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Chapter 1

The two young Wardens walked with a purpose, side by side, yet still trying to avoid being in each others' line of vision; the rest of the party followed suit dutifully. It was quiet. Too quiet for comfort. The huge dog trotted up to walk between the two leaders, making concerned guttural sounds and casting furtive sidelong glances at Alistair. The loyal canine brain saw Alistair as the perpetrator responsible for his master's seething mood. A low dangerous growl directed at Alistair received no visible answer so the hound moved closer to the female Warden, grazing his snout against her hand. As preoccupied as she was, the Warden did not ignore this deliberate sign of affection and brushed her hand across his bristled head. It didn't take a Mabari war hound to feel the explosive heaviness that hung in a cloud around his master and the stout blonde knight who looked outright scandalized. Even the weather reflected the volatile atmosphere of the war party – the biting frigid mountain air was filled with the electricity of the coming storm that was rolling in from the south. It brought the smell that they all knew too well – the corrupted stench of the Dark Spawn horde. It clung to their clothes, choked the life out of their senses, permeated their very dreams.

Hoping to lighten the mood, Oghren let loose a long colorful string of the finest dwarven curses that would make even the most liberal of the Dust Town harlots blush. Usually, this provoked a giggle or two from their leader, but the silence from the front of the group grew even more deafening. Zevran shook his head and muttered "Pathetic," while the rest of the group ignored the dwarf and kept their quiet ascent up the mountain. It was Sten that finally broke the silence. With giant strides he quickly reached the head of the group and stood blocking the Warden's path.

"I grow tired of this aimless wandering, Warden. Tell me – do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the archdemon from the rear?"

Celia stiffened. The rest of the group stopped to watch. Zevran quickly covered the distance between them and stood behind the female Warden, his hands never leaving the intimate proximity of his weapons. This was not moving in a good direction.

"This is not aimless. It is a means to an end." Her voice came out raspy, pitched dangerously low.

"The archdemon is our goal. And we are heading away from it. To find the charred remnants of a dead human woman."

The Warden brushed her hair out of her face which was flushed with blood. "You never understood the importance of connections, Sten. There is a reason for all of this," she gestured to the frozen mountainside around them.

"I will not simply follow in your shadow as you run from battle." The words rang with a resolute forcefullness.

"What about your atonement? Making your amends?" Everything hit her all at once - her armor was stifling, her hands were sweaty, and her legs were aching from the hundreds of miles she had walked from just in the past month. She had come so far since those warm, carefree days in the Anderfels. The harsh stinging wind bit into her face and brought Celia back to the present twisted reality, where the unyielding Qunari warrior was standing in her way, questioning her infinite experience. "Are you questioning my ability to lead?"

"Yes. I am taking command." The Qunari giant drew his greatsword and stuck it deep into the icy ground. The heavy blade sliced through the frozen tundra with ease, coming to a stop incredibly close to Celia's feet. Immediately sensing his master caught in the midst of danger, the hound moved to stand between her and Sten, growling in anticipation.

"Down, Ed. By all means," she commanded her loyal hound out of the way. "If Sten wants to challenge me, I simply cannot refuse." His impassive eyes were boring into hers, seeking out any careless openings she might have left for him to exploit.

Celia slowed the breath in her lungs, felt the bite of her blood take on the winter cold around her and freeze in her veins. She closed her eyes, ready to rely purely on her other senses. The frosty soil she stood on reverberated as Sten forcefully yanked the entirety of his sword out of the ground.

Celia's energy enveloped her in an invisible cloud, yet she felt it all over: emanating from inside her navel, pouring from her very skin, permeating every particle in her body. Caressing her daggers with the naked flesh of her fingers, she felt the familiarity of these heavy weapons become one with her being, mere extensions of her arms. The tired feeling in her legs vanished, and with it – the constriction of her armor. A sudden flood of awareness overwhelmed all of her senses. An excitement surged through her like lightning. Sten's sword sliced apart the air above her shoulder, then everything distorted.

While Wynne was busy fussing over Sten, Leliana was trying to figure out the best way to pull out Celia's dagger that was embedded to the hilt in the giant's ribs, piercing cleanly through the armor. It was remarkable how Celia managed to miss his major organs when planting the blade deep into his body. That is, if Qunari organs were humanoid. But Sten's breathing was not labored; he seemed coherent and Wynne was stemming the minimal bleeding with her magic. Because his skin was harder than that of a human's, the problem lay in the manner of pulling out the blade. Morrigan looked on with uncharacteristic interest as Leliana struggled to find the most sensible way to free the Qunari. Planting her foot unceremoniously on his chest, Leliana gave a signal to Wynne and heaved with all of her might.

A few feet away, Celia was being tended to by Zevran. Ed was licking the blood that ran down her thigh and Celia was doing her best to protest the helpful swabs of healing poultice that Zevran was trying to apply. Her wounds were only shallow, as she was quick on her feet and able to wind around his wide-ranging blows aimed at her head. The sweat on her forehead and neck was sending wisps of steam into the dry frigid mountain air. Alistair and Oghren hung further back, unsure. Sten's attack on Celia took everyone by surprise.

It was over as soon as Sten was able to catch her in the thigh; she sank an eager dagger into his midsection, throwing all of her might and force into the thrust.

Leliana stumbled backwards from wrenching the dagger out of Sten, and Celia was hit by an overwhelming urge to laugh. Zevran noticed this change in his companion's demeanor, taking it as a sign that the storm had finally passed. "My dear Warden, next time you feel a bit frisky, all you have to do is ask."

Celia regarded him with a humorous sweep of the eyes and called over to Sten. "Are you alright? You gave me no openings, I almost feel bad for sticking you that deep."

"I'll live. What now?"

"We get back to hunting for the 'charred remains of the dead woman.' Anyone else have a problem with it?" The question was punctuated with a bark from Ed.

"I do. You all need rest. We need to set up camp for the night, no protests!" said Wynne. The weather was starting to turn for the worse and the mountain village of Haven was still leagues away. The icy ground shook from thunder that was wracking the sky. Regretfully, the group had no choice but to agree.

Unable to sleep, Celia climbed out of her tent. Their camp was quiet – only Sten was awake and keeping watch. Sitting against a tree with his beloved Asala leaning against his shoulder, he watched the camp and spoke quietly to himself in his singsong native language. They set up camp in a small clearing on the side of the mountain, which provided natural protection but drew their tents closer together than usual. Celia nodded to him and set off in Haven's general direction. The confrontation was left forgotten – following their scuffle, Sten informed her that he trusted her with his life. Qunari people were so undeniably bizarre.

How curious it was that Celia could not sleep. Just a few hours ago her feet ached from walking and she yearned to rest – but now she was longing to keep moving. The confrontation with Alistair was still fresh on her mind. They had gotten very close within the last year of traveling together but she wasn't feeling all that he was. He was sensitive; she was not. She was experienced; he was fresh out of the Grey Warden recruits. He had pawed at her over killing on instinct – as her vast experience dictated her to do. She thought him to be naïve. With these uncomfortable issues mounting up between the two Wardens, no wonder Sten tried to usurp her leadership. But Alistair was still a child. The most recent fight flared up because Celia did not think twice before cutting down a woman affected by the taint. She was young, not fully twisted yet, but all the signs of the disease were present. With spots and discoloration all over her body, the glazed look in her eyes, the shakes in her extremities – it all pointed to her having the corrupting disease. So she had to cut her down; and she did so without hesitation. The mounting tension had finally come to its breaking point and exploded in the middle of the woods.

Celia was not known for her patience. She had stood toe to toe with him, almost a head shorter, while they both yelled at each other. This was probably not the best way for a leader to behave, but she wasn't used to leading. Duncan had dumped this recruit into her lap and died with the rest of the Grey Warden order at Ostagar, making them the last of their kind in Ferelden. If Duncan had foreseen the sweeping death of his kind, he would have never left him with her. He knew what she was – a Grey Warden anomaly. She was hard-pressed to be even called a true Grey Warden. But at this point it was more of a title anyway. Duncan had known this – and he didn't mind. He was one of the very few in the order who didn't. The familiar corner of her mind tingled painfully, reminding her that it was still there. She shook her head and pushed this thought out of her mind. The faint scent of Zevran Aranai broke her out of her mental prison.

"Have you finally come to take my head?"

The assassin's eyes glittered in the dark. "Nothing like that, Celia. It seems that I am plagued by sleeplessness just as you are. I came because I wanted the pleasure of your company."

He flirted incessantly with her, and for a time – she flirted back. But that was all it was; she was not interested in pursuits of love. Knowing the group would gossip, she told Leliana of this and it got around to both Alistair and Zevran just as she intended. But neither of them took her contention seriously. A master trickster, Zevran took it upon himself to argue with her on this topic any chance he got, knowingly antagonizing Alistair. But Zevran's company was welcome. He kept the mood light and the stories of his misadventures took her mind away from the doomed reality and what lay ahead.

"You know you are always welcome." She motioned for him to join her in a brisk walk to the end of the ravine she had intended to explore. The village of Haven stood at the bottom of the chasm.

"So about this diminutive altercation with Alistair earlier." Celia remained silent but kept walking. The group was getting too chatty. "I believe he has feelings for you." Celia's eyes snapped onto his lovely elven face, trying to interpret the intention behind his words. The Crows had done a good job training the elf, however; his face was a mask of contentment.

"Alistair is a child," she said finally.

"It is true he has lived a sheltered life, but do not dismiss the good man because of inexperience!" Zevran exclaimed heartily.

"Zevran, I have told you more times than I care to count – I am not interested. We are on a mission. We have armies to muster and a dragon to slay."

"But what happens after all that? Provided we are still alive. What say you?"

Celia shrugged. "I see no future in front of me other than the battle with the archdemon. That is all I can focus on." The corner of her mind tingled again, and dark thoughts flooded her already troubled mind.

"Celia." He took her by the hand. "As your companion, comrade, and hopefully as your friend – I don't want you to lock yourself away. It is unhealthy for a beautiful young woman such as yourself to ignore such an important part of life. There are certain needs that need to be met, and it seems to me that you are selling yourself short."

She took her hand back. "And you can help me with these needs?" she was starting to lose her temper. "This constant prodding on the subject of my private life is most disconcerting, Zevran."

Zevran chose his words carefully. "I am not saying I would or should. I just don't want you to be unhappy." This was the truth – his whole face reflected this notion in the most genuine way.

"You are sweet." They had finally reached the crevasse. The lights from the village cast a soft glow on the surrounding rock face. The location of the village was genius at the very least – surrounded by miles of rock wall, there was only one way to approach the village. The village was impenetrable by covert means – if you ruled out an aerial attack. Celia remembered the vast army of griffons back at the beginning, now mostly extinct. As loyal as the Mabari, the griffons were an integral part of the Grey Warden order at its inception. The order had endured so many changes over its lengthy existence.

Celia's vision was honed over a lifetime of turbulent years. She lived a hard life of a Grey Warden in times of consecutive wars with the Dark Spawn. Spotting a series of tunnels that led in and out of the side of the mountain overlooking the village was a small feat. It would be those tunnels that they would use to enter the village. She pointed at a small opening in the mountain wall that confirmed her earlier idea to Zevran. "We need to find the entrance to that tunnel. Tomorrow, we have to be in that village." He nodded. Elves had the sharpest eyes of all the races. "Come, we need to return to camp before Sten goes on a rampage again," she smiled.

"Well, the way things are going between you and Alistair, maybe that would be most welcome," joked Zevran.

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. He suddenly grew very serious and Celia drew back from this sudden change in her companion.

"Celia. I wanted to give you something. It's been on my mind – how good you have been to me. Shielding me from the Crows, helping me take care of Taliesen. And I don't think I've ever thanked you for any of that." He was twirling something between his long slender fingers. "You… what you did… means a lot to me." Uncharacteristically unsure of himself, he held out his hand. "I want you to take this and remember that you forever are a friend to me."

Celia took the proffered object. It was an earring – beautifully crafted of silver and garnet. The blood red stone shone remarkably reflecting the soft glow of Haven beneath them in the ravine. "Thank you Zevran, but you don't need to give me gifts to thank me. Having you alongside me in battle is a reward in itself." She was really touched by this small gesture. "You are more than just a companion to me. You are a dear friend." Getting emotional was not a good idea, warned the far corner of her mind. She shook off the nagging sentiment and put the earring on. Zevran was not able to hide his satisfaction this time.

"Come now. Let us go back to camp before our companions begin to talk of our pleasant diversion as something other than what it really is." He winked.

Celia was visited by lingering memories on the unhurried trot back. Zevran sensed her absence in the present let her be. Just before they walked into camp, he grabbed her hand and turned her around to face him. With a serious look in his face that made Celia chuckle, he asked earnestly, "What of Sten? You two were getting mighty close."

"Yeah. Before I sunk my blade into him."

"It was very exciting to watch. Almost arousing. You would make a lovely pair…"

"You are impossible," she scowled and stomped away to her tent.

Haven turned out to be a creepy breeding place for death and conspiracy. The villagers did not welcome travelers and killed anyone who had wandered into the village. After they attacked the party, the group had no choice but to massacre them all – which put Alistair into an even worse mood. The bloodbath left a lot of houses disinherited and begging to be looted. The rogues in the party had no qualms in relieving the dead owners of their belongings. Better still, Celia found a pair of Antivan leather boots for Zevran, who almost wet himself in excitement.

Morrigan suggested they take up camp in the tavern for the night – to which everyone wholeheartedly agreed. Oghren was passed out in a drunken coma within the hour, having consumed his weight in ale. Morrigan and Wynne sat meditating out back with a couple of bottles of wine to keep themselves occupied from being at each other's throats. Sten had boarded himself down in the pantry, happiness in him apparent after discovering a surplus of sweet baked goods found there. Leliana and Zevran took to chatting with the sleeptalking Oghren for entertainment. Unable to sleep again, Celia took her hound a walk, while a disgruntled Alistair was left to keep watch. The look in his eyes was stony.

The small forest close to Haven was a perfect place for a dog to cut loose. Ed was happily running around and barking at everything that moved, bringing her random objects that she accepted with genuine enthusiasm. Celia was reflecting on Zevran's admission of friendship. There were just so many things that she kept from her companions. But now, the "friend" door was thrown open and she could not in good conscience keep things from him anymore. That distant corner of her mind quivered in blatant disagreement. Too bad. She always seemed to rebel against authority, even if it was subconsciously. Throwing a piece of bone as far as she could for Ed, a mutinous idea sparked in her mind. Perhaps it was the right time for their story to be told. All of the guardians were dead, and no harm would come from this… at least no harm that she could foresee. The corner of her mind was alit with curses again. She could not ignore it anymore. She sat down on a fallen tree and released the mental hold on her counterpart. A ghostly vision appeared in front of her. "You fool…" it hissed."How dare you try and lock me away."

The Mabari sniffed the air, trying to discern a physical presence from an illusion. Celia adjusted her eyes to take in this intangible form of her uncompromising companion. The ghostly visage of the female demon was twisted in fury. She stood taller than her host, iridescent with the unearthly glow of the fires of the Fade burning deep within her, pouring from her eyes.

Suddenly feeling the weight of her long life crash onto her shoulders, Celia sighed. "I grow tired of this constant battle, don't you Ivralian?" The oath taken almost a millennium ago tied them together in one body, bound by blood in one purpose. After facing four Blights, Celia grew weary of being the constant harbinger of death. Her demon counterpart still looked agitated.

"Child. You think to expose our bond to your companions? That is not our way! You know this quest to gather armies is fruitless, yet you still persist? We stand back and let the people of this world do whatever they feel necessary, then strike at the archdemon from the shadows when it reveals itself. We do not interfere. We do not get involved. That is how it has been for centuries; that is how it should stay. This is the only way we will receive freedom. Do NOT deviate." Finished with her speech, the fire demon drew a shuddering breath, the fire still raging in her expression.

"The guardians are all gone now. Who do you think will be left to give us our freedom when the time comes? I'm beginning to think that this is all for nothing." Celia rubbed her tired eyes.

"We have spoken of this many times before. We awoke too early, and now there is no way but to go along with this hapless Warden on these aimless quests."

Celia shook her head in disagreement but did not argue further.

"I repeat, do not deviate from our original purpose."

A strained pause ensued between the pair. Ivralian's fiery gaze X-rayed Celia knowingly.

"And this 'friend' concept. Getting attached is futile, painful for you from what I can tell. Let us kill this archdemon, and then rest again."

Her whole demeanor was changing. She was now motherly and accommodating, reaching her ghostly ethereal fingers to touch the Warden's cheek. "I know you grow tired, child. We are almost there. Just a bit longer." Her shining fingers made no physical contact and the apparition disappeared, tucked back into a far fold of Celia's mind where she resided since their rebirth. Until Celia was ready to call upon the demonic powers that were not her own, the demon would observe every move from a distance and from inside Celia herself, holding constant counsel with her; that is how they passed their time.

Yet, the demon provided no sense of comfort to the haunted girl. This cursed being that had become a part of her prodded her thoughts, took hold of all of her senses, and would not let her have peace. It had been centuries since her body and senses were her own. She pined for solitude, growing cold from this constant partnership. This notion of a "friend" has been lost to her many centuries ago. Suddenly it all seemed so childish. But here Zevran was, ready to entrust his friendship to her.

But how does one tell such a person – a "friend" – of a united commune of body and mind with a demon for almost 900 years? Celia was the anomaly, the impure being that had been around since the time of Andraste. She mused this to Ed, and his only response was a happy bark and a nudge with his bristled head. "Let's just hope he has the same happy reaction." She said to her dog, turning towards the camp.