Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 62: Among the Ruins

Fifty-three recruits marched out of Ostagar into the colorful autumn of the Kocari Wilds, on a mission to find darkspawn and become Grey Wardens. They divided into six war parties, and were ordered to meet afterwards at the old Warden outpost. It was a crumbling ruin now, but it would give them privacy and shelter, of a sort.

Wisely, they had left a supply wagon at the outpost, with a party of guards to protect it and what horses the Wardens had. The wagon was plentifully stocked, and should provision the Wardens sufficiently for the time they would be here.

As it happened, Tara and her party were the first to return. It was late in the afternoon, and the sky had clouded up. Tara prayed that it would not rain on them. Immediately, as planned, she dismissed the guards, and ordered her people to start unloading some of the supplies and gear. They also set to work building up the fire and pitching the tents. These were fairly big ones that would protect them from the wind, if not the cold at night. For that they had blankets and some rather ratty furs.

"Why can't we sleep in the outpost?' asked a tall, bearded human…Walther…yes, Walther. He fought really well, but was always asking her questions. "What if it rains?"

"That's what the tents are for. We can't sleep in the outpost because only bits of it are safe, and we need it for the Joining ceremony. Put up all the tents while you're at it."

Walther protested, "We only need two!"

"Actually, all of us can fit into one of them, but our friends will be coming in, and it would be nice," she said sharply, "for them to be up and ready. Especially if it rains."

"What about opening one of the kegs of ale?"

"Later," Tara said, an edge to her voice.

"Come on, Walther," his friend Griffith said, pulling him away. "We're supposed to mind the Senior Warden." Tara watched them move away, talking urgently. Surprisingly, she was not worried about them doing as they were told. They had been pretty impressed with her during their two skirmishes with the darkspawn. All the same, Walther was one of those people who had to question everything, and just would not shut up.

The dwarves gave her less trouble. Sigrun and her friend Jukka were quite willing to fetch water and put the big pot on the boil. They chopped up the salt beef and vegetables, while the other two, Asa and Roldron, diligently dug the latrine. The two Dalish elves in her party, Darach and Lorrian, were quietly sticking close to her. They had shot a brace of rabbits on the way back, and she told them to add them to the pot.

"Yes, Keeper," Darach murmured respectfully. Tara rolled her eyes.

Danith and Brosca's party reported in next. They had run into an ogre, and had been cut up pretty badly. Two of the recruits had been killed. The mage Petra was assigned to them, and she had her hands full with wounds and with two of the five recruits who were already suffering from Blight sickness. Those two—both elves— were pale and exhausted, and as soon as they had something to eat, Tara sent them off to rest in the tent she had assigned to Danith.

One of the humans, a big-shouldered, black bearded rogue named Aeron, sat down by the fire, and pulled out battered lute, singing in a surprisingly sweet tenor voice.

Petra, bustling here and there, stopped and said to Tara. "Strange. As big as he is, I'd have guessed he was a bass." Some others joined in, and soon quite a chorus was singing "The Ballad of Briar Blossom."

Anders came in with his people. They had also suffered casualties. Adaia was with him, helping with two humans who were in the early stages of Blight sickness. There had been another, who had abruptly died on them during the patrol. The rest were nervous and afraid of contracting the disease themselves. It had been a tense few hours.

"That was worse that herding cats," Anders told Tara, weary and disappointed in himself. "I swear!"

By the time Bronwyn and her recruits arrived, it was already well into twilight. Bronwyn accepted a bowl of a-bit-of-everything soup gratefully, and agreed that it was quite all right to breach a keg of the ale.

"There's enough for everyone to have two cups. They're not very big cups, after all," she told her Wardens.

A perimeter was established, and a rota of guards scheduled. Bronwyn was not particularly pleased that this had not been done before she arrived, but decided to discuss it later with her senior people. Danith, she felt, should have known better—or at least better than Tara and Anders, but Tara was her nominal superior officer. Tara had not been brought up to command a camp, however. She was quick enough when someone took the time to teach her something.

So Bronwyn consulted with her, and showed her how such things were organized. With larger groups, they must be more regimented than when they were only four or five. At least Tara had had the sense to have her people dig a latrine and set up the tents.

"Are we going to start the Joinings tonight?" Tara whispered.

Bronwyn had given that a lot of thought.

"No. The other parties might still come in later, and it wouldn't do to be interrupted. And Alistair, especially, would be hurt if we didn't wait for him."

It was still going to be hard to manage. Maintaining order would be key to their success.

Had she, in old Nan's pithy phrase, 'bit off more than she could chew'? It would be hard to control this large group, especially if many were traumatized by the deaths of friends. And the large number of dead would be difficult to dispose of. Mages would make it all go more smoothly, of course, but it would still be an unpleasant task. However, it must be done all at one time, or recruits who experienced the Joining would panic and want to warn their friends of the danger.

Danith had made her promise that the Dalish dead would be buried after their own customs, and Bronwyn had agreed. That would involve grave-digging and seedling trees planted over the graves. As this was clearly important to Danith, and would make the Dalish as a whole more reconciled to dealing with humans, Bronwyn had decided to allow them their way in this. Astrid and Brosca were not so particular, thank the Maker. She went over her plans with Tara.

"Once Alistair and Astrid come in with their parties, we'll get started. I suspect that by now they're going to camp where they are overnight. If they're late tomorrow, we'll separate into groups for training exercises to keep everyone occupied. For the Joining, we'll take them in the groups they were in today. I want to get the sick ones Joined as soon as possible, so they'll go first."

Even the unwounded recruits were tired enough from fighting and working that they settled down for the night with a welcome degree of docility. Bronwyn sat inside the ruined stone hall of the outpost, working on her roster by candlelight. Those who never tasted the Joining potion were not considered Wardens, and so would not be listed as such. Reluctantly, she consulted the enlistment roster and crossed through the names: Ulfar Galro, Gron Saelac, Rose Oldfield…

Once finished with that duty, she crept silently into her team's tent, whispering to Scout to be quiet, hoping that her dreams did not distress the recruits.

She was somewhere in the Deep Roads again, but the darkspawn were tantalizingly far away. Time and again, the Archdemon seemed just around the next bend in the tunnel, but Bronwyn ran ahead trying to catch the creature, and each time she found nothing. There was only a tickle in her mind, like the reflection of a smirk. Where had they gone? She was so tired…

Her eyes opened. It was still dark in the tent. Snoring. That had awakened her. There was the muffled sound of a hard shove and then Aveline's furious whisper.

"Toliver! Turn over! Nobody can sleep!"

The warrior snorted and shifted, and the snoring stopped. The dwarves, who had been snoring too, but more softly, awakened and cursed, quietly but feelingly. The two Dalish murmured to each other. Possibly Dalish elves did not snore at all, and found it another proof of the inferiority of other races. Possibly they were right in this case. More snoring emanated from the other tents. Bronwyn tried to compose herself for sleep again, but some of the chilly damp was soaking through her blanket. She sighed and shifted to a drier place, and then remembered her dream.

What was the Archdemon up to?

The following morning, she let the recruits sleep in, all but those who were up for the changing of the guard. The night had been quiet, but cold. It was not much trouble to build up the fire herself. Some of those recruits unlucky enough to be stirring in the pearly light of dawn were set to cleaning out the stew pot. Others were ordered to fetch water and begin cooking porridge. There was a large kettle for tea as well. Bronwyn longed for it like a child for her mother.

The last of the Wardens and their people arrived before much of the camp was awake. Alistair and Astrid had met each other on their return, and joined forces. Bronwyn glanced over their numbers and found them three men short. Nonetheless, they greeted Bronwyn fairly cheerfully and headed straight for the porridge. Scout liked Alistair, and trotted over to him.

"Who's a good boy?" Alistair grinned, scratching the dog's ears.

Oghren, unsurprisingly, was alive and not more battered than usual.

"Hey, Boss! You can't get rid of Oghren Kondrat with a measly few dozen darkspawn!"

Also alive, to Bronwyn's relief, was Emrys Stronar, a nephew of Bann Stronar of Redesdale. He had ridden his own warhorse to the outpost yesterday, and a fine beast it was. Bronwyn had not been thrilled to accept him as a recruit, since his death would cause political trouble for her, but the young man was a capable warrior and no fool. He was a distant cousin, too, and Bronwyn did not want to seem to be favoring her family by sheltering him from the hazards of becoming a Warden. Aside from a bandage around his arm, he appeared to be none the worse for wear.

The Dalish mage was with them, and had evidently busied herself tending wounds, though she seemed to find dealing with humans distasteful. She would have to get over that. Bronwyn privately resolved to keep the assignments mixed, and not pair Danith and Velanna together. There was no room for a Dalish clique among the Wardens.

Though that would be tricky. Danith was up, and was already greeting Velanna, wanting her to have a look at the Blight-sick Dalish. Then she was heading in Bronwyn's direction, frowning. Bronwyn made herself greet her comrade with a friendly, helpful look on her face.

"Nuala and Steren are very sick," Danith said, without preamble. "They must be Joined as soon as possible."

Bronwyn nodded calmly. "We will rouse the camp, and set everything in motion. As soon as everyone has had their meal, the Joining will begin. Your team will go first, and then Anders' people, since some them are sick as well. Find Brosca and Adaia, and send them to me. I need Tara and Anders, too. Tell all the group leaders to keep an eye on the recruits, and not to let anyone wander away. And remember to stay alert for darkspawn!"

The two girls came soon, and were given the task of preparing the ruined stone chamber for the ceremony. Tara and Anders were to mix the Joining potion. After that, they were all to report to Bronwyn immediately. Bronwyn joined Alistair and Astrid at the fire for a bowl of porridge. No matter what happened, porridge should stay put and sustain her.

"We had to go pretty far to find darkspawn," Alistair told her, gesturing with his spoon. "Round and round. We found some treasure, too. Of course, it didn't make up for losing poor Breedwell, but he was really careless."

"I lost two dwarves," Astrid added, more soberly. "Not Legion, but good fighters. One lost his head, trying to protect his friend. Fortunately for us, they weren't noble caste, so there shouldn't be any repercussions."

Meanwhile, Brosca climbed into the wagon, and out of the barrel of oats she drew the bag that Bronwyn had hidden there: a bag that contained some of their plunder from Haven. The gold candlesticks and golden goblet would do them proud; Anders had contributed an elegant silk shawl that he meant to give to Morrigan later; and in a box were enough fine wax candles to illuminate the battered little stone hall in the outpost all day long.

The recruits were too busy to take any note of the two girls hurrying into the ruins, clutching their burdens. Bronwyn drank her tea slowly. It was going to be a trying day.

Each group was ordered to wait inside their tent with their team leader. Adaia was given the duty of summoning the groups, and leading them to the ceremony. The other extra Warden, Brosca, Bronwyn wanted beside her, in case there was some…awkwardness.

Bronwyn told Aveline that she was in charge of their team, and to keep them with her until they were called. They could play cards, they could talk, but they were not to get drunk or leave the tent. Aveline had strong nerves and could wait better than many another.

Tara told her people to go into their tent, and Walther immediately asked her why, and what was going on. Bronwyn stalked over, her nerves on edge.

"Your Senior Warden has given you an order. If you can't obey it, then you can start walking for Ostagar right now!"

The man backed away, eyes wide, and hands up in surrender.

"No offense, Dragonslayer. Just asking."

"Your questions will be answered in due time. All we ask of you at the moment is that you prove that you can wait."

"What if we need to take a piss?"

"Then do it right now, or bring a bucket into the tent with you!"

She strode away, irritated. The men behind her had plenty to say.

"Walther, you're going to get your arse handed to you if you're not careful. Just give it a rest."

"Did you ever see such green eyes? Scary! But why—"

His words were muffled, as his friend dragged him into the tent. Tara followed them, sighing. Bronwyn went back to the ruins, and had a look around her.

Brosca and Adaia had done a good job fixing up the gloomy stone ruin. It looked like a place where mysteries lurked. The gold candlesticks glittered in the dim light. The golden cup which had once held dragon's blood had been cleaned scrupulously. It was now filled with an even fouler mixture.

The hall was partly open to the sky, and light filtered greenly through layers of ivy and moss. Red and yellow leaves had drifted down, carpeting the dusty stones. Another chamber adjoined, and Brosca had lit candles there too, while Adaia had laid out blankets for the survivors. Another blanket was neatly tacked up on some rotten timbers to screen the doorway.

"And there," Brosca said, jerking her thumb toward a dark crevice. "is a cubbyhole where we can hide the bodies. Don't worry. There's room for lots of them."

"How nice," Bronwyn muttered, hoping that there weren't 'a lot' of them. She told Adaia to let Danith know they were ready.

"Brosca," she said, "if anyone tries to get out of Joining...if anyone pulls a weapon...you know what to do. Only Wardens leave this room."

Brosca thought a bit, remembering bits of her own Joining, and then nodded. "They don't get to disagree about darkspawn blood. Got it, Boss." She faded back against the wall, and drew her sleek shortsword. Casually, she laid it on a a out-thrust fallen stone, then gave Bronwyn a thumbs-up.

"Scout," Bronwyn whispered, crouching down by the mabari. "You have to be very good and very quiet today. Stay there," she pointed to a corner by Brosca. "And don't move or growl or bark! All right?"

If Scout had been human, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he went to the corner, flopped down, and dozed through most of the subsequent proceedings.

Petra was in Danith's group. As a Healer, she might soon be useful—if she survived. At any rate, she was a composed young woman, and Bronwyn decided to call her forward first. The recruits filed in, eyes wide, and the rite began. Bronwyn recited the same speech she had given King Cailan, and then began the ritual words.

"Join us, brothers and sisters: join us as we stand vigilant…"

The recruits looked suitably impressed. They were even more impressed—and not very favorably—when they understood what they were to drink.

Bronwyn's confidence in Petra was not misplaced. As expected, the mage fell back, unconscious but alive. Brosca caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. Then Bronwyn gathered her courage and called the first of the two Blighted Dalish. To her surprise, both Nuala and Steren survived. The singer Aeron survived, but the next recruit did not. When Bronwyn said, "I am sorry, Kerald," there was an uneasy stir.

"He's dead!" whispered a dwarf. Bronwyn fixed him with a stern eye, and called him forward.

"Ketil."

Things might have turned nasty, but he was tough enough to take the cup without argument, and survived. The last of the group, another dwarf, perished horribly.

"Well," Brosca said afterwards. "That was disappointing, but at least I didn't have to stab anybody in the back."

"It was much better than my Joining," Bronwyn replied. "This wasn't only one surviving out of three, at least. The first died and Duncan had to kill the second."

Danith gave her a quick, shocked look, and then nodded thoughtfully. She was unsurprisingly pleased that the Dalish had survived. They tended the living first, and then the dead.

"They are lovers," she told Bronwyn, indicating Nuala and Steren. "It is well that they shall have each other."

Bronwyn agreed, but was deeply relieved that one had not died to leave the other grieving. That could get extremely depressing for everyone. In future, she would take more care to break up couples during the Joining. A bereaved recruit might lose all control and lash out.

Adaia, very shaken by the deaths, was given a sip from Brosca's stone bottle, and then went to fetch the next group.

This was Adaia's own group, led by Anders, and once again the results were not very cheering.

A bright-eyed, red-haired boy named Quinn survived, and the Dalish elf, Siofranni, and then they lost a dwarf. There was the same uneasy, frightened stir, but the other dwarf in the group, a woman of the Legion named Idunn, bravely swallowed the potion and lived. And then things got very bad indeed. Three humans in a row perished in the same horrible way: choking, choking, clutching their throats, their eyes rolled white in their last spasms. Bronwyn expected a fight, but the first of the three was a woman, and perhaps the men thought they were bound to succeed where she failed. The next recruit was a slight and slender archer, and the burly warrior who followed clearly thought himself the better man. He was not.

The pretty blonde girl who was last in line began weeping, hands shaking too badly to hold the cup. She was already grey with Blight-sickness, and Bronwyn held little hope for her now.

"Maeve," Bronwyn said wearily, "from this moment you are a Grey Warden. Anders will hold the cup for you. You have to drink. There is no turning back."

Anders gently wiped away the girl's tears, lest they fall in the cup. She drank, collapsed, and lived. There was no accounting for the Joining.

They dragged or carried the survivors to the next room, and laid them down on blankets by their restless fellows. So far, in proportion to their numbers the Dalish were faring best, the humans worst. It was not quite what anyone had expected. On the other hand, none of their earlier elven candidates had failed the Joining. It was something else to think about.

Bronwyn decided to call Tara's group next. Plucky little Sigrun took the cup first and survived, as did her friend Jukka. They lost the next two dwarves, but the annoying Walther lived, as did his friend Griffith.

Joy. I so look forward to all of Walther's questions. Then she rebuked herself for wishing failure on any recruit. Of the two Dalish, the first lived, and the second did not.

Danith didn't like that, Bronwyn noted. Neither, for that matter, do I.

Nor did Tara, whose face had gone white and strained. She must not take this as a personal failure. They were all losing recruits from their teams. Adaia needed another drink, but Brosca was holding up quite well. She was pleased that her old acquaintance Sigrun had made it, and philosophical about those who did not.

"The ones in the Legion were counted as dead already. This just makes it…permanent."

Bronwyn let Anders and Tara take charge of the living. She and Brosca handled the uglier task of depositing the dead into the dank little hole. She decided that her own group had waited long enough without a Warden, and sent Adaia for them.

Niall's brown eyes were very big when the secret of the Joining was revealed. For that reason, Bronwyn called first on Aveline, and her trust was rewarded.

Without a word, the tall redhead took the cup and swallowed her dose. Her hands steady, she handed the cup back, and when she fell back, she did not seem to be fighting the potion. Anders caught her carefully.

"She's all right," he said.

Bronwyn liked that. Saying "She lives," instantly gave a very broad hint that there was some doubt as to the outcome. Perhaps that helped Niall take the cup with better spirits, though he waggled his brows and mouthed "Blood Magic?" at Bronwyn, who frowned at him until he shrugged apologetically and drank.

Danith uttered a muffled cry when they lost another Dalish, a strong and handsome young man that Bronwyn would have laid odds on surviving.

One of the dwarves stepped back and asked, "Does that happen a lot?" and then looked away from Bronwyn's cold green stare. Two dwarves perished, but the last two lived, which ended the group's festivities on a pleasanter note.

The sleeping and the dead were variously set aside, and Adaia went out to fetch Alistair and his people. Bronwyn had personal concerns about this group. Maker, she was tired. This was just too much at once. She was growing hard and indifferent, and that would not make her a better leader.

Emrys was smiling as he came in, talking quietly with another recruit. All conversation stopped abruptly when they entered the gloomy stone chamber. Bronwyn wished briefly she had lubricated her tired throat with the contents of Brosca's stone bottle, but she gave the speech yet again. This time, however, she asked Alistair to recite the ritual words.

And then Bronwyn offered the cup. "Emrys Stronar, from this moment you are a Grey Warden."

She was deeply relieved when Emrys survived his dose of the Taint. He reminded her a bit of Carver Hawke: a younger son trying to make his own way in the world. He had no chance of inheriting his uncle's bannorn, nor even his father's small manor. His only real patrimony was his horse, his armor and his sword. He was not as handsome as either of the Hawke brothers, but he was tall and well-made, with clear hazel eyes and a strong-boned face. He was Warden Emrys now, at any rate. She would see what he made of it.

Nice young Liam made it. She had discovered that he could handle a team, and had rather been counting on him to drive their wagon back to Ostagar. Bronwyn could drive—after a fashion—and Alistair knew plenty about hitching oxen, but an expert teamster would be helpful. He was a fair-faced boy, too: with sun-bleached hair and a winning smile. There was something to be said for the power of good looks to raise the spirits.

Oghren stepped forward and sneered at the contents of the cup. "Is that all? Is that the regular dose? Or are you commenting on my size?"

"Standard dose," Bronwyn said, trying not to smile. "All you need is a swallow."

He snorted, and then took a hearty draught. Bronwyn took the cup back quickly, a little alarmed.

He belched, his eyes rolling back.

"Hey! Not bad…"

He crumpled heavily to the floor, already snoring.

Others were not so resistant to the potion. A human archer died, and a little later, a dwarf axeman. Still, the rest survived, and there was only one more group to go.

One last time, they began the ceremony of life and death. Astrid brought her people into the chamber. There was the same brief, awed hesitation, and then Bronwyn began speaking.

Dalish Velanna took the cup fearlessly and drank. Bronwyn caught Danith's eye. A look of unutterable relief was there, as the elven mage fell back, alive. No one else faltered. Perhaps humans and elves had too much pride not to dare what an elf and a woman ventured. Even when one of the humans coughed out his life, the next recruit took the cup. Trembling, yes: but he took it all the same. They lost a Dalish recruit, too. The very last of the recruits, Catriona, a human archer with hair prematurely streaked with grey, survived.

It was over. Everyone took a deep, exhausted breath, and they moved the survivors into the adjoining room. Adaia hurried to spread more blankets for them. The whole process had taken perhaps half the morning.

They had sixteen dead to deal with. The three Dalish would be buried, and the rest burned. Amongst them, the Wardens managed to hitch up the wagon and load the bodies into it. Anders and Brosca stayed behind to keep watch over the sleeping recruits.

"Thanks, Boss," Brosca muttered fervently. "Not that I mind digging, but burning bodies are…gross."

The clouds broke, and the welcome sun peeped out, warming the breeze a bit. Bronwyn drove the wagon over some fairly flat ground to a clearing half a mile away. Danith and Adaia took shovels and began digging a grave for the Dalish. The thirteen human and dwarven bodies were…stacked…neatly, and Tara incinerated them with terrifying, magical dispatch.

Bronwyn watched the holocaust, eyes dry, but sick at heart. The grand Wardens' pyre after the Bloomingtide Battle seemed very long ago. Those Wardens had been recognized by name, and had speeches made and wine poured in their honor. These unfortunates were being disposed of like rubbish. Bronwyn did not even have commemorative amulets for the survivors. She had forgotten about them, and there was no way to obtain them anyway. They would preserve the remains of this Joining potion, and then procure some hollowed-out crystals at a later date. Probably not by Satinalia. With luck, they could be First Day presents.

Tara was equally miserable. Could they have made a mistake with the Joining potion? Surely not. They had followed Fiona's instructions faithfully. It was impossible to guess who would survive the Taint, and who would not.

"I should go help Danith and Adaia now," she said, turning away.

"Have a drink, first," Alistair said. He smiled weakly at Bronwyn. "I brought a bottle of wine."

They passed it around, and Alistair recited a bit of the Chant of Light. The remaining clouds blew off, leaving the sky a fierce and uniform blue behind the rising black smoke. Astrid took a swig of wine and raised the bottle in salute.

"Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc."

"At least we've got Petra and Niall. Oghren, too," Tara sighed.

Astrid shrugged. "We have thirty-one new Wardens, which is thirty-one more than we had yesterday. I never doubted Oghren for an instant. It is possible that long exposure to the Deep Roads and to darkspawn might lend a kind of immunity. The Legion did well, too."

"It did," Bronwyn sighed. "We might as well learn what we can from this. Tara and Anders woke first, out of their Joining," Bronwyn reminded them. "Perhaps it has something to do with being mages and thus more at home in the Fade. We'll see how the newest mages fare."

Back at camp, Bronwyn sat down with ink and quill, and carefully noted all the recruits down into the roll of Fereldan Wardens: both the living and the dead. Some of the Wardens were striking the tents and loading them; others—led by Alistair—were preparing something like the potée de chasse Fiona had cooked in the cabin in the Frostbacks. Alistair was otherwise a terrible cook, but Fiona had taught him how to make proper porridge and decent potée de chasse, and the lessons had stuck. They were his only inheritance from his mother, after all.

The sausages were plump and rather salty Ferelden ones, rather than the spicy Jader venison sausages Fiona had used, but as long as there were plenty of onions, parsnips, and turnips, Fereldans would be happy. There were even a few cloves of garlic to render it something like the original. There was bread and sharp white cheese; there was a basket of red apples. There were two more kegs of ale. They was even a large pot of hallensal, and a smaller pot of wild honey; a gift of the Dalish. The Wardens would march back to Ostagar with full bellies.

Bronwyn strolled over to the apples, selected one, and began munching. It had been a hard day's work already, and it was only a little after noon.

Anders stepped out of the ruins and called to Tara, "Petra is waking up."

Tara smiled and went to welcome her, taking a bucket of water and a dipper. Anders was more Petra's friend than Tara was, but it would be good for the young woman to awaken with familiar faces around her.

Tara knelt beside Anders, and gave Petra a drink of water; while Anders calmed her down from the distress of those first, dreadful Fade visions.

"I think I saw the Archdemon!"

"You probably did," Anders told her. "In time we learn to control those dreams a bit better. Bronwyn will have a meeting and explain it all when everyone's awake. Why don't you go outside and get something to eat?"

"Maker! I'm starving!"

Tara helped her to her feet, and said quietly. "Not everybody made it through the Joining. Bronwyn will explain about that, too."

Petra glanced quickly around the crumbling stone chamber at the thrashing, slumbering men and women, and then whispered, "Is that normal?"

"Afraid so. The Joining is dangerous. Mages seem to do better than anybody else, though. Niall's all right."

"Is anyone injured? I could—"

"No," said Anders. "It's the potion itself. It's either a lethal poison or it isn't."

Niall awakened next, and then Velanna. They staggered outside into the sunlight and to their first meal as Wardens. Bronwyn had opened the ale, and that seemed to help. The first two surviving Dalish, Steren and Nuala, were relieved to be cured of the Blight-sickness. They kept apart, talking softly to one another, and then went to speak to Danith, trying to make sense of what they had seen. A few more awakened, shocked by their ventures into the Fade.

A freckled, red-haired boy approached the stewpot, grinning enormously. Bronwyn had nearly stopped the Joining when she guessed how young he must be. He was tall and strong enough, and had killed darkspawn in battle, but that smooth chin had never known a razor.

"So, Quinn…how old are you?" she asked, watching him fill his bowl to the trembling brim. He grabbed a hunk of bread, tore it into pieces, and scattered it on top of his stew, like a child.

"F-f-f-f…Eighteen, Warden-Commander!" he lied brazenly. He held his spoon like a child, too.

"Feighteen. I don't know that number," Bronwyn mused. "Could it be closer to thirteen or sixteen? Or in the middle? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

He shrugged, smirking. "Don't know, really. I could be sixteen. Anyhow, I'm a Warden now! I hear you get paid regular! Is that true?"

"Absolutely true. You'll all be due twenty silvers when we get back to camp."

The boy nearly dropped his bowl. "Twenty silvers! I'm rich!"

So there was joy, but there was sorrow, too, as the recruits awakened and found that friends and acquaintances were dead. Some were brooding and silent; a few were shocked and rather frightened of the Wardens. Some, deplorably, gloated a bit, feeling that this test had been a judgment on their rivals. Some were deeply horrified by the visions they had seen. For the dwarves, who had never experienced anything similar before, it was particularly disorienting. Grieving or not, everybody ate, and that brought them into contact with their new comrades. Escaping death was quite the bonding experience.

Oghren eventually awakened. He lumbered from the ruins, squinting and cursing. "Sodding nughumpers! I was seeing things! And I wasn't even drunk!"

Astrid shoved him toward the food, with a tolerant smile. Bronwyn stopped by to congratulate him, and was given an earful about how the Joining was "worse than the worst hangover. Ever. And I've had a few."

"You'll do," she laughed lightly, rapping him on the pauldron.

Riordan had told them that one never forcibly awakened freshly-Joined Wardens from their first Fade-dreams. Bronwyn let her new people sleep themselves out, and it was mid-afternoon when the last of the recruits —three dwarves from the Legion of the Dead—were up and scraping the stewpot to appease their raging hunger. Scout, the beggar, was cadging treats from the new-Joined Wardens: sausage ends and cheese rinds.

Sigrun was among that last group, eating happily. She grinned at Bronwyn.

"I guess I'm still alive! Funny how that keeps happening!"

Everyone was rounded up, and Bronwyn thought the time was right to give them their official welcome and lay down the law. Scout came to sit beside her, very straight and dignified. Bronwyn pitched her voice to carry in the open air.

"You're all Grey Wardens, the latest in an ancient line of champions against the Blight. Some of you smile, but champions you are, who have just passed your first, great test by mastering the Taint. There will be more tests to come. I inscribed all your names—the names of those who survived the Joining and those who did not—in the Warden roster. When we get back to camp, you will be paid. Regular payday is quarterly, but you're due a bit prior to Satinalia—"

"Twenty silvers each!" Quinn shouted gleefully. Brosca slapped him on the back of his head, and the boy subsided.

"Yes," Bronwyn agreed kindly. "Twenty silvers each. You've already earned them."

"Commander—" Walther interrupted. "What was that—"

"Silence there!" Alistair ordered, scowling. Bronwyn was pleased. Alistair was doing much better at sounding authoritative. Walther grimaced, obviously bursting with curiosity.

"You all have questions," Bronwyn said. "and the Grey Wardens have many secrets. You have a right to know them, but first you must swear the Warden's Oath never to reveal them to any outside the order. Don't look so eager," she said to some willing faces. "This is serious. The penalty for oathbreaking is death, not just for the careless, loose-lipped Warden, but for those in whom he confides. You don't tell your lovers, your friends, your brothers, your mothers, your clan leaders, your heads of Houses, or your banns. If you do, they will be killed or made to undertake the Joining. As you have noticed, not all who Join survive to serve."

There was a leaden silence. One of the women wiped her eyes.

"So I call on you now to stand, and to swear before Andraste, or by your ancestors, or by the gods you revere, to keep the secrets of the Wardens; to hold all other Wardens as your sisters and brothers, with no regard to their race or creed or rank at birth; and to pursue our mission to protect Thedas from the threat of the darkspawn by whatever means are necessary! Do you so swear?"

A pretty good shout of "I do!" with some scattered agreement around the edges. Bronwyn looked at them all, and saw no refusals, though many new Wardens were puzzled or grim.

Bronwyn took a deep breath, continued. "So be it. You have sworn. Now I can tell you that we bear a heavy burden. The survival of all Thedas rests on our shoulders. Only Grey Wardens can truly defeat the darkspawn. The blood you drank gives us great power. We can sense the darkspawn, and follow them into their secret places. We see them in the Fade, and gather intelligence about their movements. The Joining gives us greater strength and stamina to perform our duties. We are immune to Blight-sickness, and need not fear close action with our ancient enemies. In fact, Grey Wardens, as I understand it, never get sick at all. You may suffer wounds aplenty, but you'll never catch cold!"

There were a few laughs, and a decided lightening of the general mood. Bronwyn was sorry that she must now give them the bad news.

"However," she admitted, head high, "these powers come at a price. After many years—perhaps thirty or so—a Warden's link to the darkspawn becomes overwhelming, and the Warden hears them all the time. Traditionally, the Warden then goes to the Deep Roads to fight a last battle. One way or another, the darkspawn are our destiny. But we are all soldiers, and we know that Fate exacts a payment: the greater the glory, the greater the sacrifice. This too is a secret of the Wardens, another one that you must never reveal.

"And there are other aspects to life as a Grey Warden that you should be aware of," she added. "You have already experienced the Grey Warden appetite for food! That will not change. It takes a great deal to fuel our powers. You have experienced the terrible dreams we see. In time, you will be able to control them. I have been told," she said slowly, "that Grey Wardens have few children. Whether this is because of the hazardous lives we lead or for some other reason, I am uncertain."

Somewhat to her surprise, there was not a lot of distress at the news. Bronwyn wondered a little at that. On the other hand, perhaps none of these recruits had had it drummed into their heads from earliest childhood that it would be their duty to continue a noble lineage.

She had wrestled with the last, greatest secret, and then had decided to save that. Let these new Wardens settle in for at least a few days.

"There is more to know, but that is enough for one day. We'll break camp and return to Ostagar. Arrangements have been made to give us more space in the Tower of Ishal, and I can tell you the officers you have been ousted are displeased!"

More laughter.

"For now, you Junior Wardens will continue to report to the Warden who led you today, with the exception of the mages, who are under the command of Senior Mage Warden Tara. The group Tara commanded today will now be led by Warden Brosca."

Brosca waved a hand.

Bronwyn went on. "In time, as we know your abilities better, there will be reassignments based on who fights best with whom, and who has special abilities—like those of Warden Adaia in the bomb workshop. If you're interested in that kind of work, talk to her about it. Three of our Wardens are in Denerim right now, and will eventually lead fighting teams. We have also some comrades supporting us who are not Wardens: Morrigan, Sten, and Zevran. Grey Wardens do not refuse powerful allies. Ours have proven themselves scores of times, and are to be treated with respect.

"Learn these regulations now: You must obey my orders and those of Senior Wardens Alistair and Tara, and those of Wardens senior to you. Refusal to obey a direct order will be considered insubordination. Such an infraction will be punished first by loss of pay, the amount depending upon the seriousness of the offense. Further offenses will be punished by confinement to quarters, flogging, or execution, in that order. A combination of punishments may also be imposed. I find it hard to believe that any of you would even face accusations of cowardice. All of you have proved your courage. However, desertion in the face of the enemy will also be punished, depending upon the seriousness of the situation, and whatever mitigating circumstances may apply. Above all," she said, repeating it so no one would forget. "Keep our secrets. If you must gossip or confide in someone, confide in a fellow Grey Warden. We are more than comrades-in-arms. We are your family, from this day forward."

She gave a sharp nod to Alistair, who shouted, "Grey Wardens! Break camp!"

They set to work quickly: saddling horses; scrubbing out the cooking gear and crockery; wiping the cleaned bowls and cups; folding blankets and tents; stowing everything away in the wagon. Liam and Quinn hitched the oxen, and before long they were on the move. Reflexively, the archers moved out to the perimeter, eyes sharp for enemies or a bit of game.

Brosca climbed up on the wagon seat beside Liam and began teaching him a filthy ditty. Aeron accompanied them on his lute, singing an elaborate descant to the melody. Danith shook her head, and talked softly to Velanna, hands sketching out her conversation. Astrid herded the rest of the Wardens into a creditable column before and behind the wagon. Bright leaves fell around them, muffling the tramp of booted feet. The talk was cheerful or at least composed.

Emrys, on his fine warhorse, rode next to Alistair, who was in charge of the rear guard.

"So, there are more secrets left to learn?"

Alistair granted him a wary smile. "A few. Some of them are big, but there's plenty of time. The rule used to be that you were a Warden a full year before you were told everything. Obviously, we have to do things differently during a Blight. Bronwyn will make sure you know what you need to know."

"What are the Commander's strictures on fraternization within the order?"

"She doesn't have a problem with it, as long you do your job. She lets avowed couples arrange a bit of privacy in the barracks."

"Impressive armor she's wearing. I wish I'd seen her kill that dragon. She's a real hero, isn't she? Perhaps the hero of our time."

"You don't know the half of it."

Thanks to my reviewers: Nemrut, Zute, Aoi24, reality deviant, MsBarrows, Jyggilag, Psyche Sinclair, KnightOfHolyLight, Mike3207, BandGeekNinja, BAMS, butterflygrrl, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, EpitomyofShyness, BlueRiverSaint, Hydroplatypus, KiraKyuu, Amanda weber, hdp, sizuka2, Death Knight's Crowbar, JackOfBladesX, almostinsane, Jenna53, Nonahtanha, Josie Lange, undeadyeti, euromellows, Mike, mille libri, Have Travel, Remenants, WhosAmandaPhillips, Ellyanah, SilverAegis, brrt, Tirion, Biff McLaughlin, Girl-chama, stainglasspeppermint, Enaid Aderyn, Oleander's One, ByLanternLight, Costin, Shakespira, Tsu Doh Nimh, Blinded in a bolthole, Herebedragons66, and timunderwood9.

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