A/N: I apologize for the delay. If you are following my other stories you may have seen another author's note explaining, but I am including this to explain to those who have or do not follow my other work. I apologize for the recent sloth of my updates on everything. I have just gotten married and have been taken up with everything surrounding that and the holidays.

But now, I'm back! Happy New Year!

Nike was put in mind of a slaughtered beast the first time she saw Ostagar.

The fortress had been built in ages past by the Tevinter Imperium. Whatever else could be said of Tevinter, one could not claim they did not know how to build. Even broken and fallen into ruin, it seemed impossible that any force could breach its walls or enter into its keeping by force. It had been built straddling the only pass in the jutting, rocky hills that separated the Wilds from the rest of Ferelden, and clung there still, its towers and battlements the bleached ribs of an old leviathan who had washed up on the razor-sharp rocks of some tumultuous sea.

It was sunset when they first saw it, a heavy and ominous sunset, and the bones of Ostagar were painted by its deepening blood light. The glow of various campfires and torches within or about the walls were lost to the sun's gleam, save for a few golden sparkles scattered at seeming random. Hundreds of lights. Thousands. All bearing testimony as to how many had come answering the King's call.

Nike's eyes strained at the lights, flicking from one to the next, wondering which one might illuminate her brother. As they approached the stone bridge that lead into the ruins, she found herself actually slightly standing in the saddle, leaning forward as if by virtue of a few inches she would be able to discern him. Tahja, who was still riding behind her, also strained forward a bit. Whether she was just as eager to see the eldest Cousland alive and well, or merely shifting her motion so as not to lose her grip on her mistress and thus her seat on the horse, Nike neither knew nor cared. The elf was an afterthought.

Everyone suddenly seemed to be moving with frustrating sloth as they started across the bridge. Their ranks closed together a bit, and Nike turned the grulla's head this way and that, seeking a wide enough opening to push through. With some working, she got past several horses and a few of the foot soldiers. Duncan was near to the company's fore, and she had almost reached his side and was just about to dig her heels into her mount and ride right past him, when she spotted a company heading across the bridge toward them. Duncan and those with him immediately slowed and then drew to a halt. Nike didn't, riding the grulla past them. The oncoming group was few in number, perhaps a dozen. There was room for them to give way. She set her heels and spurred her horse into a near-gallop, fully expecting they'd draw to each side to let her pass.

She was surprised to see them tighten up instead, weapons appearing. A pair of the number had been holding flags of some limp standard or other; now they lowered them toward her and she realized the flags were actually set on wicked looking pikes. At the head of the group, a man in ostentatious gold armor looked at her with open curiosity.

Nike was irritated and confused, her eyes darting from the men to the flags. Held upward, they had been lank and coiled about their poles in the still air. Now that they had lowered them, the standards had unfurled and with a gut-wrenching jolt, she recognized them.

She had been so single-mindedly intent on finding her brother she had seen the group only as something in her way. She reined the horse in sharply. Annoyed at the sudden haul on his head, the grulla slid a little on the stone and reared, ears flat. A deep sound of threat rumbled out of its chest, as close to a growl of anger as a horse, perhaps, could manage. Tahja's arms tightened almost painfully around Nike's waist, her faint squeal of alarm lost in the sound the horse had made.

Everything went still, a tableau hanging motionless for a heartbeat of the Maker. Then Nike heard two sets of hoof beats moving up casually behind her. She knew without looking it was Duncan and Alistair.

"Well, hello," the man in the gold armor said with a friendly and somewhat amused smile. He was looking at Nike, not the two approaching behind. Her throat felt clogged with glue, and she lowered her eyes, bowing her head forward. She could not speak, her mind ringing with her own stupidity.

"Good evening, your Majesty," Duncan said, as he and Alistair came to a halt, flanking Nike.

Like parents with an unruly child, one that had embarrassed them, she thought. Her eyes were still downcast, and she cleared her throat softly, trying to will it to ease again. Tahja was peering over her shoulder at the king, as silent and wide-eyed as an owl.

"Well met, Duncan!" the King said, and even without looking at him, Nike could tell the man was beaming. "Enthusiastically met, for some!"

"Indeed," Duncan said, and Nike felt a flinch of anger deep in her chest. "Your Majesty, this is Lady Nike Cousland, and her charge Tahja."

"Cousland!" The king sounded delighted. "Yes, we were hoping the Teryn wasn't too far behind his forward forces."

Then his delight turned into uncertainty, as he seemed to be scanning the entire group on the bridge behind them. "Your party seems too small, Duncan. Is Bryce still coming?"

The glue in Nike's throat eased a bit and she forced herself to look up at the king, feeling her shoulders knot. In a rough voice, she spoke before Duncan was able to. "He's dead."

The king's smile vanished as if it had been cursed off his face, a look of mingled confusion and horror appearing on his face.

"What?"

"It's true, your Highness," Duncan said in his insufferable calm. "The Couslands were betrayed by Arl Howe. The Teryn and his wife, daughter-in-law, and grandson were murdered, and Howe now occupies Highever with his forces."

The look on the king's face stunned Nike. It was as if he had just witnessed the slaughter himself, and for a moment she thought he might actually weep. He kept looking between Nike and Duncan and then back again. Then, the gloss in his eyes seemed to chill, and his face became as still and stern as stone.

Ignoring the men at his side, he urged his horse forward, bringing it alongside Nike's. Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, as close as a beloved friend or close comrade-in-arms. He met her eyes.

"This treachery will not stand," he said, in a voice so low she doubted anyone else could hear. Still, it was firm with conviction, blazing with intent. "I swear it to you on my very life, Lady Cousland. The moment this mess is done, I will bring my army to Highever and I will see justice done. Howe will pay for this abomination."

Her throat had glued itself shut again. Never had she imagined such a reaction from the king. A declaration of vengeance or promise of aid or justice yes, but the emotion? The conviction? He acted as if he had grown up with her, sharing her table and sitting at her father's heel for tutelage. He acted as if he were family. In his eyes, she could see no farce or pretense or play-acting. Everything in his eyes and voice was genuine. He took their murders as personally, as much of a violation of his soul, as she herself did.

She nodded, forcing herself to speak though it came out as little more than a whisper. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

He gave her shoulder another squeeze, then lowered his hand. She realized he was about to turn his horse and forced herself to speak again. "Your Majesty! My brother- Fergus does not yet know, and Howe may have plans to have him killed even here. If I could see him-"

The king looked at her again as if he hadn't considered that, then shook his head. "I'm afraid your brother is patrolling the Wilds with some of his men, my Lady. I can tell you he got here intact and in good spirits. As soon as he returns I will have word sent to you. I…"

Something seemed to occur to him suddenly, and he looked at Duncan, then back at her. "…are you going to be a Warden?"

As far as Nike was concerned, the answer to that question was still a very adamant 'no', and the matter of her Conscription something she meant to look at very closely, but she did not want to stir that particular pot just now. Instead she said, "There…have been noises made to that effect, yes."

"Splendid!" He was suddenly as alive with joy and excitement as he had been just moments ago with anger and grief. "Wonderful! Then I will see to it that word of your brother's return finds you among the Wardens."

She dismissed this in her thoughts. To her mind, she was simply not going to be a Warden and anything anyone implied to the contrary was merely misinformation. They would be corrected about it soon enough; right now her thoughts were with her brother as the King moved away and spoke briefly with Duncan.

Fergus was patrolling the Wilds? He may have arrived hale and hearty, but the Wilds would be the perfect place for a Howe assassin to kill him. As at home, they could spin any story they liked; blame it on the darkspawn, or a roving band of Chasind.

She dimly felt Tahja squeeze her arm but ignored her, not noticing that the others were starting to move across the bridge again. Duncan had joined the King and his men. The group from Lothering which had been behind them were now slowly passing, like water moving around a stone.

Her brother was the only family Nike had left.

There are a lot of people here at Ostagar. Easy to get lost, slip into the confusion. Perhaps if I can get into the Wilds, I can find Fergus before something can happen to him. Holly could easily pick up his trail, and after that it shouldn't take too long before I can track him-

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Tahja squeezed her arm again, a little more firmly. "My Lady…"

"What?" Nike asked, then realized that just about everyone had passed them. As she gathered up the reins to follow, she realized that Alistair was also patiently waiting, silently watching her.

She said nothing to him, only moved the grulla forward. Wordlessly, Alistair guided his horse at her side and Nike was seized with the sudden idea that Duncan had ordered the man to be her guard- make sure she didn't do the very thing she had just been contemplating.

It made her scowl. I am not their prisoner nor their pet, she thought, then shook her head. If Duncan wanted her guarded then so be it. She had no doubt that Alistair would be easy enough to distract or fool, allowing her ample opportunity to go to the Wilds.

The sun had all but vanished, the thousands of lights along the ruins glittering even more brightly. By the time it comes back up again, she swore to herself, I will be halfway across the Wilds and on my way to Fergus.

Nike was right about the number of people in Ostagar, but wrong about nearly everything else. Far from being confusion and chaos, everything seemed very well organized. As they rode through the ruins toward what Alistair had told her was the Grey Warden's campsite, her stomach sank further and further, knotting in upon itself until little but a bitter ball remained. The ride from main gates to camp took approximately ten minutes, but during that time she saw at least a dozen people-messengers, couriers, and soldiers alike- stopped and checked for orders or clearance before they were allowed into another section or area of the camp. It was impossible to see the entirety of the monster Ostagar of course, but everywhere she could see, it was enclosed by huge walls and fortified gates- all of which were heavily guarded.

Of course they are. That's why this location was chosen- highly defensible and easily secured.

She felt stupid for expecting anything else, but at the same time some part of her only became even more determined to get out into the Wilds unnoticed and find her brother. Certainly, they would be far more concerned with keeping people out of Ostagar than they would about someone going out who was already in- wouldn't they?

The Wardens, it would seem, were camped in what looked to be an old half-collapsed vestibule or portico that had joined two wide courtyards together. The yards themselves seem to have been covered or partially covered at one point, and crumbling columns still stood at random intervals throughout them. The largest yard was all but consumed with soldier's tents, the only way through an absolute impossible maze. The smaller also held tents but they were arranged in a neat spiral pattern and set more widely apart. A large and clearly quickly constructed wooden fence with a gate separated this yard from the rest of the ruin, and men in armor seemed to be guarding the entrance. She thought perhaps it was where the nobility and commanders had camped, but Nike would later learn that this was where the circle mages were being housed. The armored men were Templars, but with the dimming light and her thoughts distracted by her determination to get out into the Wilds, Nike missed the standard on their breastplates and cloaks.

The Warden's camp, in contrast to the other two, looked small and lost, almost as if it had been hidden away. In the portico they had claimed were only a half-dozen small tents, a cook fire, and a handful of people- half of which seemed to be elves moving on this errand or that. The Warden's standard, a rampant griffin on a field of blue, had been fastened to the end of an old pike that had been jabbed into the earth. It was the only identifier in evidence as to whom the few tents belonged.

The others had arrived before them, and were in the process of unsaddling and settling their horses. Still aware of Alistair right behind her, Nike rode into the camp without comment, then helped Tahja down. Dismounting, she began to wordlessly unsaddle her own horse. In her mind's eye, she was mapping the best and fastest route to the nearest gate to the Wilds that she had spotted.

As she turned with the saddle, she nearly bumped right into Alistair.

"Oh, sorry," he said, almost automatically taking the saddle from her as if afraid the collision would make her drop it. "Here, I've got-"

She let him have the saddle but spoke before he could finish. "Is this all there is? Of the Wardens, I mean?"

Besides the four that had made up the small company to which Nike found herself an unwilling companion, she could see only two other people in camp that looked as if they could fit the bill- both as grizzled and worn as Duncan himself.

"Oh, those two aren't Wardens," Alistair said, following her eye. "They're men the King assigned here. Thinks them some sort of honor guard I daresay- set up the Warden's camp, guard it during their absence, that sort of thing. Not like we can't do it ourselves, but the king is…well. Let's just say he goes a bit overboard when it comes to Wardens."

"What?"

"He's got a pair of shiny eyes when it comes to us, I think," Alistair said, stowing the saddle. "Fancies himself in one of the old stories- a dashing king fighting with the legendary Wardens. Makes him positively giddy at times-"

"No," she said, with the same tone her mother used to get when her children did something particularly exasperating that needed a stern reminder. "I was referring to the number of Wardens. Are you seriously suggesting that it is only you four?"

He looked at her. "'Us five'," he said, correcting her. She ignored him.

"That's it? Tens of thousands of soldiers, the largest army amassed in all of Ferelden, and that's all the Wardens there are?"

"Well…obviously that's not all the Wardens there are," he said defensively. "It's just…all the Wardens there are in Ferelden…at the moment. Who've arrived, that is-"

"And how many more are you expecting to arrive?" she asked acerbically, folding her arms.

He looked at her like a little kitchen boy getting scolded by the cook.

"There are more, in Orlais and Antiva. We've sent-"

"How many more are you expecting to arrive?" she asked again, more angry now.

"None," said a voice behind her, and she turned and looked at Duncan.

"None?"

"Word has been sent, but by the time the other Wardens respond and arrive, events here may already be concluded. For now, we will have to make do with what we have."

"What we have are two actual Wardens and two recruits!" Nike said.

"Three," he said, just as calmly. As Alistair, she ignored this correction. "And that is precisely why I was out looking for recruits, Lady Cousland."

"What possible use could a tiny handful of Wardens be? Unless the rumors we heard about the size of the horde of Darkspawn are greatly exaggerated-?"

"They are not. If anything, they underestimate the matter," he told her. "As for what use only five Wardens could be- I think you would be surprised to discover what use even a single person can be, who has the skill and the heart to do what must be done."

He looked at Alistair and started talking about some kind of preparations. Nike tuned his voice out, her thoughts racing over what he'd just said.

It doesn't matter, she reminded herself. As soon as Duncan and the others were asleep she'd make some excuse, slip out of camp, and find a way out into the Wilds with Holly. They'd track down her brother, make sure he was safe and tell him what had happened at Highever. After that…well, she'd just have to figure out what happened 'after that' later.

All she knew was that she absolutely would not be a Warden, and that she absolutely would find a way to get out into the Wilds-

"You will depart in two hours' time," Duncan said, and Nike suddenly realized he was speaking to her. She blinked at him, breaking out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry? Depart-?"

"Yes," he said. "In two hours, you, Daveth, and Ser Jory will accompany Alistair out into the Wilds."