Author's Prologue..(ermm…)

Ok, so maybe this isn't a prologue - but I was at a loss as to what to call this since, 'author's note' sounded lame...

Anyway, I want to thank those who have read my one-shots and enjoyed them...I write for you, and so I'm always grateful for the feedback. Thank you to those who've added me to their favorites! That was touching. :)

The story to follow this little note is a long time coming - well, a long time if you consider that I've wanted to write down my own Origins story since I started playing the game! I'm sure most of us who are fans of DA:O and love to dabble in fiction understand where I'm coming from - I have touched on several stories here on about just that subject matter. Bioware has created a rich and awesome universe with so much detail that it's impossible not to get lost in the story. Or write your own. :)

So, no, this isn't something that's never been done. Boo. But it is MY own version of events, and really apart from the first few chapters, which are pretty much standard game fare, the story does become my own. As does everyone else's, I imagine.

Of course, I will give credit where credit is due. Bioware owns DA:O (and have done a darn good job with it) and all characters therein, except for Nalia Mahariel, who is completely mine. :) I will give disclaimers as I go along as to when the dialogue completely belongs to BioWare, however as I'm writing this, more and more of it is my own, so hopefully the further you read the less gameish this will turn out. At least, I hope.

Chapter quotes come from the game, but I got them from the Dragon Age wiki. Shout out to the wiki! I couldn't have gotten as much detail and order without that amazing site!

Um - this is my first DA:O long fic - be gentle...it may not be a story of complete uniqueness, but I hope it is enjoyable, nevertheless. As always, please let me know how I'm doing. Shoot me an email, or drop me a line here. And without further ado….(drum roll)….

~LCailan

ooOOoo

~The Joining Complete~

ooOOooOOoo

" Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

ooOOooOOoo

Nalia Mahariel's tiny hands trembled as Duncan inclined his head towards her. The Grey Warden's dark eyes searched her face, but Nalia was unable to even gaze on him now. She could only stare at the golden chalice in horror and barely restrained fear.

The cup held within it the dark ruby liquid, which Duncan had called the ceremonial darkspawn blood. On the ground nearest to her lay the two bodies of her ill fated companions. Behind her stood Alistair, who was a new recruit to the Grey Wardens. And then, of course, there was Duncan, still holding towards her the source of the evil that had killed her companions.

What had been only minutes before something unknown had now turned into the vessel which had led both Daveth and Ser Jory to their respective deaths.

Even as Duncan moved forward, with the cup outstretched towards her, Nalia still could not drink.

Daveth! He had been so brave, so willing to fight for Ferelden and for Thedas. He had been ready do die to serve Duncan and so he had. And Ser Jory! A wife and a child on the way! What would Duncan tell her? What would she tell her child when it was born? Had it been so impossible to understand how a man with a wife and a child could have had second thoughts after what had happened to Daveth?

Daveth had been first. Nalia had watched with curiosity then turned horror as after nary one sip he had clutched at his throat, his brown eyes rolling back into his head and then he had fallen onto the ground, still as death came to him. In the silence that followed, Duncan had whispered his sorrow.

Then Ser Jory had panicked, changed his mind, and even as he had turned to flee, Nalia had known it was too late. He passed by way of Duncan's blade, and she wondered if she would have had the strength to kill someone in that way, although she could clearly see the remorse on the oldest Gray Warden's face. Ser Jory had fallen next to Daveth. Death, perhaps had been a secret blessing.

And now, it was her turn. Trepidation rocked her small body as her hands wrapped around the chalice. It was warm, as if…alive. As she looked into the dark contents, the surface of the liquid shivering from the tremble of her hands, she suddenly flashed back to the camp.

Had it only been a few days? How she missed her clan! How she missed the sunshine, the trees, the flowers…the halla wandering inside their pens, the sound of Paivel's storytelling and the laughter of the children. Of Ashalle, her surrogate mother (and the only mother she had known, and therefore, not so surrogate after all). And of the Keeper. The Keeper's voice suddenly broke through her fear.

"We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."

Nalia felt tears burn behind her eyes, though she did not allow them to come.

Is this what you meant, dear Marathari? That we do not submit? Is this not submission? I am about to die by the hands of the shemlen, and yet, my whole life I have tried to live by way of what we Dalish believe.

As she gazed into the depths, still unmoving, as Duncan waited in anticipation of what was to come, the tears finally filled her eyes.

Oh Tamlen! What has become of you? Is this why I am here? Was there no other choice, no other path for either of us?

She heard Tamlen's shrill scream, the last sound she would ever hear of him, echoing inside the ancient ruins. Nothing she had tried to do had helped him then. Not the fine hunting skills she had developed within her clan, her survival skills, nothing. Tamlen was gone. She had awoken back in the village, horribly sick and confused, only to find that her best friend was gone. And when she had gone to find him, that was when Duncan had told her about the Blight.

I am ill. Not even the Keeper can save me? But is this necessary? Would it not be better if I die?

She had hoped to die with her clan, within the camp even. So that she could be buried according to ritual, a pass onto the next life in peace. But this? The blood shivered once more within its vessel.

"You must. There is no going back now," said Duncan.

Nalia nodded, a small choking sound escaping her. There was no going back. Tamlen was gone, probably dead. She was never going to see her clan again. She had seen more death and horror in the last days of her life than she had ever before. What was left for her? Perhaps Jory and Daveth had been saved from the worst. Finally, after a time that she herself could not enumerate, Nalia brought the chalice to her lips and swallowed the blood poison within.

At first, there was nothing, and then…

She saw hordes of horrific creatures, bearing all sorts of weapons, cries and unrecognizable sounds emanating from them as they charged forward. There was madness in their eyes, and blood in their voices, and behind them, standing tall, it's wide, awe-inspiring and terrible wings unfurling was a creature that she had never seen before. It was so horrific, that it froze everything inside of her. The creature issued forth a sound, almost a scream, and breathed a terrible hot fire. Its voice seemed to stir the blood lust within the thousands of minions as they came forward, screaming, charging…

There was pain, horrible, head splitting pain. And yet, she could not cry. She could not move. It burned through her, a fire that could not be quenched or put out. She thought perhaps she was screaming now, because she could hear her own voice begging for mercy, begging it to stop, but it would not…and it was so terrible she tried to flee, her body twisting and turning to get away from whatever it was that had snared her so.

The first thing she was aware of was that she was crying out for help.

"No…no, please…please make it stop….p-please, it hurts, it..please…"

There was a firm hand on her shoulder, and when Nalia opened her eyes, she made out the blurry form of Duncan standing above her, his large hand touching her. She blinked to clear her vision, but it only served to make her head spin.

She was on the ground, although Nalia had no recollection of how she had ended up there. The courtyard stones where the ritual had taken place were cold against her back, for the armor she wore was thin. Now, she was aware of the sounds in the distance, the crackling of the fire, the chirping of the night creatures, footsteps, yells….and the moon above Duncan's head, shining weakly behind thin clouds in a navy sky.

She was alive! Nalia felt weak and confused, but the horrible pain was gone as if it had never existed, leaving only in it's wake a heavy exhaustion and the brief twinges of discomfort when she tried to flex her fingers and toes. In the end, she remained in the same place, on her back. It felt best when she wasn't moving. It was then that she was aware of the other figure stooped over her prone body. Alistair. He was speaking.

"Is she.."

"She survived," said Duncan, reaching down to assist her, though Nalia couldn't move. Her blue eyes moved from Duncan to Alistair as if in shock.

"Perhaps she is in shock?"

"She has been through much, Alistair."

"I know, I just.."

There was concern on the younger warden's face. Duncan knelt down, and tenderly reached for Nalia's tiny hand, helping her up to a sitting position. The elf had trouble keeping her balance and found herself propped up against Alistair's bended knee.

"Congratulations, you survived the Joining. You are now a Grey Warden," said Duncan, his tone sad and joyless. Nalia could only stare at him, eyes wide in the darkness. She was grateful somehow, to this shemlen for being so kind. Not many were, she knew, especially to the Dalish. He paused before continuing.

"How do you feel?" he inquired gently, keeping her in a sitting position by holding onto her with gentle firmness.

"Emma souveri," she whispered, forgetting the language barrier in her great exhaustion. Her eyes were fluttering closed, and Alistair's flickered from the tiny female to Duncan's face, confusion on his features.

"She is tired," said Duncan, translating quickly. Nalia's eyes opened a little as she let her complete weight rest against Alistair now.

"You speak my language?"

"I know enough," he said with a nod and a hint of a smile on his bearded features. Somehow, it was a comfort, she thought, her eyes fluttering closed once more. She felt herself being lifted to her feet, and Nalia thought she would fall over if they let her go, but they did not.

"Take her to the tents, she needs to rest," Duncan was saying. "I am leaving her in your capable hands, Alistair. There is much to be done, but for now, rest."

"Yes, Ser Duncan," replied the younger warden, and Nalia felt herself being led down the steps away from the courtyard of the ruins of Ostagar. She opened her eyes, and found that they were moving slowly along a pathway that was flanked on each side by small, orange fires, and dotted by many tents. It was dark now, and the large camp was surrounded by tall trees on all sides. Here, she could hear the talking more clearly, the crackling of the fire, and she could feel the warmth. It seeped into her stiff appendages as she walked.

It reminded her of the clan. Of home.

Alistair led her along, not saying much at all, and Nalia was glad, for she wasn't sure she could speak. Here and there, soldiers milled about, some in their uniforms, and some in their plain clothes. Beyond the tents, stood the entrance to the mages area, which had been forbidden to her upon arrival. She could see flashes of light there, illuminating the darkness every moment or so.

At long last, Alistair stopped and helped her into a sitting position. Nalia thought nothing had ever felt as good as being off of her feet. The fire next to the tent was bright, warm. She stared into it's flames, as if transfixed and hardly noticed Alistair moving about until he set a small tin in front of her which held what might have been some kind of vegetable on it. She was not hungry. He nudged the tin towards her, hesitating for a moment, as if she was some kind of animal whose response he wasn't sure of. Nalia felt a flitter of annoyance at his behavior.

"E-emma'din.."

She stopped herself, swallowing for a moment before speaking.

"I am not hungry," she repeated. "Thank you."

Behind her, Alistair hesitated at the tent flap, but she did not look at him, instead staring into the flames in silence. She could feel him hovering for a moment, and then going into the tent. She turned after a few moments. He had opened the flap, and was sitting inside, just against what looked like a wooden supply crate. When he saw her looking, he spoke.

"I-you ought to eat something. Tomorrow will be difficult, what with the battle. I mean."

His words were so low, Nalia barely heard him over the chirping night song. She turned completely and crawled into the tent, finding a blanket that was laid out for her by the other corner of the small space. She was grateful for it, and lay down immediately, unable to reply, even though the warden's voice was gentle.

She closed her eyes, wondering if the horrific beast in her earlier dream would reappear, but somehow, her thoughts were empty, colorless. She saw nothing. Maybe if she slept, she would see Tamlen. She could hope, at least. Nalia found herself drifting off, although it could not be called sleep.