A/N: Still re-doing parts of the story; thanks for sticking with me!

Disclaimer: The enemy's gate is down.

Chapter 12

The party continued, making decent time, traveling south over more swampy, cadaver-ridden woodland, alert for further attack, but finding only silence. After perhaps twenty minutes they passed a huge tree, felled so long ago that she doubted anyone alive could have done it, so obscured in moss and grasses that at first she thought it another small hill. Elias was about to walk past it when she noticed that atop it, stretching their white petals toward the feeble sunshine were flowers, snow-colored with a crimson center.

Doubling back, Elias bent to pick several, stashing them in her purse beside the vials of blood she had obtained earlier. Her companions stopped to watch curiously, Daveth with his eyebrow raised as she ran back, feeling self-conscious.

"More souvenirs?" the roguish young man asked with a half-smile. "You do seem to enjoy collecting things . . ."

The young woman laughed and shook her head. "I promised someone that I'd bring them—"

"A bouquet?" Daveth asked sarcastically, grinning.

"One of the hounds swallowed darkspawn blood during the last battle," Elias explained to the group, resuming her southerly trek through the wilderness. "I was asked to keep an eye out for these blossoms. Apparently they have curative properties. I said I'd return with some, if I came across any."

"I'd like to apologize," Jory blurted out, changing the subject abruptly and causing Elias to momentarily pause. He hurried to catch up to the mage, a guilty expression playing across his honest face

"I had no right to be suspicious of you earlier," he admitted, now walking so quickly that Elias was having a hard time keeping pace with the man. "I acted rudely, and I apologize. It's just this wretched place. I am on edge. I assure you, it won't happen again."

"Apology accepted, Ser Knight," Elias answered with a shy smile, genuinely surprised that the man had brought the matter up. "I sometimes forget the way magic is viewed by those outside of the Circle of Magi. I should not have been so offended. I apologize, as well."

The mage returned her gaze to the path before them, but within a few seconds she was startled out of her reverie by Alistair, who had fallen into step beside her and was watching her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Yes?" she asked curiously, eyebrows raised.

"You know, it just occurred to me that you won't have to worry about being a mage, after the Joining, I mean. Grey Wardens seldom care where you came from or what you were, as long as you can handle a sword," Alistair informed her amicably, smiling. "Or, in your case, a spell."

"That's . . . very kind of you to say," Elias muttered, avoiding his blue eyes. "Thank you."

She was relieved, extremely relieved, but if asked why would not have been able to say. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had fallen in with the only people under the Maker's sky that would not care that she was a mage. Maybe it was just that another being, especially an ex-templar, could speak so kindly to her and ask nothing in return. Elias was unsure, but still, with the turbulence her life seemed to have undergone in the last two weeks, she was grateful nonetheless.

"So where are you from, Ser Jory?" Elias asked, loudly enough that she was sure to be heard by everyone. It seemed silly, if they were to soon be fighting side-by-side against a massive army filled with monsters, not to get to know each other a little first.

"I hail from Redcliffe, but Duncan recruited me in Highever, a city off the northern coast," he answered, slapping some biting insect off of one arm absentmindedly. "Have you traveled there?"

"No, never," the mage admitted regretfully. "The mages are rarely allowed out of the Tower, and certainly not on a journey so far, unless the need is great."

"A pity," Jory said with a smile. "It is beautiful there, even in winter. I was in Arl Eamon's retinue when he attended King Maric's funeral," he began to explain, avoiding the mud as best he could while still holding a conversation. "It was in Highever that I met my Helena. I was smitten. She has the most beautiful eyes, my Helena. For years, I found any excuse to return to there," he admitted, chuckling. "We were married a year ago. Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve in Highever, but I was attempting to persuade Helena to come to Redcliffe with me. At least, until I was recruited."

"How did the Grey Wardens find you?" she asked, hoping that his story was slightly less depressing than her own.

"Last month, Duncan visited Highever, and the Bann held a tournament in his honor. I won the grand melee," Jory said with a hint of pride. "It was hard to leave my wife. We married only a year ago, and she is heavy with child now. But . . . Ferelden needs my blade, and I shall not falter."

"That's commendable, Ser Jory," Alistair told him, glancing back slightly to make eye contact. "I'm sure she's very proud of you."

And very worried, Elias' mind interjected, but she did not say it, knowing it would seem a rebuke.

"What of you, Daveth?" Jory asked politely. "From where do you hail?"

"I grew up 'bout a day's trip to the east," Daveth told the older man. "Little blot you wouldn't even find on a map. Haven't been back in years," he added as an afterthought. "I struck out for the city as soon as I could outrun my Pa. I've been in Denerim for . . . what, six years now? Never liked it much. But there's more purses there than anywhere else."

"So . . . you're a cutpurse?" Jory asked him, disdain evident in his voice.

"And a pick-pocket, thank you very much," the rogue answered happily, apparently pleased with the reaction he had evinced. "Or was, anyhow. Who ever thought I'd end up a Grey Warden?"

"How did you end up here?" Elias asked, careful to keep her voice from sounding reproachful.

"I found them," Daveth explained, smiling wickedly. "I cut Duncan's purse while he was standing in a crowd. He grabs my wrist, but I squirm out and bolt. The old bugger can run," the man said with a deferential nod, "but the garrison caught me first. I'm a wanted man in Denerim, you see, so they were going to string me up right there."

"What happened next?" the young woman inquired excitedly. She was trying unsuccessfully to remember that this dashing man was a thief and that stealing was morally wrong.

"Duncan stopped them," Daveth said, sounding thoroughly flabbergasted. "Invoked the right of conscription. Gave the garrison the finger as I was walking away," he added, extremely proud. "Don't know why Duncan wants someone like me, but he says that finesse is important, and that I'm fast with a blade. Ha! You bet your boots I am." And as if to illustrate his point, he drew one of his daggers, threw it high in the air and caught it by the tip, deftly balancing it in his callused hand and smoothly re-sheathing it before Elias even had time to smile. She knew logically it was a parlor trick, but, unaccustomed to such swordplay having lived among mages, was still impressed and let it show, earning her a smile and wink from the pickpocket.

"And what about you, Alistair?" Elias inquired quickly, hoping to avoid being asked her own story, and unsure how to explain everything if she was. "Where are you from?"

The former templar let out a quiet sound that was either impatient or evasive, Elias was unsure, but suspected the former. Guiltily, she increased her pace and pretended she had not asked.

But the young man was faster than she and had longer legs, and so caught her easily, falling once again into step beside her, gaze locked with hers.

"I didn't mean to pry," Elias explained quickly, voice lowered so that only Alistair would hear. "I was just trying to get to know everyone. Are you sure you won't tell me a little about yourself?"

He made the sound again, but answered promptly this time, now that there was no one else to hear him.

"As I said back at camp, I was trained as a templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago," he started, voice low but friendly. Suddenly Elias suspected the reason he had been less than keen to speak with her about his past. "The Chantry raised me, and becoming a templar was a decision made for me, a long time ago. Duncan saw I wasn't happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn, and now, here I stand, a proud Grey Warden." He shrugged, smiling, and continued. "The Grand Cleric wouldn't have let me go if Duncan hadn't forced the issue. I'll always be grateful to him."

"You didn't want to join the Chantry?" Elias asked, pleasantly surprised.

"It just . . . wasn't for me," Alistair said earnestly. "I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry."

The young woman smiled at her feet, liking this man more and more. However, she doubted she could pursue the conversation much further in the direction it was currently headed, and so changed the subject.

"You speak fondly of Duncan," Elias mentioned airily, hoping the young man might indulge her curiosity further.

"I spent years in the Chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate," Alistair answered with a wry smile, apparently unaware that the young mage was pumping him for information. "Duncan was the first person to care what I wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the Grand Cleric to help me."

"Will you tell me about him?" Elias asked politely. "I didn't get much of a chance to speak with him after we met and I was . . . conscripted." She made sure to keep her pace quick as they talked. They had little time before the sun set, and Elias was loathe to be in this haunted place a minute longer than need be, present company or no.

"Well, Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden," Alistair informed her. "Which he would say doesn't mean much, as there aren't many of us here. Yet.
Beyond that, he's a good man," the warrior said earnestly, almost fondly, and Elias caught the same hint of hero-worship that she had detected during their first conversation in Ostagar. "A good judge of character. I owe him a lot."

Alistair paused, fixing Elias with a polite stare as if only then realizing that she had been listening to him at all. "What about you?" he asked curiously, face still friendly but impassive. "What do you think of him?"

"I owe him, as well. He saved me," Elias admitted, averting her eyes and hoping he would not probe her with follow-up questions. She doubted even an ex-templar as kind as Alistair wound understand about Jowan.

"That sounds familiar," the warrior said knowingly. "He's done the best he can with what little he has... and that includes me, I guess."

There were several minutes of silence where the only the sounds to be heard were twigs cracking and the sloshing of mud under booted feet. Finally, when she thought enough time had passed and she was safe from unwanted questions, Elias leaned in slightly closer than was needed and asked, "May I ask you something else?"

"Like . . . what?" Alistair answered, surprised, blue eyes locked with her grey-blue ones.

"Well . . . what is a Blight?" Elias asked frankly, pretending not to be embarrassed that she didn't know. "Where do darkspawn come from?"

"You want the Chantry's version, or the truth?" Alistair asked, smiling mischievously.

"Let's start with the Chantry's version, I suppose, please," she answered.

"According to the Chant of Light, the Maker imprisoned the Old Gods underground long ago as punishment for tricking mankind into worshipping them," Alistair started, voice taking on a sarcastic resonance as he told his tale melo-dramatically. "The Old gods still whispered to some men, and taught them magic. These men became the magisters of the Tevinter Empire. The magisters used their gift to enter the Golden City, tainting it and themselves. They were cast out by the Maker, and became the first darkspawn. They fled underground, bringing their taint to their gods. The tainted Old Gods were the archdemons, who rose from their prisons and led the darkspawn against the world."

"And the truth?" Elias inquired, giggling despite the heavy subject matter.

"The truth is, we don't really know. They come up from the ground and that's as far as we've gotten," he admitted, slightly more serious.

"So what you were just talking about was the first blight?" Elias wondered aloud, more familiar with that subject for the reading she had done as a young apprentice in the tower library.

"Yes, and it nearly wiped us out," Alistair told her matter-of-factly. "When defeated, the darkspawn flee back underground and seek out another Old God to taint, thus bringing about the blight."
"So . . . where is the archdemon for this blight?"

"We haven't seen it yet. People are beginning to think this is just an unusually large darkspawn raid without an archdemon to unify them. But seriously," the young mad added gravely, "the archdemon could be in the Wilds, or underground. It could be hiding. Just because it hasn't shown itself doesn't mean it isn't out there." Alistair shuddered and fixed her with a hesitant, guilty stare. "The Grey Wardens have always kept watch. We . . . feel the darkspawn when they come. That's why we're so sure this is a true blight. You'll understand after the Joining if you . . . well, you'll understand," he promised, trailing off ominously. At this he broke her gaze, staring instead steadfastly at his feet as if he had only just discovered them.

Elias' mind reeled. If I what? She wanted to scream at him. It was like the Harrowing all over again. Why were others allowed to get away with such things? What dangerous, reckless, ridiculous thing were they going to make her do now? Her mind drew up pictures of being sent back into the Fade again before she realized that such a test would not work uniformly for everyone. A test of skill, then, against her companions? A battle royale, with only one of them emerging the victor? But then why did they have to retrieve blood from these fiends?

The mage felt fury beginning to rise within her, but quickly pushed it back. Keep your wits, girl she chided herself, annoyed. It will do you no good to dwell on that which cannot be changed. Use your brain and ask Alistair. He is the only one like to tell you. At least then, you'll have some idea what to expect.

They walked on in silence for perhaps two minutes before Elias asked her question, gauging that her traveling companion was now at optimum guilt and more likely to divulge secrets he normally would not have uttered.

"I have a question . . . about the Joining ritual," she admitted in her most respectful voice, not entirely meeting the young man's startled eyes. She hated being so manipulative, but didn't see much choice. If they were going to put her to the sword in a matter of hours, the least she could do was try and plan a way out of it.

Alistair, as she had expected, was not at all pleased that she had brought the subject up. He shuffled his booted feet awkwardly, glancing to the right and left to make sure that they were not being overheard. Finally, he leaned in so close that the young woman was surprised he didn't continually bump into her as they walked.

"There's . . . not a lot I can tell you," the ex-templar informed her, voice lowered conspiratorially. "We go and collect darkspawn blood. Then you'll hear everything."

"Surely you can tell me something," Elias responded in her most persuasive, feminine voice.

"Look, I can't tell you much," Alistair said, sounding genuinely sorry, face drawn in worry. "The Joining is . . . very unpleasant. I wish I could forget mine, but I can't. I don't envy what you're going to have to go through."

"But what actually happens in the Joining?" she pressed, grateful and annoyed simultaneously.

"You learn why it's a secret," the Warden answered evasively, once again examining his toes.

"Is it anything like the Harrowing?"

"I don't know anything about the Harrowing," Alistair said, vaguely disdainful. "We don't cast any spells, if that's what you're asking."

Elias sighed inwardly. She doubted she would get anything more out of the man, but was grateful he had deigned to tell her anything at all. Daveth and Jory didn't even have that much.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," the young woman said airily with a smile, feigning a confidence she did not feel.

"That's the spirit!" Alistair exclaimed heartily, obviously relieved that she was going to leave off questioning him. "Honestly, if becoming a Grey Warden were easy, we wouldn't recruit the best, would we?" And he smiled at her, an honest, friendly smile that left Elias feeling lightheaded and slightly giddy.

It truly has been too long since I've enjoyed a man's company the young woman thought to herself, disgruntled, as she returned Alistair's warmth and then fell silent, widening the gap between them to discourage further conversation.

As they continued the land began to slope gently downward, a gradual descent that led them deeper and deeper into the hostile murkiness of the forest. Eventually the number of bodies began to wane, replaced instead by rotting archways and dilapidated structures so old that the young woman doubted anyone could tell what they had been in the days of their making. Scattered here and there amidst the ruins were some of the ugliest, crudest structures she had ever seen. Bloody, bent, twisted, it took her several seconds to realize that they were probably fortifications, built by the darkspawn to try and slow the King's forces should they press into the Wilds.

Eventually the travelers passed by the largest edifice they had yet encountered, crumbling into time just as much as the others, and fitted with thick, rough rope around several portions of its girth, for what practical purpose was unclear. It was easily twenty feet tall, and dangling from its ceiling just low enough to almost brush the top of her head were more cadavers, the freshest they had yet seen, eyes gouged out and hands bound, hanging limply by their necks, a warning to all who passed.

As they neared the macabre monument, Alistair winced slightly, regretful. "Poor slobs. That just seems so excessive," he said under his breath, but the young mage was sure she was the only one to hear him.

Elias gauged that they were about halfway to their destination before they were attacked again. This time, however, she saw them before they had a chance to riddle her with arrows.

There were more of them than they had faced last time. The young woman counted eight, bunched together and howling excitedly on a series of rotting planks that Elias supposed passed for a bridge, stretching precariously over more shallow, brackish water that would probably reach up to the short woman's waist if she fell in it. As she neared the monsters her pace involuntarily slowed until she came to a dead stop, feet planted ten feet or so from the nearest adversary. She felt the men in her company surge forward to clash magnificently with the short, stocky, violent beings that shrieked in delight at the thought of more killing, but the mage's vision was focused upon something else.

Near the back of the throng of friend and enemy, standing nearly out of sight, was a lone darkspawn, taller, different than its allies, with a peculiar stance and specific weapon and different markings, not particularly interested in wading in or helping its comrades at first glance. And something about this creature, more than any of the others they had encountered, made Elias extremely uneasy.

This being commands magic! Her mind finally thundered, as she felt the energy building within her, about to release her first spell. Maker help us! The darkspawn have mages?

"It's an emissary!" Alistair shouted at her, noticing her hesitation, cleanly lobbing the head off of one foe and moving to intercept a second. "It casts spells! We need to kill it as soon as possible!"

"We need to kill them all as soon as possible!" Elias thundered back, sending her bolt of electricity soaring through the air; it hit her target, the emissary, as Alistair had called it, in the torso, knocking it back and into an outcropping of rocks. "But, agreed. I've got this one."

The emissary, by this point, had recovered. It stood up, howled with rage, and focused all its hostilities on Elias, sending bolt after bolt, spell after spell, forcing the young woman to be constantly moving, ducking down or darting behind the scenery to avoid being pelted to death with volatile energy.

"Would someone please lob this thing's head off!" Elias shrieked to no one in particular. She threw herself forward into what she perceived was an opening, sending another missile flying toward her nemesis. Unfortunately, inexperienced as she was in battle, she didn't notice its last attack was still flying toward her. It hit her in the ribs, and Elias doubled over, furious. It felt very much like the time as a child when she had tried to escape the Tower and had been kicked in the side by a booted foot, the templar that had chased her down furious at having to wade into the frigid waters of Lake Calenhad to retrieve a clumsy apostate eight-year-old.

Pushing the memory to the back of her mind, the mage straightened back up and fired off another spell, and another. What felt like a flaming rock hit her shoulder, but she grit her teeth and ignored it, content to do as much damage as she could, confident that she would be able to heal her own injuries before she passed out, or worse. The creature was too far away for Elias to light it on fire, but she still had plenty of projectiles to send its way, so she flung them with abandon, ignoring all else and hoping somewhere in the back of her head that her allies would eventually finish what they were doing and distract this creature long enough for her to finish it off.

As if to answer her unspoken wish, Alistair charged forward, crashing into the emissary, knocking into it with his shield with such force that it veritably flew backward before landing on its rump, stunned and unmoving.

That's all I needed, Elias thought to herself, triumphant. She worked in frenzy, her brow becoming moist with sweat in the cool afternoon air, sending bolt after screaming bolt of crackling energy forth to collide spectacularly with the monster's diseased flesh. The emissary, now facing two opponents, one of them heavily armored and bearing down on it with a sword, switched its attention from mage to warrior, pelting Alistair with as many spells as it could fire, most of which were deflected by his sturdy shield. Before the young man could run it through, however, Elias had it, sending one final attack soaring toward their opponent which connected with the beast's head.

It crumpled to the ground unspectacularly, scorched but otherwise seemingly unharmed, Alistair standing over its corpse, surprised. He turned backward and caught Elias' eye, grinning, and Elias felt more pleased with herself than she could remember being in a long time.

The last two darkspawn were quickly dealt with, Jory and Daveth dispatching them easily and nearly in sync.

"How much farther to that sodding cache?" Elias asked Alistair as she jogged up to where the men were standing, not even bothering to reference the battle they had all just fought.

"We're almost there," Alistair assured her without removing the map from his pack. He was unharmed, she noted, but seemed to get dirtier with each passing battle. "A half hour, maybe less."

Without reply, Elias bent down, extracted the last, empty vial from her pouch, uncorked it and filled it, watching the thick liquid course into the glass container with mild fascination. After several seconds she finished, replaced the stopper, and thrust the container back into her pack, satisfied.

"Well, let's get on with it."

In all honestly, Elias was exhausted. She had drawn on more energy than she cared to admit to make it through the last two battles, and desperately wanted to sit down on the wet grass and allow herself to rest for an hour. But the longer her party remained in the Wilds, the darker it got, the more the day wore on, and the more the young woman began to fear that they would not be able to make it back to the relative safety of the King's Camp before dusk overtook them.

Across the bridge the party ceased their southerly trek and turned north, the stagnant water and rotting corpses of before replaced by grassy land dotted with more tottering structures and the occasional head on a pike. No one said anything. The signs of darkspawn occupation became more and more pronounced, and Elias found herself hoping that Alistair was correct, and they would not be walking into the bulk of the horde. Just the fringe remnants were terrifying enough to last her a lifetime.

And yet, in just a few days, perhaps less, the four of them were going to fight an army of these things. The young woman found that thinking about this reality proved difficult. What would she be doing? Where would she be placed? What was expected of her? There were thousands, hundreds of thousands, of darkspawn somewhere in these forests, with barely a third of that number, from what she had seen, camped with the king at Ostagar. Duncan had mentioned that he had called to the Orlesian Grey Wardens for aid. Would they make it in time? Elias doubted it. It seemed that, whatever was to happen, it was to happen soon, and Ferelden would be on its own for the duration.

The last half hour passed in relative peace and silence. They walked unmolested through the rest of the forest, dirty and tired, but alert for any shift in the air, any silent change that might signify further hostilities with their mortal enemies.

In the distance loomed a huge edifice, broken and crumbling as all the others, larger than the rest, so big that Elias could easily see the remnants of building or fortress in the deteriorating mess that was the ruins of the Korcari Wilds.

"That should be it," Alistair informed her, noticing the direction in which she was looking, curious. "The cache we're searching for should be in there, assuming everything hasn't been destroyed by time and rot."

"Now, now," Elias said playfully with a smirk, increasing her pace now that her target was finally within sight. "Optimism, please."

Alistair laughed. "Riiiight, I forgot," he said, matching the young woman's pace. "Must have been the bloody heads on pikes every hundred feet or so. Made me momentarily forget myself."

This time it was Elias' turn to giggle. "I don't think I've ever laughed about something so inappropriate before," she admitted, looking slightly guilty. "I guess I'm just relieved to almost be rid of this place. Even as charming as those heads-on-pikes are," she added with a grin when the ex-templar gave her a look of mock-disbelief.

The ruined monument loomed ever closer, and she felt herself growing more and more at ease with every step. Finally, one way or another, they could leave this wretched place and return to Duncan. Just in time to fight again, Elias' brain reminded her stubbornly.

She was about to mention this fact to Alistair, perhaps to try and get more information out of the lad, when they were attacked again.

This time, however, there were fewer, perhaps four, lead by a massive figure in a horned helmet and great double-sided battleaxe nearly as long as she was tall. The young woman was about to shout a warning to her companions, but soon realized that they had sprung into action before she could open her mouth, intercepting the leader and cleaving fiercely into his makeshift armor.

Hurrying to catch up, Elias reached up to unhitch her staff from the straps that carried it snugly on her back. It wouldn't budge. Hoping fervently that no one had noticed, she tugged and tugged, cursing under her breath at ever second that ticked by. Eventually giving up, she turned her attention to the nearest enemy, and had just enough time to reach forth her hands to smite it with a single blast of electric energy when it fell dead to the ground, sliced in half by Jory's broadsword.

Embarrassed, the mage turned to find a second enemy only to find that there were none; all of the beasts had been dealt with while she had been struggling to unhitch her weapon. Red in the face but pretending not to care, she jogged back up to her traveling companions, giving them a smile and a nod that she hoped was pleasing and encouraging.

"Almost there!" Elias said heartily with a wide smile, gesturing toward the inside of the ruins they were now standing directly in front of. "Look! I can see it from here . . ." If the others had noticed her lack of help in the last fray, no one said anything. Not sure whether I should be relieved or insulted, she thought to herself silently, trying to hide a chuckle.

Elias strolled forward and into the heart of the ruins, a semi-circular ring of broken stones with a large chest in the center, shattered into pieces under the weight of time and the elements and who knew what else. The young mage reached out her hand to lift the crumbling lid, relief washing through her small frame.

"Well, well. . . what have we here?" A voice, feminine, sarcastic, cold, drifted up out of the air and assaulted Elias' ears. Startled, the young woman visibly jumped, whipping around to survey the source of the sound.

A young woman walked lithely forward, seeming to drift gracefully away from the shadows where she had obviously been watching the small band and forward into the weak sunlight. She was beautiful, Elias thought, but cold, with a sharp nose, jaw line, and high cheekbones, face framed with raven hair held up and back from her face with simple twine. Her clothing described perfectly the sort of being the young woman thought would be worn by someone living off the land, or hiding out, with a skirt and boots made mostly of blackened animal hides, seemingly strapped to her thin frame. Her shirt, while a pleasant plum color, barely covered her nubile form, falling over her breasts and coming to rest lightly over her stomach. Her eyes, almost cat-like, were most startling of all, two amber-yellow globes that studied Elias and her companions with an aloof interest.

As the young woman made her way farther forward, she continued speaking, in the same mildly sarcastic, indifferent voice.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she asked rhetorically. "A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you, hm?" she asked, her full attention on the shorter woman standing directly before her, barely four feet away now. "Scavenger, or intruder?"

"I am neither," Elias asked, unsure exactly how to respond to this person. "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"'Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse," she corrected, soundly mildly amused. ". I have watched your progress for some time," she said suddenly, once again indicating she was speaking about Elias. "Where do they go, I wondered. Why are they here?" As she spoke she paced, wending her way from the others until she was standing almost on the far side of the ruins, as if to look outward at the rest of the forest. "And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair interrupted before the young mage could speak. "She looks Chasined, which means that others may be nearby."

The young intruder made a sound of entertained disgust. "Oh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

Alistair frowned. "Yes. Swooping is . . . bad."

"She's a witch of the Wilds, she is," Daveth said suddenly, not bothering to lower his voice so that he wouldn't be overheard. "She'll turn us into toads."

"Witch of the Wilds?" the black-haired beauty repeated, highly amused. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You, there," she said to Elias, once again ignoring the men in favor of speaking to her only. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

"You can call me Elias," the mage answered hesitantly.

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish," the other woman offered with a polite nod. "Shall I guess your purpose?" she continued. "You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer?" Alistair interjected, clearly suspicious. "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky . . . witch thief!" he said, accusatory.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan responded dryly. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems," Alistair answered quickly. His face took on a harder edge as he continued. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.

"I will not," Morrigan said, irritated, "for t'was not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish. I am not threatened."

"Then who removed them?" Elias asked Morrigan quickly, cutting her young templar friend's angry reply short.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

For a split second, Elias was positive that she had misheard the other woman's response. "Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother," Morrigan emphasized, exasperated. "Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving, weird, talking log, perhaps," Alistair muttered under his breath. Elias bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters," the witch informed them with a deep sigh, obviously feeling very put-upon. "Flowers grow as well as toads. If you wish," she said, as if voicing a sudden thought, "I can take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you'd like."

"We should get those treaties," Alistair mused out loud, obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. "But I dislike this . . . Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

Elias thought for a few seconds and weighed the consequences and possible outcomes in her mind. On the one hand, if they stayed or even went back, they would have to do so empty-handed, which she was sure was unwise, as the documents they were supposed to be retrieving sounded fairly important. On the other, if they followed this woman deeper into the woods, she might lead them further into the wilderness only to attack them, or worse, leave them, hours away from safety in the middle of a darkspawn-ridden forest.

The young mage sighed and found her own unremarkable grey-blue eyes staring into Morrigan's amber, cat-like ones. "I say we go with her," she told her party, though it was to Morrigan she spoke.

Daveth was not pleased. "She'll put us all in the pot, she will!" he warned Elias, disconcerted. "Just you watch."

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change," Jory stated sarcastically.

Morrigan nodded once more to Elias before turning around and beginning to walk. "Follow me then, if it pleases you," the young woman heard over her shoulder as their newfound guide wandered off into the receding daylight.

Next time: Morrigan and Flemeth, prelude to the Battle of Ostagar, and the death of a king. Thanks for reading!