As the sun reached its apex in a sallow. colourless sky, the new recruits gathered at the foot of the Tower of Ishal. The old structure reared a hundred feet in the air, and was remarkably intact for its age; testament to Tevinter engineering ingenuity. The morning drizzle had stopped, but a chill breeze had crept up from the mountain valley below, roaming joyfully through the terraces and pillar-lined colonnades.

Ser Jory, who had strapped an expensive-looking breastplate over his fustian doublet, was clutching a bow. The curved length of willow was trembling in his sweaty-palmed grip. Despite the cold, red and blotchy patches had sprung up on his throat.

"Have either of you ever seen a Darkspawn before?" he asked after a moment, swallowing and checking for the hundredth time that his quiver was still slung over his back. Daveth, hard-built and lean as a blade, sporting no armour save for his leathers, was silently cleaning a wicked looking knife. At the noble's question he shook his head, grim-faced.

"Nah."

Ser Jory turned to Flora, who was sitting on a low stone wall and finishing off a pear. She mumbled a denial, her mouth full. Ser Jory's tongue flickered nervously over his lips.

"I've seen one before, brought into the city as a captive. Monstrous, mindless creatures. Their blood is poison and spreads the Blight. If you get any on you, it'll turn you into a monster too. That's if they don't eat you alive first."

Flora pulled a face, swallowing the last bite of her pear with a hard gulp. Ser Jory's eyes fell on the length of wood slung across her back.

"What kind of mage are you?" he asked, clinging to hope. "A pyromancer?"

"What's that?"

The noble stared at her in minor disbelief.

"A fire mage," he said at last, incredulous. "Don't they teach you about the different schools of magic at the Circle?"

Flora, who had been removed from her classes due to both a lack of literacy and ability, gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Ain't one of them."

"A cryomancer, then?"

She shook her head. "Nooo."

"What can you do?"

"Shield things," Flora replied, with her usual scant eloquence. "Heal things."

At this welcoming news Ser Jory looked a fraction calmer, his pudding-like face regaining a modicum of colour as the door behind them swung open.

"Ready to head to the stables?"

Alistair appeared at the base of the tower, squinting at the sudden emergence into daylight. He had changed into sturdier armour, his breastplate engraved with an argent griffon. A freshly polished shield was hung across his shoulders; beneath the coat of varnish, the metal was heavily dented and scarred.

Nobody looked keen: Ser Jory seemed about to be sick; Daveth ready to make a run for it; Flora had paled at the prospect of more riding.

Horses were retrieved from the makeshift stables, fitted with saddles and bridles by sullen-faced grooms. Since Flora had fallen off three times before they even reached the outer drawbridge, Alistair very reluctantly permitted her to share his saddle. He then shuffled back several inches to create a gap between her back and his breastplate. Flora assumed that it was because she was a mage, yet this was only partially true. The young officer doubted that his heart had returned to its normal rhythm since he had first set eyes on her. He was both disconcerted and annoyed; she was a distraction and not even a competent spellcaster!

They followed a small winding path that gradually made its way out of the valley; the steep crags yielding to sloping foothills around them. Ahead lay grey-brown marshland, dotted with the occasional clump of trees, huddled together for protection. Few made their home within the Korcari Wilds, where the wolves and the Darkspawn competed for territory with other, older creatures that dwelt within the swamp.

Ser Jory had kept up a near-continuous flow of nervous chatter, his voice gradually creeping up in pitch as they neared the border of the Wilds. They learnt of his pregnant wife, of the house he had just purchased, and of the tournament that he had won which first brought him to Duncan's attention.

At one point, while they were waiting for a ferryman to carry them across the Silvern river, Jory eyed Alistair curiously.

"You mentioned you were from Redcliffe? I was recently in service there to Arl Eamon."

Alistair nodded, then peered across to the far side of the water, where the raft was preparing to make the return journey after carrying Daveth over. He did not trust the Denerim thief, half-expecting him to dart off into the wilderness. Yet Daveth remained on the opposite shore, glancing warily over his shoulder.

"I was raised by the arl as a child," he said, not choosing to elaborate. "Left a decade ago, though, and haven't been back since."

Jory appraised Alistair's strong jawline and green-flecked hazel eyes, brow furrowing.

"Ah, I remember - just. Rumour was that you were Eamon's natural son, but you've not got the look of him. No, you've more the look of- "

"Here's the ferry," the young Warden interjected, abruptly cutting the nobleman off. "You go across next, then we'll join you. If Daveth tries to escape, you've got my permission to knock him off his horse."

For the next hour, Ser Jory brooded in silence. His was a more anxious and sweaty quiet than Daveth's, who had not said a single word since they had left Ostagar. Flora's attention was divided between staying on the saddle and gazing in awe at the low foothills around them, as though they were the Frostbacks themselves. Although she had not been trapped in the Circle tower for a lifetime, as some mages had; four years was a lengthy time for one to be shut indoors.

Finally, wishing to break the shroud of silence, Ser Jory tugged at his horse's reins, dropping back to ride alongside Alistair and Flora. He eyed Flora, appreciative of her beauty despite doubting whether there was a brain lodged within that exquisitely shaped skull.

"I didn't know girls could be Grey Wardens," he said, overly hearty. "There aren't many women at Ostagar."

Flora, who had vaguely noticed the dearth of women, gave an ambivalent shrug.

"Mm."

"I assure you, Darkspawn don't have a preference about who they're killed by," interjected Alistair, despite knowing that Flora was very unlikely to be killing anything during their expedition into the Wilds.

Jory scowled, drawing his horse close and leaning towards Flora. She eyed the sweating noble, curiously.

"I don't like him," he muttered to her, fleshy chin quivering in indignation. "Just a lad, and he's in charge of us…? I thought at least the Warden-Commander himself would be taking us out."

Flora tilted her head to follow the progress of a flight of swallows. Although her hair was starting to unwrap itself from its hastily tied braid, she did not dare to remove a hand from the pommel of the saddle in order to tuck it back into place.

"Eh, he's probably busy," she mumbled, used to going unnoticed by those in charge. Until her Harrowing, the First Enchanter had barely been aware of her existence. Jory wrinkled his lip, not satisfied with this answer. He looked her up and down again with a slight frown, noting the finely cut cheekbones and the unruly abundance of thick, dark red hair.

"Where are you from?" he asked, curiously. "You've got a northerner's colouring."

"Herring," Flora replied, perking up. She hoped that Jory would enquire further, giving her a chance to heap praise upon her beloved home. Unfortunately, Jory had never heard of the tiny fishing village and, believing that she was making fun of him, fell into a petulant silence.

They continued to ride deeper into the marshland, while increasing masses of grey cloud gathered overhead. Warning signs were posted at frequent intervals, indicating that danger of various sorts lay ahead. They saw no other travellers, indeed, there was very little sign of life in general. The swamp was devoid of the usual signs of life: no crickets ground away from the grasses, no frogs croaked in chorus. Even the birdsong was scant and mournful.

Finally, Alistair drew them to a halt beside a broken stone pillar, standing like an ancient sentinel beside the road. It appeared to mark an old boundary of some sort. He gave the area behind a cursory glance, then gestured for the three initiates to gather around.

"So, the first part of the ritual involves collecting a vial of Darkspawn blood," he began, retrieving a handful of glass phials from his saddlebag. He showed them swiftly to the initiates, with the practised efficiency of one who had been through this process many times.

Jory swallowed, darting a nervous look at his companions from the tail of his eye. The scrawny Daveth was watching Alistair, tight-lipped, his fingers convulsively clutching the hilt of his blade. Flora, meanwhile, was fiddling with her braid, uncertain whether to keep it down or pin it around her head like a lobster-pot.

"So, we have to kill a Darkspawn," the man from Denerim spoke up for the first time since they had left Ostagar, his voice low and contemptuous. "Even though we've not been trained. That's suicide."

"Ordinary Darkspawn'll die with a blade stuck in them, just like anything else," retorted Alistair, dropping down from the saddle and retrieving his shield from the strapping. "I'll help out where I can, and we do have a mage with us."

The young officer glanced up quickly at Flora, who was gloomily contemplating the distance between herself and the ground. He reached up to steady her as she half-slid, half-fell off the saddle; then withdrew his arm so quickly that she almost went face-first in the mud.

"Aye, one who can't so much as light a candle!" sneered Daveth, who had overheard Flora's admission at the foot of the Tower of Ishal. "What use is a mage who can't summon a flame?"

Alistair sighed under his breath, checking the keenness of his blade before sheathing it.

"Let's all just try and get along," he intoned, tying the reins around the remains of the pillar. "Come on, tie up your horses. If you survive, you won't want to be walking home."

They headed into the lowlands, with Alistair leading the way. The junior Warden walked with confidence, despite there being no discernible path through the swampy marshes. The water that pooled here was stagnant, the trees withered and malnourished. Every so often, a pale and sickly plant clung to life on the riverbank. The air had a foul, oily residue that coated the lungs with each inhalation:

"There's a Darkspawn camp on the other side of those trees," Alistair murmured in an undertone as they reached a narrow stream, holding up a hand to halt the party. "Daveth, could you go and see how many there are? No sense in charging into a full nest."

The slender man shot Alistair a look brimming with resentment, but did as instructed. With a barely discernible tread, he crossed the shallow stream and began to skulk up the far bank. Jory and Flora watched him, the nobleman's face damp despite the cool, autumnal air. The sweating man glanced sideways at Flora, who was carrying her staff on her shoulders, her expression impassive.

"Why are you not scared, girl?" he hissed finally, as Daveth melded seamlessly into the trees skirting the top of the ridge.

"I am scared," she offered, in an attempt to reassure him. "My face don't show it, but I am."

Flora saw no point in telling him that her spirits were breathing down her neck and that she trusted them completely to keep her safe. After all, they had protected her from demons in the Fade since she was a child; and Darkspawn could not be much worse than demons.

Daveth was now heading back down the sloping bank towards them, slipping and sliding on the wet grass in his haste. His face was the shade of curdled milk, the corner of his mouth twitching compulsively.

"Looks like he's seen something," replied Alistair cheerfully, though his gaze was also trained on the scrawny man, fingers loose around the hilt of his sword. "Get your phials ready. And your blades."

Partway through speaking his tone hardened, the rich hazel eyes blazing. Jory gaped, fumbling for his own dagger, although nothing yet seemed out of the ordinary.

"Prepare yourselves," hissed the junior Warden, unsheathing his sword and holding it aloft. Flora fumbled for her staff, which was still hanging behind her back, and nearly choked herself trying to yank it forwards.

Calm down, reproached a disapproving voice, just south of her ear.

A white-faced, trembling Daveth had reached the bottom of the bank and was just about to cross the stream to reach them when there came a bloodcurdling sound from the top of the ridge. It was part snarl and part hollow gurgle; a noise that nothing natural was capable of making. Daveth turned around, his mouth twisting in horror, as several Darkspawn appeared in a mass at the top of the ridge.

Silhouetted against the grey clouds, their twisted forms made a fearful sight. Over six feet tall, hunched and deformed beyond recognition from the living creatures they had once been. They were coated in rags and scraps of ragged muscle, armed with blackwood bows and jagged blades. Their movements were irregular and somehow disjointed, as if the rotten sinew had little control over the eroded bone.

Flora's jaw dropped; her blood suddenly as cold as seawater in her veins. Demons could at least be spoken to, could be stalled and delayed and sometimes persuaded. Not that she was eloquent enough to debate with the demonic residents of the Fade, but her spirits sometimes amused themselves with idle banter before liquidising her foes into ether. She took a step backwards and almost slipped on the muddy grass, windmilling her arms to stay upright.

Don't take another step, reprimanded the sterner of her spirits, the one who claimed to have been a general in a past life. This is just the beginning .

Beside her she heard Alistair give a roar of challenge, smacking the flat of his sword against his shield and striding into the shallow stream towards Daveth.

"Come on, then!"

Go after him.

Flora followed Alistair, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage. As she splashed into the stream, she tried her best to ignore the instinct that told her to flee in the opposite direction.

"Your bow! Use your bow," the young Warden yelled at a frozen Daveth, as death came hurtling down the slope towards him. The man was paralysed as though struck by a spell, his mouth open in a silent gape of terror. The first Darkspawn let out a bestial shriek, gore dripping in globs from its fangs. It began to lope unevenly down the slope on all fours, intent on reaching its meal faster. Alistair went to meet it without hesitation.

It leapt towards him and he deflected the lunge with a shove of his shield, sending it crashing into the stream with a gurgling howl. Raising his sword, Alistair shoved the point deep into the creature's part-exposed throat. Dark, cloying blood began to spill forth in gouts, mingling with the stagnant water of the stream.

An open-mouthed Flora was so busy watching Alistair kill the Darkspawn - it was so violent! and messy! - that she missed the clawed hammer hurled from the top of the ridge. It flew end over end, the blade spitting out flecks of virulence as it tumbled towards Daveth's learner-clad shoulders.

Only a hiss of warning from Flora's spirits drew her attention to the lethal projectile. She flung up a hand in panic, heart seizing in her chest; the woods seemed brighter around her for a split second and a gleaming sheath wrapped itself around the Denerim thief. The ax hit the delicate, silver-gold film with a dull clang, dropping into the stream and sinking to the mud.

Daveth, dazzled by the sudden brightness of the shield, let out a shout of alarm. He stumbled backwards like a drunk from a tavern, losing his balance as a foot plunged into the stream. The next moment he had fallen, taking a gobsmacked Flora with him. Terror had stolen the reason from him; he flailed around with his ringed fist. Flora let out a squeal like a stuck pig and splashed inelegantly on all fours away from him, blood oozing from both nostrils.

Alistair, breathless after tackling and decapitating a second Darkspawn, looked around to see Jory quivering with fright on the far bank, Daveth thrashing around in the stream and Flora prodding experimentally at her broken nose. He gaped for a moment, stunned by such monumental incompetency, then gestured towards the bank.

"Two more incoming!"

Alistair's yell brought a brief moment of clarity to a wild-eyed Daveth; he fumbled for his bow, managing to nock an arrow. The shot was true; one Darkspawn staggered as it was blinded, the arrowhead driven through an eyesocket. Despite the wound it kept going, hurtling down the slope like a beast driven out of its mind. Jory, seeing that it was aimless, stumbled into the stream and slashed his dagger clumsily across the creature's throat. Dark, coagulated blood dribbled out, further fouling the water.

Meanwhile, Flora had scrambled to her feet, glanced around and spotted Alistair. He was facing down a hulking creature, shaped more like a beast than a man, armed with a brutal spiked club. The junior warden's shield was increasingly dented as he held it up to defend himself from a relentless hail of blows. The creature brought the club down on the shield once more and Alistair staggered backwards, dropping to one knee in the water. The smell of death filled his throat, rancid and cloying.

The Darkspawn raised the club to make a killing blow, teeth bared. The downwards swing came fast and heavy as an Orlesian guillotine, yet it too rebounded with a dull, metallic clang. The Darkspawn staggered, losing its balance as the club went splashing into the knee-deep water.

Well done , whispered Flora's spirits; they had not needed to prompt their young charge this time.

Flora beamed, bloody nosed, surveying her handiwork from several yards away. The sheath gleamed between Alistair and his increasingly enraged foe; whose frenzied blows made no purchase on the gleaming barrier.

Seizing the moment Alistair lunged forward, bringing his sword up in a scything motion. The blade tore a hole in the creature's belly, gutting it from groin to throat. It collapsed to the stream, innards spilling forth in a steaming mass.

It was suddenly very quiet, save for the Darkspawn's death rattle and the ragged gasps of Jory. A lone bird cried to another, low and mournful, across the stagnant marshland. Panting, the young Warden glanced sideways to his initiates. Daveth, face contorted in disbelief, had clambered onto the bank and was standing with his bow dangling limply from a hand. Jory sat near him, crouched over, clutching his knee and gritting his teeth. Freshly-drawn bloke surged between his fingers. Flora, her nose equally bloody, was splashing her way towards them. The corpse of four Darkspawn lay spread around them in various states of dismemberment. Their dark, poisonous blood was already coagulating on the surface of the stagnant water. The entire attack had taken place in less than three minutes.

"Well, I feel sorry for the fish in this stream," commented a breathless Alistair after a moment, sheathing his sword. "They're definitely doomed."

"Oh, no!" breathed Flora, eyes expanding in sympathy. "My favourite animal. Poor fish."

"Poor us," grumbled Daveth, washing the dark stain from his bow. "This is how the taint is spread; we're all soaked in it."

"Ah, don't worry about that. We all mostly intact?" replied Alistair vaguely, wading upstream to join them.

Jory let out a strangled moan, teeth gritted as he sat hunched on the bank. The wound to his knee was deep, three parallel claw marks sunk into the the flesh. Flora, after spending a moment in mourning for the doomed fish, headed through the water towards him.

"Don't splash, idiot!"

"Daveth, would you do the honours?" asked Alistair, handing over the three glass phials. Muttering under his breath, Daveth took them and gingerly picked his way to one of the leaking corpses.

While the thief collected the blood, Alistair clambered up the grassy bank and surveyed the far side of the ridge, squinting at the marshland beyond for any sign of movement.

"Nothing as far as I can see," he called over his shoulder, glancing back down the bank. Daveth had just finished collecting the third phial of blood, pushing the stopper into the neck of the flask with a grimace.

Meanwhile, Flora occupied herself with Jory; relieved that the combat was over and she was back in her field of expertise. After he had instructed her on how to remove his shinguard, she had peeled back the linen below and press her mouth against the bloodied clawmarks. It took only a minute for the flesh to knit itself together, fibrous strands weaving like the braided hair of a child. The skin was the quickest for her to grow; pink and new, it spread like a winestain to seal in the new flesh.

Jory's groaning abated when Flora sat back on her heels, wiping her bloodied mouth with the back of her hand.

"'Maker's Breath," he said, astonished; looking at her with begrudging admiration. "That's clean. There's not even a scar."

Flora's brow furrowed at this unintentional insult: her healing had not left scars since she was a child of ten.

"That's because Flora is the most renowned healer in Thedas," replied Alistair, half-sliding back down the blood-slick slope jovially. "She once healed a wart on the Empress Celene's big toe. Just don't ask her to do anything else."

Flora, unsure whether he was making fun of her, frowned. Jory had scrambled to his feet, testing the strength of his knee.

"Aaah," he enthused, surveying the corpses of the Darkspawn strewn in the stream around them. "Gets the blood pumping, doesn't it? You know, I quite enjoyed that!"

Daveth, who would have bolted to freedom if they hadn't been surrounded by miles of diseased-looking marsh, shot him a look of pure contempt.

After unsuccessfully trying to invert a large dent in his shield, Alistair slung it back onto his shoulders. Checking that his sword was still in its sheath, he tucked away the three phials and turned to the three initiates.

"That's enough excitement for one day. We've got what we came for."

Jory feigned disappointment; but blanched when Alistair suggested slyly that they take a diversion to a nearby Darkspawn camp before returning to the horses. Daveth, conversely, set off without a glance backwards, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

Flora retrieved her staff from where it had floated downstream and wedged itself in the mud. She had not used it in the skirmish; trusting more in her own hands. Alistair, who had been about to overtake her, hesitated. He grimaced, then waved a vague hand in front of his face.

"Are you going to - ah - fix your nose?"

Flora blinked, reaching up to touch her blooded nostrils.

"Ooh," she said, feeling the crunch of splintered bone. "I forgot. Oh!" Indignation struck. "He did that. He punched me!"

She waggled an accusatory finger towards Daveth, who ignored her.

"People react differently when they see a Darkspawn for the first time," Alistair replied, forgetting to inject the usual flippancy into his tone. The wound to her face was like seeing a painting slashed or a stained glass window shattered; as though something precious had been vandalised.

Flora jammed two fingers inelegantly into her nostrils. Alistair's jaw dropped. Despite the unorthodox methodology, within seconds, her nose had been restored to its former shape.

"That's better," the young Warden said, inexplicably relieved. "It would be a shame, if- if- "

She blinked at him; he mouthed for a moment, then gave an embarrassed laugh and turned away.

Since all four of them wanted to leave the infested swamp as soon as possible, it took a much shorter time to retrace their steps. With Daveth setting a rapid pace, they traversed broken bridges, waded across submerged roadways and skirted the edge of fetid marshes. The sun had just touched the western horizon and nobody desired to be still in the Wilds when night came.

To everyone's relief, the horses were still grazing quietly around the broken pillar, their reins tied to the crumbling stone. They whickered with excitement on seeing the party return; nostrils flaring and tails whisking. Alistair, who had spent years as a stable lad, began to methodically check each hoof to ensure no small stone had embedded itself within the shoe. Jory tried unsuccessfully to make conversation with a monosyllabic Flora, who - institutionalised from four years in a Circle - was obsessing over missing dinnertime.

Daveth, contemplating making a run for it, drew in a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

"Well, well, what have we here?" drawled a female voice that simultaneously radiated arrogance and over-familiarity. Alistair dropped the horse's leg in surprise; Jory's and Flora's heads swivelled in unison.

A woman strolled out from behind the pillar, a cloud of dark hair tied haphazardly atop her head with a myriad of pins, animal bones and feathers. A single scarlet rune was emblazoned on her cheek, and dirt was caked behind long, dagger-tipped fingernails. Her body, lean and sinewy, was cloaked in a collection of sewn-together hides; a blackthorn staff hung across her back on a leather strap. She was barefoot, her feet muddied up to the ankle.

Jory squawked, stepping backwards reflexively onto Flora's toe. The woman's red-painted mouth curled up into a mocking smile.

"Ouch," said Flora.

"What do we have here? Four lost little creatures, wandering in the swamp."

"Don't look directly at her," hissed Daveth in a panicked undertone. "It's a Witch of the Wilds. I've heard tavern-tales about 'em. She'll turn us all into frogs!"

The woman snorted, her honey-coloured eyes falling on the slender thief from Denerim.

"Ah, but I do lose track of the names they give us. It's apostate one minute, Witch of the Wilds the next. Have you been hunting Darkspawn again?"

"How do you know what we've been doing?" retorted Alistair warily, fingertips resting lightly on the hilt of his swore. "Have you been spying on us? That's very creepy."

The woman's scornful curl of the lip was accompanied by a contemptuous toss of her night-dark hair.

"I've seen you here on a few occasions, 'Grey Warden'. Only a fool returns repeatedly to pester a foe such as the Darkspawn."

"Hold, witch!" interrupted a trembling Jory, thrusting the started Flora forwards. "We too have a - ah - powerful mage with us, so don't try anything!"

Morrigan looked Flora up and down, then laughed for quite a long time. Flora, who was used to mockery from the senior apprentices in the Circle, let her gaze drift over the strange woman's shoulder. She was still brooding over the fate of the fish in the tainted stream.

"I needed some levity," the witch said at last, still grinning cruelly. "Well, it's been a pleasure, but I must bid you farewell. I only wished to introduce myself - the name is Morrigan, by the way - and see who my visitors were. And I wouldn't linger… the Wilds are even less friendly after dark."

She ran her hands over her leather skirts, fingering the crude stitches keeping the hides together. Alistair's brow furrowed; he wished fervently that Duncan had accompanied them. Dealing with strange, half-dressed witches covered in swamp water was not his area of expertise - it was bad enough that he had to keep an eye on one mage.

Morrigan clearly did not believe in prolonged farewells. With a rustling of small animal bones, she slid her feline curves around the pillar; disappearing from view. The next moment, there came a beating of wings. Alistair released the hilt of his sword and strode the pillar's circumference, confirming that the witch had vanished.

"I hate mages," the young officer complained, handsome brow creasing. "They're so… tricksy. Come on, let's mount up before we lose the light."

"Had you ever seen that - that woman before?" Jory asked, after he'd clambered onto the back of his horse. As the nervous knight spoke, he shot a nervous glance at the waning sun, which was submerging itself in the distant Frostbacks.

"Never," admitted Alistair, shoving the yawning Flora onto his saddle like a sack of potatoes before swinging himself up behind her. "I'll be sure to take initiates to a different area in the future. Don't fancy running into her again."

"So is this 'Joining' over, then?" interrupted Daveth sourly, his lip curling. "Are we Wardens now?"

"Ah, not quite," replied Alistair, ensuring that there were several inches of space between himself and Flora. "Now it's time for the fun part."


an: ugh I had to redo this whole chapter! still not totally happy with the Morrigan encounter but it's better than it was lol