At first, all she could hear were voices coming from a great distance. Her body leaden, but she could feel the sensation in her limbs slowly return as a tingling feeling began at her extremities and crept inward. Suddenly, the voices exploded in her ears, and the scent of unwashed bodies flooded her nostrils. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she felt two presences descend on her.

"Three days is a long time, Duncan." Mort's voice was low and subdued as gentle medic's hands rested on her forehead and wrist. "Her fever is finally coming down, though, and her heartbeat has returned to a normal pace."

"It shouldn't be long now, then." the Warden-Commander responded gravely, and Torran could feel the displacement of air beside her as the man settled nearby. Slowly, the multitude of new sensations ordered themselves, and the heavy feeling in her body began to dissipate. Thoughts that once crawled through miles of molasses became sharper, flashing faded images of marble, ruin, and a pair of blue eyes that invoked an instinctive sense of fascination...and fear.

"Do you think Alistair or one of the others should be here? Just in case, you know..." Mort trailed off as Torran's eyes fluttered. "Duncan, she's waking up!"

"Quickly, Mort, close the flap of the tent and light a candle. Her eyes will be unused to the light." The medic rose and released the pinned up cloth that covered the entrance way, but not before Torran's green eyes weakly cracked open and were immediately stung by the bright sunlight.

She opened her eyes into slits again, and cast them about the dimly lit tent as the fuzzy image above her head slowly coalesced into Duncan's familiar bearded face. Finally, her tongue broke free of its restraints. "Wh-where am I? Wha-?" The words emerged rough and near-inaudible from dry lips before her throat seized and she was racked with hoarse coughs. Firm hands quickly helped her sit up, and a cup of lukewarm water was placed to her lips. She sucked down the liquid thirstily, and was handed more until she'd drunk her fill.

Her fingers trembled around the vessel as the terror of the nightmare slowly drained out of her. The images, so vivid mere moments ago, were already receding into memory along with all details of the...dance... or whatever had been going on. The clearest image she had in her mind's eye was of piercing blue eyes.

"Torran, focus on me." She turned her eyes to Duncan's voice and squinted. The bright light blazed into her eyes, but she could have sworn that the sun had barely passed the horizon. The smell of the morning dew was intense, almost overwhelming, and she could hear booted feet stamping out remnants of the night's fires

"Come on, girl. I know you must be feeling a bit overwhelmed by your new senses, but I've found that it's best to just face the day than ease your way in." Mort piped in, taking the emptied cup and setting it aside.

"Duncan? Wh-what happened?" She tried again, wincing as her voice rang out, hurting her ears. Everything seemed to hurt. Every nerve ending screaming out.

"You successfully endured the Joining, Torran." Duncan replied calmly. His face finally swam into focus, and she could see the proud smile she had sensed in his words. Her eyes widened as they met his own, seeing for the first time the splotches of white that had leaked into the iris of his pupils. He noted her expression and the smile turned wry. "I'm sure you have many questions, but I must ask you to address them to Mort. I was on my way to meet King Cailan when word came that you appeared to be waking up, and I wanted to be sure of your condition. As you are alert and awake, and in good hands, I'll take my leave." The older man smiled slightly and then quickly departed, two other Wardens falling in behind him as he exited the camp.

Torran slowly cast about her eyes, getting used to both the slight burning of the bright light as well as the incredible sharpness of objects lying in shadows. "How long was I...asleep?"

"Just about three days." Mort replied. The young man settled down beside her, tongue peeking from his lips as he squinted into both green eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four fingers." Torran replied. He has the white flecks too... "Three days of sleep? What happened? Why do I feel so..."

"Alive? Energized? Weird? Grab both fingers and squeeze as hard as you can. Left and right, please" Mort held up two fingers on both hands and braced himself as Torran squeezed his digits. "Alright, that's enough thank you!" He yelped and rubbed his fingers, flexing them until they cracked. "Strong girl...I imagine you're feeling all of the above, given what I myself experienced after my own Joining." Mort tapped her knees and elbows with a small hammer, nodding approvingly as her limbs jerked in response. "It's the Taint. The body enters a coma as it undergoes the change. Those who wake up are Wardens."

"And what about those who don't?" Torran shoved her blankets off her lap and stretched, groaning as her joints popped and cracked loudly.

"Well," Mort hesitated. "If the Taint is rejected by the body, it will quickly consume the person. If you're lucky, you die. If you're unlucky...well, the Wardens will make sure you die a man. Or a woman, of course!"

"What do you mean?"

"There have always been losses in most every Joining on record. Either the candidate dies immediately upon consuming the blood, they die in their coma, or..." He hesitated, hazel eyes darkening. "Some return to us, but they are no longer human. Those poor souls are sometimes the first darkspawn our new Wardens face."

"How do you know when someone is lost?" Torran followed Mort's motion and tapped her finger tips against one another, demonstrating her coordination and dexterity.

The medic quickly jotted his findings on a piece of parchment with her name written on top, tongue peeking between his lips as he worked. "Every case is different, but the longer a recruit lies comatose, the higher the risk is that they come back consumed by the Taint."

"When do you start getting nervous?"

"Usually around the three day mark."

"Oh." Torran rose at his gesture and stood still as he prodded her joints and tested her balance. "Were you the one who took off my armor?" She was wearing an overlarge tunic top, and, thank the Maker, a pair of her own trousers.

"You can stop doing that now. And no," Mort replied. "Alistair volunteered, something about protecting a woman's honor from 'sneaky peek-thieves'. Don't worry," he added quickly as green eyes widening at her glare. "Your mabari watched the entire time, and I would bet every silver to my name that he kept Alistair honest."

"I'm sure," Torran muttered as she stretched her stiff joints. She felt like she'd spent the better part of the last three days battered by her old master-at-arms back...at home. "Where are my things?"

"Over there in the corner." Mort rolled up the parchment and quickly packed his medkit away and slung it over his shoulder. Oddly enough, unlike the other wardens, the boy didn't seem to carry a weapon. "That was your mabari's place, before we decided to take him outside the tent. It took FOUR men to tie him down, and keep him from sitting by you! We didn't want him around just in case, well, you know..."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill anyone." Torran replied absently as she stared around her. Everything seemed dim, almost washed out, but her other senses were increased to the point that she could hear the footsteps of guardsmen as they walked the walls on the other side of the camp. Apparently, the Wardens had placed her as far away from the main circle of tents as possible and still be within the walls.

"The kennel master in the camp helped us with some mabari grade sedatives, and even then it took our strongest to remove him from your side." Mort collected himself and quickly stood, smiling awkwardly at the dark skinned girl. "That's it for my examination. Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Sister. If you're wondering where the others are, and your dog too, go check by the training grounds. Bye!" Without another word, the lanky young man ducked out of the tent and trotted off, leaving Torran alone.

So much for answering my questions... Sighing, Torran slowly stretched once more, wincing as her body worked out the kinks created by three consecutive days asleep on the rough ground. She found her armor and weapons stacked safely nearby, all of which had been cleaned and polished after removal by...Alistair. Deciding she should just be glad she hadn't had to endure the coma in her smelly chain, she quickly donned her gear.

A quick check to the satchel verified the presence of her father's letters, and she reminded herself to look at them as soon as she got the chance. For now though, she needed answers. Without hesitating, she ducked out into the sunlight.

As she walked through the smattering of tents and firepits, Torran marveled at how light her chain and leather mail felt on her shoulders. The fit seemed too tight even, as though her body had grown several inches during the course of the Joining. Her steps thudded in her ears, and she quickly made a game of seeing how lightly she had to tread in order to minimalize the sound. The entire camp seemed deserted, but she could both hear and smell a large group of people up ahead. Oddly enough, she could almost...sense... the people, kind of like an irritating buzz tickling the back of her mind.

The training ground was a large, cleared space on the far edge of the camp where the forest floor had begun retaking the land from Ostagar's heavy masonry. There was a dueling circle, dusty and flat from the countless bouts that had occurred since the occupation of Ostagar at the beginning of the campaign some months ago. Near the circle was an archery range, and just beyond that, where the crowd had gathered, was a large practice field.

"Torran! Over here!" Alistair jogged up to her, beaming brightly. "I knew you'd pull through! Welcome to the Wardens, Sister." The blonde threw open his arms as if to embrace her, and then dropped them as she merely raised an eyebrow, flushing red. "Ahem, right, no touchie... Now that you've Awakened, I'm to bring you to the others. It's time to meet your new family!"

Torran let herself be drawn forward by the exuberant man, swallowing the knot in her throat as she forcefully pushed aside thoughts of the family she'd never see again. Not everyone is gone. She reminded herself as a form broke away from the crowd, charging toward her on all fours. Bear reared as he reached her, massive paws thumping her shoulders as he washed her face with his tongue. She barked a laugh as her arms closed around his head and neck, distantly marveling over the strength that kept her on her feet when she should have been flat on her back. This was real. She was a Grey Warden.


A/N: Thanks for hanging in there everyone, and much love to the reviewers who've brought me out of hiding. I've started on the next chapter already, working to reconcile (aka figure out) the original unique elements with where the story will be headed now. All comments, critique, and suggestions greatly appreciated. - Perching Kite