The Wardens are here! Lengthy chapter but hope you enjoy!

Chapter 9

Wardens on the Shore

Gytha Aeducan, one of the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden and de facto Commander of the Grey, had decided she hated boats.

It hadn't taken much thought to decide that. Since her arrival on the surface two months ago, Gytha had been introduced to many strange and bizarre things, such as weather, something that made Gytha crave the static climate of Orzammar and underground Dwarven world. Worship of the Maker was another, which Gytha found to be a bizarre and fanatical devotion to a long dead woman who got burned and then skewered by her captors. Not all of it was bad, livestock on the surface was pleasant and the food it produced was far superior to anything she tasted in Orzammar. Pork – especially bacon – was much better than Nug, which always required a hefty amount of sauce to give it flavor.

But boats – Ancestors preserve her! – were the worst thing she had found on the surface. First, it had been no stone above her head. Now there was none beneath her. Only a flimsy boat made of wood – an unknown crafting material in dwarven capitol city of Orzammar – to protect her from the watery depths beneath her. Gytha was still not sure how this ship was even floating. Every time it rocked back and forth hard, she felt her chest tighten in fear.

Not that she would ever intimate her discomfort, especially in front of her party she commanded or the humans sailing the ship. The ship was named Roland's Mistress – for apparently all ships had names – and was carrying them from Redcliffe across Lake Calenhad. It was a large ship and was well outfitted with a competent crew. At least, what was left of a competent crew after several days being besieged by the undead.

'Stone preserve me, the Surface is a horror show.' Gytha thought. She looked up at the large sails as the caught a gust of wind the wind. Painted onto the sails was a chunk of red earth with a grey tower rising above it – the heraldry of the Arling of Redcliffe. They had sped off from the Redcliffe almost twelve hours ago and would be arriving at their destination soon.

"There it is! The Circle of Magi!" Alistair called out from the front – no, the stern – of the ship. It was the first time Alistair, the Senior of the two remaining Wardens, could be considered in the "front" of anything since the rest of the Ferelden Grey Wardens had all been killed at the Battle of Ostagar. He had quickly shifted all burden of leadership and leading the fight against the Blight to Gytha, who had only been Joined a few days before. Not that she was upset by that. After a lifetime as the second child and favored heir of her father, King Endrin, Gytha found it hard to follow others.

But that life was gone. Her younger brother, Bhelen, had outmaneuvered her and framed her as kinslayer of her older brother, Trian. She was sentenced to die in the Deep Roads, but refused to. She clawed her way to a Grey Warden scouting party, led by the late Warden Commander Duncan, and demanded to join the Order. Now here she was, back in command in a world gone mad and trying to get allies for the Grey Warden. And back in Orzammar, Bhelen was probably king.

Ancestors… one of the Treaties the Wardens had obligating people to fight the Blight was with the king of Orzammar. She did not want have to go begging to Bhelen to fulfill the Treaty.

"Maker, it is beautiful, no?" The pretty red head archer, Leliana, announced. Her voice was soft and melodic, and Gytha wondered if she was already composing some song for the sight in front of her. Leliana was a romantic at heart, and the sight before them certainly was beautiful.

The Ferelden Circle of Magi was located in a tall Tower that seemed to be scraping the sky. The two moons were crossing the sky behind it, bathing the white spire in silver moonlight and made the tower look like it was glowing. Maybe it was? Who knew what magic could do, a subject that delighted Gytha.

If it could be properly channeled. And based on what she had seen on the Surface, and one of the reasons they were visiting the Circle, Humans and Elves were terrible at managing it.

"Shores too shallow for a ship this size to dock there, Warden." The ship's captain shouted to her from across the boat. "But we can lower a rowboat and you can get over there just fine."

"Thank you, Captain." Gytha replied, eager for solid ground under her. It was taking every bit of discipline she had been taught to not to show her immense discomfort.

The rest of her party seemed undisturbed though. Alistair – ever the boy – was fascinated by the ship and got on easily with the sailors on manned it. Leliana – ever the romantic – told stories of hijinks at sea and sung songs of great deeds by ship captains to an enthralled crew. Sten, the massive and stoic Qunari, had spent a good deal of his life on boats while serving in the Qunari's army and had no discomfort at all. Morrigan, the wily Witch of the Wilds, didn't seem much bothered either. If the ship went down, she could always shapeshift into a bird and fly away to safety.

And of course, Gytha's new Mabari war hound, Trian, was absolutely fine so long as he was by her side.

"How very fitting they would build a prison for mages in the middle of the lake and make it look like a giant phallus." Morrigan cheekily commented. Gytha had no response to that, but Alistair, gave her a look.

"The Tower itself is Tevinter in origin. Very mystical. Very powerful. I suppose it isn't as magical as a shack in the swamp, but it seems to work for the mages." Alistair joked, giving her a challenging look. Morrigan, angered by anything Alistair said, returned the look. After over a month of travelling together there was no hope for the two to become friends or even civil with each other, but they were capable of fighting together as a unit. That's all that mattered to Gytha.

"Legend says that Ferelden's first king, Calenhad the Great, bathed in these very waters and from them, Calenhad's silver armor emerged." Leliana told them, breaking the tension. She gave Alistair a supportive glance, which made Alistair blush and Morrigan scoff. There was something growing between Alistair and Leliana. If Gytha hadn't noticed it earlier, she would have guessed Leliana was trying to take a position of power with the newly outed bastard son of King Maric. Not that Alistair seemed all that interested in that title, but he certainly was interested in Leliana and was making it known, in his own clumsy way.

Sten, who was not drawn to flights of fancy, merely grunted. "Let us hope we do not face the same nonsense we've encountered before. Though based on my observation of this country, that hardly seems likely."

Gytha had to agree with that. Besides dodging supporters of Loghain – all hellbent of hunting down the Grey Warden "traitors – getting people to assist the Grey Wardens hadn't been simple. For their first course of action, Gytha had decided to find the Dalish. Alistair and Duncan had mentioned the Grey Wardens were concerned they might be fleeing Ferelden, and thus be unable to uphold the Treaty they had with the Wardens, so Gytha wanted to find them before they got the chance. That meant trudging through the daunting Brecilian Forest. The initial wonder Gytha felt for the new setting vanished quickly amongst the forest's weird smells, unstable ground and hills, and general unavailableness. They eventually found a camp of Dalish who, if a dwarf had not been leading them, probably would have killed the group on sight.

The Dalish clan was in crisis. A terrible curse had befallen them turning its members into Werewolves. Once it was explained to Gytha what a werewolf was the seriousness of it became clear. The leader of the clan, a "Keeper" and a condescending elf named Zathrian, had told them he needed the heart of a special white wolf named Witherfang in order to solve the issue before swiftly directing them towards it.

"You could spare us a few of your Archers, Keeper." Gytha had asked, a bit insulted to be ordered around like a mere servant. Then, remembering she was no longer a scion of a Noble house, she changed her tone. "We do not know the terrain. The knowledge of your clan would be very helpful, along with the skill they could provide. These werewolves sound fearsome."

"The path to the temple those… creatures… call 'home' is quite clear." Keeper Zathrian had replied, "You won't get lost as long as you continued to head east. As to the danger from werewolves, they shouldn't be a bother for a mighty Grey Wardens and a Durgen'len who no doubt knows combat."

It had been explained to her by the Clan's story teller, while he was informing Gytha about Dalish history, that Durgen'len was not an insult and meant 'Child of the Stone.' But to Gytha's ears, it certainly sounded like an insult, similar to how the Dalish referred to her human companions as "Shemlen," which was most certainly an insult. They had tried that with Sten, but he quickly corrected that he was Qunari. The Dalish didn't have an insulting sounding term from a dead language for his race, but Gytha was sure they would figure one soon.

As they made their way through the forest, fighting through creatures known as "bears" and "wolves" and werewolves, and even walking tress – Ancestors preserve her – Gytha thought more on the elves. In her old life in Orzammar, she had only encountered a few and always at a distance. They would show up as servants of human nobles or wealthy traders who her father would entertain, scurrying around in the background always looking browbeat. They did not seem to take any pride in their work like the Servant Caste in Orzammar did, and her former Second, Gorim, told her the Servant Caste thought them pitiable. Occasionally, a Noble Hose would have an elf mercenary with them for a bit, holding them out like a trophy and display of their wealth.

When she came to the surface, Gytha found little difference. The elves were firmly the lower class up here, showing deference to a fault. Duncan had explained to her the difference between Dalish and City Elves, and had waxed poetically about the freedom and strength the Dalish showed. He thought a lot of them, and it was clear the Dalish thought quite a lot of themselves too; so much so they seemed to consider everyone else beneath them, including City Elves who they called "flat ears."

But Gytha found little to be impressed by. The Dalish talked a big game about preserving their traditions – always a good thing in Gytha's mind – but she saw little to envy. They held onto scraps and called it gold. They also – just like the humans – had their silly gods they prayed too, but their gods seemed to actively hate them and do nothing for them. The story teller had a convenient excuse that some evil magical wolf had locked them all way, but that felt desperate.

So when Gytha and her party arrived at the Werewolves home in the ruined underground temple, she was so bitter about being a mercenary for a band of ungrateful, dirty woods people that she began to tear through the werewolves even when it looked like they tried to talk to her. Because they talked.

Of course the walking eight foot tall wolves with sharp teeth and claws could talk.

And after fighting their way through the werewolves, spiders, magical spirits, demons, and a bloody young dragon, they finally made it to Witherfang, who turned out to be a green skinned and black eyed woman who had nature magic on her side. Or she was a wolf who could turn into a woman. Or a spirit who was a wolf. Gytha wasn't quite sure as the party cut their way through them and killed the woman in her wolf form. Then, Gytha cut out the heart and returned it to a smug and satisfied Zathrian who healed his clan and promised them the aid of their clan and all the Dalish clans in Ferelden.

"Tis curious is it not," Morrigan had commented, as they walked briskly further and further from the camp. "For Zathrian to have kept himself alive for so long. Witherfang also sounded as though she had lived long. Perhaps the two are tied."

Alistair was willing to shrug it off. "All that matters is that we have the Dalish on our side. Their archers and scouts will be invaluable to the army."

"Dalish archers are renowned across Thedas. They will be invaluable to the army." Leliana confirmed.

Gytha hoped the Dalish would turn out to be invaluable but she wasn't putting her hopes into it. If they couldn't handle a few werewolves and her party of six could, what good would they be against the Darkspawn? She had hated the whole experience, but one good thing had come from it, her party had been bonded. They had fought together – and fought well together -, killed together, and bled together. They were bonded as only soldiers in arms could be.

In particular, after their nasty fight with the dragon, they had all needed a rest. All of them were running high on adrenaline from the unexpected fight and the shocking amount of gold and loot they found by the dragon. That shock and then joy had lowered the group's barrier for perhaps the first time and they talked freely. Leliana told stories of dragons, which Sten countered with his own. Alistair made jokes, and they were even funny ones. Even Morrigan was amused, though hid it well.

It had certainly helped her estimation of her companions, and had certainly helped at their next stop at Redcliffe, which was a reason they had the ship and a dire mission. For now, they were approaching the Circle. Looking at the Circle island again, Gytha noticed that a bridge had connected the island to the mainland, but it was so ruined that the only way to get to the island was by a small boat.

"Gytha, look at that." Alistair pointed out. "There's an army of Templars massed on the shores."

Sure enough, a small encampment had been erected next to the lake. It looked rather quickly built. Banner flew over few of the tents displaying a raised sword with flames – the symbol of the Templar Order. It was a far cry from the sleepy little town Bann Teagan had describe to them.

"Is that normal?" she asked the former Templar trainee.

Alistair shook his head. "No. Templars have control of the Tower. No need for anything on the shores. Wonder why they're there…"

"Clearly, this is another issue for us to solve." Gytha groaned. 'Sodding Surfacers.'

The captain had a rowboat lowered into the water below and flimsy rope ladder rolled down the side of the ship to it. Gytha rallied her companions and instructed Sten to carry Trian under his arm on the way down. Sten had no objection and, with noticeable care, lifted the massive Mabari under his arm. Trian gave a happy bark, quite fond of Sten.

"I shall remain on the ship, Warden." Morrigan declared. "Lest the ire of the Templars be roused. Though I hardly think they would prove a match."

Gytha agreed with that assessment. She did not fully trust Morrigan, oh not by a long shot, but she respected the magical ability she had. Her magic had saved all of their lives at least once. For Gytha… well… Gytha did not want to think about the Revenant that still plagued her thoughts. But as to Morrigan, Flemeth had no doubt sent her on a mission amongst them. What that mission was, Gytha could not say.

If it was to get something out of them, Morrigan was not doing a particularly good job of buttering them up for it. Morrigan was abrasive, narcissistic, and downright mean for no discernable purpose. In fact, she reminded Gytha a fair deal of Trian. She had thought to at least give Morrigan intelligence over Trian, but even that was suspect as Morrigan's intellect seemed to be limited to just the realm of magic. At one point, Morrigan had provided the idiotic idea of simply going to Denerim and killing Loghain, which was an idea not even the boneheaded Trian would have suggested. Gytha stopped asking Morrigan for her opinion after that.

Putting her out of her mind, Gytha hopped in the rowboat with her other companions. Once everyone was in, they kicked off from the boat with Alistair taking the oars. Underneath Gytha's stony mask was a storm of fear. How did those boats even stay afloat? Would it drown with all of them in it? Gytha didn't even know how to swim, not that it would matter since she was dressed in full armor. The heavy chainmail would no doubt sink her to the bottom of the lake quickly.

Ancestors… how deep were lakes? Was Lake Calenhad as deep at the Dead Trenches? Would she die beneath the no doubt cold surface of the lake's dark waters?

'Calm yourself.' She told herself. She looked at Trian, who did not look concerned at all with his tongue sticking out panting heavily, and drew strength from him. She had not particularly wanted Trian when he came running up to them as they left Ostagar, having killed several darkspawn himself. But over their journey, Trian the Mabari had proven to be an invaluable companion that Trian the elder brother had never been.

And, he was comfortable to cuddle with when the night got too cold. And the nights were always cold in Ferelden.

Mercifully, the row to shore was short. Once they landed, they were immediately greeted by two Templars, dressed in their order's regalia of heavy breastplate with a flaming sword on it, bucket helmets, and red and yellow skirts with a sunburst on them. They were not particularly helpful, and seemed to bristle at the idea that Grey Wardens were here.

"The treaties the Grey Wardens have the Circle of Magi are absolute." Gytha lied, having no idea at all about that but using her best noblewoman voice to sell it. "You will take us across the lake to the Tower and bring us to the Circle's First Enchanter."

"Tower's locked down." A Templar responded, his voice a muffled echoed thanks to his helmet. "The mages are gone."

"What do you mean?" Gytha demanded, quite distressed. If the mages were gone then they lost an important ally and would have to report back to Redcliffe with very bad news.

"Mage's went loony." The other Templar clarified. "Started calling down demons on us and forced us to retreat. Then, the demons were gone but the mages turned rabid!"

It was like talking to a child. "How do you mean?"

"They say they want 'freedom!'" The Templar shouted, as if they had told him he was a Qunari. "Said they'll serve Ferelden and the Crown willingly so long as they have their freedom."

Gytha didn't sense the problem with that. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable demand if the nobility supported that. Her companions had other thoughts.

"Mages on the loose? Sounds like a one-way street to the Imperium." Alistair muttered behind her.

"Agreed." Sten echoed.

Gytha couldn't help but scoff. The Tevinter Imperium was the ultimate boogeyman for all Surfacers. But to the dwarves, it was just another surface kingdom. The Dwarven Empire of old had worked with and lived alongside the empire of mages for millennia and they had never fallen to or been disturbed by the magic of its Magisters.

Well, if one didn't count the whole Blight situation, which Gytha didn't. Corrupted Magisters being the progenitors of Darkspawn was just a silly story from a very silly religion.

"Is your First Enchanter among those inside the tower?" Gytha asked.

"He's not our First Enchanter. We are commanded by Knight-Commander Greagoir." The Templar replied, very testy. "But the First Enchanter is not in the tower. He's up at the camp in the Knight-Commander's care. You can speak with him there."

Well that was something. After pulling their rowboat to shore, the Templars led Gytha and her party through the camp of Templars. They were a sizable number, though hardly an army. At most, it seemed to be about a hundred fifty or so soldiers. From what Gytha could tell, most of them seemed either bored or nervous.

"Why are the Templars just waiting here?" Gytha asked.

"Well we can't walk on water." One of the Templars shot back. "We were waiting for the builders from the West Hill crafthouse to get here so they could do repairs on the few broken parts of the bridge. But then the mages came out and destroyed the rest of the bridge. Now, we're waiting for boats."

"We think we're waiting for boats." The other Templar hissed, his annoyance with the situation clear and causing him to talk more freely. Gytha seized on it for information.

"Don't the Templars usually have a hold in the Tower?" She asked.

"We did, until Greagoir and the First Enchanter told us to retreat."

"Why did they do that?"

"The First Enchanter was worried about unnecessary deaths amongst the mages." One of the Templars said, as though it was the silliest thing imaginable. "Greagoir agreed with him."

They arrived at the Knight-Commanders tent, which was the grandest of them all. Opening a golden detailed flap of the tent, the Templars waved them in. Once they entered, Gytha saw two old men, one in armor and the other in robes, looking over a table with a map on it.

"Knight-Commander, we have Grey Wardens who want to meet with you." The Templar announced.

Greagoir spun around, clearly annoyed to already have the Grey Wardens in the tent. "I have no time for the Grey Wardens and their ceaseless demands." He said bitterly, heavy bags under his eyes.

"As I told the Templars at the edge of the camp, I do not come to speak with the head of your Order. I came to speak with the First Enchanter." Gytha corrected, turning her attention to the other beleaguered old man in the tent. "First Enchanter, I presume? I am Warden Commander Gytha, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

Irving was more pleasant than his compatriot and gave a small bow before speaking. "It is an honor to have a Grey Warden in our midst. Especially since we had heard your Order had perished at Ostagar after Teyrn Loghain's betrayal. Unfortunately, you have come at an inopportune time."

"So I gather." Gytha said, wondering how he heard the truth about Ostagar. Few had. "But Blights never come at an opportune time."

The First Enchanters eyes went a little wide. "So, it truly is a Blight." He breathed. "Maker protect us."

Greagoir was less convinced. "If that is so, the Circle is not capable of assisting the Grey Wardens. Not until we get the tower back under our control."

"It seems to me that the mages have control of the Tower. Why exactly do you need to have control?" Gytha asked, all innocent. Behind her, Alistair tried to play innocent, as if he had not explained to Gytha before they arrived the relationship between Templars and mages.

"Magic when left unchecked is a dangerous force, Warden." Greagoir eagerly lectured, "The Templar Order is sworn to be that check. For the protection of the mages themselves, and all the people of Thedas. The mages will not be able to effectively render assistance to your cause without the Templars."

"I understand there was a demonic outbreak in the Tower." Gytha said, as Greagoir shot the two Templar escorts a withering look. "And that the mages fixed it themselves?"

Through gritted teeth, Greagoir replied. "They may say and may think they have fixed it. But no doubt a good amount of corruption remains behind."

"Corruption that we have seen the mages taking care of." Irving countered in a reassuring tone, "Greagoir, you see the smoke coming from the Tower and from the grounds around it. They are burning the Corruption away and giving the dead to the pyre. They have even returned the bodies of the deceased Templars too, untouched."

"We do not know if that was a ploy, Irving!" Greagoir shouted.

Gytha bit her tongue at that. As far as she could tell, the Templars seemed to be great cowards. They were all clearly afraid of demons, a threat that didn't disturbed Gytha that much. She had fought many demons already while helping the Dalish and Redcliffe. They were like Darkspawn: terrifying at first, but after a few fights they were simply another enemy.

Except for the Revenant… that was something else entirely that still haunted her thoughts…

"First Enchanter, why are you not with your fellow mages?" she asked.

"There were some difficulties. I thought it would be best to remain with the Templars to help broker a peace." Irving said. He was a decent liar, but clearly never met a deshyr. Gytha could tell there was something awry there.

"Well, if you do not broker this peace, what will happen?"

Both Knight-Commander and First Enchanter looked at the other uneasily. "I have sent word to the Grand Cleric in Denerim updating her of the situation. While I no longer feel the Right of Annulment is necessary, other drastic measures will be taken. I am still waiting for a response."

"Very well. In the meantime, I must speak with the mages in some form. How many are in this camp besides yourself, First Enchanter?"

"It is only me." He replied, a hint of shame in his voice.

"That's… odd." Alistair finally spoke up. "All the mages stayed but kicked out their First Enchanter? Who is leading them?"

"A blood mage sympathizer named Victor Amell!" Greagoir spat. "He escaped from the Tower's dungeons and rallied the Tower against us!"

"He was acting on your orders, Greagoir." Irving countered. There was a tone shift too, like a parent warning someone who was on the cusp of insulting their child. "You instructed Victor to save me and he did so while killing the true evil mage in the Tower, Uldred. He did so along with the other mages, many of whom gave their lives to secure the tower."

That last part was nerve wracking. How many mages had died? Would it be enough to fill the army? Irving continued, now addressing Gytha directly. "Victor is very much in control of the Tower, along with a council of mages. They have not sent any demands besides wanting 'freedom' and have not done anything to provoke hostilities. They do not desire violence."

"Yet." Greagoir muttered.

"Then I must speak with them. Perhaps I can help broker a peace as there are pressing matters to attend to." Gytha said, reaching into her pack and pulling out letter. "I have come for two things: first is for the Mages of the Ferelden Circle to comply with a Grey Warden Treaty that they signed, calling on them to serve with the Grey Wardens against the Blight. The second, is to get assistance for the son of the Arl of Redcliffe who is possessed by a demon."

The second one provoked a reaction from the two men. Noticing the two Templar escorts were still in the tent, Greagoir quickly dismissed them. Gytha handed over the letter to him, written by Arlessa Isolde, the boy's mother. Greagoir opened the letter and began reading, positioning the letter so that Irving could read the horrible accounts from the magically plagued Redcliffe too.

"This is terrible." Irving stated.

Gytha nodded. "The village of Redcliffe and Castle Redcliffe are safe from the undead thanks to the Grey Wardens and Bann Teagan, but Connor still remains possessed. I must acquire lyrium and mages to confront the demon in the Fade and save the boy."

Greagoir finished reading and handed the letter to Irving as he began to pace. "As I said before, Warden, the Circle is in no position to render aid."

"Greagoir, see reason-"

"We will not negotiate without the Circle under Chantry control!" Greagoir bellowed. A silence followed, except for Trian's low growl at Greagoir's threatening tone. Gytha realized she would get nowhere with these men. Greagoir was terrified and rudderless without the Grand Cleric, who was two weeks away in Denerim. Meanwhile, Irving was not an equal partner to the Knight-Commander. He was not even a Second. He was an advisor, and one that had no power behind him besides whatever Greagoir allowed him to have.

"Let's go." Gytha announced, turning on her heels and exiting the tent. Her surprised companion followed.

"Warden, where are you going?" Greagoir shouted, following the group outside the tent with Irving in tow. Gytha and her companions made their way through the Templar camp, all eyes on them and the enraged looking Knight-Commander behind them.

"Er… Gytha?" Alistair asked.

"We're getting to the docks and heading to the Tower ourselves." Gytha announced.

"Wise move." Sten stated. "Those men were fools."

"We really should get the Knight-Commander's blessing." Leliana pleaded. "It would not do to upset the Chantry."

Gytha ignored her, instead petting Trian on the head as he bounced along after her. He was very happy to follow Pack Mother. He had not liked the human in the silver and red yelling at her and would have happy mauled him for Pack Mother just like he did those smelly creatures with the bad tasting blood that came from underground. Pack Mother also came from underground, but she was not smelly and was very smart, unlike the creatures. Pack Mother was the best, and it was good that she wasn't letting the angry man in silver tell her what to do.

The Lake Calenhad Docks were at the edge of the Templar camp. A few fishing boats were there, bobbing up and down on the water. A sturdily built man with greying hair was there at the docks. If he was surprised to see a dwarf, Mabari, Qunari, and two humans approach all while being chased by the red faced Knight-Commander and concerned First Enchanter, he didn't show it.

"Greetings." He said pleasantly. "My name is Kester, the ferryman to the Tower. Course I don't get much work these days."

"Atrast… Greetings." Gytha corrected. No dwarven greetings for any of these humans. "I am Gytha, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. These are my companions and we seek passage to the Tower to speak with the mages."

"Commander of the Grey?" Kester asked, now curious. Then he shrugged. "Yeah, suppose dwarves can be Grey Wardens too. Have to be with all those Darkspawn underground. Hop in, I'll give you a ride over."

"Wait!" Greagoir shouted again. "Grey Wardens, where do you think you're going!?"

"To the Tower." Gytha replied, as Kester began to ready the boat. "Where the mages are. Again, Knight-Commander, the Grey Wardens treaty is with the mages so there is no need for me to deal with you and wait for the Grand Cleric. But more pressing, I need the mage for a ritual to save a young boy's life. A young boy who is very important to a man who can save Ferelden from Civil War."

"This is a mistake, Warden!" Greagoir shouted, though the very heavy-handed hint about the Arl took some of the wind out of him. "A mistake that will cost you dearly."

Gytha shrugged. With more confidence than she felt, she hopped on Kester's rowboat, thankful it did not sink to the bottom of the water. Alistair, Sten, Leliana, and Trian piled in as well, with Kester taking hold of the oars. With a heavy push, the boat was out on the water.

"I shall return, First Enchanter, with the answer from the mages." Gytha called out, as they rowed towards the Tower. As the rowed further and further away from shore, her companions spoke up.

"You shouldn't annoy the Knight-Commander like that." Alistair warned. "He's just trying to do his job."

"I really don't think he's qualified for that job." Gytha responded. "His job seems to be guarding prisoners and he failed at that."

"Oh, Greagoir's a good man." Kester told her. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

"There is a Blight afoot." Gytha shrugged, unsympathetic, settling in for the trip to the Tower. "We are all overwhelmed. But with the mages on our side, things will go smoother."

Gytha is named after Arsinoe de Blassenville's Dwarf Noble in Victory at Ostagar. Following the scheming of Bhelen, Gytha survived the Deep Roads and joins the Legion of the Dead under the assumed name Astrid. Astrid meets Bronwyn Cousland - de facto Warden Commander of Ferelden - while Bronwyn and her party are trying to find the Anvil of the Void for Bhelen. After that mission, she demands to the join the Wardens and thus joins the story. This Gytha is not the same as Arsinoe's character, but named in memory of the fact this story came from Arsinoe's plot Mabari puppies. Again, go read Victory at Ostagar! It's fantastic.

Next up: Gytha meets the Council of Magi.