, but it is similar to the mages' predicament."

I nod, remembering the tears I shed when we first saw the sky. I was so afraid that I would just float off forever. "Duran and I couldn't let go of each other - there were so many fears because of the tales our mothers would say when we were little. At least I could say that Orzammar was a world on its own, with towns and shops and buildings. You poor sods were stuck in a tower."

Wynne inclines her head with a smile. "True, that's true. We make do with what we have, fo course."

I remember life in Dust Town, our misery and desperation. Half of me wants to go home, but the other one is eager for more adventure. "That's true, I suppose," I tell her. "But no poor sod would make it without ever thinking of what could be." My fingers fly to my Warden's Oath, and my thoughts flit to poor Duncan.

Wynne pats my hand. "Freedom is both a gift and a burden. Use it well, young Warden."

Evain

We eat our dinner by the road. Rand and Auberon were scouting all day, and reported that they haven't encountered anyone at all. It seems like the mysterious elf mercenary they mentioned and his caravan vanished in mid-air.

Once more, I observe that Morrigan is eating alone, her tent set up a small distance from the rest of us. Hey, even Sten actually joined our group though he's mostly just a surly observer.

I grab my food - well at least it's roasted meat of something or another this time and some bread provided by the Circle yesterday - and sit down beside her. She watches me with those distrustful gold eyes of her and says nothing as I begin eating. I watch her back as she delicately picks at her food.

"I would appreciate it if you do not bother me," she says boredly.

I raise an eyebrow at her and smile. "But I'm not bothering you, my lady. I was just wondering if you wanted some companionship, as I've seen that you have been alone these past few days."

She looks away with a dark scowl. "If I wanted any company, I would have sought out the presence of more interesting beings," she says. She stares at our group pointedly before looking back at her meal. "There would be no chance of such utter madness in other simple creatures."

Maker's early morning breath, what is it with this woman? "Fine. We get it that you were just forced by your mother to traipse up and down Ferelden with our lot, and not everyone likes you around either. I understand that you were sheltered and never had any friends, but that is no reason to brush off the people who want to genuinely know you." I thrust the odd book I got from the tower into her hands and stand up. "Have it your way. I'm not going to try again, Morrigan."

I'm not really sure why I'm annoyed, but I sit down throughout the rest of the dinner in a huff, ignoring the meaningful looks that Elinore and Merane are giving me.

My dreams this night are riddled with a roaring Archdemon and hordes of darkspawn screaming, hissing, and screeching their way through what seems to be the Deep Roads that Duran was talking about.

Morrigan watches me throughout breakfast, but I steadfastly ignore her. I just hope she makes out something from that book I've found, and that my hunch about it being about her mother is correct.