Bethany Hawke was pissed off.

Not that there was anything unusual about that. She spent most of her time pissed off these days. Horrible, gut-wrenching nightmares and a drastically shortened lifespan will do that to you. At the moment, she was pissed off at Stroud and Balder, who had given her all of two days' rest before turning her right around again and ordering her out to kill an emissary who had slaughtered a half dozen villagers and was now hiding in a cave.

Great. Just great.

Of course, she would never dare to suggest that being a Grey Warden was anything but the cat's pajamas. What girl wouldn't want to spend her prime dating years covered in toxic darkspawn blood and bunking with a bunch of exiles and vagabonds who had been dredged up from who knows where by opportunistic recruiters? Not to mention that being one of the only mages in her branch of the organization made her a valuable commodity. She had long since given up on the notion that she could get some kind of desk job.

The job did have its perks, though. She could throw fireballs at whatever she wanted and no one could say a word to her about it.

And really, what problem couldn't be solved by a well-placed fireball?

She was in her room, bitterly stuffing still-rumpled traveling clothes into her pack, when a knock came at the door.

"What?" she called harshly.

The door swung open to reveal the familiar bulk of Commander Stroud. He was dressed casually in his leathers and, judging from the way he was sucking at his teeth, he had just come from dinner.

Maker, but that was an obnoxious habit. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes?"

Stroud, well practiced at ignoring her hostility, cocked his hip and leaned against the doorframe. He nodded towards the pack on her bed. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him like he'd just sprouted wings from his butt. "I'm packing. For the mission you ordered me to go on. We just spent a half hour arguing about it."

He looked back impassively. "I'm changing your orders. Put your things away. Canta and Juli will deal with the emissary."

Bethany gaped. For a moment, she wasn't sure exactly what to do, given that the thing that was making her so mad had suddenly been pulled out from under her. She plopped down on the bed, deflated. "Oh."

Stroud stepped into the room and let the heavy wooden door fall shut behind him. He pulled a chair away from her desk and sat down across from her. Bethany regarded him warily as he pushed a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes and gave her a look that could almost be described as sheepish.

"I have a project for you," he said. "We have a new recruit and I need you to work with him to prepare him for the Joining."

She frowned. "Why me? That's Balder's job." Balder was the oldest of the Wardens in their unit, probably only a year or two away from his Calling. He was wise and respected, and had a way with people that most of them couldn't muster. He'd been in charge of recruiting for as long as she'd been there.

"That's true, but this recruit needs something Balder cannot give him." He hesitated, then sighed. "He will need the help of a mage. To overcome an… addiction."

Understanding started to dawn in her mind, and she didn't like where it was going. "What kind of addiction?"

The older man coughed and gave her an apologetic look. "Lyrium."

A templar. Her cheeks burned at the mere thought of calling one of those overbearing tin cans "Brother." She sat forward and narrowed her eyes. "To hell with that. I won't do it."

"It is not your decision to make, Bethany." His eyes were soft but his voice growled a warning. "Do not try my patience."

"Are we that desperate for recruits now, that we're taking the lyrium-addled castoffs of the Chantry?"

"He's a highly skilled warrior, and the Joining could save him from the destruction of his mind."

"Being a Grey Warden is not a cure, it is a calling!" she snapped back at him, her voice suddenly forceful. "Isn't that what you said to me, all these years ago?"

He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "And yet I took you in then, as I take him in now. It was not an act of mercy. You know this better than anyone."

Bethany sagged. "I know," she sighed. Undergoing the Joining had saved her life, but even now she was not sure it had been worth the cost.

The chair squeaked as he got to his feet. "I will not force you to do this thing. But if you do not, he will most likely die. He cannot undergo the Joining until the lyrium has been purged from his system. It would react with the darkspawn blood and I am not willing to see what he could turn into."

She looked up at him. "I'm not even sure I can do it," she admitted. "I have no Circle teachings. What if I try and fail?"

He gave her a tender look, then, that somehow disarmed her completely. "I asked myself the same thing when we agreed to take you, child. Sometimes we must face death to earn our place in this world. You made that choice, and so has he." He reached out to touch her shoulder, his large hand impossibly gentle, then turned to leave her alone in her room.

She sat in silence for a while before flopping back onto her bed with a groan. "Fucking templars."