Chapter 1

Alistair did not feel easy in his mind.

As a Grey Warden, he knew that it was their duty to do anything they could to stop a Blight, anything being the key word. But to leave an entire village – a village full of people, for the Maker's sake – at the mercy of the Darkspawn horde… it just didn't sit right with him.

Aedan had told him that it was for the best, that since they were the only two remaining Wardens in all of Ferelden, they would have to survive no matter what.

But sacrificing a few scores of helpless people just so that the two of them could survive, just because they could stop the Blight? It wasn't even a bloody guarantee that they would slay the Archdemon! Who was to say that a Genlock wouldn't creep up on Aedan and slit his throat? What if a Hurlock sent an arrow through his own skull? Or best of all, what if an Orc just sat on the pair of them with its disgustingly Darkspawn-y arse and crushed their spines? Either situation was likely to occur, Alistair thought grimly. Well, maybe not the last one, but one could never be too careful.

The warrior sighed and neatly piled his greaves atop his cuirass. Alistair then pulled off his gauntlets and settled them atop his little pile, which lay beside his bedroll. Finally free of all the fiddling bits of armour, the templar scanned the campsite.

Across from him lay his brother Warden, Aedan, sprawled out on his bedroll and tossing restlessly in his sleep.

Probably having fun with his nightmares.

The man was a couple of years younger than himself. Though he didn't know much about his comrade – they had only been acquainted for three days – he knew Aedan could hold his own in a fight. His prowess with his sword and dagger was rather impressive.

From what little he knew of the man's character, Alistair felt that Aedan was a good sort. He was quiet in his ways, and had an air of nobility about him. His words were measured and he came off as being very pragmatic, if the way he weighed the importance of their lives against those of the people of Lothering was any indication.

It hadn't gone unnoticed by Alistair though how the idea of utter helplessness had broken through Aedan's mask of pragmatism and self-control. It was the little things – a clenched jaw or fist – that gave away how distraught the man was himself.

He was a rational leader, Alistair concluded. Though he felt guilty for having dumped so much responsibility on his young shoulders, he was sure Aedan would do a much better job than he ever could. Indeed, had things been left up to him, Alistair would have probably defended Lothering against the Darkspawn horde and had them all killed. It wasn't a pretty thought, but it was the truth. He just wasn't cut out for any form of leadership.

Craning his neck, Alistair narrowed his lids in annoyance. The sneaky witch-lady-thing had camped rather far away from them. This was a good thing as far as Alistair was concerned. The farther away Morrigan was from him, the better.

He'd accepted Aedan's logic that a mage would be beneficial in their little party, but Morrigan was not the kind of mage he would, or could, trust. The woman was a Witch of the Wilds, by Andraste's holy knickers! Who knew what she and her equally strange mother cooked up in the dump that was the Korcari Wilds! In fact, Alistair would not be surprised if she and her mother were somehow responsible for the Blight to begin with.

On top of that, the woman was a pain in the arse to talk to! The obnoxiously smug tone, the biting sarcasm… who would even want to talk to a woman like that? Well, maybe some people would approach her solely based on the clothes she chose to wear, but then again, Alistair couldn't see Morrigan being wooed by anybody in the immediate or distant future. He had decided that he would associate with her as little as he could. Save for the random verbal spat. Those were fun. Somewhat. If he squinted.

Shaking thoughts of the vile swamp witch away from his mind, he looked to his right, where he found one of the newest members of their brood – a hornless Qunari who referred to himself as Sten. Alistair knew that Sten was a title and not, in fact, an actual name. He had tried to engage the large Qunari in conversation earlier, but after receiving a plethora of different grunts, which could have meant anything from Yes and No to Sod off, Alistair had been forced to give up.

And finally, he brought his gaze down upon another new recruit, a red-haired Chantry sister who wielded a bow and was accurate enough to hit a Genlock in the right nostril at a distance of two hundred yards - a feat Alistair found very impressive and somewhat intimidating. Leliana was her name, he thought while scratching his head. The woman was a curious sort. She had that benevolent, goody-goody kind of demeanour, but her skill with her weapon – and fists, Alistair thought, thinking of how she had broken the nose of a Loghain soldier with her palm – spoke of a different life. A more dangerous one.

The woman was currently seated on the grass a few feet to his left, chin resting on drawn up knees. Her attention was drawn when Alistair cleared his throat.

"Leliana, was it?"

The redhead nodded her acquiesce.

Please don't let this one be another one-sided conversation! "So. What would somebody like you be doing in the Chantry?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "What is meant by somebody like me?" she asked, her Orlesian accent shining through.

"You know, a beautiful, charming woman like yourself who can potentially kill someone half a mile away," Alistair replied with a small smile, before he knitted his eyebrows together. "They don't teach you how to fight in the cloister these days, do they?"

Leliana laughed. "No. No they don't."

"Makes sense. Wouldn't want to scare away the people coming to worship with fighting nuns," the templar said thoughtfully.

"You are not used to seeing women fight?"

"It's not that," Alistair scratched at his chin. "I've seen my share of female warriors. Just not many within the ranks of the Grey Wardens."

"You want to see more fighting women, do you?"

"Hmm. Would that be so terrible?" It was only then that he noticed Leliana's lip curl into a devious smirk, and hastily added, "Not that I'm some drooling lecher or anything. Please stop looking at me like that."

The woman giggled heartily. "So you are a templar? Were you a brother at the Chantry, then?"

"I never actually became a templar. Got recruited into the Wardens before I could take my vows."

Leliana placed her cheek atop her knees and looked at him, her short hair falling over the side of her face. "Do you regret leaving the Chantry?"

"Nope. Never," Alistair responded in a heartbeat. As if he would. "Do you?"

The redhead sighed and started rocking to and fro. "Yes. You may not believe it, but I found peace there. Peace like I've never known."

Alistair nodded. Not that he would know, anyway. "It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking," he said with a chuckle. "You never know, right?"

"I… no, I never did anything like that," the bard replied, her face scrunched up. "I quite enjoyed the quiet."

Alistair shrugged and poked the fire with a stick. "Suit yourself. The look on their faces was always priceless."

"You're a very strange man."

"And you're not the first woman to say that to me," he chuckled. "Speaking of which, you never did answer my question."

"Let's just say that I had strong reasons for joining the Chantry and leave it at that, shall we?"

Alistair turned to see his companion looking straight at the fire, a distant look about her. "Fair enough," Alistair replied and spread his legs out, placing his palms on the soft grass and leaning back slightly. "So what do you think will happen to all those people we left behind in Lothering?"

"Some will find their way to Denerim. Many will die," the bard said with a sigh. "As the Maker wills."

"Yes, but don't you wish you could have stayed there? To help more people, I mean." Surely the redhead couldn't be as pragmatic as Aedan. Handling two walking pillars of logic would drive him insane!

"If the Blight isn't stopped, everyone will die. This is the greater good we're serving, both of us, right here."

Alistair stood corrected. "So it's all right to let some people die for the greater good?" When she nodded, the templar found himself fumbling with his words. "I… I'm not sure if I'm okay with that. I feel guilty for leaving all those people there, all panicked and helpless."

Leliana's face softened, and she said in what was a more soothing, comforting tone, "You're doing what you must, Alistair. There will be worse to come yet... you will need to steel yourself, you know this."

Alistair sighed and lay down flat on his back, looking at his palms. "I've never been very good at that. The steeling myself part, I mean. I find it better sometimes to just be a little weak," he smiled sadly. "I'm all right with that, really."

"I don't believe you," Leliana said sternly. "Besides, it isn't like any of us has a choice."

Alistair opened his mouth to retort, but Aedan chose that moment to sit bolt upright, breathing like a fish on land.

"Let me guess. Not a pleasant nightmare?" Alistair asked and sat up.

The younger man shook his head, rubbing his palm over his eyes. "It felt so bloody real…"

"Yes. I remember my first nights," Alistair replied, scratching the back of his head. "Don't worry though. It'll lessen with time. Hopefully."

Aedan shot him an accusatory glare. "You knew about this and didn't warn me?"

"And spoil the oh-so-sweet surprise? Never," he replied with a toothy grin and lay back down. "Well, now that you're up, you can take watch while I get myself some beauty sleep."

"But-"

"Any questions you have can wait till morning," Alistair said as he held up a hand to cut off Aedan. Then, placing his forearm over his eyes, he added, "Good night, mate. G'night, Leliana."

Some conversations he really wasn't very eager to have.