Loghain was sure he had seen the boy somewhere before. There was something familiar about him, something that nudged at the edge of his senses. It annoyed him, and his brow furrowed only further at the mystery of the lad. His skin prickled, feeling the background magic that surrounded Anton. Most mage's were pretty good at holding everything back in his presence, his dislike of magic wielders was very well known and Loghain had noticed the way mages tended to shrink away from him. Not this one, though. He stood there, at the war table, dark eyes fixed on the King almost defiantly. Loghain really didn't like mages. He didn't like Grey Wardens, either. Truth was, Loghain Mac Tir didn't like anyone much these days.

"You must be cautious, your Highness." He said to Cailan as he waxed lyrical about the joy of heading into battle with the Grey Wardens, and how he wanted to be right at the front. "Perhaps not everyone in the troops is as eager to clamber into the fray as you. The mages, for example, are often hesitant." Loghain's blue eyes focused on Anton. The boy seemed to ignore him. Loghain picked up a goblet filled with water.

"You can trust us to hold the line." The representative from the circle said, shooting a glance at Loghain, barely concealing his hatred.

"Trusting mages is like asking a cat for directions." Anton said, flatly. "You're lucky if you are told the right direction to head in. "

Loghain's eyes went wide. His goblet clattered loudly to the table.

"What did you say?" He whispered, eyes narrowing at Anton. The youth turned his head to face him, as if looking at the General for the first time. Those dark eyes bored into his soul, as if searching for something. The silence between them grew, Anton's dark eyes settling to fix on Loghain's icy blues. For the first time in years, Loghain began to feel a little nervous. Deep, forgotten memories rose in his mind, of a dark wood where bodies hung from trees, of an old witch and promises. Promises he was never privy too. Riddles, cryptic clues and messages that ultimately meant nothing.

"I said you are wise not to put your faith in the mages, Teyrn. They are fickle creatures at best." The lad's voice brought Loghain back to the present, back to reality. Dark eyes moved away from the Teyrn, back to the King and war table. Anton's gloved finger pointed to an outcrop that overlooked the battle field. "It would be sensible to place them here, above the battle field so that they might rain down fire and lighting on the darkspawn hoard. Only keep a few within the ranks to concentrate on healing."

Cailan nodded. "Excellent strategy, young man." Loghain's eyes remained fixed on Anton, the sinking feeling in his stomach making him feel like he was young again, and lost in the wilds. Part of him wondered, wondered that if out there, somewhere...

"And of course, I will remain with the men, on the front lines."

"Your Majesty, that is sheer foolishness." His mind was dragged back to the matter at hand, mostly by Cailan's idiocy. He was so like his father, and unfortunately without the experience,with more arrogance and the self assurance of never having really been in a proper battle. He sighed. "You should remain at the flank, with myself. Let the Grey Wardens lead."

"No, Loghain, I want to be at the front, with the men and the Wardens."

It would, of course, be Cailan's greatest mistake.

~xXx~

Alistair was exhausted. He had never faced so many darkspawn, wave after wave of the buggers. He's already taken a pike through the shoulder, and it was only a quick blast from Anton's staff that had prevented the little bugger from chewing his face off. Alistair had never really realised how useful magic could be – Anton's healing had been invaluable. Despite the help from the soldiers, the onslaught through the tower of Ishal was immense. It was baffling. Where were they all coming from? He leant heavily against a wall, as Anton searched the body of another Hurlock.

"Find anything?" The warden panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Anton stood, shaking his head. His own face was ashen and pale, dark circles under his eyes. Despite his power it was evident Anton was not used to casting spell after spell in such a way. Even the physical exertion of running and fighting was proving a challenge. "Nothing of use, anyway." He shrugged, before going to the small pouch on his belt. He produced a vial of lyrium and eyed it suspiciously. Seeming to come to a conclusion he tucked it back into his pouch with a sigh,

"Shouldn't you take that?" Alistair asked, following Anton's lead and producing his water canteen.

Again, Anton shook his head, pulling hands pulling his hair back into a messy ponytail. "No. I should save it for when it is needed most. We must press on if we are to reach the beacon in time."

Alistair nodded, popping the cork back into his canteen. "Lead on then." A grin touched his lips.

"I thought you were in charge, senior warden." Anton offered, a slight inflection in his voice suggesting he was just playing.

Alistair was about to open his mouth when the door in front of them flew open and a group of five more darkspawn burst through. They were mostly the short gurlocks with the bows and arrows, one with an axe which is what had smashed through the ancient oak door. They hissed in anger at the pair of them, and Anton immediately countered with a fireball which exploded among them. A hurlock screamed in agony, half ablaze and lunged at Alistair. He ducked, raising his shield for it to clatter upon it heavily, pushing him down onto one knee. He let out a bellow, his already weakened shoulder barely standing up to the onslaught. Gritting his teeth against the pain Alistair pushed himself back upright with a surge, throwing the Sherlock back. It stumbled, for Alistair to swing around with his longsword and open it's throat. Two other gurlocks had fallen to the ground, half cooked, the awful stench of burnt flesh filling Alistair's senses. Anton was already hurling individual bolts of lightening at the remainder of the group, and they growled and pressed towards him. Alistair was too far away to get to them, and yelled out a cry of warning as he saw one Gurlock take aim with fierce looking crossbow bolt at Anton. Dark eyes glanced in his direction, before moving to the Gurlock. Anton threw out one arm, and to Alistair's astonishment instead of blot of magic hitting the gurlock, it fell to the ground with a knife embedded deep in it's eye. Alistair ran to Anton's side, swiftly beheading another Gurlock as he went, leaving them once again in momentary peace.

"What sort of mage carries knives?" Alistair exclaimed, as they began to head cautiously down the corridor that had just been opened up to them.

"What sort of templar carries a runic worry token?" The mage replied, a faint grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Alistair blanched – he was unaware that Anton had the faintest idea about his odd superstitions. Unintentionally his hand flickered over his sword belt, and the small pocket within where he stored his 'lucky charm'. "How'd you know about that?" He muttered in reply, tongue darting over his lips.

"You flip it between your fingers whenever you're thinking."

"That can't be very often."

"That's why I noticed the rare event."

Alistair laughed; it was a small laugh, more of a snicker than an actual laugh but it felt good. The tension of the situation ebbed away and Alistair realised that despite Anton's stoic nature, he was actually his friend. It was a relief.

There was a bellow from down the corridor. Alistair's blood ran to his feet, and he saw Anton visibly hesitate in his movements. The mage swallowed.

"That doesn't sound good." The warden sighed, coming to a stop. Anton nodded, reaching into his pouch and producing two lyrium vials. "Close your eyes." He said, before drawing on his reserves. Alistair felt his energy restored, all weariness lifting from him like a worn shirt. He drew a deep breath, feeling the magic fill him from head to toe. He felt replenished, like he hadn't been fighting for hours and hours. He went to open his eyes only for Anton to softly chide him. "Not yet."

Alistair felt more magic curl about him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a great chill covered him from head to foot. He grimaced. "What are you doing?"

"You can open your eyes now." When Alistair opened his eyes Anton looked a little paler, and was pulling his sleeve down over his arm. Brown eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

Anton downed another vial of lyrium, tossing the empty glass aside. "I cast a spell of protection over you." And to prove his point he picked up a small stone, and tossed it at Alistair. The templar ducked, but the stone bounced harmlessly off a shield that had been erected around him.

"It'll only take so many hits." Anton explained, "But it means you can run right into the fray. The more powerful the blow, the more energy dissipates, but it should help you get a few blows in against whatever it is that lies ahead."

Alistair nodded. "Right then, lets do this."

The proceeding cautiously. There roar came again, and as they rounded the corner they peered onto what was obviously the rooftop of the tower. Three soldiers and an Ash warrior valiantly were fighting a great horned creature. It skin was the colour of stone, and blood dripped from its maw. With one hand it sweat aside the Ash warrior, his hound leaping upon the creature's wrist and attempting to tear at flesh. The great creature bellowed again, and as if it were a fly it lifted it's other hand and crushed the mabari without a second thought.

"The beacon." Alistair breathed, "We must kill this thing and light the beacon."

"Who said anything about killing the Ogre?" Anton replied, already summoning a fireball into the palm of his hand.

"But...those soldiers!"

"Are already dead." And with that he hurled the ball of flame towards the beacon, it landed and the wood caught immediately. The fire naturally caught the beast's attention, and it growled, turning towards the flames. The two hammerlocks with it were slightly smarter, and looked to the source.

"Run." Anton had grabbed Alistair's wrist, and was pulling him away. "We'd best join the battle field. Warn them of the risk of attack from behind."

Alistair agreed, they had lit the beacon, now they should head to the fray. Who knows how many more darkspawn would come up from under the ground? The hurlocks hissed in anger, drawing the ogre's attention away from the fire. They pointed, and the great beast let out a roar and lumbered after them. They turned and ran, the floor behind them shaking with every last one of the beast's footfalls. Anton pulled ahead, not weighed down by armour. He cast as they ran, lightening bolts raining down on the small groups of darkspawn that attempted to cut off their path.

"Anton!" Alistair cried suddenly, feeling his feet lifting from the ground despite his shield he could feel the ogre's grip on him. Anton skidded to a halt, spinning around on his feet and glancing back. The ogre had picked up Alistair. For a moment it was comical, the beast flailed Alistair around like he was an infant's toy, the shield flaring a fantastic orange with every blow. Alistair was hit off the wall, the floor, the beast screaming in frustration. Despite this, there was little protection for Alistair. Being shook around like that couldn't have been good for him, and with a sputter the magic dissipated. He could feel the ogre's claws pierce through his splintmail, and into his flesh. A cry of utter agony spilled from his lips as claws began to tear flesh asunder.

"HEY!" Anton shouted at the creature, withdrawing a knife from his sleeve, pulling the other up. "Put that school boy down!"

The beast hesitated, it's attention momentarily distracted. Alistair's eyes widened as Anton first slashed open his own wrist with the blade, before throwing it expertly at the ogre. It screeched in fury as the dagger landed in the back of the hand holding Alistair, and it dropped him like a hot potato. Despite hitting the ground heavily Alistair managed to find the strength to scrabble backwards out the way of its huge feet as it rushed Anton. He watched aghast as Anton drew the blood from his own wound, never letting it touch the ground. The air was thick with magic, Anton's eyes narrowing as his hands moved to shape it. He watched the mage send it forth, following the flight path of the dagger. It plunged into the ogre's flesh through the already open wound, and Anton began to mutter to himself.

Anton stood with one hand out stretched and the creature struggled to a halt, as if facing some invisible barrier. Panicked it began to claw at it's own skin, it's talons tearing into it's own flesh as it attempted to rip something out from within. It bawled a roar of terror, throwing it's head back. Alistair grimaced as he saw the creature's flesh start to bubble, great huge blisters forming and pulsating along it. They burst in violent hot welts of blood, before the ogre itself let out a scream of utter agony and exploded in a great flurry of flesh and dark, sticky blood.

"You're a bloodmage!" Alistair exclaimed as Anton swiftly turned his attention from the ogre to him, running to his side already summoning a healing spell. The warden winced as he felt muscle and skin begin to knot together in side of him, Anton's hands awash with a green glow. Dark eyes didn't fix on him, the mage concentrating on his spell."A fucking blood mage!" Alistair riled at his friend, unbelieving. Anton only shrugged, and as he pulled away, his magic finished Alistair spotted a great number of cuts and old scars all along Anton's arm. He snatched it. "How long?"

"There's more important things!" Anton growled, pulling his arm away and turning away. "Like getting out of here. If we live, you can question me all you want then. Can you not feel them?"

Alistair hesitated. He could. He had been ignoring it, but now he acknowledged the feeling it was like he was drowning. There was a great weight upon him, thousands and thousands of darkspawn pressing upon him. "There's thousands of them."

Anton nodded. "We must get to the battle field. We must get to Duncan."

~xXx~

They never reached the main battle field. It was hard enough for them to get out the tower. By the time they reached the bridge into Ostagar, they could see the whole thing. They saw Loghain's troops retreating. They saw the darkspawn hoard snuff out the light that was Duncan and Cailan's troops. Alistair was numb. He had stood aghast as he watched another ogre decimate troops and close in on where he knew Duncan and the other wardens were. Anton again had to drag him away, and they fled. The bolted for the Korcari wilds – why Alistair wasn't sure. He felt sick to his stomach, within seconds his whole world was flipped upside down. His friend was a bloodmage, Duncan was most likely dead, or at the very least Alistair had just left him to die. Anton kept pushing him, when he faltered he grabbed him and literally dragged him along through the trees and the swamps..

For three hours they pressed into the wilds. Deeper and deeper. The place was dark enough, but with the fall of the night it was only darker. How Anton had any idea of where they were going he had no idea. There was a thick fog swirling around their feet, and it chilled the warden to the bone. Anton seemed unaffected, using his dragon bone staff to knock branches out the way as if they had personally insulted him. A faint blue glow from the top of it lit their way, but all it seemed to do was make the shadows longer. Eventually Alistair had had enough. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Enough Anton! We've travelled far enough. I'm exhausted. I can't feel my toes anymore, let alone any darkspawn. We rest here. I rest here. You can do what you like." And with that he flopped down against the nearest tree, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Anton hesitated, looking down at his fellow warden. A frown crossed his features and he glanced around for something to make a fire with. Anton was no wilderness survival expert, but he knew that unless there was heat Alistair would die in his sleep. He cast around for some sort of wood to burn, and short of the trees surrounding them he was at a loss. But something in the tree line did catch his eyes. They narrowed.

He watched as that young witch from before walked into view. Her yellow eyes glanced down at the sleeping warden, and in her arms she had several thick logs. "Not versed in the outdoors are you?" She said, a hint of poison in her voice. She knelt in front of Alistair, dropping the logs and setting up a fire. "Would you oblige?" She tilted her head expectantly at Anton, and he returned the gesture. Crossing the gap between them, he crouched at the edge of the fire before a gesture from his hand set the logs alight. The fire was instantly blazing, hot, strong and soothing. Alistair visibly relaxed in his sleep. "Thank you, Morrigan." Anton said, letting the light on the end of his staff die out. He then laid it on the ground beside Alistair's feet, and watched Morrigan grope in her pack. She pulled out a blanket and laid it over the sleeping warden.

"You are welcome, Anton." She replied, sitting cross legged and looking at him in a very intense manner.

Anton wasn't stupid, and he wasn't completely oblivious to human nature. "Your mother sent you, didn't she?"

"Very insightful of you. I trust the battle against the darkspawn didn't go well?"

"You already know the answer to that. Is the king dead?"

"Yes. As is Duncan, and the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Anton let out a sigh. Morrigan chanced a smile. "I guess that makes your friend the acting commander of the Ferelden warden's, doesn't it?"

The mage nodded, letting out another long drawn out sigh. "Yes. Yes it does."

"And he wasn't thrilled with you being a bloodmage, was he?"

"Your mother told you that, I assume?"

"No." Morrigan admitted. "The first time you ventured into my wilds, I saw what you were casting on that Emissary, and how you cast it. A pinprick on your thumb, very clever, very subtle. How long have you used your own blood?"

"Ever since I was a child." Anton replied gently, lifting one hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "I am uncertain of how or where I picked up the technique, but I have managed to conceal and perfect it this long. Currently I'm attempting to come up with a way to use the darkspawn blood."

Morrigan's eyes widened. "Is that not a touch ambitious?"

"It is ambitious men who make advances, Morrigan." Anton replied steadily, shifting from a crouch to sit cross legged. Letting out a long sigh he closed his eyes, hands resting on his knees. "So why did your mother send you? I don't imagine your task was to bring us firewood and blankets."

"No." Morrigan let out a long breath. "She has sent me to aid you. Like it or not P'Sioux, you are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden. You must unite the country and stop the blight."

"Is that all?" The bloodmage raised an eyebrow at the witch.

"Well, I'm sure plenty of other things will come up along the way." She offered a smile. Anton's response was stoic silence, his eyes drifting to the now snoring Alistair. It would seem his companion could sleep deeply wherever he fancied – just as well, because it stopped him talking. Shifting his weight where he sat Anton pulled off one glove, letting the silence around the fire grow. Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed at the bloodmage. Her teeth bit her lower lip, taking his in his features. A nose to big, eyebrows too thick. Mouth too thin, cheeks too sallow, like he had never eaten a decent meal in his life. "Are you hungry?" She offered reaching for her pack to fetch the jerky she had brought.

"No." Anton replied softly, both hands now freed of the gloves he flipped them over, staring intently at the back of his hands. Morrigan slowly chewed on a peace of jerky, her eyes focused on Anton she watched as he closed his eyes, fingers curling into small tight fists. A flick of his wrist and he produced a knife, the tip of which he pressed into his thumb pad. A single droplet of blood oozed from between pale flesh, moving slowly through the air until it floated in front of Anton's eyes. More droplets joined it, all separate and floating. They began to spin around each other, slowly at first, and in a very intrict pattern. As the moments dragged by, the dance began to speed up, each droplet of blood spinning and winding in and out of the others. As the speed increased they elongated, until a very fine circular web of blood floated in the air before Anton, and it began to expand. Morrigan could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelids, and wondered for a moment if he was asleep, and dreaming. She moved around the fire to investigate further when suddenly his eyes opened, and the blood rapidly dissipated into their air.

The witch drew in a thin breath, Anton's eyes having found hers. It was the first time she had looked into those dark, dark eyes and she felt as if her soul was laid out for him to see. For second his eyes looked unnatural, even more unnatural than her own. Their colour was rich, the pupils almost narrow slits as they flitted, seeing things Morrigan could only guess at.

"You learnt your magic from your mother." When he spoke his voice was rough, those dark eyes only seeming to slip back into focus, before finally settling upon her own. Morrigan suppressed a shudder. "Yes, your powers of deduction astound me."

"Then presumably your talents, like hers, can be taught, passed on from mage to mage?"

"Assuming the mage is suitably gifted enough, then yes."

"You would teach me?"

Morrigan frowned. There was no look of honest earnest upon his face, no eagerness to learn. There was nothing on his face either to suggest that he was mocking her, poking fun. After all,why would a Maleficar care what an apostate could do? Never mind one from the Circle of Magi.

"Tis an amusing jest you play," She spoke warily. "But I suggest in the future you leave the terrible jokes to your companion."

Anton sighed, his eyes drifting away as he rolled them. At last, some glimmer of personality. "Why would a mage of your standing care to learn the magic of an apostate?"

"I'm a Maleficar, Morrigan." The patience in his voice was beginning to shift. "The source of knowledge is not an issue for me. However, if you feel your talents are not quite up to scratch...I'll seek out your mother instead."

"Oh, very clever." The witch hissed, "Appealing to my sense of vanity, however did you work that one out?"

"All women are vain, it is merely a question of finding the root."

"For that I might not bother teaching you a thing."

"Very well, if that is your decision." His eyes narrowed. "Your mother's hut is west, correct?" Anton made to stand to his feet, eyes moving as he reached for his staff. The mage's face had been soft before, but it had deepened into an intense frown.

"Fine fine!" Morrigan held her hands up, shaking them. Unsure if she was pandering to her desire to prove him wrong, or if she was afraid of the rebuttal Flemeth would surely give her should Anton turn up at her hut. "I'll teach you how to shape shift, and some of the darker spells that the Chantry will not allow it's penned mages to learn."

Then as swiftly as that intense look appeared on Anton's face, it dissipated. His face softened, and he seemed to shake off something. This time his eyes looked at her not through her, and he let out a slow breath. "Morrigan." Anton spoke softly, his voice rich and a just a little strained, as if he had been shouting for hours. "You best reach for your staff."

Morrigan found her fingers reaching for the twisted length of wood without her command. "Whatever for, dear Warden?" She growled warily. Anton ignored her, instead prodding Alistair with his own staff. The sleeping warden didn't stir, only grunted and nestled tighter down against the tree. For the first time since she had met him, Anton swore.

"Darkspawn." He snapped, spinning around and stamping on the fire. "And bloody Alistair is out cold."

"Darkspawn? You idiot they wouldn't come..." But an arrow lodged itself in her staff, and with a hiss of surprise Morrigan turned around to face the direction it came from. Anton already unleashed a dancing bolt of lighting, which danced past her and grounded itself somewhere in the shadows with a terrible, inhuman screech.

"What was that?" Morrigan asked, shifting around to back towards the tree where Alistair still snored.

"I don't know." Anton replied gently, lowering his voice. "I didn't encounter this sort of darkspawn back at Ostagar. They're not Hurlocks, or Genlocks. They're something else. Something faster."

Sorry for the delay with getting this chapter up, I've been in China! Thanks for reading, please all R&R. =D