Coin collected at the Chantry, the party stood together to plan their next course of action. Chanter Devrons continued to intone passage after passage of holy script, his even voice blending into the background.

"Any last business to finish up before we leave?"

At Raviathan's question, Alistair fidgeted. Mustering enough patience not to snap, Raviathan raised a brow in question at Alistair. His look must have given some of his thoughts away, judging by Alistair's sullen scowl. Resentful, Alistair didn't meet his eyes when he muttered, "The people here. We can't do anything more for them?"

"Like what?" Raviathan's voice sounded too sharp to his own ears, but he wasn't going to take anything back.

"Alistair," Leliana said in a much more reasonable tone, "there isn't much that we can do. We must trust to the templars and Chantry to organize. It is a Blight we face."

Alistair's shoulders slumped. "I know. But all these people."

Damn him, Raviathan thought. Heat flushed his face. He felt small again, to incompetent to be a Grey Warden, and shamed yet again. Days ago he had considered burning the town to force the most stubborn farmers who would refuse leaving their holdings, but that course of action kept hitting a wall in his mind, as impossible as facing an archdemon. Would he ever have the will necessary to be a Grey Warden?

Duncan, where are you? This is when we need you most.

"I understand your feelings, Alistair." Leliana remained cool yet intractable. "Truly, but there are only the four of us. We can not stop to save every village, or we would be useless in our task. Our goal must be to fight the Blight, and leave to others the tasks of relocating these and the many other villagers that will be affected by the horde."

"I…" Alistair sighed. "I suppose you're right. It just feels wrong."

Eyes tightened in suspicion, Raviathan watched as the templar's troubled gaze travelled over the camps of despairing refugees. Why such concern for these people from the mage killer? Or did his sympathies extend only to those shems not blessed with magic?

Just what would Alistair do if he knew I'm an apostate? If his treatment of Morrigan was any indication, open hostility was assured. At worst? Considering the danger they so often faced, Morrigan could still have an 'accident' in any number of ways, reason alone to keep a close eye on the templar.

Leliana shifted as she took Raviathan's measure, which brought his attention back to the rest of the group. "Not to disparage our efforts, but I believe we should attempt to gather more people to help with this task."

Why was she being so careful with her wording? "Certainly."

Hesitating, she continued, "Perhaps more muscle?" What was wrong with her? The she hurried, "Not that you aren't a good leader. Just that in close combat a more… classically trained warrior could be an effective comrade to have?" She trailed off.

"I'm not offended." He almost smiled at her worry. Raviathan knew he was no master of the battlefield. A finesse fighter at best, his skills remained underdeveloped and rusty from lack of practice over the last years. Leliana held the same skills, using agility over muscle, but her focus on archery made close combat undesirable.

"So, add some muscle. Who do you suppose we recruit?" If she wanted templars along, she and Alistair were definitely going to the Mage's Circle by themselves. Raviathan almost hoped she suggested that so Alistair the Needy could have his escort to the Circle while the apostates made a discreet exit to the east and away from the mindless chanting of the believers.

More warriors to help their cause appealed to him though. Raviathan thought about the Chasind. The lanky men were seasoned warriors, well muscled, and wandering without a home. More than that, they respected elves. Could it be possible that the Chasind had ties with the elves living in the Brecillian Forest? What a help that would be.

Maybe they could find that man who lost his wife to the darkspawn. True, he seemed unhinged, but grief did that to a person. Considering what he lost because of the darkspawn, perhaps he would welcome a chance for revenge. Raviathan scratched Venger's head as he thought.

"There is that qunari outside of town," Alistair said. "Maybe he'd be willing to come along."

"You've got to be joking." Raviathan glared at Alistair.

The templar backed up, his hands up in surrender. "Just saying."

"That is not a bad idea," Leliana said.

"He murdered children!" This was not going in the direction he expected.

"He did," she agreed. "But since his capture, his actions have not been those of an enraged murderer."

Were all humans psychotic? Did they hold nothing sacred besides their fire sacrifices and mage hating? Swear to the Maker, if he ever started to understand humans, then the time had come to let the darkspawn win. "Let me see if I understand. There is a giant who comes from a race of renowned warriors and is stronger than all of us put together, so if he ever decides to kill us, he will be able to do so with a minimum of effort. This man has confessed to murder, including the murder of children who could not possibly defend themselves, and you want to bring him along because he's no longer acting like an insane abomination?"

"Yes."

Raviathan blinked at Leliana's response. Humans really were crazy. How did they survive with no sense of the danger they could get themselves into? Maker's ass, very existence of the Black City testified to human's flagrant disregard for their own lives let alone the lives of others.

Leliana's jaw raised in a stubborn jut. "He shows remorse for his actions." At Raviathan's continued glare, she spoke in a softer voice. "What murderer do you know who submits himself to a long, torturous death without resistance or complaint? Those bandits fought to the end to evade paying for the crimes they committed. This qunari, whatever he's done, is seeking penance because he feels a guilt so deep he willingly starves and waits for darkspawn. What a waste of a life when he could do something better for this world."

"And you're okay with this?" Raviathan turned to Alistair. Blasted mage hunter would sympathize with a child killer.

"Well. I… not entirely? I'm not okay that he killed a family, but what Leliana says makes sense. I'll go along with whatever you say."

Just like the idiot to not have a backbone. "Morrigan?"

"Freeing a murderer in the hopes he will not murder you in return? Seems foolish in the extreme. The tale of the scorpion and frog comes to mind."

"Agreed."

"Will you at least talk to him," Leliana asked.

Raviathan rubbed his forehead. Maker, we don't have time for this. "I think the Chasind would make better company. They're also seasoned warriors and have cause to fight the darkspawn."

Leliana and Alistair both appeared to consider his proposal, which mollified Raviathan. However, Morrigan's uncomfortable shift caught his attention. "That… might not be possible. Not with me around."

Raviathan's brows knit.

At his gaze, Morrigan fidgeted, her fingers linking and twisting in their own dance. "Stories of the Witch of the Wilds travel far among the savages. And… their fears are not without substance."

"Isn't that a surprise," Alistair muttered.

Morrigan sneered at him. "My mother's reputation. Not mine."

"Well then. Chasind savages who have a reputation for cannibalism," Alistair said in an oddly cheery voice, "or Morrigan. Can I vote now?"

"On second thought," Morrigan said, giving her best contemptuous glare at Alistair, "a child murder sounds delightful. With your wit, I expect he'll go after you first."

"Stop." Raviathan wondered how human mothers put up with their children. Drown them all at birth and have done with it. "Leliana, he's caged for murder. Granted, the templars are busy with the refugees, but they'll probably notice if we take a murder with us."

"Let me speak to the Revered Mother."

Maker, why? "You have twenty minutes. Then we're on our way."

She beamed at him. At least this way Leliana's hopes weren't his to dash. What was the chance that the Reverend Mother would allow the release of a murderer? Back in Denerim, elves hung from the the gallows for crimes like theft.

Eighteen minutes later, Raviathan's jaw tightened when Leliana trotted up to their waiting band at the outskirts of the village, a smile threatening to split her face.

"Did you steal the key?"

"Of course not!"

"The Reverend Mother just gave it to you. She's allowing the release of a strange foreigner who admits to murdering a whole family. Just like that."

"Not just like that." Leliana lifted her chin. "She trusts me."

Raviathan held his hand out for the key, eyes closed briefly as he gathered his composure. Elves hang for theft, but this qunari can go free for murder. There was no justice with humans. "I'll talk to him. I promise nothing."

She frowned but stayed silent.

The qunari stood as implacable as the day before, lavender eyes glaring at the fields and windmill beyond the village proper.

"Why did you let yourself be captured?" Raviathan asked.

The qunari made no move. Just when Raviathan decided to leave the giant to his fate, the qunari spoke. "I murdered the family, as you have no doubt been told."

"Why not flee? Why not fight for your freedom?"

"I do not deserve freedom."

Well, that was something. "This is your atonement?"

"I do not know that word."

"This is your way paying for what you did?"

"Yes."

Ignoring Leliana's agitation, Raviathan nibbled his lip as he thought. The qunari gained nothing from lying. Would he turn on them if freed concerned Raviathan more. "Have you killed like that before?"

Again, the qunari appeared like he would not answer. Raviathan would have taken him for a statue except for the twitch of jaw muscles, so he waited. Finally, the qunari's stare landed on him. "I have killed many. But they were not innocents. Never before have I lost myself."

Maker's ass. Though she held still, Raviathan could feel Leliana's excitement as if she was ready to bounce like Venger when given a treat. "Your death accomplishes nothing and does not bring back the people you killed. If you wish to atone, I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"We fight the darkspawn. You know of them?"

"Fight the darkspawn?" The giant's gaze focused, an intensity that made Raviathan feel like a bug pinned to a board. He struggled not to squirm. "You are," the giant searched for the words, "Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. Alistair and I," Raviathan said, his hand sweeping to indicate his comrade.

The giant frowned, angry or disappointed, Raviathan couldn't say. "We have heard of you, in the North. I expected more."

"Not one for self preservation, are you."

Now Raviathan had no problem returning the qunari's glare.

The qunari emitted a low sound caught between a growl and thoughtful murmur. "The Mother will not let me go."

Raviathan held up the key. "Already arranged. Can I trust your word?"

"Yes." Anger flashed in the qunari, a man whose honor war rarely questioned, Raviathan realized. Sighing, the giant lowered his head. "Free me, and I pledge myself to your service, to fight the darkspawn, as long as you see fit or until the Blight is finished."

"Are you sure about this?" Morrigan asked.

Raviathan studied the prisoner for a long moment. A murderer. A child killer. And a choice. Do I now side with those who wantonly end life, innocent life? Does my goal justify another betrayal to the family who now mourns their lost kin? Justice, or the Blight?

The answer compelled him as much as the poisoned blood in his body.

Grey Wardens do what them must, and that included taking aid from any source that would help stop a Blight. The templar and apostate at his side stood as testament that personal feelings had no place in this decision.

Remember that, Rav. Duncan would take anyone who had the mettle to fight the darkspawn. Bitter choices but necessary—do what you must. Be the Grey Warden Duncan wanted.

"Accepted."

Rusty hinges shrieked as the cage door opened. "Your name?"

"Sten."

Raviathan turned to Leliana. "We need to outfit him. Armor will be next to impossible, but a sword and something basic to start."

"While the Mother agreed to grant his freedom, she cautioned that we should not stay as we may incur the ire of the townspeople. They are agitated and may seek him as a target to vent their fear."

"Hmm." As an elf, he understood that fear and the need for caution all too well. He turned to the qunari. "What kind of weapon are you best with?"

"I fight with sword without shield."

Handing Leliana a few coins, Raviathan said, "See if you can get one of the two-handeds back from the blacksmith. I doubt we can get an additional tent, but maybe a bedroll and waterskin? We'll wait just past the windmill, out of sight."

Nodding, Leliana left at a jog.

Without a word, Raviathan handed Sten his waterskin and a wrapped cake Venger had filched that morning. "How long have you been in that cage?"

"Twenty days." Sten took a careful bite of the cake but did not drink.

A chill of realization struck Raviathan as he watched the giant. Whoever this man was, he had been starved in the weeks of his capture, understood how to treat starvation, and had the formidable will to keep himself from gorging.

"Have you decided then?"

"What?" Raviathan pulled himself away from his thoughts to consider Alistair's question. "Oh. Yes." Composing himself, Raviathan prepared for the templar's inevitable protests. "I know you want to go to Arl Eamon, but the treaties should be our first goal."

Alistair's face fell.

"Look at what happened with the bann here. Loghain is actively seeking us out, and we don't know the full reach of his influence. Loghain may have pressured Eamon or lied to him, which is quite possible considering the rumors he's been spreading here. Until we are assured Eamon will support us, we can't risk being caught and handed over. Better to get the treaties done."

"But the Arl would never…"

Venger's low growl unnerved Raviathan. Seconds later, Alistair's naked blade appeared next to him. Sten dropped the few items he had, moving into a defensive stand next to Alistair. Morrigan stayed behind the three fighters in the protection they provided. What in the Maker's name? Turning, Raviathan saw the crowd of farmers carrying pitchforks, shovels, and one beefy man with a pickax.

"What's going on?" Raviathan yelled at the crowd.

Hands clenched the tools tighter as the crowd of humans glanced at each other. A gaunt man in rags took a few hesitant steps forward. "You're the Grey Wardens. We heard that."

A few of the men behind him nodded.

"What Loghain told you were lies."

"Look," the leader continued, his voice breaking from fear, "I don't care what Loghain says about you. There's a price on your heads. That's all we want."

Raviathan tried to think through the situation. If only his heart would stop racing like a scared rabbit. All his life, shems were to be feared—violent, stronger, and with the law on their side—and here he was, living the nightmare every elf who had who ventured out of the alienage. The retribution of shems. Being a Grey Warden should have changed all that!

The men were talking, Raviathan reminded himself. His band was outnumbered four to one, but they had training on their side. These men knew the reputation of the Grey. Desperation drove them to act, but fear kept them at bay.

"You know we're Grey Wardens." Raviathan tried to push as much authority as he could into his voice. Fear overrode his hesitation. "You know what that means. You don't have a chance against us. People, there is a Blight. That Blight will swallow everything: this land, your family, everything."

A few listened. Their faces grew white as he talked. Maker, was he actually facing down a mob?

A man from the back yelled, "The Blight will kill us all. This is our only way out! Attack!"

No, no no! Raviathan struggled to get his bent blade out in time to meet his attackers. No, not this. Though he feared the mob with the instinctual terror that all alienage elves shared, he couldn't stop from seeing their fear. Some were old men, faces worn to leather from long hours in the sun. Others sported the wiry strength of farmers who had families to protect. Even sisters or wives stood in the mob.

How can everything go so wrong? This day Raviathan knew he would create widows and orphans. His sword, bent and unwieldy, nocked aside the first shovel aimed at his face. His dagger whipped forward into an unarmored belly. Life's blood poured out. Their children would die—from starvation, from darkspawn—more death at Raviathan's feet.

The man's eyes widened in pain and the knowledge they both shared. He would die leaving behind all he loved and cared for without his protection.

More came. Two replaced their injured companion. A pitchfork thrust towards Raviathan's stomach. His dagger caught it between the prongs though a long scrape bloodied his arm. He lifted the pitchfork up, his sword swinging out in a blur to eviscerate the old farmer.

Another shovel. This time he could only duck as the flat metal swung over his head. Lunging from a crouch, Raviathan had his blades in the farmer's unprotected side. Red soaked the tattered clothing, the woman's lined face turning livid in her agony. These people knew nothing of fighting. They were little better than children swinging sticks.

"Stop this!" Raviathan's screams felt like they came from another voice far away. Tears weren't far off. It didn't matter that he acted in self defense. He knew better than they did. This was slaughter. His foot connected with a woman's unarmored belly. She doubled over, her skull an open target. One blow to kill her.

Part of his mind cursed the shems for forcing him into this position. Another part mourned their needless deaths. Yet through it all, the inescapable fact remained: he was a disgrace, to the Grey Wardens, to himself.

Not like this. Not some bloody killer.

Rage filled him as tears burned his eyes. Blood poured from an old man, the bones of his face standing hard against starvation tightened skin. Wasn't supposed to be like this. The Wardens had been his shield as much as his mission. He could stand proud as an elf among their number, maybe even as a mage in time. That faint promise lost in one day, one betrayal, and here he was, fighting the shems who had always dogged his steps and made him fear since his earliest memories.

An arrow turned Raviathan's next attacker away, long enough for him to sink his sword into the farmer's side. No armor to protect vulnerable flesh.

Raviathan heaved in breath as he stared at the circle of bodies. Blood blackened earth steamed in the chill morning.

Leliana trotted up with her bow at the ready. "What happened here?"

"Attacked us," said Alistair. "There's a price on our heads."

The only other injury belonged to Sten. He bandaged up the shallow cut on his forearm without emotion or show of pain. His blood covered fists moved in efficient jerks. Raviathan couldn't bring himself to see to the giant's wound. Not now. Not with these deaths hanging over him.

Shocked, Leliana stared at the bodies. "A price? Surely the templars and priestesses did not condone this."

"Didn't stop Loghain, did they?" Raviathan's voice sounded strange to his own ears, raw and dark.

Leliana watched him cautiously. "Should we tell the templars?"

"What for?" The rage inside Raviathan kept cracking like glass shards in a fire. "For them to take us in as murderers?" He gestured at Sten. "Not going to look so innocent with him in our company."

Pink touched Leliana's cheeks. "Well. We should burn the bodies. At least."

Raviathan kicked at the twitching arm of a dead woman. He felt ugly inside. "Leave them."

Both Alistair and Leliana jerked in alarm. "The bodies," he said. "It's too dangerous."

A sneer twisted Raviathan's lips. "Let the templars and priestesses take care of them."

When Leliana opened her mouth to argue, Raviathan snapped, his voice echoing, "Let the fucking pigs rot! They aren't our problem!"

Even Morrigan stilled at his voice, her yellow eyes wide in shock. Out of control. Raviathan strode to the highway entrance at the far side of the field without a backwards glance. They could follow or not. He took deep breaths as his feet sped him along. Can't be out of control. The demons.

The demons will ride you.

His aunt's voice the night they learned of his magic.

They will ride your body and nothing you do can stop them.

No, auntie. No, I won't let them.

If you can't control this, we will all die!

The muscles in Raviathan's jaw twitched with tension as he wrestled with his emotions. Can't. Can't ever lose control. Not like that. Demons and templars always lurking in the shadows waiting for him to slip. Never safe. Not in his home, not in his mind. Templar's stealing the children from the alienage, killing his kin. Demons waiting to tempt him.

Control. Stay in control, never slip, or the demons would hunt him down in his weakness. The voices of demons had never haunted him as long as he stayed in control. Control or become a monster.

Heaving in a shuddering breath, Raviathan tried to calm himself. Too much. The attack on his family, his home, all that death and guilt, Duncan, losing the Wardens before he had even known them, and now lost and set on from monsters and men.

Maker, how much burden can you make one person carry?

Thoughts of Ness, an image of her pale blonde hair in the sun flashing clear in his mind, and his rage broke to grief. If only he had one person to share this with, one person to help him breathe. His blurred vision cleared as the tears fell. Chest tightening with the pressure of a vise, Raviathan struggled to keep his breathing even.

She's safe. That's all you could do. She's safe.

No sooner than the thoughts entered his mind, the image of Shianni sitting like a broken doll on her bed forced into his thoughts like a guilty secret.

Not allowed to scream.

Nothing you do can stop them.

Clenching his hands in frustration, Raviathan pushed the intrusions away. Stop this! For thirteen years you've studied control. Stop it.

Raviathan let out his breath slowly. In his mind's eye he drew the templates of spells. Circles and lines flared like brightest flame in his mind. Their arrangements merged and overlapped to form ruins and patterns, swirled to create meaning and form, patterns of creation, of power, of peace.

He held the images in his mind, clearer and more brilliant than anything that could be made by an artist's brush. The discipline came in holding the images of power with precision. Every hair thin line, every swirl of directed energy, every interfolded ruin had to be held as one image.

Deep inside, deep into the core of his being, beyond the secrets and fears, his second heart sang to him. Like a second sun, it burned him clean. Raviathan resisted the urge to rub his chest. Ness had touched his heart. She had reached that space inside him, had touched it with her own soul. Dear Maker, how precious she is and will always be.

A peaceful melancholy settled over him. The power cleared his mind. The years of discipline reasserted his control.

Would he see her again?

Would he want to? She would marry another. Though he wished her happiness, he didn't think he could bare that pain. She was gone.

With his anger gone, he wondered about her future. And what about the families of the people he had just killed? Did they know what their loved ones had planned? What of their children left undefended with the coming Blight? What would the dead villagers' kin think upon finding the bodies? More rage for the remaining Wardens? More people to hunt them, to add to the price on their heads? Traitors to the King and murderers.

That whole town would be destroyed, corrupted. If the templars couldn't get the villagers out, would they be slaughtered outright or dragged underground as the soldiers at Ostagar feared?

All the possibilities Raviathan had when they first arrived kept dying away. While Raviathan had no clue how to help the villagers, at least their little band had options before. Now as they marched away, he had to admit defeat. His first chance at being the Grey Warden he was supposed to be, and he failed. That hurt most of all. Duncan or any of the Wardens who had fallen at Ostagar would have known what to do, how to organize the people left behind by the bann, what to say to get the people's loyalty. They could have gotten results.

Instead, Lothering got two incompetence as lost as a blind man left in a forest to die. No illusions, not anymore. They had failed.

Maker, what are we going to do? We can't save even this little village. How are we supposed to save this nation? How are we supposed to get armies together? I don't know which direction to turn, just that everything I'm doing is wrong, and I don't know how to make it right. Maker, how do we get through this?

The clink of metal armor caught Raviathan's attention. Startled, he turned to see Alistair running past him.

"Darkspawn!"

Raviathan's brain blanked for a second before understanding slapped him to the present. "Ah, shit. Venger!"

The dog's muscles bunched as he raced forward. His brown form blurred past Alistair, the dog's claws skittering on the stone ramp up to the highway. A snarl followed by the fainter sounds of ripping sent a chill down Raviathan's spine. Maker, bless that dog for being on our side.

Alistair's iron grey sword started an upward swing as he neared the highway proper, and that's when Raviathan felt them. A crawl under his skin as if his blood had turned into writhing maggots, the low acid burn crawling through his muscles, the absolute wrongness of the taint awakening in recognition of its like, all spurred Raviathan faster.

From the vantage of the ramp, Raviathan saw the rest running to catch up. Sten had a greatsword unsheathed, the leather strap of his scabbard slung over his unarmored chest. Leliana reached for a sword and dagger that would be more appropriate to close combat. The blue swirl of frost energy gathered around Morrigan's staff.

Though not the companions he would have chosen, they were here, rushing into danger with him.

All thoughts of the others left as Raviathan faced a genlock. Maker, would he ever get used to the disgusting creatures? The taint in his body pulled him forward while the rest wanted nothing more than to get away from the unholy creatures. Repulsed, Raviathan's mouth curled in a snarl as he charged forward.

Spittle hissed out from yellowed fangs, the genlock's face contorting in hate. Nothing else in the creation compared to its soulless, black eyes. Horror and disgust warred in Raviathan, his blades seeking to end this thing that should never have been.

Metal scraped against metal. Sparks flew from Raviathan's blade. Shouts from his companions filled his ears, a companion to the shriek of metal. Raviathan cursed when his weakened blade bent back out of shape. Furious, he slammed his blade into the genlock's face. The monster dodged the clumsy attack only to have Raviathan's foot ram into its chest. The thing howled as it tumbled off the edge, feet over fangs.

Spinning, Raviathan took in the scene. Crates littered the highway to create defensive barriers in the darkspawn's favor. Alistair had the upper hand with the hurlock he had taken, Venger biting at the monster's legs. Leliana and Morrigan worked together against another. Leliana's jabs kept the hurlock's attention while Morrigan cast her spells.

The qunari's greatsword slashed up in a powerful swing that stunned Raviathan in its ferocity. He had a second to admire Sten's thick musculature before running to join him. If that was the giant's strength after weeks of starvation, at full health he would be a terror.

Sidestepping out of the greatsword's path, Raviathan flanked the hurlock. Once surrounded, the monster stood little chance. Raviathan leapt in to score a hit and out before the monster could turn to stop him. With the hurlock distracted, Sten's weapon swung in a mighty arc to cut the creature down. The monster took the hit, its sword slowing but not stopping the heavy blade from digging into its side. Back and forth, Sten and Raviathan hacked until the hurlock's blood flowed from a dozen cuts.

Swinging the massive blade overhead, Sten sliced the hurlock from neck to sternum. Black blood spurted in thin geysers from the gaping wound. Dazed but still alive, the hurlock stepped forward, haltingly, before falling to its knees. Bubbles of black blood popped from the creature's lips before it finally fell.

A shudder coursed through Raviathan, for the taint that crawled inside him, for the brutality of that last hit. Not two months ago, this lowly elven dock worker, whose main ambition was to be a good husband to his precious wife, would never have guessed that this is where his life would lead him. The violence Raviathan had witnessed in the last month was paralleled only by the purge on the alienage from when he was a child.

The fighting over, the group took a moment to let the adrenaline fade. Morrigan appeared the most affected. Her pale skin turned nearly bone white, her thin frame visibly trembling. Still unused to combat, Raviathan felt much the same. Alistair and Venger fared the best. Though Sten tried to hide his strain under an impassive face, Raviathan saw the tightness around his eyes and pallor under his bronze skin.

He needed to attend to Sten's wound. Maker, how much strength of will did the man have to keep going as he did?

"Please, don't hurt us."

Venger's head cocked at the voice from behind the crates at the broken end of the highway.

"You're safe," Raviathan called back.

A dwarf peeked out from behind the pile of crates. A second head, one with enormous blue eyes, popped up next to him. Raviathan felt a strange urge to laugh. He stamped down on the impulse, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop. The last thing anyone needed was to see him caught in hysteria.

"Right," said the dwarf. "Blimey, what a mess."

Though she tried not to stare openly, Morrigan couldn't hide her astonishment. Raviathan's lips quirked. He at least had a passing familiarity with dwarves who traded in Denerim. Though less common than elves, he had seen their like in the Market District. No dwarves or qunari in the Wilds, then.

After a moment, Raviathan wondered about the vacant stare of the younger dwarf. His beardless face had a childlike quality to it. Innocent. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, yes. Say hello, Sandal."

"Hello."

A patient smile made the older dwarf's eyes crinkle at the corners. "A bit touched, you know."

Raviathan nodded. "Take care. Hurry north."

With an assessing glance at the bodies of darkspawn, the dwarf sighed. "Leaving as soon as I can replace my ox. Thank you. For saving us."

The pair seemed well enough if frightened by the darkspawn. Giving a final nod in acknowledgment, Raviathan left the dwarves bustling about to right the mess.

Ahead of him, the ancient highway stretched, cold and implacable as fate.

As they left, Raviathan spared a last backward look at Lothering. The horde would overrun the village, their scouts already infiltrating the surroundings. If the villagers did not leave soon, they would be trapped. The land that generations of farmers had poured their lives into would be tainted, family homesteads lost, more blight sickened creatures infected.

Leliana was both right and wrong. They would never be able to save everyone, not with two inexperienced Wardens and a handful of misfits. Fulfilling the treaties held the only hope they had to gather the resources of this nation. Ferelden may already be lost, but any resistance gave the Wardens of Thedas more time to rally. Futile, but that was the only path Raviathan could see.

And yet… The Grey Wardens protected the weak. They were a living shield against the darkspawn. Shoulders slumping, Raviathan had to admit that as protectors, they were an utter disgrace, abandoning the people who needed them most. He had never known defeat this complete in his life.

Turning to follow the group, he caught Alistair gazing at the town, the man's brow furrowed. Raviathan's jaw tightened in resentment. Nothing they could do, damn it!

Angry, Raviathan strode past Alistair. Keep going. Whatever happened, their task was set.

AN: Man, this section of the story took a long time to write! Sorry, everyone. For those of you who have kept with the story, my heartfelt thanks.

And, wow, I did not expect the backlash against Rav to be as strong as it was (hides early drafts under the couch). Given his background, I thought he was being too nice. XD

Good news is that I've got a decent head start on the next few sections. There's still a lot to be done, but quite a bit has been written and plotted, so hopefully no long hiatuses for a while.

On to the important people!

Thanks muchly to my beta for sticking in there with me for 250k+ of this adventure. Poor woman had no idea of what she was getting into.

Moony: Thank you for your passionate review! I wish I could pm to thank you and discuss, but as is, I appreciate your thoughts on the story. For now I will say that the irony you're picking up on is quite deliberate and yes, there are character arcs at play.

ElyssaCousland: Wow and thank you for all the reviews! I want to get my next chapter sorted so there won't be a delay, but as soon as I can, I'll be returning to your story. It is fantastic!

artemis7337: So good to see you're still around to read this marathon! ;) Your reviews are always a delight, and thank you!

Judy: Thanks for being my first reviewer and all your encouragement along the way. You've got a special place for many fic writers.

Oleander's One: You are amazing, as always. I can't tell you enough how much your support has meant to me, truly. You helped me get through a critical time when I was feeling hopeless.

Bloodsong 13T: Thanks for sticking with me, bud, for all the reviews, abuse, encouragement, pokes, and being my buddy as we muc up our stories. XD Hope you know how awesome you are.

Everyone else: Thanks to everyone who hit the fav button or put this story on their alerts. We all need encouragement, and it's good to know there are people who care. I know there have been a lot of hiccups in getting chapters out, but to everyone who reads this story, I hope you've enjoyed so far and continue to do so.