The rain outside was pelting against the hard rock and brimstone around the Grey Wardens lead by the last of the Couslands, Castor, surrounded by his team of drunks, rogues, bastards, and mages. Beside him stood his closest friend, Alistair, who looked down into the cave and grinned. "Well, sure could use those Griffons now, eh Castor?"

Castor grinned in response as he looked to Alistair before staring down, his face hardening. The army of darkspawn was moving, leading miles and miles into the black abyss. Below their feet, the earth quaked from the stomping a few miles down, and they all felt a deep chill in their spines as a unearthly screech from the arch demon rose with the steam. He turned to the army that they had assembled, drawing his family sword and driving it into the stone. This was it. This was their stand. He looked to Alistair and smiled, a bit of a creepy smile in Alistair's mind, like it was all a game. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Slinging his two-handed Greatsword over his shoulder, Castor walked to the doors of the dwarves kingdom, pushing them open with force, and stepping into the darkness.

Jerking awake, Alistair found himself covered in sweat, freezing and boiling at the same time. Panting, he looked around, half expecting to still be in camp, tucked into a drafty tent, half expecting death at any moment. But it wasn't the case. He was home, in the grand bedroom beneath silken sheets and surrounded by light. The curtains from the gigantic windows surrounding his enormous bed had been pulled open, probably by the servant elves. His eyes closed as he laid back, not bothering to look to his side to see if his queen was still there, the last night she had spent with him was the night they were married, and it was not a pleasant experience. She preferred the company of the other men of the castle to him, but she so enjoyed the title.

Alistair hadn't really minded, Kahra had been more picked out for him then anything else, a fair woman of good standing amongst the people, beautiful, keen, but completely and totally wrong for him. She lacked fire, she lacked flair, everything was done for her and she had never had to fight for anything in her life. Plus she was more, for lack of a more polite word, open in the bedroom then he was. She was far from a virgin when they had met, and obviously she had not changed her ways. And frankly, she had been much more then offended when he had requested that they not have sex on the night of their marriage, but to save face, she had stayed with him. The first and the last time. But it was something that Alistair really wasn't willing to fight for. Frankly, he had done enough fighting for awhile, touching his hand to the scars across his chest as he stood, the sheets falling behind him as he began to get dressed.

Four years it had been since the victory against the arch demon, against the darkspawn. Peace, or as much peace as could be expected from people, had fallen across the land, and Alistair had come to find that his job as King was quite easy. Sure, sometimes he had to help decide the fate of a major criminal or maybe send one of his knights to Castor, who was working with the mages to rebuild the Grey Wardens. Many, such as the families of said knights, often questioned the point of creating more, as the arch demon had been destroyed. Alistair hadn't minded the questioning, and often answered the same way. "It never hurts to be on the safe side."

Deep down, Alistair missed the battles, the excitement of the preparation against the greatest threat the world had ever known. As he stepped out onto the veranda, leaning up against the railing and looking out over the land he had fought so valiantly over. Was this all there was? A loveless marriage, days often spent wandering the gardens or slipping into the old war rooms, extravagant dinners often spent alone? No, this was not what he had fought for. Alistair dreamt of love, of raising his heirs (although it still felt weird to call children that. Heirs. Airs.) and of one day journeying through the land like they had before, maybe even going to somewhere foreign and new, like Orlais or Antiva. He smiled as a familiar sight crept into sight. Without another moment's waste, he jolted down to the entrance of his castle, opening his arms as he smiled. "Oy, funny meeting you here."

A man with dark hair turned to him, smiling behind a five o'clock shadow. "Alistair! I must have missed the trumpets and the red carpet rolling out." He met the King in a brotherly embrace, stepping back and grinning. "By the Maker, old boy, what exactly are they feeding you here? I can hardly put my arms around you!"

Alistair laughed, having spent most of his days in the training arena and exercising, knowing that his best friend was joking. "Far too much, I'm afraid, but perhaps they can find a cow or two to prepare for a guest?"

"Let's hope so!"

After a few hours of spending quality time together, eating and drinking probably a little too much, Alistair leaned back in his chair, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Ah, Cas, it's been too long, my friend." Suddenly, a question that had been lurking in the back of his mind but had been pushed aside began to rise to the surface again. Alistair looked to his friend, furrowing his brow. "I, I hope you don't mind my asking, Castor, but what exactly does bring you here?"

He closed his eyes and set down his mug, shaking his head. "Well, as you know, since we haven't had a darkspawn threat, I've been ordering the Grey Wardens to assist some of the locals with odd jobs. Now for the most part, we haven't had much of a problem but there's, well, there's one that's just sticking out in my mind." He looked to Alistair and nodded. "It's probably nothing, but you did tell me to let you know if anything strange caught my eye. I figured I could take down a few men-"

"I'm going with you."

Castor blinked, looking up to Alistair. "You don't even know what's going on yet. Besides, don't you have to stay up here? I would imagine that the King of Ferelden has more important things to do then chase local legends with a washed up army."

Alistair stood, setting his hands on the table and leaning over. "If it's worrisome enough for you to travel all the way here, then it's something I think I should look into myself, especially if you think you're going to need a few men. Besides that, look around you." Alistair straightened and gestured around the quiet castle. "This, well, this doesn't require my immediate attention. Whatever you have going on is more important. Now, follow me, I have a feeling I'll need my armor."

While he grabbed a few things, Castor informed him about the goings on. A few animals had gone missing for a few days and if they did return, they often died within a few days. Not pretty deaths either, usually crying out in pain as if they were on fire or something. Most farmers had assumed some kind of disease but they had requested an intervention by the Grey Wardens.

For the most part, it seemed like a very run-of-the-mill request, nothing too spectacular. But, if something seemed to be calling to Castor, then it definitely needed Alistair's touch added in. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, it was easy for Alistair to leave on such short notice. As a courtesy, he had informed his wife who had responded with absolutely no interest. His advisors would make group decisions on any matters that came up, if any. Before sunset, he and the Grey Warden were leaving the city, a few soldiers following behind them. Of course, it wasn't exactly like it had been before, the women weren't there, and Alistair almost missed Zevran's quips. He made a mental note to write his old companions.

Alstair kept his eyes on his colleague; he had seemed happy that he was coming along, but now seemed hardened. It was a look that, even after four long years, Alistair recognized without hesitation. This mission really had planted some worry in his heart, and that was something that the King had learned to trust wholeheartedly. Despite the fact that he was still a higher rank, Alistair still found it wise to trust in the Grey Warden's gut feelings and leadership. When he had been crowned, Alistair had offered Castor a chance to be his head advisor, but they both had known that one of them needed to rebuild the Wardens. So, he had politely declined, and returned to the west with a few mages to begin the long process of rebuilding.

It didn't take a very long time for them to be stationed in the south, nor did it take long for Alistair to see why Castor had been so concerned. The call had been made from a small new settlement between Lothering and the Korcari Wilds called Halais. It was a small place, just a quaint little settlement mostly made up of farmers and a few tradesmen. The general store was no bigger then a shack, probably only containing a few supplies, and the smell of livestock was everywhere. Because of their fear, most of the people had been staying in their home, unsure if they too could catch the disease, and recent reinforcements had been made to the fences surrounding their animals. After talking to a few of the farmers, Alistair recognized the pit in his stomach was what Castor had been feeling all along. It sounded so familiar, what had happened so many years ago that brought his older brother Cailan to Ostagar. But that couldn't be. The darkspawn were gone, the arch demon defeated, and there had been no sight nor sound of anything like it happening in years. It probably was just a disease, right?

After speaking to a few farmers, the Warden turned to Alistair, who looked as if he might pass out. "Are you alright, mate?"

Alistair shook his head, lifting his palm to his forehead and squeezing slightly, as if to relieve pressure. His eyes slowly closed as he murmured, "We need to get the rest of the Wardens down here, my friend. I'm hoping we're wrong, I'm hoping that this feeling is wrong. But this isn't something I'm willing to risk." He turned, looking up at the sky before closing his eyes. "Get them here."

Castor frowned, the spark behind his eyes dimming, watching one of his closest friends feel the ball drop as he had felt. He crossed his arms, letting out a long sigh. "I was hoping that you wouldn't have reacted. When did you start to feel it?"

"The moment we stepped past Lothering."

He nodded slightly before raising his hand, gesturing over one of the soldiers that Alistair had brought along. Castor nodded to him, muttering. "Head West to Redcliffe, alert the Wardens that their assistance is needed in Halais, by order of King Alistair." Alistair said nothing, listening to the dreaded order as it was given. And with a slight nod and a grunt, he added, "And, for the love of the Maker, be quick about it."

Shortly after their arrival, everything that they had feared was becoming reality. It only took about three days for the fourteen newest Wardens to arrive along with a few hundred Redcliffe soldiers, provided by Alistair's uncle, along with a message that neighboring teryns had been notified and would begin to march to Halais. Despite that, the darkspawn threat had exploded, and the battles had begun. Just as before, slow at first, but more and more darkspawn appeared each day, and it was heart wrenching to Alistair. The people of Halais had been advised to evacuate and not a moment too soon, and unfortunately, the forces had been pushed back until the reinforcements had arrived. His personal army would be arriving within a day or two, the teyrns would be ready at arms within the fortnight, and his Wardens had been doing very well on their own. Against his will, he had been forced to stay on their base, which had been pushed back to the Brecilian Passage, as no other heirs had been born yet and another civil war was not about to be risked. Alistair had not been fighting, and he felt useless and bored.

As a formality, Castor had suggested that Alistair should take a few men and journey to the Dalish camp in the Brecilian forest to alert them of the impending danger, and to see if they could spare a few men. The threat wasn't great yet, even though the numbers of the darkspawn were growing, it was hardly even an army yet. The Wardens and the soldiers were well trained, and took out all that they saw with ease. But, unlike his late brother, Alistair knew how bad it could get and how fast. And even though he knew it was a ploy to get him away from the battlefield, he knew how necessary it was.

That morning, Alistair and his two soldiers had left for the Dalish encampment that they had ventured to so many years ago. Castor had left in good standing with them when the war was over, and he was sure that they would be willing to help again. It was a good day's journey away, and it left Alistair with a lot of time to think. How had the darkspawn come back? The arch demon was gone, of that he was sure, and they had pushed back the remaining darkspawn back into the Deep Roads. At once, a thousand possibilities ran through his mind, each more ridiculous then it's predecessor. Alistair finally concluded that his answers would rise to the surface in time, not unlike the darkspawn that he had left in his tracks.

It was hard not to notice the beauty of the forest while they traveled. It was spring, a beautiful time of year for all of Ferelden but particularly of the Brecilian Forest. The trees and bushes were in bloom, and the morning dew still hung on the blades of grass beneath their feet. The normally bitter wind now had a touch of warmth, a promise of a summer to come. Yet, despite it all, something felt off. The birds above were not singing, and the bugs and tree frogs that had been singing him to sleep for days could no longer be heard. How long had it been so quiet? Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. Alistair began to feel a tightness in his stomach, but it came too late as he realized that they were walking into an ambush.

The headache had been a hindrance to his senses, he couldn't tell that no fewer then a dozen darkspawn had surrounded them. The first four had been no trouble to him, Genlocks, mostly, but his soldiers were archers, and they did not last long against the crowd. It took all of Alistair's might and will to bring them down. Unfortunately, for all his training, it had been too long since he had last raised his shield to such a crowd as his hand fell to his stomach, a long slash from his upper chest to his opposing side had hurt him considerably. Of course, the darkspawn taint had no effect on him, but he could feel the warmth of his body leaving him as blood began to pool near his feet. The gash went deeply, his vision was going dark. His shield dropped like a stone from his arm as the strength drained from him, a few final thoughts crossing his weakening mind. Was this to be the end of the great Alistair? King of Ferelden and oldest remaining Grey Warden?

As he fell to his knees, that answer almost seemed to be answered for him as a growl came from behind him. His heavy eyes lifted as a Hurlock hurdled towards him, weapon drawn for the final blow. With whatever strength he could muster, Alistair lifted his sword, trying to prop himself against it to stand but it seemed to be too late. The Hurlock raised his ghastly weapon and cried out in an extremely feminine voice. With confusion, Alistair looked up to see a tan shape leap from a high tree branch above the Hurlock's head, and Alistair jumped slightly as blood splattered onto his face.

As the Hurlock fell, so did Alistair. He could barely see his rescuer. All he saw was a flash of red hair before the lights went dim.