Here's my attempt at a multi-chaptered story which follows the events of DA:O. I'll try keeping it as close to the lore and canon as possible, though there will be some noticeable differences, such as the appearances of the potential Wardens from all of the origins, in roles of varying import. The main focus will be my F!Cousland, Ophelia, and her relationship with Leliana. M!Amell will also have some noticeable presence. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.

I own nothing that isn't mine. :P

Red sun shone over the village of Lothering, slowly calling out for the shadows of night to consume the settlement. Refugees cluttered the streets, setting up makeshift camps wherever they could while the vigilant templars looked over them from distance, standing proud as ever. Even now, while the Blight slowly creeps towards them, the templars dare not to abandon their duty and run.

Some refugees covered at the sight of approaching new arrivals. The two men and two women, along with a large mabari, had just slaughtered some bandits who demanded a "toll" before they would let these travelers pass. It was a foolish waste of life on the ruffians' part.

The man in heavy armor scanned the village. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

"A painting that's about to be thrown into a fireplace." A young woman next to him replied.

Ophelia Cousland was a warrior. Proud, with raging fire behind her garnet eyes. Not older than twenty, but experienced and crazy enough to find herself recruited into the ranks of the fabled Gray Wardens, the slayers of darkspawn. The Wardens did not recruit out of pity. Not that she needed pity from them of all people. After all, she did not join by choice.

A member for less than a week and she already found herself leading the order. The order which now consisted of possibly the last two surviving Wardens in all of Ferelden. It was impossible for her to imagine that the Hero of River Dane, the great Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, would turn his back on the king's army at Ostagar. The resulting carnage and the death of King Cailan, not to mention the Wardens, brought fear to the heart of many a Fereldan. Loghain had destroyed the only hope Ferelden had of overcoming the Blight that was already knocking on it's doorstep.

Perhaps there still was a chance to turn their luck around, but how much could two novices possibly do? Neither she, nor Alistair had any knowledge on what a true Gray Warden was supposed to do in such situation. They had ancient treaties signed by the Circle of Magi, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Dalish elves, but how exactly were the two of them supposed to slay a bloody Archdemon that led the darkspawn horde? One can't just poke a corrupted dragon hard enough until it falls. There had to be a catch of sorts. Andraste's flaming sword, there's always a catch somewhere.

"So what do you think? Ophelia?"

Ophelia found herself surrounded by the stares of her companions. She must have drifted off for a few minutes, unable to recall a single thing Alistair had said.

"Sorry."

"You did not miss much. Alistair had just decided 'twas was not worth falling on his sword in grief." Morrigan remarked.

"Is me being upset so hard to understand? Duncan was like a father to me," Alistair retorted, "What would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?" The witch responded in a cheery tone.

"Right, very creepy. Forget I asked anything."

Ah yes, Morrigan's mother. It was she who had saved Ophelia and Alistair from the battle of Ostagar. Flemeth. The Witch of the Wilds. A myth prevented them from becoming two more corpses on the battlefield. For an all-powerful witch, it seems the Blight was a danger even to her. Why else would she need the Wardens so desperately and risk her own life to save them? That also must have been why she insisted her daughter come with them as well.

Morrigan was as shifty as apostates go, but her knowledge of the wilds and herbs, along with her magical talents, proved invaluable. In addition, her cooking was a huge improvement over Alistair's. Antivan poisons were not nearly as potent.

"So, as I was saying," Alistair coughed, eying Morrigan, "we need a plan."

"We need to get drunk, that's what wee need." Dorrian, the Circle mage, said resolutely.

"Can't believe I'm agreeing with the coward, but yes, I'm in a terrible need to get drunk." Ophelia groaned at her memories of the recent events. If anything warranted to get drunk over, it was that.

Alistair's protests were swiftly cut when Ophelia ordered them to move. As far as she was concerned, the betrayal at Ostagar was her lesser problem. There was a matter of far more delicate happening. A betrayal worse than the one that left hundreds of men dead and their nation weakened. The betrayal of her family. All of it seemed like one never-ending nightmare. She didn't even want to think of it anymore. The drinks better be real strong.

Unlike her other companions, Dorrian Amell had no personal stakes in their journey. She wasn't even sure what he was doing at Ostagar in the first place. He claimed to be one of the mages sent by the Circle to assist the king's men, but something just didn't seem right about him. Dorrian also aided the two Wardens in lighting the fire, signaling Loghain's men to flank the enemy, before darkspawn caught up to them. The mage fled, leaving Alistair and Ophelia to their fates. He was later found by Morrigan, blindly stumbling towards Flemeth's hut with a darkspawn arrow sticking out of his back. Like the Wardens, he recovered, only to be greeted by Ophelia's fist. Despite the disagreements, he had joined them, even shamelessly admitting he did so for personal gain. A favor from the king or queen of Ferelden would go a long way for a mage, he said.

Ophelia did not trust him and followed his every move. It was a task made easier by another pair of eyes belonging to her loyal mabari, Rabbit. Rabbit was loyalty personified. He would gladly fight a high dragon to protect his mistress. The hound could be surprisingly subtle as well. Subtlety he used to his advantage to cause much mischief back home in Highever. However, Rabbit regarded the mage with curiosity more than anything.

Dorrian picked off the tavern in the midst of numerous other wooden buildings. It wasn't much to look at, like most of the houses around it. If they're lucky, it won't be overfilled with folk out to drown their sorrows. Dorrian followed the Wardens, a spring in each step. It has been some time since he had a decent pint.

Before they managed to pass the chantry, a doe-eyed, dark-haired girl collided with the mage, scattering what belongings she had in her hands.

"Whoa! Watch it sunshine."

"I'm sorry," her face reddened in embarrassment.

"No harm done. You from around here, pretty?" Dorrian leaned in and offered the girl his hand, a gesture she seemed wary of, but accepted nonetheless. The entire time, his eyes were firmly set on the girl's bosom, much to Ophelia's chagrin. Her low-cut blouse did put a fair emphasis on the cleavage, though it's not like the mage wouldn't try to stare a hole trough her clothes if she covered more skin.

"Um, you could say so." The girl backed away slightly.

"You wouldn't fancy helping a group of weary travelers, now would you?"

"I'm afraid I can't help." she said, quickly gathering the items she dropped before abruptly stopping. "Unless... Did you come from Ostagar?"

"And if we did?" Ophelia interjected.

"By any chance, have you seen any other survivors on the way here?"

"Can't say that we have, pretty."

"Ah," The hope in her eyes became nearly extinguished and the color of her rosy cheeks drained, "I see then..."

"Family?" Ophelia's voice shook with the question.

"Yes. My brother, Carver, had the brilliant idea to run off and join the army and my older sister went along so he wouldn't end up killing himself."

"I know how it's like. My brother was there as well. But don't you worry..."

"Bethany." The girl said.

"Don't you worry, Bethany. I'm sure they will be fine." For all she knew, the girl's brother and sister could be dead. For all she knew, she was lying. But is painful truth better than hopeful uncertainty? More the reason to get to the tavern as fast as possible.

"Thank you, but I must go. It's getting late and mother must be worried. May the Maker watch over you."

"I'm sure he has matters of bigger importance." Ophelia snapped, herself surprised at the anger in her voice. The girl didn't deserve it.

"Don't mind her, pretty," Dorrian cut in, "Run along now. You best leave Lothering as soon as you can." He patted Bethany on the back, sending the girl on her way. She was very much his type: slender, innocent, and a proud owner of a pair of luscious breasts. Certainly worth deflowering, had they had more time to spend in Lothering. Blasted Blight, why couldn't it choose to torment Anderfels again? Nobody goes there anyway.

Alistair and the witch were at it yet again, this time chatting about their mothers all the while taking pot shots at one another. It was a thing they did since leaving Flemeth's hut. An instinctive urge to get on each others nerves. It was amusing to watch really, more interesting than the Circle templars riling up unfortunate apprentices anyway. These two had style.

At last, they reached the tavern, thankfully without bumping into another unfortunate villager on the way. Ophelia pushed open the door, inhaling the smell of alcohol almost immediately. A few residents turned to observe the new arrivals, while most remained nose-deep in their tankards or chatted away. Ophelia's glare quickly made them mind their own business.

To her surprise there were some empty tables amidst the otherwise bustling business day. Dorrian immediately used the opportunity to lean in his chair, throwing his boots up on the table. Morrigan shoved her fellow mage's feet with her staff, knocking them off the wooden surface.

"And they claim to be civilized," The witch snorted, setting down her pack at the leg of a chair. Rabbit came sniffing just a moment later before being shooed away. Nevertheless, he persisted until Morrigan threatened to set his fur on fire, after which the dog ran back to the feet of his mistress who was ordering the drinks, nearly knocking her over. She scolded him all the way to their table.

"Enjoy." Ophelia said, passing the tankards to her companions. Morrigan was at first against the idea of drinking the swill from a filthy tavern, but after some persuasion from Alistair, settled for mead. The templar was quietly nursing his ale, paying little attention to Dorrian beside him, who was gulping down beer like there was no tomorrow. Ophelia didn't even know what she had, nor did she care. She ordered the strongest thing they had, and by Andraste, it will do it's job. Just as she was about to bring the liquid to her lips, a strong hand pulled down on her wrist, slamming the tankard into the table.

"Well well, look what we have here."

Ophelia looked up to meet the delightful company of armed soldiers who were now surrounding their table from nearly every side. They were led by a determined looking fellow. Possibly of Rivaini descent, just like Dorrian, as indicated by his darker skin.

"Uh-oh, Logain's men. This can't be good." Alistair proclaimed trough clenched teeth.

A man in a helmet spoke to the commander aside. "Didn't we spend the entire day asking about a woman of this very description, and everyone said they haven't seen her?"

The leader nodded, eying every soul in the tavern who wasn't with him with disgust, "It seems we were lied to."

"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble," A sweet Orlesian voice interrupted the confrontation. It was a chantry sister. A beautiful woman with orange-red hair and enchanting blue eyes, and every word uttered from her lips was like a song to Ophelia's ears, unlike the few Orlesians she met before.

One of the soldiers approached her, aggressively pushing her away from the table. "Stay out of this sister. You protect these traitors; you die with them."

"Listen to the fine bloke over there. It'd be a shame for such a fair lass as yourself to be hurt in an incident like this." Dorrian chimed in, all the while making cute eyes at the sister.

"Amell. Shut it. You too sister." The Warden commanded, turning back to the leader of the bounty hunters, intent on showing him just how bad his decision to interrupt her was. That is before she was called a traitor. "Listen, and listen well: Loghain betrayed your king. If you do not wish to accept that and instead continue with your disingenuous assertions, I promise, this will end in no way good for you."

"Teyrn Loghain-" The mention of teyrn alongside the betrayer's name was enough to cause the girl to jump up from her seat and drive her forearm into the commander's throat, effectively pinning him against the wall. He struggled, attempting to push the enraged warrior off, but to no avail.

His men begun unsheathing their swords, but Ophelia's companions were a step ahead. Rabbit lunged at the nearest threat, sinking his powerful jaws into the soft flesh of the neck, and Dorrian was already swinging a chair at two other soldiers, keeping them at bay. He was itching to strike them down with lightning instead, though the situation made that option undesirable. They didn't need to add templars to their troubles.

Alistair and Morrigan worked surprisingly well as a team, even without the witch's magic. The staff gave her a great reach, and soon one of the men was laying face down on the floor, blood gushing from his broken nose. Alistair deflected a blow meant for the witch with his shield, allowing her to strike out at her attacker and hit him in the groin. As the soldier doubled over from the incredible pain, Alistair grimaced. That is definitely going to leave a mark.

Struggling to push the madwoman off him, the commander attempted to reach for his blade, before Ophelia delivered a thunderous headbutt, knocking him down to the ground. When he attempted to get up, a large mabari charged him, aiming for a soldier coming to aid his superior. The impact of Rabbit's muscular chest against the commander's head left the man dazed.

One of soldiers attempted to attack Ophelia from behind; something the sister wouldn't allow. She twisted the soldier's arm behind his back, causing him to drop the knife, before promptly driving his head down on the wooden table the four strangers sat at, spilling the contents of their tankards all over the surface. Another soldier swung a sword at the sister but missed when Ophelia pulled her out of the harm's way and an incoming airborne chair. The construct exploded into pieces when it hit the man in the back. The force of impact knocked him into the wall, while an amused mage watched from afar, his boot planted on top of a defeated foe's back.

Roughly half a dozen men laid dead or beaten to the inch of their lives. Dorrian wasn't sure which one was worse, looking over the bloodied and the broken. Their own mothers wouldn't recognize them in such state. He then looked over at their leader who will soon face the wrath of Ophelia Cousland.

"Wait! We surrender!" The commander's voice shook in trepidation as he desperately attempted to crawl away from the Warden.

Ophelia's lips formed a deranged smirk, "You don't say."

She reached for an elaborate silverite dagger strapped to her hip, removing it from its sheath. The seal of house Cousland decorated the hilt. It was an enchanted blade, still fresh out of the forge. A gift from her brother before he left for Ostagar.

Ophelia crept towards the man, set on slitting the bastard's throat, when the sister seized her hand in protest. " Stop. They pose no danger anymore."

"Save it sister! Some men just aren't worth of mercy."

"It isn't right to murder them in cold blood."

"Hah! If you have a chance to deal with a potential problem, do it, lest it returns to stab you in the back."

The commander tried to use the disagreement to his advantage and bolted for the door. He was nearly there when a sharp pain in his back caused him to fall on his knees. Ophelia walked over and removed the blade from his back, whispering into his ear, "It hurts, doesn't?"

Taking a handful of the man's hair, she yanked his head back and proceeded to casually drag the blade across his throat. Blood fountained from the cut, painting the floor and a nearby wall in a deep red hue. The body heaved slightly, before falling with a loud thud, while the redheaded sister watched in horror. Silence gained rule over the establishment. The patrons studied the forms of the dead, unwilling to turn their eyes to the violent woman.

The Warden walked over to Dorrian. The floorboards screamed underneath her steps, adding another layer of unease to the chilling scene. Ophelia wiped her dagger on the fabric of his Chasind robes, causing the mage to frown. He really liked those. They were comfortable and easy to move in, much better than the rags they wore in the Circle.

Ophelia sheathed the dagger. "Let's get out of here before more trouble shows up."

"Aw. They spilled all my beer..." Dorrian complained to no one in particular. His thirst was only barely sated before Loghain's lackeys showed, and now they had to leave. Fantastic.

They immediately collected their packs and were on their way, but not before Ophelia tossed some extra coin to the owner, apologizing for the mess. Alistair and the two mages tip-toed around the large puddle of blood, but Ophelia just waded straight trough it. Anger was the only thing at her mind. The fact that Loghain was not hanged upon his return to the capital, was inexcusable.

No more than several seconds after they left the tavern, the chantry sister burst out with a small rucksack of her own. Ophelia stared at the woman, attempting to figure out what sort of madness was she up to.

"You are the Gray Wardens, no? My name is Leliana and I will be coming with you," she uttered with utmost confidence.

Ophelia thought she had been hearing things after that headbutt. She continued to stare at the sister as if she just fallen from the moon, unable to even protest. Finally, she was able to muster some semblance of speech and force the words out. "You have got to be kidding me."

Maker's breath, she needed that drink bad.