The rain continued as unrelenting as it had been the day before. The land was soaking in much of the excess water, the nearby river swelling higher along the banks. Duncan sat in the corner of the bathing room, now Raviathan's clinic, and tended to some basic repairs of his armor, sharpened weapons, and drafted a letter for the Wardens about his newest recruit.

One by one or in families, people came with all sorts of issues, some of which Duncan was embarrassed to hear: persistent coughs, aching joints, rashes, chest aches, back pain, all sorts of odd skin issues, foot disease, digestive problems, excessive flatulence, injuries that had gone untreated without a physician, one man with a swollen leg, ulcers, infections, a waif of a girl who was anemic, pregnant women who wanted to make sure their baby was healthy and if he could tell what sex it would be, couples who were trying to get pregnant, sex diseases, and on it went. It seemed like everyone in a ten mile radius had been willing to trudge through the rain while there was a physician available.

Watching Raviathan work had been an education unto itself. When a family came in, Raviathan invariably addressed the mother who would detail every symptom of her husband and children while the others stayed quiet and compliant. Three times Raviathan had to send the inn's servant boys to Old Beth to restock items. Selice, the innkeeper's daughter, kept the line of people organized and made sure Raviathan had plenty of hot water. On top of crafting various medicines, the elf needed a constant supply of hot water for washing his hands. If Duncan had ever wanted to see a display of his abilities, this was it. Solyn must have been a tremendous healer to pass on all that skill. The boy was a wonder.

Most of the villagers ignored Duncan, or pretended to. No one questioned his right to be there. In return, Duncan tried to appear busy in order to give them some illusion of privacy. They may have been nervous, but what put people most at ease was the efficient competence that Raviathan projected. He wasn't at all cold, but there was a briskness to his manner that cut through his patients' modesty.

Maker, please let this boy live, Duncan prayed as he surreptitiously watched Raviathan tend to a child with breathing problems. A healer of his skill was invaluable and almost made up for the loss of a mage. Raviathan wrote down two recipes for the mother, a salve to rub on the child's chest at night and a twice daily tea to use for a month then as needed when the problem returned. He ended the session with the good news that most children grew out of such problems by young adulthood.

Raviathan was just finishing up, cleaning the table with a formula of water and spirits as he did after each patient, when there was a commotion outside the door. Duncan stood up and kept his weapons near but did not draw them. A boy, black hair contrasting against his pale face, flung open the door. He looked between Duncan and Raviathan. "We heard there was a physician here."

"What is it?" Raviathan asked in a commanding voice.

The boy hesitated only a moment as he looked the elf up and down. "My brother. He had a broken leg, but it's gotten all worse."

"Where is he?" Raviathan asked.

"My parents are bringing him. They should be here soon, but they wanted me to make sure you was here."

"What are his symptoms?"

"Um. His leg is hot. Says it hurts."

"Anything else?"

"Um. He sweats a lot, but he's cold. Sort of shaky. And he sleeps all the time. Even when he's awake he can't do anything."

"Tell your parents to bring him straight in," Raviathan said. The boy left without another word. "Selice," Raviathan called to the innkeeper's daughter. "The boy with the broken leg comes in next."

"Yes, ser," she called through the open door. There were mumblings from the other patients concerned for the child. Raviathan prepared his table, giving it a fresh wash and taking out instruments that had cooled after being steamed. These he placed on a tray that he had insisted be cleaned with boiling water. Though Duncan kept his eyes on the sword he was sharpening, he was intensely curious.

The exterior door banged, and a man and woman entered with care, carrying their son in a sling made by their arms. Both boys took after their father with his coloration and sharp cheek bones. Raviathan said, "Bring him here. On the table."

Words of encouragement from the other patients followed the family. The injured boy was near a man grown, his pale skin slick with rain and sweat. The mother and father were exhausted from the trip. The father started when he saw Raviathan. "He's so young," the father whispered.

With their help, Raviathan removed the boy's pants. The splint was roughly made of wood strips banded tightly together. Raviathan removed the splint with practiced efficiency. The boy's leg was swollen with an angry, red patch around a scar in the lower half of his thigh. Raviathan said, "I was told he broke his leg. The bone went through the skin?"

"Yes, ser," the mother said. "Kelly here was working the field setting up water ways. 'Cause of the drought and all. The ox spooked, and he got caught in the trowel. Broke his leg right clean it did. He was screaming so, holding his leg. I could see the bone. My father said that was good that it was a clean break. That it would heal better."

"How long ago?"

"Um," the mother said. "Six weeks?"

Raviathan said, "Tell me when it hurts." He touched the swollen area, probing various spots, and the boy hissed in pain. Raviathan felt the boy's forehead and kept his hand there. "He's been tired lately?"

"Oh yes, ser. Sleeps most of the day, he does," the mother said anxiously.

"Your son said he has chills and that his leg hurts him?" Raviathan asked.

"Yes," the mother said, both parents looking between Raviathan and their son. Duncan pitied them. They were both wet to the bone and sick with worry. "He's been saying his bone hurts. Says it over and over and we've told him not to move, we did, but he can't stop worming about so."

Coming to a conclusion, Raviathan took his hand from the frightened boy's head. "The wound is infected. I'm going to give him medicine to make him sleep then operate. How good a cook are you?"

Startled, the mother said, "Eh? Well enough, I suppose."

"Can you follow a detailed recipe?" Raviathan asked sharply as he continued a cursory examination of the boy's leg. "Measure exact amounts?"

"Yes. I can do that."

"Please, ser," the father said. He was clutching his hat in his hand, wringing the old leather to a shapeless mass. "Will he loose his leg?"

The already pale boy went bone white. "No." He pushed away on the table, turning from his father to the elf. "No father, please. Please, I don't want to lose my leg."

"Quiet," Raviathan said, not unkindly. "I have a recipe for a very powerful medicine, but it must be mixed exactly and given to him twice a day for six weeks. Each batch needs to be prepared fresh each day, and it might get expensive."

"Expensive?" the father asked.

"I think baccas gum is the most expensive ingredient. Can you afford three pints?"

"We have a tree," the mother said, seizing on new hope. "We'll cut down the whole thing if we have to."

"I'll do my best to save his leg," Raviathan said, "but you must commit to this potion for six weeks. No less. Even one day, and the infection can come back. It doesn't matter how healthy he seems. You must promise, six full weeks."

"I swear by the Maker," the mother said.

"If I can save your leg," Raviathan said turning to the boy, "you have to make the same promise. Six weeks, twice a day, not one day less. No complaints or trying to get out of it. If you don't take the potion, you will lose your leg."

"I promise, ser," the boy said, desperation and hope mingling in his feverish face. "Swear by the Maker."

Raviathan nodded once and went to his kit to begin mixing a potion. "Go sit outside," he said to the parents without looking at them. "This room needs to be as clean as possible, so don't let anyone in. I'll let you know as soon as I can. Duncan, I need you to guard the door as well."

For the first time the parents gave Duncan more than a cursory glance. "As you say," Duncan replied gravely and gathered his things.

The boy turned to his parents, looking lost, and the mother lifted her chin and squared her shoulders to encourage her son. He nodded, still looking afraid but working to master it. "I won't lose my leg?"

"I'll do my best," Raviathan replied. "Here. Drink this. It'll taste horrible, so get it over as fast as you can. Then lie back."

The boy did as he was told and gagged on the potion. "Maker's breath. What was that?"

"Something to make you sleep. Lie back," Raviathan said gently.

Duncan and the parents left the room.

~o~O~o~

Hours turned by as the injured boy's parents sat or paced. Selice kept bring them fresh tea that went untouched. Other patients who lingered at the inn spoke to them. "Finest healer I ever saw. Really. Much better than Old Beth was in her prime."

"Your boy will be alright," a woman said, followed by some story meant to be comforting.

When Raviathan, drooping with exhaustion, came out, both parents jumped to their feet. A tea cup fell, rattling on the floor. He raised a hand for them to sit. "Kelly, you said his name was?"

The mother nodded. She clutched her husband's hand, her knuckles white.

"The operation was successful," Raviathan said, sitting next to them. "An infection settled inside his broken bone. I had to open his leg up, open his bone to remove the infection and puss. I cleaned out everything, stitched him back together. He's sleeping now, will be for another hour. I'm going to recommend he stay here for a week. When you do move him back home, keep his leg up and immobile. Use a cart and drive slow. Here are the recipes." He handed her two folded papers. "One for pain, though he shouldn't have much of that, one to make sure the infection doesn't come back."

"Twice a day. Six weeks. Promise, ser." The mother took the papers with numb fingers. The father put his head down, kissed his wife's hand, and sat very still.

"Any questions?" Raviathan asked.

The mother shook her head. "Maker bless you, ser. Maker smiled the day you came here."

Startled, Raviathan patted her shoulder. "Let him sleep. You can see him in an hour. I gave him a heavy dose of pain killer, so he'll be dazed."

She nodded, tears welling.

Catching Duncan's eye, Raviathan left with him to the main room. He stretched his neck and arms, flexed his shoulders trying to get rid of the tension that had built up.

"I have some letters that need to be sent off. I trust you'll do your utmost to stay out of trouble while I'm away?"

Raviathan gave him an ironic grin. "I think I've got a village full of defenders now."

Duncan squeezed his shoulder and left. Raviathan sank into a booth, still trying to work out his tired muscles. Selice stopped by with a small platter of food, thick butternut squash soup with cream and a sandwich with thin slices of beef. "Missed the luncheon, but cook made you something special for when you were ready."

"Thanks," Raviathan said, his eyebrows raised at the quality of his meal.

"My father has a black lager he wanted to open for you, but I said you didn't drink." Selice put a tankard of warm spiced apple cider before him.

"Uh, thanks."

As soon as Selice bounced away, a boy slid into Raviathan's booth. The elf raised an eyebrow at Billy. "How's your sister?"

"Stopped crying so much. Mama said it was the Maker's will you came here."

Maker's will I almost get strung up then kidnapped? "That's nice of her." Raviathan took a bite out of his sandwich. The sharp heat of horseradish filled Raviathan's nose for an instant followed by the tangy flavor of an unfamiliar white sauce. The cook had gone all out. Raviathan made a mental note to talk to him again before they left.

"Your food smells good."

"It is."

"Are you going to stay long?"

"No. I have to go south to the war."

"So you won't stay?"

"Nope."

"We need a healer."

"The soldiers need healing too. If they fall, the darkspawn will come north."

"I thought darkspawn were all gone."

"Well, there's some left in the south. The King is there, fighting them. That's how important the war is."

The boy scratched his cheek then fidgeted. Billy's blue eyes stood out large and innocent from a dirty face. "You didn't like it when mama called you knife ears."

"No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"It's rude."

"Why? You've got pointed ears."

"Knife ears isn't about having pointed ears." With reluctance, Raviathan put down his sandwich to turn to the child. "Did you know that elves were slaves for a thousand years?" Billy shook his head no, his eyes growing wider. "We lost our language, our stories, our culture. We were beaten, hurt, had our children sold never to see them again, were slaughtered for blood mages to gain power. Terrible things happened to my people during those long years. We've never been the same after that. We fought with Andraste for our freedom, but the slavery of my people still continues in Tevinter. After my people were freed, humans didn't want us to be equal. Do you know how farmers marked their animals? They brand ox and cattle or cut a pig's ears?"

Billy nodded.

"The same was done with elves. 'Knife ears' comes from 'take a knife to their ears'. As slaves, our ears were marked. Date of birth, lineage, the house we were born to. Even in free lands, when humans thought elves were getting uppity or wanting too much, they would cut or dock an elf's ears to remind us we were slaves, that we're still beneath humans. Calling one of my people 'knife ears' is saying our ears should be cut, that we're just like animals."

Billy picked at his lip, and Raviathan went back to his sandwich. Finally, the child said, "Mama didn't mean anything wrong. She likes you."

A shred of bitterness left Raviathan. "It's a serious insult. You know not to call us that anymore?" Billy nodded. "Not even when you're mad?" Billy nodded again with a very serious expression on his young face. "Would you like part of my sandwich?" A third nod. Raviathan cut off the last third and handed it over. He put the bowl of soup between them so they could both dip their sandwiches into it.

"You're really pretty."

"Thanks."

"Prettier than any of the girls here."

Raviathan hesitated a second before taking his next bite.

"Are all elves so pretty?"

"Some are," Raviathan said through a mouthful of food. The boy seemed too young to have a crush, but what did he know about humans? One lecture was enough, so Raviathan let the 'pretty' remark go. "Eat your food."

Billy seemed content to stare at him, so Raviathan finished his lunch in silence. The respite was welcome after seeing to all the villagers. Raviathan couldn't understand why he was so tired. Working at the docks or the miles of walking over the last days had used far more energy. Today he had stayed in one room, yet he was ready to do nothing more than sit by the fire and read until bed.

Meal finished, Raviathan returned to a hallway of ready patients. Hours passed as the injured, the sickly, and the worried paraded in and out. When the last man left, after shaking Raviathan's hand hard enough to pull it off, the elf slumped against the wall next to the fire. Duncan poked his head in, spied the elf, and grinned. "Come along. Dinner is waiting."

With more effort than he cared to admit, Raviathan hauled himself up and followed the warrior. Again, the chef had a special meal planned for them. Delectable sweetbreads in a port wine sauce with buttery vegetables and fresh white bread that made Raviathan think of his grandmother.

Duncan broached the subject he had been thinking about since the previous evening. "Why was it so uncomfortable for you to share a bed when we were first travelling? It's a common enough practice, and we have to share tents and the like often."

The elf's flashing eyes regarded him for a moment. Elves had a reputation for having unreadable eyes, which Duncan was reminded of with this Raviathan's steady gaze. They held an otherworldly beauty, and he could understand the stronger, single emotions like rage, but the more subtle aspects escaped him. It wasn't a lack of emotion, but the expression in elven eyes was different from a human. Raviathan asked, "You mean, humans do that a lot?"

"Certainly. The nobles are exceptions, not the rule. From what I understand from Valendrian, most elves live in one room apartments. It can't be that unusual."

The elf seemed startled by the idea that humans had different customs about sleeping. "Well, sharing a room is different. I didn't mind that. But… sleeping with someone… that's intimate."

"But it isn't sex."

"No," the elf admitted, as if considering how to explain. "With sex, you don't have to care for someone. Sometimes it's just a physical release. And random." He squirmed. "Like with prostitutes. Sex is better when it's with someone you care about, of course, but that isn't a requirement. Elves only sleep with someone we're very close to."

Duncan frowned as he thought. "So you wouldn't even sleep next to someone for warmth or because there isn't enough room?"

Raviathan shook his head. "Even if you have eight to an apartment, everyone has their space. Couples and siblings sleep together, so space isn't that much an issue. I didn't mind sleeping next to my cousins or aunt because I love them. It's a mark of trust and affection to do that. Never with a stranger, though. If it came to sharing a small tent or sleep outside in the rain, I'd sleep outside."

"You know," Duncan said, hoping to clarify so the elf wouldn't be confused in the future, "we use the terms sleep with and sex interchangeably. Sex is considered a more intimate act though there are exceptions."

A far off look came into Raviathan's face as he tried to digest that bit of information. "That seems so strange. You sleep together easily, and yet the terms are one and the same. How can you tell what someone is asking for?"

Duncan chuckled. "If you ask someone to sleep with you, it's usually sex. Otherwise it's 'sharing' a floor space, tent, or bed." This explained some of Tamriel's behavior. If only the other elf had been open enough to say just this, a lot of confusion and unintentional slights would have been avoided. Only a moment's time, and all those stupid misunderstandings the rest of the Wardens had about Tamriel and vice-versa could have been eliminated. "Thank you for explaining that to me." The elf nodded with his mouth full of potatoes and carrots. "Are you getting use to the idea of sleeping with others? Like with us?"

Suddenly shy, the elf looked down, concentrating over much on his dinner. He was hunched in again, and Duncan thought he wouldn't answer when Raviathan admitted very quietly, "You're not a stranger. I… I trust you."

Realization settled into Duncan with those little words that said so much more. He felt his throat constrict and took a swallow of ale to ease it. The elf had been showing him a deep trust and respect, and he hadn't even realized it. Was it all elves, or just this one who had such delicate emotional lives? Valendrian had said Raviathan showed a heightened sensitivity. That was true, but Tamriel's behavior was much clearer now that he learned just this one aspect of elven culture. It wasn't just this elf's sensitivity.

Raviathan was a bigger responsibility than Duncan had realized, but one that came with rewards as well. Alistair had made him feel that way shortly after he had conscripted the young man. The young, despondent templar had a desperate need for a father figure, and Duncan knew the boy had attached to him quickly, more than he had the rest of the Wardens. There had been only a handful Duncan had confessed his nightmares to and what it meant. Alistair, despite being the most junior member, had been one of them.

Maybe he was getting overly sentimental in his final days, but Alistair and now Raviathan's affection touched him. He knew he shouldn't allow it. They would be mourning him all too soon, and if he wasn't careful it could show favoritism which could breed resentment from the others. Perhaps it was because he didn't have that much time left that he indulged in these relationships. They made him feel that his life had been worthy. After a long life of duty, it was a comfort that he was cared for.

That night as the two got ready for bed, Duncan made a decision. For whatever time he had left, Raviathan would bunk with him. He would have to talk to the other Wardens, and there might be some rumors about their relationship, but if he explained it carefully, how the boy helped keep the nightmares at bay, it might not be an issue for Raviathan when he was on his own with the Wardens. Duncan realized he was probably fooling himself, but now that he was nearing the end, he didn't care. Duncan got into the cold bed with the elf already there. The eyes flashed in the near darkness as they watched Duncan. The two hadn't said a word since Raviathan's confession.

In the short visits he had at the alienage and among the Dalish, he had noticed the easy affection elves shared with each other. They were very physical with many casual touches cementing emotional bonds. It would be a disaster if he misinterpreted the elf, but taking a chance, Duncan moved close to Raviathan in the bed. The eyes flashed as the elf shifted. With a small sigh of relief that he hadn't misjudged, Duncan felt the elf snuggle into the crook of his arm, using his chest as a pillow with an arm slung over his chest. Raviathan's weight was surprisingly light. "Good night, Rav."

"Night, Duncan," he said softly back.

The Archdemon did not intrude into his dreams.

~o~O~o~

"Rav," Duncan started the next morning as they walked next to a lake swollen from the recent rains. "I want you to be patient with the other Wardens. I've come to realize our cultures are quite different, and they need time to understand that. If they say something, don't immediately take offense and be willing to explain offenses."

"I'll try," Raviathan said, annoyed. "But if they call me knife ears…"

Duncan chuckled. He realized he did that a lot around the elf. "Then you have my permission to stand up for yourself. But you've seen how we've had misunderstandings. The Grey Wardens won't look down on you for being an elf, but sometimes it's easy to say the wrong thing without meaning to or understanding why it's wrong."

Raviathan didn't say anything. In truth he had known very few shems. Yesterday, not one of those villagers had said a single thing about him being an elf. Obviously they shouldn't insult the man they were looking to for healing, but it had been something of an experience. He had thought shems were callous and lacked any normal sense of empathy, but after he looked at the worried parents, especially the mother and father who had carried their sick boy in, he realized shems were more complex than he gave them credit for. They could care just as deeply, but those emotions were hidden. There was still a selfishness many of them had, and they could be unconscionably cruel, but there were redeeming aspects.

Instead of answering, he looked out over the eastern tendril of a lake. The morning sun glinted off the cloudy grey lake water. Ice rimmed the edge or the lake, the center rippling from the wind. Low hills squatted on the northern side, veiled behind the early fog. Shades of blue and a touch of pink from the sun gave depth and warmed the view. He had heard from other elves who moved to Denerim that it could take a week or more to travel there, but that hadn't really impressed upon him how big Ferelden was. For the most part he tried not to think of the family he left behind as such thoughts filled him with heartache. Instead he focused on the multitude of lakes they passed, the hills and rocky outcrops, the rise and fall of land he had never known existed. Playing squirrels and songbirds helped distract him, and for that he was grateful. More distractions couldn't hurt though.

"Where are you from, Duncan?"

"I was born in Highever."

The elf gave him a look as if he were being obtuse. "Fereldans are naturally light skinned."

"That may be, but I was still born in Highever."

"But you're not descended from Fereldans."

"Because I'm dark? You do realize that all Fereldans came from the north. Go back far enough, everyone here came from somewhere else."

"We're not talking about ancient history."

"What about you? You're also a native Fereldan."

"You know my mother was from Tevinter."

"Does that make you less of a Fereldan?"

"Fine. If you need to get specific about it. Where are your parents from?"

"Well, I met them in Highever."

Raviathan laughed. "Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Were your parents Fereldan?"

"The fact that your mother was born in Tevinter doesn't change the fact that she became Fereldan."

Raviathan threw up his hands. "Why won't you answer? Is it some secret? Will it cast doubt on your honor or label you treasonous?"

"It has before."

"You're having me on," Raviathan replied, eyeing the warrior.

Finding that the elf had little knowledge on the Orlesian occupation and rebellion, Duncan continued with the history lessons as well as he knew them. It wasn't until he started talking about Genevieve that he realized he was giving away too much. It was his own fault, but Raviathan was easy to talk to.

Thankfully, a new distraction found them. Duncan stopped Raviathan and pointed out a small pack of wolves trailing nearby at the edge of a wood. "Can you take them out?"

Raviathan unslung and strung his bow. "I'm not that good at archery. Not many opportunities to practice in the alienage."

"Just see what you can do," Duncan replied. "A few of them are blight wolves."

"Blight wolves?" Raviathan asked as he took aim and slowly exhaled.

"The taint that makes darkspawn dangerous has infected them. It makes them stronger and more aggressive, plus they spread the taint. The most obvious tell are hard spikes grow out of their fur." He watched as Raviathan's carefully aimed shot sped away. There was a yip of pain followed quickly with another arrow, and the first wolf was down. "Not bad at all."

There were a few misses, but the elf acquitted himself well taking down each wolf with two to three shots. The two blight wolves took five arrows each, but Raviathan's nerves were steady as they charged. "Well done," Duncan said clapping the elf on the shoulder. Raviathan grinned. unstrung his bow, then left to retrieve the arrows with Duncan following. "Beware of the blight wolves. Their blood is toxic."

"Is that true for all darkspawn blood?"

"Yes. If their blood gets into an open wound, it can cause blight plague to all but Grey Wardens. Blight plague is wasting illness. Some may be able to fight off the taint to a degree, but it will always be fatal given enough time."

"Then the regular soldiers are in danger. How do you keep them from catching blight plague?"

"We don't," Duncan said. "But there are less than two dozen Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We need the soldiers. That's the nature of sacrifice. We must all sacrifice because if we don't the darkspawn will cover all the nation and beyond."

Raviathan had stopped as the weight of that decision dawned on him. The burden of that knowledge was painful. "Do the soldiers know that?"

"I don't think so, or at least not completely. We have explained the nature of the taint to the generals and captains, and it is their job to make the rest understand." Cailan was a problem that had been troubling Duncan since the hoard showed itself in the south. They desperately needed his support, but the king was far too inexperienced and incautious. Even this elf who had lived his whole life in a tiny ghetto, who had none of the benefits of advisers or tutors, could make better decisions. The manipulation of Cailan was depressing, but it was necessary.

"So," Raviathan asked as they neared the first of the downed wolves, "what are the symptoms of blight plague?"

"Those infected by the taint become confused and weaken. However, there are occasionally animals who survive the initial stages. They mutate." Duncan knelt by one of the blight wolves and used it knife to raise one of the spikes sticking out of its side. "See this? They're hard enough to act as armor, and sharp. Like rabies, the animals are mad and very aggressive. Most animals avoid darkspawn. They sense the taint and run from it as they would a fire.""

"I… I feel it." Raviathan remained ten paces away, staring at the animal. "Duncan. It's so awful. The taint. What is it?"

"What do you know of the first darkspawn?" Maker's breath, the boy was sensitive. Most people could feel the terrible unnaturalness of the taint, but not to that degree. Alistair had shown a keen sensitivity, more than any recruit Duncan had seen in his long years as Commander. Considering Alistair's lineage, his sensitivity to the taint, and the power the taint induced dreams had on him, had been unfortunate if not unexpected.

If Raviathan survived, the Wardens would have two who would be capable of tracking in a few years. Trackers had a rare talent for being able to distinguish the taint signature of a Warden and could follow it like a bloodhound on a scent trail. They could sense darkspawn from further distances, with greater accuracy, and eventually understand darkspawn communication. Trackers paid a heavy price for their gifts. Taint induced dreams left them screaming, and their resistance to the taint was not as strong, their life spans further reduced than their fellows.

Raviathan backed away, his eyes focused on the blight wolf. He sat on a rock near the long lake, one in a series of the chains that led to Lake Calenhad. The day was as sunny as it had been moments ago, but the profound wrongness of the taint brought a chill to the air that had nothing to do with the cold southern wind.

"I know the story of the Tevinter Archons," Raviathan began, his arms crossed over his stomach. He appeared sickened, his skin a shade paler. "From the historical and religious accounts, the most powerful of the Tevinter mages came together with the goal of walking in the Golden City, Seat of the Maker. They used up half the lyrium in the land and slaughtered many thousands of elven slaves in a blood magic ritual. That ritual transported their physical bodies to the Fade, not just their spirits. That ritual broke the veil that separates our worlds. Dark magic like that had never been attempted before or since. Partly because of the expense of lyrium and lives used to power the ritual, but also because of the damage those mages wrought. The birth of the darkspawn.

"There are… different theories though. One is that the Maker, enraged—by the hubris of man, by the slaughter of thousands of lives, by the humans who dared to follow other gods, by the corruption of His throne, by Andraste only knows what—cast the mages back. The Black Divine in Tevinter says that the corruption of the Fade followed the mages. The White Divine of Orlais says the Maker made the darkness of the mages' hearts real, cursed them with it. Such is how the first darkspawn were begotten. The Maker's plague upon the world.

"And still the Black and White Divines fight. A great irony is that the mages outside of Tevinter pay for the Archon's hubris, while in Tevinter they still rule."

His focus turned inward, Raviathan continued. "But there are non-religious theories, too. A possibility is that the mages communicated extensively with demons and perhaps their own gods in order to learn the ritual. Demons, in their hunger for true life, took advantage of the mages' equal hunger for glory. Breaking the laws of magic and physics may have transformed the demons they worked with, stripped away their intellect and brought only their accumulated evil. Or the demons betrayed them and corrupted the ritual in an effort to break open the veil. Either way, the effect was the same.

"One theory is that because the ritual had never been performed, the mages miscast. Could be that the darkspawn resulted from a simple mistake. The power raised was too much for the acolytes to handle, or that the casting itself suffered from lack of preparation. Killing so many people for the ritual something of a logistical nightmare, let alone harvesting and holding that much power."

Raviathan stood and walked over to the blight wolf with his hand extended. He tested the boundary of the taint that radiated off the wolf. "Can you imagine? All the death and pain the darkspawn have caused? All from something as small and stupid as mage with a hangover miscasting at the crucial moment? It's a possibility though, considering how that there has never been so complex a spell performed."

The taint was like heat in that its darkness radiated, growing weaker the further away he was from the source. Just the prickles of wrongness started to make the tips of Raviathan's fingers itch. How could he describe the wrongness of this feeling? Not just itch, but like his blood had turned to gravel, grinding him up from the inside.

"One thing most theorists agree on is that the mages went to what was known as the Golden City," Raviathan continued only half aware of his words. "The Golden City was inaccessible to all, even Fade spirits. That City changed after the ritual, but the reason may not be divine. Could be that the City was really a prison for a great evil, and the mages unleashed that evil. The evil tainted the City then followed the path the mages had created to our realm."

His bones felt like they were splintering inside his hand. How could Duncan stand to be so close to the taint? Just the smell alone. Rot was at least part of their world. This didn't smell like old blood or rot or even infection. Acidic bile and offal were the closest scents Raviathan could link it to, but even they were natural. This was wholly separate.

"My people are much more likely to be born with mage talent than a human. Our souls are tied to the Fade as no other creature is. All that death. All those lives sacrificed. That alone thins and can tear the Veil that separates our realms. The Fade, suddenly swarmed with fresh souls, along with all the power generated with blood magic and lyrium, was ripe for tampering. The elves, perhaps one or many with untapped talent, in one supreme moment of suffering and vengeance, cursed the Tevinter mages when they were at their most vulnerable."

No longer able to stand the feeling of the taint, Raviathan returned to the stone, his head bent and arms over his stomach as if he was going to be sick. Twittering birds that had sounded musical before now graded against Raviathan's ears, the contrast too sharp.

"Another theory is that the taint isn't anything divine, just a fall out from breaking the physics of our realms. The premise is that the mages were already utterly corrupt. That they would even do such a ritual testifies to their moral state. Forcing their physical bodies into the Fade resulted in an equal element of the Fade getting forced back into our realm. The part of the Fade that was forced came from the mages, bringing the darkness of their souls into the world. That darkness is the taint."

Overwhelmed, Duncan blinked. "Where in the Maker's name did you learn all of this?"

"I, um," Raviathan gave him a sly if weak smile. "When I was young, I used to sneak into a bann's library at night to read."

Astonished out of conscious thought, Duncan sat next to his recruit. Were there going to be no end of surprises with this lad?

"I've got a pretty good story about that."

"No doubt," Duncan snorted, putting an arm around the elf. The boy looked like he needed a stiff drink. "So you already knew something of what the taint is."

"It was all intellectual before," Raviathan said, sounding far off as he regarded the blight wolf. "Words only. I never expected to… to feel it. Like heat radiating from a bonfire. Duncan, I've thought about morality all the time. What's good and bad, the ethics of competing moral standards. Is it better to save a few at the risk of many? Steal bread to save your loved ones? Even when it was practical… do we have the right to throw a child out of the alienage? Children don't know the consequences to the degree an adult does. Is it fair to ruin their lives, take away the only protection they may have? What's good, what's evil? What is just? Right and wrong.

"But this? It's beyond all of that. Makes all those concerns seem like children's games. The questions we ask about moral behavior have real consequences, affect so many, but they're nothing in the face of… of that. When I first heard the story of how the darkspawn came to be, it couldn't prepare me for the sheer… wrongness. That's the taint?"

Duncan nodded.

"It's like turning the world upside down, but far, far worse. I felt like I was being turned in ways my body can't move. Like my stomach getting ripped out, the bones of my ribs prying open, snapping back so that I'm blood and slippery organs on the outside."

"That's a very accurate description. I've heard maggots under the skin, too."

"That crawly feeling? Yeah, kind of. But maggots belong to this world. That… that feeling of wrongness never did." Raviathan took Duncan's hand in both of his. He studied the warrior's rough hand as he thought. "And that's what you fight. What you want me to fight."

For the first time since he had walked out of Denerim's gates, Raviathan's thoughts of the alienage weren't made solely of loss. The faces of the people he loved shown bright in his mind. Pain lingered, but he no longer felt that he gave them up. They needed to be protected. They needed him.

'The Tide of Evil' was a cliché that populated child's stories. He and his mother had told countless stories to children, fantasies only, of dark mages or werewolves or darkspawn. Fears of a world too great, of overwhelming power, could be diminished by these stories. In stories they could contain their fear, control it. Raviathan was far enough away he didn't feel the twisting wrongness radiating from the blight wolf anymore, but the memory lingered, like the smell of burning.

The Fade had a connection to this world, but it was little beyond impressions. The love a child gave a toy animal could be seen in wear with only the vaguest impressions of the emotion that clung to the figure. Raviathan could feel the subtle flavors of meditative calm and creation his mother had infused in her lute. In the realm of the living, the Fade was real as music, untouchable, it's vibrations permeating physical structures, filling their world, but few could do more than get impressions.

This, the taint, was Fade energy, but the power of it seized Raviathan by the heart. The Fade covered all things like a thin mist—pervasive, but light, caught more in the periphery than direct sight. The taint was like an avalanche. There was no avoidance, no denial. It was fast, brutal, inescapable. There was no intellectualizing, no diminishing. The twisted wrongness of the taint was alive. As terrible as an avalanche was, it was passive. Mud and snow, a creating of physical forces. The taint lived. It sought. It wanted to destroy.

The soldiers who had carried out the purge when Raviathan was a child were savage beyond reason. They cared nothing for the lives they stole, the generation of pain they brought to the survivors. But they were men. They were sons and fathers, had wives, lived lives outside that time of madness as different people who obeyed laws and worked for their existence. The thugs who killed his mother were human, with all the complexities of humans. They were men who wanted survival in a hard world, and made that world harder as a result. The templars who killed his aunt were fanatics, hateful men who believed in the sanctity of their actions. But they believed they followed a righteous cause. Even Vaughan. Self centered, bastard that he was, was only a man. The evil all those men wrought upon the world, upon Raviathan and his kin, was caused by heartlessness. Those men didn't set out to do evil as some caricature in a story, cackling at the hapless hero. Those men just didn't care who they hurt, that they caused pain.

The taint sought destruction. It was evil. It was every act of rape, murder, betrayal, and violence without the corresponding humanity to check its path.

Raviathan ran his thumb over the dry skin of Duncan's hand. Scarred, arthritic, calloused, and strong.

He was one elf, one small link in a coat of armor, but so were they all. The links stood together. One little elf could do nothing to stop the tide of taint that swelled in the south. But he wasn't alone. He would be part of the Grey Wardens. He would fight along soldiers from all over the land, from cities and places he had never seen. Together, they would fight. What little strength he had, he would give. What he was asked to do was more than anything he could have envisioned in his life. A purpose greater than he ever thought possible.

His mother and aunt, by sword or scalpel, had protected their community, the people they loved. They had taught him what they could in the few years they had. Raviathan saw the image of his cousins, his father, all his friends, the children he had played with, Valendrian, Nesiara—Raviathan's heart squeezed tight at the thought of her. Then the damaged people of the village who sought his healing, Finnian, Molly, and so many other faces floated in his mind's eye. They all needed him.

Raviathan leaned down and kissed the palm of Duncan's hand. "Thank you, Duncan."