Ser Gilmore was a young man of only twenty, but he had the breadth and bearing of a seasoned man twice his age. Nike knew him fairly well; his family had lived and served in Highever since the time of her grandfather, and Fergus had learned with him as a sparring partner from the age of ten.

He had never been the boastful sort that was intent on showing off, even though he had the skill behind such boasting should he have indulged.

He wove toward them through the crowed, then bowed his head politely as he reached them. "Milady?"

"Ser Gilmore, this is Warden-Commander Duncan," she said with a gracious gesture toward the older man beside her. "He is here looking for new recruits for the Grey Wardens."

"Lady Cousland suggested you, when I asked for recommendations," Duncan said. Gilmore looked both pleased and surprised, inclining his head toward her again.

"Milady Cousland, you do me honor," he said. "In truth, I had never even considered-"

As he continued speaking, Nike's attention was distracted from the conversation by a sight halfway across the yards. She could see a young boy with a thick nest of auburn hair, weaving through the crowds. For a moment, he seemed to be floating a head above even the tallest men there. Then she realized she could see him so clearly because he was riding upon the shoulders of a man in armor, who had the same identical nest of auburn hair. Behind them came a woman wearing a silk gown, holding the hem halfway up her shins to avoid dirtying it.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment," she said, then stepped past them. As he caught sight of her, the boy lifted a hand triumphantly in the air. In his grip he carried a small toy bow and arrow. He waved them around as if they were a flag of victory.

She smiled as her brother and his family drew near, Fergus swinging young Oren off his shoulders and setting him on the ground.

"Look, Aunt Nike!" the boy said, showing her the bow. "Father gave it to me!"

As solemnly as if she were examining an old relic dug up from unknown ancient ruins, she took the toy bow and arrow and looked them over. The arrow was finished with cork, of course, for safety. Being a toy it would barely fire more than three or four feet and hit with little force. Nike predicted Oriana would be getting a cork arrow to the bum repeatedly over the next few days, before she grew exasperated and took the toy away.

"Well, this is very fine, isn't it?" she said, and smiled at him as she handed him the bow back.

"I wanted a sword," he said.

"Oren, we discussed this," Fergus told his son. "When you're a bit older you can have a sword. Nothing shameful in having a bow."

"No, I just want both," he said, as if it were painfully obvious. Before his father could respond he looked at Nike again. "Can you teach me to shoot it? Mama says there's a Gray Warden here, and if he sees me shoot it, maybe I can be a Grey Warden too!"

"Maker forbid," Nike heard Oriana say softly under her breath.

"There is a Warden here," Nike said to her nephew. "He's talking with Ser Gilmore right now. Sadly, I think you need to be considerably taller before they'll recruit you."

Oren had already looked past her to spot the man talking with Gilmore. Before she could catch hold of him he darted past and tugged on the scabbard on Duncan's belt. As Nike rose, Fergus moved over to reprimand his son.

"Oren! Manners," he said firmly. "That is not how we introduce ourselves!"

Ignoring his father, Oren said, "Are you the Grey Warden?"

Duncan looked at the boy as seriously as if he were speaking to a general. "I am. My name is Duncan."

He offered his hand, and Oren shifted the bow and arrow awkwardly into one hand and then shook the proffered hand with an expression of adult sincerity on his face.

"I am honored to meet you," he said with almost painstaking care. "My name is Lord Oren…Octay-vee-oh…Bryce…Don-ald…Cousland."

"It is my honor, my Lord," Duncan said.

"Did you ride here on a griffon? May I see it?"

"Oren, do not pester him with questions," Fergus said, picking his son up and planting him on his hip. "My apologies, Ser Duncan."

"No apologies needed, Lord Fergus. I am sorry, Lord Oren. Grey Wardens no longer ride griffons. They have been extinct for quite some time."

"What? Their eggs stink?" Oren asked, baffled.

Fergus laughed. "No, Oren. He means that they are all dead. There are no living griffons left in the world."

"Oh," Oren said, disappointed.

"That is a very fine bow, if I may say," Duncan said smoothly. "Do you know how to shoot it?"

"Not yet," Oren said. "My Aunt Nike has to show me how. She's the best at arch-ry."

"Is she now? I should very much like to see you fire it," Duncan told him. "And I would not be averse to seeing a demonstration from your aunt as well."

Immediately Oren beamed. "Can I, Father? Can I show the Warden how I shoot my bow?"

"I think that's a fine idea," Fergus said, but he was looking at Nike. "Let's go over to the target yard, shall we?"

The small group headed over to the archery yard, where battered and splintered targets had been set up for the men to practice on. Fergus made sure the field was clear, then smiled at his sister, who returned the look coolly.

"Would you escort me, Oren?" she asked, graciously offering the boy her hand. He proudly took it, and together they walked out into the field as if entering a ball room. They didn't stop until they were only two or three feet away from the nearest target. One of the elves shifted the bales the targets backed onto, to lower it to the boy's height.

Crouching beside him, Nike carefully helped him with his cork arrow, showing him how to nock and hold it, then draw it back. So intent was he on her instruction that his brows beetled sternly over his nose, his lower lip trembling with concentration.

"Mind the wind," she said softly, so only he could hear. "If the wind is blowing from the right toward your left, shift your aim a bit to the right of where you want it to land. The harder the wind is blowing, the more you shift. Same for the wind from the other side. If you want the arrow to go further, aim higher, but mind the wind there too."

"It's…left I think," he said, his voice straining as if he were holding hundred pound weights instead of a toy bowstring.

"Very good. So…there." She shifted his aim just a little and then took her hands off him. "Then relax your fingers-like this..."

She showed him with her own hand how to release the shot smoothly. Of course, being only five years old, he did not do the same. He let his hand splay out, shifting the hand holding the bow too much as he did, and flinching at the same time. The arrow barely wobbled out of the bow and flopped onto the ground.

"Oh, drat!" he said, and stomped his foot. Nike laughed.

"No mind, no mind. Let's try it again."

She helped him to reset his bow and try again. This time, the arrow managed a more or less straight course, hit the hay bale just to the right of the target, and flopped to the ground again.

Determined to get it right, he retrieved the arrow and tried again, then again. By the fifth or sixth try, his tongue poking out from between his teeth, he was at least getting the cork tip of the arrow to hit the wood of the target. It was getting nowhere near the actual target area, but for a five year old it wasn't bad. His parents and the onlookers cheered with gusto each time, as if he'd hit dead center from a thousand paces.

Finally, she picked Oren up and carried him back toward his parents, who were just behind the fence with Duncan and Gilmore.

"Good job son," Fergus smiled, ruffling his hair. "You'll be pegging rats between the eyes before you know it."

"You did very well," Duncan said. "In time you might make an excellent Warden."

"I can't," Oren said, clearly disappointed, but feeling this was necessary to impart. "I have to stay and be a Turn. It's my duty, Father says."

"And an important duty it is, to be a Teyrn," Duncan said, then looked at Nike. "Lady Cousland, perhaps we can see your skills at the bow?"

"Forgive me, Commander Duncan," she said, and passed Oren over the fence to her brother, "but I have to decline."

"Why? I wanna see you shoot!" Oren said.

"Nike," Fergus had a gleam in his eye. "Do not be rude. The Warden Commander is our guest-"

"I was under the impression we were preparing for a war in the south, not indulging one of Mother's summer salons," Nike said to her brother, then nodded toward Duncan and Gilmore. "And I have a thousand and one details to attend. Warden Commander, Ser Gilmore, please excuse me."

She turned and crossed back through the field toward the milling crowds and the keep beyond. Barely had she stepped inside when she heard heavy boots behind her, and turned. Fergus, unsurprisingly, had pursued.

"Nike, what's gotten into you?"

"Fergus, I have no want or desire to become a Gray Warden."

He let out a surprised laugh as he reached her side. "A Warden? No one suggested-"

"I am not a fool. Father seems to think I am on the verge of running off to join the Grey at my slightest whim. Now Duncan, twice, requests to see my hand at archery? For what purpose does that serve, I wonder?"

"I'm sure he's just curious as to your talents and skill-"

"If he is simply curious to see my talents and skill I shall create him a fine napery. Perhaps with an image of Andraste on it? Or do you think he'd be more partial to a dragon wreathed in flame?"

"Nike, you're being ridiculous-"

"Am I? Are you saying my needlepoint is not good enough to impress our guest?"

"Your needlepoint is the envy of every household from here to Antiva," he said, in that exasperated tone he always used when he knew she was being sarcastic.

"And the Wardens' reputation is known in all the same households," she said. "He is here recruiting. Father seems to think he might try recruiting me, and now he expresses an interest in my combat skills. A drunken fool of an elf could see what is happening. Well, I won't have it. Ser Gilmore is a fine recruit, and there are another half dozen of the same caliber out there for him to choose from."

Fergus stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "Look," he said gently. "I don't know what words have passed between this Warden Commander and Father, and you are absolutely right. There are plenty of good men and women out there who would make excellent Wardens. You're needed here. Duncan knows that. Especially now, with Mother going to Amaranthine and Father and I leaving for Ostagar. He's hardly going to tie up the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever against her will and drag her off to Weisshaupt. What purpose would that serve? Especially if she clearly does not want to go?"

"Apparently, the only recruits suitable for the Wardens are the ones that do not wish to go," she said bitterly.

"What? That's ridiculous!"

"It actually made sense when he explained it," she said, then waved a hand as if clearing the air between them. "Never mind. You're right. Short of invoking the Right of Conscription that man could not drag me out of Highever."

"Too right," Fergus smiled.

"Which is precisely why he doesn't need a demonstration of my skills," she replied, and he laughed.

"Fine. Be stubborn as you like. Believe it or not, I'm going to miss that while I'm gone."

Her eyes softened a bit. "I'm going to miss you as well, Fergus. I…having the Wardens here recruiting only makes me more fearful for what you and Father are getting into. What if this is not just an incursion by the darkspawn? With the Wardens so interested this must be a Blight."

"If this is a Blight we'll be with the king and his armies and a whole mess of the Grey," Fergus said. "Don't imagine for a moment that anything less than an archdemon would keep me or Father from returning home."

"That's the problem," Nike told him. "If this is a Blight there will be an archdemon."

"Which the Wardens will handle, Nik."

"Fergus, do stop coddling me like I'm no more than Oren's age," she said with a huff. "You and father are not immortal. A lucky sword can stop your heart as easily as anyone else's. What would we do then? What would your wife and son do?"

"What wives and sons have done since the beginning of time, when soldiers fall in battle," he said sadly. "Nike, do you think I want this? Do you think I want to die out there and leave Oriana and my boy alone? Of course not! But this is what needs to be done to keep them and a thousand like them safe, and I would die for that…happily."

"I know, and I know it is the right thing to do. It's just…well, my grousing about it is hardly going to stop you," she said. "I only wish I had more assurances I would see my family again. I suppose short of Andraste appearing in a flash of light to tell me, or the Maker Himself sending a letter by dragon, no such assurances can be had. I'll have to live with that as best I can."

"Try not to worry," he said. "You'll have your hands full with Highever, even with most everyone gone. Immerse yourself with that, and we'll be home before you know it. And if that doesn't serve to be enough to distract you, you might get started on that napery for Warden Commander Duncan."

She gave him a cool look and he laughed.

The sun was low in the sky but it was still a good two hours remaining before it got dark. The open glass doors that let out onto the library balcony afforded Nike an unobstructed view over the wall and along the Teyrn's Road that threaded through town.

She had gone down and bid her brother goodbye in person half an hour before, but still the last of the men could be seen on the road, a long snake of soldiers, horses, wagons, carts, and dogs slowly slithering out of view.

In the morning, the scene would be repeated. Howe insisted his men would arrive promptly at dawn, and barely would breakfast have a chance to be swallowed before he and her father would be departing with them along the same road. By afternoon, her mother would have gone off as well. She was still attempting to talk Oriana to come along with Oren. If her sister-by-law agreed, Nike would be without the entirety of her family for the first time in her life.

It will be months before I see any of them again, she thought.

If it weren't for the danger her father and brother were riding into, she would likely have been eager at the chance to run Highever on her own.

"My Lady Cousland, do you have a moment?"

The voice drew her attention away from the view, and she turned. Duncan was walking across the library. Straightening a little she lifted her chin.

"Commander Duncan, certainly. I trust you found what you needed for recruitment?"

"Ser Gilmore was an impressive choice," Duncan said as he drew to a halt. "He has agreed to depart with me tomorrow to Ostagar, where he will join the Grey."

"I am pleased to hear it," she said with a smile. "Ser Gilmore is a good man. You will not regret your decision."

"I am certain I will not," he replied. "Lady Cousland, I wished to apologize for offending you earlier in the yard."

"I can recall nothing you did by which I would take offense," she said.

"You seemed upset with me that I asked for a demonstration of your archery skills," he replied. She drew up a hair's breadth straighter.

"I was not offended, Commander," she said. "I was busy. There were still things to attend to before-"

"You were not too busy to spare the time to come to the yard and speak with me," he said evenly.

She stiffened rigidly, all trace of her smile vanishing. "I was concerned about my father and brother," she said tightly. "Your presence here signifies that this incursion might well be a Blight, and I wanted assurances."

"Assurances that they would be safe?"

"Assurances that it was or was not in fact a Blight," she replied coldly. "I know there can be no assurances as to their safety in any case, but that margin of safety becomes thinner if this is a Blight. I am not one who desires to be kept in the dark. I prefer to worry over reality, not fearful imaginings."

"You could not have asked your father or brother?"

"They have an irritating habit of coddling me," she said. "Deciding what is or is not fit for me to hear. They seek to protect me, as if my wallowing in ignorance over the matter in some way would actually afford protection if the worst were to happen. I suspected you would not be the same, and would give me a forthright response."

"I would indeed," he said to her. "Others are not yet convinced, but it is my belief this is a Blight."

Despite the fact she had all but known the truth anyway, she felt her stomach quaver a little. She was unconsciously careful, however, that neither her posture nor her expression gave this away.

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

"Did you and my father discuss your recruiting me into the Wardens?" she asked after a moment. If he had been so bluntly honest about the first point, there was no reason to believe he would not be about this point as well.

"Your father was against the idea, as you suspect."

"However you are not."

"You were my first choice."

"Do you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?" she asked tersely.

"No," he replied. "That is not my intention."

"Good. I am the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, with a duty to my title, my family, and my people. I have no interest in abandoning that or my home- for the Wardens or for anyone else. It is beyond me why you even considered me as a recruit!"

"Tell me something, Lady Cousland. If there was a threat to Highever, one that necessitated your riding into battle to defend it, would you do so?"

"I am not a soldier," she said.

"That is not what I asked," he replied. "You are skilled with the bow, and with the dagger. I have not seen it myself as you know, but I have no reason to doubt what I have heard from others, including your own family. If there was a threat to Highever and its people, one that necessitated your riding into battle to defend it, would you do so?"

She was offended. "Are you suggesting that I would sit in the castle and-"

"I am suggesting nothing," he said. "I am asking."

"I would do whatever was in my power, whatever it took, to defend Highever," she said. "If that required taking up my bow and riding into battle, I would do so without question or hesitation."

"And does that desire stop at Highever?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"If a village ten miles east were being threatened, would you if necessary ride into battle to defend them?"

"Of course I would-"

"If it were Amaranthine?"

She made an exasperated sound. "Amaranthine has its own forces, the chances that I would be required to ride to her defense is-"

"If circumstances dictated, would you?"

"If these utterly impossible and incredibly ridiculous set of mythological circumstances of yours were to happen, and the pressing need was that I personally ride into battle else Amaranthine and its people be lost, then yes," she said.

"Why? They are not your people."

"They are people!" She looked aghast. "Fereldens!"

"So it is that they are Ferelden people that makes them worth your effort?"

"What are you suggesting-"

"Again, I am asking," he said patiently.

"No, it is not just that they are Ferelden!"

"So you would do the same for Orlais, or the Marches?"

"They would hardly need me to-…right. Your ridiculous hypothetical circumstances wherein all the forces of Ferelden and the rest of Thedas are astoundingly somehow defeated or incompetent, and require only me and my little bow riding bravely to the fore in order to be saved. Certainly, why not?"

Duncan ignored the frustrated flap of her arms she gave to punctuate her words and instead asked, "Why?"

"Why? Because any force strong enough to threaten any part of Thedas like that and so utterly decimate any army put in its path, is certainly a threat to Highever! It would be ludicrously ignorant to think it will not one day land on my own doorstep! And I do not know how things work for the Wardens, but here, we rather rely on the rest of the world for our day to day business of survival. It's incredibly inconvenient when everyone but yourself rudely stops existing, don't you think? "

She was being highly sarcastic now, frustrated, confused, and angry at his inane questions. To her surprise though, he only nodded solemnly.

"Your realization of that reality, and your willingness to do what must be done to prevent it, is why I considered you for the Wardens, Lady Cousland. Hopefully, we will be able to stop that very force, before it gets a chance to decimate all armies that are put into its path- as it has done in Ages past."

She stared at him, and after a moment he bowed slightly, pleasantly bid her good evening, and left her alone in the library.