Voices slowly brought Raviathan back from the Fade. He rose to consciousness as if swimming up from a deep pool warmed by the sun. Amazing how a nap could rejuvenate a weary soul. He blinked as he took in his surroundings: trees and stone, fog muting the sun, dogs barking, the two humans arguing in the clearing before him. One was in mage robes while the other wore splint armor. Raviathan watched them, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Yes, I was disturbing you by delivering a message," the man in splint mail said. Raviathan couldn't help a smile. He stretched a bit, rotating his neck and shoulders, flexing his back to hear a multitude of pops. The dream of Nesiara had made him loose and warm as his time with the female soldiers had not. He remained curled up, content to watch the scene between the two. The man in splint mail was actually quite funny. He was good looking—for a human. Wide cheekbones and a strong jaw. A shade of peach fuzz gave him a rugged aspect that somehow complimented his military short, dark blond hair. He certainly had the build for a soldier.

The mage left in a huff of swirling robe. Raviathan thought the mage must have practiced that move just for the sake of being able to make a dramatic exit. The soldier stared off at the retreating mage, grumbling about Chantry mothers. Raviathan chuckled, and the soldier turned at the sound.

The soldier gaped at him. Shems had a habit of staring at him, but this man looked like he had been slapped upside the head with a fish.

"Cat got your tongue, shem?" Time for lunch anyway. Raviathan stretched out his legs then ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting rather long. He brushed off his cloak and picked up his sack of meager possessions and healer's kit. When he looked up, the shem was still staring at him. Raviathan frowned. "You need something?"

With a start, the human shook himself. "Sorry. You wouldn't happen to be Duncan's newest recruit, would you?"

"I am." Raviathan suppressed a sigh. Another shem who needed something? Would he ask Raviathan to collect twenty bear asses from the Wilds?

"Oh, good. I've been looking for you." A guileless smile added charm to the human's face.

"Is that so?" Raviathan finished settling his kit and sack so they were secure and out of his way.

"I'm Alistair, the most junior of the Grey Wardens. I'll be escorting you in the Wilds." His smile dropped. "Um, I'm sorry. I'm not good with names. They told me…"

"Rav." Raviathan quickened his pace to meet the human. This was one of the legendary Grey Wardens? He was so… goofy. "So we're definitely going into the Wilds then?"

"Oh. You've heard about that? It was supposed to be a secret."

Raviathan allowed a mysterious smile and left his comment at that.

"Huh. I think I'm going to have to watch out for you."

"Or just stay on my good side."

"Duly noted," Alistair said dryly. "Is that going to be difficult?"

Raviathan let out a breath. He did owe Duncan a better attempt than he had been making. "Duncan asked me to get along."

Alistair chuckled. "He said the same to me. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered delivering that message."

Despite his shortened temper, Raviathan found himself smiling in response. "You don't like mages?"

"Oh, I'm fine with mages. As long as they don't turn me into a toad, we get along swimmingly."

"Yes, I could see." So far Alistair seemed nice enough. Not that first impressions meant much with humans, fickle as their natures were.

"So," Alistair said to fill in the silence as they walked, "just out of curiosity, have you ever encountered a darkspawn before?"

"Have you?"

"Yes. Only once though. I just want to warn you before you see one. They can be terrifying creatures. The taint, once you feel it, it's like nothing else. Just remember, their blood may be black, but they bleed all the same. At least, that's what Duncan says."

Only fought darkspawn once? "Haven't you fought in the battles thus far?"

"Well, no." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been kept out of the main fighting. Work along the supply chain, relay messages, that sort of thing. Now that we have more recruits, I expect I'll be fighting soon. Tonight in all likelihood."

"How long have you been a Warden?"

"About six months now."

Raviathan mulled that information over. Alistair was still young. Perhaps Duncan wanted him to have more experience first. That still seemed overly cautious though. Was the human a coward, begging off fighting because he was afraid of the darkspawn?

"Yeah," Alistair continued to prattle on. "Duncan saw me at a tourney. I owe him a lot for recruiting me. Maker, anything to get me out of the templars was a blessing."

Heart thudding, Raviathan felt his blood turn to ice, little crystalline shards numbing his hands and feet. His stomach clenched as the hated word rang in his ears. Templar. Mage hunter. No, not in the Wardens. Not one of them.

Seemingly oblivious to Raviathan's reaction, the Templar chatted nonsense as he led Raviathan through the camp. A templar of all things! Why by the Maker's bloody ass did Duncan send a templar? He hadn't even warned Raviathan that there was a templar in the Wardens. Was this some kind of test?

Damn shems. Damn them all. Of course the nice, harmless looking shem would be a templar. There wasn't a single one of them who wasn't a backstabbing, lying, traitorous…

"…according to legend, the fog around here was caused by werewolves ages ago. Don't know exactly how they managed that. Werewolves creating fog. Do they emit mist or something?"

…idiotic, overbearing, ruthless…

"Then there are those stories about dryads and wisps luring people to their deaths. Who would follow a strange, bobbing light in the forest though? You'd have to be nutters to leave common sense behind like that."

…disgusting son of a bastard. Bastards the lot of them. Bastards and sons of bastards.

"There's Ser Jory and Daveth now."

The only thing that calmed Raviathan's anger was Duncan's look of shock at seeing the templar. "Alistair. I ordered Tamriel to gather the recruits."

"Yes, Duncan, but the King wanted to speak him, so he asked me. Besides, it's the most junior Warden who escorts the new recruits." Alistair shifted nervously as if worried he had done something wrong. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Duncan said resuming his brisk manner as Commander.

Raviathan caught a quick flash of apology from Duncan, enough that he understood Duncan's intent without hinting to the others that there was sensitive information. A tiny bit of resentment lingered, but Raviathan knew he had already forgiven Duncan and was just waiting for his temper to settle. Raviathan's temper had been horrid today. He would need more than a nap to settle his nerves. Sleep and a respite from a looming battle would even him out.

"You three will be going into the Korcari Wilds."

Daveth's shoulders slumped while Jory's small eyes widened at the news. With a start, Raviathan recognized Jory as the pinheaded knight who had been at prayer earlier that morning. Oh, wonderful. Jory glanced at him, his lips thin, as a shared understanding that they were not going to be friends passed between them. Maker, how much worse could this day get? Not that Raviathan expected to get along with everyone in the Wardens, but first a templar and now this pompous bag of piety? Raviathan issued a mental stream of cursing that impressed even him. Maker's swollen, virulent cock. The rest of the Wardens were not looking promising.

His attention returned when crystal cut vials were handed to each recruit.

"As part of your Joining, you will be required to gather three vials of blood from darkspawn you have killed yourselves," Duncan said.

"But, but, isn't the blood toxic?" Jory asked.

"It is. However, you will be immune to that toxicity as a Grey Warden."

Jory glanced at the other two recruits, measuring their reactions. When he saw calm from Raviathan and Daveth, the knight's face pinched, the lines of his nostrils deepening as if he was standing by the privy runoff. "How long before the taint takes effect? Will we be able to return in time if we become tainted?"

"Most definitely," Duncan said. "This has been part of the Joining for ages. Conquering your fear of darkspawn and knowledge of the taint are required to be a part of our Order."

"Makes sense," Daveth said with a shrug.

"In addition," Duncan continued, "there was once an outpost here. The main hoard has shift further west, so the area should be passable by now. Though the outpost may be in ruins, I would like you to check for some treaties of the Grey Wardens. With the darkspawn forces amassing, we will need to remind certain parties of their obligations. Tension is growing among the dwarves last I visited Orzammar, and I am encountering greater resistance from the Circle. The treaties should only be a formality; however, luck favors the prepared."

"Treaties? Out here," Alistair asked, his brow furrowing. "Seems an odd place to stash them."

"During Sophia's time. The Wardens expected to return to the outpost when the civil war was over."

"All this time and in this climate?" Raviathan shook his head. "Parchment wouldn't last two hundred years."

"Lyrium etched," Duncan said.

Lyrium, Raviathan thought in wonder. He had heard his aunt's account of the substance, how it felt like pure magic being infused into her body. The suffuse of magic was intoxicating. Solyn said she felt like she was lighter than air, flying, that colors were brighter, that with the substance becoming one with her soul, all things seemed possible. The Chantry's control of the elixir meant that any lyrium that could be found outside the Circle was smuggled, worth as much as gold, and marked one instantly as an apostate or in league with apostates. While Solyn mourned the loss of the precious liquid, acquiring it would be worth more than their lives. Raviathan thrilled with the possibility of seeing the stuff even if it were unusable by him.

With the rest of the instructions given, the party moved out by the west gate and down the winding path that lead south then east to the wilds below. Alistair led as he was the only one who had been outside the main fortress. Daveth caught Raviathan's arm so the two could hang back from the others.

"Alright, elf. How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"That girl."

Raviathan blinked in shock then narrowed his eyes, giving the shem a disgusted glare. "I am not speaking of that. Do not ask again."

Daveth frowned at the elf. "Maker, you are a touchy one."

"Touchy?" He stopped, shoving Daveth so the two were facing each other. "What I do with a woman is none of your business. Do you understand that?"

Surprised, Daveth took a step back. "No. I mean, how'd you talk her into 'er tent? Surely that ain't a secret."

"You… want to know how I convinced her?"

"Yeah. You thought…" Daveth laughed, an easy sound, and Raviathan could see the laugh lines that would develop over the years. "No, nothing like that. Trust me, once I get them there, I know exactly what I'm doing." Hands on his hips, Daveth thrust his pelvis out, a cocky grin on his face. "Oh yeah. Only satisfied darlings in my wake."

His smile turning into a chuckle, Raviathan resumed walking. Daveth wasn't so bad, and it would be good to have an ally in the Wardens. "She wasn't hard."

"For you. Come on. Give a bloke some tips."

Ahead of them, Jory sniffed in disdain. Raviathan raised an eyebrow at the knight's back, but it wasn't like they were going to get along any time soon. Who cared what that shem thought.

"Two things you've got to understand," Raviathan said. "One, everyone here is afraid, so they're all looking for ways to relieve that stress. Add in some boredom as we wait around for a battle, that nervous energy needs a release. Some gamble, others spar."

"So why didn't she go for me?"

Raviathan shook his head. "Because you went about it all wrong. Look, she's pretty. She's got guys like you going after her from every direction. Her defenses are up, and all that attention makes some women feel slimy. They're tired of being pawed at and men only wanting to use them. What you do is not come on to her. Get her attention, see if you can make her laugh, be interesting, but don't be sexual. In fact, look like sex is the last thing on your mind. Once she's comfortable and interested, you start moving away. Have her come after you. That puts her in control, so she's the one deciding what she's going to do rather than being pressured by what you want from her."

Daveth looked gob smacked. "But, how do you know she'll follow you?"

"If you've been interesting, she'll being interested in return. I told you before; everyone is afraid. She wants the pressure of battle gone. Not be reminded of it," Raviathan said, emphasizing the last statement.

"Ah, Maker." Daveth's shoulders slumped, head leaning back in realization. "Never thought of it like that."

The two continued to talk as they moved further and further from the fortress. Twice Jory looked back at them in disgust, the second time earning a two fingered gesture from Daveth at his armored back.

Once they were in the valley, Raviathan glanced up at the fortress. From here the battlements seemed unassailable, lonely as mountain crags and as uncaring as it stared centuries out across the endless winds. Stone blended seamlessly from the rugged cliffs, the whole backdrop blurred by a haze of fog. The Tower of Ishal stood in lonely silence, a slowly crumbling soldier that had lost his purpose long ago. The scent of stale bog water permeated the air. Though the swamp was fertile with moss draped trees, mangroves, and thick clumps of vegetation, there was the underlying scent of decay.

The Wilds were like a rotting corpse with maggots feasting, death with life growing out of that death, Raviathan thought. A desiccated log teemed with a long row of bright purple mushrooms on pale stocks, no doubt poisonous. Life grew in this place, succumbed back into earth, and grew again, each time turning a shade darker. The Wilds were alive in the way a parasite is alive, leaching off a weakening host, killing its own source of life in a ruthless drive for survival. With care not to touch, Raviathan cut a few of the mushrooms with a knife, letting them fall into an empty jar he kept in his healer's kit.

"You know what that is?"

Raviathan glanced up at Daveth. The two knights had moved further down the path, Jory turning to cast another irritated glance their way. Jory was worse than some nervous aunt fluttering over them, Raviathan thought. "Looks poisonous. Thought I'd check them out later."

"Heh. Exotic too. Won't be many who know what it is or how to respond."

The mist clung to Raviathan like a cold sweat, making his clothing and armor an irritant. Speaking of irritants… Raviathan glanced up to see the other two were far enough ahead not to overhear them. "Say, what do you know about Alistair?"

"Him?" The rogues resumed following, their voices hushed in confidential tones. "Nice enough guy. Been itching to fight. Decent fighter, so I don't know why they're keeping him out of the battles. He and Duncan are really close."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Follows the old man around like a puppy. Duncan favors him too. Not so much it's a problem for the rest of the Wardens, but I see it. Wardens are fond of Alistair too, like he's everyone's little brother." Daveth shrugged. "Eh. The old man is fair, so it don't bother me none."

Nibbling his lip, Raviathan thought that over. Duncan wouldn't know to warn him about Alistair until last night. Given what happened with the darkspawn ambush, Duncan forgetting was understandable. In fact, his Commander was probably overwhelmed with concerns now that they had joined the rest of the army. That Duncan favored Alistair might be troublesome if Raviathan hadn't caught the flash of apology from his Commander. What in the Maker's name was he going to do about the templar though? Were the Wardens truly immune from the politics of the Chantry? Unease turned Raviathan's stomach as he watched the mage hunter's back.

Distance was difficult to measure in the Wilds as the path twisted, vision reduced to the next bend of moss dripping tees, looping vines, and enveloping mist. Only the occasional lake allowed any depth to the forest, a dark mirror with a sporadic ripple from some unseen underwater dweller snapping an insect out of the thick air. Frogs and insects hummed, a continuous drone that reduced Raviathan's ability to sense sound. He felt like he walked with a layer of wet wool wrapped around his head, the fog of the swamp slowing his mind, making him feel half asleep and dull.

The heavy copper stench was their only warning. Rounding a bend, the bodies of humans littered a small clearing. Raviathan gazed at the bodies, his chest tightening. Why should he be effected so? He had caused a greater loss of life at Vaughan's estate. Blood and fire filled his memory, emotions he couldn't name chasing him down. Pools or deepening red absorbed by soil, absorbed by carpets. Armored bodies, scattered, cut, ripped, blood pouring out like water from a cracked jug.

"Darkspawn," Alistair said.

"Darkspawn did all this?" Jory turned a sickly, almost green shade.

Couldn't he feel the taint? Raviathan shut the memories down. He couldn't afford such distractions now they were now in dangerous territory. This was the discipline his aunt had taught him, the ability to shut down his emotions so he could heal his friends and neighbors, the cold, clinical distance necessary for him to work effectively instead of giving in to the panic his love wanted to let flow.

The taint on the soldiers was not as strong as the blight wolves, but it was as pervasive as the mist. A dozen or so men lay in the clearing. Kneeling, Raviathan examined the soldiers' wounds while Daveth inspected the bodies for coin. The wounds were rough, jagged tears, more like the rip of lacerations than cuts from a weapon. Raviathan would expect that kind of injury from an animal's teeth but these were longer. Claws perhaps? Shrieks would leave these types of injuries, but Duncan said those darkspawn were very rare. Besides, the wounds were not in rows like claws would make. If not claws, darkspawn weaponry must be primitive.

A moan brought Raviathan from his thoughts.

"Well. Looks like he's not completely dead," Alistair said when one of the soldiers moved.

What an assholish thing to say! But then, why should he be surprised that templars lacked any sense of compassion. Pulling his healer's kit around Raviathan hurried to the soldier. After fumbling with the soldier's armor, Raviathan examined the wound in his side. He spoke as he worked. "It's not deep. I'm going to pack elfroot over your wound. That will disinfect and start the healing. Once you're back at the fortress, you'll need stitches. Are you injured anywhere else?"

"My… thigh." The soldier gestured.

"Daveth, hold his head up and give him water. Not too fast, just sips." Raviathan had to cut the man's trousers away. "You're lucky. A few more inches and your artery would have been damaged."

"Lucky?" Jory said. "A scouting party, dead except one man? The Grey Wardens must have gathered enough blood by now. Why are we even here?"

"Seriously?" Raviathan raised an eyebrow at Jory, his hands wrapping up the soldier's injury with oft practice care. "You want to be a Grey Warden? What do you think we'll be asked to do?"

"Not collect blood for no reason," Jory countered. "Battle I understand, but only the four of us out here? This is just busy work. I expect better tactics from the Wardens."

"Calm," Alistair said. Raviathan's jaw tightened at the templar's attempt at a soothing voice. Damn bloody hypocrite. No good mage hunting psychopath. "Ser Jory, we'll be fine. We're not near the main horde."

"These scouts weren't fine!" The knight blustered. "A dozen men. Killed. What chance do the four of us have? This is reckless."

"Careful you don't wet your armor, ser knight," Daveth said, winking at Raviathan.

"I am not a coward, or a degenerate," Jory sneered. "I have a wife heavy with child. I'm not going to through my life away on some pointless task."

Wife? Child? Duncan hadn't told him? The other Wardens hadn't said anything? "Help me get him to his feet," Raviathan said to Daveth. "We'll get you back to camp."

"I can make it," the soldier said.

"We must complete our tasks and be back before sunset," Alistair said.

"We're ten minutes or so from the perimeter guards." Raviathan stood and glared, one of the soldier's arms over his shoulders. "We're going to help him that far."

"We don't have time," Alistair continued, but Raviathan ignored him. He started back, and Daveth, holding the soldier from the other side, had no choice but to follow. "But…" Alistair said to the elf's back. "We don't have time."

Alistair blinked. After a moment, shoulders slumping, he followed.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan tugged at his clothes, hating the way they clung. All the cold mist was making him feel dirty and weighed down. Raviathan rotated his arms in large circles to help ease the hold of chilled numbness in his hands. The mist coated the Wilds so that even the sun was only a suggestion. Raviathan wondered if this was how it felt to go slowly blind, the grey swallowing up details and color.

"Why do you even want to be a Warden," Daveth asked Jory. "You do realize they fight darkspawn, don't you?"

"I am not a fool." Raviathan didn't glance back at the knight's statement though he did want to contest it. "I've been in battle before. Real battle," Jory said with contempt. "There is a great difference between matched combatants and walking into danger with foolhardy abandon."

"Quiet," Raviathan said, pitching his voice low and solid with authority. Just like the children in the alienage, the two obeyed. For love of the Maker, those two had been arguing since they started back into the Wilds. Raviathan paused, cupping a hand around one ear. His head turned in quick movements, like a bird, as he tried to pinpoint the sounds that had caught his attention. "Stay here."

Crouched low, Raviathan scurried up the hill on his hands and toe tips. He slowed when he reached the top, careful to stay behind the ferns that covered the top of the grassy hill. The darkspawn were too far away for him to feel their taint. Raviathan glanced back at the party below, put a finger to his lips, then beckoned them forward to see the battle.

Wolves and darkspawn squared off. The wolves were panicked, corned by ruins on one side and darkspawn on the other three. Raviathan recognized a genlock from the corpse back at camp. Human sized darkspawn, which must be hurlocks based on Duncan's description, stalked forth with large, wickedly curved swords at the ready. The wolves barked and howled, backing further against the stone ruins.

Raviathan had never liked wolves. They were responsible for food shortages, killing off much needed protein, driving up already high prices on scarce goods. Elves travelling to their new city for marriage were attacked during winter, sometimes leaving scars for him to heal, sometimes leaving a family bereft. Seeing the wolves attacked now held no satisfaction for Raviathan. He understood their fear too well.

"Should we attack?" Daveth whispered.

"Let them soften each other up first," Jory said.

For the first time, Raviathan was in agreement with Jory. If they intervened and killed the darkspawn, the wolves could run or just as likely attack them in panic. No matter how much he disliked wolves, Raviathan couldn't help but feel he was being mercenary.

A shriek of pain sliced the air as a burning arrow pierced a wolf's side. The genlocks, three of them, took aim and fired again. Two wolves shot forward. One leapt high, taking a hurlock by the throat, while the other hit low. The hurlock fell to the ground, the wolves savaging him. Even as they bit, the wolves whined in confusion and pain. The taint, Raviathan realized. No matter what the outcome of the fight was, these animals were dead. They were either killed outright by the darkspawn or were poisoned by the taint. Raviathan felt sick. He didn't like wolves, but this was needlessly cruel.

The last of the wolves killed, Raviathan and the others moved to kill the remaining darkspawn. Staying under cover of the brush, Raviathan and Daveth shot arrows at the remaining monsters. The last hurlock charged them while the three genlocks fired in return. Alistair and Jory met the hurlock in a side depression of the hill that helped keep them out of line from the arrows. Metal rang out as they fought. The death cries of the genlocks were like nothing Raviathan had ever heard. Not quite a growl or a mewl, the squat monsters dropped with a guttural sound like deep earth groaning.

A dark laugh vibrated into Raviathan's bones like low thunder, and Raviathan felt a chill crawl up his spine like a spawning nest of spiders. The unnaturalness of the taint pushed at him like a physical force, pressing against his throat, choking, nauseous. Hidden by the ruins before, a huge hurlock started forward in an overly smooth, bent knee gate as if the creature was a shade and not fully of this world. The heavy muscle of the large darkspawn was at odds with its starved frame. Hip bones jutted from a narrow waist, but the hurlock's shoulders were half as wide as Raviathan was tall. Thin horns curved out of its helmet, the only piece of armor that was not in shambles. The rest, chunks of stiff leather and drapes of broken chainmail, covered parts of the monster in a hodgepodge.

The hunched monster raised two wickedly curved blades, a style of sword Raviathan had never seen before. That monster was laughing. Those things were capable of laughter? Raviathan's arrow went wide, his hands trembling too much to shoot well. He fell to one knee, head bowed, as he fought not to throw up.

"Wake up, elf." Daveth shook his shoulder. "Just pretend that thing called you knife ears."

Thankful for Daveth's presence, Raviathan managed a weak smile. The jest was the distraction he needed to distance himself from the pressure of the taint. He examined the lumbering monster headed towards the knights. The darkspawn's size intimidated him, but at least he could see this creature unlike the shadow stalkers from the previous evening.

Raviathan and Daveth slung their bows then moved to intercept the bigger hurlock, swords and knives drawn. The two of them were better suited to sneaking or flanking a foe then a head on fight. With surprising ease, Raviathan found he could coordinate with Daveth only a few words or looks. Just the way Daveth's quick footwork led him to the monster's right flank, Raviathan knew he was to keep the hurlock's attention. Raviathan would be the defender, pressing the hurlock to keep the monster's attention on him, while Daveth would take offense at the rear.

Whirling his blades in a flash of display, Raviathan kept the hurlock's attention as Daveth thrust his sword upward, into the hurlock's torso and further inside the monster's wide ribcage. Aside from a roar, the monster seemed unaffected. It didn't slow, didn't even hesitate to bring its blades down to slice at Raviathan. Raviathan knelt, catching the monster's swords in the crux of an X made by his own blades. The hurlock was double his weight, most of that muscle, forcing him down with a grunt of pain, his shoulders on fire from shock and strain. Daveth continued to poke at the monster's back with all the effect of a mosquito.

Air whooshed over Raviathan's head, and Jory's claymore bit halfway into the hurlock's throat. Black blood sputtered out, raining down on Raviathan in fat, burning drops. Revolted, Raviathan leaped back from his kneeling position, misjudged his balance on the wet slope of grass, tried to regain it in a few back steps, a series of ridiculous hops, and finally landed on his ass to skid halfway down the slope. Raviathan didn't care that the others were laughing at him. He scrapped his face against the grass in an desperate attempt to get the burning blood off his face. Maker help him, it was in his hair. How by the Fires was he going to get the sticky stuff out of his hair?

"Be thankful, elf," Jory said, a smirk twisting his mouth.

Raviathan wanted to punch him in his fat, broken, potato like nose. "Yeah. Thanks for getting that tainted blood all over me."

"Andraste bless my sword, let it always protect my brothers," Jory intoned.

Snatching his blades from the ground, Raviathan stomped up to the large hurlock to get his vial filled.

"Now, now," Jory said, the smug smile still on his face. "The blood has to come from a darkspawn you killed. Personally."

Insufferable shems. Ignoring the idiot, Raviathan stooped to the hurlock and used his knife to pry the wound so the thick blood would run without touching his fingers. At the sound of a slap, he looked back over his shoulder. Jory and Daveth glared at each other. Though Raviathan wasn't sure what happened, he knew those two caused the sound.

"Let him alone, you bloody pillock," Daveth said.

"Keep your hands off me," Jory said.

"Oh-ho. Look who's grown a spine all sudden like."

"Duncan said we needed to kill the darkspawn ourselves."

"So? See those wee little beasties over there." Daveth pointed to the dead genlocks laying like lumps of cancer on the land. "Tainted blood is tainted blood."

"Then he can take their tainted blood if he was the one who killed them. This is my kill."

Maker's ass, Raviathan thought with an inward groan. He was going to be stuck with that idiot in the Wardens for how many years? As if the templar weren't bad enough.

"We kept that thing off you," Daveth continued, a finger pointing but not touching Jory's chest. The fight was getting worse, but that templar just stood there like a lazy toad. Wasn't he supposed to lead them, or guide at the very least? "Took you long enough with that bit of wimp. How'd you think you'd do with this hulk coming down on you. You should be thankful, ser Knight of the Armor Puddles."

Jory raised a fist, but Raviathan stepped between them to push Jory's arm back. "Stop it! Both of you. Daveth, thank you for defending me, but you go too far. Jory, as a knight, you should remember your honor. Now," Raviathan continued before either man could object, "get your vials and fill them. We still have to find the treaties and get back or risk being caught off-footed in the battle tonight. Kill each other after the battle if you must, but for now you will remember we are in hostile territory. This is not the time to lose your heads."

Jory opened his mouth to speak, but at Raviathan's hard stare, closed it. Raviathan could see the knight's resentment, but there was also resignation. At least for now the knight would listen.

Curious, Raviathan walked up the slope to the ruins as the other two filled their own vials. At the top was the freshly killed body of a human, half his side devoured by the wolves. Flat brown hair, a young face with wide features, the acolyte lay in his tattered robes that gave him no protection from the beasts of this world. The body's bowels were pierced, evident by the stench of waste. Death held no dignity, not for anyone. Not for kings or elves or the faithful.

The man wore the robes of an Andrastian acolyte. The only reason for a follower of Andraste to be out here was to convert followers. Wolves come in all shapes, Raviathan thought as he gazed at the placid face, the acolyte's soul now far from pain. Wolves in the shape of monsters, wolves in the shape of pious men, both preyed on the vulnerable in their own ways. Raviathan found a small wooden flute, a leather bound holy book, and the man's journal.

A cursory glance of the journal proved Raviathan's suspicions that the man was indeed a missionary, although, instead of Dalish as Raviathan had initially thought, the human had taken on the dubious task of converting Chasind. If half of what Daveth had said was true, this dead man was a faith blinded fool. The acolyte's journal started off recounting his efforts to save the heathens, but as Raviathan continued to flip forward, more and more details focused on the lives of the Chasind. Sketches of types of dress, observations of behavior, and brief bits of tribal history pointed to a man more receptive to the Chasind's way than Raviathan had given him credit for.

Raviathan blew on the whistle, testing out the incomplete notes the acolyte had scribbled down. A mellow sound, soft edged like wind blowing over reeds, carried the tune that resembled bird song. Perhaps the music was too fast for the acolyte to recapture as only a few notes were depicted. Perhaps the acolyte didn't know much about music. Skimming another few pages, Raviathan saw the acolyte's handwriting change to an excited scrawl as the simple, little tunes equated to messages the Chasind sent each other. How clever, Raviathan thought. An outsider would only hear the same background sounds of the swamp while the Chasind could coordinate an attack or communicate with other tribes at a safe distance.

"What was that," an annoyed voice drawled.

None of you business, Raviathan thought at the templar who finished climbing the last few yards up the hill. The other two were at his heals, pointedly ignoring each other.

"Missionary killed by the wolves," Raviathan said.

Alistair lowered his head and recited a prayer for the fallen. Jory dipped his head as well, a closed fist over his heart. Raviathan kept from rolling his eyes at the display. The Maker took this man's soul to His side or he did not. Some scant mutterings would not be heard as no prayers were ever heard anymore. The days of the Maker's mercy were long gone.

At the sound of whines, Raviathan left the knights to their pretensions. Behind the ruins, the hill dropped low to a lake, the Wilds a dull green labyrinth that faded into mist. Small yowling growls carried up from a ledge set in the steep slope. Listening carefully, Raviathan lowered himself to the ledge, following it to a small den hidden by brush.

Inside the den were wolf pups. Raviathan's chest contracted in a deep ache as he stared at the sight. This is why the wolves didn't try to break through the darkspawn. Three cubs, but two were dead. One had a pool of bile spread out from its mouth, his fur broken open with spikes, bones twisted until the little creature broke. The second dead pup had been savaged before the taint could take effect. Tiny teeth holes pointed to fratricide. The living brother snarled, snapped wildly as the sick mabari had, growled with red eyes staring rage and madness. The cub shivered, emitted a pain filled squeal that choked off as its head twisted. Ripping sounded as fresh blood splattered the cave in tiny droplets. Bone spikes stuck out of the cub's neck. It gnashed its teeth, cutting up its tongue in the process.

Maker's breath. What kind of world was this to be so cruel?

~o~O~o~

Alistair glanced around, concern furrowing his brow as he searched. Just before he called out, Alistair spied the elf walking up from the far side of the ruins. "Oh. There you are. Don't walk off like that, not without telling the rest of us. It's still dangerous out here."

The elf didn't speak. He knelt by the priest to use a section of robe to clean blood off his dagger.

"Did something happen?" Alistair asked. "I didn't sense any darkspawn that way. Not near here at least."

"It's nothing."

Alistair frowned at the elf in confusion. That a voice that deep and strong came from such a small man disconcerted him, almost as much as seeing those jewel bright cat eyes blinking at him back at Ostagar. Maker's breath but he was a strange one. As inscrutable as a stone wall. Jory and Daveth were both easy to get to know over the past weeks, their views plainly made to any willing to hear.

Would Rav survive? Out of the three, he thought the elf had the least chance for survival. Duncan must have seen something in the recruit that Alistair was missing. The elf seemed too delicate and, despite the chat he had with Daveth concerning women which still made Alistair's ears burn, too refined. Part of what made Alistair laugh when the elf fell was that it was so unexpected, like a swan crashing into a tree.

That strange, little elf sparked a memory Alistair hadn't thought about in years. Lady Isolde had fine porcelain tea cups she had brought with her from Orlais, antiques inherited from her grandmother. Packed in softest cotton, each was exquisitely painted with tiny, perfect strokes to create vivid gardens, animated birds in flowering trees, or gently rolling landscapes so unlike the rough terrain of Ferelden Alistair knew as home. The cups were only brought out when another noble visited, and then only for an arlessa or higher. Alistair was never allowed to touch them and could only glimpse the finery under the harsh eyes of Lady Isolde.

The elf, curled up like a cat in the dappled sunlight, watching him quietly, had made Alistair think of those cups, how the elf and porcelain were both part of something that was beyond Alistair, just as those delicate tea cups would be amidst roughly hammered tin tankards. The beauty of that porcelain was fragile and far too easily broken. Alistair had broken one of those fine cups and had locked himself in a dungeon cell all day to hide from the Lady of Redcliffe's wrath.

Not that hiding had helped much. At least Lady Isolde had vented her copious amounts of frustration upon her Lord Husband before Alistair was found. By the late evening, she had only cold disdain for the lowly bastard boy, disdain that never left no matter how he had tried to placate her.

Why was he thinking about that now?

The elf continued down the slope without a backwards glance, leaving the others rushing to catch up.