Author's Note: It's been awhile, but I am pleased to give you the first chapter of Part 1. I did my best with proofreading and editing, but I am going to need a beta reader soon. If you are interested, please message me. Enjoy Chapter 1! Reviews (especially the creative criticism) are loved and appreciated. A big thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review so far (especially you, almostinsane) it really does help.

~Scarlet

Part 1: Ostagar

Chapter One: Into the Wilds

The first thing that alerted Ishafel to their arrival at their destination was the smell. Her nose twitched in protest as the clean pine and earth scent of the forest gave way to the smoke and the sweat of a human encampment. Usually, those smells meant run away, not walk in the open for all to see. Yet that's what they were doing. There was a small group of humans crossing the massive stone bridge coming from the encampment. If they stayed on course (and they would, for there really was nowhere else to go on the bridge) they would all meet at an archway at the bridge's mouth. She tried to take her mind off the unpleasant feeling of being around so many humans by looking at the architecture. Ostagar, as she was called, was amazing. No elven ruin she had ever explored held a candle to her. According to Duncan, the Avvars had built her and the Tvinter had taken her over in her glory days. War had crashed on her surface before. She stood for longer than both her makers and her conquers. She was a strong place that would keep them safe from darkspawn, Ishafel. The humans grew ever closer. Ishafel quietly squirmed in her own armor. Then there was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing.

She looked up into Dylan's face. He gave her a small smile. She did not smile back, but the fact that he seemed to understand her discomfort was reassuring. Maybe there was more to him than she thought. She let out the breath that she had been holding slowly and squared her shoulders. She gave him a barely discernible nod of gratitude before breaking his hold and heading forward meet the welcome party.

Dylan could empathize with Ishafel's apparent unease. The looming form of Ostagar wasn't exactly welcoming. It reminded Dylan too much of it's sister, Aconar, the mage's prison; the place he would be well on the way to if Duncan had not conscripted him. Tower mages were here as well, mostly senior enchanters. He wasn't looking forward to having to explain himself, especially to Wynne. He shuddered at the thought of that conversation, deciding instead to focus on the people at hand. Walking under the archway at the foot of the bridge, they were met by a man that Dylan found familiar, but couldn't place.

"Ho there, Duncan!"

He was dressed in gold washed plate, which probably meant something. Dylan's suspicions were confirmed when Duncan addressed the man. He sounded surprised, something that he was absolutely certain did not happen often.

"Your majesty, I did not expect-"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." The corners of Duncan's mouth had turned down.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" The king said gleefully.

This was King Cailan? He was younger looking than Dylan expected, with the honest, almost simple face that was the mark of people who never had to work a day in their lives. Ishafel stared at him with frank curiosity. So this was what a king looked like? She had heard of these rulers of large amounts of land and people from Duncan, who had attempted to educate her about the world she was entering. She thought it was hardly practical. How could this one man know and meet the needs of those who live so far away from him? Clan governance seemed far more efficient.

The king seemed to notice their assessments because he looked at the two of them with a warm smile.

"The other wardens told me you found some promising recruits, I take it these are they?"

Duncan gave both of them a very stern look that said 'behave' so clearly it was almost as if he had spoke.

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

Cailan waved him off dismissively. "No need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together after all." He shouldered past him to stand in front of Ishafel and Dylan. "Ho there, friends! Might I know your names?

"I am Dylan, your majesty, formally of the Circle of the Magi"

"A mage! I hope your spells will be of great help to us in the up coming battle."

Dylan nodded, deciding not to mention the fact he was newly harrowed and had been practically kicked out of the tower. He didn't think it was a good idea to attract notice so soon after the incident.

"I hope so as well, your majesty." he said blandly, hoping that the innocence in his tone did not seem too fake.

Cailan looked at Ishafel expectantly and she blinked back at him, keeping her face blank. Over the king's shoulder, Duncan was shooting her warning glares.

"Mahariel"

"Mahariel? That's a clan name isn't it? The 'riel' gives it away."

Dylan almost snorted in laughter at the expression on Ishafel's face. Clearly, she didn't expect the king to be educated in the ways of her people.

"You know of the Dalish, King Cailan?" the surprise was in her voice too, and Cailan grinned wistfully at her.

"Not as much as I would like. You're people aren't exactly fond of mine. For good reason. Tell me is it common to be referred to by your clan name?"

"When outside of the clan, yes. It is how we identity who is from where."

"May I ask what your clan calls you?"

"The name that was given to me is Ishafel, your majesty. Although the Dalish hardly every refer to each other by their given names, unless they are close friends or clan."

"Ah," Cailan commented, absorbing the information.

"Well, Ishafel, Dylan, I'll tell you this. You are both very welcome here. The wardens will benefit greatly with you among them."

A guard behind Cailan cleared his throat. The king rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

Duncan nodded approvingly. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be there in less than a week. The Cousland forces have already been dispatched.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters, tomorrow will be no different." Cailan said dismissively

"You sound very confident of that." Dylan mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Cailan laughed. "Over confident some would say. Right, Duncan?"

Ishafel wasn't sure but she thought he saw a flash of disapproval on Duncan's face.

"Your Majesty, I'm not certain the blight can be ended quite as...quickly as you wish." Duncan said, there was a firmness in his voice that bordered on admonishment. Cailan seemed not to notice.

"I'm not even sure this is a true blight. There are plenty of darkspawn, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

The whine in his voice gave away his regret. Ishafel could not imagine why. A shudder ran throughout her as she remembered the creature wrapped in dark. She glanced up at Dylan, who wore a similar expression.

"Disappointed, your majesty?"

Now Ishafel was sure Duncan was annoyed. The disapproval on his face was carefully guarded, but after being with him for a week, she could tell that the tension in his jaw was not normal.

Cailan seemed to be unaware of the grim shift in the attitude of the party, his face took on a boyish expression.

"I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled gray wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do."

"You've never seen war before, have you, your majesty?"

Ishafel's question hit Cailan like a bolt. He almost stepped back

"My father brought peace to Ferelden many years ago, I'm sure the Dalish have benefited from the quiet as we have?"

They hadn't actually. With the shemlen no longer fighting each other, they more easily organized against the Dalish but that was beside the point.

"Do not wish something you cannot predict on your people. For each epic tale, a trail of bodies lies behind."

Cailan looked almost as annoyed as Duncan at her assessment.

"I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

With that the king turned into the camp.

Duncan's eyes rested on Ishafel. "Thank you for trying to give him perspective. It is something I have tried many times and failed to do." He turned so that he was addressing both of them. "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here.

Dylan rubbed at his beard again, "Yet you don't sound reassured."

"There is an archdemon behind this. I have long suspected it and Ishafel's visions have proven it to be true, but I can not ask the king to act on these thing alone."

"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens quite highly. Highly enough to what you ask without hard proof." Ishafel was unsure of the last statement, and Duncan just shook his head.

"Not enough to wait for reinforcements from the wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable."

"Are shem kings usually like this? Foolish and ignorant?" Ishafel asked, her curiosity was genuine, almost causing Dylan to snort yet again.

"I wouldn't sell him out for stupid just yet, just because he plays a fool, does not mean he is one."

"We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end we much proceed with the joining ritual without delay."

Ishafel let out a long shuddering sigh, her body sagging under the sound of escaping breath. Almost instantly Dylan surrounded her with healing magic. The release of breath, he had found on the remainder of their journey from the tower, was a sign of more detrimental things to come. Ishafel for one was grateful for his vigilance.

"What ritual? What do you mean? I really don't think Ishafel-"

Duncan raised a hand to silence him and looked at Ishafel apologetically.

"The joining is what will cure you of the suffering your tainted blood surely brings you. If it had been possible, I would have done so before now. I am sorry, you will have to go on a little longer."

She nodded wearily, her face tinged gray. Dylan pulled a skein from his belt.

"Drink."

Ishafel gave him a look.

"You know," he muttered, "It is absolutely amazing that here you are, potentially dying for the darkspawn taint, and yet you hesitate to drink medicine to help you because it tastes bad."

She ignored him and wrinkling her nose took a long drink from the skien. She winced at the bitterness of the drink, but the color returned to her face.

"Why is this ritual so secret, Duncan?" She asked while attempting to rid her mouth of excess poultice.

Dylan shared her curiosity. If it could cure darkspawn taint, it must involve some kind of purifying magic. He was torn between being apprehensive and being excited. That was a kind of magic you didn't see everyday, he wondered if it was something he could learn. He was so caught up in future plans he almost missed Duncan telling them about the two other recruits and the fact that they were free to roam the camp for awhile if they wished, just to find the grey warden Alistair when they were ready to continue. With that Duncan made for the other side of the camp, Ishafel on his heels. Dylan stood in the archway for a moment. The north wind picked up, blowing a stiff cold wind into his face. Even from across the bridge he could see the telltale spray of enchanting. Irving would have gotten a message through now, and if he hadn't, it would still be awkward. Wynne was going to flay him alive; and she was going to do it with niceness.

He returned to himself as he felt eyes on him. Staring at him from across the bridge, her head cocked as though asking a question, stood Ishafel. He looked back at her for a minute, not understanding. She frowned at him, he could see her small foot tapping on the stone. She was waiting for him, he realized. He couldn't help but smile at her impatience. Well, he thought, summoning a nerve he hadn't knew he'd lost, far be it from him to keep a lady waiting. Besides, what could the other mages do to him, really? Pointedly not thinking of the answer to that question he hurried across the bridge to meet her.

Rosings had been a wonder, but the camp was absolutely amazing. She had never seen so many battle ready warriors in her life. The hunters at the meeting of the clans didn't not count. She would have asked Dylan the meaning of a hundred different things if it wasn't clear that he felt as out of place as she did. Together they wandered the camp, until they reached the enchanters' compound.

"Dylan."

The low, familiar, female voice almost took him by surprise, dread crept up his spine.

"Wynne."

She leaned against a tree in front of the tent as though she were expecting him. Wynne had been the first to teach him healing arts. He once heard her tell Irving when she thought he wasn't in earshot that she had never seen anyone try so hard not to develop a talent. As a result he was a recipient of her constant badgering and, even worse, attempts at mothering. He already had a mother. He had been taken from her at seven. He didn't need another. But that had never stopped her from trying, even when Irving took him as an apprentice. On the contrary, the long standing friendship between Wynne and Irving seemed to make it easier for her to corner him ad give him long winded lectures about deporting himself. He steeled himself for the inevitable as she spoke.

"I heard what happened at the circle. Jowan branded a malificar, and you an outcast."

Wynne's face was tense and her eyes spoke volumes of regret that Dylan was very close at rolling his own eyes at. She must have seen something in his face, because her features suddenly darkened.

"The Grey wardens will be good for you, I think. You always had too much fire for circle walls. Make sure you practice your healing magic, you won't have anyone but yourself to rely on for that anymore."

She shrugged her old shoulders. "The Maker works in mysterious ways."

It was at this point that Ishafel chose to interrupt. She and Wynne started a conversation about the maker and the fade the Dylan had heard about a hundred times over. Seeing that Wynne's attention was not on himself, he slipped away. Wynne would keep Ishafel safe if not occupied, there was too much of the mother in her not to. Slipping away from the main camp, he walked along the ramparts, listening in to lectures on darkspawn and the conversations of elves who were cheating the quartermaster. This was almost peaceful. It was hard to believe that this camp had been through three battles already. He sat down next to the edge and cracked open his book on battle-magic, intending to study until Ishafel found him. The high pitched shrieking of someone nearby made this very hard. After five minutes of it, Dylan decided to go give them a piece of his mind.

Wynne's semi lecture on the fade had been informative, even if it had been very boring. Ishafel turned to ask Dylan something to find that he was not there. Wynne too seemed to have not noticed his escape and looked sourly at the spot where he stood.

"He was an expert at that at the tower too." she muttered, "If he had spent the time he used escaping on his healing magic, he'd be the strongest healer in all of Thedas! Well, off with you then," She shooed Ishafel away "best you find him and prevent him from getting into even more trouble."

Find him? Where could he have possibly gone in the first place?

She walked forward, uncertain, when a voice called out to her.

"Excuse me, Miss? Might you be a Dalish?"

She turned sharply and sized up the man at her right. He must have felt the sharpness in her stare because he held up his hands to show he meant no harm.

"I'm the kennel master here." identifying himself, " I was wondering if you could help me? One of the dogs has darkspawn blood poisoning. His owner died during the last battle, and he won't let me treat him. I would hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. Would you mind putting this muzzle on him?"

Ishafel leaned over the kennel fence. She had heard of these dogs, Mabari, if she remembered correctly. As smart as the Shemlen (although that really wasn't so hard) they were fierce war hounds, able to execute complicated maneuvers in battle. The clan had once been chased out of a forest by warriors with a pack of mabari. The dogs had manged to lay traps for them and two hunters died. The creature lay sprawled out on the dirt, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Clearly, he was in pain. He was large and well muscled with a nasty slash running from shoulder to belly. He was covered in muck, she couldn't even make out what color his fur was. He didn't look promising to her.

"Why do you want me to do this?"

The kennel master looked sheepish.

"Well, miss, I- everyone has heard the tales, you Dalish are supposed to have a way with animals. Besides, these creatures have respect for warriors. You being Dalish and a warrior, I thought maybe you'd have a better chance, you see." She looked at the dog in the pen. The kennel master was right. He was a warrior. He deserved better than this.

"Give me the muzzle."

He hastily unlocked the gate and the dog struggled to his feet as Ishafel entered. He snarled as she stepped toward him.

"I am here to do you no harm, friend." she said soothingly. Closer now, she could hear the pants of the creature, and smell the bile on his breath.

"We two are the same," she continued, "poisoned. But you do not have to be this way. Let us help you."

He snarled again, but did not fight her as she slipped the muzzle over his snout. He rested his exhausted head in her hand as she fought with the catch. When finished, she whispered to him that he would feel better soon, and she could see the comprehension and respect in his eyes as clearly as if he were human or elven.

"Brilliant, I'll start the treatment right away! Are you going into the Wilds anytime soon?

"I might be." she said, thinking of the joining ritual. If it was secret, it probably took place away from camp.

"There is a flower that could speed his healing, White with a blood red center, if you come across any bring them here."

"How essential is it?"

"He might not make it without it."

Her eyes swept over the mabari again. "I'll find it."

There was a loud crash and some shouting. One voice in particular caught her attention. Dylan's. Quickly she headed towards the source of the argument.

A disgusted female solider stood to one side grinning in triumph as Dylan spoke a trifle more calmly to a man who was being held about four inches off the ground and frozen stiff by magic.

She fought the urge to cuff him on the side of the head as she marched over.

"Dylan, surely this is not the place for this."

"You didn't have to listen to their bickering for the last twenty minutes." he turned his head to the man

"When a lady says she wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man in Ferelden four times, she actually means it."

She raised an eyebrow at the man.

"Dylan let him go, before somebody notices. We have more important things to do."

Begrudgingly, he let the spell go. The man tumbled to the ground, but managed to land on all fours, like a cat. It would have been graceful, except the female soldier that he had been arguing with planted a boot on his rear and shoved with all her might. He went tumbling to the ground.

"Thank you, Ser Mage." She kissed Dylan on the cheek before disappearing into the camp. A noise erupted from the ground and it took both of them a moment to realize it was laughter.

"That couldn't have gone better for you if we'd planned it, eh?" the man said rising and companionably slinging his arm across Dylan's shoulder. " Next time we pull something like that, you be the one to get the boot."

"Wha- No! I wasn't after the lad-"

He ignored Dylan and took a step back to survey them.

"Well, you're not what I expected."

"You were expecting something?" Ishafel remarked dryly.

"Well, you are the last of Duncan's recruits aren't you? We've been waiting for ya. I was beginning to think they cooked up this joining just for our benefit."

"I hope not." Ishafel offered her hand, "I'm Ishafel Mahariel. This is Dylan Amell."

The man shook her hand heartily. "Daveth's the name. What can we do? it's not like we have a choice is it?"

"They're forcing you to be here?"

"I got nowhere else to go after what Duncan saved me from." Daveth's easy smile stayed in place but there was something, possibly regret, on his face. "Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything."

She watched him go, "Do you think all Duncan's recruits are like that?"

"Like what?" Dylan said irritably, Daveth had rubbed him the wrong way.

"No choice, or the other option is so terrible that it feels like there isn't one."

"It makes sense, in the long run. If you have nothing to go back to, there is no reason to desert, is there?

I did some reading the night we left the tower, snatched up one of the books on the grey wardens. They've recruited quite a few tower mages. Cold bunch, devoted to their cause usually and nothing more."

The shiver went down her spine unintentionally. Dylan frowned

"Are you ill? Normally the treatment last for at least..." She waved him off.

"If you are so concerned then you should not have abandoned me to your former teacher. She gave me an earful because you pulled a disappearing act, shemlen."

"Don't call me that!" He bristled at the insult.

She gave him an odd half smile. "Do you know what shem means?" she asked. There was mirth in her eyes and it confused him.

"It's an elven slur for human, meant to be insulting."

He had a sudden flashback of Surana, hands on her hips, looking over the vials that he had destroyed.

"Shemlen" she clucked at him. He had been insulted and she had laughed too.

"It never fails to surprise me how humans are so easily offended. It means quick. Quick to act, quick to judge, in your case quick to run. Only children should be shemlen, only children who don't know any better would be so reckless as to not think before acting."

"She never says anything worth listening to," he muttered as she began to walk toward the back ramparts.

"How do you know? You won't listen. The mark of a man is his ability to think and consider, move too quickly and you are nothing but a child." She switched topics seamlessly, which was fine by Dylan not only because he was tired of what very much sounded like scolding, but it was worse because he was actually feeling a little chastised. "Let's find this Alistair. I would like to be cured by the evening."

A few moments later, after chatting up the guard he had 'rescued' from Daveth, they head to the back of the ramparts. In what looked to be the remnants of a tower stood a mage and a solider. Dylan gave the mage the once over. Senior Enchanter Nathan, yuck. He was one of the many senior enchanters whose departure had merited a silent cheer from his apprentices, and it looked like the man was being his usual, charming self.

"What is it now? Haven't the grey wardens asked more than enough of the circle?"

The warden, this must be Alistair, was having none of it. A position that Dylan could heartily support.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.

"What her reverence desires is no concern to me. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the kings command I might add!"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner! "

"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you... The grumpy one"

Whatever restraint Alistair had seemed to disappear when Nathan took that snide tone that always dispatched his apprentice so well. Dylan almost grinned with glee. There was a barely restrained chuckle to Dylan's left, although when he looked Ishafel had managed to school her face back into indifference.

"Enough," Nathan snapped, glaring at the two spectators out of the corner of his eye. Apparently he didn't appreciate a good audience. I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!"

Alistair turned to them with a smirk.

"You know, one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together."

Dylan finally gave up containing his mirth and laughed. Ishafel gave Alistair the same half smile she had while yelling at Dylan earlier.

"You are a very strange human." she said, there was a kind of music to her voice that could have been a strangled laugh. Alistair smiled back at her. "You're not the first to tell me that."

"Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be mages?"

Dylan stiffened at his tone. "Would that make your day worse?"

He just smiled again. "Hardly, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment."

"Don't worry too much, that's a really hard spell to master."

"So you are a mage, then?" he nodded at Dylan, "But not you?" He studied her face for a moment.

"Wait, I do know who you are, you're Duncan's new recruits, the Mage and the Dalish. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.

"How could you have recognized us?" Ishafel asked.

"Duncan sent word. He spoke quite highly of you both. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alistair, although I guess you already knew that." He said sheepishly. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for your joining.

"Dylan Amell." he grinned, offering a hand which he shook. "The short one is Ishafel Mahariel"

Indignation bloomed on Ishafel's face so quickly that Dylan was fairly certain he had just shortened his life. Maybe there was something to this thinking before acting Ishafel was so keen on. Alistair seemed not to notice, and just laughed at the joke.

"You know...it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

"Probably because we are too smart for you." She snapped, nettled by the unintended insult.

He raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. "True, but if your here what does that make you?"

"Incredibly unlucky." She crossed her arms and glared.

"Ouch" Alistair winced at the verbal backhand.

"What was that argument we saw about? I've never seen Nathan so purple!"

"The mage? The circle is here at the request and the chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting the mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of awkward position. I was once a templar."

Dylan went silent, but Ishafel picked up on his discomfort. "You were a mage killer?" She asked.

"That is what I was being trained as six months ago. I'm sure the reverend mother meant it as an insult- sending me as her messenger—and the mage picked right up on it. I never would have agreed to it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along. Apparently, they didn't get the same speech."

They walked out of the ramparts and to the bonfire where the warden's made their camp. The sun was hanging low in the sky and Ishafel was beginning to worry that they would not do the ritual tonight. Duncan must have thought so as well, because he kept the conversation mercifully brief. They were to hunt for darkspawn blood, four vials worth and retrieve some treaties that in her opinion ought not to have been left in the wilds in the first place. The party would be made up of herself, Alistair, Dylan, Daveth and one more recruit named Jory. She was not fond of the burly knight who informed her while they were leaving camp that he did not know that Dalish, or women, were allowed in to the wardens. Then he talked so much about his wife that Daveth had to tell him, in no uncertain terms to be quiet. It was clear the man had never had any real battle experience. He would have known to be silent, or to at least keep his creator given voice down. As it was the were almost immediately attacked by a group of starving wolves, she could feel the ribcage of the creature as she sliced her knife into the flesh underneath it's belly. She took the time to thank the creatures for their sacrifice and to skin them so their death would not be in vain. Wolf pelts would sell well, Jory informed her. Then she really couldn't stand him. She took solace in the fact that she was not the only one. Dylan and Alistair both took pains to bombard him with verbal barbs. The fact that the man did not seem to understand them made it that much funnier to Dylan. Although Alistair was attempting to act like some sort of authority figure, he was doing a bad job of it. Ishafel kept to the rear of the group with, surprisingly, Daveth. He was less of a shemlen than she first took him for. He spoke to her in small short bursts that were a bittersweet reminder of Tamlen. Currently, he was telling her about how he cut Duncan's purse in a Denerim market.

"Was it hard?"

"What? Getting away from Duncan?" He asked, his head was turned away from her, scanning for potential threats, like a good hunter.

"No, the cutting of the purse" the phrase was foreign in her mouth. Daveth laughed.

"Not at all, but I've been doing it since I was small, I have. "Why?" his eyes sparkled with mischief "You want to learn?"

Ishafel had tried stealing from shem before. Nothing extreme, just food, usually in winter, if there was a shortage of supplies. It almost never went well, and she had stopped being a part of the raiding party altogether. It was a skill that at the very least she could use improvement upon, although she didn't know if she would ever have chance to use it in that capacity again.

"What's the matter, love?" Daveth was looking at her with an almost cat ate the canary grin. "Afraid of being sneaky?"

She didn't get a chance to answer, they turned the corner and came upon a slaughter. Pints of blood, both black and red painted the ground underneath their feat.

"Maker," Daveth whistled under his breath. Every body the eye could see was mutilated in some way even the beast shouldering the carts had there throats slit, hooves removed. It was a truly gruesome sight.

"We've got a live one here." Dylan signaled

"Please," he looked up at Dylan, clutching the hem of his robes, "Help me !"

Alistair knelt down beside him, "I've got bandages in my pack."

Between Dylan and Alistair, the man was patched up in no time. He staggered to his feet.

"The Darkspawn... they came from nowhere... right out of the ground... I have to get back..."

"Easy, easy." Dylan held him in place for a moment. "We really should take him back ourselves. The game in this area is scarce. He could be attacked by wolves or worse." She ignored him as he struggled in her grip.

Ishafel eyed the sun. It was creating ripples of red and gold on the horizon "There isn't enough time, if we head back now, we will have to wait til tomorrow morning to get the blood. I wouldn't want to hunt darkspawn in the dark."

"Maker," Alistair shuddered, "No arguments there." He looked uneasily at the man, hesitating.

Ishafel pointedly walked further into the wilds. When she saw no one had followed, she looked over her shoulder.

"That pack of wolves we dispatched earlier probably controlled the territory in this area, and the darkspawn have already left. His way to the camp will be clear. Every moment you detain him makes the possibility of something attacking him higher, I suggest you let him go."

Reluctantly, Dylan released him and the man scrambled back the way they came.

"Did you here that? A whole patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn! This is how you train new recruits? It is too dangerous!"

Ishafel still led the group, Dylan flanked her left side and Daveth had come to walk on her right. She didn't even turn to look at him.

"Overcoming these dangers is part of our test. If we work together we should be fine."

Alistair concurred. "Know this, all Grey Warden can sense the darkspawn. We will know before there is an at-" he stopped mid sentence, and drew his sword. "Just beyond the ridge"

They saw the bodies before they saw the darkspawn. Three corpses, faces bloated, hung from the side of a fallen oak like midwinter decorations.

"Darkspawn!" someone shouted and Dylan was plunged into his first battle.

Only Alistair and Ishafel seem not to be caught off guard by the appearance of the creatures. On the contrary, Ishafel threw herself into the oncoming monsters with a scream. The wicked curved blades she carried slashed into twisted flesh with brutal efficiency.

All Dylan could do was stare, trying in vain to remember the mechanics of battle magic in his book.

"Ser mage!" Dylan spun towards Daveth only to see a genlock drop not two steps from his feet, clawing helplessly at the arrow through his throat. "Watch yourself!"

A yelp of alarm caused him to spin again; a blade was pressed a Jory's throat, Ishafel was shouting something illegible. He muttered under his breath and a small panicked snap went off in his brian.

The hurlock on top of Jory was suddenly on fire. Stumbling back to put itself out, instead Jory's Greatsword rammed through his torso and he fell down dead. Ishafel found the hurlock she was fighting suddenly an icy statue. With a triumphant cry, she gave it a mighty kick. It shattered when it hit the ground. The battle ended triumphantly for the future wardens as Alistair decapitated the last attacker.

"Is that it then?" Dylan asked in a small voice.

"I would say so." Alistair commented, giving the vials to Daveth and Jory for blood collection.

"Oh, good." Dylan took the opportunity to be violently sick. He looked up to find the group looking at him and was immediately embarrassed. His stomach rolled again. Fighting down a moan, he excused himself to some nearby bushes. He wretched until there wasn't a ghost of breakfast in his belly. He continued to wretch even after there was nothing more to give, dry heaving with both hands planted in the dust. There was a cool touch at his back, and soothing words in a language he did not understand. he lifted his head to see Ishafel beside him.

"That was your first battle." It wasn't a question, and he felt too spent to respond. He waited for the chastisement that was to come, the accusation that he was lesser than the others for reacting so badly.

To his surprise, none came.

"You did well for someone not trained to fight, we can work on your technique later." He took a deep breath, the spasms had stopped. "After my first fight I was shaking so badly for so long the keeper thought I'd caught cold." he glanced at her questioningly. "We all deal with the stress in different ways." She gave him a hand and helped him up from the dirt. Together they walked the little ways back to the group. Daveth ran up to greet them

"We only managed about two vials full. Alistair says there are more darkspawn further in and we still got those treaties to retrieve besides."

Daveth gave Dylan the once over.

"Alright there, ser mage? You're tinged green around the gills still."

Dylan gave a shaky nod, he would have to drink some of the poultice he had brewed for Ishafel but he was returning to normal. Daveth clapped him on the back.

"Good on you! It could have been worse you know."

"How so?"

"Well, it could have come out the other end."

Ishafel blinked at sudden storm of laughter Daveth had managed to pull out of Dylan.

"Come on, we have more darkspawn to kill."