A/N: Well, now that I've covered both Oblivion and Morrowind, I thought I'd try my hand at Dragon Age and all the fun that goes along with it. This is a trial run here and if you all like it, I'll try to keep it up. I did just get the second game last week and it is fairly addicting, so that may be harder than what I think, but I do promise to try. Take care and all the best! catalinaD

(P.S. Another million thanks to Lady Reva for her insight on the story so far, it was great to get a different perspective!)

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. If it was mine, I'd disappear with Alistair... or Zevran... or Anders... Nate's good too... and never be seen again.

The tunnels smelled of death and decay and echoed with both the ghosts of the dead and snarls of the living. The Dwarf scout, sent on ahead by his lieutenant commander Gorym, was used to the smell, not the sounds. He felt his body tense almost beyond tolerance each time he had to round a corner and the relief when the coast was clear was nearly as debilitating. There were half a dozen scouts each exploring different routes, following their commanders' orders. Dwarves who were, in turn, under orders from their lords to discover why there would be an increase in the presence of Darkspawn on the surface.

So far, there had been nothing beyond the normal influx but this scout knew it had to be something more. His path seemed to stretch on forever and when he came to the end of the tunnel, he paused. There was an unholy red light just ahead and he thought he could hear something that sounded eerily like the marching of thousands of feet.

Tightening his hold on his longbow and shifting his quiver-full of arrows within easy reach, he inched forward, checking for Darkspawn in both directions before venturing any further. He found himself in a cavernous room, the ceiling soared away above him, and by the intense heat, he knew he had to be close to the lava pools well below Orzammar. Far across from him, through simmering air, he could make out massive doors and ancient Dwarven architecture. The sound of marching seemed to spike and he moved again, looking around at everything in the process.

He slowed as he realized the heat was roiling up from the chasm yawning before him and he ducked behind a large boulder. Feeling secure enough, he peeked over the edge and almost fell. His eyes took in the overwhelming scene about ⅔ of a mile below him and he muttered curses underneath his breath. He had seen hordes of Darkspawn before but nothing like this. Short, stubby Genlocks were shoving their way through menacing Hurlocks, while the Emissaries remained unmovable and hulking Ogres stared down them all, tossing them about as if they were nothing.

The scout was frozen in dismayed shock until another sound rose over everything and made him recoil against the boulder, his blood turning to ice in his veins. A huge, spiked dragon swooped down, the wind from its wings sending a whirl of hot, death-filled air to ruffle his hair. Its unholy roar filled the cavern and, with a resounding crash, it landed on a broken section of bridge that jutted over the chasm and studied those gathered beneath it. The sinewy neck went back and it arched its head up, letting out another roar before spreading its monstrous wings and taking flight. The scout remained frozen, stunned by the magnitude of what he had just seen and the effects of the dragon's, Archdemon's! his head told him, roar.

Suddenly a shout went up from the other side of the chasm and his mind yelled, Caught! even before his eyes found the Genlock. Immediately, and stupidly, he took off running, vainly trying to make it back to the tunnel.

He didn't.

There was a sharp twang and an arrow sunk into his neck, dropping him.

The scout died a mere foot from his safety and with his last breath went that warning his commander so desperately needed: The Blight indeed was coming.

"Out! You mangy, flea-ridden beast! Out, out, out!"

The shout reverberated throughout the Cousland castle, bouncing off stone slab and wood doors and making it sound like there were half a dozen Nan's instead of just a lone, incredibly pissed off one.

Ffion Cousland winced. Leave it to Tilly to find her way into Nan's kitchen in the midst of the cook trying to pull off one of her famed meals before the company arrived. With a sigh, Ffion dropped her well-worn book at the base of the tree and leaped down gracefully. Her annoyance spiked. Her plan had been working beautifully, too. She hated when company came to stay. As much as she adored her parents, her mother's incessant pushing towards marriage and asking... well, not even veiled questions about any available sons; brothers; cousins, that a guest of theirs might have was rapidly getting old, and was also the reason she had hidden herself away in the towering willow.

As usual, the thought made her wince again and her brother's favorite curse immediately ran through her mind. Maker's balls! She was only 22 and didn't even want to think about... sex, let alone marriage. Besides, she was enjoying being the only woman in the castle that could reduce grown men into hissy fits when she bested them at dual weapons, archery, or knife throwing. Which would surely come to a complete and sudden halt if and when she got 'married off.'

Add to this, now that she was out of hiding, Eleanor Cousland would corner her and demand she go upstairs to make herself 'presentable.' She grimaced at this thought. She was skirting the main hall entrance, choosing instead to walk through the kitchen garden and enter the direct door there. Leaning against the wall of the castle was a guest room mirror that had been brought out to be scrubbed and she paused before it. She wasn't even sure what 'presentable' meant and she studied herself rather critically, something she never normally did. Despite others' words, Ffion had never considered herself any great beauty and had always thought that people were simply kow-towing to her parents when they complimented her. She had a rather round face with almond shaped grey eyes and a certain trick of setting her jaw that transformed her expression into hard lines. She was told once that she had an attractive, pouting mouth that men found appealing and women envied, not that Ffion would know. In her own mind, her one great beauty was her hair, which tumbled down her back to hang at her elbows in a mass of chocolate colored curls... when she let it.

"Cur!" Nan's screech was gaining in pitch and violence, "When I get my hands on you-"

Ffion shook herself and scowled at her reflection. She didn't like this sentimentality and without another glance, she jerked open the door and walked into the kitchen. Stout, grey haired Nan was standing in front of the larder door, her face was red and furious and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. The 5 Elves the Cousland's employed as kitchen help were grouped together across the room, not bothering to hide their amusement. They glanced up as Ffion came in and grinned even more widely when she held a finger to her lips.

"Nan dear, I believe I heard you calling," She said jovially.

The cook rounded on her, dark brown eyes flashing. She unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger at the larder.

"That... beast you call a pet is in my larder doing its damnedest to destroy tonight's feast," Nan's gaze became malevolent and Ffion couldn't help but grin cheekily. The number of times she had seen that look over the years and thoughts of how it had terrified her and her brother Fergus suddenly became too much. She felt 10 years old again and caught stealing pies, "Young miss, I swear, if I find that you put that beast up to this, I-"

"My sweet Nan," Ffion interrupted and stepped up to twine her arm around the cook's waist, "I'm hurt. You know I would never do such a thing, not when I know how hard you must be working to make tonight perfect."

Nan shook Ffion off, but not nearly as roughly as she intended and the young woman knew she had stemmed Nan's angry tide, for now.

"Don't you go pulling my chain," She reprimanded and the tone was much softer, "I know all your charms, young miss, and it's no use. Now, be a dear and get that animal out of my larder before I send for Ser Gilmore to do it."

"Yes, ma'am," Ffion answered meekly and saw by Nan's expression that she had capitulated and was once more under her thumb.

She went into the larder and instantly saw why Nan was so upset. There was an overturned shelf and three tipped barrels, one of which had popped open, scattering rice across the floor. The others had stayed intact and so had the sugar sack that had fallen. Rolls of cheese were lying amongst the rice and there also were netted bags of fresh fruit. Ffion was surprised Tilly wasn't helping herself to the convenient cheeses and then she spotted the furiously wagging tail behind the upset shelf.

"Tilly," She said firmly and the chestnut Mabari jerked about, dropping the dead rat in her mouth and bounding to her lady. Ffion gave her an absent pat and stepped around the mess to get a look at what her dog had discovered. There, just behind where the shelf had been, was a hole big enough for the rats to squeeze through, "Good job, Tilly, good girl."

The Mabari crouched on her front legs, stub tail waving so quickly it was nothing but a chestnut blur. Her brown eyes were shinning happily at the praise in Ffion's voice and she pressed her stocky body next to her lady so she could shove her nose into the hole.

"Nan!" Ffion called, "Can you come here a moment?"

Ffion set the barrels right and was placing the cheese and fruit on another shelf when the cook appeared in the doorway. Her face became stormy again until she spotted the dead rat. Her eyes flickered and for a moment, she almost looked sheepish.

"Well, I guess I'll have to set some traps," She finally conceded.

Ffion didn't push it. Instead, she nodded and then motioned to the shelf.

"Since I'm here, I'll help you set this right."

Nan looked on the verge of protesting; she had never approved of the Teyrn's daughter taking part in menial labor. But once 'young miss' got an idea in her head, not even the Maker could change her mind. The cook helped to replace the shelf after shoving the dead rat into a bag and then called for one of the Elves to bring a broom to sweep up the rice.

"Now, young miss," She said in her 'don't interrupt and argue' tone that Ffion always reveled in knowing her brother had heard more often, "You've been hiding from your mother. She came in just a moment ago looking for you and here you are, close enough to hear me shout. Go, take your mutt and act like a lady for the Teyrna's guests."

"Oh, acting like a lady takes too much effort and there's no fun in it," Ffion moaned dramatically as she allowed the cook to shoo her from the larder.

"No games, miss! The Teyrn, Maker bless him, was always too soft with you, letting you grow up so it's like he has two boys. It's time you became a lady and take a husband and stop your swordplay-"

"And put up my hair and learn to wear a dress and carry a fan," Ffion interrupted and then jerked playfully at Nan's apron, "I get enough of this from Mother, don't you start, Nan dear. As soon as Fergus and Father are gone, I'll need an ally."

Ffion left the kitchen, absurdly pleased with herself over her success with Nan. Her high spirits made her more malleable and she was giving into the inevitable before she quite realized it. With a sigh of longing for the last rays of sunshine outside, she let her hand fall to Tilly's head and muttered,

"Well, girl, at least I squeezed a half hour out of it, right?" She smiled as the Mabari cocked her head and seemed to understand, "Come on, let's go keep each other out of trouble."

Tilly let out an almost protesting whine as they continued down the hallway. Ffion felt the rebellion that was her second nature pulling at her and she went the long way around the castle as she made for the private quarters. She was just skirting one of the side doors to the main hall when she heard her father call her from inside the room. She doubled back and entered, immediately stifling her annoyed sigh when she spotted Arl Rendon Howe. Howe was a friend and fellow soldier of Bryce Cousland's. They had fought together years ago when the Orlesians were wrestled out of Ferelden and they had remained fairly close throughout that time. Neither Fergus nor Ffion cared much for him, and his snide comments about his ancestors' folly in letting the castle trade into Cousland hands were not as flippant as he strove for them to be. Ffion in particular had never liked his ever-shifting blue eyes; they reminded her of a fox and it was not a good thing. She was well aware that Howe believed her to be his way of regaining the castle that had once belonged to his family and that was another reason she wanted nothing to do with him. But her father was beckoning and she forced a smile. She couldn't refuse her father anything.

"Howe, you remember my daughter, Ffion," Bryce was saying as she reached them.

Howe's blue eyes flickered over her in an appraising sort of way that made her stiffen with displeasure. Tilly, in tune with her lady's feelings and thoughts unlike any other, let out a soft growl and her hackles were rising.

"Tilly," Ffion said quietly and gave Howe a short bow, "Arl, it is a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, my lady," Howe answered with a submissiveness that made her skin crawl, "It is a pity my son Thomas was detained. He would have enjoyed seeing you again."

Ffion could feel her father's warning glance. It was a rare thing and she knew he saved it solely for times like this. He was well aware of her tendency to speak long before she thought and her gift of sarcasm was unmatched. Her eyes were twinkling rather wickedly and, though for a moment she looked apologetic, it didn't last long.

"Your son, my lord? To what end, if I may ask?"

There was a surprised silence and Ffion distinctly heard Gilmore's chuckle come from the main door. She had to bite her tongue then and resist temptation to look at him.

"To what end?" Howe repeated and was chuckling himself, "Why, Cousland, your daughter has more of the Teyrna's spirit than you claimed."

"She certainly does," Bryce answered and his voice was filled with laughter. He fixed his grey-blue eyes on his daughter and looked like he was going to continue but Gilmore approached then.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lord," He said, "But there is a Ser Duncan asking for an audience."

"Of course, Roderick, send him in," Bryce was a little absentminded, trying to hear what Howe had asked the moment Gilmore spoke.

Ffion grasped the opportunity when she saw it and was at Gilmore's side the moment he waved for one of his men to admit this Duncan. He grinned broadly down at her, his green eyes dancing. She and Roderick Gilmore had grown up competing in everything and, though they had fought like cats and dogs when they were young, he had become Ffion's best friend, next to Tilly of course.

"I heard you successfully sicked Tilly on the larder," He teased, "Did she knick anything good?"

Ffion mocked indignation and then pouted to make him laugh.

"I did not sick my dog on anything," She protested and gave in to that desire to chuckle, "And you learned long ago Tilly is always in it for her own gratification," The Mabari let out a pleased sounding woof and Ffion added, "Well, what did they say? Do you get to go to Ostagar?"

Gilmore's face fell briefly, but it was not in his disposition to be pessimistic.

"No, but the commander did put me in charge of the guard here, so that's something."

"It certainly is," She answered and grinned, "It means you will be reporting to me after the men leave. Oh, this will be fun."

Gilmore chuckled again and could only imagine the schemes Ffion was cooking up. She had always idolized Fergus and emulated his mastery of pranks and practical jokes. It was incredible how much she looked like him when her thoughts turned mischievous and he was loathe to put a stop to it as he saw the Teyrn's quick glance.

"Your father's giving me the Look," He told her apologetically, "And you might like meeting Ser Duncan. But don't give this up and I'll try to slip away sometime during the feast. We need to have one last hoorah before those responsible for us are gone."

"I'll hold you to that, Rick," She promised and slipped back to the Teyrn's side.

"There you are, Pup," Bryce said and was at once his easygoing, pleasant self; he wouldn't have used that nickname otherwise, "I'd like you to run up and get Fergus but before you do I want to introduce Ser Duncan, a Grey Warden who will be traveling to Ostagar as well. Duncan, this is my daughter, Ffion."

Ffion gave the Grey Warden a much more formal bow than she gave Howe and studied him with open curiousity. The Warden was about her father's age, his skin coffee colored and the kind, clever eyes were nearly black. His hair, also black, hung to his shoulders with the sides pulled up and secured in a braid. There were touches of grey at his temples and his broad shoulders made him appear much taller than he was.

"It is a pleasure, Lady," He said and his voice was deep and calm, "I have heard tales of the Teyrn's daughter, both her skills in weaponry and her beauty. And I see now the latter did you no justice."

Ffion inclined her head to hide her wince and wasn't nearly quick enough. She caught the Warden's slight frown and felt her father's second warning glance. She knew it would be very unwise to allow her tongue to run away this time.

"Thank you, Warden. I hope you enjoy your stay in Highever," She murmured, "If you will excuse me, I must look after tonight's preparations and see my brother off."

She left the hall and stopped at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the private quarters. Her mother was standing with three others on the landing just above her, right at the entrance to the gardens and Ffion was grimacing before she could help it.

Caught, damn it! Her mind told her as her mother glanced her way and she was looking around for an escape when footsteps rang from behind.

"Lady?" A voice called and she turned to find that the Grey Warden had followed her. He smiled as he approached and for a moment seemed rather self-conscious, "I apologize for detaining you, but I have to ask. Did I insult you? Please tell me if I have blundered, it was not what I intended."

Ffion was taken aback and suddenly wished she hadn't acted so childishly. That embarrassment; the frustration with being forced towards marriage when she wasn't ready; the desire to cast off all responsibilities and fight alongside her brother, were boiling over. Before she could keep herself in check, her true nature took hold and, as usual, her tongue ruled.

"Not at all, Warden. My father would tell you it is the Cousland strain in me taking over; my mother would sigh and explain it's my thickheaded refusal to settle down and marry. My sister-in-law would agree while my brother would laugh, allow his soldier to take over and tell you it is one of those woman's issues wreaking havoc with my..." She trailed off, coming to herself suddenly and remembering just who it was she was talking to in such a manner. Meeting his gaze, feeling her cheeks growing hot, and wishing she could melt into the floor, she added, "I'm sorry, my lord, I have a habit of speaking long before I think."

To her immense relief, Duncan was chuckling and the kindness in his eyes was even deeper than she thought. But along with that there was something more, a ruthless intelligence and a cruelty in the lines of his mouth that made him rather imposing if he chose. He was appraising her with much more interest this time and his look was piercing.

"And you do not like being known as a beauty?" He added.

Ffion was grinning now and thanking her stars this Warden turned out to be human.

"Precisely," She agreed briskly, "It has always been my contention that women should be known for bravery and valor on the field much as men are. We aren't all just marriage-ready vessels an Arl or Bann can show off. But that's the Cousland tongue again and of course you can't trust anything a noble says."

His appraising look had deepened and Ffion suddenly felt more self-conscious than she ever had before.

"If I thought it possible, Lady, I would take you with me to Ostagar when I go," He said softly and a look of real frustration marred his features briefly, "You have just the spirit those men need."

Ffion felt her heart leap at the prospect before her more rational side could squash it. How many times had she had that very thought? Her mind had gone wild with ideas of disguising herself as a boy and joining her brother's men after she heard where Fergus was headed. Maker's breath! She still had thoughts of it: until her adoration and respect for her parents got in the way.

"Warden, you should know better than to tempt a lady who already has half a mind to do just that," She reprimanded lightly and then added on a more serious note, "Are you leaving with Fergus, then?"

"No, Lady, I'm waiting for the Arl's men," He answered and the frustration had disappeared, "Though I am told they were delayed along the way."

Ffion nodded in understanding and knew she had tarried too long. She grasped at the only available opportunity that presented itself for further discussion with him.

"Well, Warden, if they are going to be late, join us for the feast. We would be honored to have you. Now I must go, I'm sorry. I have to prepare myself for what the Maker intended me to be."

"Would that I could make that more, Lady," He was being quite serious in spite of the teasing words.

"Don't lose heart yet, Warden."

Eleanor Cousland was alone on the landing when Ffion reached her and she fixed her daughter with an accusing stare. She was holding a watering can in one hand that she set down with more force than necessary and though her sea-green eyes were amused, the set of her jaw said otherwise. She studied her daughter and, for one of very few times, wished Ffion wasn't so like her. Eleanor had been raised the daughter of a general, was a warrior herself and had married for love. And now she saw so much of that in Ffion and hated squashing it. But the girl failed to realize her parents weren't going to be around forever and was absolutely silly about the mere suggestion of a suitor.

"Out of hiding, I see," She said, "Lady Landra and Dairren missed you."

"Oh, Maker's breath, Marmie," Ffion replied, "I know Dairren is Father's second, but honestly! The boy doesn't know the hilt from the blade of a sword and I actually caught him trying to fire bolts with a longbow."

"He has improved much since you last saw him two years ago now and he was sweet enough to ask about you," Her mother replied, plucking dead blooms from the bush at the entrance to the gardens, "I think you should give him a chance. He will be staying for the feast of course. Arl Howe's men will be very late."

"I suppose I shall have to ask Ser Aron's permission first?"

Eleanor frowned at her daughter, not liking the dancing grey eyes and impish grin.

"Who is Ser Aron?"

"Dairren's lover, apparently. He's an Antivan that Bann Loren hired as Dairren's squire and-"

"Ffion Cousland, don't you go spreading those kinds of vicious rumors!" Eleanor exclaimed, pulling so hard at one of the dead blooms, she broke off the whole branch. She brandished this at Ffion, "Bann Loren has been nothing but good to our family, Dairren is loyal to your father, and you say something like that!"

"I am not starting rumors," Ffion was laughing now, oblivious to her mother's flashing eyes, "I heard that from Fergus. Speaking of which, do you think he and Oriana are still saying goodbye? I don't want to interrupt anything and have to gouge out my eyes."

This time Eleanor smacked the arm closest to her with the broken branch before Ffion could dance out of the way. She shook her head, sighing.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?" She asked quietly and realized even more poignantly she was fighting an uphill battle that was quickly becoming impossible.

"Why do you have to do anything with me?" Ffion asked immediately and picked a couple of dead blooms off the bush herself, "Keep me around as a court jester and use me for favors with any Bann or Arl that needs convincing. Or if that thought is as appalling to you as me, let me go with the Warden. He mentioned it, you know."

Her mother was smiling in spite of herself. Her daughter's spirit was irrepressible and very contagious.

"The Warden was specifically told he couldn't talk of Conscripting either one of you," Eleanor answered and her tone had changed to what Ffion and Fergus dubbed 'the Rock', which merely meant there would be no changing her mind.

"I figured as much," Ffion sighed and then added as a means of retaliation, "I will have to go back to making the men cry when I best them at dual weaponry and plotting general chaos with Rick then."

She was leaving the landing, heading up the second flight of steps before her mother responded,

"Don't even, Ffion! If I see you for one moment with your head next to Roderick's, you are both going to regret the day you were born!"

A/N, cont'd: I know that the game has Gilmore's name as Roland, but I found on the Dragon Age wiki that the Dragon Age Origins Prima Official Game Guide (quite the title, right?) has him named Roderick. I liked that one more because I absolutely detest the nickname Rory and it has a more Gaelic flair. Anyway, enough rambling, I'll post soon!