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Dawn. The army was only a couple of miles from the Capital. From a crow's eye view there was only one remaining hurdle between them; the Darkspawn Horde.

The Crow in question had been circling them as best she could without being too obvious; it was of course Morrigan. By her count there were about thirty thousand of the creatures amassed on the fields outside the city gates. The allied army marching to challenge them was barely ten thousand. And above the plain on a rocky outcrop a vast purple shadow was watching, the Archdemon was here. The first part of her mission complete she flew towards the city observing carefully at what part it would play in the battle to come.

As the shape shifter flew her thoughts drifted to her secret fears. Defeat was perfectly possible of course; they were heavily outnumbered and they had a corrupted Dragon to deal with. Still she would fight with everything she had and if that wasn't enough, escape would not be impossible. She knew full well what the consequences of capture were; death was preferable.

Oddly, at least in Morrigan's mind, these entirely rational fears were not nearly plaguing her as much as the irrational ones, the fears that weren't about her own wellbeing but Odin's. Her… closeness to the Dwarf since their first meeting was not something she had been prepared for. He was utterly infuriating at times; for all his claims of being a pragmatist they always ended up helping people for no good reason. Yet he could always rationalise it every time she challenged him to the point where she found herself agreeing with him on more than one occasion. A sharp mind and a silver tongue, combined with formidable combat skills he truly was a remarkable person. His achievements against the Blight were proof enough of that. And through it all he had kept a motley collection of people together, helping all of them in his own way, even her.

That last night in Redcliffe she had approached him with the plan, the full reason why she had joined his company nearly a year ago. A ritual that would impregnate her and allow the Archdemon's soul, clean of the Darkpawn corruption, to be reborn in the unborn child, ending the Bligh without the sacrifice of a Grey Warden. He had listened, his normal, utterly inscrutable expression on his face. Then he asked questions; she answered them honestly, even acknowledging to she would leave him as soon as the Archdemon was killed. Then he asked the one question she dreaded above all others.

"Is that why you've been so… friendly to me?"

She answered honestly. The ritual was performed.

But still, her mind was troubled. What if it didn't work? She'd gone over every detail hundreds of times but still… Or, even worse, what if it did succeed but he died anyway? That could happen easily enough to any of them; victory or defeat.

At last she reached the city. The scene below was one of frenetic activity. The gates were locked and barred; crates of weapons and armour were being rushed to the walls. It seemed the city's remaining inhabitants had all been pressed into service. All the able bodied would fight, the rest would help however they could. She spied what looked like the group leading these efforts. Morrigan found a secluded spot and returned to her human form, then approached the tall man at the head of the group.

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Fergus Cousland was worn out. The head injury that so nearly killed him all those months ago was still healing. With the help of the fleeing tribesmen and their shaman he had made a remarkable recovery, but was nowhere near back to full strength. He glumly supposed he'd have to settle for co-ordinating the city's defences from the rear rather than fighting on the walls. He needed a sword in is hand; something to channel his rage and grief. While he marched south Ostagar his fathers' oldest friend Arl Howe had betrayed them. Highever, his families' ancestral home had been sacked and desecrated, his friends, his teachers….his family….all gone. These stories came to him only by accident and at first he refused to believe them, it was as stupid as it was vile but the more he found out the worse it got until evidence was overwhelming. It did overwhelm him for a while but other news forced him out of mourning. The Blight was real and it seemed about to destroy the entire country. Unsure of what to do and uncaring of any danger he left the care of his rescuers, swearing to repay them for their kindness as soon as he was able, and headed to the Capital. Between his new scars (his hair hadn't yet grown enough to cover the head wound) and the scavenged equipment he believed he could get what information he needed without being found out. He stayed careful of the Darkspawn however and was even able to find an inevitably ill tempered donkey to get him into Denerim. He arrived to a city on the brink of anarchy.

As it turned out his belief that he wouldn't be recognised was disproved almost instantly by the gate guards. He was all but dragged to the Palace where the multitude of administrators and officers informed him of the rapidly approaching horde (Fergus' first thought when hearing how close they were was how to reward the donkey for saving his life). After this grim report they all but begged him to take command as the ranking (and only) Noble. Fergus knew his duty, he had been taught to lead all his life, so he went to work. In between the preparations he heard a great deal of news; of the Landmeet, the new king, the conscription of Loghain to the Grey Wardens and, the death of Howe. Before he could take all of this in the horde arrived, as did some welcome reinforcements.

It was with these reinforcements that Morrigan found him. Fergus looked keenly at this exotically beautiful woman, a mage? He had promised amnesty to every Apostate in the city in exchange for their help, had she come to offer her services?

"Are you the one in command here?" She asked.

"I am, Fergus Cousland at your service my lady."

She paused for a moment, seemingly surprised at his name, and polite tone.

"I see, in that case I am here to tell you that the Army will be here within the hour."

The look of relief was evident on every face, at best they could have held out for a few days, at worst, a few hours.

"If you can keep as many Darkspawn distracted as possible t'would be most advantageous for us."

Fergus nodded in understanding, the city would be the anvil and the Army would be the Hammer.

"We will do all we can my lady. This city has no shortage of arrows or people to shoot them."

Morrigan nodded, "Good, you should also know that if the Archdemon attacks you aim for the wings. The Grey Wardens must be the ones to kill it if the Blight is end."

Fergus was about to as why when the man on his right interrupted.

"She is right my lord, the Archdemon must fall to the Wardens, though grounding it would help a great deal."

The man stepped forward; he was older, with silver hair and the look of someone who had seen many fights.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Aegon Trevelyan of the Free Marches. If you could give this letter to Warden Brosca it would be most useful." He grinned, "I assume that if you found your way into the city you can get out just as easily."

The lady smirked, took the letter, and turned into a crow before their very eyes.

Fergus watched in amazement, childhood stories had come to life. Some of the others also looked stunned, Aegon only nodded to himself while the two mages accompanying them were whispering to each other.

"Well then," announced Fergus, "let us go to the walls and give these monsters the warm welcome they deserve!"

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The army was rousing itself. Armour and Weapons were checked, prayers were offered to various gods (they were listening, with varying degrees of interest) and final farewells were made.

The Grey Warden's camp was no different; Morrigan had already left but the rest of the party prepared themselves.

Oghren awoke on a patch of grass next to his tent. A puddle of vomit was also there, probably a coincidence. The dwarf felt a hangover approaching, fortunately he had a tried and tested method of avoiding it, keep drinking. This battle would be the largest he'd ever fought in and he'd be in the thick of it. The surface was great. After losing his family and Wife he had been left a disgraced drunk in Orzammar. But up here, he had plenty of enemies, good food, good ale, friends and even some respect for fighting alongside the Wardens, perhaps he'd even become one. A few people had even asked if he was related to Odin. Typical humans; can't tell one dwarf from another. Although…he glanced over to his fellow dwarf, his father had been known to end up in Dust Town during a Drinking spree and have no idea what happened. There was some resemblance; the red hair was virtually identical. He certainly fought like a warrior (not that he really put any faith in the caste system, his wife had proved that) and he had somehow remained standing after sampling Oghren's special brew, an achievement that very few could manage. Oghren shook himself out of this line of thinking, nonsense of course, probably just the drink. Odin had far more brains than anyone in Oghren's family. Nor did have the infamous temper; Odin's attempt to learn to be a Berserker had been a total failure, cold anger didn't work. Speaking of which… there were Darkspawn to kill. The Dwarf checked is axe was razor sharp and cackled at the oncoming carnage.

Sten had already been up for an hour, deep in meditation. His discipline had to be maintained, particularly when he was so far from home and fellow Qunari. For all the strangeness of this chaotic land the people he had met had been surprisingly welcoming, despite his shameful crimes. They had allowed him to restore his personnel honour and brought his sword back to him. His duty was clear; return home with the answer to the question 'What is a Blight?' but he would fight hard to protect those he had fought alongside…those he now considered Kadan. His eyes opened. He was ready.

Shale had, of course, not been sleeping. It was one of the many advantages of being a walking, talking, skull crushing stone Golem. Of course that also meant waiting around for everyone who did need to sleep. The anticipation was overwhelming. Ever since escaping thirty years of paralysis in a backwater village life had been most interesting, if a little messy. It had also meant accepting new ideas. Fleshy creatures could be less squishy, and not just because they wore armour or had healing magic. Sten, Cohen and Odin had all exceeded Shale's own Darkspawn count, and mostly without their fragile squirting bodies being turned into paste. But that realisation made far more sense since the other shock; Golems were not just enchanted stone or steel they had been made from living creatures. Shale had once been a tiny flesh creature, a female dwarf no less. Had she (was she a she or an it now?) heard it from anyone other than Caradin she would not have believed it. Even now it was rather difficult to credit. But she had apparently made the choice to fight Darkspawn then, as now. There was solace in that.

Zevran emptied a small glass vial of his own concoction onto his daggers. Trail and error had taught him which poisons were most effective against Darkspawn. Compared to assassinations Darkspawn were such simple foes, none of his normal targets charged straight at him, well except for Grey Wardens. But then Wardens did tend to be exceptions to a lot of rules. This had been a fine adventure; hopefully he would have many more afterwards.

Leliana was sat next to the campfire. Everything she would need for the battle to come was ready, so she quietly practiced her music composition. This would be her recollection of the Blight, still unfinished of course but working on it distracted her own nerves. She was a bard not a warrior, yet here she was. Whether it was the Maker's will or her own she did not know. It didn't matter, she would fight alongside her friends, and their cause was just.

In sharp contrast Cohen was pacing up and down. He was somewhat annoyed by his last conversation with Odin and was in dire need of enemies to fight. That talk had occurred the night before, just after they finished laughing at Rincewind's latest escape.

"Shhould be a clear day tomorrow," declared Cohen looking upwards at the cloudless sky. "I'll topple that Dragon within the hour."

Odin gave him a furtive look. "Yes… about that. The Archdemon must be killed by the Wardens. It's the only way."

"Why?"

"It's a secret."

Cohen scowled, "I don't like shercretsh, get you killed."

Odin shrugged, "Can't be helped, Grey Warden secrets are well guarded. All I can say is that you can kill as many Darkspawn as you like." The Dwarf paused, "In fact I think I have just the job for you."

Cohen had accepted the offer, it wasn't as good as a Dragon but it was a lot better than nothing.

Wynne finished her cup of herbal tea half listening to Leliana's songs and went back to inventorying her potions. Her concentration did not last long; Loghain approached and they traded glares until he stomped off.

"You're almost as bad as Alistair"

Wynne turned round to see Odin looking at her with a mixture of frustration and amusement.

"He deserves no less," she snapped, "I lost good friends at Ostagar and he stands in Alistair's place.

"Alistair is in his rightful place, sitting on the Throne. As for Ostagar I suggest you direct your vengeance on the Darkspawn."

She sighed, "You are right."

He smirked, "Well after all the lectures you given me I thought I owed you at least one."

"Oh, very funny," Wynne smiled. "Fight well my friend."

Loghain had withdrawn from the campfire decided to watch the frantic to and fro of the assembling army. At times like this he much preferred the company of ordinary troops to nobles or Odin's group. He watched as companies marshalled and bolt throwers, aimed skywards, were dragged forwards. He hoped they were well trained; too many green boys in this force for his liking. Many would die today whatever happened, he may well be among them. That damned Orlesian Riorden had explained how to kill the Archdemon. After all he had done…and he reflected more and more on his actions of the past year with mounting regret…well his life for the Archdemon was not such a high price. But Odin had known that already, of that he was certain, so why didn't he say anything?

The dwarf himself was approaching.

"Morrigan has returned."

The former Regent nodded and joined him.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Archdemon?"

Odin grimaced, "In truth? I had known about it for months, long story, but with the battle so close… I didn't want to believe it."

Loghain stared, he had expected better. "Not wanting to believe something doesn't make it any less true."

"I know," agreed Odin looking ashamed. "But after an entire life of not having anything to live for me to suddenly be given a future, opportunities and influence. It may be selfish but I don't want to give that up unless I have no choice." The dwarf's eyes burnt with determination. "I have plans and the end of the Blight is only the start of it."

Loghain nodded, he understood, all too well. "I see, in that case I'd be careful. That road is a hard one, and it has many pitfalls. But the Archdemon must fall if Feraldan is to survive."

The Dwarf nodded, "It will, one way or another it will."

The two Wardens reached the camp and found Morrigan and the others waiting for them.

"Good," rumbled Oghren. "Now we can quit bloody stalling. Is it good news or bad?"

"Both" replied the witch. "The horde outnumbers us three to one by my reckoning and the Archdemon flies above them looking extremely pleased with itself."

"Dragons are not known for their modesty it's true," Zevran quipped.

"And the city?" asked Loghain, cutting to the heart of it.

"It stands, the walls are manned and the gates barred. Fergus Cousland leads them and he seems capable enough. And" she added passing a letter to Odin. "He seems to have acquired some extra help."

"Well," said Odin after reading the letter and looking up at the group. "It seems my letter has paid off."

"What letter?" asked Loghian.

"A few months back I sent a letter asking for aid via through a Pirate Captain. It appears that Isabella has returned with a company of eager volunteers, including a dozen Grey Wardens of the Free Marches."

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Hello all, two quick points of clarification. First Aegon Trevelyan is not the Human Inquisitor. He is a distant relation, a cousin several times removed of a junior branch of the potential protagonist's family (my own Inq. isn't Human anyway). Secondly, no Oghren and Odin are not long lost brothers; merely me addressing the cardinal writing sin I've committed in having two redheaded dwarven warriors with similar names, a beginner's mistake.

With that sorted next time:

Cry Havoc and let slip the Mabari of War!

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