Disclaimer: Certain parts of the 'original' story-line will be changed. This is NOT to claim ownership of Dragon Age or any of its characters, but simply because this is my Warden's story (and sometimes I can't help myself, haha.) This is the life he has lived, and I will defend that. Otherwise, I'll try to update regularly. I look forward to hearing feedback from anyone who happens across this book!

HOMOPHOBIA AND RACISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. THANK YOU!

Chapter II- The Arl of Redcliffe

He was standing on top of a cliff and looking down at the river of lava coursing far beneath his feet. It seemed to extend forever, winding a path through the jagged cliffs that smelled of brimstone and blood. The air should have been stagnant, but it was electrified. It was evil. He couldn't explain why, but there was something off about the entire situation. He had never seen this place before in his life. But where was he?

Suddenly, his head began pounding as whispers in an old tongue coursed through his mind and threatened to engulf his thoughts. He focused on the lava— no, those were torches, and they were being carried by an entire horde of darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands of them, all amassing beneath the bridge that covered the gigantic chasm before him. The howls and snarls that rose from the depths would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And then the visions changed. He felt its presence before he could see it, but there it was. A gigantic, armored beast stood before him, its tattered wings outstretched, each the size of a slaver's ship. Its skin was decaying and fell in stringy pieces to reveal the bone underneath. A festering maw filled with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth that could pierce even the strongest armors. He felt the urge to vomit. This was no ordinary dragon.

Something was very, very wrong.

It released a deafening roar across its massive army as they stood at attention. Stryder felt his entire body go cold, realizing he could almost understand what it was commanding. His mind slipped into the darkness as the creature loosed its corrupted flames into the air. He could feel the heat of the fire upon his skin, burning his face. Yet he was powerless to stop it until the void swallowed him and the nightmare before him dissipated into nothingness.

He sat up on his bedroll, sweat droplets rolling down his face. His heart leapt into his throat. "Ah...!"

"Bad dreams, huh?"

It took a moment before he realized that it was Alistair speaking and not something else from his dreams to torment him. He became painfully aware of the throbbing behind his eyes, undoubtedly the beginning of a rather nasty headache. He shivered after a moment, then regained his composure. Leaders were calm and collected. They weren't supposed to show fear.

"I-it must have been something I ate," Stryder waved dismissively. "Though I'll admit, it did seem real."

"Well it is real... sort of," Alistair replied, frowning. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them."

The rogue felt vaguely uncomfortable. "Hearing them? Are you quite sure?"

"The archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

Stryder waited to see if he was joking. But Alistair only turned his gaze towards the campfire, his face set in a solemn expression as the flames danced across charred wood.

"The archdemon...?" he finally said. Suddenly, it clicked. "Is that the dragon?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon." Alistair sighed, then smiled reassuringly. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

Stryder felt his body go cold with pure dread.

"Yeah, me neither," he lied.

"Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too."

Stryder raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

"Other than dying young and the whole defeat-the-Blight-alone thing? No, I'm all tapped out for surprises," Alistair scoffed, rising from his seat by the fire. "Anyhow, you're up now, right? Let's pull up camp and get a move-on."

It was decided within the hour that Redcliffe would be their next destination. Alistair had some fine points on the advantage of having Arl Eamon on their side, one being the man's substantial influence on the lords and ladies of Ferelden. After all, Loghain was a threat that needed to be dealt with, and quickly. In addition to that, the arl was rather well-known for having an army of skilled knights who obeyed his every command. If they could convince him to help, that meant his forces could be turned towards the Blight.

Stryder got the feeling that there was something more to it than a mere suggestion. Alistair would dodge the conversation at nearly every turn, and despite brief comments that implied there was more to the story, he seemed tense whenever Stryder spoke of the man. From what little he knew, Arl Eamon had been a sort of father-figure to a young Alistair; that was, until the Arlessa sent him to a monastery in Bournshire. Stryder had visited the town with his father on important business, once. And it was incredibly dull.

As for their other companions, the rogue was incredibly curious about their two newest additions. As of those early morning hours, they had been traveling together for three days. Sten was a muscular and annoyingly literal qunari who seemed to enjoy any questions about his past. For someone who had been in a cage for nearly two weeks, he seemed less than pleased with his fellow travelers. And then there was Leliana, a bard and devout follower of the Chant. He thought it strange that one could be a bard and a lay sister, seeing as the job descriptions were complete opposites. However, she explained that most of the sisters had similar backgrounds and that many simply chose to find solace in the Maker.

As if that hadn't been enough, the two dwarven merchants they had rescued outside of Lothering had decided to join Stryder and his followers on their travels. One of which, Sandal Feddic, knew how to fold lyrium as well as a senior enchanter. Or so his father boasted. Though the boy was admittedly simple, he was very talented at his work and was more than happy to lend them a hand. As for Bodahn and Sandals' origins, it seemed like a question for another time. Nonetheless, the dwarves had agreed to accompany them for as long as Stryder required the use of obscurely-collected merchandise.

It had been a strange month, to say the least. Yet, somehow, Stryder wouldn't have it any other way.

Some six days later, the landscape began to change. They kept Lake Calenhad in sight, traveling along the edge of it when the harsh terrain that made up most of Ferelden became too difficult to traverse. The Hinterlands were brutal and mountainous with forests that seemed to stretch on forever. The Hinterlands were also abundant in elfroot, which made for better healing supplies. Thankfully, very few darkspawn had dared to venture much further into the kingdom, so the majority of threats came from animals and bandits.

"They're all so eager to die, aren't they?" Stryder sighed as he crouched by the body of a large wolf. He brightened up. "Ah, well. Another point for me!"

Alistair grimaced. "You're rather cheerful for someone soaked in blood."

Stryder looked down at his armor. It was splashed in scarlet and smelled absolutely horrible. His weapons matched.

"I suppose I'm just used to being covered in foreign substances," the rogue laughed, wiping a few droplets of sweat and blood from his cheek. "And before you ask, yes. I know exactly how that sounds."

"Er, right..." Alistair responded awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I think we're getting close, by the way."

"We did seem to hit it off rather well, didn't we?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "To Redcliffe, I mean."

"How long until we actually reach it, then?" Stryder asked, stepping over the corpse of an unlucky traveler left to rot by the roads. His belongings had already been picked through, sadly.

"Well, if I remember correctly, it should be..." he trailed off, hiking up the nearest outcropping of rocks. He jumped across to a grass-covered ledge overlooking the lake. "...just ahead."

Stryder followed suit and climbed up the rocks. He was lucky enough to find flat footing and reached up to scale the next few. Alistair extended a hand, which he gratefully took, and with their combined efforts he was soon gazing across the lake in complete awe.

Their position overlooked the entirety of Redcliffe, which seemed so small from a distance, and a bit further away was a huge grey castle perched on tall cliffs above the lake. Rain clouds hovered on the horizon, making everything beyond them impossible to spot. The dark, lapping waters went on as far as the eye could see.

Above them, an osprey floated along the cool wind currents, its sharp yellow eyes on Stryder and Alistair. It sailed over the tree tops casually before turning its focus towards the waters far below. Without warning it let out a screech and shot past them with blinding speed, straight into the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. The bird emerged moments later with a fish before disappearing once more into Ferelden's wilderness.

"Wow. I had no idea Redcliffe was so..."

"Scenic? Picturesque?" Alistair laughed. "It may look peaceful now, but just wait until you get down there. I remember the town square was always so busy. You had to really watch your feet, or people would step all over you."

"So you grew up here, then." Stryder concluded.

"I mentioned already that Arl Eamon was sort of like a father to me." Alistair smiled hesitantly, then turned away from Stryder's gaze. "But it wasn't until Duncan came and... and... nevermind. We should, uh, probably get moving."

He coughed, then hopped down the rocks. He was surprisingly nimble for a man of his size. Stryder watched him leave but didn't bother objecting. After all, it wasn't his place to pry. And despite his piqued interest, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. If Alistair wanted to talk about it, he would do so in his own time.

They continued along the path through a small patch of woodland. It was eerily quiet, as if every animal in the forest had disappeared. The group pushed forward, no one daring to break the silence that had settled over the area. There were cart tracks in the dried mud that swerved across the trail as if someone had been in a hurry to leave town. Several footprints led further into the woods, broken branches and flattened bushes carving a route through the underbrush. The footprints stopped mysteriously, and there was no sign that anyone had traveled through recently.

"They were being hunted." Morrigan's certain tone caused a chill to roll down his spine.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Stryder ran a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing. "Something's not quite right in this place."

The party continued walking until they had found a suitable place to make camp. From their position on the cliffs most of the village was visible. Seeing as neither of them had equipment, it was decided that Sten and Leliana would be better suited to setting up camp. The qunari was displeased to hear that he would be pitching tents instead of drawing blood, but even he relented under the Warden's stern command. Bodahn and Sandal welcomed all the help they could get and were more than happy to put Sten to work with chopping logs for the fire.

As for the rest of them, Stryder and his remaining companions found the narrow road leading into Redcliffe and set off immediately. It was just past noon, and the sun was blazing hot in the sky. The only relief was an occasional gust of wind that brought the smell of the lake with it. There were a few overturned carts along the way, all of them abandoned in the same member, and all of them missing passengers. Magnus sniffed around one such cart, then picked up a small ragdoll between his teeth and brought it to his master.

Stryder crouched down to pick it up. It was a child's doll from the looks of it, probably belonging to a little girl. Dried blood stained the front of the toy as its melancholy button eyes peered up at him. He delicately placed the doll in his pocket. The others watched him without a single word.

"What? Whoever this belongs to will want it back, yes?" he muttered, standing up and taking lead once more.

By now it was obvious that something terrible had happened in Redcliffe. For a moment Stryder wondered if the darkspawn had gotten there before they had, but he assured himself that the thought was simply impossible. A group of darkspawn would have left carnage in its wake, but so far there had been no severed heads on pikes or bodies ripped apart by foul blades... even more tellingly, there were no darkspawn corpses to be found. And that was a very, very good thing.

The rogue was so involved in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the sudden lack of Alistair's commentary. He looked across his shoulder at the blond, who was shuffling a few feet behind them. Stryder stopped in his tracks, almost causing the man to walk straight into him.

Alistair jumped in surprise. "Whoa! Uh, why are we stopping?"

"You seem nervous, Alistair," Stryder replied, his eyes narrowing. "Are you alright?"

He chewed on the edge of his lip, considering the question with great forethought. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, probably should have told you earlier," Alistair said, rubbing the base of his neck.

"Oh, this should be good!" Morrigan exclaimed with sheer delight. "What dark secrets could our very own templar be hiding from us?"

Alistair shot her a dirty glare. "Won't you just toss yourself from the cliffs already?"

"Morrigan, wait for us by the bridge. We'll catch up later," Stryder directed calmly.

With a few complaints under her breath, Morrigan stalked down the trail alongside Magnus. As soon as she had disappeared from view, the expression on Alistair's face shifted from irritation to distress. He turned to Stryder and began twisting the small golden ring on his finger.

Stryder watched him with crossed arms. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. I've never liked it, that's for sure."

And here he goes. This can't be good. Stryder sighed. "Well, let's get on with it then. The suspense is killing me."

"I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right?" he started, as they met gazes. "That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?"

"Hmm. Yes, I seem to recall something of the sort," the rogue replied nonchalantly.

"The reason he did that was because... well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my... half-brother, I suppose."

Stryder inhaled sharply. He had made casual note of the resemblance, but to think he was traveling with the brother of the late king, it hadn't crossed his mind. Alistair grimaced slightly, waiting on his response.

"So." Stryder began jokingly, biting back the rising panic. "You're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"

Alistair snorted. "Ha! Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often. 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."

"I'm not angry, Alistair. There are things I haven't told you, either," Stryder said, rubbing his chin. "Though I wish you would have said something sooner."

Alistair's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it! I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Believe me, I understand."

"Whew. Good. I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow," Alistair shook his head. "At any rate, that's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it."

"Are you sure? We're here now, so if you're hiding anything else, you'd better spill it now," the rogue smiled.

Alistair grinned back at him. "Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."

They started down the path leading to the village. Stryder could already hear Morrigan scolding his hound; he had probably gotten into her herbs again. Troublesome dog.

"So... shall I start calling you Prince Alistair, then?"

"No! Maker's breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack!" he rolled his eyes. "It's not true, anyhow... I'm the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future."

"But imagine the possibilities! Wouldn't you rather be living in your own castle, wearing silk robes while pretty servants feed you candied grapes and tell you how handsome you are?"

Alistair glanced at Stryder incredulously. "Royals actually do that?"

"How should I know? I'm not of royal blood," Stryder laughed. "But it sounds fun, doesn't it? The most we have to look forward to is killing darkspawn and climbing into cold bedrolls at the end of the day."

"And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle... and more importantly, very popular with the people." Alistair said, then bit his lip. "Though... if he's really as sick as we've heard... no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

"Well, there's only one way to find out, I suppose. And we'd better not keep Morrigan waiting, or she'll turn us into toads." Stryder replied.

"Pfft. She wasn't actually being serious about that... was she?"

"Do you really want to find out?"

Alistair didn't respond.

Together again, they made it to the bridge, where a young man was waiting for them.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale. Stryder had seen that look before in the eyes of deer and rabbits. The subtle raise of his dagger as they approached, the wariness in his eyes as he spoke in a voice filled with exhaustion. Like an animal grasping onto its will to survive.

That was the look of a man being hunted.

Bann Teagan Guerrin was, by all accounts, not a very imposing man. He wasn't terribly tall, nor was he as muscular as half the bandits they had come across during their travels. Yet seeing his face was enough to send a chill down Stryder's spine.

Teagan was the bann of Rainesfere, a small province nestled between the Frostback Mountains and Lake Calenhad. He was a brother to Arl Eamon and the late Queen Rowan. But he was also a friend of the Couslands. Though the banns of Ferelden were beneath the arls in status, together they still had a considerable amount of influence in the Landsmeet.

Bryce Cousland was a teyrn, and beloved by all who knew him. His father had always loved the outdoors, a passion he had passed on to both of his sons. Stryder was only six when he first attended one of his father's hunts.

The hunts themselves were a strategic political move, yet his father had always been so genuine in getting to know their guests. It wasn't hard to understand why nearly everyone had loved him. Many of the banns were there, as were Arl Eamon and Arl Howe. It nearly made Stryder sick to remember the days when he would try to impress Howe, who had been a sort of uncle figure to him as a child.

It had only been a few years since last seeing Bann Teagan, but Stryder recognized him almost immediately. He could only hope that the bann didn't also remember him.

"Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl..."

Stryder pushed his memories to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to think of the past. He smiled politely at Bann Teagan and extended a hand in welcome. The man took it readily, seeming grateful that they had come.

Alistair took a few steps forward. "I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."

"Covered in mud...?" the bann rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His face split into a wide grin. "...Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes, thought I'm just as surprised about that as you are, believe me." Alistair sighed.

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

"Why? What has Loghain said about us?" Stryder asked, frowning.

"That Loghain pulled out his own men in order to save them. That Cailan risked the entire nation's safety in the name of glory," Teagan said. "He calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is the act of a desperate man."

"I see. We've picked up rumors during our travels, but I truly had no idea the extent of Loghain's lies."

Stryder was suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes watching him. He looked around, eventually spotting a group of children watching him from behind the corner of a bookshelf. When they realized they had been found, they ducked away from his gaze and began whispering rather loudly. Teagan, amused, watched them for a moment before turning to the rogue and growing somber.

"You're here to see my brother? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill," he said, grimacing. "No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.

"The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... things... surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

Stryder looked around. Now that he thought about it, the Chantry was rather crowded. It was almost as bad as Lothering, and the people here were just as terrified. They had left Lothering a little over a week ago, making frequent stops at towns in between there and Redcliffe to gather more information about the political storm brewing in Ferelden. At one of those stops a tavernkeeper had told them that Lothering was gone, burned to the ground by the darkspawn horde.

The Blight would destroy everything in its wake. Anything it could touch would forever be tainted and fall into ruin. And it wouldn't stop with Ferelden- Orlais, the Free Marches, even Antiva would have to face it someday. The archdemon had to be slain. But without Arl Eamon's support, Stryder wasn't sure it was possible to raise his own army. He needed more than men.

He needed help.

"Alright. I can help you drive them back."

Teagan and the soldiers that flanked him loosely on both sides stared at him incredulously. Even Alistair was surprised to hear it. Morrigan groaned and shook her head. She massaged her temples and paced back and forth.

"How pointless to help these villagers fight an impossible battle," she said in a tone laced with scorn. "One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"It's only impossible if we don't try. Besides, the arl might be in danger," Stryder replied evenly.

"Thank you! Thank you, this... means more to me than you can guess." Teagan smiled, then turned to the young man who had led them into town. "Tomas, please tell Murdock what transpired. Then return to your post."

"Yes, my lord."

Tomas nodded to the Grey Wardens and walked hurriedly towards the large oak doors at the end of the hall. He had to push his way through clusters of townsfolk who were busy setting up their own places to sleep in order to get by.

Teagan ran a hand through his hair. "Now then. There is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the Chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle."

"What about you?" the rogue asked curiously.

"There is much to do inside these walls, and I must busy myself with arrangements here. As the arl's brother, I must keep the peace and prevent these folk from turning on one another."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Stryder said. "We'll be on our way, then."

"Very well. Luck be with you, my friends."

Before leaving, Stryder walked quietly towards the bookshelf. The children were still there, whispering amongst themselves until he approached. It was a group of around six, two of which were little girls. They all hid from view. Suddenly he remembered the fallen carts along the roads. He pulled the doll out of his pocket and stooped down.

"Hello, there. My name is Stryder..." he began softly. "Would any of you happen to know who this belongs to? I'd like to return it."

A few heads poked around the corner of the shelf. One of the little girls, who was decidedly braver than the rest, came out and took the doll from him. She turned it over in her hands as if to examine it. Then she gave it back.

"It's Anya's doll. She's our friend, but she left with her papa after the monsters came," tears gathered in the little girl's eyes. "She loves that doll, mister. She'd never leave it behind... what if they got her, too?"

She began to cry. Something inside of Stryder crumbled a bit. Why did he feel so terrible? Was it because she reminded him of his nephew?

He forced a smile and tried to make his voice sound reassuring. "Don't cry, love. I'll find Anya. And I'm sure she'll be very happy to have her doll back."

"Y-you promise?"

"I promise."

She wiped the tears away and nodded. "Thank you! Please hurry!"

And with that they left. It seemed the entire village was in dire need of assistance, from finding missing children to convincing a drunk blacksmith to reopen his forges. Stryder had searched everywhere for Anya, to no avail. It seemed the entire family had simply vanished. A part of him was relieved they hadn't found anything, because that meant there was still a chance they had made it out of Redcliffe unscathed.

When they first arrived in Redcliffe the sun had barely reached its peak in the sky. Now it was setting, and fast. Once it sank beneath the murky waters of Lake Calenhad, the 'walking dead' would appear to attack the villagers once more. Fortunately the militia was ready to face them. It took a bit of convincing on Stryder's part, but he had gotten a surface dwarf to join the fight and a free round of drinks for the soldiers in the tavern. He also happened to meet an old acquaintance.

As it turned out, Berwick had been recruited by Arl Howe to spy on Redcliffe and to report the comings and goings of travelers. The elf claimed not to recognize him at first and said he was there to meet his brother. A few threats later, he handed Stryder a letter with the Howe insignia stamped across its front. It took everything in the rogue not to lash out, especially when the elf asked about Duncan. It was a good thing the tavern waitress had taken a liking to Alistair- who seemed a bit uncomfortable at the sudden attention- and distracted him from the conversation with Berwick. After receiving the letter, they both settled on the idea that he would help the militia defend Redcliffe during the next attack, and that was that.

"How's our morale?"

"The soldiers' spirits are high. Ser Perth and his knights are hauling the barrels of oil up the path as we speak. Setting fire to the undead seems a bit risky, but I expect you Grey Wardens have done worse to the darkspawn, eh? And I hear someone's got Lloyd giving free drinks to the militia. I suppose that'll keep their minds off of... well, I'm tempted to have an ale or two before tonight, myself."

Murdock was a grim man by all accounts, with dark hair and tan skin that suggested he had worked in the sun most of his life. His face seemed to be set in a permanent weathered scowl, as if he had seen too much war in his lifetime. Yet he carried himself with the dignity of a king protecting his people. Stryder suspected he had fought in the rebellion, but he decided to keep his thoughts private. After all, they had their own battle to plan.

Stryder glanced at the setting sun. "Lloyd agreed to help us, but I expect Dwyn will be doing most of the fighting. He seems capable."

"Capable of a lot of things," Murdock grunted. "Came here to cheat more hard-working commoners out of their coin, I expect, though he wields a sword better than any of us. As for the militia's weapons, repairs are going surprisingly well, considering how drunk Owen is. It's a wonder how that bastard can swing a hammer, let alone do some of his finest work yet."

"I promised I would find his daughter, Valena," the rogue admitted.

"I see. I regret not storming the castle, but I won't risk losing any more of my men," Murdock shook his head. "The bann and I spoke earlier; he said you came to Redcliffe seeking an audience with Arl Eamon? If you Grey Wardens were able to survive Ostagar, then... perhaps you'll be able to get into the castle."

"When the sun comes up, I'll break those walls down myself."

"We just have to make it until dawn," Murdock agreed. "I... have a good feeling about tonight."

"We'll do more than survive, Murdock. We're going to win." Stryder said confidently.

Murdock gave a small laugh. "You sound ready. Are you prepared, Warden?"

"I am. Let's do this."

His blades sliced through the undead horde as if they were made of paper. It was easy to lose himself in the battle, to enjoy the feeling of his dagger sinking into their decaying skin and exposing bone. Whatever they were, they certainly weren't human anymore. 'Walking corpses' didn't explain the half of it. They were monstrosities, atrocious imitations of real people with a hunger for blood. The most disturbing part was their sense of intelligence; they saw how he cut through their ranks and began to surround him. If it weren't for Morrigan, he might have been overwhelmed by their endless numbers.

The fires didn't slow them down, either— they simply emerged from the flames blackened and burning, the flesh dripping from their bodies like candle wax. The smell was horrible, and it reminded Stryder of the night his home had been taken. It made his eyes water and his stomach turn.

Stryder flew into a whirlwind of fury, striking anything that dared get near. Alistair and Morrigan were holding their own and Magnus completely ravaged whatever made it past them. As for Ser Perth and his knights, they were the last line of defense and prevented any stragglers from making it down the path. It was an effective system and served them well, though Morrigan complained about being so close to the undead. Mages weren't made to last in close combat, apparently.

One corpse fell after another. They hit the dirt with a loud thud and were quickly replaced with another. Stryder's lungs were burning as sweat beads rolled down his cheeks. Dark vile blood was splattered across his face and dried from the heat of the fire. Soon they would have to dwindle... soon there would be a break in the swarm and they would emerge triumphant. Or they would all die trying.

Just as he felt he could no longer swing his sword, the dead stopped coming. He planted his sword in the ground and caught his breath, scanning the area for any signs of their return. They had held their defense at the windmill with a clear view of the castle perched above the lake. The moon was almost full and gave off enough light to see Redcliffe in its entirety. The sight before him was nothing short of a massacre. Bodies were strewn about, some piled on top of each other in festering masses and others isolated even in death. Their blood soaked into the earth and turned it black.

For a moment, Stryder panicked. All around him he saw the corpses of people he had killed. And among them he saw faces he recognized.

He knew it wasn't real. Those cold, lifeless eyes didn't belong to his mother. The rotting hand reaching out for him wasn't his father's. But he saw it all the same, and he was staring at the stone walls of the kitchen larder once more. The people he knew and loved were staring up at him as if to confirm his worst fears. It was his fault they were dead.

His heartbeat was a drum pounding in his ears. Everything else sounded dull and muffled, as if he was underwater and sinking to the bottom. He couldn't stop staring at it, at the mess he had made. The thought of his family's blood coating his blade and his hands sent his mind reeling and almost made him vomit.

He vaguely felt a hand grasp his shoulder and shake him unceremoniously.

"Stryder!"

He snapped out of the vision. "W-wha...?"

"Are you alright? You had us worried there for a moment." It was Alistair. He had seen Stryder's reaction to the aftermath of the defense. "You started to say something, though I couldn't make sense of it."

"I'm sorry. It was... it was nothing," he replied, feeling his face go hot with embarrassment. He shouldn't have let it get to his head. Leaders were supposed to be calm and collected, not break down at the sight of death.

How can I kill an archdemon if I can't even control my own thoughts?

Suddenly, a militiaman came tearing up the path. It was Tomas. The bow strapped across his back looked as good as new— Owen had kept his end of the bargain. Tomas stopped in front of Stryder, his eyes wide with fear.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades! We need help!"

"You're joking, there's more of them?!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Knights, stay here and guard the path!" Stryder barked roughly, taking his sword and dagger in hand before following Tomas back to the village. As they ran, he swore he spotted a small child from the corner of his eye. But now was not the time for that.

As they approached, the sounds of combat became deafening. The undead had gathered from a different location, some rising from burn piles at the edge of town to attack them once again. The militia was led by Murdock, who had his forces gathered behind the barricades and loosing fire arrows into the horde. Upon their arrival, the clearing in front of the Chantry burst into fighting. The corpses wielded swords of their own covered in rust and the dried remains of those unlucky enough to meet them first.

An arrow whizzed past Stryder's neck. He turned to find it lodged in the eye of reanimated soldier.

"Glad you could make it!" Murdock yelled over the din, notching another arrow into his bow. "Now get over here and help us push them back!"

With their combined forces, Stryder and the militia were able to put many of the dead to rest. The promise of a new day drove them all to stay sharp and quick to kill. Lloyd, confident that the militia was backing him, even charged their ranks. Unfortunately, the soldiers had their own undead to kill and Stryder was too late to react. The tavernkeeper was torn apart before he knew what hit him.

Night passed as quickly as it came. As the dead retreated, the forces of the militia were left standing. Shouts of victory rang through the crisp morning air as a thin layer of mist covered the ground. Stryder felt a rush of energy as the sun's rays shone over the horizon. He looked around. Morrigan was using her magic to heal some of Alistair's wounds. Murdock and his men were too busy congratulating each other to worry about their injuries just yet.

Stryder's grin faded when he saw the last figure standing at the edge of the village.

It was a young girl, no older than five or six. Her skin was ashen grey and her once beautiful eyes were dull. He noticed the bones in one of her legs was jutting out at an odd angle, causing her gait to be a slow, almost pained shamble. She growled at him and began to approach.

The rest of the soldiers fell silent as Stryder knelt down and waited for her. She shuffled towards him slowly, her mouth opening to reveal small blood-stained teeth. He reached out and took her into his arms, drawing his dagger quietly. She was too frail to resist as he slipped the dagger into her back. There was a slight shudder before her body relaxed, slumping against his shoulder. It was over.

He held her close to his chest for a moment, though he knew he couldn't bring her back. He placed her on the ground gently and wiped the blood from his dagger. He became aware of the shadow standing over him.

"I tried to tell him not to leave, but James was stubborn... I only wish he hadn't taken his family with him. Anya didn't deserve this fate. None of them did."

Murdock crouched beside him and drew a hand over her eyes. She looked peaceful now, as if she were only sleeping. Stryder, heartbroken, placed the doll in Anya's hands and folded them over her chest. She was so young. Just another life he couldn't save in the end.

"No more burn piles." Stryder said, his voice cracking. "We give them a proper send off."

Murdock nodded. Nothing they could do would bring any of those people back. But at least they had been able to save more from sharing the same fate. That was all he could hope for, now. He supposed it was lucky they had come to Redcliffe when they did, otherwise the damage may have been truly irreparable.

Stryder stood up, feeling the warmth of the morning light on his face. He felt as if he hadn't seen the sun in years. Behind him, Alistair and Morrigan began bickering viciously. It was followed by a surprised yelp as Morrigan gave him a little shock. When he glanced over, Alistair's hair was sticking up in odd angles caused by friction. He laughed to himself; there was something so familiar about this.

The Chantry doors opened slightly. People were curious to know if the light of day meant they had won. Stryder sheathed his dagger and gave a small wave of assurance to the villagers inside. There was still the matter of cleaning up, however. He sighed and faced the mayor, who looked just as exhausted as he felt. Still, they had won. And the castle remained as gloomy and unforgiving and empty as it had the day before. It was time to get back to business.

"My friends and I will help you sort things out here. After that, we're going to find Arl Eamon."

AN (updated): Sorry for the delay. Moved houses and schools, it's been hard to find time to sit down and write lately. Nonetheless, I will be continuing this book. Maybe my updates can be more constant. Feel free to leave a comment or like! I appreciate criticism!

THANKS FOR READING!