Disclaimer: Dragon Age is the property of Bioware, and sadly I do not own it. I will, however, gladly give them my hard earned money for more installments so that I may continue to indulge myself in obssession!

Author's Notes: Today's posting is a quick one, as it's my best friend's birthday and I'm sneaking onto the computer to get the chapter up before I commit myself to a day of servitude. As such I may not have given the chapter as good of a perusal as I normally do, so if there are any grammar/spelling errors, feel free to PM me to let me know. Also, a quick note - reviews are like candy, and I'm rather addicted to them, so I'd love to know what readers think so far!

Special thanks to my beta-reader, Teakwood, for spot-checking me on continuity and making sure I don't horribly warp the theology of Thedas.

Arcanum: Fatum

Chapter Three: To Survive

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Things moved fast when they returned to camp, despite the late hour that they finally trekked in from the Wilds. By the time Yllia had delivered the flowers she'd gathered to the Kennel Master and made her way to the Grey Warden campsite, she was tired, hungry, and in dire need of a change of clothes. She was fairly certain she could find some form of respite for the first two – given the general state of everyone's clothing and armor, she wasn't so sure about the last.

At the absolute least, she just wanted to get off of her feet for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, Duncan had other ideas – none of which involved rest, a warm meal, or fresh garments. In exchange it looked like she was going to get a nice dose of whatever the hell Duncan needed the darkspawn blood for. Joy.

Jowan always had teased her that she was cranky when she didn't get enough sleep.

And so she found herself standing in what Duncan had referred to as the Old Temple – she could almost see him speaking in capital letters – and she supposed that if she squinted her eyes and tilted her head she could see that yes, the area in which they now stood might have once been a temple of a sort. Any iconic clues as to the purpose it had once served, however, had long since been stripped from the site.

The three recruits stood together, opposite Alistair as they waited for Duncan to arrive, and Yllia turned her attention away from their location and onto the men to her left. To her surprise it was Daveth who seemed rather calm about the entire situation and Jory who fidgeted, a bundle of nerves as he glanced around apprehensively. She would have thought it'd be the opposite, but given what she now knew about the other two men, perhaps not. Daveth, really, had nothing to lose – Jory had everything.

She couldn't blame Duncan or Alistair, really, for not telling them that the Joining was potentially fatal before sending them out to get the darkspawn blood. You never knew who would turn tail and run at the thought of their lives being in danger. And her respect for either Warden hadn't diminished – they could have just flat out lied when she'd pressed the issue.

And she wasn't going to lie to herself by denying that for one fleeting moment she'd thought to turn and run. But she's checked herself, holding back and resisting that first impulse. Where would she go? Not back to the Circle – no force of nature in all the world would be strong enough for her to willingly return to the glorified prison that she had been restricted to for near sixteen years. And if she tried to strike out on her own, she'd get labeled an apostate and run the risk of being caught and again, returned to the Tower – this time with the possibility of being made Tranquil.

Just the thought of it sent a shudder through her that she quickly suppressed. That part of her life, that fear, was behind her. Not only had she been Harrowed, passing the trial with flying colors, but she was also no longer a mage of the Circle. In a few moments her true fate would be decided – one way or another.

It was at that moment that Duncan arrived, moving with purpose towards the large silver chalice that was sitting on the stone alter. Yllia held her breath, her heartbeat quickening. The temple grounds grew quiet and still.

"At last we come to the Joining," Duncan said, his voice grave, his expression solemn. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the very edge of annihilation." He turned to face them, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Yllia drew in a sharp breath. Oh. So…that was what the chalice was for. Not to mention the blood itself.

"We're…going to drink the blood of those…creatures?" Jory's nervousness had increased tenfold with that single statement alone.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us," Duncan said, looking at Jory, "as we did before you. This is the source of our power – and our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining," Alistair said, taking over the explanation, "become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

Somehow Alistair's words didn't put Yllia much at ease, and she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, trying to ignore how damp they had suddenly become. She didn't say anything – she couldn't trust herself to speak.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan said quietly, "but these words have been said since the first." He looked at Alistair. "Alistair – if you would?"

Alistair took a deep breath, his eyes slightly averted towards the ground, as if he could not bring himself to look at the three of them. "Join us, brothers and sisters," he said, the words echoing in the silence that had overtaken their small assembly. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Words that, no doubt, had been intoned on timeless occasions without change – for what needed to be altered about them? They spoke of the finality; they spoke of the sacrifice. They spoke of the bond that held all Grey Wardens together, regardless of whether one survived the Joining or not.

How did it feel to be a part of something like that?

Duncan was lifting the chalice now, moving towards Daveth. The former cutpurse stepped forward, holding his hands out for the cup without hesitation. His earlier words rang in Yllia's ears – she'd believed him without hesitation when he'd declared that he'd do whatever he had to do if it meant ending the Blight. And she could see that same determination and resolve in his eyes now as he took the chalice into his hands and lifted it to his lips.

Yllia watched in slow-motion as Daveth doubled over, reaching up to grasp at his neck as choked gasps tore from this throat. His body staggered, convulsed, eyes blank and face contorted in pain. She brought her hands up to her mouth as he jerked forward, falling to his knees before at last collapsing, his body going limp at Duncan's feet.

There was very real regret on Duncan's face as he looked down at the still form that had, just moments ago, been Daveth. "I am sorry, Daveth," he said softly.

Then he turned away from the corpse, chalice in hand, and turned to face Jory.

In numb horror Yllia could do nothing but be still as Jory backed up against the wall, stammering out protests, his eyes wild with disbelief and fear as he threw allegations of deceit and murder at the Warden-Commander. Her mind went blank as he drew his massive sword from its sheath, raising it against Duncan, and she watched as Duncan's own blade slid into Jory's belly. It happened fast – too fast for her to process, and now Jory lay still, dead in a pool of his own blood. She didn't hear anything Duncan said, didn't see Alistair's reaction – she saw nothing but her two former companions, dead and cold upon the stone floor.

She was all that remained.

Now Duncan brought the chalice to her. She could see the dark red mixture within it, and her stomach clenched.

She'd thought her only other alternative to the Joining was to return to the Circle, and now she could see just how very wrong she'd been. The Grey Wardens didn't conceal the details of the Joining out of concern that it was would be refused at the last moment; they did so because a person would have to be outright suicidal to agree to such terms from the start.

She met Duncan's eyes and saw the unasked question – would she drink?

And she saw the heaviness within his gaze that answered her own – if she did not drink, would she die?

Death by blade? Or death by taint?

She recalled a little girl, huddled in the back of a tent, the ravaged, still forms of her parents laid out before her. A torn throat; a gouged heart.

A man in silver armor, his hand outstretched towards her. Speaking words she did not understand; the language of humans. Speaking in tones she did know; the promise of safety.

Survival.

She would not die.

"I will live," Yllia whispered, and brought the chalice to her lips.

The dragon's roar reverberated through the air, the great beast perched atop a collapsing tower, wings extended and mouth open wide to reveal row upon row of sharp, blackened teeth. Below, armies of darkspawn swarmed, wielding axes and swords, magic and death.

The dragon screamed again, and swung its massive head around as though it were looking for something; something that it could not quite see, something that was there and yet not.

Her heart constricted. She knew what it was looking for.

Her.

"You have a long and winding road ahead of you, Yllia Surana." The witch's words echoed around her, coming from everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all. "You will be faced with many choices."

A light in the darkness then, bright white illuminating against the poisonous green of the sky. Six glowing lights above the dragon, spinning slowly, shimmering…calling.

"Some will seem easy…only to be the most difficult in the end."

The dragon looked straight at her, red eyes burning. The lights vanished, and the world was plunged into darkness.

Alistair watched the sleeping mage silently, sitting cross-legged in his armor next to her bedroll. Well, his bedroll – she'd been at camp for all of a day and hadn't had a chance to procure anything in the way of belongings, so he'd offered up his own bedding after she'd passed out from the ritual. It had been a somewhat uncomfortable night, but he wasn't unaccustomed to sleeping upright.

Not that he'd slept all that much. He and Duncan had traded off watch shifts; someone had to be awake to monitor Yllia's wellbeing as she recovered from the effects of the Joining. It was rare, but Alistair knew that there had been cases where even Wardens who had survived the initial tainting succumbed to the aftereffects. The moments directly after the ritual were the most dangerous, but no Warden was out of danger until they opened their eyes for the first time. It wasn't their bodies that were in danger of killing them during that time – it was their minds. Mages, from what Duncan had told him, were especially vulnerable – and it was why the Wardens limited the number of mages they drew into their ranks.

Which was ironic, given that magic was their greatest weapon against the darkspawn themselves.

What apprehensive views Alistair had concerning the use of magic and the mages who wielded it had, for the most part, diminished since leaving the Chantry and the Templers for the Wardens. He couldn't say he was one hundred percent comfortable with it, but he wasn't anywhere close to the diehard fanatics who seemed to believe that every mage hid a maleficar beneath their skins. Blood magic made him ill just thinking about it, but the elemental spells that Yllia had used in the Wilds? Damn useful, in his opinion.

She started to shift on the bedroll, catching his attention and snapping him out of his thoughts. Her eyelids shifted restlessly, her head turning from side to side. She parted her lips as if to speak, yet no sound emerged. A light sweat broke out on her pale skin, and her hands clutched at the bedding beneath her as though she were trying to hold onto it.

Alistair started to reach out, to seize her by the shoulder and wake her, but Duncan's warning stopped him. Don't wake her before she does – she must return to us on her own. And whatever you do, do not startle her when she wakes. Remember, she is a mage.

Right. No one wanted charbroiled Alistair, least of all him. He withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels, anxious.

She fidgeted for several more minutes before her eyes suddenly snapped open, her back arching as she gasped for air. Before he could try to get her attention she rolled onto her side, coughing and dry heaving, her small body giving several sharp jerks to punctuate each sound. Since she'd been unconscious for several hours her body didn't have anything to rid itself of, but that didn't keep Alistair from wincing as her features twisted in pain.

Finally it stopped and she lay there, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath, her eyes wide and a little glassy. Deciding it was safe enough Alistair reached out and gently took her by the shoulder, rolling her onto her back so that she could breathe more easily.

"Easy," Alistair said when he saw her eyes finally focus on him – finally see him, rather than whatever vestiges of nightmare still lingered in her mind. "Don't move too much. You've been unconscious for most of the night."

He watched the muscles of her slender throat work as she tried to swallow, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He immediately reached for the flask of water he had waiting, putting it to her lips. "Sorry – it's warm," he apologized – and then stopped, because he could see the container frosting over a little as she used her ice magic on it. "Or it was warm. Nice trick."

That tugged a slight smile to her lips as she passed the now cold water back to him, and he couldn't resist taking a swig of it himself – it was hot and muggy that day, just like all other days. "Thanks," she said, voice slightly hoarse but sounding no real worse for wear. "I passed out?"

Alistair nodded. "Don't worry, practically every Warden does it when they Join," he hurried to assure her. "Apparently at my Joining someone forgot to make sure there was nothing behind me, so when I collapsed I went down right in…well, there were a lot of cows in the area, let's just leave it at that." He reached up to rub the back of his neck, granting her a sheepish grin.

The corners of her lips tugged upward, and he felt a touch of satisfaction. Good. If she could smile, then it was a good sign. Given the way that her Joining had gone, he'd half expected her to start shouting at him the moment she woke up. He'd braced himself for it, even. There was more than one reason why he was wearing his armor.

She took a deep breath, and then braced herself with her hands, pushing herself into an upright position. When he reached to help her she shook her head, determined to manage it on her own. "I'm all right," she said. "The disorientation has passed. It wasn't much different from when I woke up from my Harrowing. Except for the dreams."

"Ah, yes – the dreams." Alistair nodded sagely. "We all get them. Green sky, hordes of darkspawn, angry dragon. Am I right?"

Yllia looked at him for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "Very angry dragon," she agreed. "What was that?"

"That would be the archdemon," Alistair replied. "Legends say that the archdemons were once the Old Gods of Tevinter – if you believe the Chantry's version of things, then the first Tevinter magisters got tainted when they tried to enter the Golden City, and they became the first darkspawn. In turn, they descended underground and eventually located the first Old God, and tainted it. And so the first archdemon was born, and the first Blight began."

"Judging from your tone of voice, I'm guessing the Chantry's version isn't quite true?" Yllia asked, definitely detecting a touch of scorn and sarcasm when he mentioned them.

"No one really knows the truth behind the first Blight," Alistair replied, "not even the Grey Wardens. All we know for sure is that darkspawn are real, they come from underground, and the archdemon really is a giant dragon. Whether or not it's one of the Old Gods…who can say?" He shrugged. "Honestly, it doesn't matter one way or another to me. Old God or not, we have to defeat it if we're going to stop the Blight."

Yllia nodded slowly and reached up, touching the side of her head. "These dreams…this is how the Grey Wardens know for sure it's a Blight, isn't it? They see the archdemon in them."

"Yes." He let out a sigh. "But you can see why we have a hard time proving it to anyone else. Only Grey Wardens get the dreams, so it's our word against the ones with the armies, and none of them want to believe that this is a true Blight. They all want to think the Fourth Blight was the end of it."

Yllia looked down at her hands. "But if I remember my history right, aren't there supposed to be seven Old Gods? If the archdemons are supposed to be them…"

Alistair held up his hand and ticked off four fingers. "There were less than one hundred years between each of the first four Blights," he said. "The First Blight lasted nearly two hundred years, but the others were consistently shorter and shorter. Then, suddenly, four hundred years after the Fourth Blight and there's nothing. I can't really blame them for thinking that it was over. It's just frustrating that they won't believe us now."

The young mage hesitated, and lightly nibbled on her bottom lip in thought. "What is it?" Alistair prompted. "You can ask whatever you want – and I'm not going to keep anything from you anymore."

She reached up and fingered one of her tied locks. "Daveth and Jory," she said softly.

Alistair grimaced, but nodded. "Thought you might end up asking about that. Daveth…it's always a risk. I…wasn't completely truthful when I said that the Joining makes us immune to the taint." She looked at him in alarm. "We're tainted when we Join – but it takes a lot longer for it to take effect in most Grey Wardens. Some, though…it's immediate, the way that it was with Daveth.

"As for Jory, well…" Alistair hesitated, and then released a heavy sigh. "I know Duncan didn't want to kill him. There was one person who wanted to back out at my Joining, but Duncan managed to talk him around. He survived. But Jory drew his weapon on Duncan – there wasn't much of a choice after that. I feel bad for him, but… we're Grey Wardens. We do whatever we have to do to stop the Blight, and Duncan's been doing this for a very long time."

"Whatever we have to do in order to survive," she murmured, and for a moment her eyes went distant. Alistair briefly flashed back to the Joining, and the words he thought he'd heard her whisper right before she'd taken her sip.

Despite himself, he found that he was intrigued by this mere slip of an elf, this mage girl that Duncan had conscripted from the Tower of Magi. Truth be told, he'd been surprised to meet her; he'd expected someone, well…older. More experienced. Finding out she was just out of apprenticeship, and yet Duncan had still recruited her, was….surprising. Surely she couldn't have been the only Grey Warden candidate at the Tower.

But the more time he spent in his company, the more he began to see what Duncan perhaps had noticed. Elf she was, and mage, and girl, but there was something else within her as well. A quality of strength that even most soldiers seemed to lack. The will to…to survive. To live.

He couldn't help but admire that.

"Where is Duncan?" Yllia asked, her voice interrupting Alistair's thoughts and snapping his attention back to her. She was looking at him expectantly.

"He got called to a strategy meeting," Alistair replied, "with King Cailan and Teryn Loghain. The darkspawn horde is moving ever closer, and they're preparing to meet them in battle. I think Duncan originally planned on taking you with him, but you hadn't woken up yet."

"Me?" Yllia looked a touch confused. "Why me? You're my senior."

Alistair felt a touch of heat rising up in his face, and he coughed, clearing his throat. "Yeah, well…I'm not very good at strategy or diplomacy," he said hastily. "I mean, you saw how I handled that mage. I'd probably say something snarky, and we're already low enough on the teryn's list as is. Besides, someone had to stay with you until you woke up."

"Oh, I see." And then, right in the middle of his relief that she hadn't pressed him on the subject, she met his eyes and smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.

Maker, she's pretty…

A low growl cut through the sudden silence, and Yllia's face immediately turned scarlet, mortification spreading across her features as she looked down at her stomach. "I..I suppose I haven't had much to eat lately," she said hastily. "I...I'm sorry…"

She looked so apologetic and embarrassed that Alistair couldn't keep from chuckling. "Don't worry about it," he swiftly reassured her. "It's to be expected. Aside from the dreams and the lovely ability to sense when a darkspawn gets close, Grey Wardens also get an extreme increase in appetite. If you weren't hungry, then I'd be worried."

He picked up the bowl and cloth-wrapped bundle that was sitting next to the flask he'd given her, and passed them to her. "It's just standard fare, I'm afraid," he apologized as she examined the half-warmed stew and the somewhat stale bread that he'd given her. "And it'll probably only take the edge off for now. We'll get something more substantial…"

His voice trailed off as she brought the bowl to her lips and tipped her head back, downing the contents in one hungry swallow. Hands moving faster than Alistair would have believed possibly, she used the bread to sop up the remnants, and devoured that almost as quickly – almost because she actually had to chew in between bites.

She held the bowl back out to him, and he took it automatically. "Just a little off the edge," Yllia said with another smile. "Thank you."

"Erm…right." Alistair stared down at the empty bowl. It wasn't a small bowl by any means, and he'd had it filled to the rim. And he'd thought he'd been hungry when he went through his Joining.

He quickly searched his brain for another topic of conversation. "Do you feel well enough to stand?" he asked. "Duncan will probably be back soon, and I'll imagine he'll want to brief us on the strategy."

"I think so." She pushed back the light covering that he'd draped over her, gave a slight scowl at her now very rumpled robes, and then moved to stand. He rose as well, in case she found she needed help.

The moment she got her legs under her she swayed, and his arms shot out, steadying her before she could fall flat on her face – or in his lap, given the trajectory of her pitch. She clutched at his arms, he held her around the waist, and the two of them looked at each other in simultaneous surprise.

Alistair found his voice first. "Are you all right?"

Yllia nodded slowly, relaxing her hold on him and regaining her balance as she did so. "Yes – thank you," she said again. She pulled back from him, averting her eyes slightly. "I seem to be thanking you a lot all of a sudden."

"That's what I'm here for," Alistair said, attempting to keep his tone light. He hoped the relaxing of her shoulders meant he'd succeeded. "So, since you can stand, shall we get out of this stuffy tent and get some fresh air?"

She seemed to hesitate for the briefest moment before nodding, motioning to him to lead and she'd follow. He noticed that she snatched up her staff from where it was leaning against the wall, strapping it to her back again in a fluid motion that spoke of being performed hundreds of times before.

He held the tent flap for her, and she squinted as she stepped out into the sun, bringing up her hand to shield her eyes until they could readjust. Then he watched her draw in a deep breath…and promptly wrinkled her nose. "Liar," she accused. "This isn't fresh air. This is armies of men who are in dire need of proper baths and animals that have probably never had a proper bath in their life, and the heat is only making the smell worse. Not to mention I think someone's burned meat. At least I hope that's meat I smell. Whatever it is, though, it is not fresh air."

"It's an army encampment," Alistair replied blandly. "What were you expecting?"

"I can dream, can't I?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth she frowned, her face shadowing. "Alistair? About these dreams we have…"

"Yes?" He looked at her curiously.

"In yours, do you ever see -" She cut herself off as Duncan entered the camp, his gaze settling on the two of them immediately.

Alistair tensed. He didn't like the look on Duncan's face. And he was pretty certain he wasn't going to like what he had to say, either.

Yllia didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed that Duncan's arrival had cut off her question, but she decided that it could wait anyway – it looked like Duncan had something important to talk to them about, and that was going to take priority over everything else.

The tension in Duncan's face eased slightly when he reached Alistair and Yllia, and he nodded to the younger of the two Wardens. "Good – you've awoken. No complications?"

Yllia shook her head. "I'm all right," she was quick to reassure. "I can stand on my own, my head doesn't hurt, and Alistair made sure I got something to eat, too." Then she held up her hand and called a ball of light into her palm for a few brief seconds. "And my magic looks like it's in working order, too."

"And you've explained everything to her, Alistair?" Duncan asked.

"Dreams, taint, appetite – pretty much," Alistair replied, checking off a mental list. "I'll get to the rest later. So, what'd the teryn have to say about the strategy?"

"The teryn and the king," Duncan put a bit of emphasis on the second part, "have decided to meet the advancing horde head on. King Cailan wants the Grey Wardens at his side along with half of the armies. The rest of the troops will hang back with Teryn Loghain and advance once the signal beacon atop the Tower of Ishal is lit." He nodded into the distance, and Yllia turned to look at the high tower that rose above the trees on the other side of the bridge. "With Teryn Loghain bringing up the back, we should be able to get the darkspawn in a pincer attack and overwhelm them."

Yllia turned to look back at him. "So we'll be going into battle?" she asked – and to her surprise, the knot of nervousness she would have expected to feel at the prospect didn't form. She felt…oddly calm.

To her surprise – and Alistair's, it seemed – Duncan shook his head. "No," he replied. "The two of you are going to be ascending the Tower of Ishal and lighting the signal beacon for Teryn Loghain. I and the others will ride into battle with the king, but you are to remain at your post."

"What?" Alistair looked at Duncan in disbelief, voice pitching briefly. "We're lighting the signal? But wouldn't it make more sense for us to be on the battlefield with you?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair," Duncan said seriously. "If the beacon is not lit, Teryn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

Yllia looked at Alistair, who looked like he was struggling to keep from saying something that would likely not be well received. Even when he finally did speak, he couldn't keep the slight bite out of his words. "So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?"

Despite the sarcasm, Alistair's words held a certain amount of truth in them. "Alistair has a point," she said, looking back to Duncan. "Anyone could light the torch, can't they? It doesn't have to be us."

"That is not your choice," Duncan said firmly, and Yllia had a sudden flash to the last time one of the senior enchanters had scolded her for trying to remove a book from the library without permission. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there." He looked at the two of them sternly. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn – exciting or not."

Alistair sighed, shaking his head. "I get it, I get it," he said. "But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

Yllia pressed her lips together to try and hide her smile – that sounded like the normal Alistair. If he could make witticisms like that, then he was probably okay with it to a certain degree.

But she couldn't resist egging him on. "I think I'd like to see that," she teased.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow, and she could see him fighting to keep his expression stoic. "For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress."

Duncan released a sigh of exasperation. "Maker help me, I have two of them now," he muttered under his breath. He shook his head. "All right, you two – gather your gear and get ready to go to the Tower. I have to meet up with the rest of the Wardens and the king." He paused for a moment, looking as if he were about to say something – but whatever it was, he held his tongue.

Instead he asked them if they had any questions, and Yllia actually did. "What do we do if the archdemon shows up?" she asked. "Do you want Alistair and me to leave the Tower?"

Duncan's expression turned grim. "No," he said firmly. "The two of you are to remain at the Tower regardless. If the archdemon shows…we on the battlefield will do what we have to do." A shout rang out from somewhere in the vicinity of the other armies, and Duncan looked towards it for a moment.

He turned back to them and placed his hands on their shoulders. "May the Maker watch over you both," he said quietly, holding their gazes for a few moments. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Alistair and Yllia behind.

Yllia bit her lip. "So this is it, then," she said finally. She smiled, but even she could tell that it was a shaky one. "I feel a little bit like a hatchling about to be thrown out of the nest to see if I can fly."

"I know the feeling," Alistair agreed. "But you have one advantage that a baby bird doesn't have."

She looked at him curiously. "What's that?"

He grinned. "Me, guarding your back."

His grin was infectious, even with the foreboding danger that was looming over them both. And his reassurance did help, quite a bit – if she had to have someone with her, she was rather glad it was Alistair.

Maybe this Grey Warden thing wasn't going to be so bad after all.