Hello! I wanted to let those who might be checking this that I am in the process of writing more. Unfortunately, I got rather sick this week, just not enough to take off work, so my time that is usually reserved for writing when I get home has been spent unconscious in my chair like a little old lady. My goal now is to slow down and release two chapters a week - I got a bit overexcited and posted one after the other and quickly learned the disadvantage. Thank you to those who are reading! Please do send reviews as time goes on; the feedback offered by my beta-readers has been invaluable, but they aren't the only ones whose opinions I care about! Luck with the rest of the week to all.

Molti baci,

Enid.

"It's a Blight," Charlotte blurted, now that Alistair had spirited her away. "I saw the Archdemon. By the Maker!"

Alistair was apologetic and a little urgent as he moved her out of earshot of the Quartermaster and Circle Mages, who were conferring nearby. "I won't lie; we are facing a Blight, but you must keep that to yourself or be responsible for a panic."

Charlotte looked around her. The Quartermaster was haggling his wares, while the kennel master laughed at a dog bargaining for a treat, his brethren barking enthusiastically behind him. In the distance, she saw a Sister high on a wooden platform, singing the Chant to a group of kneeling worshippers; another Sister had stopped to listen, arms full of bandages and poultices for those who had already been injured in previous skirmishes and scouting expeditions. Wood was chopped, weapons sharpened, battle-plans confirmed. Men even continued to spar on the southwest side of the fortress; she could hear their shared battle-cries as they trained together.

"This is madness, sending them in without telling them the truth. Do you know that, Alistair?" Charlotte turned to him, beautiful eyes reproaching and fearful.

Alistair was well aware, but what could he do? Grey Wardens kept secrets, it was part of their role. Duncan had made it clear from his Joining that he could not extend his forthright manner to the details of Grey Warden tactics. For whatever reason, Duncan had chosen not to press his knowledge any further upon those in command. It seemed he relied on their limited ranks to fend off the oncoming horde – and Alistair wouldn't even be allowed in the battle. He sighed.

"I know," his warm voice was full of sympathy; Charlotte had been granted almost no time to learn anything about her life as a Grey Warden, so he could hardly blame her. "But we have our orders and I wouldn't want to be responsible for aggravating the situation further. I promise once all this is over, I will help you talk to Duncan about anything you need."

"But that's not the point!"

"Isn't it, though? We're Grey Wardens – we've no pasts and only one future: to kill darkspawn. We're the only ones to can end the Blight, although I'm not sure how. The details matter, of course they do, but only to you and me. If most people knew what was involved in joining our order, they would never dream of doing it! Do you understand?" Alistair eyed her intently, furrowing his handsome brow.

Charlotte bit her lip; it just seemed so wrong. It weakened their forces if they didn't know what they were actually fighting! But, if the Grey Wardens alone could end it, did it really matter?

Duncan came down the ramp from the old temple; Charlotte was enough off to the side that he didn't see her or Alistair. His face was drawn in distinct lines, his expression troubled. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and all alone. Was that also her future?

Charlotte realized that she had no power, no ability to shape these events. As helplessly as she had been foisted out of her home and into war, she had been deposited into the life of a Grey Warden. She had no command over anything and Duncan had clearly stated his rules when it came to their order's secrets. So what was she so undecided over? What was it that she wanted?

Charlotte didn't know.

The men had gathered at the basin of the valley; surrounding them were spiked barricades, strategically positioned to ward off waves of Darkspawn if they approached the bridge. The sun had set and rain came. As the patters of water increased and spread over the valley, the men could see their breath in the wet air, and cold folded slowly over them.

Cailan and Duncan stood above the men at the top of stairs leading down from the fortress bridge, watching for the darkspawn army. Chantry priestesses circulated through the men, blessing them with thuribles of burning sage and ignoring the rain. Clouds of smoke rose out of the censers suspended from brass chains that rattled in the wind; as soon as the smoke appeared it evaporated into the mists above them, the men's breath rising to meet it like ghosts dancing in the dark.

"The plan will work, Your Majesty."

"Of course it will," Cailan glared at the men, "The Blight ends here."

Charlotte stood at the top of everything, hesitating in the mouth of the bridge. The soldiers in front of her manned the catapults; archers held their bows, waiting for flaming arrows. Alistair had instructed her to stay back, wanting to leave at the right moment. Mastodon was all business behind him, shoulders braced to run the length of the bridge towards the tower.

"We need to give them time to start fighting," Alistair told her. "Once they've begun, we will head for the tower to light the beacon."

Charlotte stepped forward in the rain, getting closer to the edge of the bridge. At first, she could sense nothing, then an overwhelming impression of darkness stole over her. Instinctively, she turned toward the hill that dipped into the valley. The sight there was unspeakable.

Moving in the tall redwood trees were thousands of torches. They shook and bobbed in the night; a steady ocean of movement descending into the valley. Thousands – there were thousands of them. Charlotte glanced down at the men, also in the thousands, and wondered how many would survive. Her throat closed as she studied the oncoming horde once more; how could have Fergus survived?

"ARCHERS!"

Cailan's roar carried over the wind and rain. The men below and above nocked their bows with arrows and waited. Slowly, the first darkspawn emerged from the trees. Even from this distance, Charlotte could see their decaying faces, feeling the itching hum in her blood that called to them. She could hear the growls and screeches they emitted as they tumbled willingly into battle.

Moments later, the arrows released, flying through the air like a hellish flock of birds. They descended and found their marks; those who survived continued to press on, screaming.

"HOUNDS!"

Charlotte gulped and looked down, clutching the stone wall of the bridge. She saw the hounds of the Ash Warriors painted in Kaddis. One of the warriors had also painted Mastodon as a gift to her; when she collected him from the kennels, the warrior had explained its value in battle, and how it would help Mastodon remember her as friend and not foe in the height of his bloodlust.

The hounds barked their excitement and ran at the darkspawn. She could see an ogre towering over all the others, its enormous maw grinding with impatience. The hounds flooded their ranks, some dying on contact while others brought a few darkspawn down. The warriors below screamed and waved their weapons, honoring those who had fallen.

Cailan turned to the men; in the light of the fires below, Charlotte thought he looked pale. He raised his sword in the air.

"FOR FERELDEN!"

Two waves came together in the valley and blood began to spill. Men released stones from the catapults into the teeming crowds. Mastodon began barking.

"LET'S GO!" Alistair shouted.