Okay, this story may start a little slow, but it'll pick up speed as it continues, just a heads up. It may also turn into M as blood and gore come into play (you tell me), but we'll see how that goes. If anyone notices spelling errors or such, feel free to tell me. Ah, and an apology to my other story... I'm going to blame Bioware (along with Lost and Bones - just started watching) for lack of updates and not being entirely faithful. Curse you DA and ME2!

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. It belongs to Bioware.

I hope you enjoy.


Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

-William Ernest Henley

She approached Ostagar by foot, staring up at the tall, crumbling buildings and towers as she walked forward. She had only to mention the Grey Wardens to get past the outmost guards and now she strode across the bridge like she had a purpose, which she did, but it certainly kept the men from approaching her.

It had been more than six moons since she had last seen her mentor. He had left her only with orders to remain in her burnt-out tower, until otherwise notified. She had received a letter less than a month later with his request for her to head south. She was to scout in the Korcari Wilds. Penetrate deep within the darkspawn ranks and report positions, numbers, and anything else of importance she was able to ascertain. Nal had been doing so since she first arrived, and as the months passed had to start avoiding the human army, for she preferred to remain unknown.

Sighing she ran a hand through her short black hair. She hadn't discovered much, the darkspawn where moving about, currently preparing for the coming battle, but other than that Nal had seen nothing to even signify it was a real blight, which had been her main objective. She had provided information that had helped the humans win the battles they had fought, but other than that, nothing.

There was no visual proof to bring to the ignorant men, not that Nal needed any such proof she had felt the moment the Archdemon awoke. Its chilling call had echoed through her head, hauntingly beautiful, yet disturbing to the point Nal wish to hide somewhere safe and never show her face until this was all over. Luckily, for the humans at least, Nal had no such safe place, beyond standing beside her mentor and if he fought these monsters, so shall she.

Nal climbed the last few steps from the bridge; the guard didn't say a word and nearly recoiled from her as she quickly walked past. She had business and no one was going to stop her.

Passing the guard she veered left, striding between the stonework, before it opened into a large, yet crowded courtyard filled with tents, camping fires, dog kennels, and other recently erected structures. Her visible eye darted about taking in the area, while she continued on her way. As if she was invisibly attached she maneuvered her way around people and between tents drawn to a burning pile of wood. She slowed her pace as she approached her mentor. He stood near the fire, staring contemplatively into the flames, watching and they licked at the wood, charring the brown surface.

Nal came to a halt a few feet behind the man. She slipped her pack off, depositing it upon the ground before she bowed to his back, he was one of few men she'd willingly give respect. He did not turn to acknowledge her presence, but he did speak, for he had heard her behind him.

"Is it that time already?"

"You told me to come on the day the moon was to be full," Nal straightened her back, standing to her full height. The man sighed heavily, warily. "Duncan?" He finally turned to her and took a few steps, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"It is good you are well," he commented, before he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Have you found anything?"

"No," Nal shook her head. "I have found nothing. The Archdemon remains underground and I'm afraid I cannot travel that far without risk of being found." Her face turned towards the direction the darkspawn where known to be, her eye staring just over Duncan's shoulder. "The creature hides. No, hide is not the proper word. It is smart and remains unseen. I do not believe it wishes us to know this is a Blight, for if we remain ignorant, it can catch us all the more unprepared." Duncan sighed once more. "It is out there. I know it."

"Yes, and I fully believe you," Duncan agreed. "However our word alone is not enough. Because it has not shown itself people feel better believing this is only a simple raid. They do not understand what Grey Wardens see."

Nal's visible eye narrowed as she refocused her sight upon her mentor. "I am not a Grey Warden and I understand," her voice while remaining emotionless had turned steely. "Mortals are fools."

"You are a different matter, Naliana, and you know such," Duncan's eyes drifted to Nal's right, and watched something going on behind her. "And do not use that word, it'll cause problems."

"Why?" Nal questioned, growing suspicious. "What's going on behind–" her sentence was choked off as strong arms wrapped around her thin form and lifted her bodily from the ground. She struggled for breath as the arms squeezed her. Nal was then dropped almost unceremoniously forcing her to stagger forward to regain her balance and nearly went head long into the fire before she did so. She straightened, let out a breath, dusted herself off, and plastered a seemingly genuine grin on to her face, before turning around to face her assaulter.

"Your Majesty." Nal prided herself on her ability to maintain her poise in every situation.

The three Warden trainees and Alistair had managed to gather together and had made their way to Duncan. Just in time to see the king nearly crush a figure before letting the same figure nearly fall into the bonfire beside Duncan. The fact that she, for they had grow close enough to tell her gender, was able to turn to the king with a straight face was surprising.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, her voice was calm and without hitch.


"Look at you," King Cailan giving the girl a grin. "You've changed since I last saw you."

"Well, yes," the woman explained, "since the last time we saw each other it was a number of years ago. It tends to happen."

"And you're still doing as well as ever," the king laughed, before sobering and plucking at the mud colored cloak she wore. "Yet, you're still wearing these rags. Duncan you should clothe your wards better."

"I like 'these rags,' your Majesty." The woman defended. "They were made for me. I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult them." The king held up his hands in mock defense as he laughed again.

The four men had stopped about ten feet away from the chatting group and could see the girl more clearly than before, even if it was only from the side. Her hair was dark, cut short, like a man's, though long enough to dangle into her eyes, despite the band she wore across her forehead. She was pale, dirt smudged, thin as if she hadn't had a good meal in months, and much smaller than any of the men she stood among.

Jutting up from under her cloak, and a few feet past her head, was what seemed to be a thin, long wooden pole strapped to the back of her leather armor accompanied by two long daggers on her hip.

"Why didn't you tell us there were women in the Wardens?" Daveth nearly hissed in a low whisper to Alistair.

"Because there aren't any," the senior Warden shot back.

"Well there's no way she can be a simple soldier," Daveth concluded. "She's talking to the king! Then again, I'd talk to someone who looks like her anytime."

Even as she spoke with the king, who was currently laughing at her again, she seemed to have noticed the four Wardens that had stopped a distance away. The girl turned her head slightly to view them better and Daveth sucked in her breath.

The band that they had seen across her brow was not meant to keep her hair out of her eyes, but was part of the sturdy leather eye patch she had covering nearly half of the left side of her face. There was another strip of leather that wrapped down and around her ear, most likely leading back up to the other, held the patch securely to her face.

Her visible eye narrowed and she studied them disapprovingly as if she had heard what they said, before she turned back to the king to reply to something he had said. Her lips twitched towards a smile before her face was school once more.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with a missing eye," Daveth said as if someone had questioned his devotion. "I'm open-minded," he shrugged, "and once I talk to her, she won't be so stiff. The quiet ones are always the screamers."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Ser Jory said looking at the younger man with concern. "Women like her, the ones that have been injured that badly, tend to react differently to things like that. If I were you I'd give her a large space to walk."

"That makes it all the more likely that she'll respond positively," Daveth had reclaimed his joviality. "You see most men, because of her eye, wouldn't approach her. I, however, will and–"

"So you're saying she's desperate," interjected the third recruit, Mattan, who had been nearly silent since they had first grouped together.

"Well, if you want to use such a crude description," Daveth shrugged. Mattan's face contorted as if he smelt something bad.

"You have a twisted understanding of women," Mattan stated.

"Shush," Alistair hissed, "I can't hear them."

"You'll have to excuse me your Majesty," the dark haired woman spoke blandly, "but I really must go and clean off from my travels. I'm afraid I smell too much like darkspawn for the Mabari's taste. Listen to them bark."

A dark shadow moved over and past the four Wardens as the women spoke. Glancing to their sides they caught the back side of the man that had walked past them. His heavy armor glimmered in the light and he strode past them, determination in his every stride.

"He looks pissed," Mattan whispered. "This won't end well."

"I know, why don't you use my tent," the king offered. "You'll have as much privacy as you need." Cailan never noticed the approach of his war chief; however the woman's eye had drifted over to the dark haired man moments before he spoke.

"That is highly inappropriate," he stopped besides the king, "for you to offer your tent to her, Cailan," Loghain spat out his reference to the girl as if it was a bad taste in his mouth. Cailan turned around to the man.

"Nonsense Loghain," Cailan slapped a hand on the large man's shoulder. "What is propriety among friends?"

"Inappropriate," the man growled, reiterating his previous statement.

"I appreciate the offer your Majesty," the woman gave a small bow to Cailan.

The blond haired man blinked half a dozen times, before he spoke. "You… accept my offer?" He still seemed confused that she had not disagreed.

"Of course. Your offer is most gracious, your Majesty." Cailan still seemed to be suffering from shock so the women continued a little farther with explanation. "I'd rather not be spied upon," she sent a pointed look towards the four Wardens gathered further away. Daveth flashed a roguish grin at her before she turned away.

Cailan finally seemed to realize what she had said and he instantly brightened, a grin spreading across his face. "Come along then," Cailan placed a hand on her back, between her shoulders and guided her around. Loghain glared at the two's retreating backs, before he whirled around and stormed away.

With everyone now gone from around him Duncan gestured for the four men to approach him near the fire. On their way they passed a small pack and a bedroll leaning against a pillar, most likely belonging to the girl.

"Now that you're all here, there is something you must do," Duncan began. Alistair positioned himself in a spot where he could see the king's tent without seeming like he was watching.

The two had stopped outside the king's tent and talked a short while before Cailan pulled aside the tent flap and they both ducked inside. Alistair continued to watch the tent silently, catching only the gist of what Duncan was asking them to do.

"Three vials of blood and the documents, got it," Mattan confirmed.

The four moved away, Daveth and Jory leading. Alistair spared one more glance at the tent, just in time to see the king stumble out backwards, holding onto a set of dirty armor and being shoved fairly forcefully by a stormy-faced woman. Once Cailan was fully evicted, the girl vanished back inside. The king shook his head and walked away, heading towards the temple on the north side of camp.

"Guess that was a no," Mattan said from where he stood beside Alistair.

"Hey," Daveth, standing by the gate, shouted. "You two coming?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mattan returned, "hold your horsies. Lets get moving before Daveth throws a fit."

Alistair nodded and the two walked over to catch up.


The four Wardens had arrived back, after a interesting visit with the local apostate mage and her mother, and had been told by Duncan to await him in the ruined temple. This order also came along with a request of, "and do not wake Naliana, I believe she is resting inside."

As it turned out, she was sleeping, bedroll tucked in a corner and thin camping blanket pulled up to her head. Near her head was a sliver plate, bones and pieces of meat, chicken by the looks, left over. Leaning on the wall beside her was her armor, boots, and gloves, cleaned and now a gleaming white. Her weapons rested with her armor as well, two daggers and the dark wooden pole, strangely with a black cloth bag tied with a golden, tasseled rope over one end.

"Wonder what kind of weapon that is," Daveth murmured.

"A spear," Jory said, sure of his response.

"Too long and wide at the base," Alistair said immediately.

"Too long and wide," Jory said confused.

"Look at how much the cloth covers," Mattan began, "It's about a foot. A spear point isn't that long, or that wide. It's not a halberd either; it's too even on each side, so there's no axe. This weapon has some type of crossbar, or guard, at the end, a fairly large one by the looks."

"I'm gonna go find out," Daveth said with conviction and made his way forward. Just as he reached out to grab the pole there was abrupt movement on the ground. Something silver flashed out from where the girl slept and crashed into Daveth's shin, scattering chicken and bones everywhere, and then hitting the ground with a big clang. Daveth hopped back from the spot, cursing and clutching at his leg.

"I don't remember giving you permission to touch my equipment." The voice was smooth, without hitch, and stoic. All eyes turned to the sleeping girl. No longer did she sleep, she was sitting up, supporting herself with her right arm, brown cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Despite the emotionless way she spoke, her face looked angry, however, it could have been the surprise the four were feeling that made her more intimidating.

"You hit me with your plate," Daveth exclaimed.

"Better than my knife," was the girl's reply. Daveth had no response.

"Sorry we woke you," Mattan sincerely apologized.

Her dark, icy cold eye turned to him. "It's too loud," she said and then surprising the four again, continued. "I'm not used to the noise of people and the baying of dogs." Mattan nodded understandingly. The girl was silent for a moment, staring at the taller man. "Duncan told me to be nice to you." A strained silence met her revelation. It was Alistair brave enough, or stupid enough, to break that silence.

"Awkward," he drew out the second vowel in a sing-song tone and immediately felt the full force of the woman's iron-hard look.

"He said to behave 'properly' among all of you," the eye narrowed, "but I don't see what makes you all so special that I should act," she paused as if trying to find a word, "civil. However, since Duncan asked it of me, I'll do what he requests."

She turned away, climbing out of her make-shift bed. She sorted the thin blankets, evening and straightening them almost obsessively, before folding the blankets in half and rolling them tightly. Grabbing the trailing piece at the end, she wrapped it around the roll and tied the string into a knot, holding the blankets in the roll.

"So," Mattan braved, "Duncan said your name was Naliana?"

"Nal," she instantly corrected, running a hand through her hair, as she stood. Nal moved the distance to her equipment and attached the blanket roll to her small pack with another string and another durable, slightly fancy, knot.

"What's under the sack, Nal?" Daveth asked cheerily.

Nal stopped in her movement, her face turning so she could look at the dark-haired man. "Excuse me?" Daveth jerked his head towards her pole weapon. "I don't believe that's any of your concern." Nal returned to her bag, checking the pockets.

"You didn't eat much," Mattan took over and once more the woman paused and looked to the speaker. "The chicken," he clarified for her, but form her look, Nal already knew what he was talking about.

"I don't like the way it's cooked."

"Which is?"

"Roasted."

"Ah. Why not?"

"What does it matter?"

"Just making conversation," Mattan smiled at her.

"I prefer it prepared differently," she revealed.

"Like in a cook pot? Soup? Chicken soup? I like chicken soup." Her gazed turned to Alistair.

"No," she said coldly.

"What other way is… oh," Alistair trailed off. "Raw chicken is bad for you."

Nal's face twisted in obvious disgust. "I don't like it raw. What's wrong with you?" The women glared menacingly at the Warden when suddenly her face softened and her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied the man. Alistair shifted uncomfortably. She shook her head and returned to checking her pack without a word.

She made a sound of success and pulled out a small wooden box. Pulling off its lid revealed the contents of a goopy substance. Nal scraped a small amount out, rubbed it between her hands and proceeded to rub it off in her hair, spiking the short pieces up, her bangs, however, were too long and drooped a bit instead of spiking upright like the rest.

"So," Mattan grilled as she replaced the box in her bag, "how'd you meet the king?"

"Meet the what?" she answered as if she hadn't heard him.

"The king!" the warden recruit shouted. Nal flinched as if he had screamed directly into her ear.

"I've known him for awhile," she shrugged not looking at the men, "we met when I was ten, give or take."

"Give or take?" Jory injected.

"Yes, I couldn't tell you with certainty that I am twenty-four. Give or take a few months and that could make me twenty-three or twenty-five. I'm currently unaware of my birth date." Nal shrugged again. "Not that I really care."

"So that doesn't tell us how you met him," Mattan reminded of the unanswered question.

"Duncan had taken me to Denerim on business, I was sent out to practicing my letters while he talked to the king," she explained in a bored tone. "The prince, at the time, came out into the garden, looking for something or someone, and he saw me. He made a joke about me not knowing me letters. Soon after that Duncan and the king showed up. Apparently it was time for the prince's sword practice. Duncan suggested I spar with the prince, Maric thought it was a brilliant idea. When we got to the ring, with our practice weapons in hand, Cailan said he didn't want to fight a girl, so I put him on his back in three moves. That's how we met. I seem to have left an impression."

"You dropped the king?" Daveth was incredulous.

"And still can. Fighting is a simple task of understanding your opponent, everyone has a weakness. Which means," she delivered a sharp look, "I can put anyone on their back."

"And with that note," a voice spoke enthusiastically behind them, causing the five warriors to turn. "It's time to check your eye."

"Jaired," Alistair was shocked, "what are you doing here?"

"Duncan sent a runner to get me," the Warden explained. "He wanted me to check Nali's eye before the battle, whenever that may be." Jaired shrugged, walking up the ramp and setting his pack down near Nal.

"Nali?" Mattan cocked an eyebrow at the girl.

"Don't call me that," she nearly growled.

"You haven't told them your name?" Jaired asked, sitting down next to his bag and Nal.

The woman was indignant. "I told them my name."

Jaired laughed. "Don't let her fool you. Nal is only the part of her name she likes, but if Duncan catches you saying it he'll flay your skin from bone. Naliana is her full name and the only thing you should call her in front of the Commander."

"Why so insistent," Jory asked, receiving a shrug from the senior Warden as he pulled out a small vial filled with a clear blue liquid.

"Because it's proper," Nal said, adding in a grumble, "who needs proper."

"Take it off," Jaired ordered to the woman as he moved in front of her, "and head up."

"I know the drill by now," she said, reaching up behind her head. The leather patch shifted as she worked at the straps. As she undid the latches she turned away from the other four men, forcing Jaired to follow.

"Wait," Daveth started as the eye patch came down into her lap. "I thought you lost your eye." Jaired snorted and Nal's jaw clenched before she answered.

"Who said I lost my eye?" They could see a small smile on her face, as if she found the situation amusing.

"Assuming," Jaired drawled. Tilting Nal's head back a bit further before he popped the cork on the vial. "This might sting a bit."

"You've said that every time, you know."

"And you've said that every time." He poured the blue liquid into her eye. Nal hissed, sucking air between her teeth. "All done," Jaired released her chin, allowing her head to drop. She instantly pulled he sleeve over her hand and placed it against her eye, wiping at the liquid that had escaped down her face. When she pulled her sleeve away there was a dark, black stain.

"Thanks," she said looking back to the Warden. "It feels a lot better now."

"It's my job," Jaired smiled. Nal placed her patch over the eye and began to latch the straps back into place. "Oh hey," the Warden was somber now, "there's one more thing." Nal paused briefly. "Not to do with you eye," he shrugged, "not really."

"What is it?" Nal dropped her hands when she finished, strangely solemn.

Jaired pulled his pack over and dug into it, removing a box and handing it over. "I made more vials for you," Nal looked confused, so Jaired finished, rushing the explanation, babbling. "You never know what might happen in the battle, so I thought it best to be prepared, and I won't be around forever anyway, so I made you more and I wrote down the recipe," he reached into his pack again, pulling out a few sacks, "and I picked extra herbs for you too. I labeled them, so you know what they are."

"Jaired…" Nal began.

The Warden once again reached into his pack, pulling out another box. "And I made some of that tea you said you liked. You just have to drop the packets into hot water, and you'll–" Nal cut him off, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around the man.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything you've ever done for me." When Nal pulled away she noticed Jaired's cheeks began to burn red. "You're a true friend."

Jaired suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "I should get going," he grabbed his pack and stood, Nal standing with him. "I'd say take care, but knowing you you'll have the darkspawn running back to their tunnels when they see you on the field." Nal gave a short laugh.

"They only run 'cause they're afraid of–"

"Ho, Nal!" A voice called over hers. Jaired took his chance, with a quick 'see you around,' he vanished down the ramp and out of the temple passing the king on his way. She sighed.

"How many times have I told you not to greet me with 'ho'? How would you like it if I called you 'man whore,' every time I saw you?" Nal admonished lightly. The king only laughed while Nal turned her back to him, grabbed her leather armor and hurled it his way. Cailan caught it easily. "Help me put it on."

The dark-haired woman turned around once more to her equipment. Nal jammed her feet into her boots, bending down to properly tighten them. Quickly pulling on her gloves she grabbed her daggers attached to her belt and swung it over her shoulders. Hands free, she picked up her pole weapon and pack, and then walked away from the four men.

Just before walking down the ramp to where the king waited for her, she paused and turned around. "Daveth," she surprised the rogue with knowing his name, "I would like to apologize for throwing the plate at you." She gave him a small bow.

"Uh, yeah," he stuttered, but quickly picked up with a sly grin. "Not a problem, you wouldn't believe what women throw at me."

"Here," Nal hoisted her weapon, "Sate your curiosity." She tossed the weapon to the man, who caught the nicely thrown weapon. "Just put it back the way it came." He nodded and Nal moved down the ramp to the king, standing close.

"Wow," Cailan spoke quietly to his friend, smiling, "and here you usually have a fit if anyone gets to close. Why so nice?" When she didn't answer immediately the king grew somber. "What'd you see?"

Nal sighed before she answered. "He won't survive this. He has the desire, the will, but not the strength."

"Surely the battle against the darkspawn won't go that poorly." Nal only gave him a small smile and said no more.

"Hey, hey Nali!" Such addressed woman sighed, before turning to Daveth, the one who had shouted. "You fight with this thing?" He lifted the glaive up, its metal point glistening almost dangerously. "It's a little ornate, don't you think, with that gold dragon on it?"

"Yes, I fight very well with it," she answered his first question. "And it's not that ornate, yes it is pretty, but it punches through darkspawn as well as any blade."

"I want to see you fight with this thing," Daveth said as her pulled the black cloth bag over the point, tying the golden tassels – much more crudely than Nal ever would – and tossed it, poorly, back to the woman.

"I do not fight to dazzle and entertain," she said dancing back, eyes on the flying glaive. Nal reached up, catching near the bottom on the pole, she allowed the weight of the point to continue downward, falling behind her back. She then hooked her elbow around a point higher on the wooden pole, jerking her arm forward, swinging the end around her. As the end passed in front of her she grabbed the middle, shifting her hand into a proper hold as it swung before her. The wooden staff slammed into her back, stopping the momentum abruptly, the point, covered, faced slightly off to her right.

"Gentlemen," she nodded her head to the Wardens before she turned and walked off, the king beside her.

"Hypocrite," Cailan quipped, "that was both dazzling and entertaining."

Nal made a short, impatient noise. "I don't know what you're talking about." The dark-haired woman rolled her aching shoulders and as they shifted the dark golden, almost brown, cloak moved as well, slightly out of sync.