Author's Note: Well, this took a particularly long time to write. Primarily because of writers block. I've managed to avoid the dreaded block so far by knowing mostly how big picture things in each Part are going to turn out. In this chapter, nothing, absolutely nothing, I planned got written. I wrote it, read it and hated it's guts. It was the first time ever I've just deleted a file and started from scratch. Luckily, I was able to get with the program and several revisions later, this chapter took form; several revisions after that, it was completed. Sorry for the wait. A big thank you to my reviewers from last chapter for urging me to update. And a big thank you to my wonderful beta, almostinsane, who managed to get the beta'd copy back to me same day. You are awesome! As always, enjoy and please review. I consider all feedback.

-Scarlet

Part Three: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 1: Problems

Dylan had grown up in a closed community. His apprentice cohort had only been about 15 mages. Two or three had been sent to Starkhaven a few years after he had arrived. He was very familiar with childish bickering. He had even participated in some of it...

But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the terror that was Michael Cousland.

Truly, he was in awe. The man had turned needling into an art form. All he could think of as he walked in conversation with Leliana watched the evil unfold from the corner of his eye, was 'Thank the Maker, I'm not the target of...that'.

Ishafel, however, was by no means as lucky.

"So," he asked, his voice too sweet to mean anything good; "Is the mud a Dalish thing? Are your people very rustic, or is it part of some kind of elven ritual?"

Ishafel fought the urge to insert her dagger in his mouth and shove it down his throat.

Three bloody hours ...

The Dalish didn't even have a word for for this kind of concentrated annoyance. It was like constantly being buzzed by Wilds gnats: hideous little creatures that attempted en masse to dismember their prey by biting small chunks of their skin and working at it until there was no flesh to be had on bone at all.

Oh, the questions had started innocently enough; but there was always a twist to them that was loaded or insulting. He was all apologies at first, but after awhile Michael took no pains to hide his animosity. What she had managed to do to him was a mystery. He had beaten her in that clearing, as loathe as she was to admit it. If not for Morrigan, he would have killed her.

If anything, she should be the one who was spiteful!

She had learned better than to stay silent. Not responding was even worse. He made a rather twisted game out of getting her to balk and seemed to enjoy trying to outdo himself.

"Are all humans so very stupid," she snapped, giving him a glare that would would strip flesh from bone, "Or is it just you?"

He returned the look with smile that met cold eyes, "Just me, I'm sure. So, the rustic mud suit is just you then. Oh, Ishi, you really must take better care of yourself. Losing your footing in battle, walking around in mud-"

A strangled sound found it's way up Ishafel's throat. "What did you call me?"

"Ishi?" Michael's smile got even bigger.

Dylan was seriously beginning to wonder if the man was trying for death by Ishafel. Maybe he should get Leliana to counsel him. After an hour of speaking amicably with her, he was convinced that while she was not telling them everything, her belief in the Maker, at least, was sincere.

It was the most boring damned conversation he had ever had.

"They bicker like a married couple." Leliana said laughing as she noticed Dylan's gaze. Ishafel had drawn her dar'misu and was waving it threateningly at Michael, who had in turn drawn his own dagger in a mocking imitation.

"A really spiteful married couple." Alistair put in with a shudder, "I'm surprised she hasn't killed him yet, actually."

They watched as she lunged at him with her blade. Michael twisted out of the way, laughing.

"Well, obviously it's not for lack of trying." Morrigan called out over her shoulder. She was walking slightly ahead of them, and giving Dylan a terrific view of her swaying backside. Despite the lovely vantage point, it was very hard to enjoy the spectacle, what with the bickering and Leliana droning on about the Maker and the fact that Sten seemed to be trying to abandon them by walking as fast as he was able. As Dylan rubbed his head in frustration and drew his stave, Leliana put a morning chilled hand on his sleeve.

"Allow me." She said.

Ishafel, in the meantime, had abandoned all restraint. Later, perhaps she would think on the repeated lectures about restraint and forethought she had received from Da'ben and Marethari; right now...

She almost had the annoying shem!

Ishafel lunged feverishly as Michael danced away with a smirk. She just had to box him in! Ishafel was so focused on her objective that it took her a moment to realize the clanging sound she had just heard was her dar'misu flying out of her hand. It was joined in the dirt by Michael's dagger not a second later.

Ishafel and Michael looked back at their audience. Michael frowned at Leliana, but the expression bordered on a pout, as though someone had taken away his favorite toy.

"Now children," Dylan said acidly, his already acerbic tone accented by the monumental headache that was forming. "It's time for you to go to your prospective corners and not speak to each other for awhile."

"Oh?" Michael challenged, but he apparently knew better than to bother a mage with a migraine. He retrieved his weapon from the ground gracefully. "Well, Ishi dearest, the... conversation... has been sparkling. We really must do this again. Perhaps next time I can show you how a real fighter manages his sword."

He gave a hair curling smile that matched the hidden meaning in the words.

Dylan nearly choked on his tongue at the innuendo. Luckily for everybody, it seemed to go right over Ishafel's head.

"Stop calling me that!" She shrieked, groping the ground for her blade, but by the time she had picked it up, Michael had sauntered out of striking range.

"Miss Leliana," he said offering her his arm, "You simply must tell me where you learned that little trick with the throwing knives I wasn't even aware you carried."

She gave him a guileless smile, dislodging herself from Dylan to daintily accept the proffered arm.

"There are lots of things about me you are unaware of, Mr. Michael."

Together, they walked to the front of the pack, leaving a seething Ishafel in their wake. Leliana gave her a wink as they passed.

Potential murder mostly adverted, the party moved on.

Ishafel walked slowly, attempting to control her breathing along with her rage. Dylan and Alistair walked in companionable silence on either side of her, just in case.

"Quite... a personality... isn't he?" Dylan said after the heaving of her chest stopped for the most part.

"I should have killed him when I had the chance." she muttered.

Dylan's eyes wandered over the lordling and the not-quite chantry mouse as they spoke. Both them possessed a studied ease that bored on being guarded. It was similar to the airs worn by majority of the mages at the tower. Constantly fighting off demons and templars, but firmly pretending that all was well anyway.

It was an air that spoke of a harder life than one was willing to admit to. He could relate.

"It might have to do with...his family." It was clear that Ishafel did not understand, and explaining would be pointless. She would be liable to speak of it and with her tact... it was best not to stir the pot.

"People have strange ways of dealing with tragedy." Dylan shrugged at her.

"He certainly seems carry on without issue." She shot another skin peeling glare at the back Michael's head. He was laughing merrily at some witty comment Leliana had made.

"Who is to say he was truthful with us?" She remarked scathingly.

It had been a day and a half since he had attacked them on the road. In that short a time, the angst driven, sorrow hollowed man had disappeared. Replaced instead by what could have been a young nobleman out a merry hunt, relishing in gaming, drinking and attempting tell stories by the fire.

And of course making Ishafel want to offer her neck to the dread wolf.

"He has secrets," Dylan said calmly. "Don't we all? He's not going to attack us again, and we will be rid of him come Redcliffe. You only have to put up with it til then."

"You don't find it, I don't know, endearing?" Alistair asked innocently. "the nickname, I mean?"

Ishafel's face scrunched up like a soured fruit.

"Relax." Dylan said, catching himself before he laughed at her. "Lots of people at the circle used to call me "Dyl". Is it really something to get upset about?"

Sirius barked in the distance to slow Sten, who was disappearing around a bend and then galloped after him.

Ishafel didn't answer. Shrugging, Dylan increased his stride, intending to join Morrigan. He wanted to talk to her about that paralysis spell anyway.

"Short-names are a sign of intimacy among the Dalish." she said haltingly. He slowed. "We usually do not refer to each other by first name unless they are of clan. Every member of my clan would be 'Mahariel' to another clan. It is disrespectful to call someone not of clan by their given name. Only close friends and family ever shorten names."

"Ah," Alistair said in a sudden moment of comprehension, "I see."

And then she added, for no reason she could think of:

"The last people I remember calling me by a short name were my...family...before I was exiled and..."

Both men fell silent as her voice trialed off. It was the first time Ishafel had offered any personal information about herself. Alistair had laid out his own life story one of their first nights on the road. Even Morrigan, that first day in Lothering, had told Dylan of her younger years as a child apostate. Dylan himself had mentioned things here or there. Ishafel had listened to them all, even asked questions, Maker bless her, but never once had said anything of her own situation.

Curiosity gripped Dylan. There were suddenly hundreds of questions he wanted to ask. It occurred to him then that he did not know just how Ishafel came to be in the Tower tainted. She had been forthcoming enough about everything in her life since meeting up with Duncan. But Duncan had found her tainted, and the darkspawn were not as far as the Brecillian yet.

It occurred to him for all their fighting and planning together, he knew Ishafel very little.

"You're an exile?" Alistair asked, seeming to have realized the same thing inexplicably faster than Dylan.

Dylan stuck around to hear the answer, because the look on Ishafel's face became so raw that he couldn't have left if he tried.

"Yes. The Keeper commanded me to go, and so I left."

"But how did you meet Duncan?" He asked, confused.

"Duncan is the one who caused me to be exiled. Demanded it actually." The words were steeped in a bitterness that presented only more questions. Duncan had doted on Ishafel, especially over matters concerning her health. He could have well believed they were good friends. There was no illusion in their travels which recruit he thought was worth his time.

"Duncan?" Alistair asked dumbstruck, "Why would he do such a thing? I can't believe it!"

A trademark Ishafel glare, the first not to be directed at Michael in some time, followed.

"Oh, very nice, accuse the poor girl of lying. What is the matter with you?" Dylan replied snidely.

"When did I say she was lying?" Alistair asked affronted. When they turned to question further, she was a figure on the horizon, nearly as far ahead of them as Sten.

"You don't suppose she's mad at me now?" his voice was halfway between sorrow and anxiety and reminded him so much of Cullen that he could well believe he was back at the Tower. "I never was good at talking to girls."

"You should clear the whole lying business up as soon as possible." He said, moving forward to intercept her. It seemed a cruel thing given the pain on her face to leave her alone now, and the distance that she had always been careful maintained took on new meaning. So rather than slink off to Morrigan, he walked beside her as they moved on. Though it became apparent that she wasn't really in the mood to entertain any more questions about her past at present.

"You really believe he doesn't have a motive for following us to Redcliffe?" Ishafel asked, her voice carrying the telltale edge of suspicion.

Dylan shrugged."Maybe he does, but his motives are his own."

"And what motive does the Sister have?" Ishafel asked, her brows furrowing.

"She would not tell me. It maybe that she does not trust us yet." The headache in Dylan's brain began to pulse. There was a tingle on his skin. Odd, there were no darkspawn or Ishafel would already have drawn her bow.

"Is it the custom of shems to lie so much?"

Dylan cracked a wincing smile.

"I don't think they are lying so much as refusing to tell us the truth."

Ishafel's eyebrows furrowed even deeper,

"Shems think there is a difference?"

"You don't?"

"Are you hiding a truth?" She asked him impulsively.

"Are you?" he asked, suddenly defensive. It didn't matter whether or not he was hiding anything, what gave her cause to ask a question like that?

She snorted "Of course not. What would I have to hide?"

"How did you come by the taint?"

The question tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to process what he was going to say. Really, Ishafel must have been rubbing off on him. She recoiled from the question as though stung by a bee. It was sometime before they spoke again. The backroads were giving wider purchase now, turning from barely visible dirt lines into hard beaten paths. They were rewarded for their days of travel when the trees abruptly cut away out on to a jut of red rock pealing down into a valley below, lush with human dwellings that curved out lumpily into Lake Calenhad.

Redcliffe at last.

Ishafel admired the view, marred as it was by human dwellings. The clan had never come this way, and she had never seen a lake so large before. She wondered idly what Tamlen would have thought of it, he probably would want to scout for well-used drinking areas to lay traps for deer. What would Fenarel and Merrill think? Gazing at the lake and the hills beyond, Ishafel took stock of things. Dylan was right, of course. Though it seemed the short time they had been together could be a lifetime, none of the traveling companions really knew each other. Everyone had secrets: Michael, Morrigan, Leliana, probably even Sten.

If they were secrets that did not endanger their mission to slaughter the archdemon, did it really matter?

Dylan's question burned uncomfortably in her mind. She did not want to talk about it, not really. Tamlen was dead, and talking about it would not bring him back.

Alistair appeared at her side with an apology and a smile. There, at least, was one shem who was totally transparent. He probably couldn't keep a secret if he tried!

They continued down the from the hills above the sleepy looking hamlet. The forest was just about to give way to the town when Alistair called to Dylan and Ishafel to stop.

"Look, can we talk for a moment. I have something I, ah, should have probably told you both earlier."

'So much for the idea of one truthful companion', Ishafel thought to herself ruefully.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Sirius didn't keep secrets, but then Sirius was a Mabari.

"What's on you mind?" Dylan asked cautiously. Ishafel could tell he was just as surprised at Alistair's omission of truth. It felt good not to be the only one surprised. Marethari's voice chided her in her mind.

"Well, let's see... How do I tell you this?" He looked down towards his fidgeting hands and then back up abruptly. "We're almost at Redcliffe. Did I say how I know Arl Eamon, exactly?"

Dylan honestly had no idea, but Ishafel, whom had spent a great deal of their journey walking with Alistair, knew.

"I think you said he raised you."

He nodded.

"I'm a bastard. My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was born. Arl Eamon took me in and raised me before I was sent to the chantry. The reason he did that was because..." He took a deep breath and the next sentence tumbled out as though he was saying it as fast as humanly possible.

"Well, because my father was King Maric."

Neither Dylan or Ishafel said anything; Dylan because he was in shock, mouth hanging slightly agape and Ishafel because she did not understand the importance of it.

His father was the human king, and?

"What? You don't think you might have mentioned this before?" Dylan almost shouted. Ishafel frowned, clearly, this was very important.

Alistair looked at him sourly. He must have been taking lessons from Ishafel.

"How? What would I say? 'Oh, by the way, King Maric had sex with a servant and she produced a bastard son. That's me.'"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it like that; but you should have told us Alistair." Dylan said, crossing his arms. "You should have told us the minute we decided on Redcliffe. You don't think that might have a bearing on how our discussion with the Landsmeet goes?"

He had the decency to look sheepish.

"I would have told you, but...it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone."

"A threat to Cailan?" Ishafel asked, baffled, "Why?"

"I'm not sure how the Dalish choose their leaders, but among humans it's hereditary. From father to son. If a king has two sons, there is the chance the second one might try to seize the throne." Dylan explained.

"But Alistair would never do something like that!"

Alistair gave Ishafel the warmest smile she'd ever seen.

"Exactly! But try telling that to the people who would. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me...even Duncan. He kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry."

Ishafel nodded, gripping his shoulder in the same way she might have a green hunter, unsure of his ability.

"I think I understand. Know this, you are a fine warrior and as long as I've known you, a decent man, which is rare enough among shem. This does not change how I think of you."

Dylan shrugged at him and grinned, almost mockingly.

"Well, I always knew you were a bastard. Now your just a royal bastard. Doesn't change anything."

Alistair barked in laugher as Dylan clapped him on the same shoulder where Ishafel had squeezed.

"Good, I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow."

"What do you mean?" Dylan asked, "King's bastards, even Ferelden ones, usually get land, or a title, or something."

Alistair shook his head.

"Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, despite all the problems it caused with the king so soon after the war. He loved her a great deal. Anyway, the new Arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as the Arl's bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The Arlessa made sure the castle was not a home to me at that point. She despised me."

"Did she know the truth about you?" Ishafel inquired as they left the mouth of the woods and continued down the slope of the ridge. It hardly seemed fair to punish a child for being born. Then again, these were shem and this birthright business seemed rather important to everyone.

"She may have, but I think it's more likely that she feared the rumors might be true. I can't blame her for that."

Dylan looked at the man wonderingly. Oh yes, he could. Maker knew he held the templars responsible for making it so he could never go home. It was a strong man who could just let all that go.

"So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Dylan smirked, "As you command... My prince." Newfound respect or not, it was fantastic to have a come back to the ongoing ribbing about jumping out of his skin at the sight of Sandal in the darkspawn helmet.

Alistair scowled at him. "Oh lovely, I'm going to regret this. Somehow, I just know it."

They looked ahead to see the rest of the party at the base of the road. A harried looking young man was speaking hurriedly to Michael. The expressions on his worn face vacillated between hope, panic and despair.

All and all, it did not look promising.

"We have a problem," Michael confirmed as they reached them. "It seems as the village is under attack."

"Attack?" Dylan frowned at the peaceful looking landscape. "Explain..."

"Tomas, ser. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us til dawn. Everyone's been fighting... and dying. We've no army to defend us, no Arl and no king to send aid." The urgency left his voice replaced with exhaustion. "So many are dead and those left are terrified they're next."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Apparently, everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really."

Dylan couldn't help but agree. It was a problem, a real problem.

"Hold on. What is this evil attacking you?" He asked. Evil could be a lot of things, an with the look on young Tomas' face, this evil was probably magical in nature.

"I...I don't rightly know; I'm sorry. Nobody does." hope flickered in the man's eyes for a moment,

"Will you help us?"

Nobody said anything for a long moment. But it seemed enough for Tomas that they hadn't gone screaming back up the road. "I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you."

"Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?" Alistair asked. Ishafel wondered at the surprise in his voice.

"Yes, it's not far. If you'll come with me." Tomas replied eagerly.

Dylan's headache throbbed as they descended into the valley. At his shoulder, Ishafel spoke in low tones.

"I don't like this. The air here, it smells wrong."

Her voice was barely audible but his head lurched at the sound, he missed his footing and came very close to tumbling to the ground.

Ishafel's hand shot out and caught his shoulder, yanking him upright.

"Dylan? Are you well?"

Light flickered across his lids as the red ground before him flashed to the color of dead grass and back.

He knew the color, knew the texture of that ground. He was seeing into the fade. It shouldn't have been possible. Something was very wrong in Redcliffe.

"The Fade..." he managed to get out, before he stumbled again and this time Ishafel's considerable strength was not enough to keep him upright. She shouted in alarm as his center of gravity threatened to send them both tumbling down the steep cliff. Just as he was about to fall, he felt a strong arm catch him about the waist.

"Dylan, easy." Michael had to brace himself as the poor mage tumbled into him "Can you make it to the Chantry?" the words echoed, sounding hollow as he was pulled further into the fade.

"Out of my way."

There was a tingle of magic over his face and he was abruptly pulled back to reality. The headache gave way to a dull throb. After a moment, he was able to stand again only to see Morrigan scowling at him.

"Tell me, are you fond of tempting demons, or did you really not know that you need to shield yourself from tears in the Fade?"

"There isn't a tear anywhere I can sense."

Morrigan looked around defensively, as though she expected demons to pop out of the air at any moment.

"You are unusually sensitive, like myself." She told him, curbing the annoyance in her voice.

"The tear is a ways off, but quite large. A shield spell usually suffices. 'Tis a wonder you haven't be killed already. "

"It's never happened before." He said, voice raspy.

"Well, I doubt slaying the Archdemon will be a more than one time experience. Do you plan to be unprepared for that?"

She continued back down the cliff. Leaning on Ishafel and Michael for support, Dylan continued downward with grim concentration.

Why could he not sense the tear as Morrigan could? He had not been out of the tower much in his life, although other apprentices had, but he did have experience with Fade sunder. Even apprentices, carefully guarded by templars and senior mages, were called upon to help clean a harrowing gone awry.

He had cleaned up three, enough to know the pull and ebb of Fade unchecked. Even when he wasn't involved, he could still feel the unease of it from the bottom of the tower.

This was not normal. He reached out with his mana, and felt all the usual things, but without warning Ishafel and Alistair pulsed in his visual range. Ishafel was so strong, it was almost painful.

Was the taint to blame?

The pain in his head roared back with a vengeance. Tucking himself back behind his shield, lest he toppled over again, he decided to test his new theory at a better time, namely when he was on level ground. Thankfully, the trip to the Chantry and Bann Teagan was short and he could walk under his own power at the end of it.

It was obvious who the Bann was when they entered the room. He did not radiate command as some leaders did, but rather he was connected to all the hustle and bustle that went on around him, the calm in the center of the storm. It brought about an immediate, grudging respect from Ishafel. There were few enough people in the world like that, she wondered if the shems knew how lucky they were to have him.

The Bann's eyes latched on to them as soon as they entered the chantry.

"It's...Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They're obviously not simple travelers."

Tomas seemed tickled pink that the Bann knew his name. "No, my lord. They just arrived and I thought you would want to see them."

"Well done. Greetings friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl... "

The Bann's eyes stuck on Michael's face as he looked at each one of them in turn. "Michael? Is that you?"

"Alive and whole, Teagan. Although, I'm sure Howe has told the Landsmeet otherwise."

"He claimed that your father was conspiring with the Grey Wardens to overthrow the king. Your family has been branded traitors; your lands forfeit. Howe has been granted the title and lands as a reward for special services to the regent. "

Michael's hands clenched. "My father was a loyal subject of King Calian to his last breath! It's Howe who is the traitor! Mother, Father, Sylpheira, Fergus... all dead because of him!"

Tegan put a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "I do not doubt you, Michael. None who knew Bryce Cousland would believe for a moment he would turn on his king and country. I presume you are here for my brother's aid?

"Yes, and I bring with me allies..."

Surprisingly, it was Alistair who spoke first. "I remember you Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."

Bann Tegaan looked astonished. "Covered in mud? …. Alistair? It is you, isn't?

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Does anyone else not wonder how he was able to identify Alistair so easily when given the description 'covered in mud'?"

Michael snorted and snapped his fingers. "So the mud is a Warden thing then, eh?"

Ishafel glowered at him, but was eclipsed by Alistair himself. "Yes, right, didn't we tell you? It keeps away the Archdemon, you ought to try it yourself"

He said it so caustically that it couldn't help but draw a chuckle from Ishafel. Michael was unperturbed.

"Huh, I'll pass" he said blandly.

Thankfully, Bann Teagan decided to get everybody back on track.

"This is wonderful news!"

Alistair scratched the back of his head. "Yes, well, I probably won't be alive much longer if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.

Teagan's face darkened. "Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."

Michael's eyes glinted dangerously. "Well, well, the man's been a busy bee. Waisted no time declaring himself, has he? And what does Anora say to having to share with daddy dearest?

Teagan shook his head. "The Queen keeps her own council, although she asked me not to interfere, I think she takes the threat of civil war more seriously than the regent.

"Always was a smart girl."

"You don't believe Loghain's lies?" Ishafel questioned.

"What? That he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? He sniffed "Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murders of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man."

Teagan looked at Ishafel though he was seeing her for the first time. It was disconcerting how familiar being gawked at by male humans was becoming. Was an armed female elf really so unusual?

"So... you are a Grey Warden as well?"

She nodded. "Mahariel Ishafel," she motioned at Dylan "and Dylan Amell".

"A pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances. You are here to see my brother, I suppose. Unfortunately that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill." Teagan began to pace. "On top of that, no one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls and no one has responded to my shouts. These attacks started a few nights ago. Evil...things.. surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault. They came again the next night, and the next."

"What kind of evil things are you talking about? We have experience with dealing with evil things, all kinds."

"Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair, Michael, I hate to ask but I desperately need the help of you and your friends."

"Rest assured, Teagan." Michael said unflinchingly, "You have my blades, come what may."

All traces of the flippant lordling had disappeared, and back was the battle hardened, calculating rouge Ishafel seen a trace of at the inn. Curious.

Alistair hesitated "It isn't just up to me," he told Teagan. "Though the Grey Wardens don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon..."

Dylan sighed inwardly. Now that was a subtle as a brick though a chantry window.

"Of course we'll help." He said, now that Alistair had basically committed them. Ishafel nodded.

Morrigan let out a long-suffering sigh. "How pointless, to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One we think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"You are not daft or tactless, though occasionally you pretend to be." Dylan replied to her in a low voice only she could hear. "We need the Arl's support; and if something happens to the Arl, who do you think we will need to court?"

The words stilled in Morrigan's mouth "Very well, then."

"We should get started," Dylan addressed them all. "There is much to do before nightfall..."