It was a miscalculation on her part. She had estimated that the darkspawn, based on the strength of their scent and spread of their corruption, would be a fair distance to her south and she could easily pass them by. However, that was not the case and, as she buried a genlock's crude axe in its own head, she resolved to avoid such errors in calculation next time in addition to not spending more than a few days in a place infested by darkspawn.
The remainder of the filthy creatures were pressing in on her, trying to corner her against the rocky hillside at her back. She was having none of it. The nearest hurlock received an electrically charged punch to the face while a few genlocks to her left began to spasm and sizzle when the lightning from her other hand hit them.
"Gotcha, you little-" there was a dark, primal laugh behind her as a blade bit into her back. "Shit!" She whipped around ready to strike at the last of the darkspawn only to watch as a dark-haired man relieved the final hurlock of its head.
"Are you alright, miss?" asked the man as he sheathed his blades and took a step toward her, stopping his advance when she took one step back in response.
She let out a grunt of pain as pulled the dagger from her back and tossed it aside. "Peachy," she said dryly as she reached one hand around her back to feel the wound. Not terribly deep, didn't hit anything vital, hurt like a son of bitch. By the time she'd brought her hand back to rest at her side, the wound was already half-healed. "Now if you don't mind, Ser, I'll just be going."
"Actually," he said as he surveyed the area around them, which was littered with a good number of darkspawn corpses, "I have a proposition for you."
"Whatever it is, the answer is no," said the woman flatly, crossing her arms.
He ignored her. "You are a mage and you show skill in defeating darkspawn. The Grey Wardens could use someone like you in our ranks."
"Right," she drawled. "Why ask me when you have plenty of mages at the old fortress?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're just looking to turn me in to the Templars."
The man shook his head. "No. As the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, I am sincere in my offer, Miss-?"
"No 'miss', just Kitra," she supplied. "And why, Ser Warden, should I accept an invitation into your order?"
"An apostate such as yourself may be interested to know that Warden mages are exempt from the scrutiny of the Chantry and its Templars." The Warden knew he had her by the way she completely froze for a moment, eyebrows arched and grey eyes wide.
"Truly?" she asked, quickly recovering her composure.
"I would not lie about such a matter."
"You got a name, Warden?" Kitra asked suddenly.
"Commander Duncan of the Grey," he supplied.
"Then I accept your proposal, Duncan."