"Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

Duncan nodded and looked up from the map he'd been examining, waiting for the arguments to end. "They are, Your Majesty." Cailan smiled, "Good. Every Grey Warden is needed now, your recruits must feel honored." Duncan's smirk spoke volumes. Those recruits were still recovering from the Joining, sleeping off the effects in the medical tent, while Alistair kept watch. The Lady Aeducan had gone off to the main army's camp, last Duncan had seen, discussing the coming battle with the small band of Ash Warriors.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing Cailan, we must attend to reality." Cailan rolled his eyes, "Fine then. Speak your strategy." He leaned forward, pointing to various parts of the map while he spoke, "The Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then..."

"You will alert the tower to light the beacon signaling my men to charge from cover..."

"To flank the darkspawn, I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Then who should light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there, it is not a dangerous task, but it is vital." Cailan gave Duncan a brief glance before speaking, "No. We should send our best. Alistair, I should think. To make sure it's done."

Loghain blew out his breath, "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much! Is that truly wise?" Again the glance to Duncan before Cailan answered, "Enough of your conspiracy theories Loghain! Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they're from." Duncan intervened before things got ugly, "Your Majesty, you should also consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing." Loghain shook his head, recognizing the deflection of topic, but following it nonetheless. "There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds."

"Isn't that what your men are here for Duncan?"

"I...uh, yes. Your Majesty." A bald mage came in from the side of the table, his look one that made Duncan's skin crawl and his gut roil. There wasn't something completely right about this man. "Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary, the Circle of Magi can..."

A Revered Mother hastened forward, her face stern, "We'll not risk any lives to your spells mage. Save them for the darkspawn."

From nowhere, Loghain spoke. "Enough. This plan will suffice, the Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you, Loghain." as the group began to disperse, Cailan motioned for Duncan to stay. Once they were alone, he dropped his voice slightly and leaned in close, "Duncan. Be sure to send one of your recruits with Alistair."

Duncan raised an eyebrow and bowed to the king, "The strongest."

While he waited for Duncan to return from his meeting with the king, Alistair pulled the letter from inside his armor. In the four days since he'd gotten it he'd read it enough that he could just hear her voice as he scanned over the words one more time. He knew exactly where he wanted to read tonight too. Daylen plopped down next to him, stretching his legs out in front of him and groaned. "Hey Alistair. Any idea why Duncan would want to talk to me?" Sighing, Alistair tucked the letter away, swearing he'd get back to it. "You'd have a better chance of asking the Maker instead of me. He's sent Theron to stand with the archers and the dwarves are going down with the king... What could he possibly have in mind for us?" Alistair shrugged, looking up as they heard footsteps grind the fallen leaves into the ancient paving stones. Both men turned to see Duncan approaching. Alistair was on his feet first, "Duncan! So, are we joining the battle or what?"

"No. You and Daylen are going to the Tower of Ishal to be sure that the beacon is lit, it's to give Loghain signal to flank the darkspawn." Alistair sputtered, "What? I won't be in the battle?" Duncan shrugged, "This is by the kings personal request Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge." Alistair snorted, "So he needs two Grey Wardens up there holding the torch, just in case, right?" Daylen rolled his eyes, there it was, classic Alistair, always complaining about something. Sniffing sharply, Daylen bit the inside of his lip before speaking. "I agree with Alistair, we should be in the battle." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. By the Maker he never thought he'd agree with a templar. Ever. "That is not your choice. If King Calian wants Grey Wardens to see that the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn, exciting or no." Alistair's face clearly showed his distaste for the job, but he shook his head, "Fine. Where is this Tower of Ishal, anyway?"

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Serada Aeducan sighed mentally. This was BORING! She'd always hated waiting, most especially before a battle. It made the men nervous and their leaders careless. At least that's the way it worked with dwarves. She had yet to see what it was like for humans, but so far it seemed as though it was the same there. The foot soldiers she was standing with each had adjusted their grip on their swords multiple times and the woman fighter in front of her had tugged at her armor for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Shaking her head she glanced around herself, trying to find something familiar to latch onto, something to give herself a landmark for the battle later. Landmarks were good, she'd discovered. They had been the only thing that had helped her that first week on the surface. The sky seemed so big, so high. She was fine at night, with a fire going, it felt closer. But during the day... with the sun and clouds... she shivered. Something passed through her mind, something she'd never really felt before. No, it wasn't fear. She was a dwarf, the daughter of Endrin Aeducan and the Leader of Orzammar's armies, fear wasn't in her vocabulary. But anxiety was. She looked down at her hands, finally realizing what was making her stomach clench. Her fingers were playing with the clasp if her weapons belt. She'd been fiddling with it for the last five minutes. She balled her hands into fists and forced them to her sides, her axe still strapped to her back beneath her shield. Swallowing, she drew both and took her stance. She wouldn't shame her ancestors by acting anxious. Not around surfacers anyway.

Faren's nose crinkled upwards and he made a face. He couldn't quite find the right words to describe what he was smelling, nor could he really tell what he was smelling. The unwashed humans around him, or their dogs. Even the stench of the forest before the army. Then a gain he couldn't really tell if it was the forest, which the humans called the Wilds, itself or the horde he knew was waiting just out of sight. He'd never fought darkspawn before, but he had been bred to hate them, all dwarves had been. After what the 'spawn had done to the dwarven empire... granted, he wouldn't have had much better options in the old days than he did now, but eh. Who really cared, right? Darkspawn were evil, vile, stench ridden rotting flesh that needed to be eradicated. Rolling his shoulders, he tightened his fingers around the handle of his great axe and inhaled deeply, then cracked his neck. He was ready... So why in the hell did it have to start raining?

That was the third human to miss his target. THREE! Theron Mahariel grit his teeth and fired a double shot, certain of his aim and turned round on his fighting companions. "Lower! You'll never hit your target that way!" He shouted through the downpour, his face contorting into a grimace. They would never win this fight if these damnable shemlen kept this up. They only had so many arrows, they couldn't throw them away like that! Each and every one had to count dearly and help those on the field below. Taking a brief moment to survey it, he saw a small gap where two smaller figures were fighting back to back, weapons swinging wide as they cut through darkspawn flesh and armor. Those had to be the dwarves. Several yards to their right were the king and Duncan, swords flying. His mind flashed briefly with the memory of those two walking onto the battlefield, as though they owned it. And so they did! The way they fought it was as though they had trained together. Just as he and Tamlen had... he shook his head, refusing to think about the differences he found between a shem battle and one led by a proper Dalish keeper. For starters these shem's seemed to fear their mages, and while he had to admit that there were those amongst the Dalish who were afraid of the power that theirs Keeper's wielded, they respected them. Always. But here, amongst the shems magic and all it touched was reviled, thought to be evil and he couldn't quite understand why. Not that he'd had the best reception to the archers ranks to begin with, nor that he had the best opinion of them either. They thought him and all Grey Wardens to be untrustworthy. He'd tried to ignore them, gritting his teeth and checking his arsenal. Then the rain had started and the complaining had begun. No. they weren't complaining, they were whining like young children. So what if the weather wasn't ideal for a battle? What did it matter to them? They were up above the muck and grime, the sweat and blood. That was why he choose archery, it was cleaner... almost easier.

And only almost because if he'd chosen swords he'd not be standing here when the stupid mages around him failed to block an incoming fireball that knocked them to their feet. This was going to be a long night.

Faren hissed and ducked between the Hurlocks legs, twisting as he rolled and coming up fast, knocking the creature forwards onto Serada's waiting axe. She gave his a sharp nod and kicked the thing from her weapon, then turned to fight another 'spawn that came running on them. Faren grinned and raced to her side. He preferred fighting with the princess over the humans, it felt almost right in some way. Or maybe it was because it was easier, easier to read her moves, to modify his own fighting stance to compliment hers without the thought of the possibility of hitting her legs. Four genlocks later he growled in pain. His arms were growing tired and this was never going to end... wasn't there supposed to be some sort of flanking move by some big shot? Scrambling up a large boulder at the side of the field, he whacked his great axe into the gut of a hurlock that followed and turned to see another falling backwards with an arrow through his skull. Damn archer elf, that one was supposed to count as his!

Serada rolled to the side as the hurlock that she had been chasing fell back, arrow through his eye, and paused for just a second. Just a few breaths, she told herself, just a second to let her arms rest. Her left arm was numb from the amount of hits she'd taken. Somehow she fell to the side, her shield that she'd been leaning on having been kicked away by a hurlock in impossibly large armor. Her eyes widened and she pushed herself back against the boulder, her angle nowhere near adequate to save her life. The hurlock raised his arms, his sword pointed downward and he gave a gruesome chuckle, the sound grating on Serada's ears. So this was how it ended for her? Was this how she was going to die? On the surface? Alone with no family? Disgraced?! She closed her eyes and thought of home, Orzammar, the palace and Gorim... sweet Gorim. By the Ancestors... why didn't this thing just end it already? Why wasn't she dead yet! Opening her eyes, she saw the thing standing over her, weapon still in the air, but there was something else. The point of another blade was poking through the hurlocks chest. After another breathless heartbeat, the creature fell forward and she barely had time to scooch out of the way as it fell to her side. In the things place now stood a fire haired woman, if you could call the wall of armor and shield that was now above her a woman. It did however nod to her and kick her own shield back to her. Serada clutched it up gratefully, returning the nod in thanks and getting to her feet. Stupid rookie mistake, falling asleep in a battle. Sheer exhaustion could have been the only thing that caused it. Wasn't there supposed to be a flanking maneuver? Wasn't there?

Where was Faren?

"The time's already passed to light the beacon... Quick Daylen, the fireplace." Alistair's voice echoed through the upper chamber of the tower, the floor still slick with the blood from the ogre. Daylen grit his teeth and blasted a fireball at the beacon, his rage making it bigger than his usual control, but he didn't care. How in the Void did a creature that size get up here without leaving a tell? How could they not have seen a trail of broken stones?! Shaking his head, he walked to Alistair's side and spun his staff, blowing his breath out through his nose. "Done."

"Sound the retreat..."

"But the king! Shouldn't we..."

"DO as I command,"

"... Pull out, all of you! Let's move!"

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Duncan inhaled sharply and pulled the small throwing knife from his thigh, grimacing as he threw it of to the side. He didn't have time to apply any pressure and by the looks of the field his gut knew they wouldn't survive this battle. The king's resolve was wearing thin and his exhaustion showed on his face, the greatsword he used raising all the slower with each enemy. Should King Cailan die tonight, where would that put... Duncan shook his head and took a swing at an oncoming genlock. Alistair would know what to do, he would be able to lead the Grey Wardens. Duncan had faith in his protege, he would know what to do. He could hear the dwarves shouting something to each other, their rough language almost melodic compared to the harsh scraping and clangs of metal on metal. Their voices were getting louder, they had to be coming closer. He shivered beneath his armor, a hot flash of air breaking through his sweat and chilling him to the bone. He turned slowly, looking up at the grisly face of an ogre. He felt his feet leave the ground and then the hard crash as he hit the ground before the dwarves' feet. The trio looked up in horror, unable to move as the beast lunged forward, grabbed up the king in a gnarled hand and squeezed. Faren's jaw dropped, the sheer power needed to crush a body through the thick metal and padding a warrior wore. Serada's breath caught in her throat, the sheer anger that made Duncan charge at the creature was a thing of beauty. Duncan should have been born a dwarf, because any berserker would have been proud of that charge. And the roar that came with it. No wonder the thing fell on its back as fast as it did...

Duncan raised his head and looked at them as they drew near, Serada dropping to her knees to see what could be done to save him. He shook his head, "No. It's too late... Run, both of you. If nothing else... let it be you two... Rally... allies...Stop the Horde. Above all else..." His eyes rolled and he was staring at the blazing tower, "Protect the king." Faren growled, "What? That's it? He wants us to leave?" Serada let Duncan's head fall to the ground as she stood, looking around desperately. Protect the king, That's what Duncan said. So what now, was this some sort of human thing to take a dead body back to its people? The king was dead, as strong as they were they couldn't drag that body out of here! "C'mon, you heard him! We need to run!" Faren snarled and glanced around them as well. It didn't take long for him to turn back to her and hiss, "Dwarves don't run! We make tactical retreats!"

Theron looked up, as everyone did, for that brief second when the beacon was lit. The hope of relief that came with it was almost overwhelming, but Theron's heart clenched when he saw the torches of Teyrn Loghain's army moving away form the battlefield. Traitor! He wanted to scream, but instead he inhaled and turned back. He had to get the others out of this, had to give those dwarves a chance to escape. He could see their twin shadows moving towards the bridge, losing sight of them as the passed beneath him. The archers around him began to whisper, "Where is he?" Where's the army!" He shook his head and kept on firing. He wouldn't leave this spot, he'd been told to fight the horde and he would do just that. Shot after shot flew from his bow, each taking down monster after monster. The creatures were drawing closer to the bridge, those that could climbing the walls near him and scooting across the ledge to get near him. His hand flew back and he felt around for another arrow but none could be found. Swallowing, he removed his lucky dagger from his belt and tightened his grip. So this was it? This was how he would die? Fighting a shemlen war, against enemies of the shemlen and in a place built by the shemlen! How did this happen?! Oh right! He listened to shemlen and followed their directions to a cave where the shemlen had left an elven artifact that could only have be corrupted by the shemlen! Something hot and wet wrapped around his calf, brushing something sharp into the leather. Looking down he saw a dog...what were they called again? Mabari? The animal pulled on his leg, the darkspawn crawling closer to him over the bridge. Shaking his leg loose, he followed the beast into the woods.

Once inside the first line of trees, Theron hissed at the mabari, "Where are we going?" The dog turned to him, then kept on running at a full clip. Rolling his eyes, what had he really expected speaking to a tamed animal? Forcing himself into a light jog he could barely keep up with the mabari as it followed the twists and turns of the disappearing trail. They had just turned a corner on the trail when Theron was brought up short, a thick slice of stained silver, darkspawn blood dripping from the blade cut across his path. Following the line of moonlight on the metal to the man... no, the young – very young man holding it in the air. Theron could see he'd been running hard, his chest heaving with each breath and his arm was shaking from holding the greatsword steady at Theron's throat. "Who are you?" the young man hissed, his figure more shadow than corporeal in the filtered light, and Theron had to stop himself from laughing. "Friend, da'len. Grey Warden."

Carver Hawke's eyebrow raised and he stepped closer, "What?" Theron rolled his eyes and steadied his breath. Shemlen could be so stupid sometimes. He pointed back towards the overrun field, "Your hound just saved my life and now your going to take it? I am a Grey Warden, a friend of your king." The weapon lowered a smidgen, but Carver was still apprehensive. Theron could hear the stomp of anothers footsteps behind the young man and then another shem appeared. Taller, with broader shoulders and thick black hair Garrett Hawke had a presence about him that seemed to set his brother's teeth on edge. Theron could feel the air around them grow thick with tension as Carver's grip on his blade tightened. "Carver! What are you doing?" Carver huffed, "He says he's a Warden, but his accent is Dalish. You know there's a clan near here, what if he's one of theirs!" Garrett rolled his eyes and put his hand over his brother's, pushing the weapon down from Theron's throat. "We Don't have time for this. That horde is coming through these woods and we need to get out of here. WE don't have the energy or the men to take them on." Garrett looked to Theron and lifted his chin slightly, motioning beyond them, "Down that path is our village, Lothering. We need to get there and warn the people that the king has fallen. If you're a Warden you'll join us. If not, then take off. I don't want any trouble and I doubt you do either, especially on a night like tonight." As he finished speaking a great roar crashed over the landscape, the leaves in the trees above their heads quaking with the sound.

"That's a dragon's roar." Carver hissed, and the four of them took of pellmell through the trees towards Lothering.

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Daylen Amell groaned and squinted in the sunlight. Where... I am in a bed. He rolled onto his side and looked around. He was on a low slung cot, in a hut, in a very smelly place. That stench... it made his stomach want to loose its contents. What was he doing here? Last thing he remembered was being in that stuffy tower, the beacon filling the room with smoke and ash. He and Alistair had been choking on the stuff, when the door had been flung open... He sat up straight, but instantly regretted it. His head spun and he put his hands to his temples, closing his eyes. "Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased." His eyes opened again and he looked up at the voice. He knew that voice...

"You're the girl from the Wilds. What am I doing here?" She gave a half smirk, but he couldn't tell if it was voluntary or not. "My name is Morrigan, if you'd remember. You were injured, Mother rescued you. Do you not remember?" He snorted, "Rescued me? How?"

"Mother managed to save you and your friend though it was a close call. What is important is that you both live. The man that was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend... he is not taking it well."

Friend... who the... OH! "Alistair?" She nodded, "He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke." Daylen found his eyes roving over the girls frame. She was lean and athletic, life in the Wilds clearly honed those who chose to live within them. Strategically exposed skin caught his eye and he couldn't help the grin. Her choice of robes would certainly not fly with the Circle... although he was sure that many of the male mages within its walls wouldn't have complained. He among them. He stood, keenly aware of his own state of undress and smirked inwardly when her eyes registered appreciation. "Then I'd better get going..." He let the sentence end, his intent clearly inferred with his tone. Morrigan rolled her eyes and stepped away. "Keeping my mother waiting is not a good idea." She moved away from him, keeping her back straight. But Daylen could see the slight sway of her hips and the subtle toss of her hair as she knelt before the small fire in the hut. Oh yeah... that went well. Daylen smirked to himself and pulled on the undertunic and leather pants he wore beneath his robes. This was going to be fun!