Hello! I thought I'd mention a couple things before you start reading. This is a Multi-Warden story. I skipped over the origin stories, but the characters will hint towards what happened. I will write the characters' origins but as separate stories.

Please enjoy the story!

Chapter 1

Quinn tries to ignore the aching in his muscles as he slowly trails after Duncan. Two hands press against his sore back, pushing him forward.

"I know, I know," he groans. "But, I'm not use to all this endless walking." After Ander's escape attempt during the weekly outside exercises, the mages weren't allowed that privilege anymore, not that Quinn was an avid participant. He preferred the solitude of the library where he could expand his knowledge. But now, he semi-regrets the lack of stamina that the exercises would have surely improved. Even his companion, despite her declining health, could keep up with the Warden-Commander, while he quickly fell behind.

The pressure on his back disappears and his fellow recruit appears in front of him. The tainted elf glares at him, as she has every time they've interacted since the dalish camp, and points ahead of them at upward angle. He looks to where she is pointing and seeing the tips of towers over the tree line. Could it be?

"We are almost to Ostagar, Quinn. You can rest there," Duncan calls back to the two recruits. The short elf begins pushing the mage forward again, which Quinn allows with a huff. It doesn't take long for the elf to give up and walk past him. If it weren't for her paling complexion and heavy movements, he would question Duncan's diagnosis of the elf's condition. But, it appears that she is the stubborn type, if her refusal to talk since her conscription says anything.

Duncan begins speaking about the history of Ostagar and the strategic advantage it holds. Quinn zones out, focusing on making it to the place first, since he is already aware of Ostagar's importance and past. The mage quickly becomes aware of the growing distance between him and his traveling companions.

"Wait up…" Quinn grumbles. Duncan doesn't stop, but his elven companion does, her glare once again focused on the struggling mage. The three finally near the bridge leading into the camp, when the group is waylaid by a man in gold armor.

"Ho there, Duncan!" the blonde man calls out. Quinn notices a look of surprise on Duncan's face, but only for a moment. The dalish elf crosses her arms, glaring at the man and his guards.

"King Cailan? I didn't expect—"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to think that you would miss all the fun!" the blonde interrupts, enthusiastically.

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan responds, calmly.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" The King's excitement confuses the former circle mage. Was he oblivious to the dangers? His dalish companion bears a look of disbelief as she stares at the man. "The other Wardens told me you've found more promising recruits. I take it this is they?"

"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty."

"No need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together, after all." King Cailan moves to stand in front of the recruits. Quinn notices his elven companion stepping back, away from the blonde man. "Ho there, friends! Might I know your names?"

Quinn is slightly shocked at first, due to the ruler's informal greeting, but quickly regains himself.

"I highly doubt it, but anything is possible," the mage jests. The king laughs.

"You've got yourself a lively one, Duncan. And here I was beginning to think the Wardens were all stodgy priests!" King Cailan pauses for a moment, examining Quinn. "I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi." Quinn cringes slightly.

"And here I thought I was a servant of the Maker. These aren't Chantry robes?" he attempts to hide his reaction with humor. The king chuckles.

"Afraid not. Anyways, I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"

"I'm no healer, but I can send a fireball or two the darkspawns' way."

"That'd be greatly appreciated," King Cailan replies with a laugh. "I have yet to learn your name."

"Quinn Amell."

"Amell? I've heard that name before. Nobility, maybe?"

"It's not all that great anymore. I wouldn't concern yourself over remembering such a thing," Quinn comments with a shrug, silently wishing for the king to drop the subject… Which he thankfully does, shifting his gaze to the elven recruit behind the mage.

"And you are?"

She responds with a hostile glare, while backing away a little more.

"She is Sylvia Mahariel," Duncan intervenes. The elf shots her glare at the Warden-Commander.

"You are Dalish, are you not? I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honor," King Cailan tries speaking to her again. All she does is continue to glare at him, while occasionally shooting it in Duncan's direction.

"I apologize, your Majesty. She isn't in the best condition and is probably tired from the journey," the elder warden speaks once again on the elf's behalf.

"Of course. Anyway, I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me to with his strategies," the blonde man laments.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan informs the king.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

"You sound very confident of that," Quinn states, uneasily. The King's nonchalant attitude towards the dangers the repulsive creatures pose troubles the mage. Normally, it would inspire the troops that the leader is at such ease, but after facing the darkspawn in the Brecillian Forest and seeing what can happen, the king's attitude isn't reassuring. It sounds as if King Cailan is more interested in glory than safety or preparation. With a glance at Sylvia, Quinn feels that her thoughts are similar to his.

"Overconfident, some would say. Right, Duncan?" he answers with a chuckle. The mage glances at the Warden-Commander and sees a hint of uncertainty on the older man's face.

"Your Majesty, I am not certain that the Blight can be ended quite as… quickly as you might wish," Duncan states.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

Quinn frowns. Isn't that suppose to be a good thing? The king makes it sound like an archdemon would be a welcomed sight.

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan questions.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do."

The mage bites his tongue. It seems his elven companion is having a problem trying to do the same thing, but manages to keep her silence. Quinn can't help but feel the king will die an early death with his glory-seeking behavior. Is he unaware of the sacrifices and time it took to defeat the last four archdemons? There are far more to the tales than glory.

"I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!" King Cailan departs, his guards following him back to the main camp. Quinn is unsure of his first impression of the king. The man seems a kind and honest sort, but a bit of a fool with his obsession with glory. Duncan turns to face the two recruits.

"What the King said is true. They have won several battles against the darkspawn here," the warden admits.

"Yet you don't sound very reassured," Quinn notices. Duncan gestures for the two to follow as he starts to walk towards the bridge. Great. More walking.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling," the seasoned man explains.

"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly," the former apprentice mentions. Too highly, it seems. Not that the Grey Wardens don't deserve it, but…the king could use a more realistic outlook. Duncan comes to a stop.

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable." Duncan lets out a sigh. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."

"How do you know? That there is an archdemon?" Quinn asks.

"Once you complete the Joining, you will know," he answers, vaguely.

"Joining?"

"It is what will make you a Warden and cure Sylvia of her illness."

Quinn glances at the elf, who glares back at him for a moment and turns back to Duncan.

"Is it like the Harrowing?" Quinn questions, an uneasiness overwhelming him as he recalls the trial he recently overcame. Duncan gives the mage a sympathetic look.

"I apologize for forcing you to undergo yet another difficult trial so soon after your Harrowing, but it must be done. Every recruit must go through this secret ritual in order to become a Grey Warden." He glances at Sylvia. "And this ritual will cure you of the taint."

She doesn't acknowledge the man; instead she stares out across the bridge with a frown.

"If you're not careful, your face will freeze like that," Quinn warns, teasingly, remembering how Irving used to always tell him that when he was small. The elf responds with a swift kick to his shin. "Owww! Maker's breath!"

"The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon," Duncan continues, ignoring the recruits' antics. Quinn rubs his shin and returns his attention to Duncan. The mage is perturbed by the talk of the secret ritual. Does everything require a secret, foreboding ritual? Or does he just have terrible luck?

"Are we your only recruits?" Quinn wonders.

"No, there are four other recruits here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive," the warden clarifies.

"Then, what did you need us to do?"

"Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being," he pauses before adding while looking at Sylvia, "I recommend you two remain together. With your tainted condition, I prefer you be with Quinn if anything happens."

She makes a huffing sound, but doesn't say anything.

"I don't think she is fond of the idea of having a babysitter," Quinn notes.

"I prefer to be on the safe side," Duncan assures. "There is a Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to."

The Warden-Commander leaves the two recruits. Quinn turns to Sylvia, who stands with her arms crossed looking back at him, her glare not as sharp as before. He, then, glances around the area, seeing nothing of great interest.

"Guess we ought to cross the bridge to find anything good, huh?"

She doesn't say a word. She just walks past him. He lets out a really long sigh and slumps his shoulders. The mage quickly takes off after her, hoping to convince her to rest in the camp for a moment.

Cedric silently cleans his armor, content to shut everything out. He hears someone settle next to him, catching slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He glances over, despite already being sure who it is. As he thought, the person is Serah, the elven Warden tasked with watching over him, ensuring he didn't make a run for it again.

"Need something?" he asks, gruffly. She holds up a bowl of stew in his field of vision. The warrior pauses his cleaning, debating whether to ignore her. Finally, he gently places his armor aside and takes the bowl from her slender hands. He pulls out the large chunk of bread sitting in the food and takes a bite out of it. Serah does the same with hers. The two sit in silence as they eat.

"Warden-Commander Duncan has returned with two more recruits," she informs him when they were halfway through their meal. Cedric stops eating, and stars down at his remaining stew.

"Good for him…" he grunts, bitterly. He hears the Warden sigh.

"We can now move on to preparing for the Joining. You'll have a long day tomorrow, so be ready," she says. He shrugs and returns to eating the last of his meal. He glances over at his equipment, his eyes lingering on the laurel crest proudly displayed on the scarred family shield.

"By chance, might you know where the other recruits are?" Serah inquires. Cedric tears his eyes away from the shield and faces the elven warden. Her teal eyes stare right back, unfaltering, under his intense gaze.

"No," he answers, bluntly. "I wasn't assigned to babysit them."

"You're so helpful…"

"They're your recruits, not mine."

Cedric notices that Serah's hair is undone, which is surprising. He reaches up and tugs gently on her dark blonde locks. She gives him a puzzled look.

"You're hair isn't braided," he states. The warrior sees the realization flash in her eyes.

"I have been too busy with the arrival of Duncan and the new recruits, as well as plans for the coming battle, to be able to tend to it," she explains.

"Do you have a ribbon? I can do it."

She stares at the young man for a couple moments. Trying to tell if he is serious, Cedric assumes. Then, she nods quickly and reaches into a pouch.

"Here," she mumbles as she hands him the ribbon and shifts around for him to have better access to her hair. Cedric sets to work on braiding the silk-like, golden locks. "You know how to braid?"

"Obviously." Memories of him sitting with his mother, helping to brush and braid her hair flash in his mind. The young man clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. His chest aches and his eyes sting as his thoughts accidently drift to his family. He needs to be strong. Ferelden needs him, and when the darkspawn threat is gone, he has revenge he must take. Til then, he must focus on the task at hand, and let his rage seethe.

"I'm just surprised. Your hair is so short, so I didn't think you would know."

Cedric doesn't respond to her. He attempts to block out the memories trying to overwhelm his thoughts by focusing on the trivial task. His fingers interweave her hair with care and ease. She hums, appearing comfortable with the broody warrior being so close, despite the violent mood swings he has exhibited sine they met. As much as Cedric wants to deny it, he has formed a sort of bond with the warden before him. He wants to hate her as he does Duncan and the others, but he can't. Her honesty, patience, and kindness towards him are too endearing.

The young man reaches the end of the elf's hair, and finishes off the braid by tying the thin, black ribbon in a neat bow. He pulls away and Serah turns around, her hand shooting up to ruffle his deepest brown hair. Cedric gently bats the hand away and leans out of her reach.

"See? You can be a good boy," she teases. He responds with an indignant huff. She lets out a quick laugh and gets to her feet. "By the way, your stubble is becoming more pronounced. You should shave. At least a little."

Before he can reply, she walks off, giving him a quick wave. Cedric grabs the empty bowl she left and stacks it on his. The dishes are set aside and the warrior returns to maintaining his equipment. He does the task with great care, making sure everything is near perfection. When he gets to his family sword, he just sits and stares at the laurel crest on the pommel.

This is the sword of his ancestors. The battles it has seen and fought… Cedric can't help but feel unworthy of wielding it, but he can't set it aside. This sword has fought for Ferelden since the days of King Calenhad. It would be wrong to deny it the chance now just because he feels undeserving. With this sword, he will fight for Ferelden. With this sword, he will avenge his family and home. Be damned what Cailan or Duncan says. Vengeance will be his.

Cedric attends to the sword. When he finally finishes the task, he wraps up his shield and stashes away his armor in the Grey Warden tent, but the sword he places on his belt. As he stands, he brushes off his heavy linen shirt and leather pants and grabs the empty bowls. As he sets out to return the dishes, a fawn-colored mabari runs up to his side. Cedric glances down at the hound.

"If you're not careful, someone might throw you in the kennels," he warns with a smirk.

The mabari, Sirius, responds with an argumentative bark.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say… So, where have you been, anyways? Probably begging for food, right?"

Sirius makes a small whining noise, ducking his head, but the young man notices that the mabari's tail is still wagging.

"No food? Hmmm… Ah!" Cedric looks down at his hound with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You were following Serah, weren't you?"

Sirius begins making a series of defensive huffs and barks. Cedric rolls his eyes at the mabari's antics. He hadn't been the only one to bond with the elven Warden. Sirius has taken to the woman as well, which to the warrior, spoke volumes about her character. A mabari's trust and loyalty isn't given lightly, and when it is given, one can never find a better companion.

The hound runs off, presumably to hunt down Serah, and Cedric continues on to the servants' tents. An elven servant sees him near and rushes over to take the bowls from him. She gives a quick bow, which he returns, and hurries off. He crosses his arms and debates what to do now. He is tempted to visit his uncle, but the Grey Wardens have made it explicitly clear that they don't want the recruits going into the main camp at this time. He recalls the ruckus he made when he attempted to see his uncle the first time. He succeeded in getting what he wanted, but Serah gave him quite the earful afterwards. The temptation isn't enough for him to get on her bad side again.

So, Cedric wanders over to the kennels, hoping to find something to preoccupy him there. As he gets close, he spots the kennelmaster and a soldier attempting to muzzle a mabari. The grey hound growls and snaps at the men. Watching the animal's movements, Cedric can tell the poor creature is in terrible pain. He steps in to help, but it is to no avail.

"If we can't muzzle him, we won't be able to help. It's a shame. He's a good mabari," the kennelmaster laments.

"What about his master?" Cedric asks.

"Died in the last battle."

Cedric scratches the back of his head and leans on the fence, looking at the hurt mabari. The hound is lying down now, his sides heaving painfully. Anytime someone tries to near him, he growls, displaying his sharp canines. The warrior lets out a sigh. Surely there's someone that can help the mabari.

"What's the matter with him?"

Upon hearing an unfamiliar voice, Cedric looks over his shoulder. He spots a young man, his hair blacker than a starless night and eyes bluer than the Waking Sea. Along with is well-kept hair and upright posture, the young man sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the soldiers. Then, the warrior recognizes the outfit the young man is wearing. Robes from the Circle of Magi.

Then he notices a stranger sight. Behind the mage is a small female elf with intricate tattoos on her face. It appears that she is using her mage companion as a means to hide or shield herself for the attentions of other. With the unusual tattoos and unfamiliar workmanship of her bow and armor, Cedric assumes she is of the Dalish.

A mage outside the templars' watchful eyes and a Dalish elf… Are these Duncan's two new recruits? It's the only reasonable assumption. He wonders how well the two will take to Alistair. Cedric returns his attention to the mabari, leaving the talking to the kennelmaster.

When the two finish talking, the mage appears beside the warrior holding a muzzle in his hands. His azure eyes stare at the hurting hound, looking as if he is having a silent debate with himself. When the mage steps into the kennel, the mabari gets to his feet and stares him. As the mage and grey hound silently gaze at on another, Cedric notices the understanding and trust in the mabari's eyes. He's imprinted on the unknowing mage.

"I'm here to help…" the warrior hears the young man mutter to the hound. A flash of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Cedric glances over, and sees the dalish elf next to him. Her brow is furrowed as her forest green eyes focus on the mage. The warrior can feel the distrust radiating from her. From what he's heard though, the Dalish tend to be victims of a mabari's bite rather than imprinting.

The grey mabari whines, but the mage manages to get the muzzle on the hound with little trouble. He pets the poor creature a couple times before exiting the kennel.

"A mabari never forgets those who help them," Cedric announces. The mage and the elf turn their attention to him. He ignores the elf's glare.

"Really? It'd be pretty amazing if he imprinted on me," the mage admits, happily. The warrior notices a slight accent in the mage's voice, reminiscent of the Free Marches.

"Seems likely," Cedric states, offhandedly. He pushes himself off the fence and starts helping with the other mabaris, leaving the two strangers. For all the chantry says about mages, the mabari put his trust in that one.

Cedric focuses on his task, content to shut everything else out.

So, you got introduced to Amell and Cousland and a glimpse of Mahariel. You'll get more of a feel for her in the next chapter as well as meeting Tabris. The first two chapters are dedicated to introducing the characters since I didn't do their origins before.

Anyways, this is my first lengthy fanfiction. Any constructive criticism or comments would be helpful. I seek to improve my writing skills.