When Duncan selected them all to be Grey Wardens, each recruit had thought of himself or herself as special. Individuals with strength of will to destroy archdemons, enders of Blights. They didn't realize until after the Battle of Ostagar the efficiency at which the Master Warden had conducted his affairs. Duncan had a talent for rallying ragtag citizens of every race, class and make to his cause. Even those unfit to bear the title of Warden were put to good use.

All three dwarves that accompanied the Grey Warden from Orzammar underwent the joining process. Of the three, Frannie Brosca and Faeron Aeducan returned as Grey Wardens. The process embittered the young Silfee Cousland, whose twin brother was hand-picked by Duncan while she herself was overlooked. Her brother, Edgar, would say that the betrayal at Highever had changed her. That the simple malice in her heart that too often bled from her mouth and forced her hand was bred from Arl Howe's treachery and nothing more. Whatever the cause, it was said that Silfee was tainted enough without the aid of darkspawn blood and was on that account, bypassed for the ritual.

Donal Amell accepted his rejection far more readily. His appearance at Ostagar had more to do with him begging and nagging the First Enchanter until he was allowed to venture to the battlefield under the watchful eye of his mentor, Wynne, on the premise that he was to record the events of the battle and nothing more. The cold and calculating Nema Surana was a far more suitable Warden than Donal could ever dream to be. Add to that the stoic and proud Rastaban Mahariel and it would seem that Duncan was building an unstoppable Warden army.

But then there was Adele Tabris. Her selection was an odd one. Nervous and flighty as a bird, she was the only one to survive the final joining ritual before the battle. Fresh from the Alienage in Denerim, she'd appeared quite shaken with the events that led to her joining with this strange and unseemly group of comrades. She and Frannie Brosca were the two assigned along with Duncan's protege Alistair, to light the torch in the Tower of Ishal.

Fran was the first to fall on the topmost floor of the tower. An arrow pierced through her cheap, leather armor and she gave slow, dazed eye-blinks at the shaft sticking out of her shoulder as her legs crumpled beneath her own weight. Alistair was next, though he managed to keep the darkspawn at bay for quite some time. Fran's quick subdual filled him with a frantic sort of energy. The ex-Templar brought his shield down with such a jaw-shattering ferocity and slashed his blade with such fervent madness that in the end it was a game of numbers more than skill. At Fran's side, Adele watched as the darkspawn swarmed and smothered her protector.

Adele was the only one alive and conscious to witness the great bird.

A roc, if she remembered the term correctly. Such fanciful things were only spoken of by her mother and her mother had been dead a long time. The beast came crashing through a massive stained glass window. She raised her forearm to her face to shield against the spray of glass and brick and mortar as the monstrous bird landed amidst the chaos. Without hesitation, it plucked up Alistair in one talon and Frannie in the other and then began to lift back up into the air. Adele did the only thing she could think of. She looped her arms around Frannie's waist and prayed both for a short journey and that the bird did not try to shake her off.

It was a strange thing to land back in the Korcari Wilds. The apostates, Flemeth and Morrigan threw themselves into saving her comrades and dismissed her, completely. Adele offered once to fetch something for the elder witch and Flemeth merely stared over her head, past her and requested it a second time from Morrigan. In the end, Adele spent the remainder of those critical hours scratching symbols into the earth with a stick just outside of Flemeth's hut.

She listened as first Alistair woke, then Fran; as Flemeth discussed with them their course of action and entrusted her daughter to them. Adele intersected their path before they left the Wilds and was met with a broad grin from Frannie and relief from Alistair. Their new companion said nothing, but the icy stare implied that Morrigan had intended to abandon the elf in the Korcari Wilds without a word of explanation to the other Wardens.

Morrigan's plans were dashed further when they found more survivors on the outskirts of the Wilds. Nema Surana and Faeron Aeducan were deadlocked on who was to be master. Silfee Cousland practiced her prettiest pout atop a rock while her brother frantically and all too inexpertly attempted to tend to Rastaban Mahariel's wounds. All but Silfee bore several bruises and cuts, but the Dalish elf sported a wide gash across his midsection from where he had lingered too close to a darkspawn ax. Rastaban had taken to feverishly willing away the onset of infection while Edgar looked on and offered plodding words of encouragement.

"Oh, lovely," was all that Morrigan would say.

Alistair immediately hurried over to Rastaban on the ground to aid Edgar in his ministrations. Edgar beamed ear-to-ear at his fellow Grey Warden and waved a hand caked with dried blood at Alistair. With a roll of her eyes, Silfee slid off the rock she was perched upon and strolled over to Morrigan.

She sighed. "How dull."

"Will he be alright?" Frannie asked with a nod toward Rastaban.

Silfee blinked, almost as if taken aback and focused her blue-green eyes on the dwarf. "I wish he'd just make up his mind, already," she said. "Get well or die, he's been carrying on like this for the better part of two days."

"And that one, there?" Morrigan gestured a finger at Edgar. "He believes he can talk the elf back to health?"

"Oh, Edgar?" Silfee sniffed. "Our older brother, Fergus, liked to tease that because we are twins, we were one whole person split. Unfortunately for Edgar, whereas he got the heart, I am in possession of the brain."

"I see," the witch said. Her tongue clicked against the back of her teeth. Then, without so much as a, "good day," Morrigan left the three women and joined Edgar's side, hovering over Rastaban.

"Well, that was tragically boring," Silfee commented. She exchanged a look with Frannie and Adele that could have spoken of more had Frannie determined that the young noblewoman had any depth. "Was it boring for you as well?"

Frannie raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"The battle." Silfee shook her head and all the numerous braids that adorned her dark brown hair bounced as if on cue. "I was hoping for a dragon at least. Something more interesting than hordes of darkspawn. It will be days before the scent of their blood gets washed from my hair."

"We were overwhelmed in the Tower of Ishal," Frannie muttered.

"Overwhelmed?" Silfee frowned. "Darkspawn aren't known to keep prisoners. Does this mean you had to retreat? Flee piteously from your position? Run away?"

Frannie had never seen someone smile with that much glee in their eyes. It was unsettling. In front of them, powerful currents of green energy were streaking out of Morrigan's arms and into Rastaban. Both witch and elf looked mildly irritated.

"We were rescued," Adele quietly offered.

"What?" Silfee turned her attentions to the elven woman that she had previously begun to assume was mute. "Speak up, I can hardly hear you."

"Well, there was this bird--"

Silfee lurched forward and grabbed Adele by the chin. "By the Maker, but you look an awful lot like Iona, Lady Landra's lady-in-waiting," she exclaimed. "I suppose your eyes are too big and a dull gray color instead of that pretty blue, but are you two related? She's dead now. My brother would say that he loved her too intensely for her to remain of this world, but I'm positive she was just another victim of Arl Howe's coup."

Adele attempted to stammer some sense into the flood of words that left Silfee's mouth. Adele was unsuccessful.

"Well, what about you?" Frannie asked. "How did all of you end up here? Alive?"

"Oh. That." Silfee unclamped her hand around Adele's jaw. "We were all in the thick of battle... myself, my brother, the dwarf and the elf. Not the pretty one, the one on the ground currently trying not to expire. Anyway, when Loghain quit the field, we all thought it best that we do so as well. It was a mess. The dwarf, Feh..." she snapped her fingers as she trailed off.

"Faeron," Frannie said.

"That's the one!" Silfee smiled again. "He said he actually saw the king get crushed to death by and ogre! And poor Duncan. That silly sot went off and lost his head."

Adele's mouth hung open in the shape of an, "o." Frannie wet her lips and tried to force the urge to rub the bridge of her nose to subside. Usually, being silent was a choice; it wasn't often that she could say that she was truly struck dumb. She blinked at Silfee. Silfee blinked back.

Adele cleared her throat. "The, uh, the mage," she said with a hand aimed at Nema, who had very nearly crammed her pointer finger down Faeron's throat by that point in time, "you didn't, um, explain how she got here."

Silfee waved a hand and snorted. "Oh, her. After what was left of the mages departed back for the Tower of Magi, she stayed back on account of being a Grey Warden. She and Faelon--"

"Faeron," Frannie ground out.

"Yes. Well, they apparently can't decide who is to be in charge." Silfee tugged at one of her braids absently. "Somehow, they managed to agree that we should resupply at a village called Loethering, but are now bickering over which allies to seek out first. It's all very tiresome."

Tiresome, indeed. "I have a headache," Frannie announced before she stalked over toward the makeshift medical team still surrounding Rastaban. By this time the Dalish elf was in a sitting position, propped up against a tree trunk. Morrigan's eyes screamed murder as Alistair secured the last bit of bandage around their companion's waist and said something that sent Edgar guffawing merrily. Rastaban's expression twisted to match Morrigan's in terms of sourness.

Adele stood, frozen awkwardly, staring at Silfee. She picked a discreet spot slightly above the other woman's right eyebrow to gaze at while any words she could possibly use to start a conversation with began to form a hard lump at the base of her throat. As a shining example of human nobility, Silfee became bored and forgot about the elven woman in record time. If she had been any more invisible, Silfee would have walked through Adele on her way back to the others.