It was well past dark and it had begun to steadily rain when they emerged from the stone path and arrived again at the gates of Ostagar. The journey back from the hag's hut should have been far quicker and more straightforward, but the darkspawn seemed to be everywhere. Nike lost track of how often Alistair had diverted them and more than once they'd had to lay low, listening to a sound like distant thunder while trying to avoid the ever-growing number of scouts.

Nike did not have to ask to know that thunder wasn't a result of the wet weather. It was the sound of the horde- the sound of hundreds of thousands of monsters and beasts whose veins were filled with poison. She suddenly became keenly aware that the only thing standing between that horror and her homeland was Ostagar itself.

When she'd first laid eyes on it, Nike had been impressed by the massive and impenetrable shield that was Ostagar, even lying in ruin. Now, with that low but steadily growing sound in her ears, it seemed a thin and laughably fragile protection.

Entering through the gate, Nike had thought only to find her brother. She was opening her mouth to ask the guard where he'd been taken when the man spoke first.

"You are Lady Cousland? Your hound's been giving some trouble."

He gestured off into the dark somewhere, the torchlight making a thousand chips of light off of his wet helmet.

"Holly?" she asked. "Where is she? Where was my brother taken?"

"Dog's with the kennel master," the guard said. "Tried to head back out into the Wilds after she came in but we couldn't let her go- too many darkspawn. She didn't take kindly to that. Man that came in with her was taken to the Circle for healing."

Nike had wondered briefly why Holly hadn't returned to them but she hadn't been overly concerned. The mabari was more than capable of taking care of herself, and she was smart enough to make her own decision about whether to return to them in the Wilds or stay with the wounded Fergus even after he'd been delivered to help.

"I'm going to let Holly out and go and see my brother," she said, looking over at Alistair. Her eyes almost immediately shifted to the man approaching behind him, and before Alistair could respond Duncan did instead.

"Your brother is with the Circle, and their camp has been sealed for the time being. They are making final preparations and the Templars are forbidding entry to any. I can tell you that he is out of danger, and should make a full recovery."

The relief at the news that Fergus would recover was overshadowed by her frustration at being denied the chance to see and speak with him again. Truth be told, most of her frustration this time was at herself.

You had your chance to tell him about what happened in the Wilds, and you didn't. Your cowardice is no one's fault but your own.

"Leave the mabari for now," he continued, then looked at Alistair. "We are wanted by the king at the war table. All was done as asked?"

"Yes, Duncan," he replied. "We have the vials and the treaties, though they weren't where they were left. It seems their protections wore off and a…concerned citizen retrieved them and kept them safe."

Nike passed Duncan the satchel she'd been carrying since the hag's hut as Jory snorted. "Concerned citizen? That what we're calling witches nowadays?"

"A witch?" Duncan asked as he took the satchel.

"An apostate hiding in the Wilds," Jory continued. "Two, actually. Mother and daughter. Put my hair up, they did."

Nike gave him a glare that would have dropped a darkspawn and quickly said, "My companion's 'hair' aside, if it were not for them we would have no treaties. They treated us courteously enough- I wish I could say the same for certain others who should know better."

She turned from Jory- who even in the dark had clearly gone red-faced again- and looked at Duncan. "It would be a poor thank you if we were to set the wolves upon them."

Duncan shook his head. "The dispensation of apostates is not up to the Wardens, but a duty of the Templars. For now, the Templars have far more pressing matters on their minds than two women in the Wilds. I see no reason to inform them."

For the first time since she'd met him, Nike felt her dislike of Duncan give way just a little. Not that it much mattered, she supposed. Morrigan and her mother were right in the path of the darkspawn. Templars or no Templars, they would have enough to deal with in trying to survive or escape the horde.

At his indication, the group followed Duncan through the maze of tents and cookfires. Despite the rain, the camp seemed even livelier than it had before. Few people were heading anywhere save at a run, and an air of tense expectation was so thick over them it was almost a fog.

Slowly the tents changed, becoming larger and finer, before they approached the largest of all. Even her father's grandest hunting tent had not been so massive nor so intricately appointed. With the rain the surrounding torchlights made it gleam.

The entrance to this bright haven was well-guarded by men armed and armored with the crest of the king. Several more armored men mingled just outside it, gathered in small knots and talking in grave, low voices. They wore a different insignia, one that Nike felt she recognized but could not at the moment quite place.

The guardsmen drew back the tent flap as they approached, giving Duncan solemn nods. Within, the tent was ten times as grand and bright as it was outside, the warmth and cheerfulness of its appointments banishing the cold, wet dark of the outside.

The tension, however, was even thicker here than out there.

The king stood at a broad table that was covered to overflowing with notices, parchments, and maps. Candles as thick as Nike's forearms bled heavy clots of wax on each corner.

A half dozen men stood around the table as well though somewhat at a distance. One stood near to the king, his armor a dull and functional beaten gray whereas the king's armor was gleaming and golden. Indeed, this man and the king in many ways reflected in opposition to each other.

Where the king's hair was fair and clean, his companion's was long and black and in need of a wash. The king was clean-shaven, or near enough to it. His companion had a day or so of rough scruff lining his cheeks.

The king's features smiled easily and seemed bright and boyish. The other man's features were hawkish, serious, his eyes and lines that of someone who hoarded his smiles and afforded them only when the need was greatest.

He was wearing the same sigil as the waiting men outside. More, Nike realized she knew him- and the sigil fell into place.

The man standing and speaking intently with the king was Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren. He had fought with the king's father Maric during the war to end Orlesian rule of Ferelden and was a living and breathing hero due to his efforts. Nike had met him on several occasions when she was younger; her father and Loghain were not close friends but had maintained the cordial civilities and hospitalities required by their titles and holdings.

He was now the king's father-in-law, Cailin having married Loghain's daughter Anora. Truth be told, Nike remembered far more about Anora than she did her father- at one point when she was a child she'd had quite the puppy-dog crush on the older golden haired girl.

The conversation between King and Teyrn seemed slightly strained. The moment that Duncan approached the table and Cailin caught sight of them, he broke off what he was saying and welcomed them with a warm and beaming grin. Nike did not miss the flash of irritation that passed over Loghain's features.

"Ah, here they are! At last. It is good to see your charges returned from the Wilds unharmed, Duncan- though we should expect no less from Wardens of course."

"Cailin-" Loghain began, his voice as irritated as his expression.

"Yes, yes. We have serious matters to discuss," the king said, and looked down at the largest map that was spread over the table. "Our scouts report that the horde will arrive here by next evening. Beyond a few scattered troops the bulk of our own forces have gathered. "

His finger had tapped the map just on the Wilds' side of Ostagar where the entrance to the stone path lay. The surrounding landscape and ridges of rock formed a long canyon that terminated at the sheer five hundred foot rise of Ostagar. Nike felt her mouth go dry. When the horde reached that canyon they would quite literally be at their walls. At that point the ruins and the army within it would be the only thing standing in the way of the monsters and Ferelden.

"I see no reason to wait to confront them," Cailin continued. "The canyon is closed in on both sides with only one way out- the perfect place for a trap. When they approach I want to be waiting for them."

"This sounds risky, Your Majesty," Duncan said hesitantly. "A force in the canyon when the darkspawn appear-"

"Will insure that they come forward into the canyon," Cailin said, looking at him. "Darkspawn are hardly strategic geniuses but we cannot take the risk that they will not proceed as best suits us. Luring them into that canyon gives us the advantage, and we need to make sure they come where we want them. We have won three battles already with similar strategy, and there is no reason to expect this will be any different."

"Those battles were with smaller forces," Loghain told him. "This will be the bulk of the horde- easily ten times greater than the numbers you faced before."

"All the more reason to keep them contained and hit them from all sides," Cailin said patiently. "Come now, Loghain, this is one of your own ideas and it served you well before. We station a small and tantalizing target in the canyon, which will concentrate their forces. Once they are well within the trap the rest of our forces will close in from all sides and they will be overwhelmed. It will be close quarters combat so we will need our best men acting as the lure. We'll need the Wardens down there, and I'll command-"

"Cailin-" Loghain said again with irritation, and the king looked at him sharply.

"My word is final," he said.

"You risk far too much," Loghain said hotly. "This isn't a game, Cailin. The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines. As you said, the darkspawn are hardly strategic geniuses. The horde is spread out- they will remain spread out when they hit the mountains and it will take them weeks to breach that barrier. Forces will hit Ostagar but in small enough numbers they can be contained and put down by our men."

"The horde being widespread will only make our job harder," Cailin replied. "Why should we wait? Why risk weeks or even months of fighting and possibly even a siege on these walls, when we can destroy the bulk of the horde in one action and end this before it's even truly begun? Unless you changed your mind and would prefer to hold off until the Orlesian forces arrive-?"

Loghain's features had been hard before- now they appeared to turn to granite. "No," he said. "It is a fool notion that we need the Orlesian's to defend ourselves! How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son so eager to hand Ferelden back over to those who enslaved us-"

"You will mind your tongue, Loghain," Cailin said tautly. "Our arguments with Orlais are a thing of the past- but that is an old and well-worn conversation. You insist we defend ourselves without help from Orlais or anywhere else? Fine. Then this is how we do it. We end this now, and we end it quick. With the Wardens, I will command a third of our men down in the canyon and lure the horde in. Then the rest of our men will close in from all sides and we will put down this threat once and for all."

He looked at Duncan, not waiting for Loghain to reply. "Your Wardens are ready for battle, Duncan?"

"Nearly, Your Majesty," Duncan said. "We still have one small matter to attend."

"You have until tomorrow evening," Cailin told him. "We will iron out the last of these details and you will join me and the forces in the canyon at sunset tomorrow. By midnight our victory will be decided once and for all."

"With due respect, Your Majesty," Duncan said carefully. "Have you considered that an arch demon may appear on the battlefield tomorrow?"

Nike was looking intently at the map on the table as she listened, but as Duncan mentioned an arch demon her eyes snapped upward again. She'd heard tales of arch demons before, of course- as she had heard tales of the Wardens. Much of what she'd heard about the Wardens had turned out to be- or at least seemed to be- false and distorted. It was likely what she'd heard about arch demons was similarly untrue.

In the tales, arch demons terrorized the countryside during a Blight. They would steal children, burn crops and armies alike, and poison the land with their very presence. The grand stories of the Wardens' victories in Ages past always ended with a Warden facing down the last arch demon among the tattered ruins of the broken darkspawn horde and engaging in an epic battle that cast the demon down dead, sending the remains of its forces fleeing back for the Deep Roads.

"We've seen no sign of an arch demon," Cailin said. "Not once in all this time. I know you fear the appearance of one, Duncan, but too much time has passed. I wondered before, but now I'm confident this is just a very large darkspawn raid and not a true Blight. Grand as it would be to put down a true Blight alongside the legendary Wardens, this will sadly have to do."

He said the last with an airy sort of melancholy and a grin. It was clear he meant this as a joke. No one else seemed to be in a joking sort of mood. After a long moment of terse silence he cleared his throat, then nodded.

"Regardless, on the slim chance that an arch demon should appear- that is why you and your Wardens are here, is it not? I will leave it to you to deal with it, and I have every confidence that you are more than capable of doing so."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Duncan said softly.

"Good," Cailin smiled. "Address what business you need to address, Duncan. I will need you and your Wardens back here an hour before sunset tomorrow, so that we can cover the final details. Gentlemen, Lady Cousland. Until then."

He gave a gracious but dismissive nod, and they turned to depart. Nike didn't miss the way Loghain had glanced at her when the King had said her name. It was a momentary glance, and well-schooled, but Nike imagined she saw surprised recognition behind it- and something else.

Something that, she repeatedly told herself, could not possibly be regret.

The cold and wet of the deepening night was grating after the warmth of the tent. The rain had settled into spits, as if it could not decide whether or not to abate or to come in full force.

As soon as they stepped out, and before Nike could open her mouth, Duncan spoke. "You three have an hour. Alistair and I must make preparations for initiation ceremony. At the end of that hour, meet us at the western cloistered yard."

"What kind of ceremony is it?" Daveth asked.

"You will find out soon enough," Duncan said.

"And afterwards, we'll be Wardens?" Nike said slowly. Duncan's eyes glittered at her in the dim light.

"Yes, Lady Cousland. If any of you have business to attend I suggest you use this hour to settle matters. One hour, in the west cloistered yard."

Without a further word, he turned and headed into the darkness. Alistair paused a moment and looked at the three of them.

"Don't…try not to worry," he said softly, before he trotted after his mentor.

"Well, that didn't sound ominous at all," Daveth said lightly, as the three of them started back through the camp. "What do you suppose we'll have to do in this ceremony?"

"When I was knighted it was a lot of speeches and symbols," Jory told him. "'Gird this sword which symbolizes your desire to defend; drink this wine which symbolizes your dedication to the Maker-'"

"'Fall to your knees which symbolizes your willingness to kiss ass-" Daveth said with an airy grin. Jory snorted and took a half-hearted swipe at the smaller man with his hand. Daveth easily dodged it.

"Just jesting, big boy. Just jesting," he laughed. "Well, if joining the Wardens is the same as being knighted we're in for a boring and 'symbolic' evening. Since we have an hour, I think I'll find something to entertain myself."

Nike noticed the same stunning blonde in the homemade armor from Lothering only a few tents away. She was watching a soldier striding off into the rain and looked both soaked and incredibly cross. Daveth's eyes were on her and it was clear what he meant by 'entertaining himself'. He also seemed to be quite oblivious to the blonde's obvious mood.

Clapping Jory companionably on the shoulder and giving him a broad wink, Daveth started off toward her. Nike wondered if he'd end up coming back to their camp with a limp and bruised works from a well-placed boot, or if he'd be lucky and only be sporting a black eye and broken nose.

She didn't linger, however, to see how the blonde greeted him. Parting from Jory she headed off to seek out the kennel master. She wanted to get Holly, and then see if she couldn't possibly talk the Circle in to letting her see her brother.

The kennels were situated at the edge of the largest courtyard. Rough wooden fencing had been constructed to give the war mabari separate runs, but appeared so flimsy any one of the massive dogs could easily have broken out had they so desired. The excellent training of the dogs was the only thing that stopped them.

Walking along these runs, Nike couldn't help but admire the animals contained within. Holly came from one of the finest mabari lines, and while she was well-trained and highly intelligent, it remained that she was a noblewoman's pet. The dogs in the runs were no pets. Several were battle-scarred, all were lousy with muscle. Some wore spiked harnesses or even coats of padded leather or chainmail. Each looked more than capable of taking out the throat of a forest bear without pause or even much effort.

Ferelden prided itself greatly on its dogs- so much so that foreigners often called them 'dog lords'. Usually it was meant in a derogatory manner but most Fereldens accepted the name as a point of pride. There was nothing that would suit a solider better in battle than a fully trained and well-bred mabari at his side.

The runs joined onto a crudely fenced yard with a gate. Opening the gate, Nike immediately spotted Holly. The mabari had been harnessed and leashed with a heavy chain to the wall. Despite her unhappy restraint she appeared unharmed, and the moment she saw Nike she started woofing low and stamping her feet, tail nub wiggling in unparalleled delight.

"I take it she's yours?" A gruff voice spoke to the side. A bear of a man with heavily tattooed arms stood up from a stool where he'd been repairing a harness, and set it aside. Reaching for his belt he plucked a key off a ring and tossed it to her. Nike caught it easily.

"Sorry to have chained her up but she's a feisty miss," he said. "Only way to keep her from breaking down the walls and the gate isself. Couldn't let her back in the Wilds. Captain's orders once she came in; too many darkspawn about. I'd rather a chained mabari than a dead 'un."

"She was trying to find me," Nike said. He nodded with a grunt.

"Seems you came back fine on yer own."

Using the key Nike unlocked the chain from the harness and then patiently accepted Holly's pleased greetings. The happy sounds soon turned into somewhat chiding chuffs and whines, and Nike nodded.

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm all right, I'm sorry. Thank you for bringing Fergus back safely."

Holly wiggled her tail again and then glared at the kennel master. Nike gave her ears a rub and then tossed the man back his key.

"'S'a fine lady you got there," he said as he opened the gate again to let Nike and Holly back through. "You keep 'er safe."

"I know," Nike replied. "I intend to."

He laughed and gave her a wink. "I was talkin' to the dog, Miss. 'ave a good evening now."

Nike stared at him as he closed up the gate again, then shook her head. Holly looked over at her with an amused grin on her jowly face, her tongue hanging loosely.

"Oh, you be quiet," Nike told her with a smirk. "Come on. Let's see if we can't get in to see Fergus."