I met you as a stranger,

Took you as a friend.

- Mizscorpio

They were barely an hour's walk from the encampment at Ostagar before they came across a slaughtered patrol and an injured soldier who had dragged himself further up the path towards the army.

Alistair and Carver had patched him up, Carver doing the bandaging while Alistair helped maneuver the soldier so they could get him back on his feet.

Once they got him up, Daveth materialised out of the nearby scrub with a sturdy branch, the perfect height for a walking cane and they sent the man reluctantly on his way.

"We can't," Alistair had insisted when Ser Jory tentatively asked if they should escort him back to the camp, "We have a mission to complete and we have to get it done before nightfall."

And that was the end of that.

But it put them all on edge.

It wasn't long before they came across a darkspawn scouting party.

They'd been walking down a path through a marshy bit of bog, when Alistair paused and held up his hand, halting them all.

"Darkspawn ahead," he murmured, and Carver carefully unsheathed his sword from its place, strapped to his back, looking around them cautiously.

"How can you know that?" Ser Jory had unclipped his sword as well, and was scanning the misty marshes with undisguised anxiety, "How can you see anything in this blasted place?"

"I…" Alistair hesitated for a second and Carver looked over at him sharply, seeing a surprisingly conflicted expression on the other man's face, "I've been trained for this." he finished firmly, and his face cleared, but Carver frowned, certain of what he'd seen, "Trust that I know there are Darkspawn ahead of us."

Daveth had nocked an arrow, and nodded at the path, "Maybe we should go introduce ourselves."

"These are the Wilds, not a garden party!" Ser Jory hissed, and Carver rolled his eyes. Clearly the man had missed the point. By a mile.

Alistair was hesitating too, and Carver knew that if they kept dithering they'd get nowhere...or the element of surprise in their favour would be lost.

"Quiet." he hissed at the bickering rogue and warrior, the latter of whom gawped at him offendedly as he did, "We'll sneak up on them if we can." He turned to Alistair, "How far?"

"Next clearing…" The blond haired man looked relieved that someone else was making the decisions, "maybe about five of them?"

Carver nodded and turned to Daveth, "You're light on your feet, go have a look and report back, maybe we can hit them from multiple sides."

It had been the best strategy when he and Bethany had taken on Garrett, or their father. And really those childhood games were all he had to rely on. Not that anyone else was really offering anything better.

Daveth nodded, and promptly disappeared into the Marsh, causing Alistair's eyebrows to shoot up to his hair and Carver to blink at the spot he'd vanished from.

"Makes you wonder how he got caught, doesn't it…"

Alistair laughed quietly and nodded.

Jory grumbled at them and Carver bit down the sharp comment that had sprung to his lips.

Moments later Daveth returned and crouched down with Alistair and Carver, "You were right, there's five there...little short ones and one big one."

"Genlocks and Hurlocks." Alistair murmured frowning, "Shouldn't be too hard."

Carver made a note to learn more about the darkspawn varieties as soon as possible.

"Alright…" everyone looked at him expectantly, including Alistair, and Carver huffed softly, "Alright well...sneaking up on them is an impossibility." he eyed Alistair's, Jory's and his own heavy armour, "And if they catch us in a marshy position we'll be in trouble…"

The three men nodded and the expectant looks remained.

Carver had a moment of panic, deep in his chest. He'd played at war with his siblings. His father had trained him in the basics of using a sword, but he'd never had formal training. Alistair was a Grey Warden, Ser Jory was a Knight! Why were they looking at him like he had the answers?

Because, the little voice at the back of his head murmured softly, they've always been given orders to follow. You've never wanted to follow orders.

He sighed for a moment and steeled himself.

"Daveth, get behind them and up somewhere where they won't be able to stab you...can you make any bird noises?"

Ser Jory snorted derisively before spluttering as Daveth made a perfect marsh swallow's throaty trill.

Carver smirked, "Perfect. Make that sound when you're in position."

"What are we going to do?" Alistair asked softly.

"We're going to go as quietly as we can until we get to dry footing...and then we charge."

Alistair nodded and braced his shield on his arm as Daveth slipped away once more, silent and swift.

The three of them waited silently, until the trill broke the air. Carver nodded at the two men beside him and they slowly made their way forward until they reached the edge of the solid tussock and the path.

Once they were all on, Carver nodded and took off, Alistair beside him as they thundered into the clearing.

And Carver was forced to agree that Alistair had been correct. He wasn't prepared, not really, not for the reality of the beasts.

There seemed to be different types of them. The short stocky ones had mouths dominated by rows of slavering teeth. Their eyes were slitted and white, and their skin seemed almost damp, slick with some dark ichor that could be blood. The tall one was just as monstrous, and the gaping maw of its mouth opened on a roar as the humans charged into the clearing.

The stench off them was horrendous and he heard Ser Jory gag behind him, but Carver didn't stop.

He barrelled past the first, slashing with his blade before he practically tackled the human sized darkspawn, sending it stumbling back with a snarl.

He heard the whistle of an arrow through the air and knew Daveth was nearby, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than the darkspawn...the hurlock...in front of him.

The beast slashed at him with a terrible, serrated short blade and he brought up his blade to deflect before he surged forward, his sword sliding out from under the other to slash against the beast's armour. The creature snarled as it stumbled again, before recovering and flinging itself at Carver.

He ducked the vicious swing of the blade, feeling it clang against his pauldrons as it cut back towards him, and he lunged back, the sword sweeping past, leaving the hurlock exposed.

Swiftly he slashed and sent the monsters head rolling, black blood splattering the ground as he whirled to see how the fight was progressing.

A genlock lay nearby, riddled with arrows, dead and unmoving, but just beyond that he saw Alistair holding his own against two of the beasts, his shield keeping them at bay. Ser Jory was a little further off, his genlock struggling against the knight and the rogue, who was alternating between firing arrows at it and the ones circling Alistair.

Carver could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he charged back into the fray, surging towards one of Alistair's genlocks with a sharp "Hyah!"

The beast whirled to deal with him, and Alistair whipped around to face the other beast, engaging it in earnest. Carver slammed into his new foe, armour taking some of the brunt of the assault as he deflected the attack and impaled the beast, straight through the belly. It slid slowly off his blade and he looked around to see all the darkspawn dead and Daveth picking his way down off his vantage point.

Alistair grinned at him, green gold eyes alight with the same exhilaration that was pumping through Carver.

Panting but thrilled, Carver couldn't help but grin back.

They collected the blood in the vials, Jory making disgusted, gagging sounds as Alistair insisted he collect his own.

Carver knelt beside the decapitated hurlock, and quickly filled the vial with the thick black blood, stoppering it and sealing it with wax, "Maker that's disgusting,"

As the others bickered the blue eyed warrior looked around the clearing, watching as Daveth retrieved his arrows from the corpses of his victims, at a raven sitting on a low branch, eyeing the carnage with its head cocked to the side.

He considered the bird for a long moment, wondering why he couldn't look away. It looked like a normal bird, but it sat still, golden eyes sharp as it watched them back.

Forcing himself to look away, Carver spotted something else of interest, and grinned as he tramped over to a nearby log. Gently he plucked the white flower, with the blood red centre, and tucked it carefully into a pouch attached to his belt.

When he turned back he saw the others were ready to go, and Alistair was giving him a knowing, and amused look.

Rolling his eyes, Carver strode past him, nudging him as he went, "Shut your bloody face."

And Alistair's laughter followed him as they headed out, deeper into the wilds.

Hours later, none of them were laughing any more.

It had been a hard slog through the misty landscape, avoiding the darkspawn patrols as much as they could. The sun was slowly starting to sink, and Daveth was running dangerously low on arrows. None of them wanted to spend the night in the Wilds, but conversely, none of them wanted to return to Ostagar without their second task either.

So it was with great relief that they saw the shape of the ruined marble tower through the woods.

However that relief was short lived as they found very little remaining of the ruined tower, and a number of broken and shattered chests lay in the doorway of an exposed understory room.

Silently they explored and found no trace of the documents they'd been sent to find.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Carver's head snapped up and he straightened into standing as he took in the sight of a black haired woman strolling down the ramp of the ruin.

She wore clothes similar to the Chasind, adorned with feathers and leathers, unperturbed by modesty. Her skin was pale, hair dark and her eyes were a striking pale golden colour.

Beautiful, by anyone's standards, Carver thought, feeling flustered for a moment, before he saw the hint of a smirk around her mouth.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger? Poking amidst a corpse, whose bones were long since cleaned?" there was a playful note to her voice, a wryness that felt familiar. Slowly Carver moved to face her head on, "Or merely an intruder...come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" she prowled forward, suspicion in her gaze and Carver felt, more than saw Daveth and Alistair shift, uneasily behind him, "What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

Carver met her gaze firmly. He knew of the Chasind, every child who lived in the Hinterlands knew of them. They were wildfolk with their own code and ways. Some spoke of them as a warning to naughty boys and girls, but Carver had always been curious.

Something about their wildness and freedom appealed.

But he knew better than to show weakness to one. Such a proud people and strong culture would see such obiesence as weakness. And that could definitely prove fatal.

"We are here to reclaim that which was once ours." he informed the woman, folding his arms, echoing her pose, "And what of you? Are you a scavenger? Guard? Or simply a curious woman out on a sunset stroll."

Her lips curved up in a wicked smirk, "I have been watching your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes that have been untouched in so long…" she dragged out the word so, her voice taking on an almost sing-song lilt, "Why is that?"

"Don't answer," Alistair murmured, and Carver glanced over at the other man, seeing him stepping close to his shoulder, "She looks Chasind, there may be others nearby."

The woman laughed, "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!" and she raised her arms like swooping birds, the gesture still mocking.

"Yes…" Carver looked at his companion again, seeing his eyes narrowed, "Swooping is bad."

"She's a witch of the wilds, she is." Daveth added from the other side and Carver turned to frown at him, when he saw the man's obvious anxiety, "She'll turn us into toads."

Carver snorted and the woman rolled her eyes, resting her hand on her cocked hip,

"A Witch of the Wilds…" she sighed, "What idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?"

Her gaze roamed over Daveth, Ser Jory, Alistair...and then settled firmly, once again, on Carver.

"You there, handsome lad. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be…civilised."

There was a purr to her voice, a sort of charm to it, but Carver was realising more and more how much this woman reminded him uncomfortably of Garrett. She wielded words like a weapon, sharpened with her charm and smoothness of tone. Even the sarcasm was familiar, and it was enough to keep him firm and unmoved by both her obvious beauty and her charm.

"I'm Carver...Carver Hawke." he informed her and felt Alistair jolt beside him, "It's a pleasure to meet you," he added, because Leandra had insisted they all learn their manners. And it was good to show some manners...even to a Chasind wildwoman.

"Well now that is a proper, civil greeting, even here in the Wilds." She smirked at him, golden eyes curious but calculating, "You may call me Morrigan, Carver Hawke. Shall I guess your purpose?" She tilted her head challengingly and Carver sent up a silent prayer that this woman and Garrett would never meet.

Surely the world would simply explode rather than handle them together.

He inclined his head and her grin sharpened, "You sought something in that chest? Something that is...here no longer?"

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair repeated sarcastically, stepping forward once more, "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of...sneaky….witch-thief!"

Carver restrained the urge to slap his hand to his forehead, or pinch the bridge of his nose, but it was a close call.

Morrigan grinned, "How very eloquent." she mocked cheerfully, completely unruffled by the Grey Warden's accusation, "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems," Alistair met Carver's gaze and suddenly his back straightened, and authority suffused his voice, "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." Morrigan frowned at him, shaking her head as though at a disappointing child, "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer, if you wish. I am not threatened."

And she smirked at Alistair, who made a faint whistling sound like an irate kettle.

"If it was not you, who removed them," Carver folded his arms again, "Then do you know who did?"

Morrigan smirked down at him, and inclined her head, "'Twas my mother...in fact."

Carver arched his eyebrow at her in return, surprisingly not as irritated with her as he would have been with Garrett pulling the same stunt, "And can you take us to her?"

"Now there is a sensible request," Morrigan laughed softly, "I like you."

"I'd be careful…" Alistair muttered, "First it's 'I like you." and his voice took on a breathy sort of falsetto that made Carver cough to hide a chuckle, "But then zap...frog time."

Carver rolled his eyes, once again manfully resisting the urge to pinch his nose.

"She'll put us all in the pot she will, just you watch," Daveth added, wringing his fingers in their leather gloves.

"If the pot's warmer than this forest it'd be a nice change." Jory added.

Carver gave in, pinching his nose.

"Mages don't turn people into toads, and witches don't boil people in the pot." he informed them, exasperatedly. Morrigan smirked at him, amused.

"Follow me then...if it pleases you." she crooked a finger and headed off into the woodlands.

Carver followed, not looking back at his companions, but knowing that, at least for now...they were following.

Maker preserve him.

They followed Morrigan into the depths of the uncharted wilderness, and Carver ignored Daveth's superstitious mutterings, Jory's increasing jumpiness and Alistair's silent disapproval. They needed those treaties and here was where they were located. No matter which way they sliced the bread, these facts would remain the same.

Eventually they came across a thin ribbon of path and at the end of it they found a large clearing and house. Out the front of which was an older woman with Morrigan's pale gold eyes and a feeling of subtle power in the air around her.

"Greetings, mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who…" Morrigan strolled up to her mother, but was swiftly interrupted.

"I see them, girl. Hmm….much as I expected."

Morrigan's mother had a low smoke filled voice, crackling with age, and wisdom and he was certain, power. Behind Carver Alistair scoffed openly.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" he drawled, folding his arms and cocking an eyebrow with faux amusement. Morrigan's mother simply shot him an unimpressed look in return.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide. Either way, one's a fool." she ran her eyes critically over Alistair and Carver saw his companion flush, as though her words were an insult.

"She's a Witch I tell you. We shouldn't be talking to her…" Daveth muttered, fidgeting anxiously, before Ser Jorry hissed back.

"Quiet Daveth. If she's really a Witch, do you want to make her mad?"

Morrigan's mother laughed softly as Morrigan herself leaned against a tree, smirking faintly with amusement.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides." Jory spluttered, insulted, but Morrigan's mother had already moved on, "Believe what you will." she informed the group, before her pale gold eyes locked onto Carver's once more.

"And what of you? Do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?"

"Who you are, what you are and what you believe is no matter to me." Carver informed her firmly, "You have something we need, that is all."

"They did not come here to listen to your wild stories, mother." Morrigan drawled from the background, arms folded.

"True," the woman nodded, "They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking," she added with an acidic glance towards Alistair, "Your seal wore off long ago, I have protected these."

"You…! Oh…" Alistair floundered, "You protected them."

"And why not. Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blights threat is greater than they realise."

She held out a sheaf of parchment to Carver, wrapped in a solid oilskin tube to protect them from the wet. Slowly he reached out to take them, tucking them into his belt, considering the older woman before him.

Looking at her, Carver knew there would be no details as to what she meant forthcoming, and that subtle feeling of power tingled in the air again. He knew what magic felt like, knew it intimately. She was benign now, but he had no doubt that this woman, and her daughter, were powerful mages. And ones the Chantry would hunt remorselessly if discovered.

Better to be on their way.

"Thank you, milady. Morrigan." he nodded to both of them and saw their lips curve up in the same sardonic smirk.

"Time for you to go then." Morrigan informed them bluntly, only to be interrupted by her mother's chuckle.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl, these are your guests."

Mother and daughter shared a look, Mother's warning, Morrigan's long suffering, before she huffed and shrugged.

"Oh...very well." Morrigan sighed, "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

And she strolled off down the path. The other three were quick to follow but Carver turned to look at Morrigan's mother once more.

She considered him in return, head cocked to the side, mouth slightly curved upwards.

"Thank you." he murmured, and she chuckled, a fearless and fearsome sound within it.

"We will meet again, Grey Warden. Of that I am certain."

And Carver hastened away, the hair on the back of his neck standing up on end.

Spooky.

As they headed up the path to Ostagar, Daveth and Jory bickering again as they hastened towards the firelight and safety, Alistair grabbed Carver's arm and brought them both to a halt.

He arched a questioning eyebrow at the other man, and saw an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his half shadowed face.

"You only told me your name was Carver."

"Yes?" Carver cocked his head, arching an eyebrow, "What of it?"

"Your name is Carver Hawke ." he emphasised the surname sharply and Carver frowned at him, shrugging, "You're the one who slaughtered all those Templars in Lothering, aren't you."

Ice shivered down Carver's spine again, and he turned to face Alistair properly, seeing hurt in the green gold eyes, as well as wariness.

"Yes I did," he sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck self consciously, "Because they were coming to take my brother and sister away."

"Your...why?" Alistair frowned, before suddenly the clouds vanished, "They're mages."

Carver nodded, "Bethany saved someone with magic...and when they tried to arrest her, my brother defended her...again with magic. They got home and...I held off the Templars as they escaped."

"You-..." Alistair floundered, and bit his lip, "You didn't kill them because you hated them?"

"No! I don't just go around killing people I don't like! Though I'm no fan of them right now, after they and the Chantry tried to have me executed as a warning to others." Carver snapped back, and sighed as he saw Alistair frown again.

He didn't want to hurt Alistair...or get him off side. He actually liked the other man, had enjoyed their time together so far. He was cheerful and easy going and he didn't make Carver feel like an idiot, or less than…

He'd hoped that he'd made his first friend in this new life. But he knew this conversation could go badly…

Especially if he soured it with being defensive.

So he gentled his tone, deliberately and carefully, "I was buying time...but they were determined to get in...over my corpse if necessary."

Alistair nodded, "That's why you asked me about my Templar training isn't it?"

"A little." Carver shrugged slightly, deciding to be honest, "I wanted to know if you were already likely to hate me."

"And…?" Alistair asked quietly, "What did you decide?"

"I don't hate you." Carver sighed softly, "And you? Is this going to be a problem?" he knew his voice had taken on that harder, more belligerent note, that it got when he was defensive and winced.

Alistair shook his head, "You're a Grey Warden now...or you will be very soon, once the Joining is complete. I've never...I don't have any family. But I would like to think...that if I did...I'd be able to protect them like you did yours."

Carver felt his shoulders slump with relief and he shot the man a small smile, which was returned.

"Who you are before you become a Grey Warden...that doesn't matter. It's a fresh start, a new beginning, the chance to be more than you were…" Alistair nodded, and grinned, "I hated being a Templar. And you...I can see why Duncan recruited you. You were never going to be no-one."

Warmth flooded Carver and he clasped Alistair's arm firmly, seeing the same reflected back at him from the other man.

They'd both been lonely boys.

Now, they were Grey Wardens.