A/N: Alright, this chapter is a bit shorter as it was a bit of a challenge for me. I struggled with whether or not to include the scene where you meet Morrigan. While I included the introduction of minor characters in the first chapter, the purpose of doing so was to establish Lyna's character, not theirs, and once I finished writing the scene with Morrigan, I realized you weren't gaining any new information about Lyna, so I decided to scrap it.

Now, I really like Flemeth. She's very intriguing and mysterious if you follow her development over the entire dragon age franchise, (novels, comics, etc.) but it frustrates me that, in DA2, you get a sense that she has a long history with keeper Marethari's clan and yet the Dalish warden interacts with her in exactly the same way as the others. Part of me wants to jump in to "Oh, Asha'bellanar!" and the other part realizes how much that screws up the second encounter with Flemeth. Still, it seems silly that the Dalish warden wouldn't know her. Also, I have plans for Flemeth…they are in the distant future, but it still requires an in depth introduction now.

Lastly, if you like what you are reading, please leave a review, especially if you want to see more. If you feed the muse, she works much faster. :-)

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

Daveth and Ser Jory were mercifully quiet as they followed behind the so called Witch of the Wilds. Though Alistair supposed he had little place to be irritated by a person's penchant for chatter, Morrigan had already proven to be somewhat testy, and for the moment he preferred to stay on her good side. Lyna's gate had become more and more unsteady as time went by, her gait growing smaller, her eyes blearier and her response time longer. Truly, he was beginning to worry for his own safety every time she nocked another arrow. Though she was more willing to admit when she needed to stop for a rest, she maintained her taciturn state. He'd been able to wrestle a snort of laughter from her here and there throughout their travel, and so he was lead to believe she was in far greater agony that she would ever let on, but he was beginning to worry that her mood was closer to her natural state than he liked. He didn't want to dwell on the possibility of spending the next thirty years with this sad sack. Sure, he could probably make a game of it eventually, if he tried really, really hard…but there was no point in borrowing trouble that he did not yet have, so for the present he settled on attempting to bring some light to her day.

When they reached the rickety half-timbered hut Morrigan and her mother called home, Alistair was a little surprised that it managed to go unnoticed. Sure, it was obscured along the back side by trees and it was nestled up alongside another one of the Wild's forgotten ruins, but from their approach it still seemed to be sitting out in the open for all to see. It wasn't until they drew closer that he began to sense something else at work. His templar senses tingled as he sensed a thick fog of entropic magic surrounding the place—some disorientation magic, possibly a misdirection hex—and it was all he could do not cleans the area before moving any closer. Still, he suspected that Morrigan was quite powerful and it stood to reason that her mother was equally if not more so. He had a lot of faith in his skills as a warrior and a templar, but he strongly doubted he could manage to smite both witches after performing the cleansing. He risked a glance in Lyna's direction to see if she would be of much use if a fight broke out. Her unfocused gaze swung from side to side, no doubt very effected by the magic swirling about the. The three men were likely on their own if violence ensued. Brilliant.

Before them, Alistair was now able to make out the woman who was likely Morrigan's mother. She was elderly, as was to be expected, and looked as if she was likely to succumb to death with the drop of a hat between her sunken eyes and cheeks and the way her willowy arms practically seemed to bend with the wind. Her gaze was cast skyward as if listening to secrets that sailed along the winds and waited for them to bring her eyes the evidence of their truth. Suddenly her gaze was upon them and he felt a wave of unease settle over him, as if his soul were being laid bare before evils gods who now plotted him a new and sinister path that he had no power to change. It brought him up short and he found himself nearly too fearful to move further.

"Mother!" Morrigan called once they were within range. "I bring before you four grey wardens who—."

"I see them girl!" the old witch bit out, and Alistair was a bit surprised when Morrigan didn't have a snippy come back. "Yes, much as I expected…" she trailed off.

Alistair could not help the snort that escaped his throat. She certainly was a loon, he decided, but to his mind that made her even more dangerous than he had already assumed she would be. He swallowed the snort, but couldn't quite remove the skepticism from his voice. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

The old witch answered him without pause and without reaction. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe." She replied before a smile that seemed a touch mad graced her recessed features. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide…either way one's a fool!"

Alistair simply had no response. What was he supposed to say to a woman who had clearly knocked loose a few of her marbles and could flay you alive with her mind? Of course none of these thoughts seemed to concern Daveth.

"She's a witch I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!" Alistair groaned a little. He really needed to hit the man before he landed them all in the stew he was so concerned about. How could the man be so calm in the face of darkspawn, brazenly so, and yet here he was cowering before a woman who thus far had not raised a hand or a thought against them. Not that Alistair was prepared to take his chances.

In a rare moment of intelligence it was Ser Jory who spoke up. "Quiet Daveth! If she really is a witch, do you want to make her mad?" He hissed between his teeth.

"There's a smart lad," the hag responded, though Alistair distinctly doubted Ser Jory had meant for her to hear him. She considered Ser Jory for a moment and agains Alistair got the sense that she was looking at the twists and turns of the knight's doom before she shrugged as if dismissing his existence all together. "Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

Decides what? Alistair practically demanded, but the witch's attention had suddenly settled on Lyna who was propping herself up against a headless statue a couple of yards behind them. A wave of rabid protectiveness flooded his mind as he quickly walked back to her side, snaking a supporting arm around her waist.

"And what of you?" Flemeth asked as she narrowed her eyes in shrewd consideration of the feverish woman, her voice quieter and more thoughtful than it was a second earlier. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I'm not…sure what to believe…" Lyna struggled, her eyes firmly planted on the ground. Alistair almost demanded that the witch remove the disorientation spell that was wreaking havoc on Lyna's already compromised senses, but the old crone wasn't done speaking and his own thoughts were too slow and too confused to interject before she continued.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware…" She quoted, and for a second the half mad glint returned to her haggard eyes. "Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." She smirked a little at her own humor before her gravity returned. And then there was that same sense of having your armor stripped away and your insides read like evil tea leaves or tarot cards. "So much about you is uncertain…and yet I believe. Do I? Why, I believe I do." And there was the crazy again.

Since his previous outburst, Jory had remained silent, but apparently the carzy was beginning to be too much for him as well. Unlike Alistair, however, Ser Jory couldn't sense the magic that thickened the air like soup, and so he lacked the same defenses against the confusion that now loosened his tongue. "So this is a dreaded witch of the wilds…"

Alistair's anxiety ratcheted itself up another notch as he waited for the woman to prove to the ponce that she was indeed to be feared. Mercifully, the old witch seemed entertained rather than irritated. "A Witch of the Wilds? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it." Her voice wistful and took on a sing-song quality. "Oh how she dances under the moon!" she intoned before she cackled with unhinged glee.

"They did not come to hear your wild stories mother…" Morrigan interrupted, rubbing her temple in embarrassment, both for herself and for her mother.

At that, Morrigan's mother seemed to sober. "True, they came for their treaties, yes?" She responded as she turned her back and crouched before a small sack at her feet. Alistair supposed he should have been surprised that she had the treaties at her feet and not locked away somewhere in her house, but with the way she seemed to see their destinies, he supposed it was little accomplishment to have known someone was coming for them. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these. Take them to your grey wardens and tell them that this blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"What do you mean the threat is greater than they realize?" He asked, hoping to tap some of that strange fortune teller's talent she seemed to possess.

"Either the threat is more, or they realize less," She mocked, clearly more interested in the entertainment the four of them seemed to be providing her. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!" She laughed again.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Riiight…forget I asked.

"How…do you know all this?" That was Lyna, her gaze amazingly steady as she attempted to break down and understand the old witch in her muddled mine.

Apparently the witch was done being helpful. "Do I? Perhaps I am just an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments. Oh do not mind me. You have what you came for!"

Alistair sighed in relief at being released and nodded to the old hag. "Thank you for returning the treaties."

The witch turned to exchange looks with her daughter, vaguely both surprised and amused. "Such manners! Always in the last place you look…like stockings!"

And Morrigan had clearly had enough. "Time for you to go then," she interrupted, casting a wearing glare in her mother's direction. Alistair almost suspected Morrigan of being ashamed of her mother, though from what little he knew of her, he doubted she would complain and certainly not to him. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Alistair sighed his silent thankfulness to the maker for having escaped that encounter with all of his extremities attached. Mages didn't make him nervous, but powerful and likely dangerous apostates were another matter. He thought for a moment that maybe he should inform Duncan of the danger when they returned to camp, but knowing him, the man would remind him that chantry concerns were not theirs and dismiss the witches beyond that point.

He then turned and attempted to guide Lyna towards the path, but his mind was half occupied with whether or not to report the women and so he failed to catch her when she fell. He cursed colorfully as he fell to his knees beside her. She rolled to her back and brought a shaky hand to her head as her eyes frantically darted around, watching the world spin. He felt like an oaf as he laid a hand against her clammy cheek and directed her face in his direction. "Are you alright? Can you walk?"

She struggled for a moment, her eyes still darting about, her focus never fully landing on him. "I don't…think so." She confessed.

Alistair nodded and leaned down to wrap her arms around his neck and then scooped her up with ease. He hadn't expected her to be heavy, of course; she was only a little bigger than a child. All the same, he was amazed at how light she was in his arms. The hold was a bit awkward with his armor, but he could carry her no problem. Daveth and Jory said nothing, both having come to the only moderately erroneous conclusion that she had been poisoned by their contact with the darkspawn in the Wilds, and followed Alistair in uncharacteristically grave silence. As the approached the path where Morrigan was waiting, Alistair caught her gaze. Was he imagining it, or had he witnessed a glint of worry there before she realized he was looking and turned towards the path.

Morrigan left them maybe a mile or two outside the gates to Ostagar and no more than thirty minutes later the men entered the ruined fortress, Alistair having shifted to carrying Lyna on his back. Dusk was falling and his anxiety grew worse as he listened to her breath grow more and more shallow. Duncan waited at the fire, just as he had been when they left, but he hurriedly approached the group when he saw that Lyna was practically unconscious behind Alistair.

"So you return from the wilds. Were you successful?" The senior warden asked, though his tone was clipped and hasty. Alistair nodded, casting a meaningful glance back towards the elf. He doubt Duncan needed the reminder, but he was not thinking terribly clearly with a dying woman in his arms. "Good. I've had the circle mages preparing. We can begin the joining immediately."

When they reached a secluded corner of the camp Alistair was loath to put Lyna down, should she fall and perish right there, but she pushed against his grip in a silent request to be released. He supposed she would want to face this moment on her own strength and so he complied, releasing her and leading her to stand next to Daveth.

Duncan now stood before the three recruits, the Joining chalice in hand, reciting words Alistair knew he had repeated one hundred times or more. He appeared cold and distant and Alistair knew he was preparing himself for another death. "At last we come to the joining. The grey wardens were founded during the first blight when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was the first grey wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint. This is the source of our power, and our victory. Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint. We sense it in the dark spawn and use it slay the archdemon. We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first." Duncan stopped then and turned to him. "Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair nodded gravely, but could not bring himself to look the recruits in the eye. Someone would die here, it was simply the odds, but it was no easier to face now, than it had been at his own joining. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan solemnly nodded his thanks and his eyes fell on the elf. Alistair wondered if Duncan felt even the slightest sense of dread as he faced his favorite recruit, knowing that it was her death that was most likely. "Step forward, Lyna." Alistair refused to look up, but heard the distinctly shaky step forward as she moved to accept the chalice. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good." He heard her inhaled breath as she raised the chalice to her lips, heard her swallow as she drank from its depths. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." Alistair refused to look up, but heard her gasp as the blood took hold of her being, heard her body crumple to the floor, and he clenched his eyes and bit his lip waiting for Duncan to announce that she was gone.

"She will live." Now Alistair did look up and Duncan met his eyes, only the slightest hint of relief peeking through. "She is stronger than I could've imagined."

Daveth and Ser Jory were not so lucky, and Alistair mourned them. His temper flared when Duncan took his knife to Ser Jory. He knew the consequences of Ser Jory's actions, but he couldn't make peace with his fate. The man was a self-righteous fool, but he had a young wife and a child who would never know its father…That part bothered Alistair more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He held his tongue though, and waited for the gruesome ritual to end. Part of him knew that the high price of being a grey warden was not the loss of your life; it was the lengthy pain-filled process by which you lost your humanity. He hoped he never became as cold and distant as he saw Duncan act during the joinings, but deep inside him there was fearful acceptance that it was inevitable.

At length, Duncan scooped up the elf and jerked his head at Alistair in a signal to follow. They marched in strained silence back to the Warden camp and deposited the unconscious woman on a bed roll. "Stay with her Alistair, our sister should see a friendly face when she awakes. I must attend a meeting with the King. When she is awake, please send her to join me." And with that the man was gone.