A/N: I love Leliana so much. She belongs with my Aedan Cousland. Really, just with my characters in general. Random idea I had after I realized how much of a douche Duncan is in the Human Noble Origin. Constructive reviews are greatly appreciated!

Prologue

"Father, you're not going to die. The tunnel is just over there. We've got to go!"

"Lord Teryn, I can save your son, but I came for a recruit. A terrible darkness has arisen in the south, one that threatens to swallow all of Thedas, and every sword will be needed to stand against the Blight. I will take your son and the Teryna, but I need a Grey Warden."

"I...I understand. Save my family, Duncan."

"Bryce, I don't...no, darling, I'm not leaving you!"

"Mother, you can't do this. We need to leave!"

"Do as your father says, darling. We love you."

"You cannot ask me to do this!"

"Go with Duncan, darling. Find Fergus, and carry on the family name."

"No, I won't go!"

"You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Rite of Conscription, and claim you in the name of the Grey Wardens."

"It...it has to be this way, Pup. Our family...always does duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and Ferelden's."

"...I will never forgive you for this."

Footsteps echo, as two pairs of boots stride away, the dark eyes of a man who has seen a family torn apart by violence already turning back towards the man and the woman, Teryn and Teryna, even as they hold each other, one's lifeblood oozing from his stomach and the other with a watchful gaze on the door, eyes clouded by grief and tears. The Warden turns away, to pursue his new charge who almost assuredly wants to cut his throat.

Blood-crusted lips move, "Do you...do you think we did the right thing, Eleanor?"

A stifled sob emerges from a scratchy throat. "Aedan is...a good boy. We raised him well. He will do his duty. Oh Bryce my love, we lived a good life, didn't we?"

"We did. I only hope that for the boys that it was enough."

The village of Lothering seemed filled near to bursting with refugees. Alistair could hardly imagine that the party of friendly highway toll collectors had helped the situation much. Poor Elven families, orphans, widows, cripples, elderly men and women alike...Lothering was definitely a destination for the desperate.

Which is exactly why we're here, Alistair thought glumly. This irritated him, as he was not particularly fond of feeling glum. Despite his abandonment by his father and loss of his mother, being sent away by the only man he'd had to look to as a father-figure in his early years in order to serve the Chantry, and finally losing his new Commander and mentor within six months of joining the Grey Wardens, Alistair Theirin tried to look on the brighter side of things. No, he preferred to leave the moping and general unfriendliness to his companions.

The Wilder Witch he understood. She was haughty, considered herself superior to anyone in her general vicinity, and was really just an unpleasant and mean lady. Morrigan, daughter of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. The kind that turned ordinary fellows into toads.

Alistair shivered. Why did they bring her along, again?

No, it was his newest brother, the junior Warden now in Ferelden, and their little rag-tag party's de facto leader that he really couldn't understand. When Aedan first arrived in Ostagar, he'd made his hatred for Duncan, the King, Alistair himself and the Grey Wardens in general no secret. He had gone out into the Wilds with his fellow recruits and wielded his battered shield and notched bastard sword with a most impressive ease, and had raged and fumed the entire way. The Scary Lady herself had been a bit taken aback when the Warden and Warden recruits had first arrived at the fallen tower.

Watching his new brother fight was an interesting experience, to say the least. Aedan was a very big man, perhaps a head taller and broader in both the shoulders and chest than Alistair himself. Alistair was fairly certain that he was faster, and more skilled with the shield than tnew other Warden, but the big fellow moved with a grace that belied his stature, in addition to putting the versatility of the bastard sword to use. The bastard sword, or hand-and-a-half sword, was so-called because it could be used, by most men of a sufficient strength, as a normal long sword might in conjunction with a shield, or gripped with two hands, as one might a claymore or zweihander. Alistair had watched when Aedan had gotten down to it, cursing and shouting at the Darkspawn as he charged them, abandoning that well-worn shield with a family crest from who-knows-where on it in favor of hacking away like a Chasind barbarian, chainmail stopping some glancing blows and Darkspawn blades cutting home into flesh with others. However, when all was said and done there was an untidy pile of freshly sliced Hurlock, lots of it, as well as a bloodied but otherwise no worse for the wear potential Grey Warden.

Ser Jory, who had a similar ox-like strength but lacked Aedan's height, had been mightily impressed with the strategy. That is, he had been impressed until the Joining. After that, there wasn't really a Jory left to be impressed.

Alistair sighed. A real shame. Another Warden would be mightily helpful right about now

However, Jory's cowardice had been revealed, and Duncan acted accordingly. Aedan had been furious, though, when he came to. It had taken the efforts of both Alistair and Duncan to prevent the fiery man from trying to take the Commander's head. Both had tackled him, pinning an arm and a leg each. It would have been funny to watch if Alistair had not been so concerned with the new recruit's homicidal tendencies. Ultimately, it had taken a good deal of shouting and a promise to answer for his actions, both there and in Highever, once the Darkspawn threat was ended for the livid man to cease struggling. On the upside, Alistair had been able to deduce that Aedan must have come from Highever. A knight's son, perhaps? A foot soldier in the Teryn's guard?

At any rate, Aedan had suddenly become a perfect soldier with the battle looming overhead. He asked essential questions only, obeyed his directives from Duncan without question, and was otherwise almost pleasant to be around, in the sense that it was unlikely he'd try to bite Alistair's head off.

The battle in the tower had been less than convenient, though Alistair thought the pair of them, along with the big, stinky, slobbering mess of a Mabari that followed Aedan everywhere and refused to let Alistair scratch behind his ears, and the one Circle Mage that did not want to turn him into a toad, had fought together rather well.

The Ogre that appeared at the very top had been an unpleasant surprise, thought the Wardens had dispatched it with relative ease. Aedan had leapt out of the way of a massive fist coming to tenderize his head before hamstringing the monster. Alistair had delivered the killing blow, driving his longsword through its black heart, and leaving the floor a horrid mess. Honestly, if anyone ever thought to go back to Ostagar, he felt sorry for whatever sod was on cleaning duty.

Getting filled like a target dummy by Darkspawn archers had been probably the second least fun experience of his life, after meeting Lady Isolde. The horrible frog-turning lady Morrigan, her name is Morrigan had been kind enough to help them out. Er, maybe it was her apostate mother. Did it really matter? Anyway, somehow through Wilder Mage magic they both were still alive. And saddled with the really degrading and mean one, rather than the crazy but mildly entertaining one.

This was what really confused Alistair about his new brother from Highever, though. Before he'd been a boiling pot, always on edge, always ready to explode at the slightest thing, and looking like nothing would please him more than to kill Duncan in a horrendous fashion. Ever since he had woken up in Flemeth's hut, and even now as Alistair snuck glances ago his left as they walked towards Lothering's single tavern he seemed...empty. Like someone had let all the air out. He responded to direct questions in a soft, almost quiet baritone, and otherwise kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead while on the road.

Alistair wasn't quite sure what to do. Usually, he'd offer a funny comment or try to make light, but Morrigan would probably make another snide comment and a scarcely veiled insult, perhaps even outright abuse, and Aedan would give no sign at all that he'd even heard. It was maddening! He needed to talk to a normal, not crazy, and not super mean person as soon as possible.

Alistair stole another glance at his brother Warden, this time surreptitiously studying his face. He certainly was no judge of masculine beauty, nor could he really appreciate such, but his big friend probably would be making very few maidens swoon. It was a decent face, he supposed. Handsome enough, in its own way. His chin and cheeks were coated by a light stubble, and his hair was closely cut but swept slightly upwards in front. Probably from his gauntlet as he brushed sweat of his forehead. His hair was dark, an inky black much like the sky on a moonless night, and his eyes a piercing blue that turned much darker in his fury. He hadn't really seen much emotion at all in them lately, though.

Finally they reached the tavern. Alistair turned his head to catch Aedan's eye. "So. Shall we go inside, perhaps hear the news?"

He nodded in response before saying softly, "Yes, let's."

Without waiting for further conversation, the burly Warden stretched out one mail-clad arm to push open the oak door, and the party was suddenly immersed in a cacophony of instruments, the rattling of dice, and the general deafening murmur of dozens of people talking at once. There was no hesitation as Aedan strode forward into the common room, Alistair, Morrigan, and the Mabari trailing behind. As soon as the door closed, Alistair heard a voice call out, "Wardens! By order of Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, Lord Regent of Ferelden, you are under arrest for betraying the King and the armies of Ferelden to their deaths at Ostagar!"

Alistair turned to look at the noise. There were about seven or eight men, all wearing the armor of an average foot soldier, save the speaker who seemed to be their captain. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could he was interrupted.

"We have no desire for trouble," Aedan said gently, "but we have committed no crime. It was the Teryn who led his armies away from Ostagar."

Alistair was speechless. Aedan spoke! The captain or whoever he was seemed to be as well. His mouth opened and closed as he offered a passable imitation of a fish in his surprise that Teryn Loghain's honor was being questioned.

The officer found his voice. "To speak of such is treason! How dare you question the Regent's honor. You will submit to our custody or die!"

Uh-oh. That sounded like a threat. However, a voice with a distinctly foreign accent interrupted, followed by a remarkably beautiful woman in the robes of a sister of the Holy Chantry of Andraste. "Commander, do not do this. There is no need for fighting here, nor to make such threats!" Ah, yes the accent. Almost certainly Orlesian.

Should he do something? He was the Senior Warden. Stopping this should be his responsi-

Oh. The idiots were drawing swords. He was briefly aware of Aedan informing the Sister to stay back as he eased the bastard sword from his side, gripping the hilt with both hands and raising it into a high guard as he faced the commander. Alistair readied his shield, preparing to guard his one-time charge's flank against those crossbows a pair of the men were readying.

Crap. Two crossbow bolts were shot at Aedan's unprotected side, so Alistair leapt forwards, catching them on his shield, before rushing toward the nearer of the two, slamming his shield into the poor sod's stomach. The air crackled briefly as Morrigan did her witchcraft, and one soldier turned his crossbow on another, obviously confused by her magics.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the little melee was over. Aedan had skillfully swept the commander's sword from his grip and his faithful Mabari hound had taken care of the rest, driving the littler man to the ground and snarling a bit.

He raised up his hands in front of his face, terrified. "All right, all right, we surrender, just don't kill me!"

The Chantry Sister from before stepped forward, putting away an impressive looking dagger that she had apparently used in the little skirmish. "Warden, I would ask that you spare these men's lives. They are no threat to you now, surely?"

Aedan stared at the crazy red-haired Sister for a few moments. Alistair was stunned. Is the woman mad?

He was half-convinced that the big guy might fly off the handle and start hacking, and then he'd have a dead Chantry sister to explain.

After a long several seconds that Aedan spent staring right into her eyes, unblinking, he nodded slightly. He then announced that the soldiers should return to Denerim, and inform the Teryn that the Grey Wardens knew what had happened. Apparently thankful for his life, the commander stated as much while stuttering and then fled, the rest of his men following suit.

As the door swung shut behind them, the Sister piped up again. "Thank you for sparing their lives. I know they had given you little reason to do so."

Aedan just nodded slowly, slipping his over-sized blade back into its scabbard. Kneeling, he ran one huge, gauntleted hand over the back of his hound's head, scratching him affectionately behind the ears. Blasted mutt wouldn't let me do that.

Speaking up from the doorway where she had been skulking, Morrigan inquired, "Warden, are we quite finished here? The Blight is unlikely to wait whilst we gallivant about."

Aedan just nodded again, turning to leave the inn. Before he could quite do so, the Chantry sister stepped into his path, causing him to draw up sharply.

"You must take me with you!" She said all in a rush.

Alistair blinked. A Chantry sister leaving the cloister? How...odd.

He was not the only one caught off guard. Aedan suddenly looked more flabbergasted than Alistair had ever seen him; this was possibly the most emotion that had crossed his brother's face since Ostagar. In his soft voice that managed to convey a hint of incredulity he asked, "And why would you be wanting to do that?"

She bit her lip in a move that Alistair even had to admit looked rather fetching. Probably an inappropriate thought to have about a disciple of Andraste, but...

"You have seen that I am not unskilled, and you are sworn to defend the land against the Blight, no?"

"I...suppose we can use any aid we can find." Aedan sounded rather dubious on that point.

"You have seen me fight with this dagger, but not with the bow. I am no slouch when it comes to marksmanship! And, I did have a...well..." Now she sounded less confident.

Alistair had to ask. "You had a...puppy? An army of militant priestesses? Some sort of divine revelation?" He joked.

"A-hem." The sister colored rather completely, turning her cheeks nearly as red as her hair. "Actually I did have a...dream from the Maker."

Oops. Good going, Alistair. Wait, no, it's her fault for being crazy. Really, the Maker?

Aedan finally spoke up again, "Look, Sister-"

"-My name is Leliana."

He nodded slightly. "Then, Leliana..." He suddenly sighed. "I can hardly say no to an offer of skilled help."

Morrigan scoffed at their leader derisively. "Perhaps Mother was able to heal a good deal less than she thought."

Aedan turned his head over his shoulder to fix her with a dispassionate stare. He turned his gaze to Alistair, who shrugged. You want the crazy lady along, bring her along. Just dont expect me to give up my ration of cheese.

Finally, he stuck out a mailed fist. "Welcome aboard, Leliana."

The now former Chantry sister bounced up and down excitedly. "Ooh, I'm certain we're all going to be the best of friends!"

"So," Leliana said as the party set out, "where are we going?"

It was nightfall in a little glen just off the old Imperial Highway. Made in the time of the Tevinter Imperium, when present-day Ferelden was still ruled by that entire insane empire which venerated magic, specifically blood magic. It was that sort of thinking which had led to the corruption of the world and creation of the Darkspawn in the first place. Though, for a bunch of blood-letting, demon-using maniacs, they did build a rather nice road.

A little ways away in his bedroll, Aedan lay thrashing about, probably still in his dreams with the Darkspawn. It certainly was a hard life being a Grey Warden, what with the death sentence of the taint, the oath to defend the land against the Blight, the little difficulty with "sowing one's seed", the sleepless nights, the awful nightmares...

Well, maybe hard was a bit of an understatement. Still, it was good to be useful, saving Ferelden from monsters rather than playing nursemaid to the Circle of Magi. Alistair sighed. The uniform had been particularly fetching, though...

His other companions were already asleep: Morrigan in her little ramshackle hut a goodly ways away from everyone else, the crazy former sister Leliana in her tent, Aedan's Mabari who did bite him a little bit that night. He could still see the mark...

The enormous Qunari Aedan had insisted upon bringing was crouching near the fire, looking into the night for something, maybe Darkspawn, maybe something Qunari-ish. Sten, he was called. He looked wickedly strong, wielding a greatsword like Alistair might hold his longsword. Interesting fellow, for a murderer. However, he couldn't say that he thought leaving him locked up for the Darkspawn like that was right. No one deserved to die like that.

All in all, an eclectic bunch, the intrepid guardians of Ferelden. Maker, but the country was doomed.

The thrashing about ceased. Aedan looked to be stirring from his fitful slumber. Time to explain the facts of life.

Leliana found herself awake shortly before the dawn. Stretching out languorously beneath her blankets, she opened her eyes slowly, to find herself looking upwards at a blank wall of canvas. Oh yes. That's right. Yesterday I decided to join a pair of Grey Wardens on their quest to end the Blight.

She sat up slowly, glancing over to the corner where her new leather armor and sturdy longbow lay. After all, leather, while certainly not impenetrable, definitely serves as a better buffer against fatal wounds than finely tailored cloth. The longer she lived in this country the more she discovered that practicality was the name of the game. Why have slippers in satin or silk when a pair of sturdy, shapeless boots will suffice? Why wear bright colors, or any sort of elaborate braid, when plain wools and linen and hastily tied knots will perform the same function.

it wasn't that she despised Ferelden, or considered Orlais to be better. After all, Leliana herself was natively Ferelden even if most of her life had been spent elsewhere. it was true, though, that the Orlesians had a more...refined sense of style.

As she dressed, she thought back to her meeting with the group. It had been rather unexpected, to see her vision fulfilled right in front of her in such a manner. The Wardens themselves were...peculiar. The shorter one, Alistair, was a bit of a joker, always ready with an amusing, sometimes self-deprecative comment. One that the wilder Mage Morrigan was all too happy to exploit, twisting the knife deep.

Morrigan seemed rather...withdrawn, in Leliana's opinion. Although, those robes of hers were simply fantastic, displaying just enough for her lovely bosom without outright revealing anything. They must be so hard to run about in!

Leliana was sure that once she got past the rude, icy front that she put up, they would be great friends. She hoped.

The Qunari seemed intent on ignoring her, so she supposed his story would have to wait until he became less prudish, or something.

The other Warden, their nominal leader and the one who was only surpassed by Sten in height and pure size, was the one who puzzled Leliana the most.

She wasn't quite sure that they would be able to be friends. He seemed really angry all the time. His communication was all through gestures and nods, and on the rare occasion that he did speak, his words were short and direct. It was completely at odds, though, with the man who had spared the lives of the soldiers after his head for fame and coin.

Had she given offense? Perhaps he was so uncomfortable in her presence because he was not one of the devout, or he wasn't sure what to make of her? Maybe he wasn't always mean, just a bit gruff. Leliana could work on that.

Having found her resolve, she finished by slinging her bow over her shoulder and settling her quiver at her back. She stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness to find Warden Aedan's bedroll empty. That's odd.

Glancing about, she saw a seated figure just at the edge of the firelight, staring off at the road ahead. Leliana began briskly striding towards him, wondering exactly how to broach this conversation with him. It seemed a little strange that he would be up so early, or perhaps late. She stopped about two paces behind him, and was mildly surprised to see that his shoulders were slumped, his head bent forward and cradled in his hands. Finding a Grey Warden in such a compromising position was a little disturbing, and yet somewhat endearing. Poor man. He's not harsh, just...sad. So very sad. He reminds me of...well, that was before the cloister. It seems so long ago...

Lost in her own reverie, Leliana was startled to alertness when the fire behind her suddenly crackled, sparks flaring up briefly before returning to their rest to smolder. She let out a little gasp, and Aedan spun around, with surprising agility for a man his size and rose to his feet. She saw that he was dressed only in his shirtsleeves and linen trousers. A moment later, he relaxed. It looked as though his entire body had tensed up. He nodded his head to her before murmuring, "Sister Leliana."

"Warden Aedan! I am so sorry, I meant to say something but you looked so...well..." She trailed off, mildly embarrassed to have found him in such a vulnerable state. How must he feel?

He waved her off. "All is well. Begin rousing the others. I would like to move at first light."

"I..." Leliana trailed off. The man was already walking off! With an exaggerated sigh, she spun on her heel and marched back towards the tents.

Aedan, abrupt as he may be and otherwise uncooperative, was true to his word. By the time the sun was cresting the horizon, the little party was on the road once more.

He headed the group as they trudged eastwards along the Highway. Apparently it was Aedan's intention to seek out the Dalish clans of the Brecillian Forest regarding ancient treaties requiring them to aid the Grey Wardens in a time of Blight. Leliana was able to divine the general strategy from Alistair as they journeyed along.

It was a good thing that Alistair at least was willing to talk. Sten was even more opposed to idle conversation than Aedan, and Morrigan seemed content to walk in silence, except for when she chose to insult poor Alistair.

She hoped the other Warden's stony attitude would not last, or they would be in for one long Blight.