*DISCLAIMER: this is a product of Bioware, and pure fan fiction on my part. Once again NOT mine, just having a bit of fun with it. Hope you enjoy.

A/N: my computer broke down, i moved out and couldn't afford a new one. I wasn't sure whether or not to continue, so i'll do a few more chapters, gauge the reactions to see if people are still interested and go from there. Thank you all for being patient with me.

The Wardens ran through the night, fear driving them to the limits of their endurance. They did not stop until the first rays of the sun rose over the hills to the East, blinding them. Nordja called a halt.

'Rest' he gasped, fighting for a lungful of air. His legs shook beneath him, his injured knee sending him waves of agony. Every fibre in his body screamed for release.

As one, the Wardens collapsed on the spot. They all looked pale, frightened, and exhausted. Carver dragged himself to the side of the road and proceeded to vomit, noisily.

'We can't go on like that' Alistair groaned. 'We just can't'

'We need to' he gasped in reply, fighting for each breath. 'You saw the Horde. If we can't make good time, the army will be overwhelmed. How far until Lothering?'

Carver looked up, tendrils of puke trailing from his lips. 'At this pace, maybe two more days. But we'll never be able to keep it up.'

Jory looked half-dead. 'We should've brought horses. Or a wagon.'

Alistair shook his head. 'Only the nobles brought them, and they would never have given them up. Horses go mad at the smell of Darkspawn. You'd never get them to charge.'

'Better press on then' said Nordja, clambering wearily to his feet.

The sky turned blood red as dawn came and went, the sun inching into the sky, as below, the four Wardens staggered down the Kings Highway, panting and wheezing.

As lunch came and went, with only a few stale crusts between them, Nordja came to realize his folly. I got us all killed he thought miserably. I panicked, I rushed, and now were doomed. No food, no rest, and this unbearable pace. A great start to his command. Still, he thought, grinning, At least no Cailan.

Morrigan found them shortly after midday. A crow flew overhead, there was a flash of light and she stood before them, frowning slightly.

'Fool' she spat in that delightfully archaic accent of hers. 'When Duncan told me how you shot off into the night with no provisions and no plan, I was sorely tempted to call him liar. But here you stand, or sag, rather.'

'Berate us later, when we can muster the energy to care' he wheezed. 'The Archdemon has shown us the full might of the horde; we need to replenish our numbers, as soon as possible. I made a bad decision, and now we're paying for it.'

She took from her pack a haunch of meat, and waved it in front of them. 'Hungry, at all?' she crooned.

At that moment, he could have kissed her. They all stood mesmerised by the prospect of food, idiot, vacant grins adorning all their faces. Her fingers danced with fire, and within seconds, it was cooked. She tossed it to them, and all decorum forgotten, they fell upon it like wolves, tearing off great chunks and stuffing them down their gullets. She turned away in disgust.

When they were finished, Nordja sheepishly wiped his mouth and thanked her profusely.

'At least you made good time' she said, staring towards their destination. 'It would appear that we have company.'

Nordja squinted into the distance, unable to make out anything other than a small cloud of dust, steadily growing larger. Then he was able to make out details, shining glints of armour, banners, and he understood what he was seeing.

An army, bearing down on Ostagar.

As they got nearer, he could make out more and more details. Upon their banners was marked a grey block, upon a reddish triangle.

'Eamon' breathed Alistair. 'Redcliffe has come!' he cried, exuberant.

They stood to one side, allowing the troops to march past. What Nordja had taken for simple shapes turned out to be a tower upon a mound of earth, carried by grim-faced veterans, none looking too pleased to be marching towards their possible doom.

A fearsome destrier galloped along the line, a stern faced man well past his prime seated atop him. As he reined in his charge, he looked momentarily stunned.

'Alistair?' he called out. 'What brings you here? I was about to arrest your party for desertion, surely that cannot be the case.'

Nordja didn't like his tone. It smacked of lowlander so-called superiority, a voice that sounded entitled to lord over others. He stepped up to the man, glaring at the massive warhorse as he spoke.

'Commander Nordja, of the Grey Wardens, sir. Who might you be?'

The man seemed to notice him as if for the first time. 'Arl Eamon Guerrin, of Redcliffe, at your service' he spoke, throwing as much pomp into his words as he could. 'But whatever happened to Duncan, if you don't mind me asking?'

'Took a wound in the battle, lost his arm' he replied, unsmiling. He couldn't place his finger on the reason, but he simply did not like this man.

'Terrible, terrible' he agreed. 'Well, if there is anything I can do for you commander, do not hesitate to let me know.'

'Actually, there is' Nordja replied, smiling now. 'We suffered losses in the battle, and have need of fresh recruits. We find ourselves without transport of any kind, and anything you could spare would be greatly appreciated.'

A frown flittered across his face, but was quickly hidden. 'Certainly, certainly. There are a few wagons in the supply train, help yourself to one. Alistair' he said, nodding curtly and riding away.

Nordja turned to the young ex-templar. 'Who was your friend?' he asked.

'He raised me, for the first ten years or so' he replied, still gazing at the Arl. 'Then his wife took a disliking to me, and I was shipped off to the Chantry.'

Nordja spat. 'C'mon on then, lets milk him for all he's worth' he said, striding towards the rear of the column, eyeing up a nice big supply wagon.

-oOo-

They made good time after that, and the Wardens managed to recuperate in the back, while Alistair and Carver, who'd had experience driving these things took alternate shifts. Jory pulled out a whetstone and sharpened their weapons, and Nordja and Morrigan talked about their lives in the Wilds.

By nightfall they were only a few miles from Lothering, and Nordja called a halt, wanting to arrive in daylight to pick up a bit of news and some new gear. They fed the oxen, and Morrigan ignited the firewood with a gesture, causing Alistair to drop his tinderbox in alarm and shoot her dark glances for the rest of the night. Nordja shot a goat in a nearby field, and dragged the carcass back for the hungry Wardens and the alluring witch.

They didn't speak while they ate, causing Morrigan to once again frown in distaste, while the rest of them were simply too famished to care about table manners. She shot them all barbed comments for the rest of the night, and Alistair, who would always rise to the bait, received more than his fair share.

Jory offered to take the first watch, and Nordja took the second, afraid to sleep.

As Alistair came to relieve him, the young Warden shot him a furtive glance and whispered in his ear 'We should wake the others and leave. Now. Without her' he glanced at Morrigan, sleeping soundly with her back to them. 'I don't think we should trust her. She's an apostate, she could be dangerous.'

Nordja wondered how long it had taken his fellow Warden to pluck up this courage. Smiling dangerously, he replied 'She saved our lives this morning, when I screwed up. And running away won't solve anything, she can track us through the skies. If you want to be shot of her, go slit her throat, while she sleeps.'

Alistair paled. 'Kill her?' he asked. 'I don't, that is, we shouldn't, I mean . . . '

'Put your hatred aside, we don't need it here. She is useful, she stays. She betrays us, which I think to be unlikely, we kill her. She helped us in the Wilds and she helped us on the road. If you can't get on, then ignore her. Goodnight, Alistair' he said, his authoritative tone putting an end to the matter.

He settled down opposite the dying fire, and looked upon her face. He was not surprised to see her eyes were open, and that she had been listening in. Her eyes were very peculiar, like a mountain cats, Golden and slightly slitted. It took him a while to drift off, and never once did she blink.

-oOo-

Waking in a cold sweat from the visions that sleep now brought, he roused the others and after a hurried breakfast, prepared to carry onwards to Lothering.

They arrived around mid-morning, passing a group of what looked like bandits, but after a snarl from Nordja, were left well alone.

Alistair glanced uneasily behind him. 'We really should do something about them. I don't feel right just leaving them to prey on others.'

Nordja grunted in reply. 'We can't solve all the world's problems. Our mission is more important. Someone else will deal with them, no doubt.'

Morrigan nodded in approval. Alistair said no more, but grumbled inaudibly for the next few hours.

The wagon pulled to a halt in the town square, and they disembarked.

Carver nervously approached him, and asked if it were possible to check up on his family.

'Sure' he replied. 'Take the day off, we'll come find you after lunch.' He turned to the others. 'Alistair, I want you to go to the Chantry, see if you can get us aid from that quarter.' Bloody unlikely, he thought. 'If not, check the tavern and find out what you can.'

He handed Morrigan a small bag of gold, and told her to bat her eyelashes until she got the best deal. She grinned appreciatively at this, and he handed her a list of things the Wardens needed.

'Jory, stay with the cart, I'll be back soon.' He turned away and marched across the bridge, intent upon his quarry. He had spied it from the road, having never seen the like before. He walked past the edge of town, smiling faintly as a band of Chasind landed themselves in hot water with the templars. They are good for something after all.

As he approached the cage, he was able to make out what he was seeing. It couldn't be human, it was too big, nearly seven feet tall, skin the colour of ash, covered in rags and forced to stoop. Beneath him was a foul smelling pile of shit, the creature had obviously been there a while. The large, horned head turned in his direction, shining violet eyes looking intently into his. It opened its mouth, and with calm, almost detached voice, spoke.

'You are not one of my captors. I will not amuse you anymore than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace.'

Nordja was slightly startled. 'What are you?'

'A prisoner' came the response. Nordja thought he detected a faint smirk of the caged beast. 'I am in a cage, am I not? I have been placed here by the Chantry.'

Nordja looked utterly bemused. The creature sighed, frustrated.

'I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples.'

'Qunari?' he asked. Not one of the old tribes had ever seen the like, he was sure.

'You mock me' Sten replied, puzzled. 'Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands.'

'Figures' he replied. 'Lowlanders think they're entitled to everything. I am Nordja, of the Wilder clans.'

'Chasind?' Sten inquired.

'No' he replied firmly. 'Clayne tribesman. The Chasind are honourless rats who eat their own dead. We are nothing alike.'

Sten nodded, thoughtful. 'Though it matters little now, I will die in these lands, soon enough. I suggest you leave me to my fate.'

Nordja took in his filthy conditions, the way he had been treated like an animal. Less than that, actually. No true ferelden would ever treat a dog this way. Rage boiled inside him. Hatred of the lowlanders and their so-called civilised ways. And they call me barbarian.

He took in the giant muscled arms and thighs, even though he had wasted away, he still looked strong enough to crush a man's skull. He made up his mind.

'I find myself in need of skilled help'

Sten looked bored. 'No doubt. What help do you seek?'

'As Commander of the Grey, I am sworn to defend this land against the Blight. We recently won a victory at Ostagar, but our numbers are depleted. I would conscript you; get you out of that cage. What say you?' he asked.

'Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens strength and skill. Though I suppose not every legend is true.'

Nordja took the barb without comment. In a way, he sensed he was being tested. 'What say you?' he asked once more.

'Perhaps if you told the Revered Mother that the Grey Wardens have need of my assistance, she would be persuaded to let me go. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here.' Sten replied, disinterested.

'Like I need her permission' he cursed, wrenching open the lock. The rusted hinge gave easily after a few sharp tugs.

'And so it is done' he said, stepping quickly out from the muck. 'I shall follow you into battle, in doing so I shall find my atonement.'

'If you like' said Nordja, eyeing a band of templars bearing down the road upon them. 'Welcome to the Grey Wardens' he said, loud enough for them to overhear.

They faltered, visibly, before one of their number stepped forward. 'I am Ser Bryant, commander of the Lothering templars, and protector of the Chantry. Do you claim this . . . beast, for the Wardens then?' he asked, glaring at Sten.

'I do' he replied, keenly aware that neither of them was armed, and they faced a full squad of armoured knights.

'I would advise you not to linger here, with that creature in tow' he ordered, albeit warily. 'We also know of the apostate you have brought within our midst, and if we didn't have our hands full with all the refugees, Grey Warden or no, you would face serious consequences. As it is, begone, and soon.' The templar turned smartly on his heel and marched off, leaving Nordja furious.

Alistair he thought, fuming.

'May we proceed?' asked Sten, towering behind him. 'I am eager to be elsewhere.'

-oOo-

They found Jory by the wagon, with Morrigan in tow. She pointed to a sack of supplies and handed him back the purse, still nicely fat.

'Alistair betrayed you to the templars' he mouthed quietly. She grinned.

'No, he didn't. That group over there did' she said, pointing to a clan of shifty looking Chasind.

My favourite people he thought with a savage grin.

'They recognised me from the Wilds, and thought to make a few coins. Ser Jory here calmly informed the zealots who we were, and they backed off.'

Nordja nodded his thanks, and sat down. Alistair did soon emerge, not from the Chantry but the tavern, a pretty red head supporting him. She wore the robes of a priestess, but Nordja took note of the pommel sticking out of her boot as she helped push him into the cart.

'Your friend has drunk a little too much, I think' she smiled, as the comatose Warden slumped in his seat, snoring softly. 'He told us all of the battle, and everyone insisted on buying him a drink.'

Morrigan chuckled. 'T'would seem that the brave Warden cannot handle himself as well as he might think. How cute.'

'He'll pay for it in the morning' said Nordja, not envying the hangover. He turned to the sister. 'Thanks for minding him.'

'Oh, but it was my pleasure' she laughed, prettily but slightly slurred. Evidently she had been at the ale too. 'Your friend told me you are looking for new recruits, yes? I had a dream' she stumbled slightly, but managed to right herself. 'The Maker wants me to join you.'

'I'm sure he does' he replied, knowing better than to argue with the intoxicated. 'Can you use that dagger?' He asked.

'But of course!' she whipped it out and hurled it towards a post, a good fifteen feet away. It struck a glancing blow and bounced off, but Nordja was impressed regardless. He couldn't have made that while sober.

As she scurried off to retrieve it, he looked around for Carver. He had still not returned. The priestess returned, and he asked after the Hawke residence. She gave him directions and he hopped down and strode across the bridge, finding the rather dingy shack at the edge of town. He knocked on the door, glancing up at the sky. Evening was drawing on, and while he had told Carver to take the day off, he had hoped the boy would have used his initiative instead of taking the piss. The door opened, upon an unwelcome face.

'Ser Bryant' he said, coolly. 'What brings you here?'

'More apostates, I'm afraid.' Nordja was surprised to see the templar looked genuinely saddened.

'Please Ser Bryant, you know us, you know we're not dangerous, please don't do this' begged a young girl, only a few years younger than him, eyes strained and puffy.

'It's a question of duty, not want' he replied, eyes downcast.

Nordja looked past him, and saw Carver sat next to the girl at a small table, while a man with a thin beard stood behind, holding their shaking mother. A mabari war hound looked on apprehensively, the almost human expression sobering indeed. Nordja bowed his head slightly, his clan revered the dogs.

Ser Bryant turned to him. 'These are good people, but Chantry law is clear. I cannot allow them freedom, when there are so many innocents to consider. They are brave, kind-hearted folk, and both accomplished mages.' He hesitated. 'You could do worse.'

Nordja nodded, solemnly. 'This isn't a release, it's a life sentence, as you brother will tell you. But should you choose it, I would recruit you both.'

The girl looked up at him, wiping away tears and thanking him profusely. The taller man nodded once while their mother flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, leaving him enough space to awkwardly pat her back. Flashes of his mother passed before his eyes, and he shook his head angrily. Now was not the time.

Ser Bryant left without a word, but with a faint smile on his face. Nordja thought him a decent man. For a templar, and a lowlander besides.

-oOo-

The siblings didn't have a lot of possessions, they packed quickly and efficiently, and all were stood by the wagon just after sundown.

Along with Sten, he had recruited the sister, or Lelianna, as she introduced herself, and the Hawkes, who answered to Garret and Bethany, respectively.

With the wagon now sufficiently crowded, they set off, eager to be gone.

-oOo-

A few miles down the road, as they approached the Kings Highway, the Wardens stiffened, and glanced down the road. Without speaking, they sensed them.

Darkspawn. The oxen lowered, and the noise woke Alistair, grumbling about the noise, before he too felt the presence of evil.

Nordja held back, motioning to the two mages. 'Let's see what you're made of.'

Garret strode forwards confidently, his sister trailing in his wake. Sten followed, unarmed and unarmoured, yet without a trace of fear. Two small figures came running out of the darkness, screaming. The mages readied their spells, but paused at the sight of them, and let them pass. Two dwarves stumbled pass, one gasping for breath, and shouting about monsters, the other with a curiously vacant expression. A loud explosion tore his attention back towards the fight, and he saw Garret amongst the 'spawn, using his staff not only as a conduit, but as a battering ram, whirling like a dervish. Bethany gave a good account for herself, freezing some into shards and slowing down the rest, while Sten tore their brittle bodies apart with his bare hands. Lelianna fired into the melee, surprisingly accurate, before grasping a larger dagger and weaving amongst foes, cutting hamstrings and slicing throats. He smiled. Not bad for a day's work.

Thank you once again to anyone still patient to read this, I hope you enjoyed it. Updates will be every few days, most likely. Please review (: