We made our way to Howe's room in tense silence.

"I think this is it," Alistair said in a quiet tone, as we came across a door of deep mahogany wood with golden accents and brass rivets. The Howe heraldry was carved into the door's face.

"It certainly seems that way," I reply, then nod to the others in a signal to prepare themselves. They put their hands on their weapons, and inch closer to each other in expectation of battle.

Except, no one was there. We open the door, and the room is vacant. Zevran takes no time at all to go snooping through Howe's belongings, and I join him with a nod to the others to keep watch near the door. I head towards a large, carved chest near the extravagant bedside. I pull at the latches and it opens without resistance. Howe is so arrogant that he doesn't even lock his door, let alone his chests. The shemlen believes his power is so great that none would even bother to disturb his belongings. Inside the chest I find documents stamped with the distinctive Grey Warden heading and broken wax seals. Some parchments are dirty and battered, whereas others appear to be official documents. Although, the true nature of the letters I cannot discern. It appears to be written in a language I do not know.

"Lethallin," I say addressing Alistair. "Look. Do you understand this writing?"

Alistair leaves Oghren and makes his way over towards me with a brow raised in curiosity. I hand him the letters, and he shakes his head. "It don't, but... see how things are written here." He points to one of the more battered parchments, "I think this might be a list of some kind."

I sigh and take the letters back, stuffing them in my pouch for safe keeping. "Someone was keeping track of something. These may be important."

"Fala, mi amor," Zevran calls over towards me. He's further down the wall from where the chest rests in front of an unadorned slightly smaller door. "I believe this is a personal door to the dungeons, no?"

"Maybe da Blighter's down 'n there," says Oghren as he stomps over. The hall outside the main door has been quiet since we've entered. There doesn't seem to be a patrol in this corridor. "Wouldn't surprise meh if 'e likes a good torturin' before turnin' in fer the night. Ya know. Da smell of blood 'n sound 'er screams 'll make ya wanna turn in early."

I sigh, "Who knows... Let's take a look. Everyone, be on guard."

We head down a small, dirty hallway to another plain door, and when I push it open a shemlen guard standing in front of a cell door to my right yells out,

"Oi! Who goes there?"

Suddenly a pair of arms emerge from between the bars, and wrap themselves around the guard. None of us caring for a guard's fate who could potentially alert others to our presence, watch as those arms strangle the guard and snap his neck with a sickening crack just before his body falls lifeless to the ground.

I take a few cautious steps back, despite the feeling of a familiar hum in my blood. The man is either tainted or another Warden. He may even be covered in darkspawn blood for all I know. We hear the rust of the cell door creak open, and see the guard's body being slowly dragged into the cell. I do not know if the prisoner is dangerous or not, and do not care to have my own neck broken in such a manner. Our hands are firmly placed onto our weapons, and minutes go by until we see the prisoner emerge from his cell. He is a tall shemlen with dark hair and beard, but light skinned. His shoulders are wide, yet his body is slim. He does not brandish his weapons, so we do not remove ours.

"I have been waiting far too long for a chance to gain my freedom. I cannot thank you enough strangers for providing such a timely distraction. It seems luck is finally on my side." He seems half-starved, as his cheeks are hollowed and gaunt. I can see the honesty of his words in his red-eyed, watery gaze. It is odd, even in my experience as a Warden, for a human to be so genuine towards me at first glance. The only other that has done so is Alistair's uncle Bann Teagan. Most times I am met with hostility or contempt.

"Perchance could you..." His voice trails off as his gaze is drawn to the only shemlen in my party. "Alistair? Is that you?"

"Who... Wait." Alistair looks up sharply and meets the other shemlen's gaze. "I know you! You were at my Joining." Alistair looks towards me and explains, "He's a Warden... from Orlais." Alistair brings a gauntleted hand to his forehead in thought. "Jader, I think... I apologize, but I don't remember your name."

The former prisoner bows towards me in introduction, "I'm Senior Warden Riordan of Jader, but born and raised in Highever. I'm glad to be home, despite the circumstances."

I cross a single arm across my chest, and lower my head politely, "I am Fala Mahariel, formally of the Sabrae, and now of the Grey Wardens. Andaran atish'an, lethallin. It is a pleasure to meet another of my Warden brothers."

He raises a brow questioningly, "A Dalish? I was not aware one of the people was within the ranks of Ferelden's Grey Wardens."

I roll my eyes, despite attempting to be polite to another Warden. "Yes... Very unusual, I know. I joined at Ostagar," he nods, and I purse my lips together. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to keep my mouth shut mostly." He rakes a hand through his oily, loose hair before he continues to explain, "When King Cailan failed to send word to Orlais as to the outcome at Ostagar, I was sent here. Some time ago, the King had invited the Orlesian Wardens and their support troops to join him in the battle, then... nothing."

It is as I thought. I tilt my head in consideration before I ask curiously, "How large a force did the Orlesians intend to send?"

"In total, roughly two-hundred Wardens, and two-dozen divisions of cavalry." He clasps his hands behind his back as he continues, "Our troops were turned back at the boarder, however, and that was the first we had heard of Loghain's edict. Then whispers reached us that the Grey Wardens were being blamed for the King's slaughter and the massacre at Ostagar. We needed to find a way to fight the Blight and Loghain's regime both, so we decided it was wisest to send someone across the boarder alone. I thought it was best if I volunteered to make the journey, since I am native to Ferelden and know the land."

I nod my head, and open the pouch at my belt. Perhaps he knows more of the documents I found earlier. "Are these your documents?"

He takes them from my hands, as recognition sparks behind his eyes. "Yes, these are the records I've collected during my time here. The names of the dead I could recognize at Ostagar, what I could find of Duncan's own recruitment records, and pieces of the Joining ritual I rescued from our Denerim vault. They are encrypted to ensure that no outside eyes see them. They are invaluable, and critically important to the Wardens."

I thought strikes me instantly, "The Joining ritual, you said? Can you allow others to become Grey Wardens?" We are desperate for men. In face of the civil war, and the treaties we've seen to, we still need Wardens. There is only two, now three, of us that can sense the taint. Wardens would be invaluable in fighting the horde.

"For the Joining to work, the recruit needs not only fresh darkspawn blood, but a drop of blood preserved from an archdemon. Ferelden's supply was in the vault, and fortunately I was able to secure it. I have hidden it with the aid of a trusted Chantry priest, Mother Perpetua. I pray that she has kept it safe. I can only imagine if someone found it, and Loghain either confiscated it, or destroyed it. It would be most unfortunate."

I smile, although it is more of a smirk, "Very good, lethallin. Then we will have more people able to fight this Blight affectively." He nodded, and then I asked, "Where is the shemlen Howe?"

He nodded his head towards his right before saying, "I saw him going to the lower dungeons and cells not too long ago. He may still be there."

"How did the shemlen capture you?" I am curious at how this happened. Riordan seems quite intelligent, for a shem... but he is a Warden. Which doesn't exactly help Alistair's case all the time...

His face creases in disgust. "I was foolish to think that Loghain and his lackeys did not yet know who or what I am. Howe offered me his hospitalities, and a poisoned chalice."

Still a bit curious, as he has been offering me plenty of information, I ask, "Is there more you can tell me about the Grey Wardens?"

He shakes his head, obviously conscious on how much time we've spent talking, "This is hardly the best place to continue this conversation. And I must see to Mother Perpetua. It is of vital importance that I recover the remainder of the Archdemon blood. If Loghain knew of my identity, it would not be too far of a stretch to assume he too knows of those loyal to the Wardens, and to me."

Alistair interjected, before I could make some comment he probably wouldn't like very much. What Riordan said was a little too... snippy for my tastes. "We've been staying at Arl Eamon's estate off the market district. If you need a place to stay, I'm sure he'd make you welcome there. His men will ensure your safety as well."

Riordan nods eagerly, "At Arl Eamon's then." He pauses after a few steps and turns towards me, "And goodluck, sister."

"The Joining ritual, then?" Alistair says once Riordan has left through the door leading towards the bedroom. "I have no doubt more Wardens would be useful."

I nod, "Of that we are in agreement, lethallin."

I look towards Zevran and recall a time when the flat-ear had asked me of my own circumstances to joining the ranks of the Wardens. As Riordan pointed out, it is unusual for a Dalish to become a Warden. By Dirthamen, it is uncommon to see a Dalish outside of the wood.

"So, mi diosa," Zevran says to me as we lay together in my tent. I'm half asleep curled up on his bared chest, his fingers cascading through my long, smooth raven locks spread across his bronzed skin and stark black tattoos. "You have asked me much about my time in Antiva, and as a Crow, sí? Would you mind terribly if I asked you some questions in return?"

Too warm and content to disagree, I reply, "If you wish, emma vhenan'ara."

"Why is it you left your people?"

My body tenses, and Zevran rubs gently along my scalp to encourage me to relax. I have not told my tale to anyone, the only person to know was the shemlen Duncan.

I let in and out a deep breath before I speak, "As a huntress you must always stay in pairs, as it is too dangerous to travel otherwise. My partner for most hunts was Tamlen. He was... my closest friend, I suppose. He... desired me, but I did not return his advances. He, he was impulsive. Foolish. Long story short, he got the both of us tainted. From dark-magic, I believe. Duncan was there. In the forest. He took me back to my clan, and... well, we couldn't find Tamlen. Keeper Marethari stabilized me as best she could, but she knew of no cure for the taint. The shem said he could cure me, so since I wanted to live, I left with him. By becoming a Warden, I was able to live. And by becoming a Warden, I cannot return to my clan. Now I am of the Grey Wardens, and not of the people. I am Dalish, but no longer."

"I believe you are still very much Dalish, my Warden," he rubs a thumb over my forest-green markings on my forehead, "You still bear the tattoos of your people."

I sigh, "My vallaslin. It's a permanent mark. It cannot be removed as your tattoos can."

"Vallaslin, then," I giggle softly at his pronunciation of the elvish word with his thick accent. "I've heard these to be meaningful things. Is this true?"

I straighten my head and fold my hands beneath my chin as I look at him, "Each honors one of the Creators. They are marks of adulthood, and are chosen after much meditation. Both the shapes and colors are significant."

"And what is the significance of yours, diosa?"

I trace the markings on my forehead and chin from memory and say, "The green color is for Adahlen, the Forest. Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Forest, is the third of Vir Tanadahl, the Way of Three Trees. They are testaments of hunters. Vir Adahlen shows that together we are stronger than one. The shape honors Falon'Din, or the Friend of the Dead, the Guide. Falon'Din is the Creator of Death and Fortune."

I pause and recall the moments of solitude I spent in preparation for my vallaslin. "When I meditated I saw a sickly deer falling into the Beyond. That is how I knew to honor Dirthamen's twin brother." I tilt my head onto my hands, "I had first thought that my choosing of Falon'Din and Adahlen was sent by my parents, as both adda and mamae have been taken by Fen'Harel. But now I believe it is because of Tamlen and Duncan. Tamlen's foolishness sentenced me to my death, but Duncan saved me by allowing me to join the Wardens. Falon'Din and Vir Adahlen."

Zevran lays back and I see his eyes look towards the top of the tent. "I do not pretend to understand Dalish custom, but it seems as though your decision was wise."

I giggle and kiss his chest, "We are a complex people."

The memory fades from my mind as I look to my companions, to my Warden brother. In light of what Riordan has told us, I believe the Grey Wardens may be a more complex group.

…...

Note: Little longer chapter for all of you wonderful readers. And no need for any content warnings. :) If you ever have any questions, feel free to drop a PM! Thanks again to my beta, FalconHawk! I'll be leaving out some common elvish and Spanish terms in the translations now. You all know the word for friend, right? Anyway! Here's the translations:

Andaran atish'an: 'Enter this place in peace' - A formal greeting in elvish.

mi diosa: Spanish for 'my goddess'

emma vhenan'ara: 'My heart's desire'

vallaslin: 'Blood writing'