This fanfiction is based on the 'What If?' scenario of Duncan recruiting more than one Grey Warden. Enter a M/Cousland F/Tabris duo. These are my favourite origins, so if you don't like it, I apologise. I have modified some of the dialogue to reflect my visions of the different characters.

One more thing; I am English so I will be spelling everything thus, so when Alistair says 'Let's find the Archdemon and kick its ass' I will write it as '…kick its arse'.

This fanfiction takes place before (in the form of a LONG flashback) and after the defeat of the Archdemon, and shows the horrors of battling the tainted creature and its effect on the mind of the Hero of Fereldan and how his wife, Queen Anora, copes with it along with the mystery of Morrigan. Meanwhile our feisty heroine has her own problems to contend with; a romance with Leliana and the expectations of a race. Includes Awakening DLC and explores the years of DA2.

Thank you for putting up with me.

Prologue

Pain. Terror. An unblinking eye of obsidian. A howl of pain. A roar of hate. The taste of blood.

A man's face. Pinched and cold, hale and heartless with a hawk–like nose. The face grinned and slowly the skin peeled and sloughed away to reveal cold white bone. The skull laughed at him and he fell into the yawning mouth.

He heard screaming in the far distance. A young woman screaming in halls that dripped blood and the paintings howled with mirth.

He saw a shadow like a dragon pass over the halls as he ran down them. A woman's voice that cackled and howled.

"Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight"

A scream. A roar. Maker, end the screaming! Tears of blood and fire.

Steel in his gut.

"Let me go!"

A voice of stone and fire, a voice of light and water.

A hand. Soft and cool against his cheek. Gold hair. A woman.

His friends are there. They call him, begging him to return, to wake up.

The woman is silent, but her tears wet his face. The tears are like sunlight; they scatter the Nightmares. He shudders and calms.

A memory. A smile upon a face as beautiful as the dawn.

But the Dreams come; he sees himself, he sees his hands.

They are red. Always. Forever red. They drip and his eyes are like roaring pits of ice and fire.

Maker, what have I done?

Chapter One: A Day of Celebration; a day of Carnage

Lysa

"Don't worry," said Soris, as the unconscious Bann Vaughan was carried off by Lord Jonaley, "he won't tell anyone that he was taken out by an elven woman."

"Maker," said Shianni still terrified by what she had done, "I hope you're right."

Lysa noticed she was shaking violently. Her skin was pale and her lips quivering. She reached out and stroked her cousin's arm, murmuring soothingly. Shianni nodded gratefully and smiled, albeit rather sickly. "I…had better go clean up."

She slowly staggered off in the direction of her house.

"What was all that about?" asked an elf woman who Lysa didn't recognise. She turned and frowned at Soris who she suddenly noticed was blushing.

"Looks like the Arl's son started drinking to early!" he laughed nervously.

"Um," stammered Soris, blushing even more. "Let's not let this spoil the day. Lysa, I am pleased to introduce you to my betrothed Valora."

Lysa resisted rolling her eyes at him. She couldn't see what was so bad about her. Her breasts were decent, her hips shapely and she had a kind, open face framed with brown hair. Her voice was squeaky but it wasn't so bad. She wondered what her fiancé was like.

I hope he has red hair, she thought, I adore red hair.

She smiled kindly at Valora who smiled shyly back and they exchanged a quick sisterly peck on the cheek.

"How was the trip from Highever?" she asked.

"Very peaceful," she said, then winced, "I was glad to get out of there." She leaned forward and said quietly, "The Teryn and his entire family all died in an attack on the castle. The local Arl said it was bandits." She suddenly stopped and stood up straight. "But that doesn't explain why he took over the castle."

Soris and Lysa exchanged a look. Teryn Cousland had been a good man by all accounts and a staunch friend to the elven Alienages since an elf had saved him in the Rebellion. Arl Rendon Howe however was another story.

Lysa turned back to Valora and said, "Sounds like you got out of there in the nick of time."

"Yes we did. Oh, here comes your fiancé."

She turned around and felt a pang of disappointment as she saw him.

No red hair, she thought as she saw his platinum blonde hair. But, she forced a smile and tried to focus on his good points. Grey-green eyes; tall; muscular; and his hands were soft as he smiled and raised her hand to his lips.

"Lysa Tabris I presume?" he said. His voice was quiet and soft like the tinkle of a small bell.

"Yes," she said blushing. He seemed nice; she just hoped he was as nice as he appeared. And he appeared very nice. She absently imagined him naked. The result was rather pleasing.

"I, as you probably know am Nelaros." He cleared his throat. "Nervous?" he asked and she noticed his throat was working hard as he spoke.

He's scared, she realised. She blushed deeper and answered, "I was until I saw you." She put all her effort into keeping her voice even and calm as she spoke, while also trying to sound coy and seductive.

"Well…er…thank you," he said, embarrassed and blushing harder. "Soris said you were very kind… and a wonderful speaker. To be honest I thought he was just trying to make you more attractive. Unnecessarily of course." He smiled again and kissed her hand again.

"Come on cousin," said Soris. He smiled nervously. "They need time to prepare."

"Don't run off," joked Valora as she walked off.

"Or we'll find you," grinned Nelaros as he departed.

The cousins let out a heartfelt sigh of relief as their fiancés left and looked at one another in joint despair.

"Can we swap?" she asked, half serious.

"Be my guest," he said. He stopped as he realised what he'd said and glowered at her as she giggled.

"I hate you," he grunted. "But you're welcome to Valora; I know what you like."

Soris was one of the few that knew; her father and Shianni being the others. Her father had no problem with her orientation, but she was his only child; the line needed to be carried on, and so here she was.

"Come on," she said, still laughing though more to keep up the pretence of happiness for any casual onlookers than for mirth, "We had better get ready."

Just as they turned to leave Soris swore and struck his thigh.

"Don't look now but I think we have another problem."

Lysa turned and, frowning, followed his gaze. "What? Is Vaughan back?"

"Worse," muttered Soris, pointing with a shaking finger.

Three strangers swathed in long grey cloaks and hoods that completely obscured their faces stood by the second gate to the Alienage. Though the cloaks hid their faces, Lysa could see each man wore armour of various makes and bore a sword; the leader wore a robe of crimson under Silverite and cured leather armour and bore a longsword and dagger; the second wore Grey Iron splintmail armour with a longsword and shield across his back on a baldric; and the last one wore heavy-chainmail armour forged from steel with two swords of Grey Iron jutting from his back. A mabari the colour of wheat sat alongside the last of the strangers. The leader removed his hood to reveal black hair tinged with grey drawn into a short queue and a small beard. His eyes were black as night and his skin weathered, like an old statue who has seen too many wars and too many deaths. His ears were round.

"Could be just random trouble-makers," said Soris dejectedly.

"Or worse," Lysa winced as she saw the mabari sidle up to a small child and start sniffing at him. The boy whimpered and looked up to the strangers for help. The owner-the one with the two blades-whistled at the beast and it barked once and walked back to the man.

"We should get them outa here before someone does something stupid," Soris said.

She turned and looked at him. He was shaking from head to foot and was paler than fresh milk.

She patted his arm encouragingly and slowly walked past the Vhenadahl. As they neared the men, Lysa became suddenly aware of how small the two of them were when compared to the men. On average, elves were several inches shorter than humans and she was considered small for her people. She only hoped that the men were not here for trouble.

As the two elves approached the mabari's master knelt by the hound and gently rubbed the huge beast's neck. The mabari whined in contentment and wagged his rear end in appreciation. The owner smiled slightly and stood, throwing back his hood and regarding the elves with electric blue eyes. Lysa nearly stopped dead in her tracks and felt something clench inside her chest; fear. He was tall and terrible with long hair the colour of midnight at the bottom of the ocean. His skin was clear and smooth, with a strong-jawed and handsome face bearing two scars, one on each cheek. It was his eyes that scared her; they were like lightning and yet burned like fire and were cold as ice. The mabari slowly rose and advanced on them, its great broad head twisted in a snarl. She looked down at it calmly and snarled in return.

To her surprise the great hound whimpered and cowered before her, making the master boom with laughter and ruffle the dog's head. He smiled up at her and said, "You're lucky; mabari often eat the people who challenge them." His voice was quiet and calm and yet seemed tinged with a faint hint of rage.

The third man laughed, and Lysa saw he had blonde hair cut short with a peak at the front. His jaw was covered in stubble and he had a broad jovial face.

His voice was also jovial as well as he said, "Careful, I've seen Rutger rip a hurlock clean open before you could say 'fetch'. Though now I think about it I did say 'Fetch hurlock innards'."

The leader sighed and bowed to her and Soris, in the elven fashion no less.

"Good day. Please excuse Alistair's feckless tongue. I hear congratulations are in order for the two of you on your impending weddings," he said.

Standing up straight and putting her bravest face on, Lysa spoke, saying, "Thank you, but please go. I would rather avoid any unpleasantness."

The leader's lips twitched slightly and he folded his arms.

"And what manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?"

"This isn't a safe place for humans."

"I'm sorry," said he, and as one his fellows formed up behind him. "But we have no intention of leaving."

Lysa remained silent for a moment and, as her mother had taught her, began weighing up the opposition. The leader spoke deliberately and with care, so it was safe to assume his fighting skill would rely on pinpoint strikes and rapid blows. Alistair was jovial and bore a sword and shield, thus he would go on the defensive and wait for the opportune moment to strike. The last one would rely on one of the swords to defend with and the other to attack; most likely he would use the sword on the right-the more ornate one with a golden disc for a pommel and the gold cruciform crossguard- and the plain blade for defence. The mabari would most likely leap for the throat.

"Please," she said, earnestly looking into the leaders eyes. "Bann Vaughan was just in here and he left unconscious. If people are scared they'll do worse to you."

The men exchanged glances at the name but they remained resolute. The third man walked to her and shook his head. His face was devoid of all emotion but his eyes flickered with something strange, rage perhaps? Or mirth? Or perhaps a blend of the two? The fire behind his eyes intensified, so bright and terrible she stepped back a pace.

"And how will you make us leave?" he asked. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he turned his back on her, as if offering his back for an attack.

She stiffened and automatically reached for the knife that wasn't there. She let her hand drop to her side and sighed in defeat. "Fine," she said. "Perhaps we could compromise? What are you here for?"

The leader laughed and suddenly, the body stances of all three men changed. The leader seemed to soften and Alistair grinned and leant on a nearby post though the third man didn't relax so much, it was more like he had opened a door and let a bit of warmth into his heart.

"Even in the face of three armed men and a ferocious mabari she still remains calm. A useful gift," said the leader and his weather-beaten face broke into a wide grin and he finished, "Would you not say Valendrian?"

She turned in shock as the white haired elder approached with a broad grin and said, "I would say the world has more use for those who know not to draw their blades."

To her surprise the elder embraced the leader like a brother, even greeting him with the old elven tongue of Elvhenan; "Aneth ara."

The leader grinned and returned, "Ma serannas."

"Ah Duncan," said the elder sadly, "It is good to see you again," he paused and turned to the two men. "But by your eyes and by your companions I can tell your heart is heavy."

Duncan nodded. "May I introduce my fellow Grey Wardens?"

The elder nodded and smiled wanly at the two men who bowed as they were introduced.

"Alistair, my aid and envoy to the Templars." Alistair bowed low and greeted the elder haltingly in elvish, much to Valendrian's delight.

"The mabari is Rutger." The dog barked and nonchalantly raised a leg.

"And this is the newest recruit to the Order; Draco." The third man bowed, greeted the elder and the two elves in almost perfect elvish.

"Ah, two fine men," said Valendrian. "Such warriors would not normally join the Wardens… unless…"

"Yes," said Duncan. "It is as you guess my friend; a Blight is upon us."

"Maker watch over us."

Gathering her courage Lysa bowed to the men and said, "Abelas, Ser Duncan. My most humble apologies. I did not know-"

Duncan waved aside her apology and studied her carefully.

"Is this Adaia's child?" he asked looking at Valendrian again.

The elder bristled and shook his head. "NO, Duncan. The Blight may be upon us but you can't have this child; her mother trained her, yes."

At this point Draco and Alistair began to look at her strangely.

"She is skilled, yes."

Draco nodded at Alistair. What are those two thinking, she wondered.

"But she is the last of her line; her father is too old to give seed to a woman that would quicken. I know that Grey Wardens may still marry and bear children but-"

Duncan raised his hands in surrender. "Very well; I shall leave the child with her people. But," he raised a finger to emphasise his point, "I must have more recruits. I will not force the point," said Duncan. "If no-one volunteers I will leave the matter alone." He sighed and his voice became sad. "I am sorry for being so demanding old friend but I must have Wardens."

The elder slowly nodded, "I would forgive you almost anything old friend. We shall speak more after the ceremony." He turned to the two of them. "Come; it is time."

Draco

Draco watched the small elf girl walk away. He wasn't one to stare openly at women that were attractive. But what he saw was appealing; hazel skin, short amber-red hair, green eyes flecked with brown and a petite nose with gorgeous lips. He thought idly about what she would look like naked, but angrily ground those thoughts into oblivion. He had no interest in the woman and he knew his attention would be unwelcome. He had seen her eye the women in the Alienage with more interest and longing than she had her handsome male suitor. Besides, he preferred blonde hair.

Snap out of it, he bellowed at himself in the confines of his skull. The iron walls of his self-control slammed down and he returned to glaring about himself.

"Draco, you ok in there?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," snapped Draco turning to him. "Why are you worried?"

"You seem angry, that's all." Alistair paused. "Well angrier than usual at any rate."

Draco glowered at him and he wisely chose to shut up. At times Draco really didn't know why he hadn't torn Alistair's throat out and eaten his heart. He snarled to himself and forced his violent Berserker rage into submission.

A few minutes later, the wedding couples had assembled and music, soft and clear, filled the Alienage. Duncan turned his head and motioned for his companions to follow him. Draco took up position with his back against the wall of the alienage store, Alistair leaning on the scaffolding nearby with Duncan near the dark and dismal alley-way. Rutger was busy scratching himself and sniffing the air. Slowly, as the Priestess started to speak, all three men turned suddenly to the mabari. Rutger had risen to his paws and was growling over at the main entrance.

Turning, Draco saw a platoon of some dozen men push their way through the crowd of elves. At their head was a noble, dressed in fine clothes of gold and scarlet. He knew the man instantly; Bann Vaughan. He had heard enough about the man to want to tear him apart right now. But he was a Grey Warden; they needed the nobles on their-

He stood bolt upright and reached for his family sword. Vaughan had climbed onto the dais and had spoken to the Priestess and the two couples, then had smacked Lysa to the floor, punched her fiancé and had nodded at his men. As one, the platoon drew their weapons and beat out at the guests, grabbing hold of five women, including the girl and had fought their way free of the press of elves. One elf tried to fight the guards, but was grabbed from behind by one while another opened him up. The sword dug into the elf's belly, sending a great crimson cloud over the guards. The sword was twisted, and drawn up, slowly. The elf's chest was torn open and his long scream ended with a gurgle. The sword was withdrawn, the corpse was released and the blade rose once more. The head exploded, sending bone, blood and brains across the crowd. The elves dissipated with screams of shock and terror.

The men pushed their way to the gates and left. The three Wardens moved forward. The elves moved aside in fear as the armed men approached. Draco knelt by the corpse. The face had been cloven in two, leaving it unrecognisable. Draco made the sign of the Flame over the man and said, "Maker grant you peace. Maker grant you justice."

Valendrian stared at him as he stood. He knew why. He could feel the anger and the hate, the contempt, burning inside him.

"We need to get them back," yelled Nelaros, who had just been brought back to consciousness and had been informed of what had happened.

"Normally I would council patience," said the elder, "Unfortunately stories about the arl's son are most… disturbing."

"Then we need to do something," cried Nelaros. "NOW!"

Draco continued to stare at the corpse.

"What can we do? It's the arl's palace," yelled another. "Even without the arl and his knights it'll still be guarded."

"I am no elf," said Alistair, startling the crowd. "But it seems to me there is only one course of action."

Valendrian nodded. An elf said, "I work in the palace. I think I could smuggle some elves in as servants, nobody would look twice."

"We could be in and out before anyone knew the difference," said Nelaros hopefully.

"I'm with you, Nelaros" said Soris. "They have my cousins. We can't leave them there."

"Duncan," the elder said, turning to him, "We need all the help we can get. Please…"

All eyes were on Duncan now. He sighed and shook his head.

"I…am sorry, old friend, but I cannot; the Wardens can't afford the hatred of the nobility."

"If I and Alistair remove our Warden amulets," put in Draco, drawing all eyes to him. "They will take us for mercenaries or guards. Duncan," he turned and gestured at the corpse. "The Wardens are here to protect people, everyone. We cannot stand idly by while others suffer."

Duncan looked at him with something akin to pride.

"You are your father's son," he said. "Go," he said turning to Alistair. "Do not kill anyone unless it is absolutely necessary."

Draco bowed and whistled. The crowd parted as Rutger approached. "Stay" he said and rubbed the mabari's neck before standing.

"Coming?" he asked Nelaros and Soris. They nodded and marched before him and Alistair resolutely.

"You'll need weapons," he said, following."We'll give you some of ours when we are at the palace."

"Thanks," grunted Nelaros.

The elf servant nodded at them and they walked out into the city.

The Mansion

"Looks like we'll have our hands full," muttered Alistair as they edged round the side of the gatehouse and watched the side path. Draco nodded. There were about a dozen mabari pacing up and down the path. They looked half-wild and very hungry. They stopped pacing and sniffed the air.

"Let's go," said Draco. He sprinted from cover, simultaneously drawing his family sword.

The mabari were little threat. The Sword of Highever culled them like wheat before the scythe, killing them as effortlessly as a spider kills a fly. Alistair carved through them with consummate ease while the elves remained hidden. A guard covered in blood was one thing, servants covered in blood was another. He wiped the fur and intestines from his sword and sheathed it across his back. He felt his rage subside into a hot pool in his gut. He motioned for the others to follow him and advanced. When they had carved their way through the garden and made their way to the side door. Here the elf servant left them, sprinting back to the Alienage.

Inside stood a guard, like the elf had said. He was easy to avoid; the stupid sod had drunk three bottles of ale and was snoring loudly. Draco tied him up and gagged him, so as to make the return journey easier. He turned to the elves and drew his second longsword, offering it to Nelaros. The elf accepted it and gripped it tightly in his hands. Alistair had a crossbow which he proffered to Soris along with a dozen quarrels. Thus armed they opened the door which the inebriated guard had been guarding. It was a kitchen, brightly lit by a roaring fire. Food lined all the walls and tables, half prepared and in storage. He saw his companions mouths water and felt the hunger born of the Taint rear its head in his belly but before he could do anything the cook had stepped out in front of him and was staring wide-eyed at the blood that coated the two men.

"Alistar Sendthren and Draco McTien," he explained hurriedly. "New guards." He glanced at himself as if noticing the blood for the first time and smiled ruefully. "Cut-purses on Green Street. We need to inform the Captain so we can deal with the others who got away."

He always amazed himself with his ability to bullshit.

The man's demeanour changed almost instantly. "You go on through good sirs," he said. "Captain's in his office." He stopped as he saw the two elves and jabbed a finger at them, snapping, "Who are you? Tell me who you are before I get the guards down here and clip your nasty ears."

Instinct kicked in.

A single, well-aimed blow at the throat with the palm of his hand shut the cook up. The man gurgled and gasped, staggering back. Draco kicked the fat fool in his gut, throwing the man into the wall. He drew his sword and with an elegant flick took the man's hand from his arm. The man opened his mouth to scream when Draco's foot smashed into his face. He fell to the floor unconscious.

"Was that necessary?" asked Alistair as he moved over to another door. Draco grunted and clenched his fist about his family sword.

"Remind me to never, ever, ever piss you off," said Alistair. The elves stared in horror injured man and looked at him fearfully. He nodded at the elf servant who had been cowering in the corner. "You better get out of here before the storm breaks." The elf didn't need telling twice.

"Why did you-"

"He was about to call the guards," snapped Draco. "He was a threat that I removed."

He pressed his ear to the door and listened intently. He could hear eight distinct voices, dice rolling and swearing.

"Eight men, seem to be off duty guards," he grunted. Alistair nodded and drew his sword, readying his shield. Draco turned to the elves. "Stay out of the main fight; deal with anyone who looks like they are about to escape."

Without waiting for a response he and Alistair donned their helmets and he opened the door.

The guards in the mess hall had a split second to see the two men each covered in blood with drawn swords, before they were upon them. Draco took one down with a power-blow from his left fist to the jaw before carving him open from hip to shoulder and rounded on another. He felt the Berserker rage swallow him up and he welcomed that release, giving in to the darkness.

When you are a Berserker, you don't see like normal people. You don't have the advantage of normal faculties of sight and hearing. All you see is red.

A guard swam into his crimson vision, dark and foul like a bloated corpse. His sword was fast but Draco was faster. He took the blow, twisting his sword and thrusting forwards, dragging open the man's belly and dragging out his intestines and hurling them to the floor.

When you feel the rage nothing can stop you. The voice of the dwarf of Orzammar who had taught him echoed in his skull.

Another guard appeared. With a roar he vaulted over one of the tables and bore his foe to the ground and cracked his skull in with the pommel of his sword with a single blow. He felt a hand slam down on his shoulder. Knowing it to be prey he spun on his knees taking his enemies legs off at the knees. With a wordless roar of pain the prey fell but the rising sword took his head from his shoulders before he hit the ground. He rose and felt the red subside.

Alistair had slain two; one a headless corpse and the other with a thrust through the heart. Soris had shot another while Nelaros had torn the last two to pieces. Blood stained the floor and dried on the tables, while spilt organs and sundered bones dried in place. He looked down on the corpse of the second foe, the one whose skull he had caved in. He could see the faint grey of brain and the white of bone through the ragged wound. The guard looked young. Too young.

He had killed many now and the Berserker in him loved it. This is fun, he thought.

A scream tore through the mansion as they advanced down the corridor. There had been no more guards to deal with so they had made good progress. The scream echoed down the corridors again.

Draco whipped about to Nelaros. "Stand guard here" he yelled and sprinted off, followed by Soris and Alistair. The palace was grandly decorated and the walls lined with many regal tapestries and ornaments, but these were ignored by the companions as they followed the sounds of fear, and pain. Finally, he saw an open side door with five guards inside. He heard raised voices and a heart-rending cry. A flash of red scorched the air. Three guards left the room with three women in tow. Soris stiffened; Draco guessed one was his bride. Five had come; three they saw, one was dead and the other…

Well he'd deal with that when he came to it.

Lysa

Nelaros lay in the centre of the hall, his chest carved open and his organs across the floor. Draco rose from the desecrated corpse of a guard covered in gore and offal. Soris knelt by Nelaros while Alistair cleaned his bloodied sword. Lysa stowed the bow that she had taken from one of the unfortunate guards that had annoyed Draco. Parts of the previous owner still clung to the bowstring. She knelt beside Nelaros and dimly heard Soris say, "Nelaros…I'm so sorry."

"He died trying to save me," she whispered. She looked at him differently now, realising how kind and brave he was. He would have made a fine husband, she thought.

"Let's make sure he didn't die for nothing," said Draco. He knelt down by Nelaros and gently reclaimed his second sword. She leant forward and gently pressed her lips to Nelaros's. She stood and followed the two Wardens.

She prayed that they wouldn't be too late for Shianni and the others. She could just imagine what Vaughan would do if he had the chance. She felt a cold anger deep in her breast as she thought of him. By the Maker and the old gods of the Dales, she would make the bastard pay.

They turned down twisting and convoluting passages and corridors until, at last, they stood before Vaughan's room. They heard sobbing from inside. Without a word Draco's heavy boot kicked in the door.

Shianni was on the floor, naked and bleeding. Her breasts were rent and torn and blood trickled from them onto her stomach. Her eyes were wide and staring and red-rimmed. Tears coursed down her cheeks. But it was her legs that drew Lysa's attention. They were covered in blood and...and…

She turned to Vaughan, who stood confidently and said, "My, my, what have we here?" He was surrounded by three guards and the lords she had seen earlier.

She suddenly realised he was naked. His groin was drenched in blood.

"Admiring my handiwork?" he asked smugly. "I'm so sorry you had to see me like this but I haven't got this knife-eared whore," here he grabbed Shianni and hauled her so she was kneeling in front of his loins, "To clean up the mess her maidenhood made."

He smiled and looked down at Shianni. "Clean it." Her tongue slowly crept out and-

Snap.

She saw a blur of movement and realised it was an arrow. She had shot one of the lords in the groin.

Slash.

Draco and Alistair were blurs of steel and blood as they carved through the men with a deadly and consummate ease. They were like to ships on a stormy sea; ploughing through anything in their path.

Soris was firing quarrel after quarrel into the battle following her lead.

Soon only corpses remained. Draco spat at the men but before he could do more, or before anyone could stop her, she had torn his swords from his grip and they had risen and fallen. She stood thus awhile, venting a rage and contempt that scared her even as she obliterated the corpses. Not until all the bodies were unrecognisable smears of blood, organs, bone and offal did she stand. Her face was smeared in blood. She passed the blades back to Draco and then, overcome by the horrors of what had happened, vomited across the blood splattered floor.

Shianni was sobbing in the corner, shying away from the three men. Her eyes were wide and horrified as she stared about the room. Weeping, Lysa drew her friend close.

"That bastard!" roared Alistair, his face a rictus of anger as he ripped his helm from his face. "Vaughan escaped!"

"What!" screamed Draco, tearing off his own helmet and scanning the corpses. It was true, she could see. The bastard must have escaped through the door while Draco and Alistair was pulverising the enemy.

"When I find him," whispered Draco, his voice dripping with venom and rage. The man seemed to shudder and he turned to a side door that had been overlooked. He walked over to it and opened it.

He received a frying pan to the face.

"OW, you silly sod!" he roared, rubbing his face. "Fine thanks for butchering sixteen men in a rescue attempt."

The elf women slowly left the room, Valora apologising for the blow.

"Think nothing of it," he said, waving his hand. "Just watch your step." He glanced inside the room and shook his head at Lysa. The others were not so lucky.

Valora gazed about at the bloodshed in horror and stared at the blood-stained floor and walls. Lysa wetted her lips and asked, "Did he… Did Vaughan?" Aside from a few bruises she looked alright, but she didn't know whether or not Shianni had been the first or the successor to his attentions.

"No," said she. "Where's Shianni?"

Valora stopped as she saw Shianni. Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked at the bloodshed with approval. Alistair turned to the armoire and began digging around.

"Either that scumbag is a cross-dresser," he said drawing out a large, heavy box, "Or..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence.

Draco pulled a simple dress of white and red, passing it to Lysa.

She nodded her thanks and gently helped the insensible Shianni into the dress. She noticed, with a slight approval, that the two men were pointedly looking away from Shianni's nakedness as she was dressed. She smiled slightly as she saw Soris kissing Valora, and swearing he would always protect her. Draco led the way from the room and out of the palace into the sunlight.

The Alienage

Duncan was the first to greet them. He looked at them and saw the blood on Shianni's clothes and the harsh manner softened. He offered an arm to Shianni and, hesitantly, she took it. Valendrian and the others ran over with words of relief and joy. But it was short-lived.

"Has Shianni been hurt?" he asked. "Where are the others?"

Lysa felt tears coming to her eyes and turned to Draco and Alistair. Draco bore two corpses while Alistair bore another. Soris came last with Valora; he bore Nelaros in his arms.

"Vaughan escaped," said Draco as the three men put the bodies on the ground beside the vhenadahl respectfully. "The women are… untouched," he stopped and turned to Shianni. "Bar…"

The atmosphere in the Alienage changed instantly. The elves were angry and barked for justice, however, Lysa was pleased none of the animosity was directed at Draco or Alistair. In fact the elves were thanking them for rescuing the women and were even offering them money and gifts, which were politely refused.

They are good men, she though, surprising herself. She had seen the terrible things humans could do, but she was pleased to know that her two companions weren't like that.

Or are they? Draco is…She quashed the thought and returned her gaze to Shianni who was still leaning on Duncan. The Warden slowly guided her to a seat and placed her there gently.

There was fire in his eyes as he returned to them and he said, "Vaughan escaped did you say?"

Lysa nodded and snarled in acknowledgement. "That bastard got away. He rapes elvish women and girls and he gets away with it. The stupid, motherfucking shemlen bastard."

Duncan turned to Valendrian and said, "The garrison will be here as soon as they discover the bloodshed. You have little time." He turned to the Wardens. "Clean the blood from your armour and don your cloaks and amulets, I do not wish to see you in gaol."

Lysa stared at her hands then asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not sure what to do."

Duncan looked at her kindly as his Wardens washed the blood and grime from their arms and armour.

"The guards are here!" screamed an elf as the gates creaked open.

"Don't panic," cried the elder, "Let us see what comes of this."

The platoon of guards stood still as their commander stepped forward. Lysa took heart from the fact that they bore the arms of Denerim on their shields and not the mark of House Urien.

"I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the Alienage!" he cried in a loud voice.

"Here Captain," said he, standing forward from the crowd. "I take it you have come in response to today's disruption?"

"Do not play ignorant with me, elder. You will not prevent justice from being done."

The captain turned and called out, "A river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names and I need them now!"

Suddenly a soft, calm voice spoke saying, "It was my doing." Lysa didn't know who had spoken, until she realised it was herself.

The captain looked down on her with a strange look on his face. "I find it hard to believe that one woman did all that."

Valendrain spoke out, saying, "We are not all so helpless, Captain."

The captain nodded then turned to her. "I have heard the evidence that the arl's son laid before us," he turned then to the Wardens and saw their mark. "But by the knowledge of those that helped you, I feel that I should ask your view of what happened."

Draco spoke out, surprising her as he explained the day, the fight and her actions. The guards were silent at first but as the story unfolded they began to mutter among themselves, first with surprise and then outrage. She was even surprised by the captain's reaction. He nodded and looked at her with approval. "The law is the law," he said. "You will still be punished. But," he said, raising a hand to stall the elder's exclamation, "I will make sure that the arl and the city know what happened here today. Bann Vaughan will not get away with it I promise you."

"Then I accept my fate," she said and stepped forward, only to be stopped by the mabari Rutger, walking in front of her and sitting down, growling.

"Captain…a word if you please," said Duncan.

"What is it, Grey Warden?"

"I invoke the Wardens Right of Conscription," he said, "I remove her into my custody."

The captain and his men surprised her again by suddenly smiling and the captain nodded with approval. Lysa frowned and looked at Valendrian. He was watching her with sad, old eyes. She could see a tear in the corner of his right eye and, even as she watched, she saw it slip down his craggy skin.

"Very well," said the captain. "She must be out of the city today. I must leave now and make sure my men are on the street before news of this hits. Move out!" The captain and his men turned about and left. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Alistair. He grinned down at her and crowed out, "Welcome to the Grey Wardens!"

"What?" she exclaimed, hardly believing his words. I can't be a Grey Warden… The Right of Conscription. I've been Conscripted! She stared at Duncan in amazement.

"Say your goodbyes. We leave immediately," he said. He then turned to Valendrian. "It was either this or her head on a spike." Valendrian nodded but remained silent. "Is there a little girl called Amethyne here?" continued Duncan. "Draco has news of her mother, Iona."

She stole a glance at Draco and was scared by what she saw; a flicker of sadness and guilt in his eyes.

The girl stepped forward from the crowd. She had dark hair and big, blue eyes. Draco turned and knelt by her. "I…" he began, then stopped. "Iona…won't be coming home, little one."

She saw a ripple pass through the crowd at his words. Amethyne looked up at him and her soft voice asked, "Why isn't Mama coming home?"

Draco bowed his head. Amethyne's sobs echoed in the quiet square and the vhenadahl seemed to bend its boughs towards the soft crying of the child.

Her goodbyes were said; Shianni had kissed her cheek and cried though her eyes were still wide and empty; Soris had embraced her and Valora had thanked her, both promising her that they would never forget her and that they would have a long and happy marriage; her father had blessed her and wept as she left. The gates were open, and the Wardens marched out into the city. She followed after them, hefting her pack, and casting one last look at the Alienage. She could see them there, across the narrow bridge. They were waving and cheering two words, over and over again.

"Grey Warden! Grey Warden! GREY WARDEN!"