I lied. This chapter isn't the battle.

Daylen

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" She moves gracefully down the steps of the ruined tower, her yellow eyes trained on Daylen. She's dressed in... an interesting black and purple outfit with a plunging neckline, revealing the creamy skin of her chest. "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

Daylen does not answer, instead letting his gaze travel down her exposed form in appreciation.

"What say you, hmm?" she asks. "Scavenger, or intruder?"

Daylen's lips curl into a slight grin. "And just how are these your Wilds?"

She laughs. "Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?"

She moves forward again, past the others to stand between them and Ostagar. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered, 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair says quietly, warning. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"Oh," she scoffs. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

Alistair frowns. "Yes, swooping is bad."

Daylen notices a quiet giggle behind him; apparently Avina thought it was amusing.

Daveth, however, is terrified. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" the Witch says. "You there, handsome lad," she addresses Daylen, "tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized."

"I am Daylen Amell, my lady," he tells her with a slight bow of his head. "Pleased to meet you."

The Witch smiles in delight; he's glad she did not assume he was mocking her. "Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan."

Morrigan. Exotic, unique, beautiful. Just like her. He may have only known her for a few moments, but Daylen likes this woman. She's dangerous, no doubt, but that makes her all the more tempting.

And Daylen has never been one to resist temptation.

She leads them to her mother, a gray, wrinkled old woman who lives in a shack.

Well, there are worse places to live, after all.

"Greetings, mother. I bring to you Grey Wardens who -"

"I see them, girl," says the old woman, sizing the five of them up. "Mm. Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asks disbelievingly.

"You are required to do nothing," she replies. "Least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth warns. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Quiet, Daveth. If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?" ser Jory hisses back.

The old woman smiles, narrowing her eyes. "There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." Then she turns to Avina, who stands in Alistair's shadow warily. "And what of you?" she asks. "Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint?"

The others in the group turn to her as well, awaiting her answer.

Avina hesitates, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I'm not sure what to believe," she tells her honestly.

Apparently, this answer is acceptable, as the grayed woman nods in approval. "A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware - or is it oblivious? I can never remember. So much about you is uncertain... and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!"

Alistair smirks and lifts an eyebrow at her. "So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?"

"Witch of the Wilds, eh?" says the old woman. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit to it! Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She throws her head back and laughs.

Morrigan does not seem as amused. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother."

"True!" The Witch says at once, pulling a bundle of scrolls out of nowhere. At least, that's what it looked like. "They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begins barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these." She hands them to Daylen.

"You-" Alistair starts, confused. "Oh. You protected them?"

"And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"Thank you for returning them," says Avina.

"Such manners!" the old woman muses. "Always in the last place you look. Like stockings." Morrigan gives her an odd glance. "Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!"

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan orders, almost coldly.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl!" her mother scolds. "These are your guests!"

"Oh," Morrigan pouts. "Very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Avina

If she said she was not afraid, she would be lying.

She's terrified.

She worries. If she's not strong enough... should she fall, will the Circle be notified? Will they mourn?

She hasn't seen any elven Grey Wardens, and this worries her, too. Are elves different? Are they not usually strong enough to withstand the taint?

Daylen stands beside her, his face set in a calm mask of indifference. If he's worried about the Joining, he gives no indication. She wishes she had his confidence. She wishes she could stop worrying.

Alistair walks up and offers her a reassuring smile, and that shakes her from her thoughts as she smiles back. That he is here, that he supports her, will give her strength enough to see this through.

Daveth takes the cup first. His eyes roll back in his head, turning completely white. Avina cries out in horror as he falls to the ground, clutching his throat.

Ser Jory refuses it. As if he has a choice. But Avina is not prepared to see Duncan cut him down before her eyes.

When the chalice is passed to Daylen, he does not hesitate. He tips it back, spilling half of the remaining liquid into his mouth, swallowing with a grimace. His reaction is both like and unlike Daveth's, his eyes turn ghastly white, but instead of falling forward, he falls backward with a stunned look on his face. Duncan smiles - she knows he will survive.

And finally, Duncan stands before her. She takes the cup in her trembling hands, looking at Alistair once more. The cup is warm against her hands, but perhaps it's only because her skin is so cold with her terror.

She closes her eyes tight, tips the blood into her mouth, and swallows.

Pain, sharp and overwhelming, surges up from her stomach and into her mind as if it's alive. It screams within her, so loudly it drowns everything else out and she thinks she must have failed as the blackness closes in around her. This must be it.

A deafening roar fills her head, and she knows no more.

One eye cracks open.

The world is dark above her, only specks of light can be seen, very far away.

The world is cold, but she does not feel it. She's warm, and at first she doesn't know why. Then, she sees.

Warm amber eyes smile down at her, and she realizes she is not lying on the ground like she expected - no, instead, she is laying in Alistair's arms.

He didn't let her fall.

"It is finished. Welcome."

Tel'abelas.

Next chapter: the actual battle.