A/N: Hello! Sorry for the delay in getting the new chapter up; I got a bit excited about finally being on holidays. Thanks for the review Apollo ! It really cheered me up and made me want to carry on writing.

Could I also please ask everyone who read the last chapter and plan to carry on reading this story to please review when you do so, especially those of you who have Favourited and Followed this story, it doesn't take long to do so and it really motivates me to write more chapters! Anyway, that's enough from me, so enjoy!

Chapter 2

13th of Wintermarch, 9:28 Dragon

On the East Road to Denerim

I groaned as I swung down from the saddle. While the actual riding wasn't hard, spending a whole day in the saddle left me with the unwelcome side effects of a sore arse and stiff muscles. The past ten days had been nothing if not monotonous. Wake up. Break camp. Ride. Camp by the highway or outside a town. Sleep. Wake up… you get the idea. I loved it. It gave me time to think. Time to think how messed up my life had become. Time to come up with answers to questions that I would doubtlessly be asked. Time to come up with a new life and personal history.

I picketed the horse I had been lent and made my way to the others. Our merry band of men consisted of nine teamsters, Jarva and his assistant Kend, Sergeant Marn and three other guards who went by the names of Gendrik, Jeor and Tybalt.

Jeor was a bear of a man. Almost seven-foot of solid slabs of muscle, he was certainly a fearsome sight. He also loved to talk about his newborn son, who was currently being nursed at his mother's breast in Redcliffe and for whom each night he carved a wooden horse by the light of the campfire. Gendrik was a soft spoken man in his thirties who often discussed the merits of various weapons with Tybalt. From listening to them tonight, it was apparently better to tackle an opponent wearing plate with the mace, and an opponent wearing mail with the spiked club.

Each night before supper I sparred with one of the guards under the supervision of Marn, who had for some reason taken it on as his personal duty to make a better swordsman of me. Tonight I was to practice with Tybalt, a man in his mid-twenties who was friendly to me and who Marn considered to be a 'good' swordsman. This worried me. It worried me as I had observed that Marn was rather sparing in his praise, thus if Tybalt was 'good', then I'm sure that I would have a real challenge facing me. The first time I had faced him I managed to parry three blows before he bested me. Five days after that, after having practiced with the others, modified some of my fencing techniques and familiarised myself better with how to use a longsword, I lasted much longer in our spar and succeeded in getting a glancing blow on his arm. A further five days later, after having tweaked my already present skills with the épée, sabre and having received a crash course in fighting with a shield, I thought that I might have a chance at getting in a couple blows.

I was jarred out of my musings as I heard a whistling sound. I dodged to the left, feeling the wooden stave pass within centimetres of my mailed right shoulder. I riposted, swinging my stave towards his ribs. Tybalt brought his stave back around. A flash of wood heading towards my head. I raised my borrowed Redcliffe kite shield above my head. His stave impacted the shield at the same time as I hit his side. The blow jarred my left arm as he grunted in pain from my blow to his flank. Not letting up, I swept my stave up, deflecting the shorter stave he had been using in his left hand as a dagger substitute and bashed him with my shield with all the strength I could muster. He leapt back, anticipating my shield and negating much of the force of the blow, though he overcompensated and almost fell onto his back.

I hurried to close the gap, but he recovered quickly, too late for me to exploit the opportunity.

I approached warily, shield held out in front of me covering my left side and ready to deflect a blow, sword-arm ready to strike.

A sudden lunge from Tybalt with his stave, I block with my shield and riposte towards his chest. He attempts to parry with his dagger-stave, but my longer reach allows me to reach jab the stave into his chest.

"You're dead." I breathed out, still feeling the effects of a blow which had winded me.

"There lies the advantage of a shield against a foe without one." Tybalt replied, winking me at me, unfazed at having lost the bout.

"It does make things much easier." I granted, pleased nonetheless with my victory.

After Marn demonstrated a few shield drills to me I faced off against Tybalt for some more practice, though this time he also took up a shield. With my unbalanced advantage taken away I didn't do nearly as well as my previous sparring match. Out of four bouts, I only dealt a 'deadly' blow first once. Practice over, we then settled down for supper.

I was pleasantly surprised at the results of my latest weapons practice. I hadn't been sure whether my fencing experience would stand me in good stead as far as wielding swords and other weapons of the period went. After a couple hours of practice each night though, the arming sword I'd bought had started to feel more like an old friend, and less like a strange unfamiliar object.

I had also been introduced to the shield and how to use it as both an offensive and defensive weapon. I was made to learn that the shield was to be held angled towards oncoming blows so that they didn't just impact the top, but were deflected by it and veered off towards the ground. Besides also providing a good defence against missile weapons a shield could also be used offensively to charge or hit opponents. The larger kite shields carried by the caravan's mounted escort were also particularly good at protecting the lower body, whether mounted or on foot.

"What about you, Morcar?"

Startled out of my thoughts, I blurted out "What?"

Kend, a small wiry man with a permanently harried look smiled indulgingly at me and explained:

"We were talking about the caravan's journey to Denerim and I asked you why you were travelling there."

I hesitated. Should I just come out and tell them the truth or should I make up a banal lie about visiting a relative or going to see the 'big city'? I'm not sure how Wardens are regarded two years before the Blight. I know Cailan reveres them and that people like Ser Jory and Ser Gilmore did also. I'm sure that they're still considered an ancient and honourable order; after all, Loghain hasn't had the chance to make them the scapegoats for Cailan's death.

"I'm going to join the Grey Wardens." At least that's the plan…

Silence greeted me. Ah yes, that's right. They think they don't need Grey Wardens anymore. After all, it's not like there's going to be a Blight. Oh, wait. There is.

Tybalt looked at me askance.

"The Grey Wardens! They're relics of a bygone era. You shouldn't go wasting your life following childhood fantasies. I'm sure our captain would be willing to take you on if you come back to Redcliffe with us."

"Childhood fantasies? Are you saying the past four Blight's were nothing but the imagination of bored scholars? I can imagine no worthier cause than that of the Wardens, and they are sorely in need of volunteers. I've heard that the Wardens in Ferelden number no more than two dozen. There are still tw… three Old Gods left; therefore we can expect three more Blights. Does Ferelden have enough Wardens to succeed if a Blight breaks out tomorrow or next week? I think not." Or two years from now, I thought grimly.

"Alright, alright, you're right… I spoke hastily, but still, the Warden's? You're going to have to impress someone you know; you can't just walk in and sign your name."

My mood soured. That's the major problem in my plan. Duncan has been Warden-Commander for quite a number of years and appears to have been a negligent Warden-Commander. King Maric held Duncan and the Grey Wardens in high regard, as his son now does. Yet in all those years he's been in command he's never gone to Soldier's Peak or acquired more than two dozen Wardens. The Anderfels have a thousand Wardens. Orlais three hundred. So yes, a Commander of the Grey somewhat lax in his duty. I can only hope that there will have been some faint signs of the Blight to convince Duncan to recruit more actively. If not… if not I'll have to reveal the Warden secrets I know. He would have to Conscript me then; he wouldn't allow someone with my knowledge of the Wardens to walk away with his precious secrets.

"I know." I replied.

Tybalt looked at me searchingly for a few moments, looking as if he was making his mind up about something.

"As long as you know what you're getting yourself into, I wish you luck."

"Thanks…"

Conversation resumed normally after that, and after some time had passed I excused myself to go bed down for the night.

I woke up, relieved myself, breakfasted with the others and proceeded to go pack my things for the day's ride. After having put away my bedroll and blanket into my pack I pulled on my gambeson and then shrugged into the hauberk. I fastened the sword belt around my waist and hoisted myself into the saddle of my black gelding. He was a nice horse, even-tempered and fond of the apples that I would sneak to him when I could filch them from Kend. We had camped outside a small village for the night - I didn't know the name - but it was a quaint little place and I bought a nifty little boot knife that a travelling merchant was peddling in the village. For the price of a few extra bits he sewed a concealed sheath for it on the inside of my right boot that was comfortable and very good at hiding the knife.

Jarva had told me this morning that because of the fine weather we had made good time and could expect to be in sight of Denerim in three days. There was nothing special about the early hours of our ride. We rode, chatting as we went, nodding to the travellers that we passed. We stopped for a light lunch of salted pork, bread and cheese at noon and once we were done we set off again for Denerim. While Tybalt, Gendrik, Jeor and Marn had been wary of bandits for most of the journey, now, so close to Denerim and it's safely patrolled land, the guards had assured me that no one in their right mind would dare attack a merchant train for fear of being swiftly brought to justice.

It would thus seem that the bandits that waylaid us were not in their right minds. We had been forced off the Imperial Highway two hours after noon because of a bridge blockaded with a large fallen tree that would have granted us access over a wide, fast flowing stream. It would have been easy enough to cross it on foot, but alas, we had wagons to take across.

Jarva and Marn finished conferring with each other and the teamsters started turning the wagons around.

"How are we going to Denerim now?" I asked.

"We're going to take that road we crossed half an hour's way back. The going will be slower because of the poor ground, but we don't have a choice." Marn explained to me, while the others listened in.

Before the wagons had even started on their way back there was a sudden roar of sound all around us and men were bursting out of the woods on the edge of the road.

My mind went blank.

What? What do they want? What's wrong with them? Are they hurt? Is someone chasing them? Why are they running?

Marn snarled in anger and disgust as soon as he saw them and bellowed out:

"Stay with the wagons, lads! Don't let them draw you away from them! We'll make this scum rue the day they decided to attack the men o'the Cliff!"

Oh. They're attacking us.

Attacking me.

Shit.

I grasped my sword's hilt, shakily freeing it from the scabbard with my right hand while thrusting my left arm through the straps on my shield. The bandits - as my mind had now labelled them - were fifty meters away and closing. I was a nervous wreck. Practising with a whittled stick by the campfire and fencing for sport were completely different to being faced with the prospect of an angry mob of bandits wielding daggers, clubs, falchions and maces. Tybalt, seeing my apprehension, encouraged me:

"Come on, Morcar! You've nothing to fear from this ill-trained and ill-equipped rabble!"

"I've never killed anyone before…" I stammered out.

"These buggers want to kill us, are you going to let them?" He roared out.

Suddenly it all became all very clear to me. Before my mind had been racing with thoughts that these poor peasants were nothing more than desperate men who needed to rob us to provide for their families. Then I started thinking a bit more selfishly. These dicks want to kill me! The bastards! I'll be damned if I'll make it easy for them!

"Fuck no!"

"That's the spirit!"

A bandit rushed at me. He was wearing a leather jerkin and wielding a falchion. He swung for my right leg. I parried clumsily, my sword jerking back from the force of his blow and jarring my hand as it reverberated back up through my arm. A shot of fear and adrenaline coursing through my body I nudged the horse forward to get in a better position to strike down at him. I chopped down with my sword aiming for his neck. He brought his falchion up to parry the attack. The weight of gravity and the force I had put behind the stroke was too great. He managed to deflect the sword from his neck, but it slid and thumped into his right shoulder. He screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his shattered body. I watched in horrified fascination the damage I had just done to the man.

I averted my eyes from his torn flesh and the white gleam of bone to look around at the others. While I had been taking care of my opponent Tybalt, Gendrik and Jeor had each killed a bandit. Marn was finishing off his second, abandoning his lance which was stuck in his opponent. One of the bandits scrabbling at the wagons had been dispatched by Kend. One of the teamsters was lying in a pool of blood face down on the ground. Another was grasping at his stomach, trying to hold his entrails in and stem the blood from a wound he had received to the gut. That left seven bandits still up with two teamsters out of action.

"Morcar! Stop him!" Marn was pointing at a bandit who was being fended off by Jarva on one of the wagons, but Jarva was tiring fast and the bandit was fast.

I spurred my horse to the wagon in question and raised my sword in preparation to take the man unawares from behind. Before I got close enough to strike I felt a tugging on my left boot. Before I had time to turn around the tug became a powerful downwards yank and I was sent crashing down to the ground. The impact on the road winded me. Metal came scything down above me. My sword lost in the fall, I swung my shield up to protect myself. A massive blow numbed my arm and knocked the shield down on me, slamming the rim into the bridge of my nose. Pain exploded in my face and black spots danced across my eyes. An axe head sprouted out of the wood, millimetres from my arm. The bandit tugged on the axe, but it was stuck in the shield. Spotting an opportunity, I fumbled out my dagger from its sheath on my belt and then ripped my arm out of the straps on the shield as the bandit wrenched on the axe again.

He stumbled back, the axe in his hands at last, but with a shield attached to it. I pushed myself shakily to my feet and charged at him, going low and tackling him to the ground. Before he could try to push me off I brought the dagger down with a feral scream.

Leaving the dagger there I snatched up my sword where it had fallen a few metres away and ran to where Jarva was cowering before the bandit. The bandit must have heard my boots stomping on the road as I came towards him as he started turning around, but it was too late. I thrust my sword into his chest and it slid in disturbingly easily, no armour obstructing it, until it burst out of his back. I angled him towards the road and pushed on his body with my boot, my hand on the hilt, until it slid free and he slumped down onto the road. I stared at Jarva and he nodded back thankfully. I sat on the wagon breathing in panicky gasps of breath.

I looked around the caravan to see how the others had fared. Gendrik had just dispatched his opponent. Tybalt and Jeor were rounding up the few bandits who had surrendered - those too injured to flee. Marn was still standing and was dragging the bandits to the side of the road. I stood up to go help him, recovering my dagger with a grimace from the corpse of the bandit as I went and tying my horse's bridle to one of the wagons. I was still clutching my sword tightly in my hand. I wiped the blood from it using a rag in the back of a wagon and then sheathed it. I noticed blood on my left arm. A few mail links were rent below my wrist and I saw a jagged wound on my arm. It seemed that the axe hadn't missed me after all. The wound starting throbbing with pain. Wincing, I tried to ignore it.

"What now?" I asked Marn, who had acquired a shallow cut on his cheek.

He turned to look at me, inspecting the blood on my hands and the blood that was dripping from my left arm.

"You did well, Morcar. That was your first fight wasn't it?"

I nodded mutely.

"I saw how you fought. You did well. Many greater men have received a foot of cold steel in the ribs after having been unhorsed."

The words confused me. I hadn't imagined Marn as one to enjoy killing people.

"What is there to be proud of? I ended the lives of three men."

He smiled approvingly at me. "I'm not saying you should delight in slaughter, lad, but you should be proud that in killing those bandits you protected others that could not protect themselves. Jarva, for instance; had you not killed the man assailing him, Jarva would be dead."

That eased away some of the guilt I had been feeling.

"Have that wound seen to by Jeor; he's good at that sort of thing. Then loot whatever you think of value from the bandits and put it in Jarva's wagon… you think you can do that?"

I nodded, uncomfortable at the prospect of searching dead men's bodies but knowing that there was no point in allowing their valuables to go to waste.

Marn was right. Jeor was indeed good at patching people up. He'd cleaned the wound, tutting at me as he did, and then sewed it up and wrapped an elfroot poultice around it, telling me to come see him immediately if it reddened and became infected. I promised I would and then set about the grisly task of piling the bandits' weapons, what armour was still intact and whatever personal possessions they had that I thought might be worth selling.

One of the bandits had some nice leather gloves that fit me, so I took those along with some sturdy plate bracers, after asking Marn for permission. The rent in my mail sleeve would have to be fixed in a smithy, so I thought it best to cover it with some extra armour. It had also started getting a bit colder; thus the gloves.

Apart from what I had recovered for myself the haul from the bandits wasn't spectacular. The most valuable things were a rusty mail haubergeon and a gold ring taken from the same bandit, probably the leader. The aftermath was a sombre affair with the deaths of two of our number. After restoring order to the caravan the dead were prepared. Expecting us to start digging graves, I was surprised to instead be sent into the nearby forest for wood. A large pyre was prepared for the bandits. Two individual pyres set aside for our own dead. Jarva said some words from the Chant of Light after the pyres were lit. We then travelled onward, our prisoners tied to the wagons to await justice in Denerim.