Duncan walked in silence down the Imperial Highway with the elf by his side. So far, Raviathan had remained quiet. That was to be expected after all that had happened, but it was a marked difference from the impassioned man Duncan had met earlier that day. Wrath had poured out of the elf when he realized what had happened while he had lain unconscious. He was still visibly shaking with it when he returned with five of the six women in tow.

To be honest, Duncan was surprised that the elf had been successful in taking out the entire estate's guards by himself without a scratch. Soris was obviously no warrior, and this one had been showered in blood. Arl Kendells had probably taken most of his guard with him to Ostagar leaving only those too infirm for the journey, too old, or green recruits. Already Denerim had grown rougher since the march south.

Did the boy truly realize what was in store for him when he sacrificed himself? While he was not going to be cowed by the idea of torture or death, and hate could keep a man sane during torture, Duncan wondered how well he would have fared under that sort of treatment. He had seen men's bodies broken from torture, driven mad by pain. A rampaging elf would have garnered even greater punishment from his torturers. The anger of the citizens would demand that the elf was broken before a public execution, and as much as Duncan admired the elf's ability thus far, he doubted Raviathan could hold out for what could turn into months of ruthless torture.

While conscripting Raviathan saved the boy's life from mob justice, the problems didn't end there. How long could he hide the boy from Kendells? He'd have to come up with some plan to keep Raviathan safe from retribution. Not even the King's favor would be enough to safeguard the elf from Kendell's vengeance once word got out. Though Kendells might not openly move against the Wardens, all manner of accidents happened on a battlefield. Justice and vengeance were ever fickle twins.

After the events of the day, Duncan was getting used to the elf watching him with measured hostility. They had been on the road for hours, and he was still getting that glare. At least his newest recruit was no longer antagonistic. There was so much of his mother in him, and Duncan's thoughts turned to Adaia. Duncan had liked the fiery woman and wished he had the chance to say goodbye, but there were many others like her, warriors or rogues like himself, who had fallen for one reason or another. At least he had been able to provide her son some measure of help, for whatever that was worth.

The elf had taken less than an hour to say goodbye to everyone he knew and had walked back out with a small pillow sack tied with a length of rope and a hard leather case. Duncan wondered about the case but didn't ask. Raviathan seemed closed and needing quiet. Duncan would wait until the elf was ready. The studded leather vestment and skirt the elf had found at the estate fit him poorly as it was designed for a human, but it was probably the only armor the elf had ever worn. They would have to do something about his woefully inadequate equipment at Dragon's Peak. It was getting late. The sun hung low in the sky, red bleeding into the hazy winter gloom. There was a small inn for travelers they should be able to make just after sunset.

Duncan pulled his cloak tighter around him against the Ferelden winter. Although the season had been unusually dry and mild, at least according to Ferelden's brutal standards, the cold wind was making his bones ache. Most likely this winter would be his last. There was some time yet, a few months, for him to prepare Allonese to take over as Warden-Commander. The man was calm and thoughtful. He might not have the authority to command contingents as large as Orlais or the Free Marches, but Ferelden's score of Wardens would not be a problem.

They all respected Allonese, even Tamriel who was disposed to detest all humans and Greigor who preferred to follow strength. That was the past, Duncan reminded himself. Greigor had come a long way in the last ten years. He was much calmer now and had started taking on a slow but thoughtful wisdom. Ten years ago Alistair would have been borne the brunt of hazing or have been bullied about, but Greigor had mellowed and treated the boy with the affection he would bestow a young brother. Duncan would talk with Allonese about it, but he thought Greigor would make a decent Warden-Commander when Allonese needed to take the Calling.

Now that the Calling was coming, Duncan had taken to reflection more. He had seen many fine men and women take the Calling before him and those who were not so fine. The events of his life had humbled his angry youth and made this just another step on his path to the Maker. Not that he was overly religious, but he had done a lot of good with the time he had. Perhaps being a Grey Warden and witnessing firsthand what the taint would eventually do, the choices they had to make, had instilled the inevitability of his fate and given his life more meaning. It wouldn't be long, but he could be proud of his life and face what is to come. He hoped the Blight would be ended quickly so he could go to the Maker knowing that peace, but if nothing else, Ferelden was warned. The Grey Wardens had seen humanity through before, and they would again and again as long as there were Grey Wardens.

Lately he had wondered about Fiona. Was she still alive? Supposedly she would be the first Grey Warden who wouldn't have to take the Calling when she reached the critical age for the taint. The feisty elf might have a few choice words for him if she didn't blast him out right. Despite the years Duncan didn't think her temper would have dulled with age. He had promised the elf he would look after her son, but once the boy had been sent to the abbey, there was no way for Duncan to check up on him. The poor child had been looked after, better than most bastard children would have been, but it grieved Duncan to see him torn between loneliness and rage for his lot without a family's comfort. Though he himself had spent many a hard year living in the streets in Val Royeaux in his youth, he at least had known the love and comfort of a family as a child. The loss of his parents was more painful for the love he had known, but it had also given him a solid foundation that had served him well the rest of his life, short as it may be.

Those early years when the Wardens were reestablishing in Ferelden had been tricky indeed. The Warden-Commander Weisshaupt had sent had been a sturdy man, organized and an intelligent communicator. For all the Commander's persuasive powers, Loghain had never done more than glower their way. It had been enough that they had maintained the Order's presence when Maric was lost at sea. Cailan wasn't at an age when he could oppose Loghain like he did today, and that man's diplomacy in their early years had made the difference.

That thought brought another that was far more troubling. Cailan was finally stepping into his role as king, but he was not near the king Maric had been. The Wardens needed his assistance to defeat the Blight, and that was their duty above all else. If they needed to burn down villages, use treachery or treason, conscript lords and ladies or criminals, perform regicide, or use a king's well intentioned but ill forged idealism, that was what they did. That had been a bitter lesson in his youth. As a killer, Duncan had been tasked to perform such if it kept the Warden's secrets and helped them in their task. He didn't owe Cailan any loyalty; however, the use of the king's fanciful ideals bothered Duncan. With the Blight coming Ferelden could ill afford a foolish regent. Anora may be the real ruler, but Cailan was the figurehead that kept the nation focused. The rest of the Wardens who Duncan had chosen to deal with Cailan liked him well enough to hide their mild contempt. They knew what was at stake.

The sun was down leaving only shadows in the darkening indigo light. As old wounds ached in the cold, Duncan was less and less willing to camp when he had an option for a soft bed. There would be enough cold tents in the coming weeks. The inn was care worn but sturdy and was able to stay clean enough that it avoided some of the nastier types that could hole up in a place so far from a proper city. As dusk was settling, many field hands and general workers would congregate in a place like this for music and food, especially if they had yet to take a wife. It might be a little rough, but it would also be a good test of Raviathan in an unfamiliar setting.

The elf by his side was looking about wide eyed as any country boy in a city. He stayed close, almost like a second shadow as he looked about. As Duncan had guessed, the inn was full of farm hands and a few young women who were trying to catch a future husband's eye. There was a small stage in the main room and a minstrel setting up with a lute. The bartender was a balding, potbellied man of middle years. His nose was red with broken capillaries and he needed a shave to keep from looking like a bandit. Duncan said, "We need a room."

"We got a room left in the back. One bed," the bartender croaked in a whiskey roughened voice. "Rest is full."

"Is it clean?"

The bartender eyed him blearily. "Clean as you'll get around here."

"Alright, we'll take a look."

The bartender harrumphed and handed Duncan a key and lamp. "Up the stairs, down the hall, last one on the right." He glowered at Raviathan. "Take care your servant doesn't steal anything."

Raviathan crossed his arms and looked down but held his tongue. Duncan glared at the man and put an arm around the elf's shoulders. "Don't let him get to you, Rav."

The elf nodded but kept silent.

The interior hall was dark. Sounds of shuffling feet or low conversation from the other rooms indicated thin walls. Once inside their room Duncan set down the lamp and looked about. There was a small cabinet next to a wash basin by the door and a chest with a key in the lock. A double bed dominated the middle of the room with a small frosted window on the opposite end. "Well, the bed is big enough to share."

Duncan looked over to see the elf glare at him. "Share," Raviathan said slowly with clear disgust.

The elf's tone caught him by surprise. The room was modest but clean. Considering the alienage, this had to be a step up if not several.

"That is, unless you prefer to sleep on the floor," Duncan said confused by the elf's reaction. Raviathan flicked his eyes up and down pulling away slightly as if Duncan was dirty. It took Duncan a moment to understand the elf's resurging hostility. Duncan winced as his own irritation surfaced. To even think it. "What do you take me for, lad?"

"Share a bed? I don't even know you!" Raviathan shot back.

Duncan frowned at the unexpected retort. "Then sleep on the floor. It makes no difference to me."

The elf muttered under his breath as he snatched a pillow and top cover for a makeshift bed under the window. "Shems. Are we all just whores to you?"

In that instant Duncan forgot the trials the elf had already faced that day. "Now see here! I have no intentions of having sex with you. Ever." He didn't mind men who preferred the company of other men, but he wasn't one of them. What bothered him was the elf's casual assumptions that he was a lecher, as if that were his reason for recruiting the boy.

"No," the elf returned angrily, "just sleep with me."

"Yes, sleep. And only sleep. What's wrong with that?" asked Duncan. Raviathan looked at him scandalized. Duncan sighed, reigned in his own anger, and reminded himself of the day's events. "Rav, I've conscripted you to be a Grey Warden. Not because I need a pet or bed warmer."

"Then why ask me to share the bed," he said, not bothering to hide the accusation.

"Because there is only one room available, and I thought you'd prefer that to a cold, hard floor. But have it your own way."

The elf glowered at him. "Why by Andraste's ass would you think I'd prefer to share a bed?"

Duncan had had enough. He may be getting old but surely he wasn't so repulsive that the sharing of a large bed for sleep was treated with such disgust. He set down his pack not bothering to put anything away. "I'm going downstairs for dinner. You are welcome to join me if that doesn't offend your sensibilities."

The elf harrumphed but followed him out the door. Duncan sighed. He had hoped Raviathan wouldn't have Tamriel's standoffishness, but that didn't look like it was to be the case. They both had just reasons for their anger, but it made integration with the Grey Wardens difficult, and he did try to foster an inclusive attitude. Of course Raviathan could still be reacting from what happened earlier. He was young enough that maybe some time and new experiences would be able to change his opinions.

The main room was packed by the time they returned. The minstrel had started playing the lute and singing at the far end. Some of the tables and chairs had been pushed back to make a dance space indicating that the minstrel was probably passing through and playing for his nightly board rather than a routine player. It crowded the already full room. The stink of body odor was strong combined with garlic and onions typical of peasants' meals. With the freezing winters, it was their first and main defense against illness.

Raviathan stayed close with his arms folded over his chest, slouched, and looking about with quick nervous glares. Duncan found a table at the far end away from the minstrel. Not trusting the maids for service, Duncan left to the bar to pay for the room, order their meals and two pints of ale. Raviathan stayed hunched with his back to the wall and chair turned sideways making a barrier with the chair back. He looked suspiciously at the ale Duncan set before him and pointedly turned away. So he thinks I'm going to ply him with alcohol now? Duncan asked, "You don't like ale?"

Raviathan placed his heel on the chair seat and hugged his leg to him. If nothing else, Duncan was impressed with the lad's flexibility. "I prefer water." There was a less than subtle hint that the elf believed exactly what Duncan suspected.

Duncan ignored the insult and flicked his head towards the bar. "Be my guest."

Raviathan looked at him with those strange flashing eyes that gleamed in the low light as if lit from the inside. Most humans were unnerved by elven eyes, and though Duncan had become a little more accustomed to them, moments like this reminded him of just how unusual elves were. Elven eyes were strange colors, too bright, and the shine far too alien. Raviathan got up and left for the bar. Duncan watched as he had to repeatedly call for the bartender's attention. The bald man was ignoring him more than what would be reasonable for the crowded room. He and the elf exchanged a few words, then Raviathan returned with nothing and sat as he had before. Duncan sipped at his ale. "No water?"

Raviathan was watching the minstrel but answered without looking. "There's a well out back he said."

That was rude, thought Duncan. Any inn would have some water ready for weary travelers. "He didn't give you a glass at least?"

Raviathan shrugged. "When you've finished your ale, I'll take that one."

Duncan said, "Take your glass. Pour the ale on the ground if you wish."

That did earn him a look. "Waste the ale?"

"You're not going to drink it," said Duncan.

"But," the elf sputtered, "that's wasteful. If you don't want it at least give it to somebody."

Duncan smiled as he leaned back to watch the minstrel and few dancers. The lad was frustrating at times, but he couldn't help but like him. Thick rabbit stew and dark bread was brought along with a bowl of mashed turnips and salad of roasted fall vegetables. Raviathan's eyes widened at the banquet before him, but Duncan started without preamble. Picking hesitantly at the food, Raviathan said almost too quietly for Duncan to hear over the crowd, "Thank you."

"I don't stand on ceremony. Take what you want," Duncan replied. The elf ate with small bites as his eyes darted about the room. He was certainly a study in contrasts. "Is everything alright?"

Raviathan bit his lips. "I'm not used to being around so many humans. I keep feeling like I'm going to be stepped on."

Duncan's white teeth flashed all the brighter for his dark skin. When he finished his ale, he handed the glass over to Raviathan who left without a word exchanged. Duncan watched as the lad darted between the press of people without them taking notice. The minstrel started a ballad of a lady mourning her lost lover at the Battle of West Hill during the occupation of Orlais. Duncan sighed as he thought about all the potential recruits he lost during this trip. The journey almost wasn't worth it as only three were awaiting the Joining. Of those, who would survive? Had Aedan survived the sack of Highever? Duncan regretted now that he had not pressed Ser Gilmore into service. He had left the determined man to defend the castle though they both knew it was helpless. Try as he might, he couldn't find Aedan anywhere in the castle, only the bodies of the rest of the family. Both of the ladies at the castle had been violated. Though he did not know them well, he was sure one was the wife of Bryce's son, Fergus. Such brutality happened when soldiers were filled with battle lust. It was a damn pity, but it also raised troubling questions about Howe. He was a sycophant if ever Duncan met one, but he had to be working with the protection of another, more powerful lord backing his treachery.

At the end of the song, Duncan turned to look for the elf, who had been gone more than long enough to fetch his water. To his surprise Raviathan had been backed against a wall by a large, heavy man with the ruddy face of someone who was too often in his cups. Duncan started to get up to intercede when he noticed Raviathan's down cast eyes look up hopefully at the human then fill with regret as he glanced at Duncan. Was the elf planning on getting rid of him? If so, that was a mistake, the old warrior thought coldly. Duncan had been expecting something along these lines though. The boy was bound to make at least one or two escape attempts before he learned better. The other man looked at Duncan, measuring, then said something further to the elf who gifted the drunkard with a demure smile then rubbed the man's bicep looking coquettish. The man glared at Duncan for a minute then left for the bar. The elf returned to the table and sat as if nothing had happened. Duncan also returned to his chair eyeing the elf. "What was that about?" he demanded.

Raviathan shrugged with one shoulder as he went back to his dinner. "We're leaving tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. I told him a violent swordsman, that's you, had already paid for me for the full night, but tomorrow he could have me at half price because he was so strong and handsome."

Duncan blinked in surprise. "You did what?"

Raviathan looked up with those strange, large eyes as guileless as a child. He finished chewing and said, "He's drunk. Best way to deal with them is to agree. I didn't think you wanted me to slice him open right here in front of everyone, so I told him what he wanted to hear. By the way, he thinks we're staying in the room those men are," he said indicating two messenger soldiers with a flick of his eyebrow, "just in case he gets some bright ideas during the night."

Duncan thought the elf was telling the truth, but he was surprised considering the man's earlier aversion to humans. "Are you going to warn those soldiers?"

The elf looked at him askance. "They're going to be our alarm if that man does try anything. Why give that up? Besides, it's two against one, and they're soldiers. They can handle it."

It was a bit of trickery that Duncan would have used in his early Warden days or when he was a street thief had he the wit if a man propositioned him. Maybe that's why he liked the elf. Catching Duncan's smile of approval, the elf grinned back with a embarrassed duck of his head, and then Duncan was certain the elf had not lied to him. "I'm surprised you're not more bothered by such attention."

The elf shrugged, and Duncan got the impression that Raviathan had issues with such, but now was not the time to go into it.

The minstrel wasn't particularly talented, and the dancing was clumsy, but both acquitted themselves with enthusiasm. Watching rivalries and plays for attention between the people gathered for the evening interested Duncan more. Though most dismissed Duncan as another travelling swordsman, Raviathan got a wide array of looks ranging from condescending to disgusted to downright lustful. The elf had barricaded himself on three sides with the table, wall, and chair back and drew up his knees once he was finished with his meal. Had he been alone, this place would have been dangerous for him. The vulnerability he was unconsciously projecting would hopefully diminish as Raviathan became more accustomed to humans, otherwise it was going to cause the elf no end of difficulties.

"Perhaps we should retire," Duncan suggested over the din of voices, heavy dance steps, and music. The elf frowned but followed him back to their room.

Once inside the room it was quiet enough to talk, though the playing of the minstrel and thumps of heavy feet sounded dully through the walls. Raviathan asked, "Bit early isn't it?"

Again that presumption. Duncan sighed as he removed his armor ready to shed the extra weight. The Ferelden cold seeped through the walls making everything cold to the touch. The washbasin had a thin layer of ice just starting along the edge of the porcelain sides. The bed was stone cold. "You were not oblivious to the looks you were receiving, I'm sure. I thought it best to get you out of there before some alcohol induced ideas got into too many heads."

"I can take care of myself," the elf retorted, his enmity renewed.

"I'm sure you can, but perhaps I don't feel like being your pretend customer having to defend my purchase."

Raviathan looked like he had been slapped. "Don't talk to me like that!"

Oh for love of the Maker. "Rav," he said sternly. "It's been a long day. We both need some sleep, and I for one would appreciate it if you didn't treat me as some sick lecher. I've been tolerant of that so far because of what you've been through, but enough. It's ungracious and unworthy of you, and I'll have no more of it."

The hostility drained out as Raviathan's forehead furrowed, and he looked down. His shoulders hunched as his hands crossed over his stomach. He looked lost and vulnerable again. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I've never been treated so well by a human before. I keep waiting for you to turn into a monster."

"I know things have tough for you at the alienage, but we humans are not all such callous villains."

Finished with most of his armor, he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his leg guards. Only the faintest shift told him that Raviathan was sitting on the bed with him. Finished, he looked over to see the elf sitting at the foot of the bed, bent down, his head in his hands. "Rav?"

"I keep thinking about what happened. I keep seeing it. Over and over. Those guards. Some of them must have had families."

Duncan sat with his forearms resting on his thighs as he regarded the elf. "Some of them probably did."

"I've never killed anyone before," he confessed in the still room. "What I did… I don't understand half of it."

Duncan rubbed his forehead as he reminded himself of what Valendrian had said about the boy. The venerable elf had wanted the boy to take over as hahren when he stepped down, that even as a child Raviathan showed unusual compassion and sensitivity. He had been a thoughtful child, watchful and curious even with all the trouble making. It was never easy to kill a man, even when it was deserved. Some were more difficult than others, but the first time was always a marker in life. Ser Guy's death was the murder that had changed the course of Duncan's life.

Shifting to sit next to the elf, Duncan put a hand on Raviathan's shoulder as he composed what he would say. To his complete surprise Raviathan curled into his chest and started to sob. Duncan stared down in startelment. A deceptively delicate hand reached up to clench his tunic as the young elf cried against him. Raviathan wasn't loud, but his body shook with the totality of his grief. Duncan blinked, alarmed by the display. He took in a long steadying breath as the elf continued to weep.

Now that he looked at it, Raviathan had been using the anger to keep away the pain. It would have been obvious if only he hadn't been distracted with other concerns. The boy isn't made of stone, thought Duncan. Raviathan's grief was actually quite heart wrenching, and Duncan chided himself for not recognizing it earlier. Why did he expect so much more from this boy than he would most any other man? Raviathan curled in tighter, and Duncan held him firmly as the sobs continued.

Raviathan was young, had to give up his new wife who he had apparently loved despite their short time together, and had killed for the first time only just that morning. The elf didn't just kill a man, he had taken out all the guards and three lords at the estate nearly by himself. His resolve had been startling. At the elf's age, Duncan had been much wilder and struggled with his new life as a Grey Warden. So far the elf had accepted his new lot with far more grace than Duncan had, than most recruits who were forcibly conscripted for that matter. The boy's just lost everything he's known and is out in a world he's never seen. Tears were easy to allow.

The intermittent thumping of dancers and music from the main room was the only sign of passing time. Duncan ruminated over the Wardens. He would not live to see this blight ended. His thoughts travelled to Alistair, and he worried for the young man. Duncan hoped that the other Wardens would see their newest member through when Duncan either died on the field or took the Calling. Alistair's need for acceptance was painful to watch, but he was a good lad. Duncan couldn't help but allow his repressed paternal instincts take root in Alistair's case.

Too few Grey Wardens. Duncan should have been more aggressive in recruiting in the last twenty years as

Ferelden was in dire need of Wardens now, but the sacrifice had always been a difficult one. Though Loghain's distrust of the Wardens made for an easy excuse, the sacrifice demanded of the Grey was what truly weighed on Duncan's shoulders. Until Vaughan had made that choice for him, he wasn't sure he would have been able to take Raviathan from the life the young man had so clearly wanted.

Duncan looked down realizing that the lad had actually stopped crying some time ago but was resting against his chest. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed. Duncan squeezed his shoulder and the elf slowly sat up. Raviathan flexed his neck and back with a wince. He said quietly, "Thank you," then got up to wash his face in the little half frozen basin.

"Killing is never an easy thing," Duncan started, "especially your first. It's normal to grieve even if it was the right thing to do or you had no choice. It just shows you have a heart. Be patient with yourself, Rav. It's going to take time before you'll be at peace with what happened, and that's normal. But I want you to consider something. If given the choice again, to stay in the alienage or go after Vaughan, would you still have done what you did?"

Raviathan kept his head down, his eyes rimmed in red. "Yes."

"You made a choice to save your kin who did not choose violence and had no options. They would have been brutalized and more would have died if you hadn't interceded. Those guards chose to be guards knowing it could mean their life one day." Duncan stood to put a hand on Raviathan's shoulder. "We all make choices for good or ill. In this case, remember who the true innocents were, who the tyrant was, and who protected who."

It would take time for the realization to settle, but the cry had seemed to do Raviathan some good. For the first time he saw respect and trust reflected in those strange, bright eyes. Raviathan said quietly, "Thank you, Duncan."

He gripped the elf's shoulder and nodded. "Anytime you want to talk about it." With a cock of an eyebrow Duncan said, "Let's get some sleep, shall we? Things always feel worse when you're tired."

Raviathan gave him a small half smile and settled down to roll up in the blanket on the floor. Duncan sent a prayer that the boy would survive the Joining. Only three recruits, and the archdemon was coming. Duncan's feet were numb, which the cold bed did nothing to alleviate. The two thin blankets were little more than a suggestion against the cold.

So many had been lost. So much potential: Aedan's courage and strength, Duran's military experience and tactical mind, the untapped potential Irving had written about his favorite pupil, Neria. Now he had an overly honor bound knight, a quick street thief, and an angry elf. Duncan tried to double wrap his feet in the blankets and rubbed them together for a little warmth. Raviathan seemed a bit too fragile under the anger, but they would know for sure in a week's time. Sleep came despite the cold, and with it the taint induced dreams.