Just as the toe of Solona's boot landed on a large patch of dirt at the bottom of the stairway, she heard a familiar voice call her name. It was not a welcome sound. Since arriving at Ostagar, she had made it a point to avoid the mages stationed there. She really didn't want to be forced to explain why the First Enchanter's prized student was now a Grey Warden. As far as she was concerned, she didn't owe any explanation to anyone, especially not her former teachers. And most especially not that one.

She turned her head to behold the form of an older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun at her crown. She wore red and gold robes, designating her as a senior enchanter and instructor in the Circle. She approached the Warden with her usual purposeful gait. A low groan escaped the young mage's lips at the sight

"Solona, my dear," the older woman greeted with a cordial grin. "I didn't expect to see you here. I take it your Harrowing went well, then?"

"Good afternoon, Senior Enchanter," the young mage replied wearing her usual detached expression. "And yes, I passed my Harrowing nearly two weeks ago."

"I'm surprised Irving allowed you to leave the tower so soon," she confessed with a sense of mild disbelief.

"He didn't exactly allow it, Senior Enchanter," Solona explained. "I have been conscripted by the Wardens."

The older woman scowled as she folded her arms over her chest. "Is that so?" she questioned. "I must confess, I would have thought the Grey Wardens would choose someone older and more experienced if they were to use the Right of Conscription."

Please don't bring him up. Please don't.

"When it comes to mages, they typically reserve the Right for the exceptionally gifted." She flashed a feigned apologetic smile. "I'm not saying you aren't exceptional, dear, but considering you just passed your Harrowing. With the Blight looming over us, and given the amount of injuries the Wardens sustain during such a time, I naturally assumed they would rather conscript a healer."

For the Maker's sake, you old crone. Just spit it out. I know exactly what you're implying.

Solona reached for the amulet at her chest and began thumbing the sword and flames etched on its surface. Anders was always Wynne's favorite student. Through careful study and a passion for not only healing magic but medicine in general, his skills eventually surpassed that of his teacher's. Like most of the instructors at Kinloch, Wynne was prone to take credit for Anders' accomplishments, citing her own carefully crafted lessons as the reason for his exceptional talent.

Most saw the enchanter as a benevolent, grandmotherly type, a façade Wynne liked to maintain. Solona, however, knew better. The older woman exhibited a sense of false humility, pretending to pish-tosh away any accolades she received from her fellows regarding her students' achievements. In truth, she reveled in it.

To make matters worse, Wynne had a tendency to take male apprentices under her tutelage into her bed. Anders was probably the only exception to that rule, but it was not for lack of trying on the enchanter's part. Though the younger healer would bed nearly every female mage in the tower between the ages of seventeen and thirty, he simply never cared for the company of older women. Since Solona had become Anders' favored lover over the preceding six years, it created a definitive rift between the two women.

Solona exhaled a perturbed sigh. "Anders is still in the dungeons, Senior Enchanter," she reminded the elder mage. "I doubt the Grey Warden commander even knew he was there."

Wynne's brow creased. "Yes, I suppose you're right. That would certainly be the only reason you would have been chosen over him." She paused to gauge the younger woman's expression, which had evolved into an icy glare. A self-satisfied smirk played at the corners of the older mage's lips. "As I said, you are very talented, dear, but you are far too young and inexperienced in the use of practical magic."

"I've managed so far," Solona informed her.

"Yes, I'm sure you have," Wynne retorted. She shifted her weight onto her left hip. "So you are a Grey Warden now? Pledged to fight alongside the king. Quite the feat for someone just out of her apprenticeship. I only hope you remember to maintain the ideals and propriety of a mage of the Circle."

Yes. Backstabbing. Dishonesty. Disloyalty. Promiscuity. We are a pious and enviable lot.

The young woman presented the elder mage with a tilt of her head and a painted on smile. "Of course, Senior Enchanter. I could never forget the lessons a lifetime in the Circle has taught me."

"We could probably do without the formalities, however," the other woman offered. "Now that you are no longer my student, you may call me Wynne."

"That's very kind of you, Wynne," Solona said with another bow of her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The enchanter's eyes fell upon the amulet the younger woman was still clutching in her hand. She took a step forward and ran her fingers down the chain. "May I?" she requested.

"Of course," Solona replied as she let go of the trinket and dropped it into the other woman's palm.

Wynne's eyes narrowed as she studied the tiny shield bearing the templar insignia. Her thumb grazed across the small sword and flames. The younger woman thought she denoted a glimmer of sadness reflecting in the elder enchanter's blue-grey eyes. The older mage drew a long, uneven breath.

"I had one of these myself, once," she confessed. "A very long time ago." She released the amulet and took a step back. The expression she wore was no longer condescending, but one of general concern. "I urge you to use caution, Solona." She pointed to the tiny shield and her tired eyes began to glisten. "That carries a heartbreak with it unlike any you have ever known. Some affairs are never meant to be."

Solona's brow creased. She was aware of the rumors about Wynne carrying on with a templar in her youth. It was even said a child was produced from the liaison. There was also speculation about who the Chantry knight had been, but Solona scarcely believed that story. Knight Commander Greagoir hated everything about mages. There was no chance he was the one involved with the enchanter.

"Anyway," Wynne said with a small sniffle as she straightened her posture. "I am sure you have your Grey Warden duties you must attend to, and I have my own tasks to mind." She offered a terse nod. "If you will excuse me."

With that, the enchanter spun on her heel and strode away. Solona tucked Cullen's amulet into her shirt and blinked back the tears trying to form in her eyes. As stalwart as the young mage felt while descending the great stone staircase, she was left vulnerable and forlorn after speaking with Wynne.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I've certainly made a mess of everything else in my life.

She turned to resume her progression to the central fire where Duncan was waiting, only to see Alistair coming from the area of the royal encampment. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her stomach was filled with the sensation of a hundred butterflies flittering around inside. A small smile curled her lips. Then she heard his voice in her head. Four words. Four simple words were all it took to shut out every doubt and every fear.

Hey, you've got this.


Alistair wasn't sure if he was more angry, tired, or distraught when he exited Cailan's tent. The news of Jenna's death hit him harder than he let on. In his entire life, up until Duncan conscripted him anyway, there were only two people he considered friends. Jenna Cousland happened to be one of them. Although he hadn't seen her in years, her memory remained one of the bright spots in his dismal existence. Now she was gone.

If that weren't bad enough, speaking to Cailan forced him to consider a possible future he wanted absolutely no part of. Alistair was content with a life of service to the Grey Wardens. He had finally found a place where he felt he belonged. He was raised a stable boy, little better than a slave. How could anyone expect him to go from that to being a king?

Alistair had no knowledge of governance or politics outside the fact that every nobleman he ever met was a complete and utter prat. For the Maker's sake, he didn't even learn to read until he was eleven. Not only that, but he didn't have the ability to lead a small squad, let alone an entire country. The two times Duncan put him in charge of anything, he mucked it up completely and even got a man killed in the process. Surely there was a way out of the mess he would find himself in if Cailan's fears became reality.

He supposed he could run. Slip away while no one was looking. No, he couldn't. Even if he could get past all the darkspawn surrounding the old fortress, Alistair would never forsake Duncan's faith in him in that manner. Maybe he could just keep his existence a secret, at least that one little detail about it. Only a handful of people knew about his lineage-Duncan, Cailan, Eamon, the arl's younger brother Teagan. He wasn't even sure Loghain was aware Maric had a second son.

Of course he knows, jackass. Maric was his best friend.

But if those who knew couldn't find him...He could disappear into the Grey Warden ranks and be just another soldier. Duncan would never tell anyone. Would he? The nobles could just name someone else as king. That was probably a better option, anyhow.

We must ensure Calenhad's line doesn't end with me. With us.

Cailan's words echoed in Alistair's head. How could he turn his back on a responsibility handed down to him from over four hundred years ago? Then again, how could someone like him be expected to rule Ferelden?

Alistair's head was throbbing from all the thoughts swirling around in his mind. He felt completely drained from the tremendous weight that was sinking onto his shoulders. The reality of his potential future was too much for the young Warden to bear. His chest felt heavier with every labored breath as he drown in despair and involuntary obligation.

As he walked toward the central fire, he turned his glistening eyes toward the steps leading to the Grey Warden encampment, and the hope he considered lost shined from the darkness once more. He found his faith, his strength in the lapis blue eyes staring back into his. Though his heart still pounded, the sensation was no longer one of pain, but joy upon seeing the one person who could brighten his whole world with a smile and turn his bones to jelly with a glare. The embodiment of beauty and conviction. The one who had captivated his senses and captured his soul.

Damn! I guess I really am in love with her after all.


Solona bore an expression of utter disgust as she peered down at her wet boots. The muck from the marsh water surrounding her feet was overly warm and slimy. As much as she had despised the notion of breaking in another pair, she was grateful a dry new set would be waiting for her when they returned to the main fortress. If they ever returned.

It had been at least two hours since Duncan sent her, Alistair, and Sithig out into the Wilds to retrieve some documents from a chest in an abandoned tower. They fought their way through several bands of darkspawn until they came to several tall, crumbling columns arranged in a circle with a set of stone steps leading to nowhere near the back. It hardly resembled a tower at all, but Alistair swore it was the right place.

When they stepped through a large gap between the columns that appeared to be the remnants of an arched doorway, they found the chest the commander spoke of. There was only one problem. The chest looked like a band of ogres used it as a ball in a spirited game of wallop. It was utterly dilapidated and completely empty.

"Dammit!" Alistair bellowed as he landed the sole of his boot to the side of the metal box, toppling it over. "Doesn't anything ever go right when that man puts me in charge?"

"Alistair," Sithig interjected in a low, even voice. "Calm yourself, my friend. The night-gangers are still lurking."

The younger warrior licked his lips, ran his hand over his sandy blonde hair, and then proceeded to stomp on the chest three more times. It was obvious there was something a lot more than missing documents vexing him. Solona surmised it had something to do with King Cailan, but she couldn't hazard a guess to what it might be. When he turned to face her, his hazel eyes were dark and glistening.

"Do you feel better now?" the mage asked in her typical haughty tone.

He limped forward a step. "Not really," he confessed. "My whole leg hurts like a bitch."

"'Tis what happens when a fool chooses to batter a large metal object with his foot," echoed a voice from above.

A moment later, an ebony haired woman appeared at the top of the stairway. As she made her descent, the strips of her skirt, fashioned from varying lengths of black leather belts, swished around a pair of high boots covered with silver buckles. On top, she wore what appeared to be nothing more than a silk, crimson scarf draped low across her abdomen exposing a great deal of her ample breasts. Those were barely covered by triangular pieces of cloth held together with a series of long strings. A black leather sleeve on her left arm extending from her wrist to her shoulder ended in a pauldron of long raven feathers. Her right bicep sported a wide leather band, and a fingerless glove graced her hand up to the lower half of her forearm.

Fringes of pin straight dark hair curtained her face, while the remainder of her locks were kept bound in a bun at the back of her head with several wild strands escaping its coil. Her eyes were heavily shadowed with rust colored powder, and thick kohl lined her eyes. The odd woman's full lips curled into a cat like smirk as she looked down on the strangers in her midst.

"Well, well," she said, a hint of arrogant amusement in her voice. "What have we here?"

Solona folded her arms over her chest and rested her weight on her right hip as she donned a bored expression. "Quite an entrance. Very dramatic. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Use caution, my friend," Sithig warned. "Witches are trouble, and we have that enough in dealing with the night-gangers."

Solona had read stories of the witches of the Wilds. Legends of dark women stealing children for their suppers abounded among the Chasind peoples. It was hogwash, of course, at least as far as the young mage was concerned.

"She's probably just a Chasind," Alistair said with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about."

The peculiar woman took a step toward him. "Chasind, hmm? And are you not afraid a horde of barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

When she said the word, "swoop," she raised her arms high in the air and lurched the top half of her body toward Alistair, like a bird preparing to attack its prey. He flinched at the gesture then wiped his hand across his face before arching a sardonic brow.

"Yes," he said. "Swooping is bad, but would you mind not spitting on me next time? It kind of takes away from the whole crazy, weird talking witch thing you're going for. Quite disgusting, to be honest."

The woman harrumphed and turned her attention to Solona. "Your pets are boring, but you…I have watched your progress for some time. 'Tis not often I see a woman leading men about. A most welcome sight."

"What can I say?" Solona retorted in an acerbic tone. "I live to impress."

The witch donned a smirk. "I like you. Shall I guess your purpose, then? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Let me guess," Alistair interjected. "You stole the contents and now you plan to hold them for ransom. I hate to break it to you, but we're all tapped out."

"Tell me," she queried. "How does one steal from dead men? This place is no better than a desiccated corpse, long since picked clean."

Alistair heaved a sigh and shook his head. "She's just toying with us. We should go."

Sithig clapped a large hand over the smaller warrior's shoulder before Alistair could take a step then addressed the witch. "I cannot say what else was in that chest. But there were papers important to the Grey Wardens. You would do us a great service in returning them."

She glowered at the large man. "I will not. For 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish. I am not swayed."

Solona's eyes narrowed as she weighed the other woman's words. "But you know who did."

The witch's smile returned. "My, but you are the intelligent one. 'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Then take us to her," Alistair demanded. His tone was flat and even, but the threat in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I do not take orders from you," she scoffed then spun on her heel to leave.

"Please," Sithig beseeched. "We need those papers before we can return to the fortress. Your aid would be most welcome."

The witch peered up at him over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation for a long moment before she presented the Avvar with a smile.

"Now there is a sensible request," she said before addressing Alistair. "You would do well to learn from your friend." She took a few strides forward. "Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

As they fell in step behind her, the witch addressed them once more, her attentions never straying from the road ahead. "I am Morrigan, if you were inclined to ask, and I advise you to employ prudence when dealing with my mother. She is not nearly as patient as I."


Morrigan strode with purpose as she led the Wardens across a tree-lined path. It seemed odd to Alistair that the timber was so thick there, considering how sparse it had been everywhere else in the marsh surrounding Ostagar. To make matters worse the coppice grew denser the further down the narrow road they ventured. The wood itself was unsettling enough, but the grey mist that began curling around their legs when they entered the copse gave the entire place a sense of foreboding that they were all advancing to their doom.

A chill winter wind blew through the leaves of the surrounding forest, causing them to quake and quiver. It was odd to see green within the trees at that time of year. As troublesome as that fact was, even more disquieting was the sound of eerie clacking of heavy, hollow sticks being tapped together echoing on the breeze. The young warrior chanced a glimpse into the tops of the tall trees and gasped when he spied skulls of humans and varied animals dangling from long, frayed ropes among the branches. A conglomerate of short, broken twigs and feathers of differing birds decorated the bones, held in place by clumps of mud.

Alistair turned his eyes to the path ahead in an attempt to ignore the macabre embellishments and the rising sense of terror creeping up his chest. At the end of the lane, through the ever thickening fog, he could make out the outline of a small hut, battered by time and the harsh southern Ferelden climate. As they drew nearer, he began to see the heavy brown moss and old branches used for the roof, and the abundant vines of deep green ivy overtaking the outer walls.

The sensation of gooseflesh prickling the Warden's arms caused the hair to stand on end as the crackling of magic, ancient and unfamiliar, encompassed the very air around them. Alistair shivered against a chill born more of revulsion and fear than the cold.

The clattering grew louder the further they ventured toward the hovel, citing both larger and a greater number of bones hanging from the trees in ever deepening shadows. Against his better judgement, the warrior chanced a glimpse above and his stomach tied in knots at the sight of entire skeletons swinging throughout the branches.

"What the fuck?" Solona muttered, expressing the exact words Alistair was thinking.

Morrigan ignored the young mage as she continued forward. Ahead of her, in the clearing, the fog seemed to settle more to the ground. Standing before a fire pit was the dark figure of an old woman who appeared to be warming her hands. Her hair was the color of cotton with unruly strands projecting out in every direction. The robes she wore were fashioned from dark leather and furs, which were covered by an elegant, skillfully-stitched heavy cloak embellished with brown and rust colored fur at its edges.

When they finally stepped into the glade, the ancient woman looked up from the flame. She regarded the intruders with beady, yellow eyes, which sank deep into her skull. The bridge of her narrow nose and hollow cheeks were mottled with patches of dark red, as if she spent years in the sun resulting in a burn that would never fade. Her thin lips were set in a pursing frown with deep lines etched all around them.

The atmosphere surrounding her pulsed with magic, as if the very air were alive with it. A sharp pain shot through Alistair's head, forcing him to close his eyes against the anguish it caused him. Once again, the image of dark buildings set on a faraway, sundered mountain accosted his brain. His entire body vibrated with the ebb and flow of the tide of power washing over him. The world around him began to spin and tumble out of control as wisps of shadow began to circulate and envelop him.

No! he screamed into the darkness, but no sound escaped his lips.

The warrior pried his eyes open against the unseen force holding them shut, only to be greeted by the old woman's raptor-like gaze. Her lids narrowed as she scrutinized the young man, burning a hole into the very core of his being. After a moment, the hint of a wicked smirk curved the rugose corners of her mouth.

"Mother," Morrigan addressed the crone. "I bring before you three Grey Wardens who…"

"I can see who they are girl," the old sorceress interrupted, her voice creaking like a rusty hinge. "I have eyes."

As she shambled around the pit, knocking over a neatly arranged pile of small, moldy bones, Sithig took a step forward, placing his large frame between his fellow Wardens and the old woman. He held his large battleaxe at the ready and glared at her.

"Stand away, witch," he commanded in a deep, threatening tone.

Alistair was in shock. It was the first time the Avvar had ever raised his voice to anyone in his presence. He didn't even know the large man was capable of such a thing. He was always so polite, so soft spoken.

Solona reached out and grabbed the Avvar's oversized forearm and gave it a tug. "Let me handle this," she told him, her timbre both cool and disapproving.

The behemoth scowled down at the young mage. "Solona, this witch, she is dangerous. The most dangerous of all sorceresses. We call her the Timeless Woman, and in her wake she brings only death and destruction."

"I said, stand down, Sithig," she demanded. "I will not repeat myself."

The Avvar huffed with frustration before taking a reluctant step back. Solona folded her arms over her chest and raised her left brow.

"You are Flemeth, then?" she surmised. "The legendary Witch of the Wilds?"

"My," the old witch said. "But you are the intelligent one." She studied Solona's face for a long moment before continuing. "You hide behind a mask, a carefully woven and crafted disguise designed to conceal your fear and doubt, your longings and pain. There is a man. A man languishing in the darkness, behind cold bars of iron. Your thoughts betray you, smart lass."

Solona's face twitched upon hearing the ancient woman's words. From the angle where Alistair stood, he discerned the same look in her eyes as the one she possessed by the fire the first night they met. Was the witch talking about Anders?

The young mage's chest rose and fell with a heavy breath before regaining her usual countenance. "I did not come here to discuss my personal life. Morrigan told us that you possess some documents. I would have you return them."

Ignoring Solona's request, the witch took a step to the side to stand before Sithig. "And you, large lad. An exiled chief attempting to regain his honor. Such a shame."

The Avvar glared down at her. "Be gone, witch," he hissed. "I will not be taken in by your tricks."

She chuckled, a low, vile, rumbling sound which turned Alistair's stomach. "No tricks here, giant. Simply truth. The truth is far more entertaining."

"And what would a witch know about the truth?" Alistair questioned and immediately regretted the words as soon as they left him.

He intended to keep his mouth shut. To keep in the background, praying not to be noticed any further by the ancient woman, but his impulsive nature wouldn't let it be. She turned her attention to him and locked her golden eyes to his. He gulped, nearly choking on the hard lump that had formed in his throat then held his breath awaiting her analyzation. Solona would know his secret. The entire ugly mess of his heritage and his life.

"Men's hearts hold truths they do not wish revealed. Secrets in the dark they keep locked away in the hopes no one will see. See them for who they truly are. But remember this, lad. Like a flame, truth can light your way in the darkness as well as set your world afire."

She then turned and began hobbling back toward the pit, waving her hand in dismissal. "But…what do I know. I am simply an old woman trying to stay out of the darkspawn's path."

The crone stopped, stooped over one of the piles of old bones, and began to sort through it. After a few moments, she stood, bearing three scrolls of heavy, yellowed vellum in her hands. She tottered back to Solona then presented the documents to her. As the younger woman went to take the scrolls, the witch tightened her grip on them.

"I have protected these for many years, awaiting this moment," she said. "Awaiting you, Grey Warden."

"Awaiting me?" the young mage retorted with a scowl.

"Yes, and you are rather late, you know," the old hag informed her with a knowing smile. "Interfering with one's supper shows a complete lack of manners and says a lot about your upbringing. But what can one expect from a mage of the Circle? A frail old woman such as myself can scarcely afford to miss a meal."

The witch released her hold on the documents, prompting Solona to mumble a quiet, "Thank you."

The crone cupped her ear with her hand and leaned closer to the Warden. "What was that?" she asked. "I swore I heard you say something. These old ears do not hear as well as they used to."

Solona straightened her shoulders. "I said, thank you," she repeated in a clearer voice.

"Ah, manners," the ancient woman croaked as she presented the mage with an astute grin. "Always in the last place you look. Like stockings." Her shoulders shook with a hearty laugh at her own joke. "But do not mind me. You have what you came for."

She turned her back to the intruders and shuffled toward the side of her hut. "Lead them back," she ordered her daughter, but as Morrigan approached them, her mother stopped and peered at Solona over her shoulder. "Know this, Grey Warden. The threat of this Blight is greater than you realize. Greater than anyone realizes. But, as I said, what do I know?"


By the time the Wardens returned to the expanse of the stone bridge leading into the fortress, dusk had fallen across the marshland. Absent were the many hues of orange, violet and dusky blue typical of a sunset. Instead, they were replaced by varying shades of grey and ebony shifting from the shadows of light smoke to inky black. The battle was coming, and it was coming soon.

The three Wardens had remained silent as they made their way through the swamp, each of them lost in their own dark thoughts. The only sounds escaping their lips were the grunts and cries emitted during altercations with the blighted creatures that had come to claim that part of Ferelden. Alistair seemed especially distraught over the words the witch spoke to him, leaving Solona to wonder exactly what secrets he was attempting to conceal.

She had troubles enough of her own as she clutched the amulet hanging from the chain around her neck. While Flemeth's mention of Anders and his predicament were distressing, she was most rattled by the witch telling her she had been awaiting her arrival. It wasn't so much the words the crone used, but more the way she stared into Solona's eyes, down to her very soul, that was so unnerving. The power the old hag wielded was unmatched, unlike anything Solona ever felt. The young Warden barely managed to maintain her composure in Flemeth's presence. She only hoped her companions failed to notice.

Once again, the three Wardens found Duncan standing at the central fire, right where he assured them he would be. The first thing he did upon their arrival was direct Solona and Sithig to hurry and don the blue and grey uniforms he retrieved from Senren. Solona gathered hers in her arms and departed for one of the mage's tents nearby. It took a bit of finagling and time to make sense of the differing pieces of armor and suit up. The leather trousers were a bit tighter around the hips and buttocks than the ones the mage had grown accustomed to, but they didn't seem to impede her movement at all.

When she was finished and withdrew from the tent, she ran straight into Alistair. He took a step back and scrutinized her for a long moment. He rubbed his thumb and index finger over the scruff on his chin before nodding and presenting her with a smile of approval.

"I like it," he told her. "It suits you."

She turned her back to him and lifted the long tails of her tabard then flashed a mischievous grin over her shoulder. "So it doesn't make my ass look too big?" she asked.

Alistair's face flushed crimson as his eyes lingered on her behind. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and tugged at the front of his scale and leather tunic. Solona knew exactly what that meant. He was attempting to cover the evidence of what her teasing was doing to him.

Maybe he enjoys the company of women, after all. If his interests lay strictly in other men, he certainly wouldn't be trying to cover up an erection. Would he?

The warrior's throat constricted with the motion of an arduous gulp before he cleared it. "Maybe a little," he quipped with an impish smirk. "But the tabard should do a good enough job covering it up."

Solona pursed her lips, donning a sour expression and dropped the tails of her overdress with a perturbed huff. She supposed it was possible she had been wrong. Perhaps he just liked asses. It made sense if he were same-gendered oriented. Karl had made remarks about her buttocks the few times he caught them bare while she was lying atop Anders' bed, and he had absolutely no interest in women.

Maybe next time I'll show him my tits. That should clear everything up.

She nearly jumped from her boots when Duncan cleared his throat behind her. "If the two of you are finished playing, we have important business of to attend."

Alistair clapped a fist to his heart, prompting Solona to do the same. "Of course, Commander," the young warrior acknowledged.

"As soon as Sithig returns, I want the three of you to join me at the war table. The king has called a meeting and requests your presence."

Why in the Maker's ass would the king want us to be there? He knows we're new recruits.

She regarded Alistair who stood next to her. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were dark brown once again. Could such an invitation have something to do with him? Something Flemeth said to the warrior resonated with her.

Men's hearts hold truths they do not wish revealed. Secrets in the dark they keep locked away in the hopes no one will see. See them for who they truly are.

What had the witch meant by that? What secret was he hiding that he didn't want her to know? Surely it couldn't have anything to do with King Cailan. Solona frowned as it finally dawned on her that she knew absolutely nothing about Alistair aside from his kind nature and his temper when his hackles were raised. Her curiosity was definitely piqued more than ever, but the sullen expression on her companion's face told her it was best to leave him alone.

The moment Duncan was out of earshot, her fellow Warden turned to her. "I don't want to talk about it," he informed her in a flat tone, already surmising the questions that were swirling around in her head.

She shrugged in a nonchalant fashion. "I didn't say anything."

"But you were thinking it," he grumbled.

"Alistair," she retorted, "You have trouble enough reading the thoughts in your own tiny brain. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep attempting to peruse mine."

He grimaced. "Ha Ha. Very funny, Solona."

Her brow furrowed. He was really upset. He didn't even make an effort at a comeback or even deign to look in her direction. With arms folded across his chest and tenebrous eyes directed straight, he just stood there, still as a stone. The muscles of his jaw were clenched so tight, Solona half expected his teeth to crack under the pressure. His broad chest rose and fell sharply with every labored breath. He looked as if he were about to explode.

A few minutes later Sithig appeared carrying his large battleaxe across his shoulder. Alistair didn't even afford the man a glance before stomping away toward the stairway Duncan had ascended earlier. The Avvar peered down at Solona with a questioning frown, and she couldn't help but think of how out of place he seemed without his usual fur and leather accoutrements. As a Grey Warden, he was intimidating as the void, but to her, at least, it just wasn't Sithig standing before her.

"Come on," she told him. "We're supposed to meet Duncan at the war table."

"Is that what has Alistair so upset?" asked the large man as the two of them trotted to catch up to their fellow Warden.

"I'm not sure," replied the mage. "But if I had to hazard a guess…then yes, I believe it is."