A/N: Here's Chapter 3! The reviews really encouraged me to bang this out as fast as I could, so that's the cause for the speedy update. So, the more reviews I get, the more likely you'll get a prompt update!

I'd like to thank Apollo and NIX'S WARDEN for their reviews and especially Wyolake for her reassuring critique and for adding my story to her community!

NIX'S WARDEN = In response to your question I've planned for what direction I want this story to go in and I have answers to both your questions, however I'm going to withhold that information so as to keep suspense fresh! Sorry! In recompense, here's a small morsel of information: The Warden will be female.

Chapter 3

17th Of Wintermarch, 9:28 Dragon

City of Denerim

A couple days after the ambush we stopped and set a funeral pyre for Cal, the teamster with the gut wound. It would have been a mercy had he died in the ambush, instead he lived on in pain for the last days of his life before passing on during the night.

The rest of the journey had been thankfully uneventful. We had arrived in Denerim after two weeks of travel from Lothering, it had been three more days after the ambush until we arrived late in the afternoon and drew up at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. It was a large walled compound with a manor for the Arl's use and barracks for ours. We stabled the horses and left the wagons in the courtyard. Marn had said that various merchants would be coming tomorrow to buy the products that had been carted from Redcliffe and that they would leave two days later with supplies which the Arl's steward had ordered be bought.

The next day, once we were all well rested and restored after the journey, Jarva insisted on giving me some silver coins for my 'services' and for saving his life. Marn had grunted at the state of my borrowed shield and come back some minutes later and gifted me with a heater shield stretched over with plain hide on the front; the arms of Redcliffe had been scrapped off with a knife. The sides of the shield were reinforced with bands of red steel and the end tapered into a point, it was a fine gift indeed. Jeor and Gendrik had wished me well and then it had been time to address Tybalt, the closest thing to a friend I had in this universe.

"You're off to join the Wardens, then?"

"Yes. Are you usually on these caravans?" I asked him. Wondering when I would see him again.

"No, but we were a bit short handed so I had to make up the numbers. I'm usually stationed in Redcliffe Castle." He clarified.

"I see. So it'll be a while before we meet again."

"Aye, I'll try to make a trip to Denerim in the future, to see how you got along. Have you thought of the fact that the Warden-Commander might not be in Denerim? He's a busy man, I'm sure. Do you have a place to stay?"

Damn, I hadn't thought of that. "No. I hadn't planned for that eventuality."

He seemed smug. "Well, we did. Marn spoke with the seneschal here and they've agreed that you may remain in the barracks and take your meals from the mess until such a time as you either get taken on by the Wardens, or get rejected and join us in Redcliffe."

Thank God… or rather, the Maker, I should try to say, for having sent that caravan from Redcliffe to Lothering. My situation has rather improved since having met them.

"Thank you, that's a relief… but I have to ask… why?"

He clapped a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye while saying:

"Because you're a good man, and there are few enough in this world as it is. And I count you as a friend."

A pang of misery assaulted me. I'd lost everyone. Family, friends...

No, I thought bitterly. I won't sink back into the abyss of self-pity. Nothing lies down that path but more agony.

I smiled back but suspected it looked like more of a pained grimace. "As do I. "

"Well, I must get back to work. Farewell for now."

"Farewell." I replied. I clasped his arm, as I had discovered was the norm here instead of the handshake that I was used to, and watched him walk away.

I walked through the streets of Denerim taking in all the different sights, sounds and smells. Even though I'd only seen a small part of Denerim I could tell that, as with Lothering, it was much bigger than the developers had the means to show. The road through the western gate was not cobbled, and was heavy with mud. Inns, taverns, and wealthy townhouses lined the street immediately past the west gate and the road continued until it terminated in the market square. Two, three, and even four storey buildings were abundant on the main streets, though after some exploring it seemed that the smaller alleys branching off of the main streets often had smaller, more ramshackle buildings.

It's a pretty diverse mix of time periods here.The use of full plate harnesses would suggest the fifteenth century, the Qunari's use of cannons and blackpowder would be seventeenth century-ish. I wonder if the existence of magic stunts development in areas like medicine, after all, why bother searching for methods to cure people when a mage like Wynne could just snap her fingers and cure someone?

Having left the Arl of Redcliffe's estate I followed the main street I had been walking along until it divulged into a large square set with numerous stalls and shops: the Market District. I ambled along the square, stopping to look whenever something interesting caught my eye. Amongst the highlights were exotic pets (nugs, peacocks, and other unfamiliar creatures), enchanted items, and a shop selling intricate mechanical toys. A wind-up clockwork mabari which was fashioned to move it's paws and legs was particularly fascinating, with silver filigree engravings and miniature ivory claws and teeth. The workmanship was astounding.

The sound of clanging and ringing metal diverted my attention and I followed the noise which led me down a street leading off from the market to the east. The smell of wood smoke and charcoal suffused the air, burly men blackened from their work laboured over anvils and forges as boys scurried between shops and wooden carts pilled high with fuel for the fires. Signs indicated the different functions of each shop, one had a large oversized breastplate swinging from a beam over the shop, another had a freshly painted sign displaying a crossed sword and mace. One of the more impressive shops was a large, 2 storey building with an adjoining outdoor smithy that ran along either side of the shop and continued around the back. The building itself looked like the public face of the business where prospective buyers could enter and discuss commissions or buy ready-made armaments. From the half-dozen men that I could see a variety of tasks was being completed. One apprentice was forming rings for a mail hauberk, another was hammering a hot, glowing plate of steel which was being worked into a helm, and one apprentice was hunched over a breastplate engraving a pattern with a hammer and chisel. The sign over the shop read Wade's Emporium. Judging by the small army of blacksmiths it seemed that Heron had a larger influence over Wade than that seen in the game. It made sense that Wade would have apprentices to craft more mundane armour while he worked on his specially commissioned masterpieces. While I longed to go into the shop… or rather armoury, as that's probably what it was more like in there, I didn't want to waste time in, come out, and then discover that Duncan had just left on a three month long expedition to the Deep Roads. Urging myself to ignore further distractions, I turned away from the Emporium and set my mind to finding the Warden compound attached to the palace that was mentioned by Alistair.

I asked a guard for directions to the palace. He looked at me dubiously, obviously wondering what business I had there but dutifully gave me directions anyway.

On my way to the palace the buildings became larger and more sumptuous and the clothing of the people I crossed in the street changed from practical work clothes of leather, linen and animal furs to embroidered doublets and dresses of velvet and silk - the furs remained, though they were of a higher quality. Ferelden was proving to be a wet and cold country.

After a somewhat lengthy walk I came to the inner wall surrounding the palace.

The guards at the gate leading into the palace grounds seemed more professional than the ones I had seen earlier about the city. They certainly looked more impressive. These royal guards wore mail hauberks, gauntlets, visored basinets with mail aventails, and breast and backplates engraved in silver with snarling mabaris. They held spears and shields, with swords and daggers sheathed at their belts.

The other guards I had seen in Denerim wore gambesons and nasal helms, with the odd mail hauberk. They'd been armed similarly, though most seemed to carry a truncheon, mace, or some other form of bludgeoning weapon.

Perhaps the 'normal' guards are more akin to a town-watch or the police, whilst the 'royal' variety are professional soldiers.

With some trepidation I approached the gates, wondering how I would weasel myself into the palace to get into the Warden Compound.

"Greetings, Ser." I said to the guard nearest me, peering into the closed visor. "Is Warden-Commander Duncan in residence today?"

The guard was silent for a few moments. The helm tilted up and down, presumably examining me. It was disconcerting having someone watching you and not being able to see their face.

A woman's voice issued from the helm. Ah yes, that's right. In Ferelden it matters little whether one is a man or a woman; both are rightly considered equal. That's rather refreshing, and certainly not the idea people had in my timeline's medieval ages.

"What business have you with the Wardens?"

Oh, so it's going to be like that, is it? An idea popped into my head. Oh, this could go so very wrong. I hope this actually works, though.

Switching from the British or Ferelden accent that I had been speaking in courtesy of my father, I started speaking with an Orlesian one.

"What business have I with the Wardens?" I sneered, giving her the most haughtily condescending look I could muster, playing on what I hoped Fereldans stereotyped Orlesians as.

I continued, putting on an increasing air of outrage and anger: "What business have you in impending a Warden-Lieutenant from the Warden-Commander of Orlais bearing a missive for the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden!" I said pulling the letter I had found in the bag on the highway outside Lothering with a flourish from a pouch I had attached to my belt, brandishing it before her helm in wide sweeping arcs.

The guard flipped her visor up, shooting a pleading look for assistance to her fellow guards who were observing her deal with the angry Orlesian Warden with bemused looks on their faces.

She opened her mouth and started to say haltingly: "I'm sorry, bu..."

I didn't give her a chance to finish.

"Let me past now, before I Conscript you on the spot! You have already delayed me enough!"

That certainly made up her mind, and, with a panicky look about her she rushed me through the gate, apologising profusely.

"Your King will hear of this… this incompetence! Were this Orlais you would be flogged, you barefaced incompetent!"

She gave me hasty directions to the Compound before fleeing back to her post at the gate. I managed to turn around a corner of the palace, no longer in view of the gate before I could no longer restrain myself and burst into nervous laughter. I can't believe that worked! I am never doing that again! What if they had called my bluff and thrown me in gaol as a spy... or hanged me.

After a few moments I composed myself and hurried to follow the directions I had been given by the royal guard before they began to second-guess their actions. Two grey banners with a white rampant griffon lined with azure denoted it. It was somewhat smaller than the rest of the palace, standing at two stories tall, but it was impressive nonetheless and looked like it could easily house double the number of Wardens currently in Ferelden. It was no Soldier's Peak, but it was a sure mark that an organisation had the crowns approval when they had their headquarters connected to the royal palace.

There weren't any guards posted outside the Compound and I couldn't see anyone in sight apart from pages and servants clad in finery rushing to and fro on their errands so I just walked up the few steps leading to the Compound and knocked heavily on the stout two and a half meter tall wooden iron studded doors. I waited, fiddling nervously with the links of mail poking out of the end of the vambrace on my left arm.

I was about to knock again when I heard shouting and then a muttered "Where are the damned servants when you need them…" before a board in the door slid to the side and the scarred face of a man with an untrimmed hedge for a beard appeared in the hole, looking at me expectantly.

"Yes? You knocked? Do you have a message to deliver?" he spat out somewhat impatiently.

"You're a Grey Warden?" I hazarded.

He gave me a look as if to say 'Well I'm in here aren't I?' but merely nodded.

I drew myself up, preparing to change my life forever and said with all the meagre confidence I could muster:

"I'm here to volunteer to become a Grey Warden." There. I said it.

He started in surprise, eyes widening.

"You'd best come in then."

I was as surprised as him. What just happened? It can't be that easy.

But the Warden eagerly beckoning me into the Compound belied that belief. I stepped over the threshold, expecting the Warden to turn around any instant and say 'Oh, you said you wanted to be a Warden. I thought you said you had a delivery of Antivan chocolate for the Commander'.

But that didn't happen. What did happen was that he led me down a corridor until we emerged into a large room with a high ceiling. The room was set with long tables and high backed chairs. The refectory, it would seem. Six Wardens were sat close together on one of the tables having the midday meal. They all turned to look at me with interest as my unnamed guide led me across the room and down an adjoining corridor. I glanced at tapestries of battles on the walls until we came to a wooden door carved with floral motifs. He knocked twice, waited until he was invited in, and entered. I followed.

The room was rather large. It was furnished with various bookcases, shelves, cupboards, and intricate maps unfurled on tables. Placed in a corner of the room was a substantial desk littered with parchment and letters. Behind it sat a dark skinned man with black hair greying at the temples and a full beard of the same colour. He had dark brown, almost black eyes and a serious expression on his face. He looked to be in his mid-forties, although it was hard to tell.

Duncan looked up from his desk, about to say something, saw me and said nothing. He lifted an eyebrow enquiringly at the Warden accompanying me while standing up from his desk politely.

"Well, Gregor, would you like to introduce me to our guest?"

Gregor… Alistair mentions that this guy is a beast at drinking...

Gregor jumped in cheerily:

"Ah yes, this is… uh…" He turned to me.

"Morcar." I supplied.

"This is Morcar, who has volunteered to Join us." Duncan's eyebrow rised higher still.

I picked up the emphasis on 'Join' more than either of them probably expected. From the reactions I've been getting from the Wardens I'm beginning to understand why Duncan only had two dozen of them. The Dryden incident wouldn't have endeared Wardens to anyone who knew about it and the combination of the Wardens being out of Ferelden for two hundred years and it having been four hundred since the last Blight when the previous ones all had two hundred year intervals would have convinced most of the nobility that a fifth Blight wouldn't be forthcoming. That many of the Wardens now in Ferelden originated from Orlais wouldn't make a person want to support them either, especially for fear of antagonising Loghain, who despises all things Orlesian.

Duncan nodded at Gregor. Gregor turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Duncan motioned me to a chair placed in front of the desk.

I sat down apprehensively.

"My name is Duncan." He introduced himself, "I command the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

"Commander, it's an honour to be here. Although…" Might as well be honest. "I didn't expect it to be quite this easy."

He seemed confused.

"What do you mean, easy?"

I elaborated, partly-lying. "I grew up on tales of the heroic Grey Wardens, the best of the best, standing vigilant to protect us from the darkspawn, nigh on undefeatable on the battlefield."

I paused for breath, my words previously having come out in a hurried torrent.

"I didn't expect you all to be holier than Andraste, I'm not naïve enough for that. But still. To just allow in any young man like me who comes a-knocking?"

Duncan nodded. "Ah. I understand now. Are you aware how many Wardens I have here in Ferelden?"

Not wanting to show too much knowledge just yet and not actually sure how many Wardens there were two years before Ostagar, I replied with: "Not enough, that's why I'm here."

"Twenty two. Twenty two Wardens. My comrades in Orlais, by comparison, numbered over three hundred at the last count." He said, the frustration clear upon his face.

He remained sitting in silence for a few seconds, staring at his hands, before looking up at me and declaring:

"In the eighteen years I've been Warden-Commander only three Fereldan's have come forward and volunteered to Join our Order. You're the fourth. The last volunteer was six years ago."

"Damn…"

The corner of his lips twitched.

"Indeed. As I'm sure you understand I am not in the business of rejecting recruits when they come to me so willingly. I must warn you though, once you set down this path there is no turning back. The life of a Grey Warden is fraught with danger and privations, and is not for the feeble-minded."

I gave a quick nod and tried to keep my apprehension out of my voice as I answered him.

"I know. I'm ready to do my part for Ferelden and the Grey Wardens."

"Very well, then. From this moment forth you are a Warden-Recruit, under my authority and above that of all others outside our Order."

I gazed at him solemnly.

He smiled slightly, seeming pleased to have gained a new recruit "Well then, now that that's taken care of I hope you know how to use that sword."

"Yes," I said, "although not to the standard I fear would be expected from a Grey Warden, but I'm eager to learn."

"Tell me about yourself." He said.

I thought for a moment.

"I'm half Orlesian and half Fereldan, my parents were exiled from their respective families when they fell in love. I spent most of my childhood in Orlais until I was sent to Ferelden when I was thirteen to further my education with an old comrade of my fathers. I squired for him. My training was cut short when he grew ill and died; he didn't have the money to pay for the Chantry to have a mage come heal him. After his death his lady wife had no interest in continuing to foster a half-breed Orlesian. I'd only been taken on as a favour to my father, you see." I said, trying to inject bitter loathing into my words.

"She gave me a pittance and some supplies to go back home. I eventually made it back. My stay was supposed to be paid for by my parents. I found out why the money stopped coming once I got home." I closed my eyes and thought of the fact that I might never see my family again. I opened them again and tears brimmed in my eyes.

"They killed them. My entire family! My parents. My sister. My brother. All dead. The Chevaliers did it. For being traitors, supposedly. That's what the notice nailed to the door of the manor said. I don't know why they let my parents settle there if it was only to kill them thirty years later. I couldn't live there any more. Not after what happened. I took what I could and came back to Ferelden. This is my home, now."

A tense silence. Duncan looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No, I don't think- Oh! Yes. I wasn't sure how to get into the palace. I may have bullied my way past the guards, pretended to be an Orlesian Warden carrying a message for you. They might ask you about it."

He harrumphed and gave me a look.

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. At least you know you're getting a Warden who can think on his feet. Rather ingenious of me, If I do say so myself." I dared to say in mock admonition, hoping Duncan had a sense of humour.

Why did I say that! I was on the verge of tears a moment ago. I need to control myself and think of how I would act if the story I spun him had actually happened.

He sighed in exasperation, muttering something. I caught the words "Maker's sense of irony."

He stood.

"Despite your unorthodox methods in reaching the Compound, I am indeed grateful to our small number being bolstered further. Have you had lunch?"

I shook my head.

"Then you shall eat. It'll be a good opportunity to introduce you to the others. You've come at an opportune time, all of us are currently in Denerim and Wardens are loath to miss a meal, so they should all be in the dining hall."

The dinning hall's previous raucous hubbub of talking changed to respectful silence when Duncan walked in. Interspersed among the five long tables each with upwards of twenty places was twenty two Wardens. Humans, elves and dwarves were all represented, although most were human. On the way to the hall Duncan had told me that thirteen Wardens were human, five dwarven and the remaining four were elven; three city elves and one Dalish elf. My entrance was greeted with curious muttering.

Duncan raised a hand and it died down.

"This is Morcar. He has volunteered to Join our Order." On the outside I stood confidently. On the inside I was squirming from the attention.

Duncan's announcement was greeted with interested looks.

"Now, I won't go on any further, I'm sure you wouldn't want me to delay our meal." His tone of voice implied that this was an oft repeated sentence.

Groans rang out, further substantiating my belief that this was an old joke that the Wardens were used to. I smiled.

Duncan went to sit down with a group of older Wardens, presumably the more senior among them.

I looked around. Gregor caught my eye and beckoned me over to a table with three other humans, a male dwarf and a female Dalish elf. One of the humans was a woman.

I sat down at the table, noticing that it was piled high with food. So this is like a self-service buffet, huh? Suits me.

Gregor clapped me on the back with one of his paws.

"How do you feel Joining the Order, lad?" he asked grinning.

"Like a home away from home." I replied jovially, infected by his enthusiasm.

"Oh! That looks fresh." The human woman sitting across from me said eyeing my now exposed still healing wound. On the way to the mess hall Duncan had shown me a room I would be sharing with another Warden, where I had proceeded to leave my armour and pack. I had left the sword belt on the bed and starting walking out of the room before an uncomfortable feeling of being vulnerable had drawn me to remove the scabbarded sword from the belt and put the belt on with the dagger on it. That feels much better. It seems my trip from Lothering has already changed me.

"It is, happened four days ago." I answered the mid-twenties looking woman, who had light brown –almost blonde- hair and green eyes. I struggled to look her in the eyes as I tried not to stare at the mottled skin on her left cheek. It looked like an old burn.

Gregor listened with interest.

"Regale us with your tale then, lad." He said, leaning forwards.

Looking mournfully at the food, I resigned myself to having to leave it till later. So I did as Gregor suggested and regaled them with my tale.

A/N: I initially thought that Duncan's limited number of Grey Wardens was mainly due to his incompetence, but after some thought on the matter I decided that more important factors most likely contributed. That said, that still doesn't excuse his other short comings, a prime example being the squandered Soldier's Peak. I'm not trying to bash the guy: I like him. But we're all human and we all have our shortcomings.