Daveth and Jory had died in the joining. Duncan had been hoping that the two of them would make it, after all, you never wanted any recruit to die in the joining, but losses were expected. Two out of three, however. They were unlucky numbers. And Anton, while he had survived... was taking a very long time to come around after drinking the blood. Alistair was crouched beside him worriedly, fingers once again feeling for a pulse. It was there, slow and steady.

"He will awaken eventually." Duncan said softly, feeding the fire at their tents. "Do not fret."

"Yes..." Alistair agreed, "But how often does this happen? A recruit taking a long time to come around. I don't remember being out for very long after my joining."

"Patience, Alistair. Patience. You should probably appreciate the time that he is unconscious. This one is going to be difficult."

"Difficult?"

"Yes. Particularly for you, Alistair. You are the only one here with templar training. You may have to rein in his magic."

Alistair's eyes moved from Anton to fix on Duncan. "What do you mean?"

"There is a darkness in this one." Duncan replied, letting out a sigh. "He has great strength, but it is almost as if he is standing on the edge of a great canyon, drawing his power from it. At any point he could willingly, or unwillingly, let himself fall into the abyss. I have the feeling if he ever decided to go down that route, he would be quite the adversary."

"He didn't become a recruit by choice, did he?" Alistair said softly, knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it.

Duncan shook his head. "No. He helped a Maleficar at the circle. But according to the first Enchanter he had always been a difficult apprentice. Apparently his...Harrowing was a little strange too."

"Strange? How?" Alistair was curious. This boy, Anton, was getting stranger and stranger.

He was in the fade. The fade wasn't particularly somewhere he had ever enjoyed. Jowan had often talked about how fond he was of the fade, how he had enjoyed manipulating the environment around him in a way he never could in reality. For Anton the fade was dull and boring. For some reason his powers always felt muted and dull in the fade. He could use them, certainly, but he had always struggled here in a way he had never struggled when he was awake. Perhaps that was why he very rarely slept, avoiding it whenever he could. Generally he used the fade to Mediate, ignoring the many demons that flocked to him, ignoring them.

But this time was different. It wasn't a demon that was annoying him this time, it was Her. She frequently came, in many guises. Sometimes She was beautiful, with golden long hair, and sky blue eyes. Other times She came as a cat, or a dog. Sometimes She came as a middle aged woman, pretending to be the mother that he couldn't remember. Once She nearly fooled him, and had him believing that he had entered into the dreams of his mother... But he soon saw through that. There were not enough memories, not enough that didn't come from his mind. She did keep trying though. She had always been trying.

"You seem to have survived the taint." Her voice was rich, like black silk. Anton had always found it soothing.

"Mmm," He replied, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge Her. "If this is what you call surviving. I'll believe it when I wake up in reality again."

"Yes, you must wake up and leave me, as always." Was Her purred reply. He felt a hand on his hair, smoothing over it gently. He brought his staff around, hitting Her hand away. His staff didn't connect with anything of substance, but he felt Her move away regardless.

She tutted. "Must you always be so cold? I have taught you a great deal. There is much you would not have achieved without me."

"I achieved it on my own." Was his reply. "And I will achieve a great deal more. It is a bit late to be trying to tempt me now, wouldn't you say?"

She laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. It pulled across his senses, yanking on something deep within his chest. "Oh my darling." She whispered, and Anton could see the smile on Her lips, even with his eyes closed. "How wise and foolish you really are." He felt Her lips on his own.

Anton opened his eyes, and saw nothing but darkspawn.

Anton surged upright with a startled breath, his heart in his throat. "Easy easy!" It was Alistair's voice. He felt the firm fingers of the warden grip his shoulder, and automatically Anton lifted one of his own hands to knock the hand away. He shifted, making to stand only to find his legs weak under him. He stumbled.

"I said take it easy Anton," Alistair went on, fetching another canteen of water and offering it to him. "You've been out for a worrying amount of time. Duncan is just off fetching a healer."

"I'm fine." Anton croaked, taking the canteen of water and swallowing. His dark eyes shifted, moving across the fire to focus on Alistair, who had concern written across his honest features. "Really, I'm fine." He reiterated, hoping Alistair would stop staring at him like that. It seemed to work, and the blond looked away and ran his hand through his hair.

"You're a Grey Warden now." He said softly, "Welcome to the shadows."

Anton let out a long sigh, and ran his hands over his face. "So what now?"

"You're awake!" It was Duncan. Both Alistair and Anton turned to look at the senior warden, approaching with a mage in tow. It was an older lady, and Anton recognised her right away. Inwardly he groaned.

"Wynne." He muttered.

"Anton!" She knelt beside him, and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead to check for fever. Irritated, he brushed her off and scrambled unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, and Alistair momentarily reached out support him, but then thought better of it. The mage righted himself and that scowl was back on his face, and it was pointed towards Wynne.

"Do not fuss like an old mother hen." He hissed, again running his hand over his face and through his black hair. "Leave me, I am sound."

Duncan frowned. "We were only being precautionary, Anton. It is good to see you finally awake. Most Wardens wake quickly after the Joining, you have taken the best part of an hour."

Wynne also frowned, and folded her arms across her chest. "You have always been a contemptuous brat, Anton." She scolded him. "I have always found you insufferably rude, you could at least show a little gratitude to Duncan for worrying about your well being, surely?"

"Be silent woman!" Anton snapped. "For years you have chided and scolded me like a child. I am no longer an individual of your concern, so there is no need to fret over my manners and whether or not my behaviour will cause you to lose precious face and ruin your oh-so-fantastic track record with the young and troubled mage's put under you care. Well, I'm sorry there Wynne. Like that poor elvish boy, you can mark me down as one of your failures."

The old mage's face drained of colour. Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth gaped a little. Anton waved a hand at her. "Now be gone from my sight, woman. I'll have nothing more to do with you."

Astounded, and with nothing else to say Wynne turned heel and marched from the warden's tents. Duncan turned on Anton, his voice raised in anger. "Anton, that was entirely unnecessary!" His face furrowed into a frown, and Alistair took a step back, loathing being caught in the middle.

Anton's dark eyes rounded on Duncan, his face furrowed into a deep frown. "You said to me that my loyalties were no longer bound to the circle, that once I became a Grey Warden I would have allegiance to the Grey Wardens and only the Grey Wardens. I do not see how pandering to mages who have only ever hindered my progress will benefit us in suppressing this Blight."

"We owe them respect, in that hope that they will respect us in turn and aid us! Duncan snapped at Anton, his own face furrowing into a frown.

"No one respects the Grey Wardens anymore!" Anton exclaimed.

Duncan's fist had connected with Anton's jawline before he had even registered the fury. The youth's head snapped to the side, the boy stumbling on his feet with the blow. For a second he stood head and shoulders hunched, before dark eyes moved to focus on Duncan. Duncan had split Anton's lip, and droplets of dark blood pooled on the pale flesh. Gingerly Anton lifted one hand to his face, wiping the blood away and looking at it dispassionately. The youth straightened, and with one final look at Duncan, turned and walked away in utter silence.

"That was the worst thing I could've done." Duncan said regretfully, letting out a long sigh. Alistair too let out the breath he had been holding in, rubbing the back of his neck and crinkling his nose. "I would say so." He muttered under his breath, watching Anton stalk off among the tents.

Duncan ran his hands over his face, grumbling under his breath. When he had finally composed himself, his eyes looked to Alistair. "What happened with the witch, Alistair?" He asked gently, his brown eyes fixing onto the junior wardens.

Alistair's face contorted into a displeased scowl. "It was weird." He began.

"Four Grey Wardens?" The old witch looked surprised, her grey eyebrows narrowing into a frown. Morrigan tilted her head, "Yes mother, there are four."

The old witch got up off her rocking chair in front of the dilapidated looking hut, surprisingly sprightly for her many years. She walked over, her eyes narrowing as she looked every one of them over. "Now, isn't this a happy surprise?" She said, her voice belaying her evident amusement. "Seems that there are some things that can be hidden, even now." Alistair felt that when she looked at him she was examining a horse, something she had expected to see and was planning on purchasing. Daveth took a step back from her intense examination. "She's a witch, she is. We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Quiet Daveth." Jory whispered nervously, "If she's really a witch we don't want to be making her mad."

The old woman ignored them. "You three are as expected." She waved at them with one hand dismissively, before bringing one finger around to point it at Anton. "You...are not." She approached him carefully, walking on light footsteps and circled him, her eyes roving up and down his body. Alistair could feel Anton bristling just a little, the familiar tinge of copper forming in the air as he began to draw on the veil for his magic. Dark eyes were narrowed in a silent glare as she paused to openly stare at him, and for a second, for the briefest of seconds Alistair could've sworn genuine shock, or surprise, registered on her face. The witch quickly smothered it though.

"We're honestly suppose to believe that you were expecting us?" Alistair felt that perhaps he should take charge, before Anton did something Alistair would soon regret.

Her yellow eyes snapped to him, and she offered him a twisted smile. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight, or open ones arms wide, either way, one is a fool."

"Your daughter mentioned that you recovered some of our documents." Anton interjected, straight to the point as always. "We would be grateful if you could return them." Anton was being polite, he was never usually polite, but then Alistair hadn't known him that long, so maybe the lad had some redeemable qualities after all.

The witch raised an eyebrow. "My my, straight to the point then." She laughed, turning around and disappearing into the hut. She emerged, and walked straight towards Anton, offering them to him in one hand. "Much about you isn't clear yet, boy." She said, "So many things undecided. Tell me, before I give you your treaties, will you enter into a deal with me?"

Anton shifted, his grip tightening about his staff. Uncertain-y wandered across his features. No doubt he could feel the witch's power in the same way Alistair could. Anton probably had a better idea of it, truth be told. The witch laughed again, folding her arms and concealing the treaties within her grip. "I only want you to answer one question, lad." A smile danced upon her lips. "One harmless little question, then you can have your treaties."

Anton considered her offer, but then seemed to come to the conclusion that they had no choice. "Very well, but I cannot guarantee an answer."

Another chuckle from the old witch. "Marvellous, such foresight from one so young. Tell me, boy, where did you get such a marvellous dragon bone staff? Was it for a fair price?"

Anton was silent, his dark eyes searching the witch's face. His grip tightened even more on his staff, his knuckles turning white. "It was gifted to me." He said finally, carefully. "And the price was too high."

Anton held the witches gaze for a good minute or two. Something passed between them, something Alistair couldn't comprehend, or understand. It must've been a mage's thing.

"Then she warned us that the threat was greater than we realised. All in all she was very cryptic. Seemed to like Anton though, don't know why. He's not exactly charming." Alistair shrugged, letting out a sigh. Duncan nodded quietly, thinking something through carefully. It was a long time before he actually spoke. "We've got a meeting with the Teyrn and the King, go find Anton and bring him along. The boy is clever, and could probably contribute to the battle plan. Perhaps his arrogant eye can spot something we missed." And with that Duncan turned away and headed over towards the King's tent.

Alistair let out a long sigh and ran his hands over his face. "Maker's breath." he grumbled to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he was the younger Warden. He knew he was supposed to run around doing everything Duncan said, but shouldn't the job of messenger boy be getting pawned off on Anton now, since he was the newest recruit?

"Damn it." He muttered, and stalked off in search of Anton. He searched for a good fifteen minutes, and everyone he asked about the mage either had no idea who he was talking about, or took that glazed, bemused expression upon their face that suggested that they had dealt with him. In the end, logic won out over his haphazard searching and he headed over towards the mage tents. At the very least he could apologise to that concerned old lady for Anton's behaviour.

He spotted Anton on the outskirts of the mage's territory. He was talking to a templar, and this was enough in of itself to make Alistair hesitate. They were away from the tents, beside a wall that had half collapsed. The templar glanced around furtively, and Alistair felt the need to duck behind a tree. For second he hid, wondering why he was being so secretive, before he peeked out from behind the tree.

The templar had taken off his helmet. The templar wasn't a he at all, but rather a woman. Her blond hair was tied tightly into two buns at the base of her head, and her skin was a rich olive. Her features weren't exactly beautiful, but she had a certain line to her jaw and nose that made her appealing to look at. Handsome would probably be the word to describe it. She smiled at Anton, and said something soft. Alistair couldn't hear from this distance.

When Anton lifted one hand to stroke her cheek, Alistair near enough fell over. Anton had never hidden the fact that he loathed physical contact from anyone, let alone with a templar. Her own gloved hand lifted to touch his, and for a moment the two looked regretful. Anton said something urgent, and his face contorted into a frown. She shook her head, taking a sad step away from him.

Anton stood looking lost, his hand falling from her cheek. She looked away from him, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. Alistair could've sworn he heard a choked sob. The two stood, silently, not looking at each other until Anton seemed to reach a decision. From about his neck he lifted an amulet. Alistair had seen him wearing it, and assumed it had been some sort of magical amulet that assisted with his magic. It looked like a big canine, from some sort of predatory animal. Perhaps a bear or a wolf. Anton handed it to the templar, pressing it into her hands. She shook her head again, and tried to give it back to him. Almost forcefully his hands closed over hers, pushing her hands into her chest.

Alistair couldn't watch anymore, and left. This was something forbidden no doubt. Unless it was something sweet and innocent and she had been his sister and joined the templars when he was dragged off to the tower. Alistair frowned. No, that wasn't it. Duncan had said that Anton was an orphan that had just turned up at the tower. Shaking his head he found himself winding up back at their own section of tents. He busied himself with polishing and honing his sword, until he heard footsteps approaching. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted Anton, his face looking almost melancholic. He couldn't let the lad know what he had seen – some things were best left unsaid.

"There you are." He said instead. "Hows the face?"

Anton shrugged non-committally, sitting down beside him on the log and letting out a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair, and Alistair noted that he now wore a pair of dark leather gloves. Templar gloves. Alistair said nothing, his eyes moving back to his sword and the whetstone he ran along it's edge.

"Duncan wants us to head over to join in a meeting with the King and Teyrn Loghain."

Anton snorted non-committally, and Alistair watched him shift his position on the log. Anton kept glancing at his hands. "It's not so bad." the Warden offered. "It means our opinion is valued. Not by Loghain, but by the King anyhoo."

"The King is an idealistic young fool." Anton muttered.

"He's older than you, you know."

"You don't know how old I am."

"Nor do you, from what I understand."

Anton had nothing to say to that. Instead his dark eyes moved onto Alistair, looking him over. For once Anton wasn't looking at him with that scowl, instead he was looking at him a little quizzically. The tip of his tongue moved over his lips, and the mage let out a sigh.

"Do you enjoy being a Grey Warden?" He asked, finally, looking away and back to the fire.

Alistair thought about the question. "Yes." He said, finally. "I was born a bastard, and my mother died when I was young. I was raised by the Arl of Redcliffe, but when he took a wife she took a dislike to me and had me shipped off to the Chantry to begin templar training. It wasn't what I wanted, until Duncan recruited me. For once someone asked me what I wanted, and I wanted out of the Chantry. But it's more than that. There's...comradeship in the Wardens. Because of what we are...what we have to do, there's an unbreakable bond there. I'm accepted for who and what I am here..." His eyes looked at Anton, "And you will be too. Your not a mage, anymore Anton. That's what you do. You're a Grey Warden now, just like Duncan and I."

Anton continued to stare reflectively into the fire. His eyes looked distant, and Alistair assumed there was something heavy preying on his mind. Perhaps even that templar girl. Or maybe the fight with Duncan. He had gone back to honing his sword, when Anton spoke again.

"That witch. The one in the wilds." He said softly, almost in a whisper. "She could see through time."

Alistair shrugged. "Or maybe she was just good at sounding like she did. I've never heard of a mage who could see into the future."

"I have." Anton whispered. "I read that the Tevinter Mages could see the past, and the future. They could scry across the land to see what people doing half the world away. The could even see into the hearts of men, and judge them. It is a real magic, Alistair. The circle just doesn't teach it. I wonder if I could do it?"

Alistair frowned. "I'm sure if there is a way, Anton, you'll figure it out. Come on, lets head over to this meeting before Duncan comes back out and drags us both over by our ears."

Anton let out a long sigh, before nodding and getting to his feet. "Sure, lets head out then."

Disclaimer - I don't know if there can be women templars. I'm saying there can, for the sake of a good story. And the fact that in Ferelden, when it comes to war and fighting, women seem to be just as able to do whatever as men. Thanks to everyone who is reading!