Raviathan woke stiff and coughing in the hazy pink of dawn just before the sun rose. Moss hung from grey twisted trees, their naked winter limbs made the swamp seem more like a bog, a dead place. Rather than the noisy life swamps normally teemed with, everything here was grey and wet and dismal. The fog that cloaked the damp earth had coated him with a thick layer of mist as well. Between his sweat, the bog mist, and blood, Raviathan felt dirtier than he had ever been in his life. From the air to his armor, everything felt heavy.

After the endless haze, Raviathan wondered if the whole world had been swallowed by this dreary fog. Morrigan had been helpful in scrounging some food, mostly bitter roots or the occasional gamy squirrel, but rations were running low. The sun was so weak he couldn't be sure of the direction they traveled, though according to Alistair and Morrigan they were on the other side of the horde and should reach Lothering by noon. Progress often stalled, however, as they had to backtrack and take circuitous routes to avoid the darkspawn, Morrigan using a grotesque mixture of fermented darkspawn and animal blood to divert the attention of scouts.

Darkspawn stragglers and weather weren't their only problems. Aside from starving wolves, Morrigan cheerily pointed out the poisonous snakes that hung heavy and sluggish in the tree boughs. They were probably huddled in the ground now until the sun's meager light touched the outer mist. Raviathan's first lesson in wilderness survival had been to step on logs and look over instead of just hopping to the other side. The witch had smirked at him for that mistake, but Alistair hadn't even noticed as Raviathan had hopped in shock and nearly fell over. When they cooked the three foot snake for lunch, the templar had eaten with the ponderous chewing of a cow as he stared at the smoking fire. The meat could have been dog or darkspawn for all the shem cared.

His eyes itched from tiredness. Worse, Raviathan thought he'd never get the decaying smell of swamp out of his nose. Wet garbage that was left on its own and became slimy had that kind of smell, but even that was not as pervasive as the swamp rot stench. The fire made of wet wood smoked most of the night and was only a memory now. Fire or not, the numbness never left Raviathan. He sat up slowly and pulled the bits of moss out of his hair. After a few more coughs, he rubbed his arms and looked about.

Morrigan had turned into a bird, a woodpecker if he guessed the flash of color right, and took to the low branches during her watch. He didn't see her now, not that spotting a single bird was easy. For all he knew, she could have changed form just to tease them. Her magic fascinated him. His aunt had never told him about shapechangers. Perhaps it was rare enough that she didn't know of its existence.

Alistair was still rolled up on his side with his back to the fire. Raviathan glared at the still form. He hadn't wanted to press the man, not when he seemed about ready to burst into tears at any minute, but Raviathan needed answers. Half of what Raviathan said at Flemeth's hut had been to keep Alistair's spirits up. There was no way the two of them would be able to do anything on their own, reluctant witch to help them or not.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Raviathan pushed his stiff muscles so he could sit up. A little movement would help warm him, but right now he felt stuck as if he was struggling through mud. He carefully picked his way outside of camp to relieve his bladder. That templar was always watching him, and right now he could use a little privacy. He couldn't help Morrigan, but hopefully she was elsewhere. He wished he could do more than just empty his bladder, but the diet of astringent swamp roots and hard tack stuck in his intestines. Dirty, stiff, and obstructed, Raviathan made his miserable way back to camp.

Raviathan rubbed his hands to warm them then pulled his backpack closer so he could review the treaties in more detail as he had most mornings while Alistair slept. His eyes tightened in cold annoyance as the templar pawed at his nose and mumbled in his sleep. Out of any others who could possibly have survived, it had to be that templar. Raviathan sighed in frustration. He had been the one to make sure that templar had survived, too. Only yourself to blame, Rav.

So far the Orlesian Wardens could be counted out, though it was only conjecture at this point if they had been turned away. There had to be some way to contact the other Wardens. Maybe the Orlesian Wardens couldn't help directly if Loghain was blocking the passes, but a small party of three might find passage to Orlais. Morrigan could with her magic. They could warn the Wardens of what was happening, gather forces from other countries. If nothing else, they had the experience Raviathan was sorely lacking. If not Orlais, the Nevarra and the Free Marches weren't too far away.

Otherwise, they held the treaties for the Dalish, the Circle Mages, and the dwarves of Orzammar. Duncan had said the treaties were a formality, but with the Grey Wardens gone the paper took on new urgency. Strange how a few simple sheets of parchment held such power. With these in his hands, armies would form. Men and women would be pledged to service. They would leave their homes behind, their children. It seemed too grand to Raviathan to be real, like the shock of meeting Cailan. Kings were too high up, a force to be heard about but unseen by common people like him. They lived in another world apart from his little alienage, the world as he had known it for most of his life.

Though old and official, Raviathan didn't believe in their magic, and it did seem like a type magic to him. Raviathan's fingers tingled from the lyrium etching that kept the parchment intact despite the wear of weather or time. The insignias remained clear, unfaded in their detail. How could these little pieces of paper, even with the faint magical aura from the protective wards, be so powerful as to compel another's action? How was one little piece of paper supposed to form an army? In all likelihood he would show this scrap of parchment to a door guard and be shooed away if not laughed at. Even if they did believe him, how was a little slip of paper supposed to compel so many? How was one little elf supposed to end a Blight?

Raviathan traced the first treaty in his hands, the one for the Dalish. Raviathan ran his fingertips over the silver and green insignia and felt a little thrill from that simple touch. A stylized mask made of various forest leaves held the symbol of his kin. This was as close as he ever got to them. In the alienage they were more like myth to the point that even their existence was debated. His wild kin. They kept the old ways, the ways of his people, they way elves always should be. All the horrible things that happened to his family and kin did not happen to the Dalish. They didn't have humans invading at a whim to kidnap or rape them. They didn't have to deal with squalor or random death like the alienage elves did. They had no humans pulling their ears until they bled. Despite his misgivings concerning the treaties, it would be worth it just to see the Dalish.

Unlike the Dalish, Raviathan did not look forward to the Circle of Magi. With Duncan and the rest of the Wardens gone, he was another apostate, Grey Warden or no. That wasn't a chance he was ready to take. Maybe he could have Alistair go to the Circle. It would be a lot more fitting for a templar to go, and it should be just a formality. Raviathan and Morrigan could wait well away from the templars.

Orzammar was far to the north and nestled at the edge of the Frostbacks. The pass that led there would probably be covered in snow until late spring. Raviathan had seen a few dwarves in Denerim, but they were a rare lot, and he could never afford their fine armor and weapons so paid little attention to them.

Then there was this Arl Eamon. Raviathan's brows creased as he considered that. It was in the nature of nobles to be treacherous and all shems to be cruel. Shems had very different notions of honor, so much so it should be a different word they used. Besides, to the shems he was another knife ear. If they did go to Redcliffe, it would have to be Alistair again who talked to them. Alistair vouched for the man, for what little that was worth, but the Arl was under no obligation to give them aid.

According to Duncan, the governing powers were obligated to help Grey Wardens during a Blight, but aside from Duncan's word what proof was there? Especially now when there were no other Wardens to corroborate that the Blight was real. What proof did he have that this was a Blight or that he was even a Warden for that matter? Nightmares weren't proof. As a mage, he understood the power of dreams and the Fade, but he also knew that many did not. Beyond that, what evidence was there? Without evidence, what hope did they have for compelling Eamon or any of the nobles? The best proof he had was the darkspawn horde which would now move unchecked, but if the others thought the coming army was just a large raid, they would probably fight to protect their own holdings and not unite as a large enough force.

Raviathan's musings stopped when a beetle crawled over his boot. He flicked the thing off but didn't have the energy to smirk when it landed on Alistair. Disgruntled, Raviathan rose and stretched, trying to get some blood to move through frozen limbs. Should he wake Alistair up to start moving? The human struggled as much as he did. Another day in this swamp, and Raviathan would be sick.

At times Raviathan resented the templar like an ugly burn that kept scraping on his awareness. Between the two of them, Alistair was the one who had potential answers, about the Wardens, about Loghain, the one he needed to be able to talk to. With the templar weeping at any mention of the Wardens, Raviathan didn't dare bring up Duncan. Though Raviathan knew it wasn't fair to be so angry with the man, his frustration kept gnawing away his patience. If there was any hope to get a handle on what happened, he needed to understand Loghain.

He twisted, popping his joints, but when Alistair didn't wake, Raviathan returned to the log and his thoughts.

The general's motives were a mystery. He fought with Cailan, which demonstrated clear concern with the young king's abilities. Loghain wasn't a flatterer, which Raviathan had initially respected in the general; however, Loghain had handled the Cailan all wrong. Instead of putting down his ideas of glory which would only bring out the king's stubbornness, all he had to do was coax him.

Cailan was the type that responded eagerly to having his ego stroked as long as it wasn't obvious. It would have been easy to keep Cailan out of the battle. Just give him another fable about how his tactical ability, oh so wise beyond his years, true genius and bound to be put in the histories for ages to come, and the man would have sought that as his glory instead. Tell him to stand as a golden paragon on the rampart well away from the battle to give the men courage, a beacon of inspiration to reinvigorate their flagging hearts, and Cailan would have eaten it up.

Surely the great Hero of River Dane wouldn't kill Cailan, the king's army, or the Wardens because of his son in law's indiscretions? Would he? Loghain maybe many things, but spiteful when the lives of soldiers were at stake or the clear threat of darkspawn threatening his beloved land was anathema to all the general stood for.

Just like the last week of ruminating, all thoughts of Loghain lead to the same questions.

Raviathan ran his thumb over his lips as he considered Duncan's part in the manipulation of Cailan. There had been the precarious acceptance of the Wardens in Fereldan after their exile, but given Cailan's enthusiasm to be among the Wardens, Duncan's concerns couldn't have been because he was worried about another exile.

The Warden-Commander coaxed the king in order to get the troops he needed to fight the darkspawn, true. Duncan had been hesitant to talk about the king or his role in Fereldan politics. There seemed to be regret behind the hesitancy, but maybe Raviathan was reading too much into it. Still, the thought niggled at him. Whatever it takes to end the Blight. Wardens do what they must. What exactly was Duncan's part in this?

Oh, what did he know? What Raviathan had seen in his years in the alienage was the way their community could be divided, and when they were divided, less was done. Valendrian continued to persuade them to unite, but there was always something; exhaustion, despondency, Elva, that would keep the elves from having a clear voice or clear intentions. He couldn't compare the politics of the alienage to the wider politics of the nobles.

If his time with Duncan had told him anything, it was that humans had even less unity as a people. The strength of humans lay in their moderately larger size, their cruelness, and their capacity to breed extraordinary amounts of more humans. Inconsistency best described humans. Raviathan closed his eyes and thought about his mentor, how Duncan's large body had given him warmth as he adjusted to the world outside his alienage. Why couldn't more humans be like him?

The nature of human lords, however, was even more capricious. Though not cruel, Cailan had been a glory hound and eager for a chance to make a name for himself in history. As if being king wasn't enough. All that power, and he had access to the best tutors, libraries Raviathan could only dream about, but there was no wisdom. Raviathan had heard many times from his fellow elves that humans always wanted more. That adage hadn't been true with Duncan, but Cailan and the rest of the human lords and generals fit the statement too well.

After all these changes and only Duncan to cling to, Raviathan felt homesickness like a lead weight in his stomach. Soris' nervousness, his father's patience, Shianni's bright smile, sleeping with his wife's softness in his arms, it all ached deep to his bones. His life seemed less real without them. Too many changes, this thrust into a surreal whirlwind of violence and loss.

Discomfort tied him to the reality of the present, the anchor he needed to keep from feeling washed away. The grit in his misfit armor that chafed his skin or the headache from the dreary ever present fog tied him to the Maker's world. The alienage, as far away as it was now, held solid in his mind like a little glowing gem. That memory reminded him who he was and what he fought for. Misery made the rest real.

With a start Raviathan realized that Alistair was watching him. Raviathan shook himself and rolled the treaties back into their case before standing to warm up his muscles. He had let himself get too lost in thought. They weren't exactly safe, and that had been careless. Why was that mage hunter watching him anyway? Raviathan rolled his neck and shoulders hearing a few loud pops. Did the templar suspect anything? He might just be biding his time until they reach Lothering. Of all the Wardens to be stuck with, it would be his luck to have to deal with that damnable templar. He wanted the other Wardens of Orlais if for no other reason than to get some distance from the mage hunter. He wasn't sure if Alistair would actually turn him in, but he wouldn't take any chances if he could help it.

Sound didn't carry well in the fog coated swamp. Morrigan was smart enough to make her presence known instead of bursting into camp as they were on edge. "Ah," she said. "I see you are both awake. It is perhaps time to move on then."

Raviathan slung on his backpack, bow, and healer's bag. The swords and knives were already on. He rubbed his forehead as he waited for Alistair who was just as slow at rising as he had been. Raviathan spoke in a low voice to Morrigan as they started taking slow steps out of the camp clearing. "I hate this fog. It's like a miasma that invades my mind and makes everything unreal. I keep wanting to rub the sleep out of my eyes."

Morrigan shrugged, but her voice was pleasant. She could be surprisingly good at answering questions when the mood struck her. Conversations could be tricky though. Raviathan wasn't quite sure what would set off a biting remark just yet, but he was getting a feel for the witch. He had never been around someone who had been so isolated before. "I suppose I am used to it. The fog hides many things and can be a welcoming veil when one is in danger. The Chasind use it quite effectively when they war with each other."

"Did you often meet with the Chasind?"

"Almost never. My mother did on occasion have some interest in the men, but… I do not care to talk about it."

There was something in the witch's tone that made Raviathan consider her upbringing more. Flemeth hadn't struck him as matronly, and he wondered at the pain the woman unintentionally let show. She wasn't in the habit of hiding her emotions, but then growing up in the Wilds she wouldn't have had much cause.

Behind them Alistair crashed through the brush to make up the distance though they had kept their pace slow for him. Raviathan winced. He didn't have to be so loud. As much as he might want to, it wasn't like they were going to leave him behind in the swamp. Raviathan really wanted to talk to a fellow apostate without that damn templar hanging around. "Okay. Do you mind continuing your lessons on flora and fauna?"

That was greeted with a small laugh. "You are a most eager student. I am surprised."

"It's useful." Raviathan had already taken a number of the Wilds flowers that had helped the mabari at Ostagar. If it helped the dog then maybe it had some benefit that the Wardens could use as well. They were pressed in a compartment for later study and their seeds labeled in a vial.

"But you already have much knowledge on these subjects."

"Plants maybe. I've lived in a city all my life so the rest is very new. A fortnight ago I had never seen a living wolf before."

Morrigan stared at him in shock before shaking her head in wonder. "I could not imagine such a life. I find cities strange and confining."

"You've only been to Lothering before though?"

She nodded, moving a low branch out of her way. Raviathan stepped through before she let the branch go which snapped back to hit Alistair in the neck.

"Hey!"

The mages ignored him.

"True," she replied to Raviathan's comment. "It is too obvious I think for them to realize I am an outsider. There is much to their custom that is beyond me."

"Such as?"

Morrigan's face turned sour and the two walked a little more quickly to move away from Alistair. Instead of taking the hint for privacy, the templar crashed through the swamp faster to keep up. Maker, he was loud. Was he cracking every fallen branch underfoot just to be perverse? Raviathan had not been in many wild areas, but he took care to watch his step. Morrigan moved as silently as a snake through the underbrush.

"Where to start? There are so many little signals you give each other. How a nod of the head means 'yes' or understanding or thought but not acceptance or flirtation depending on how it's done. When to look at a person's face or when to look away. When to touch. There is entirely too much touching. I find it invasive all that constant touching."

She wouldn't care for elven life then. He loved the touch of his kin and friends. Raviathan's brows knit as he considered. He had always thought such nonverbal cues were intrinsic and natural. Perhaps they were learned after all. She probably got the basics of human interaction as he did, but the details remained unclear. "Can you communicate with other animals well?"

There was a sucking sound from behind them as Alistair pulled his foot out of a mud hole. That templar was completely hopeless. Strange, Raviathan mused. The templar was better in the more open areas of the swamp they had covered before the Joining ritual. He had even exuded a quiet authority and calm patience with the other humans. Morrigan let out an impatient huff directed at the templar as she answered. "I cannot read their minds and they have no language beyond a few sounds."

"But you can read their body language, can't you? Probably better than most people could."

"I… suppose." She cocked her head in thought. "I have noticed that humans stare sometimes to show interest. Most animals would take it as a sign of hostility, that you are trying to dominate them." That train of conversation got Morrigan to open up. Raviathan asked a few questions or murmured words of interest to keep her going. The lecture was interesting on its own, but it also explained a lot of Morrigan's behavior. When they first met she tended not to look at them for too long and when she did, there was that underscore of testing dominance. It had been subtle enough that he had passed it off as an odd affectation. Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious.

After an hour and a half of picking their way through the swamp they reached a thin trail. Their pace doubled with the sure earthen path, and they were out of the swamp in another half hour. Raviathan stretched, happy to see the sun again. Maybe now that achy cough would go away.

The party fell quiet as the path broadened to a true road. Morrigan seemed a touch forlorn as she left her familiar home. Raviathan could sympathize. He let his thoughts go back to introspection for the moment. He understood loss well and given that understanding he was being rather hard on Alistair. Mage hunter and shem the man may be, but he was also in mourning.

Should they try to contact the Orlesian Wardens? Raviathan didn't even know what city they were based in. His history was so spotty, his geography even more pathetic. He wished he knew more about Loghain and the Warden's history. Duncan had said the Ferelden compound was in Denerim. Although Raviathan had lived in Denerim his whole life he had not known that. Duncan had a gift for picking the most unprepared to be Wardens.

At that thought, Raviathan felt another flash of annoyance at Cailan. He suspected most nobles were just as dismissive of their libraries and tutors from what he heard from the elven servants who returned home with stories of bratty children who whined and played pranks rather than take the opportunity to actually learn. Cailan knew only the stories about glory and had none of the tactical training necessary for someone in his position.

Raviathan bit his lips. There was still so much about the situation that didn't make sense. Loghain's protests to Cailan had seemed earnest and were given with more emphasis than Duncan's passive warnings. Was the teyrn's treachery because of Cailan's infidelity? That didn't explain why the teyrn was willing to risk Wardens and soldiers alike just to get back at the king if that were true. Mass slaughter for the indiscretions of his son-in-law? The teyrn drove out the Orlesians some three decades ago, but it was Grey Wardens who were coming for the battle, not Orlesians. It wasn't a large enough force to threaten Ferelden in any case. That couldn't be the teyrn's motivation.

Desire for the throne was most likely so far. Perhaps he missed the authority after Cailan was old enough to take rule. He might not have minded when Cailan was a puppet to be told what to do, but as soon as the young man started having his own ideas, he became a nuisance.

Too late, Raviathan had heeded his father's advise about following politics. Knowing more about Anora, Loghain, and Cailan would have been helpful now. Maker's blood, it would have helped him see the battle strategies clearly before that slaughter had gone down.

The crumbling Imperial Highway rose high on his right with fields and scattered farms to the left and north. Evergreens and beech trees spotted the fields with the forest's edge in the distance. Each breath of clean air eased Raviathan, his lungs glad to be fully rid of the rotting swamp. The ubiquitous southern wind that brought the frozen air of the ice wastes north whipped hard through the trees by turns. At times the morning was chilly, but more often than not Raviathan found it invigorating. Clouds cast large shadows that sped across the fields. Long grasses, harried by the wind, undulated like ocean waves. Fereldan weather didn't get much clearer, the recent rain evident in the high greens of the rolling fields and new snow atop the distant mountains.

For a moment Raviathan let thoughts of Loghain and darkspawn go as he took in the sights. He wasn't as sore anymore from walking, and this was one of the few times he could appreciate the lands he travelled. He was going to have fantastic stories to tell when he got back to the alienage. At least these stories he could tell without getting in trouble.

Interrupting his thoughts was a great brown beast running north out of the swamp. The beast, a heavily muscled dog the size of a pony, stopped and sniffed at the air. Once the dog's brown eyes fixed on Raviathan, he doubled his pace. Once Raviathan realized the dog was heading straight for him, he knelt down to greet the animal. Morrigan frowned at the dog who thumped his ass on the ground in front of Raviathan and panted, his tongue lolling out of one side of his grinning jaws. At least the dog's breath didn't stink. Raviathan reached out a hand for the animal to sniff, but the dog was well beyond the formal greeting. With a chuckle at the animal's straightforward surety, Raviathan said, "You're the dog I helped back at Ostagar, aren't you."

The dog gave a happy bark and pushed his great head against Raviathan's outstretched hand. For the first time since the battle at Ostagar, the elf smiled and scratched the dog behind the ear. Alistair said, "Looks like he's chosen you."

"So this mangy mutt is going to be following us about now?" Morrigan said irritably. "Wonderful."

Alistair cooed at the dog. "He's not mangy."

At least his fellow Warden wasn't moping for a change. Maybe the bit of sun was doing him some good as well. Raviathan said to Morrigan, "I thought you liked animals."

"Creatures of the wild are to my tastes. Not these domesticated slobbering beasts who have forgotten what they were supposed to be." She huffed. "And he smells."

"The kennel master said something about imprinting." Raviathan said, trying to ignore the witch's remark. That comment on wild and domesticated hit too close to home considering his own thoughts on the Dalish and city elves. The dog whined and leaned his shoulder into Raviathan's chest. "Oh you're a charmer." He grinned, rubbing the dog's massive shoulder.

Alistair elaborated, "They choose only one master as their own but are loyal to that one master to their death. It's suppose to be very hard to get them reimprinted. Often they die when their master does."

Raviathan could hear the tears starting again in Alistair's voice. He pressed his jaw tight with annoyance. He understood mourning, but for love of the Maker they had a job to do. He squashed the little voice in his head that called him a hypocrite and turned his attention to the dozen or so men who were marching down the road. Were they part of Loghain's army? They didn't… move right. The dog tensed, his hard muscles like stone under his short coat, and growled at the group. With the sudden strength of a coiled snake striking, the dog leaped forward and raced for the group.

Alistair stared at the soldiers then whispered, "Darkspawn."

Raviathan's eyes went wide, and he ran full tilt for the group unsheathing both sword and dagger. Damn dog was going to get himself killed. They were hurlocks, pale maggot like skin stretched across wide, skeletal grins. The leader, wearing a horned helm that covered its face, laughed with a low menace that made Raviathan's skin want to jump off. The rest hissed, moving forward in that odd crawling centipede like gait that reeked of wrongness. There wasn't anything in the Maker's world that should move like that. Raviathan felt the taint in him wriggle and writhe under his skin.

At least he didn't have to feel bad for killing these monsters. They weren't guards hired to do a job. They didn't have souls. Raviathan's lips stretched back in a savage smile as his dagger swept the first sword strike away and his sword dove into the corrupted husk.

The chinking of splintmail armor sounded behind him as the tickling energies of magic prickled the skin at his back. He kicked the next hurlock in the knee, crippling the thing as another flanked so both were facing him, ready to attack. The templar's shield bashed into a third coming around Raviathan's right, stunning it and forcing it back. Raviathan scissored his blades, killing the stunned hurlock with quick swipe at the thing's neck. Black blood sprayed out. With a burst of magical energy, the hurlock to his left was encased in ice and shattered with a hard strike of his sword.

They moved the line back, cutting down each row. The taint in Raviathan's blood sang with adrenaline. What he didn't have in muscle he made up for in quickness and finesse and the taint that made him stronger had no problem killing its own kind. He could feel it now as he hadn't been able to that first night. It didn't exactly revel in death as much as it enjoyed violence. It enjoyed the rush, the challenge. It was faint, so much that Raviathan thought he imagined it, but there was a song that his blood was singing now. On the farthest reach of his awareness, he could feel the darkspawn, could sense their intentions and was just a split second faster in action. It wasn't much, but it was there.

Using Alistair's shield to keep his right flank protected, Raviathan thrust at the hurlocks to his front and left. He heard the dog snarl then the hurlock scrabbling out to his left was hauled down. The dog leapt on the spitting thing in an instant, tearing at its face. It was a short, brutal fight before they reached the large hurlock. They surrounded it, and between the elf, human, dog, and witch, the large darkspawn was down in seconds.

Blood hummed in Raviathan's ears as he looked about the corpses. No wonder the Wardens were strong. It wasn't just they chose the best as Duncan had said. The taint was ugly, was sin incarnate, and it was power. What would it be like in another few weeks when the taint finally settled? Raviathan leaned back against the fence and couldn't keep the wild grin off his face. It felt good to move again. His blood danced in the high of battle.

Alistair tossed his head back as he filled his lungs. "Maker… you're fast."

Raviathan chuckled as he took great gulps of air that seemed to clean the lingering traces of fog from his lungs. "Thanks."

A great brown furred mass bowled Raviathan over then started licking him like an earnest puppy. "Argh! What?" Raviathan covered his head and buried his face in the long grass by the side of the road. "Get off!" But couldn't stop laughing. Stupid dog. He was probably just as happy to be alive. If the dog survived drinking darkspawn blood, did that make him immune now too? Considering he probably just got some more of the black blood in him, Raviathan hoped so.

The wide tongue got part of his ear, making him shiver. "Stop it. For real."

The dog sat back with a wide doggy grin as Raviathan pawed at his wet ear.

"No. Don't you be happy about that." Raviathan stood and glared down at the dog who cocked his head in confusion. "No licking my ear," Raviathan scolded. "Ever. Is that understood?"

It was only after he caught Morrigan's condescending expression out of the corner of his eye that he realized that talking to the dog like that probably looked stupid. Oh who cares what the witch thinks. The dog understood him and bowed his head with a whine. "Alright," Raviathan said, scratching the dog's head then noticing the new grass stains on his blanket turned tunic. "Enough said." The dog perked up and the grin was back on Raviathan's face.

"What are you going to name him," Alistair asked.

At the templar's wistful tone, Raviathan looked up to see the human had a small smile of genuine if quiet mirth. His brown eyes had warmed again as they had when the two first met. "Um," Raviathan started as he looked back at the massive dog. "No idea really. Any suggestions?"

"How about annoying," Morrigan said, wrinkling her nose away from the dog.

Raviathan gave her a quick glare that had no heat before standing and wiping grass from his tunic. "Well, we could always just call him Dog."

"You can't call him Dog." Alistair huffed. "People don't go around calling you Elf."

Raviathan scowled. "No. They usually call me knife ears or hey you, get your lazy ass back to work."

"I… I didn't mean," Alistair started stammering.

Raviathan raised a hand. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped." The templar had finally showed another emotion beyond grief and he had to immediately pounce on him. Brilliant. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, fluffing it out to get rid of the last of the grass strands before wiping the rest off his tunic.

Alistair looked worriedly at the dog. "If he's swallowed any of that blood…"

"I don't think it'll be a problem," Raviathan said. "That's what he was sick with when I saw him. I helped the kennel master with his healing. I expect he's as much Grey Warden as we are."

"So there are three of us now? Good to know," Alistair said with a smile and scratched the dog's head.

Morrigan sniped, "Perhaps the Wardens should be more careful in their recruiting. We now have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest one of our party." Alistair frowned at her.

Feeling a trickle of sympathy, Raviathan tried to lighten the mood. "Maybe we could try for some fearsome chipmunks next. The darkspawn would never expect an army of little fuzzy Grey Wardens." Morrigan rolled her eyes, but Alistair chuckled.

"Darkspawn, darkspawn," Alistair mumbled. The dog gave a series of harsh barks as he pranced over the dead bodies. "I got it!" he said triumphantly. "Barkspawn!"

The mages stared at him.

"You have got to be kidding," Raviathan said in disbelieving horror.

"As I said," Morrigan added, "the dumbest one of our party."

This time Raviathan didn't try to help the templar. He watched as the dog bounced around the corpses, delighted with his kill. "Hmm. Perhaps something related to our position now. Make it representative."

"Hopeless?" Morrigan offered. This time Raviathan's glare did have heat. Alistair looked between the two of them noticing as the tension become wire tight. Even the dog stopped jumping around. Raviathan kept his gaze steady until she looked away.

"Um. Right," Alistair mumbled in the uncomfortable silence. "Well. There's only two of us. Justice? For what happened at Ostagar. Something like that?"

They watched the dog savage the large hurlock's breastplate as if it were a chew toy. Raviathan narrowed his eyes at the dog thoughtfully. "More like vengeance."

Alistair nibbled at the inside of his cheek. "That seems, well, harsh. True but harsh."

"It isn't just for Loghain," Raviathan said. "Loghain may have quit the field and left our comrades, but it was the darkspawn that did the actual killing. Vengeance against them. Against Loghain. Against the darkspawn." The resonant baritone of his voice reverberated off the high wall of the Imperial Highway. "For his former master," to which the dog gave him a serious look. They were all watching him intently now as he glared at the bodies in the road. The little elf seemed to change aspect before their eyes. By turns introspective and curious, he now seemed to focus the chill of winter through his voice. It was eerie, as if he had become a different person.

The wind that had been blowing steadily from the south became colder as the elf intoned, "For the King and soldiers who sacrificed their lives. For Duncan and all the Grey Wardens. They struck at us and shed the blood of heroes, brave men and women who fought, who gave their lives to protect this nation, its citizens. They took everything that was valuable at the worst time imaginable. It's our turn now. We are the Grey Wardens, and we do not shrink away in fear. We will not be broken by one man's treachery. We will turn the earth black with darkspawn blood. We will lay waste to all those who oppose us. The blood of the betrayed shall be repaid because we are the Grey Wardens, and we will have our vengeance."

Raviathan turned down the road, his strides quick with renewed purpose. Without turning around he raised his hand up, snapping his fingers. "Venger!"

The dog loped up immediately to follow his master's command. Morrigan raised her eyebrows in surprised interest and fell in line followed by a stunned Alistair.