This story arises from a challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys forum: Different Wardens Come Together. So, here's my entry.

I've 'borrowed' Wardens from two of my fellow Monkeys:

Wyl's Alim Surana from The Little Hero

mackillian's Malcolm Cousland from her 30 Dragon and In Peace We Lie series.

My warden is Adela Tabris from DragonAge: The Halla Reborn.

You can find both Wyl and mackillian on my profile for links to their stories.

Blackened Skies

Chapter 1

She rose, her knees shaking, as she took in her surroundings. They were so similar and yet, so terribly different.

Denerim. She knew this place, this city. She had grown up here, lived most of her twenty years within the walls of the Alienage.

But now, it was barely recognizable to her. Familiar landmarks were now little more than burnt out rubble, blackened skeletal remains tumbled to the ground in lifeless heaps.

She shook her blond head, turning around, her bow in her hand, her supple leather armor moving with each movement as a second skin. How she got here was only one question on her mind. Another - why? - was subverted by one that blossomed more predominately than any other.

What happened?

The last thing she remembered was…she shook her head, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. Redcliffe. They had just finished collecting on the last of their treaties, and were preparing to leave for Denerim. She shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts more clearly, but they just came to her as a jumble, unclear and muddled. Faces - those of Arl Eamon, Alistair, Roland - rolled through her mind, and she pressed light fingertips to her temples, trying to clear her thoughts.

A sharp pain erupted behind her eyes, and she gasped, doubling over as she clutched at her face. Her memories swirled within her mind, disjointed, and she could not put together any coherent memories beyond Redcliffe. She knew, however, that this was not where she had most recently been. She was certain that she was residing with the Castle Redcliffe.

She looked up into the swirling chaos of the sky above. The skies had been blackened by the Blight. However, the malevolent maelstrom that now roiled above had not come to life by the time they had reached Redcliffe. A hand pressed a hand to her eyes, shaking her head. That she was not only in Denerim, after a great battle was worrying. That she was there - alone - was more so.

Deep blue eyes lifted, she raised her face to the sky, opened her senses to her surroundings, frowning as she took in the fallen buildings, long ago burnt to the rafters and framework. The dirt beneath her feet was blackened. Bending down, a slender, calloused hand grasped a handful of the earth, watching as it fell between her fingers. All moisture - all life - from the soil drained away, leaving only tainted dust behind.

Even to her stunted senses, she could feel the darkspawn around her, the malevolent presence of the greater being just at the peripheral of her senses. Quickly she rose, casting about her one last time, and paced away from the market's center, away from the creaking hinges of the gates to the Alienage, and began making her way to the Noble District.

0O0

A long fingered hand brushed back the reddish brown mane of hair from his scarred face as he turned a circuit, surveying his surrounding. This was his city, of that he was certain. He recognized the Palace just beyond the twisted ruin of iron gates.

Large, emerald green eyes skimmed over the scenery, his hand pulling the slightly curve bladed longsword free of the sheath at his back, silvery runes gleaming in the harsh gray light. He could feel the presence of darkspawn, and a larger, more ominous presence.

A presence he had thought he had destroyed months earlier….

This was wrong, all of it. He knew that. This was no dream. As a mage, he would know if he was in the Fade or not. This was too real…shaking his head, the scarred elf turned about, his heart clenching at the thought of his home…his wife…

He turned about, racing away from the district's core, blade drawn, as he made his way to his estate. His home.

Leliana

Her name - the name of his wife, the woman he loved more than life - resounded through his brain, the tempo matching his footfalls as he raced through the debris strewn grounds, leaping over objects he truly did not want to identify, he made his flight through the district. He pulled up short once he reached the decimated remains of what had been the Manor of Denerim, former home of the Arl of Denerim, current home of the Hero of Ferelden and his wife.

Green eyes glazed over as he pushed himself forward, screaming her name - Leliana! - into the ruins before him. The destruction had been so complete, he knew that no one resided within. Hope, fear, concern pushed him on, opened his mouth to cry out her name, listening as the sound of his voice vanished into the blackened ruins.

Spinning about, his gaze turned toward the high, stone behemoth of Fort Drakon and he suddenly realized that, although he could feel the presence of darkspawn and the archdemon, he had not seen nor felt any other life - human, dwarven or elven.

"What happened?" He whispered to himself, his scarred features twisting in confusion. He clearly remembered the passage of time - Morrigan's ritual, the defeat of the archdemon, moving into the behemoth of a mansion that lay in ruins behind him…he and Leliana had planned a sabbatical from the whole 'saving the world thing' and suddenly…well, now the city he and his friends had bled so much to save was a ruined carcass about him.

And there was an archdemon somewhere in the distance.

Had Morrigan's ritual somehow failed?

Mustering himself, gripping his blade tightly, the elf turned from the ruins of his home, and turned about, running with blade drawn, toward the palace.

Perhaps Alistair would know what had befallen the city…

0O0

Vision blurred, the young man stumbled to his knees, the flat of his hands hitting the ground with a sharp resounding slap. Just moments ago, he was arguing - again - with Liadan. Of course, it he had not intended to argue with the prickly elf. It just, well, kind of happened to end that way.

Blinking furiously, the tall warrior rose, taking note that he was dressed in his silverite warden armor, sword and shield upon his back. Now I am really confused…he thought blandly as he straightened. Wasn't I just wearing a warden's tunic and breeches? He gave a testing swing of his sword.

Before his vision focused, before he lifted his head, he knew that wherever he was it was wrong. The air was heavy, reminiscent of the time of the Blight, over not so very long ago.

When his eyes opened, he saw how wrong it truly was.

Denerim. The seat of Ferelden's power. Once the brightest jewel of Ferelden's few cities.

Now a desolate wasteland, over which gloomed a hostile, black sky.

Malcolm took a deep breath, rubbing a hand through his dark blond hair, amber eyes blinking rapidly to clear them of the persistent blur that affected his vision.

Maybe this is a dream, he conjectured, turning about, instinctively pulling his blade and shield from his back, arming the shield as he opened up his senses, not truly needing to do so to feel the army of darkspawn that roamed the streets.

"Okay, maybe not a dream," he muttered as he turned his face upwards, staring up at the ruined top of Fort Drakon. He noticed the funnel of a black tornado slope down from the black clouds, twisting its fury along the roof of the ancient stone structure.

"Oh," he whispered as his senses told him that more than just darkspawn dwelled within the city. "That's not good."

Dream or not, it felt very real. He cautiously tapped an armored foot to the ground. "Feels real," he muttered to himself, cringing as the old habit of talking to himself asserted itself yet again. "Damn," he turned, clutching his sword tightly in his hand, his hand tightening around the grip of his shield. "Definitely not good."

The Warden shook his head, wary of any approaching darkspawn, loathe to just wander around. He did not feel as though he was dreaming. Nor as though he was trapped in the Fade (an experience he hoped to never repeat). The familiar weight of his armor upon his shoulders caused his skin to twitch, and the weight of blade and shield in his hands added to the reality of where he was.

But, if he was awake, did that mean that his journeys throughout the Blight - with Alistair, Leliana, Liadan…Morrigan…had all been a dream?

Shaking his head, he could feel the approach of darkspawn. Hurlocks, mostly. Just grunts, as far as his senses could tell. He was a Grey Warden, sworn to battle these creatures. But, he was a lone Grey Warden, and he had no idea exactly what had happened here. Well, other than the obvious fact that the Blight had a firm grip upon the city, if not all of Ferelden.

Using caution that his companions and friends would have sworn the young man did not possess, Malcolm crept away from the approaching tainted creatures, moving with cautious ease to make his way to the palace.

Whatever was happening, he needed answers. He needed to learn what had happened, what was happening, and how he could be having a discussion one moment, and then standing, battle ready, in a Blighted city the next.

With these thoughts, he made his way away from the Fort, and toward the palace. With hopes that his brother would have some answers for him.

Yeah, right.

0O0

The lonely creaking of the tall, iron gates sent chills along his spine, and the elven mage stood, taking in the desolate structure before him. Bodies lay, forgotten and abandoned. Men, women and children lay alongside the bodies of soldiers - dwarven, elven and human - throughout the district, most burned beyond recognition, only their size depicting from what race, age or gender they had belonged to in life. Alim suppressed the shudder that coursed through him. He felt too much like he was walking through a long forsaken cemetery, the inhabitants so long forgotten that even their ghosts had forgotten who they had once been.

No need for those thoughts, Alim, the mage scolded himself as he moved through the ruined gates, marching with purpose, his longsword, Spellweaver, held in one hand.

Habit had formed throughout his journey across Ferelden, and those habits, despite months after ending the Blight, had remained with him. Honestly, he did not think that the habits would ever die.

Despite being focused upon the building before him and despite believing that no threat remained in this part of the city, his senses, granted him by the sipping of a poisoned chalice, kicked in. Twirling about, he cast a protective spell over him, spinning quickly to parry the tainted longsword that careened toward his head. Giving Spellweaver a twist, the small elven mage turned the foe's blade, twisting it down toward the ground. Lifting one hand free of the blade's hilt, he called forth his magic, slamming the palm of his hand to the hurlock's grinning face, blasting it with lightening. The powerful spell discharged into the creature's face, splitting through the tough hide, slicing into the bone and brain beyond and free once more. The force of the spell caused the head to explode in a gory shower of blood, bone and brain matter, and the mage grimaced as he stepped away, turning quickly to meet the oncoming darkspawn as they flowed from the burnt shadows surrounding the palace.

Almost without thought, the skilled mage tossed a ball of ice at one approaching genlock, preparing another spell as it froze solid. With a casual toss of the wrist, the elf sent crashing into the frozen genlock a great fist of stone, turning as the creature shattered into so many pieces of bloodied shards of quickly thawing ice.

More darkspawn poured from the shadows, into the courtyard, chuckling their dark laughters, chittering away as they approached their prey. Dozens surrounded the elf, and Alim continued to cast spells and parry away blades as he could, but he was certain that he saw his death in each of those grinning faces.

Never one to admit defeat, the little elf was determined that he would take as many of the blighted creatures with him as he could.

Surprise replaced determined acceptance as arrows began to rain from above, piercing into the encroaching darkspawn with systematic accuracy. He did not take his eyes from the genlock before him to look for whomever shot the arrows. However, when that darkspawn fell over dead, a gray fletched arrow sticking from one eye, the mage raised his head, taking note of the small elven woman who hopped from the shadows, notching an arrow with quick precision and shot it at a hurlock. He blinked when she turned briefly to flash him a white toothed smile and then melted into the shadows once more.

0O0

Darkspawn poured through the ruined gates of the palace. Adela could sense them and she moved quickly, slipping into the cool shadows, her bow in hand notching an arrow as she paced toward the open, twisted gates.

As she approached, she shifted her bow to her shoulder, hands grasping the uneven stone wall before her, seeking hand holds and began to slowly pull herself up the side of the wall. The sounds of battle came to her ears, the tingle of magic dancing along her senses. Pulling herself to the top of the wall, she crouched down, bow once more in her hands, notching an arrow as her blue eyed gaze took in the scene below her.

Dozens of the tainted creatures swarmed the courtyard below, crowding around one small, slender figure. Spells flashed from the figure's hands and a blade gleaming silver light swept into the rush. Reaching out with her senses, she focused upon the figure, determining that he was a Grey Warden. Confusion flashed over her briefly as she set her aim, and began to rain death into the black swam below.

Certain that the two of them - mage and rogue - could not hope to defeat so many darkspawn, Adela scrambled down the wall, keeping well into the shadows, seeking a way to extricate the mage from the crush. She looked up in time to see the blade of genlock raised to cleave into the distracted mage - she was certain now that it was an elf, despite the hood pulled over the figure's head - and quickly notched an arrow, letting it loose, straight into the thing's eye. The mage had turned and was now facing her. Giving the other elf a quick smile, the rogue slipped back into the shadows as the mage turned back to the press.

A cry - a battle cry she had heard from only two others - came crashing over the courtyard, loud, harsh and strong. Turning, she watched as a tall silverite clad figure burst into the yard, the shield upon one arm emblazoned with the standard of the Grey Wardens, the longsword sweeping into the oncoming darkspawn bodies, cleaving many in half as he smashed the shield into the grinning faces of others. The darkspawn in the yard paused briefly, taking in the addition of a third foe, and resumed their assault.

0O0

This just wasn't right! But then again, with darkspawn, were things ever?

Malcolm surged into the courtyard, aware that there was at least one other Grey Warden in the area, perhaps a second (although he could not quite tell). Darkspawn dead lay scattered upon the ground, killed by spell, blade or arrow. Yet, more continued to assail the figure in the courtyard's center, while another hidden person continued to rain arrows into the horde.

He gave a great shout - Highever's battle cry - capturing the attention of many of the blighted beasts. Several broke off from assailing the small figure in the center - obviously a mage - and rushed at the warrior. Bracing himself, he bashed forward with his shield, smashing the hurlock's face in as he drove his blade deeply into its exposed chest.

Battle instincts took over. After all, day to day life for the young warden consisted of battling the darkspawn. The Blight had not been defeated so very long ago that he had been granted any reprieve from the battles. Blade sliced out, shield bashed and smashed darkspawn to the ground, and he waded through the crush of tainted bodies, working his way to the side of the mage who continued to throw spells and cut with that strangely glowing blade, aware that arrows continued to rain down from the shadows into the darkspawn midst.

0O0

The elven mage glanced up briefly as the large human fought just off his side and, with a short nod, continued to cut down the darkspawn. As the crowd about them tightened, more war cries filled the yard, and the pair glanced up and over to the stairway that led into the palace. Guardsmen - shaggy, clad in the battered livery of the Crown, burst through the now obviously reinforced doors and swept into the fray, slashing and cutting, crying out with anger, into the darkspawn.

And, as the two Grey Wardens battled, they saw the slender form of a tiny elven woman flow from the shadows, scaling the wall once again. She stood above them, no longer hidden in the veil of the shade, bow in hand, as she once again rained death down into the darkspawn.

0O0

Between the three Grey Wardens and the soldiers of the Crown, the incursion of darkspawn was defeated, for a time at least. Adela swept down the wall to stand beside the other two Grey Wardens, watching as a man with the insignia of Captain upon his shoulder pushed his way through the soldiers to stand before the three newcomers.

"I am Guard Captain Martins," the tall man, disheveled but with attempts at maintaining some semblance of grooming appropriate for his rank, greeted the trio.

Frowning, Adela stepped closer. "I do not recognize you, Guard Captain," the elf said rather than introduce herself. Beside her, Malcolm and Alim exchanged confused looks.

Apparently, Captain Martins was as confused. "I am sorry," he said, his deep voice betraying his irritation as well as tiredness. "How would an…elf have any knowledge of who was or was not Guard Captain to the Queen?"

Blowing a breath, trying hard not to be offended, Adela shook her head. "I…I'm sorry, Guard Captain. Let me start again." She extended a tiny hand to the large human, mindful of the fact that the soldiers were watching her - and the other two Wardens - with curiosity and suspicion. "I am Adela Tabris, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

That got a reaction from all three men near her. The Guard Captain's face eased, the tension therein slipping away with relief. The other two, however, continued to exchange confused looks.

"A Grey Warden!" The Captain exclaimed, gripping her hand tighter. "You have no idea…"

"Hold a tick," Malcolm stepped forward, staring at the small elven woman who claimed to be the Commander of the Grey. "I am Malcolm Cousland," he took note of the narrowing of eyes now, the step back the Captain took. "A Grey Warden as well."

Eyes went next to Alim, who blinked emerald green eyes rapidly, a slight shake of his dark head. Slipping the hood of his cloak from his head, eyes narrowing at the expected reactions - the Captain's intake of breath was expected; however, the inaction of the two Wardens beside him came to him as a surprise - he replied, "I am Alim Surana," he glanced over at Adela before replying, "Also a Grey Warden."

"Captain," one of the men behind them called. "We need to take them in to see the Queen and Regent."

Three pair of eyes - amber, blue and green - turned to fix upon the young soldier, who fidgeted under the intensity of their gazes.

Adela noticed that both male Grey Wardens stiffened at the young soldier's words, eyes narrowing as they glared at the young man.

Turning to the Captain, Alim said in a quiet voice. "Yes, Captain," the other two Wardens turned to watch the small elven man. "Take us to see the…Queen and…Regent."