So, I'm sorry. I really am. It should not have taken me over a year to update this story, but it did. I've just been very busy, especially with this being my final year of undergrad, and it has been kicking my ass. Anyways, enjoy reading!

Chapter 4

He hears their voices calling out to him, pleading for help, as swords and wicked men descend upon them. He charges forward, moving as fast as he can to save the innocent people, but just as he gets close, blood splatters on him. He's too late, he's always too late. Bodies fall around him and every step he takes lands in a pool of blood. The heat of the flames sears his skin. The smoke and stench of burning corpses threaten to suffocate him.

Just at the edge of the bloody madness, he spots his father lying in blood, reaching out to him. A shadow appears behind the injured Teryn with a dagger in its hand. He tries to shout, to warn his father, but his voice fails him. The shadow thrusts the dagger into his father's back, and just as the roaring fires envelope him, the hungry flames reveal Rendon Howe and the smug, taunting smirk upon the traitor's face.

A chill nips at Cedric's skin as he finds himself staring up at the dark canvas of the tent. A haze clouds his mind, confusion tangling his thoughts. Suddenly, he jerks up, his heart racing, his throat burning, breathing erratic, and a cold sweat clinging to his scorching skin. His chest aches and his eyes sting with unshed tears. Slowly, the fog of confusion clears and Cedric begins to regain a hold of himself. He's at Ostagar, not Highever.

Cedric shifts his legs over the side of his cot, placing his bare feet on the cool ground. He grips the edge tightly, his knuckles turning white from the strain. His scar feels as if it is on fire. He can almost feel the steel blade cutting into his face again. With a grunt, he forces himself to stand up and sluggishly moves over to the small wash basin, carefully avoiding the sleeping mabari next to his cot, and splashes his face with the frigid water.

The young man stares down at his reflection. His light green eyes are unable to look away from the jagged scar across his nose and cheek. Images flash through his mind. Blood on the walls. Flames in the halls. Servants, dead on the floor. Father bleeding out. Mother being left behind. His chest constricts and his hands grip the table. Anger courses through him. Cedric barely refrains from hurling the wash basin across the tent.

He failed! He failed his family. His people. Highever. He should have done more. He should have noticed. He should have been able to save them. All that training. All those years dedicated to learning swordsmanship and strategy. For what? The moment it should have mattered most, he failed. And now…

Today's the day. The day he is supposed to sacrifice all he is and dedicate the rest of his life to fighting darkspawn. Today's the day he becomes a Grey Warden. But, no matter what any Warden says, even Serah, Howe will pay by his hand. No one will take that from him. It's his burden as one of the last of his family.

Cedric glances over at the other cot and notices the mage is gone, as is his satchel and staff. The warrior sheds his sweat soaked clothes and puts on fresh ones. He swiftly dons his armor, waking Sirius from his sleep. He tightens his gauntlets and greaves and adjusts his pauldron. Finally, he straps his sword and shield on. The family sword hangs at his side while the shield is on his back. It feels bulky and unfamiliar, making him question if it's a good idea to carry it. But, he can't leave it behind.

The Cedric exits his tent, holding his helmet under his arm and loyal mabari by his side. He spots the mage swinging at a practice dummy. The warrior can't help but grimace upon seeing Quinn's form. It's horrible.

Cedric also sees the dalish elf sitting on a crate a short distance away, watching the mage with indifference. Her long auburn hair is tied back, allowing for her vision to be unhindered. An intricate longbow is on her back with a full quiver. Even her leather armor, though flawed as it leaves the elf's midsection unprotected, seems elegant. None of it appears human-made. It would seem that the Dalish have very skilled craftsmen.

As Cedric nears, he catches Sylvia's dark green eyes move from watching the mage to watching him. She does not trust him, which he is fine with. He does not trust her either. Truly, who can he trust?

The warrior makes his way over to the mage, keeping a slight distance from him.

"You are only going to get yourself killed fighting like that," Cedric advises. "Or worse."

"Or… worse?" the mage repeats, gasping a little.

"You could compromise the group. A chink in the armor," the former noble points out before adding, "We have enough of those as is."

"Then, what am I supposed to do? I was trained to use magic, not weapons," Quinn huffs, turning to face the warrior. "If you melee fighters do your job, it shouldn't be a concern, right?"

"Nothing goes that smoothly. You must always be prepared for the worst-case scenario."

"Then, give me some pointers, rather than just criticize me."

Cedric fastens his shield on, cringing inwardly at the weight. He gives his arm a couple practice swings, adjusting to the weight. For some reason, it feels unusually heavy. At least assisting the mage will allow him a warm-up.

"Simple strikes. Recruits repeat a series of basic strikes to develop muscle memory. Right shoulder, left shoulder. Right knee, left knee. Right rib, left rib. Thrust to the chest, thrust to the abdomen. Downward swing to the skull, upward swing to the groin." Cedric demonstrates with his sword, tapping the mage with the flat of his blade for the first six strikes. After showing Quinn, the warrior raises his shield. "Attack."

The mage repeats the series of strikes that Cedric had shown him. While Quinn had little problem with the swings, other than the lack of control due to his gripping, his posture is wrong. So, the warrior stops him.

"Don't face your body towards me. Face it to the side to make you less of a target. Also, move your feet a little more apart for added stability." Quinn corrects his posture as Cedric instructs. "And move your hands further apart. It will give you more control of the weapon."

After making the adjustments, Quinn resumes striking at the warrior, who defects or blocks the incoming blows. As the mage gains more confidence, Cedric notices him speed up his strikes as well as adding more force.

"I'm glad to see you are finally making friends." Cedric and Quinn halt their practice to look at the Warden-Constable. Alistair is walking just behind her. Sirius runs up to greet the elven warden, who pats the mabari on the head.

"I'm improving our chances," Cedric corrects. Serah shrugs with a smirk.

"The other three recruits will be here shortly," she states. Only a couple moments pass before Eodyn, Daveth, and Ser Jory appear. The two rogues seem to be chatting about something, but they become quiet as they get closer. Cedric can feel the city elf's glare on him so the warrior glares back.

"I can feel the love already. Maybe we should all come in for a group hug." Alistair opens his arms, grinning at the group. Cedric scowls at the man.

"No games. You've much to do so you need to get going," Serah addresses the group. "Alistair has your medical and food supplies in his pack. Enough for today. Here's your canteens."

"If you are going out there, why don't you retrieve the treaties?" Ser Jory points out.

"We are considering the retrieval of the treaties as part of your initiation, like it or not." Serah sends a pointed look towards Cedric as a warning. He refrains from making a sharp reply. "I'm only out there to tail you since you are such a large group. I won't be taking part in any of the fighting. "

"Why not split us into smaller groups?" Cedric adds.

"Because it will do most of you good to learn to cooperate with one another. As wardens, you will need to be able to depend on your comrades," she answers, her gaze once again focused on Cedric. He feels slightly insulted. Just because he doesn't like the people in the group or the Grey Wardens, doesn't mean he would jeopardize the mission. He was trained to be professional in combat. To be able to fight with a variety of soldiers and warriors. "No better way to learn that than trial by fire. Anyways, enough questions. Alistair will oversee you from here on. Good luck."

And with that, she departs. Sirius makes to go after her, but she gestures for the mabari to stay at his master's side. Cedric pats his head as he lets out a small whine.

"Shall we get moving, then? We want to be back before dark and I'd hate to see the punishment if we break curfew," Alistair jests, signaling for the group to move. The warrior glances in the direction the Warden-Constable went before nudging the mabari at his side and heading to the gates. The guard wishes the group luck as they pass.

As they travel into the swamps, Cedric quickly takes note of how the over saturated earth shifts under his weight. And the mud makes it dangerously slick. Fighting will not be easy in this terrain. If he can't keep steady footing, it will be hard to block incoming blows. Alistair should have a similar problem, and Ser Jory won't be able to put as much weight behind his swings. Already, the group is at a huge disadvantage if the warriors cannot take the bulk of the attacks.

The group barely gets into the wilds when they encounter a pack of wolves. At first, the beasts seemed cautious, but an arrow let loose by the dalish elf caused the wolves to attack the group. The battle went without much incident, but the fighting was disorganized. The group is disorganized.

Cedric glances over at Sylvia and watches as she stumbles for a moment before righting herself. She sets to work collecting her arrows, awkward at first, but quickly regaining her earlier grace. As she recovers the arrows from the wolf corpses, her hand gently runs across the fur and her eyes hold something that looks like regret or sorrow. The dalish elf's lips move, but no words come out. As soon as Sylvia collects her last arrow, she bolts past him and returns to the mage's side. Cedric lets out a huff and follows, catching up with the group, who had moved to scout ahead.

"Typical… Prefers to spew blood all over and die rather than be healed by magic. Oh, well," Quinn grumbles, and adds, "Please take note to refrain from running into a darkspawn's blade. You'll just be in the same boat as this half-dead sob."

Sirius lets out a bark as Cedric comes up to the group. The warrior looks down at the soldier lying at the group's feet, clinging to life.

"Ah, decided to rejoin us, have you? Well, you're in luck! We just found a dead man… Well, half-dead… Ambushed by darkspawn," Quinn announces and gestures to the surroundings. Bodies lay scattered, and some are even torn apart. Debris that was once a wagon litters the clearing as well. "Those are his not-so-lucky comrades. Shocking he's alive, really."

Cedric lets out a small growl and looks around. They don't have time to escort the soldier back to camp and it would be a waste to give whatever supplies they have on the man.

"Heal him the best you can, then we'll patch up the rest," the warrior orders. The soldier makes to protest, but Cedric quickly cuts him off. "We have a mission to complete, and we are using time, effort, and supplies to help you. It would be easier to leave you for dead. Accept our offer or we leave you as you are."

The soldier cringes as the mage nears him with green, glowing hands but says nothing. The mage stands not long after.

"That's as good as I'm going to do," Quinn states with a shrug. Cedric looks at the wounds. The magic had helped with the slowing the worst of the bleeding, but he had been hoping the mage could do better than that. It seems the mage wasn't jesting when he said he wasn't a dependable healer.

"Aren't mages supposed to be great healers? Isn't that what the Circle teaches you? What use is your magic, otherwise?" Ser Jory questions. Cedric can hear hints of panic creeping into the knight's voice. Quinn frowns and his blue eyes flash slightly.

"The Circle teaches control. And," a flame ignites in the mage's hand, causing Eodyn, Daveth, and Ser Jory to jerk back. Even Cedric feels himself cringe a little. "I can kill more darkspawn with one spell than you can with that oversized letter opener." The flame disappears as Quinn clenches his hand closed.

Cedric notices that Sylvia did not react at all to the mage's display of magic. Instead, she just stares at the mage with confusion, her brow furrowed. The warrior also takes note of Quinn's sudden change of demeanor.

Alistair ignores the recruits to patch up the soldier. The junior Warden helps the injured man to his feet.

"Do you think you can make it back to camp?" the Warden asks. The soldier hesitantly nods, nervously glancing at Cedric and Quinn. The warrior merely looks back with his arms crossed over his chest. The soldier stumbles off, slowly making his way back to the camp.

"Did you hear that? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" Ser Jory panics. Cedric rubs his temples and lets out an agitated sigh. Time is wasting.

"Calm down, Ser Jory. As long as we're careful, we'll be fine," Alistair tries to soothe the panicking knight.

"Those soldiers were careful and they were overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the seven of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There is an entire army in these forests!" The knight argues.

"I highly doubt Duncan sent us out here if he thought we could encounter the bulk of the horde," Eodyn points out. The elf's charcoal eyes glare at Ser Jory. "What's the point in sending recruits to die, especially after all the effort he went through to get us? That makes no sense."

"How do you know? I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back," the knight presses. Cedric steps forward, anger filling in his chest.

"You wanted to be a Grey Warden. You fought to be here. And, you know what, you sound exactly like a coward to me," Cedric growls, his finger pressing against the knight's chest. "Grey Wardens fight darkspawn. You are of no use to them if you turn tail and run at the mention of the creatures. This is a test. Face it like the knight you are supposed to be."

Ser Jory shuffles his feet and avoids the warrior's blazing green eyes. The group is quiet for a moment.

"Ser Jory, know this," Alistair assures the man. "All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here." Cedric steps back and shifts his glare to the junior Warden. Of course, Aldous use to tell him the tales of the order when he was little, but the warrior can't help but wonder how the Wardens gain the ability. It certainly didn't sound like it took training. Just the Joining, a ritual.

"You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first," Daveth cuts in, sarcastically.

"Enough! Duncan and Serah made it clear that Alistair isn't here to spoon feed us. We've got objectives to accomplish and we are wasting time. Move out," Cedric commands.

"Who made you leader?" Eodyn questions.

"The distinct lack of one. I don't see anyone else trying to prioritize," the warrior counters. The city elf glares at him but says nothing. Without further debate, Cedric takes the lead, drawing his sword and shield in preparation. Sirius walks at his side, alert for any potential danger.

The group slowly makes its way through the swamp, stopping once to rest. The dalish elf seems to be getting increasingly sluggish the further in they go, which surprises the warrior. He expected her to be running circles around the more heavily armored fighters, not barely keeping up with them. And the mage isn't much better. He tires rather easily and has lost his footing numerous times in the saturated soil. Quinn also ran off to pick some flowers at one point. Cedric had promptly scolded him, which the mage responded to with a childish huff, a sarcastic remark, and the crossing of his arms. It's rather frustrating.

As the day continued to stretch on, the sun rising higher and higher, Cedric could feel the frustration grow. The group had yet to encounter any darkspawn as they ventured further into the Wilds. Isn't there supposed to be a horde somewhere out here?

"Darkspawn ahead," Alistair warns. Of course. Sirius growls.

"Ser Jory, to the front with me," Cedric orders. He hears the clanking of two different sets of armor coming up behind him. "Alistair, linger back a bit. Someone needs to guard the mage and archer if one of the darkspawn gets past."

"I see. Meat shield. Got it."

Cedric lets out a snort and rolls his eyes at the former Templar's exaggeration.

"And me, oh great and mighty Lord Cousland?" Eodyn prods, scathingly.

"You and Daveth can take care of any that split from the main group so they don't flank us," Cedric commands, barely ignoring the jab.

"And if they don't try to flank?" Eodyn shoots back.

"Then sneak around to flank them. But wait until we get a visual on the enemy."

Cedric cautiously moves forward, his loyal mabari at his side and Ser Jory slightly behind him. The others trail after the warrior and knight a short distance behind. It isn't long when they see the foul creatures ahead of them and hear the inhuman growls the darkspawn make. Cedric can feel a chill of dread crawl up his spine. Even this far away, those… things… look grotesque. He can taste the bile rising in his throat.

But, there is no backing down. One of the mission's priorities is getting seven vials of their tainted blood. Facing these creatures is his duty. Maker be damned if he turned tail. Sirius gives a soft bark of encouragement and licks Cedric's fingers. The warrior glances down at the mabari and gives the companion a small smile of appreciation. There is no back. Only forward. Each step slowly towards avenging his family.

The darkspawn turn towards the group and let out roars as they thrust their weapons into the air.

"Eodyn, Daverth, go," Cedric instructs before moving forward to intercept the tainted creatures. Cedric swiftly rams his shield into the chest of one of the oncoming darkspawn, knocking it back into its fellow darkspawn. The creatures stumble back. The warrior nearly gags at the rancid stench coming off the things. Death.

Cedric quickly regains himself. He thrusts his sword into the creature's chest and slashes at another. Ser Jory dispatches one with a powerful diagonal swing. Arrows hiss past him while he manages to block a few. A flash passes by and heads towards the darkspawn archers. The flash turns into a fiery explosion that knocks the creatures down while incinerating the ones that were directly hit.

Fire. Hacked-up corpses. Screams of the innocent cut short.

Cedric feels a sharp pain across his left cheek just as he hears the hiss of an arrow and the darkspawn in front of him pulls back slightly, an arrow shaft protruding from its shoulder.

Cries of innocents echo down the stone hallways. Only a moment's distraction, but an opening, nonetheless, for his enemy. The tip of the blade slashes his face. His mother cries out and blood pours down his cheeks and nose.

The warrior shakes his head, scolding himself for getting distracted. He slams the side of his shield into the darkspawn's face. Another of the vile creatures comes at him from the side, sword ready to strike. An arrow passes between them, narrowly missing Ser Jory and hitting a tree.

Blood stains the floor. Arrows protrude from the fallen corpses. Familiar faces stare up at him with empty, clouded eyes.

Where is the damn dalish elf aiming?

He manages to block the darkspawn's sword with his own but is unable to bring his shield back in time to stop the monster's shield bash. The warrior stumbles back. His feet slip in the mud, preventing him from bracing for the follow-up. Cedric's back hits the soft ground, but he manages to block the darkspawn's next swing. Anger fills his chest and courses through his body. No way in the Void is he going to be taken down by some darkspawn grunt! Especially when that bastard, Howe, still lives. He presses his feet against the creature's gut and pushes it back, allowing him the space and time to get back on his feet. The darkspawn swings once more. Cedric ducks to avoid the swing and slashes at the thing's legs. An almost feral growl rises from his throat. Why doesn't it just fucking die already?! As it starts to fall down, the warrior performs an uppercut with his shield arm causing the edge of the family heirloom to cut through decaying flesh and crack its skull. Black blood splatters across the warrior's face. In his growing rage, he continues to bash his shield into the dying creature's head.

A fleeing servant is cut down right before his eyes. The soldier responsible merely laughs, staring down at the corpse with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. The young Cousland lets out a strangled cry as he charges the soldier, quickly cutting down the man with his blade, slashing the body apart.

The shield of Highever is covered with black blood when he finishes with his savage overkill.

With no more of the darkspawn charging at him, the warrior takes a moment to regain some control of himself and assess the situation, wiping the tainted blood from his face. He finds Eodyn and Daveth disposing of the last of the darkspawn group.

"Any injuries?" Cedric calls out as he scans the area, blood still boiling, screaming for more to come. He needs to fight. He needs kill. He clenches his fingers into a fist and grits his teeth. His vision swirls with red until finally the adrenaline starts to wane from his system.

Sylvia has already set to work salvaging what arrows she can, Alistair is busy wiping some blood from his blade, and Quinn seems to have preoccupied himself with nudging a darkspawn corpse.

"They just seem to keep on getting uglier," the warrior hears the mage say. Cedric spots Sir Jory holding a hand to his side with a pained look. He nearly sighs out of aggravation, but stops himself. Is it too much to expect the knight to fair better? … Granted he himself had some trouble against the creatures…

"Hey! Mage!"

Cedric turns around as Eodyn marches towards the former circle mage. As the city elf grows closer, the warrior notices that his armor is somewhat charred in spots.

"Where in the Void did you think you were aiming?! You nearly lit me up with the darkspawn!" Eodyn growls as he gestures to the charred corpses behind him in the distance. "You can't just throw fireballs left and right without thinking! Especially with allies on the field!"

"Then, what do I do? I'm not a healer. My spells are for attacking. I can't just stand back and do nothing!" Quinn argues, his blue eyes flashing.

"I'm just saying you need to watch out. You can't just hurl spells around, willy nilly. Did no one teach you to think before you act?" Eodyn scolds. The mage clenches his hands into fists and the faint glow of magic radiates off him. Most of the group tenses and try to subtly step away from the mage.

"Hey, now!" Alistair cuts in, nervously laughing, "Don't make me put you lot in time out."

Quinn tightens his jaw, looking ready to argue, but disperses his magic. Cedric feels his muscles relax. He didn't realize that he had tensed up too, but he isn't completely surprised. Magic is a scary thing, especially after seeing the fireballs Quinn was throwing around like nothing.

Cedric takes a moment to look over the darkspawn corpses since the city elf's attention is directed at the mage for the time being. His eyes fall on an arrow that had stuck one of the ones he fought. The well-crafted arrow is deeply embedded into the corpse's shoulder. His eyes scan the area and easily pick out Sylvia's dalish arrows, from the darkspawn's crude ones. Most were sticking out of the darkspawn bodies, but few were deadly blows. The others were in the ground or in tree trunks. Her marksmanship is far less accurate than it was in the encounter with the wolves this morning.

The warrior's gaze turns to the dalish elf, who is standing a bit of a distance from the group, stumbling slightly as she walks. Cedric pulls out one of the arrows and swiftly strides over to her, ignoring the glances of some of the group and Eodyn and Quinn's argument.

The dalish elf noticeably jerks back when he steps right in front of her. She glares at him, her body stiff. Cedric notices her breathing is very shallow, and her skin very pale. Is she sick? He presents her arrow to her, abruptly.

"I don't know what's wrong and I don't care. But, when your arrows nearly hit us and not the darkspawn, I do care. If you can't aim straight, pick off the archers or others away from the main fighting," Cedric says, straightforwardly. She bristles and her dark eyes glare at him. He notes a haziness to them. Something isn't right with the dalish elf.

Sylvia snatches the arrow from his hand and moves pass him. The warrior watches as she continues to work on collecting her arrows. Memories fly through his mind. Days of his childhood spent with his mother. Learning to use a bow. Collecting arrows for her and Anora. Happy, sunny days spent in the company of family and friends… and the Howes…

Cedric can feel the rage bubbling in his chest once more, but this time, he also feels panic. His chest starts to feel constricted, and his breathing becomes shallow. His grip tightens on the hilt of his family sword. His blood boils with the desire for vengeance and bloodshed. Suddenly, a warmth washes over him, and his cheek tingles, pleasantly. His panic lessens, slightly, allowing him to regain control of himself and push the flood of feelings and memories aside. Quinn gives him a quick nod and heads after the elf.

Cedric silently scolds himself for allowing his self-control to slip so easily. He cannot afford to let that happen. He has a task to fulfill.

So this chapter was initially supposed to be longer (like, supposed-to-end-with-Morrigan's-appearance longer), but I felt this might be a good stopping point and a change of perspective would be nice. I'm going to try to be quicker with the next chapter, but I can't make promises.

As always, any constructive criticism or comments would be helpful. And if there is any glaring mistakes, feel free to give me a heads up about it.