A/N: Hi! Sorry for the delay! Needless to say Christmas and New Year celebrations held me up a bit and a small dose of writer's block didn't help. On that note happy new year to all my readers! In my estimation there'll be at least two more chapters in which I need to have some things happen before we get to Ostagar, maybe three chapters.

I'd like to thank NIX'S WARDEN, Kor-Marwin, Defin Jonte, chippermovie, Apollo and my two guests for reviewing!

NIX = Morcar will be involved with Alistair's Conscription.

Apollo = To your first questions I have a few ideas lined up and I simply need to make my mind up on which one to choose. Secondly, Morcar will indeed try to save the Wardens.

Chapter 5

1st of Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

Warden-Compound, Denerim

I toyed morosely with my bowl of stew, running the spoon through it; picking up bits of chicken and then letting them flop back down. Three weeks ago Kherek had left for his Calling. He had departed for Orzammar along with two of his dwarven brethren; Rordok and Heimdall. Jarin, a human and close friend of Kherek, also accompanied him. Taking into account travel time they had likely reached Orzammar by now. He would fight alongside the Legion of the Dead until he could no longer bear the taint. Once he reached that point he would venture out on his own and take as many darkspawn down with him as he could. That was why the dwarves respected us. It was a grim reminder of the fate that now awaited me, that is if I didn't die before my Calling. I was unlikely to last that long considering the imminent Blight.

More of us would have gone to bid farewell to Kherek on his journey to the Deep Roads to join our forebears, but it simply wasn't possible. At least ten of us were usually away from the Compound at all times; patrolling the Deep Roads, searching for potential recruits, seeking funds from the various Arls and Banns. Apart from a few inconsequential Banns who still felt that Wardens were useful, the only noteworthy benefactor we had besides the King was Teyrn Cousland. Bryce Cousland endowed us with a generous one hundred sovereigns every year. Although for the second most powerful man in Ferelden one hundred sovereigns was pocket change. Still, it was a nice supplement to the token support we received from Weisshaupt - we were expected to be self-sufficient. Duncan also liked to have at least five Wardens stay at the Compound in case the occasion should arise that we were needed somewhere; though that didn't happen often.

As the Blight drew nearer and nearer I'd thought about trying to tell Duncan of it. Warning him so that Wardens from other countries could come to Ferelden. Duncan had told me that amidst the nightmares that plagued us each night it was recorded that Wardens had sometimes been conferred with prophetic visions - perhaps that was the wrong term. It had more to do with tapping into the taint and gaining a glimpse of the darkspawn's plans. That had given me an idea. I'd gone to him a few months after my Joining. I told him I had a dream more vivid than any other I had ever had. That in it I saw a dragon large enough to eclipse the sun when in flight land on the top of Fort Drakon, belching purple fire.

Duncan stared at me, looking grave. He told me to tell him if I had the same dream again. He looked undecided for a moment and then admitted to me sadly:

"In my time as Warden-Commander I have sent numerous letters to Weisshaupt asking that more Wardens be sent to me, explaining the situation here. But they refuse to send any aid. They believe that were an Old God to be corrupted that Ferelden is too inconsequential a place for it to surface."

I started to argue, "But if…"

I was cut off. "No. Were I to send a letter to the First Warden telling him that one of my Warden-Ensign's had foreseen a Blight appearing in Ferelden he would dismiss it out of hand. If what you saw is to come to pass, we must look to ourselves. We will redouble our efforts in looking for recruits, but I fear that nothing will change. We have been gone from Ferelden for too long for people to appreciate the necessity of our Order. Most people believe that there will never be another Blight." He opened his mouth, looking as if he had more to add, and then grew silent.

A few months later I had returned to the Compound after a protracted three week long scouting expedition to the Deep Roads led by Francis with six other Wardens.

When I entered the refectory after having taken a bath I could sense from the mood that something had gone amiss.

"What's happened?" I asked Carac, the human Warden whom I shared a room with and who had also been on the scouting trip to the Deep Roads.

"Gregor and Irith have come back from Gwaren. From what Adhémar's told me apparently while they were there an elf from the Alienage was about to be strung up for the transgression of another elf. Gregor interceded and Conscripted the elf." He said, grimacing.

"What's wrong with that?"

"He didn't survive the Joining."

"Oh."

Someone clearing their throat startled me out of my thoughts. I looked up from my now-cold stew.

"Duncan." He wasn't really one for formalities and titles; he'd told me to stop calling him Commander. There was certainly an unspoken pecking order based on seniority, but no one stood on ceremony.

He sat down next to me.

"You couldn't eat?"

"No… I was thinking about Kherek... and the elf."

He nodded soberly "He will be remembered. And Claneslyn's sacrifice is one that we all make sooner or later."

Silence for a few moments and then; "I'm sending you to the Circle."

"To Kinloch Hold? Why?" I asked, puzzled.

"We need more mages." he said, "You've seen how effective they are against the darkspawn. Carac and Irith are skilled mages, but there are only two of them. The First Enchanter and I are on good terms and he is amenable to our cause but he derives his authority from the Knight-Commander. The power lies in Greagoir's hands. Be firm and secure whatever aid or promises you can but try not to antagonise them. Don't use the Right. Although I believe that you think what you dreamt is true we cannot know for sure and I would not alienate us from the Chantry unless I was certain that there was no other option."

I didn't like it, but I agreed with his reasoning.

"Okay, got it. I'll try not to call down an Exalted March on us."

"I do not hold great hope that you will be successful in this venture but I have no choice but to keep trying." he uttered with a sigh.

After eleven days of riding along the North Road I found myself sitting on a crate on the large barge which ferried supplies and people back and forth from Kinloch Hold to the shore. A vast, looming spire rose out of the lake, blocks of stone blending seamlessly to give it the appearance of a monolith hewn from the earth itself. I wondered how the Avvar's had ever been able to build this, evidently the dwarves who helped them had been quite useful. Rulf - the son of the ferryman Kester - had been chatting away the entire time, excitedly telling me all the stories his 'pap' had told him of us.

"Can you really do that?"

"Do what?" I hadn't been listening. I'd been thinking of Jowan, Anders and… of Alistair. I had wondered whether it would be possible to get him to Join the Wardens early, seeing as he was so unhappy as a Templar. That vague thought had been quashed when I thought about the consequences Duncan had faced when he Conscripted Alistair. I didn't want to get in an altercation with the Templars and the Grand Cleric and risk calling down Duncan's ire upon me. Alistair would just have to wait.

Anyway, he might not even be at the Circle. I doubt they train Templars here.

"Can you make your eyes shine like a glowstone?" he asked eagerly.

"'Course I can." I said dryly. My comrades had taken great pleasure with surprising me in the Roads with that particular trick. Thankfully, it wasn't constant. Wardens were always linked to the Taint and by association the darkspawn. This 'passive' sense was good enough to give a vague indication whether any darkspawn were around. When one focused fully on the Taint, 'actively' searching for darkspawn a great amount of detail could be gleamed and they could be sensed from much farther away... and the eyes glowed cerulean with wisps of vapour. No one knew why.

He leant forward; encouraged that I was no longer ignoring him.

I closed my eyes for effect, concentrated and then opened them again. He let out a yelp and jumped up. A delighted grin split his face and he plonked himself back down at my feet.

"And is it true you Wardens drink darkspawn blood as another would drink ale?"

"Of course not! Where did you hear such a thing?!" I spluttered, alarmed.

He seemed disappointed. "Oh. It's just somethin' my pap used to day."

"Well, I would appreciate it if you didn't spread false information regarding my Order. Such an action would have… unfortunate consequences for you and your father." I said, sending a sharp look to Kester.

His eyes widened in alarm. "I would never do that, Warden!"

I was spared from further conversation by the barge drawing up to the Tower's dock. I handed Kester a silver coin as I jumped on to the jetty, slipping past labourers who swarmed onto the barge to offload it's cargo. I had just under twenty sovereigns left of the original thirty I had been gifted with by the bastard who had sent me here. I hadn't needed to buy much; food, accommodation, clothing and equipment being provided from Warden funds. A good thing too: I'm not sure how I would have payed for my daily meals. After the Joining I'd been plagued with nightmares and the unwelcome extra appetite. It made packing for journeys more troublesome as more provisions had to be taken. It was an offshoot of the tainted blood that coursed through my veins. The Joining did have some welcome side effects, though. I'd noticed during practice that I didn't get out of breath so soon. I didn't sweat as much; I didn't tire so easily. I was stronger. It wasn't a massive change; I wasn't super-human. But it was large enough that it was noticeable. And my being able to expend more energy meant I needed to take more in. Thus the increased appetite.

The whole sensing the darkspawn thing was weird. The first time I'd been to the Deep Roads after my Joining I'd been the last Warden to sense our foe. The others told me the longer one was a Warden the better one was at it. At first I hadn't know what it was. I'd felt distracted, like I was forgetting something important that needed to be said. Then the darkspawn had appeared. Once Francis had explained how it felt when I was next in the Deep Roads a few months later I knew what to expect. When it happened that time I had a sense of looming danger approaching from a specific direction. When I had seen the Darkspawn down one of the rare lit tunnels they had been fifty metres away; so I knew I could sense them from at least that far. On each successive trip to the Deep Roads I had gradually sensed the darkspawn from farther and farther away. A few weeks earlier on my latest trip to the Deep Roads I had been able to sense the darkspawn from roughly two hundred metres away. My senses had become clearer, too. I could usually ascertain their number quite accurately now. We Wardens could sense each other, as well. Grey Wardens felt similar to the darkspawn... but different somehow. Not so tainted. The only way I could put it is that when I sensed Wardens they looked… well… grey, as opposed to the malevolent roiling black the darkspawn gave off.

"Halt! What is your business here… ah… Warden?" The grumpy sounding templar barked at me from inside his helm as I approached the thick doors leading into the tower, his tone becoming a bit more mollified as he noticed the griffon embroidered on my surcoat.

"Hello to you too. Your Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter are expecting me."

"What for?" he asked suspiciously.

"Grey Warden business." I replied uncooperatively.

He harrumphed and gestured for me to enter. What a charming man. Let's hope Greagoir and Irving are more accommodating.

A Knight-Lieutenant greeted me politely as I entered and said he would take me to a meeting room. We went up the different flights of stairs, mages stopping in their tasks and throwing me curious looks as we walked past. I was left in a large, well decorated room with paintings of templars and mages. A long table set with chairs ran the length of the room. I waited, flicking through a book written by Brother Genitivi about the Chasind. The now familiar sound of jingling mail and clanking plate armour could be heard drawing near. I put the book down and stood. Greagoir and Irving entered. Greagoir looked like he was in his late fifties, Irving in his sixties. Both men had serious faces, although Irving's seemed accustomed to smiles and laughter.

"Knight-Commander. First-Enchanter. A pleasure to meet both of you, I'm Warden Morcar." A lie. Technically, on paper - or parchment, in this case - my rank is 'Warden-Ensign'. Shortened to 'Warden' for everyday use.

I clasped Greagoir's arm and shook Irving's hand.

After a period of obligatory polite chit chat and partaking of some ale an apprentice brought in we got down to business.

"I assume Duncan told you in his letter why I'm here." I asked.

Greagoir and Irving glanced at each other, an undecipherable look passing between them.

"Yes… although I suspect we might have been able to guess at your purpose here without the letter." Irving said.

"Alright then, I'm here to look for potential recruits for the Wardens."

"And why would you need more? There hasn't been a Blight in four hundred years. I wasn't aware that a Blight was in progress at the moment. Why would you need more recruits? Irving has told me that your Order has had roughly the same number since King Maric allowed you back into Ferelden." Greagoir challenged, his expression darkening.

It couldn't be easy, could it? I thought sardonically. Of course, why would he be as cooperative as he is when you meet him in the game? He couldn't exactly dismiss the Wardens when he needed their help to regain the tower. I'm sure the Blight might have swayed his mind, too.

"It is the Warden's prerogative to seek recruits. Our duty is to remain vigilant in peace so that when a Blight comes we are ready to face it. That requires that we always have a standing force of Wardens as large as possible. Mages are the most versatile fighters when it comes to facing the darkspawn. Their destructive magic makes them worth many warriors and their abilities to heal otherwise fatal injuries makes them even more essential. Simply put, for an order as specialised as my own mages are indispensable."

Irving seemed undecided while Greagoir's face was set in resolute denial.

"That may be," he said "but I cannot release any of the mages into your care, and it is my duty to ensure that they are kept here for their own safety and that of others."

Seriously? Let's see what he says to this.

"Knight-Commander, do I need to remind you that traditionally a Warden-Commander recruits a mage from each Circle of Magi within the borders of the kingdom he oversees? As I'm sure you're aware Warden Carac came from the Jainen Circle. We have yet to receive a mage from this Circle. Simply put, you owe us one."

"Greagoir, surely a willing volunteer with experience-" Irving started, looking uncomfortable.

"No. That is my final word. Tradition be damned. Unless I receive a direct order from the Grand Cleric herself or the unthinkable happens and one of your damn Blights breaks out you will not receive a single mage from this Circle. I simply cannot risk it." He spat out resolutely.

Maker… no wonder Duncan hasn't had any success here in the past... to blatantly refuse us our due and go back on hundreds of years worth of precedent. The gall of the man! I'll just have to settle with wrangling whatever promises I can out of him.

I sighed grimly. "I see that no words I might say will convince you, Knight-Commander. I cannot however, leave empty handed. However unlikely it is, I must have a written and signed agreement from the both of you that should a Blight break out that the Circle of Magi and Templar Order will put themselves under the command of the Grey Wardens and will obey any orders until such a time as it would be defeated. I'm sure I need not remind you that this would simply be a renewal of an ancient treaty already in existence."

Greagoir looked uncertainly at Irving, seeking affirmation that what I said was true. Irving nodded.

"I have no objection." The mage declared.

"Under the Warden's command you say?" Greagoir didn't seem to like that bit.

"Yes, it is necessary. In a Blight we Wardens have the most experience and knowledge of how to vanquish the archdemon and confusion in the chain of command cannot be afforded."

"Your words ring true." He granted reluctantly.

And so parchment, ink and quill were sent for and a treaty drawn up. In the event of a Blight it was written down that the mages and Templars of Kinloch Hold would place all their resources at the disposal of the Wardens and would obey all their commands. Greagoir and Irving signed at the bottom and preservation spells were placed on the three copies of the document. They would travel with me back to Denerim so that Duncan could sign as Warden-Commander... and so that the Grand Cleric could ratify the treaty and place her own signature to it. I'd been annoyed to have Irving tell me that unless she did the modified treaty I'd asked for would be worthless. Duncan hadn't mentioned the originals but from reading one of Genitivi's histories I knew that the documents abandoned in the Wilds only promised the Circle's and Templar's support. Thus, if my modification carried on going unnoticed I'd be able to one-up Greagoir. Greagoir insisted that a Templar Knight-Lieutenant who'd read and witnessed the treaty we drafted accompany me back to Denerim so that he could attest to the authenticity of the documents... and verify that they had not been tampered with in transit. He was certainly a paranoid man. A sensible precaution, though.

That had been that and once Greagoir had gone glowering back to his duties Irving had smiled at me and asked if I wanted a tour of the tower.

From the brief glimpses I've had of the dormitories there must be hundreds of mages housed, or rather imprisoned, here. They would wreak havoc on the darkspawn. Templars would be useful against emissaries, too.

A Templar stalked by. That reminds me… Alistair. Once he Joins I'll have to… oh… I've Joined before him so… I'll be Senior Warden after Ostagar… no. I won't because I won't allow that to happen. I'll think more on this later… for now, Irving's talking to me.

"And this is my study. Yes, yes, do sit down."

After a day of touring the tower, perusing it's library, enduring Greagoir's glowers and meeting various important mages the next morning found me travelling along the North Road on my way back to Denerim with my Templar shadow. I'd met Wynne after having made my interest apparent in the Warden's need for good healers and being the best the Circle had to offer I was duly sent off in her direction. After some questions on whether it would be possible to have her or an assistant swing by Denerim to further instruct our mages in the healing arts she made mention of a mage who's proficiency at healing would only grow as he matured.

"Oh, could I meet this fellow?" I enquired.

"Unfortunately not… he is… well, to be frank, he's just been sentenced to a year's solitary confinement for his sixth escape attempt." Wynne admitted.

Ah, Anders…

"Oh, dear. That's unfortunate. Poor chap."

I leaned in, acting the part of the eager Warden interested in recruiting an imprisoned talented mage, although knowing I couldn't.

"And might I ask his name?"

"Anders." She replied, scrutinising me.

"He's a good healer, you say? Evidently not enamoured with life at the Circle. How is he with offensive magic?" I tried to keep the smirk from my lips, and failed.

"Don't you go getting any ideas, young man." She chastised me. "Don't do anything Duncan wouldn't do."

"Ah no… I won't." I promised, uncertain how to react to the mothering, or rather, grand-mothering. "You know Duncan?"

"Yes, he and I are old friends." She smiled fondly.

"Are there any other promising mages who perhaps in time may be worth consideration as Wardens?" I asked delicately.

This earned me an arched eyebrow and a pointed look, though after a moment Wynne deigned me with a response.

"Traditionally, the arrangement involved your Order recruiting promising young Mages who'd recently passed their Harrowing. Older Enchanter's and Senior Enchanters tend to grow... too comfortable, shall we say, from a life in the Circle. Invariably, they tend to have duties or apprentices which preclude them from venturing out of the Circle. Hence, why the more adventurous junior Mages are favoured. Practically speaking, a Warden's lot is also much more suited to those still enjoying the vigour's of youth. To answer your question, several precocious youngsters come to mind. Namely, Alim Surana and Daylen Amell. Alim is Irving's apprentice, he's a fiery lad. Takes after the primal school like a duck to water."

"Primal?" I interjected.

"You would think of it as battle magic."

Now, that sounds promising. Hardly surprising considering Surana is one of the Mage Warden origins.

Wynne continued, "Daylen is very talented in the school's of Spirit and Entropy, and has a particularly devious mind when it comes to combining those fields of magic for best effect." At this point she frowned "Senior Enchanter Uldred chose Daylen as his apprentice. A knowledgeable man. Daylen is the first apprentice Uldred has ever taken. He must have been impressed - not an easy thing."

We had chatted for a few more minutes and then I'd been introduced to other various mages who had done noteworthy things or had valuable skills. No mention was made of Alistair. I wasn't sure whether Templars were trained at the Circle, Denerim or somewhere else entirely… I would have guessed Denerim.

I toyed with the small crystal vial ensconced within the silverite amulet hanging on a leather cord from my neck. It was filled with the dregs from my Joining ritual's chalice: a constant reminder of the life I now found myself living... and my duty.

I'd tried for a last ditch attempt at convincing Greagoir to let me have just one mage, but he would't budge. I'd gone away partly satisfied with the treaty I had Irving and Greagoir sign. It was an improvement on the last; which didn't place the mages and templars under the Wardens command. Duncan would like that. I'd also managed to coax a box of lyrium potions out of the 'mages' – read templars - supply for our own mages. Lyrium was expensive, so it would be a welcome gift for Duncan, who had asked me to try to get some. He usually acquired our lyrium directly from the dwarves - for free - but he hadn't been able to send someone to Orzammar yet.

Perhaps as an apology for his colleague's obstinacy Irving had given me a silver ring. He said it had been enchanted by the Tranquil to help negate the effects of harmful magic coming towards the wearer. It could also double as a signet ring with the engraved rampant griffon on the ring's face. I was rather pleased with it, remembering the various injuries that I had seen other Wardens suffer at the hands of the magical darkspawn. Luckily I had never been the target of one in the few instances in which they had been encountered. Duncan said that when not in a Blight the darkspawn tended to encroach more on the dwarves than on potential Deep Roads exits. There was the occasional sally by adventurous darkspawn which was usually put down by the local Bann's men if not by us, but mostly the darkspawn had no reason to be above ground and preferred to harass the dwarves.

On my return to the Compound I once again found myself sitting at a table in the mess hall toying morosely with a bowl of stew whilst thinking about the Blight. Waiting for Duncan to return from a meeting with the Arl of Denerim. Waiting for events from the game to take place and dreading the moment when they would.

A hand clapped me on the back. Jacquelyn sat down next to me, her marred face smiling at me.

Well, things are looking up already.

A/N: Next chapter we jump forwards to a little before a certain tourney that the Grand Cleric holds in Duncan's honour in which an unhappy Templar grabs the esteemed Commander's attention...

Until next time and please review!