A/N:

Hello everyone! Just wanted to give a head's up. From now until the end of the year, my posting schedule is going to be slow and spotty. I'll be gone most of October and there's moving and getting married involved. Posting shouldn't stop altogether, but things will definitely be coming up slower on all my current stories than usual.

My apologies in advance.

Tahja's nervousness was apparent, not only in the tightness of the arms around Nike's waist but also in their tremble. Both Duncan and Alistair now seemed relaxed, but Nike couldn't follow suit. Just those few moments of alarm had been enough to bring the memory of the attack by Howe's men and her family's murders back in full living color. She could feel a sheen of sweat cooling slowly between her shoulder blades.

The trees did not thin but rather vanished abruptly as they reached the flank of the road. It was a broad dirt thoroughfare, and in usual times was probably dusty or thick with mud. These were not usual times, however, and the weight of the various forces that had passed this way heading to Ostagar had served to pack the dirt down so that it more resembled hard clay, or stone.

Upon the road stood three or four dozen people, horses, and mabari. A few carts and small wagons spotted the gathering. A cluster of men and women, not on horseback, were gathered near the trees to the south side of the road, and the main company had spread out in a bit of a scattered fan. As the Wardens and their recruits rode out of the trees, a few of them started to lift weapons or staffs, then quickly lowered them again.

Duncan made directly for the cluster at the road side, but gave a light gesture toward the bulk of the group. Alistair nodded and turned his horse that way, waving Nike and the others to follow him. Happy to see new mabari, Holly bounded over to sniff at the warhounds, some of whom were even larger than she was.

As they neared the carts, a woman in a scarlet robe turned to look at them. Her white hair spoke of age, but her face bore few lines. She was tall, and somehow put Nike in mind of a willow tree. In her hand she held a staff, and Nike realized that she was a mage.

"You are Grey Wardens?" she asked as their horses drew to a halt. Alistair smiled at her and nodded.

"Wardens and recruits," he said. "You're the group from Lothering?"

"Some of them," the woman said, nodding toward others, most of whom were soldiers wearing rag-tag gear, patched and old. One soldier, a stunning blonde woman crouched next to an enormous black warhound that Holly was sniffing happily, was wearing stained leather and beaten metal gear that looked homemade. "The rest of us are additions from the Circle."

Daveth and Ser Jory had dismounted. As Alistair did the same, Nike put her arrow back and helped Tahja off the grulla, then dismounted herself. Neither Daveth nor Jory seemed interested or concerned one way or the other about the mages. Ser Jory merely stood talking to one of the soldiers, and Daveth made a beeline for the blonde in the homemade armor. From the expression on her face, she was not terribly pleased with his attention.

Nike studied the white-haired mage with whom Alistair was now chatting. She didn't look frightening or strange. Except for the robes and the staff, she could have been any one of thousands of middle-aged to elderly women in the world. She was not physically imposing, her eyes did not flash with malicious intent or dark shadows, and her hands did not crackle with unseen energy.

Seeing Nike studying them, the mage looked over and met her eyes, then gave a thin but genuine smile. "Hello," she said. Nike pondered a moment, then moved closer.

"Hello," she replied. Were she back home, she might have apologized for her manners, but such things were an eternity away from her mind right now. She was still waiting to wake up from this horrible, never-ending dream.

The ever-so-slight arching of the woman's brow mirrored the way Eleanor's had done the exact same thing, whenever she did not quite approve of her daughter's behavior. Seeing it on the face of this stranger did nothing but make Nike feel abruptly sick, and she ducked her head, wordlessly stepping away and toward the edge of the road instead.

Alistair and the mage spoke softly for a moment, apparently unaware that Nike could still hear them.

"Is she all right?" The mage asked.

"Forgive her. She's…had a rough time of it. Her family was murdered-…horrible thing."

"Oh, that's dreadful! Was it darkspawn?"

"No, sadly. Monsters of the human variety I'm afraid."

Not wanting to listen to their sympathetic noises behind her back, Nike headed toward the clustered group near the woods, where Duncan had gone. Two of the soldiers here were bloody but did not seem badly wounded. One or two were covered with splashes of what looked like black gore. On the ground were several forms. Nike looked at them curiously as she got closer, grimacing at the unpleasant stench that rose from them- rotting meat mixed with old wet mabari.

Reaching the nearest body, she unconsciously made a face.

It was ugly, brutish, and malformed. Its legs and arms and even facial features were disproportionate from each other. It was smaller than she'd always pictured. It would be not much taller than she was, were it alive and on its feet. It had a low, uneven forehead, broken and tusk like teeth, and piggish eyes that stared vacantly up at her. It was splashed with the same black gore that was on the soldiers, most from the wound in its neck which was so deep it had nearly severed its head.

"This is darkspawn?" she asked softly as Duncan stood at her shoulder.

"Yes. This is a genlock," he said. "The smallest kind, best for scouting. They'll pile the bodies and burn them."

"Why not leave them to rot?"

"Darkspawn blood is an infectious poison," Duncan told her. "It is tainted by evil. If swallowed it kills or corrupts. Most animals would ignore the corpses but some would try and eat them, and having corrupted animals roaming rabid through the countryside would only serve to make the situation worse. Always burn any darkspawn you kill, if you can- and avoid breathing the smoke."

She looked toward the wounded men and asked, "Will they be all right?"

"None swallowed any of the blood, but if they have been tainted we'll know soon enough. Sometimes the Taint shows immediately, or it can take a short while- but the wait is never long. If they show no sign in half an hour they should be well."

"What signs would they show?"

"Pain, fever," Duncan said. "Some men will hide these things, from others as well as themselves. What cannot be hidden is the skin. When a man goes pale and his veins go black, then you know without question."

Trying not to imagine this she asked, "Is there any cure? I mean, if a man swallowed the blood- can he be helped?"

"There is only one treatment for the Taint, one way to survive," he said and looked at her. His eyes seemed suddenly as fixed and hollow as the dead genlock on the ground. "Outside that rare and difficult ceremony, the only fate that awaits one Tainted is death, or worse."

"What is the treatment?" she asked.

"We shall discuss that soon enough. This is neither the time nor the place. Come. We'll help them pile the bodies and burn them."

The thought of touching the dead monster at her feet made her nose wrinkle again and she grimaced. Duncan stooped without pause and caught the thing under its arms. He looked at her expectantly. When she only grimaced and did not move, he made an impatient sound.

She glared at him, then defiantly she stooped and caught the thing about its ankles. It was even heavier than it looked, and the reek of it this close burned her nose and brought tears to her eyes. Gritting her teeth she nearly dropped it, nearly told him if he wanted help she'd get Alistair or Tahja to do it. Something stopped her, however- some feeling that to drop the genlock's legs would be some kind of victory for Duncan.

So she persevered, and together they wrestled the thing away from the trees and underbrush, toward the middle of the wide road where a fire wouldn't spread to the countryside. It made a meaty sound as they dropped it, and Nike grimaced again.

Men were struggling to carry two other bodies after them, and dropped them on the first. Duncan and Nike went to retrieve the last. If anything, this one smelled worse than the first one. Nike was fighting not to wretch when they finally dropped it atop its kin. The white-haired mage came forward as the others gathered around. Holding out her hand, she murmured something that Nike couldn't quite hear. Curious and hoping to see magic for the first time, she edged closer, only to jump back a bit in surprise as the bodies suddenly ignited into flame.

Remembering what Duncan had said about the smoke, she quickly used her sleeve to cover her nose, and backed away from the fire.

The flames burned hot and close, not spreading from the bodies nor shedding embers in the smoke. Through the dancing waves of heat, Nike looked over her sleeve at the mage. To be able to just light a fire like that, with a thought or a few words…

What's to stop one from doing the same to anyone that angers them? From burning down an entire village on a whim?

The Circle is what, she thought. The Circle and the Templars. Nike tore her eyes away from the mage as she backed further from the flames and looked instead at the others. Some of the soldiers had to be Templars, here to guard the mages from running amok as much as they were to fight darkspawn.

Despite her sleeve and the distance she'd put between herself and the smoke, she could feel her eyes starting to burn. She backed away further, turning from the flames and walking away. She had no set destination in mind, she just wanted to get away from the fire. When she saw Tahja standing beside Holly, she headed toward them to give an illusion of purpose to her departing the pyre side.

A thought suddenly and maliciously came to mind. What would Howe have done with the bodies of her family? Surely, he wouldn't see to it that they were properly burned or interred would he? For a moment, an image of them hanging by chains from Highever's walls to be picked at by crows came to her mind. Only a few feet away from Tahja she wavered to a halt as this horrid image struck her, then half bent forward. Her throat closed painfully, her stomach revolted, and she lurched. The burning from the smoke in her eyes was so bad tears were streaming down her face.

Paralyzed for a moment, arm still over her nose and mouth as she fought not to vomit, Nike heard Tahja's voice just as she felt her arm around her.

"Come. Sit down, milady," she said softly. Nike felt the edge of a cart behind her a moment later and sat down on it, bending forward and tangling her hands tightly in her hair.

"Is she well?" someone asked.

"Just the smoke, I think," Tahja said, and Nike clenched her eyes shut as tight as they would go.

Just the smoke, she thought in agreement. That's all.

Twenty minutes later, the fire had burned itself out. There was little left but a blackened patch on the dirt. Even the bones and metal of their gear had dissolved into nothing, not even leaving ash behind.

Nike had managed to compose herself in this time, accepting some water from Tahja with a weak nod. By the time they mounted up and the much larger group prepared to continue on their way, only her slightly reddened eyes betrayed her.

The mages seemed to gather together around the carts as they moved, the soldiers surrounding them on all sides. Duncan rode ahead to join the leaders but Alistair remained with the rest of them in a cluster near the rear. Only Daveth strayed from their group, far more interested in riding beside the same blonde woman in homemade armor. She looked no more pleased with him than she had before. Nike wasn't the only to notice it, as Ser Jory snorted from nearby.

"He thinks he's being charming," he said as Nike glanced over at him, nodding to Daveth. "Look at him. Oblivious past his own nose, that one."

"What, you don't think she's interested?" Alistair asked, leaning forward in his own saddle a bit to squint toward Daveth.

"You must not know much about women," Jory told him. "Here's some advice. If a woman looks at you like that-"

"Aww, like that?" Alistair asked. Nike glanced at him and realized the man was joking again. "You mean, as if she'd rather bite her own leg off like a wolf in a trap than talk to you? Maker, no wonder that barmaid in Denerim jumped out the window! I just thought she'd seen a spider."

Jory looked at him in disdain and Alistair shrugged, still grinning. "What? Have you seen the size of some spiders? And all those creepy legs…all hairy and numerous."

He gave a theatrical shudder and from behind her, Nike heard Tahja giggle. She stifled it quickly against Nike's back. Alistair smiled at her, then glanced up as a crow passed over the company, floating almost lazily a dozen yards above.

"The world's not a joking place, boy," Jory told him. "You'd think a Warden would know that lesson."

"You ask me, laughing at this world is the only weapon we have sometimes," Tahja said, surprising all three of them. When Jory looked at her the elf continued though a bit more quietly, as if she'd surprised herself as well. "I just mean…life is hard enough as it is, isn't it? Why not make it easier when you can with a joke or two?"

Ser Jory snorted and shook his head. "I wouldn't expect you to understand," he said to Tahja. "That's all you knife-ears are good for, isn't it? Drinking and lazing and joking around-"

Nike immediately yanked the grulla's bridle, turning him to the right and in front of the knight's mount. So abrupt was her motion that Jory's horse drew up with a snort of surprise, then nearly reared as the grulla added a swift snap of teeth toward its chest. Shocked, Jory almost lost his seat, giving a quick 'whoa! What-'

"Don't you ever, ever, call her that again," Nike said, so furious she was nearly spitting. "Tahja is a faithful servant of Highever and my family, not a common city elf or wandering minstrel in the wood. Am I understood?"

"I-I'm sorry, Lady Cousland, I meant no disrespect," Jory said, still blinking in surprise. A few of those around them were starting to slow as well, staring at them.

"If disrespect is not what you meant, then you should take more care in your words," Nike said. "I would have expected better from a knight, and most especially from one that ever swore fealty to my father. You disgrace yourself and Highever."

"Milady-"

He started again but she did not want to hear it. Turning the grulla she started off again, bringing the horse up into a canter to join the others ahead. Tahja said nothing, but Nike thought she could feel the elf shaking again. It was difficult to tell, because Nike herself was shaking with rage.

She passed Daveth, who had slowed when she'd raised her voice and was now staring back and forth between Jory and Alistair, and Nike and Tahja. The blonde in the homemade armor had taken grateful advantage of this and had pulled her horse off into the crowd, nearer to the mages. Nike barely noticed, and did not at all notice the crow which had landed on a tree nearby to watch with glittering eyes. As Jory and Alistair rode past, now bringing up the very rear of the caravan, the crow cawed at them.

It sounded very much like laughter.