I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.

I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.

As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, fighter-chic, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!

DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn

Chapter 18

The followed Thomas into a village filled with the sobs of distress, curses of resignation, and mumblings of determination. Adela thought that, had she visited this place under different circumstances, she would have found the small fishing village quaint and pleasant. Her gaze wandered over the men practicing archery, hearing their curses and frantic muttering, over to an older man, his face age lined and heavy with worry speaking with one of the militiamen. And while some of those they passed were hardened with resolve, most appeared to only be going through the motions, as though their limbs were responding to hearts and minds that had already given up all hope.

Alistair, Roland and the Sten had stopped, their eyes quickly taking in the scene set before them with quiet professionalism. She paused, falling back as the others continued to follow the young man into the Chantry. Each of the three men, trained warriors, were obviously taking in the skill sets of each of those present in the village's center. Moreover, although none of them said a word, she could tell that they were not overly impressed by what they saw. As a one, they turned their attention from the practice and continued to the Chantry. Taking one last look around, the elf followed.

The doors to the Chantry protested little as Thomas pushed them open, holding them as the rest of the party entered. The young man led the group, Adela and Alistair closely behind, to a man of mid-years dressed in chain mail at the back of the great hall. They waited as he finished giving orders to a young man clad in leather and carrying a bow. Thomas motioned for the party to remain and he took a few steps forward, bowing his head and speaking quietly to the man.

After a nod, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, he turned to the group assembled before him.

"Greetings, travelers!" he called out, bringing a hand up in acknowledgement, and then bowing his head slightly. "I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere. As you can no doubt see, we are in peril here. How may I be of assistance?"

Alistair stepped forward, "I remember you, Bann Teagan," he said, his voice strangely quiet. "Although the last time we saw each other I was covered in mud." Adela smirked at the image of a younger Alistair covered head to toe in mud. The young man gave her a sidelong look, a small grin on his face.

"Covered in mud?" the man's cultured tones rose in question. His eyes, a coppery brown, searched the young man's face, recognition dawning quickly. "Alistair!" He moved forward, grasping the younger man's shoulders, almost pulling him into a hug. "By the Maker! I am so pleased to learn you are alive! We had heard all the Grey Wardens had perished."

"Alive, yes," Alistair said, his tone now serious and grim. "No thanks to Teryn Loghain." Adela grimaced slightly, but did not say anything.

"Indeed," Teagan's tone of grimness mirrored Alistair's. "Loghain would have us all believe that Cailan's death was of his own doing, brought about by the treachery of the Grey Wardens!"

Finding her voice, Adela asked, "You don't believe that?"

Teagan's eyes went to the young elven woman standing beside Alistair. "Believe that Cailan let his dreams of glory bring about his death and the death of his army?" he scoffed. "Believe that the Grey Wardens would betray King and County to darkspawn? Hardly."

Adela had questions, many questions, for the Bann: had he seen Loghain? Anora? Nevertheless, she pushed these and the other questions aside. For now, things were going badly here in Redcliffe, and that must take priority.

"I apologize, my lady," the Bann bowed, catching her attention, "But I did not catch your name."

Smiling slightly, more than pleased to overlook his breach of protocol (if there was protocol for a noble addressing an elf), the elf responded, "I am Warden Adela," Alistair snorted next to her and she cast him a questioning look. Alistair turned his eyes to the older man, a grin firmly in place.

"This is Warden Commander Adela," he informed him, pride clearly in his voice.

The elf rolled her eyes at him while Teagan's bow deepened. "Warden Commander," he responded.

Gracing Alistair with a smirk, which he had the sense to return, she turned back to the Bann. "What, exactly, has been happening here?" She kept her tone down, keeping in mind that there were many frightened people within earshot. She glanced over to where a revered mother was holding prayers for some of the children and elderly confined to the chantry.

The Bann's face clouded. "Monstrous things come from the castle each night," he began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. "They attack the village from the dark of night until dawn, and then go back to the castle. Each night it is the same. We've lost many villagers and, I fear, if the pattern holds true, we may lose even more this eve."

"Not is we can help it," Alistair put in, disturbed that his childhood home was being threatened in such a manner.

Nodding her agreement, the elf asked, "What kind of monstrous things are we talking about?"

The shudder that went through the Bann's body was nearly visible. "They appear to be corpses, the walking dead." His head fell. "We have taken to burning our dead as soon as the attacks cease, otherwise…" his voice trailed off. There was no need for him to explain.

Dread filled her. Walking dead? From the castle? She feared greatly that they would not find the Arl - or anyone - alive within the castle. However, her resolve was firm. These people needed aid; they would help them with this menace and then seek the source. It was the only right thing to do.

Stepping forward and placing a comforting hand on the Bann's arm, Adela softly said, "We'll stop these attacks, Bann Teagan," she looked him in the eyes, trying to convey more comfort and hope through the contact. "How may we be of assistance?" the elf asked, politely forestalling any further conversation between the two men.

The relief that came across his handsome face spoke volumes. "Thank you," he breathed, motioning a nearby man to his side. "Mayor Murdock is out in the courtyard, rallying the militia. You should ask if he needs any assistance." His gaze fell over the Sten, Alistair and Roland. "I see you have capable warriors in your group. He may need someone to help train what men he has left." He paused, his eyes skimming over the rest of the group, finally settling upon Adela.

"Ser Perth of Arl Eamon's' retinue can be found in the higher levels by the mill. He may have need of your assistance as well." He frowned, thinking. "Most of the villagers who are unable to fight have been brought here, although I am certain there are a few of the more stubborn folk who yet remain in their homes." his eyes fixed on Adela's face. "Truly, I am most appreciative of any assistance you and your party can render to Redcliffe's aid."

Nodding, she turned to the party, ordering the Sten, Alistair and Leliana to see if they can be of assistance with any last minute training the troops would need. The Sten, who had seemed on the verge of an argument, grunted his approval and led the trio out. Roland had remained behind along with Wynne and Morrigan. He listened as Adela asked the elder mage to see to any injuries of those huddled within the Chantry. With a nod, a pat on her arm, Wynne set off.

Morrigan stood, watching the elf with disbelief. Her snort of disapproval was difficult for the elf to ignore.

"You have something to add to this, Morrigan?" Adela questioned as she turned toward the witch.

Yellow eyes met blue, unblinking. "Indeed I do," the witch replied in her usual sultry tones. "I have to wonder why we waste our time here when there are other allies we could be collecting."

Those blue eyes widened. "Hmmm…could it be because these people are in need of help?" came the sarcastic reply.

The witch merely scoffed, not at all impressed. "'Tis the people in need of aid; we have no idea of what is happening in the castle, wherein presumably lies this Arl Eamon," the witch frowned. "Leave these to their fate, Adela. We can collect on the other treaties and have our army."

Shaking her head adamantly, the elf now stood before the human. Although Morrigan stood many inches taller than the petite elf, Adela seemed to loom over the human woman. "We will help these people, Morrigan." Her head turned slightly toward the sound of a young woman crying in a corner. "Let us forget that we need the Arl's help in order to even hope to prevail against the Blight," the elf turned her eyes back to the witch. "Let's forget that at this time we have no idea of how fares the Arl, and the only means of getting into the castle may well depend upon saving this village and stopping those monsters that keep attacking." Then the elf took a step forward. "We shall put aside all of the pragmatic reasons for this. Mostly, we will help these people because it is the right thing to do."

Morrigan did not back an inch, the look of disdain clearly upon her face telling the elf exactly what she thought of that argument. "Why do you persist?" the witch asked, her tones lowering slightly. "None of these here would lift a finger to help you, and you know this to be true."

A blond brow arched upwards. "What do you mean by that?"

Another scoff. "Come now, Adela. Surely you are not so sheltered as to be unaware of how little regard humans hold elves in."

Memories of her mother's death…Lord Vaughan's raid of the Alienage…her time spent within the Denerim estates…Vaughan…"I do not need you to tell me of how little regard some humans may hold elves in," it came out a snarl, and surprised the elf greatly. Roland shifted uncomfortably behind her, but she did not turn.

Smirking, feeling smug at this little victory, Morrigan pressed. "'Tis a wonder, then, that an elf would be so insistent upon doing the right thing by these pathetic humans," a graceful arm swept out to encompass the poor souls lingering in the Chantry, "when none here would lift a finger to so much as give you the time of day."

She took a deep breath, backed away from the witch. "While your words may well be true, Morrigan," her voice was steady. "It does not change the fact that I will help these people. That we will help these people." She turned away Hafter right at her side, almost dwarfing the tiny woman. She tilted her head at Roland for him to follow. The knight stepped to her side, and the elf turned once more back to the witch. "Simply for the fact that your words may well be true."

Then, smiling at the confusion in the witch's yellow eyes, the elf turned and walked out of the Chantry. Roland cast one look at Morrigan, and followed the elven woman out.

DA:O

The militia was, by its very definition, just a collection of fishermen and tradesmen who owned few weapons and would be ready to defend their village when necessary. What the Sten, Alistair and Leliana found were men who barely knew which end of a sword to hold, or could barely hit the target with an arrow. However, many of those in the militia were determined and had heart, and those two could mean the difference between living and dying. Those that seemed to have fallen into despair could well use the training, if for nothing else to gather their thoughts from the darkness and prepare to defend their village.

The bard glanced up at the sun. By the Maker's own providence, they had arrived at the village earlier than scheduled, and early in the day. She looked over to where the two warriors met with those who bore swords. An entire day training these men may keep them alive, but the Orlesian was finding it difficult to believe. She was amazed that any of them had lived this far.

She turned to watch as Adela left the Chantry, Roland and Morrigan behind her. The woman let her gaze shift over to the witch, who was scowling in irritation at the elf's back. She smirked. Morrigan was obviously not happy with the decision to remain and assist the village. The Orlesian turned back to the man she was straightening the stance of. Leliana knew that Morrigan would be a tough nut to crack, or so the saying went. The Orlesian knew that there was more to the lovely witch than just the caustic personality she showed. She sighed inwardly. Well, things that are worthwhile are never easy to obtain.

The man relaxed into the stance, pulled taut on the bowstring, and let the arrow fly, hitting the target fairly close to the bull's-eye. With a word of praise, the Orlesian went on to the next in line.

DA:O

Roland watched the activity in the courtyard as he followed Adela over to an older man with a heavily lined face. The knight was concerned about the battle that would most likely occur this evening. Taking a quick look at the fighters and archers - all of whom were obviously benefiting from the experience of his three companions - he could not help but feel as though each one would need the Maker's last rites.

He shook that dismal thought aside. No doubt Adela would not appreciate such counterproductive thinking. He glanced over at the group's leader, and forced a smile from his face. He had appreciated her words to the witch within the Chantry. It was obvious that the elven woman believed each word she had spoken as well.

Despair. That was what the knight read upon the older man's face. Despair and a certain acceptance of the death that waited. That was not helpful, Roland thought. These other men depended upon a leader to be confident, or at least the appearance of confidence. The man spoke in a deep, gravely voice, and it took him a moment to realize that the older man was addressing him.

"I take it you are the Warden Commander," the mayor replied, looking directly at the knight, avoiding looking at Adela.

Roland noticed the smirk that crossed Morrigan's face, and he felt a rush of anger at this man. He had obviously assumed Roland was the leader because he was human. He glanced at Adela, who was opening her mouth to address the other man, his thought continuing, and most likely because I am a man.

"Pardon me," Adela spoke, her voice strong. She was also carefully avoiding Morrigan's smirk. "But, I am Adela, Commander of the Grey in Fereldan."

A sense of pride, and then smugness flushed over him as Roland watched the man flounder with apology to Adela. The elf, to her credit, merely brushed aside his apologies, wanting only to find out how else she and her group could help. The man's grey eyes wandered over the forms of the militia training with Leliana, the Sten and Alistair.

"You've provided us with a good start, Warden," he acknowledged in that gravelly voice. "My men can certain benefit from instruction from such capable warriors." He turned his eyes to the elf, and Roland was pleased to see respect clearly shining there. "We are having difficulty with the blacksmith, Owen." He rubbed an embarrassed hand across the back of his neck. "He refused to repair armor and weapons, and without his assistance the equipment we currently have will be nearly useless in tonight's battle." He scowled as he surveyed the sub par bow strapped to one of his militiamen's back.

A graceful brow shot up at that. "Wait," a slender elven hand raised, "are you telling me that one of your townsfolk refuses to help in the battles?" the disbelief was obvious in her tone.

A nod from the Mayor, and then he clarified, "His daughter is one of the Arlessa's maids." his eyes wandered over to the blacksmith shop, its billows obviously cold by the lack of smoke from the chimney. "He refuses to help out without a promise that I'll send someone after her." He snarled at that. "As if I have the manpower to launch a rescue to the castle while the village remains in danger!" The despair that had been in those eyes mere moments ago was replaced with frustration and anger. "He'll let the whole village die around him without a second thought!"

Coward, Roland thought that at the building the mayor had indicated. Adela had bowed her head, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Morrigan shuffled slightly behind them, turning as she gazed about the village square.

"Well, I'll just have to go in there and convince him he needs to pull his weight," Adela lifted her head, determination written clearly on her face.

"I don't see how you think you can," the mayor grumbled.

The elf grinned at him. "Oh, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it, Ser Mayor," the elf replied. "I just cannot believe that a man would not do anything and everything in his power for his community."

The mayor tilted his head, watching the elf. "You must be from an Alienage, I take it?" he asked. The elf nodded, that brow still raised. "Thought so. You elves tend to have closer communities than some human villages do." he bowed his head. "Perhaps we humans should learn more from that, eh?"

That grin still on her face, Adela actually giggled, "I've always thought so." Her face turned serious as she faced the smithy. "Okay, guess I've a blacksmith to convince to do his job." With a determined step, she walked to the front of the smithy, reached for the handle and turned…

Only to find the darn thing locked. Locked! Roland supposed the blacksmith truly did not want to be bothered.

Adela knocked. There was no response. She placed an ear to the door, listening. Obviously, there was nothing. With a frown on her face, the elf knelt down and started examining the lock. Great Maker! Roland thought. Was she really considering breaking into the man's home? Then the knight reminded himself that those same skills had helped to free him of the dungeons in Highever. Moreover, if the fool within this building was not going to be reasonable…

There was a sharp click and Adela, with a triumphant smirk on her face, turned the knob and watched the door swing open. There was a shout of mild protest from within, and the elf entered, followed closely by the knight and witch.

The stench of stale ale permeated the smithy. Combined with the old smells of hot metal, damp creosote and ozone…it nearly made the elf gag. An old man stood, well, really leaned awkwardly against a far wall, glaring at the intruders.

"Humph!" he snorted, stumbling forward slightly, obviously inebriated. "What right ya got for bargin' in here?" he demanded, stepping forward to glare down with bloodshot eyes at the much smaller elf.

"I am Warden Adela," she introduced herself. "I understand that you are refusing to assist the militia during this crisis." She stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and steel in her melodic voice. "I am here to make certain that you live up to your obligation to this village and the townsfolk."

The old man snorted, spittle flying from his mouth, "Yeah," he swayed. "You and what army?"

Fighting the desire to throttle the man, Roland stood back and watched as Adela took care of the situation.

"I won't need an army," she looked him in the eye. "Because you are going to do it out of a sense of duty and loyalty for your home."

"Oh I am, am I?" he growled, straightening. "And what makes you think I'm gonna listen to some knife-eared wench who just says she's some kinda warden, eh?"

Both Roland and Morrigan's heads shot up, a sneer crossing the pretty witch's face. Although she may have taken some glee when the mayor turned to Roland as their leader, she obviously did not like having the elf so insulted. The knight had to remind himself that Adela was the leader. He could not undermine her by grabbing a hold of the old man who glared down at her.

Steady stare met angry glare. "You are going to help because it is what people facing a crisis to a community do." She stood tall and, although she barely came to the man's stooped shoulders, she was the one dominating the area and conversation. "You will light those fires; you will repair any weapons and armor that the militia need." She rose on her toes, her eyes sharp as sapphires, "You will do this because it is what you do. No one else here can do it. And," she backed off a bit, allowing some sympathy into her face. "it is the only chance anyone will survive."

"What do I have to fight for?" came the quiet question, the pain on the man's face so evident Roland felt a rise of pity for him.

Adela must have felt it as well for she reached a hand out and gently patted him on the arm. "The only way anyone can get into the castle and save whoever is still alive," she said softly, her voice calm, immediately loosing the iron from earlier, "is for someone to still be alive to be able to save them." She gave his arm a squeeze. "Your daughter included."

Heavy lids closed over tired eyes. A soft sob slipped from between his lips. His head nodded down once, then twice. "You have my word, Warden," he raised his head, his voice full of respect and hope, "Tell Murdock to send over whatever needs repairing." He turned to his forge to light the billows. "And have him send over someone to help me here," his fist clenched with determination. "By the Maker! We'll show those monsters what for," his hopeful eyes turned back to Adela. "Now won't we."

She smiled at him, and nodded. "My thanks, Ser Smith," she replied as she turned and left, Roland and Hafter behind her. While Adela did not take note, Roland noticed the dark look Morrigan tossed to the smith before she followed.

DA:O

He did not understand why the Elven Warden cared for these people. He grunted as he paused in the instruction of how to properly wield a sword. These people were simple fishermen, and had no business wielding a sword. After reprimanding the angler turned warrior for holding the sword too tightly, the Sten turned to survey the area. The Human Warden seemed to be having as much luck with his students as he was; the Orlesian was actually faring better with her recruits. Archery seemed to be the combat form more common among these folk.

He shook his great head. The Warden commanded it be so, and so he shall teach these simpletons how to wield a sword. Not that he truly expected it to do anyone any good come nightfall.

DA:O

Okay, so the mayor is happy and the drunken smith will be smithying soon. Adela let out a sigh as she surveyed the homes located on the docks. Murdock said that the dwarven merchant was housed somewhere by the docks. She scowled slightly. Which house? Do I just go and enter each one? She glanced about, looking for someone - anyone - from the village. She spotted a familiar figure - Thomas - and headed straight for him, aware that Roland and Morrigan followed behind.

The young man was more than happy to direct Adela to where the dwarf lived. Of course, the door was locked. She knocked. No answer. Why were things never simple, she had to wonder, and wonder also, why she was the one who had to speak with strangers to fight for their village when the town's mayor couldn't get anywhere? Ah, well, nothing for it other than to…she bent down…go and see…her pick quickly and deftly released the lock…if anyone will listen. She straightened, cast Roland a small smile, and then turned the knob.

The dwarf was amiable enough, with gold lining his pockets that is. Ah, a mercenary. How truly original. She shook her head, feeling just a little tired and wanting only to take a nap. However, she needed to let Murdock know that he now had a few other weapons - these skilled - on their side this evening. She stepped back out, feeling the cool breeze from the lake flow over her. She lifted her head, her eyes closed. This was not turning out to be as easy as simply waving the treaties in front of people's faces or pleading that the darkspawn need to be stopped. Each step seemed to have its own peril, and she had to wonder if other Wardens from other ages had to jump through so many hoops that she found herself and her companions needing to jump through. She felt a large hand rest on her shoulder and she knew, without opening her eyes that it was Roland. She did open her eyes, meeting his friendly gaze.

Okay, talk to Murdock, and then she needed to speak with Roland.

DA:O

Well that could be better, the young Warden thought as he surveyed the militiamen, counted off in sparring pairs, hacking at each other with blunted blades. Actually, it could be a lot better, he thought with a groan as he watched the clumsy strikes. Argh, he brought a finger to the bridge of his nose. This must have been how Commander MacTavish felt when he was training raw recruits for the Chantry. Alistair glanced over and watched for a moment as Adela spoke with the mayor. Roland was studying the older man with an intense expression while Morrigan just seemed…well, bored. The young warden's eyes went back to the knight. He could not help but feel a little hurt that Adela brought Roland with her and had him remain behind to help train the troops. He was her second, after all, wasn't he? A sudden crash brought his attention back to the sparring pairs. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, pulling the pair off the ground from where they were brawling - brawling! He gave each man a shake, showed him - again - how to properly hold a sword, and then went back down the line. Most of them seemed to get the hang of it, but some…well, hopefully fear will instill some skill at the time of the battle. That was all he could hope for.

He looked up again, and saw that Adela and Roland were talking, their heads close together. Roland nodded, then pointed up the hill toward the tavern. The elven woman nodded her head and, with a word tossed back to the witch, the trio, along with Hafter who seemed glued to Adela's side (that is where I should be), headed toward the tavern.

I just hope they bring me back a drink, he thought as he turned back to the recruits.

DA:O

Why do all of these simpletons not seek to protect their own? Morrigan wondered in disgust as she followed the elf and knight up to the tavern. The mabari was now walking beside her.

"What now, you stupid dog?" she asked as the beast (oh, what did the elf name him?) merely tilted his head at her and whined at her.

Exasperated, Morrigan exclaimed, "Stop looking at me, mongrel. I have nothing you want!"

To which Hafter (that is the bloody dog's name!) merely whined again.

She pointedly ignored the amused looks Adela and Roland cast in her direction.

"Why do you keep staring at me so, you flea-ridden beast? Can you not tell when you are not wanted?"

"Oh Morrigan," Adela called out, "Stop picking on my dog."

Hafter whined again, wagging his stubby tail. Roland tried hard not to chuckle, but he still earned a glare from the witch.

"I enjoy the company of creatures of the wild. Not stench-ridden, domesticated wolves." she waved her hand imperiously at the beast, who only continued to whine and wag his tail at her.

"And he persists! Maddening!" She stomped off, passing the elf and knight, who had both given up their efforts to not laugh.

Hafter merely followed the angered witch, barking happily in her wake.

DA:O

The militia was two more men heavier than it had been earlier. Adela had somehow managed to cajole and bully an elf - who had been sent by Howe to spy upon Castle Redcliffe - and the tavern keeper, a fat, unsavory man name Lloyd, into joining in the fight that eve. Roland was proud of her; the elf had a way of making people come around to her way of thinking that was incredible. Especially when one considered she was a shy elven artist from an Alienage with no training in command whatsoever.

They then met with Ser Perth, one of the last of Arl Eamon's knights. Apparently, the Arlessa had sent out all of Redcliffe's knights in search of a Brother Genetivi. The details were vague; however, the Arlessa apparently believed that this brother could locate the whereabouts for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Andraste's final resting place. Rumor had it that the Ashes could cure all ills. Roland merely shook his head at that, while Adela, not completely telling the knight that she thought the quest foolhardy, had questioned the Arlessa's decision to leave the castle and village so unguarded. Ser Perth appeared to be in complete agreement.

So, the group found themselves back at the Chantry, much to the amusement of Morrigan, asking the Revered Mother for holy symbols for the knights, who apparently felt they were needed for protection. After much haranguing, the Revered Mother finally obliged.

Now, there was nothing left to do but oversee the militia's final training, and wait for nightfall.

Adela had taken up a spot with Leliana to help with archery lessons. Although she herself was a better shot than the Orlesian, Leliana had a better knack for teaching. Adela taught by example: the human archers taking note of her form and stance, how she grasped the bowstring and then fired. Leliana would talk them through the steps, giving them encouragement, adjusting a stance here, relaxing a grip there. Between the two, they had managed to improve the skills of the archers considerably.

Roland had taken his previous experiences as a knight and Captain of the Guard at Highever and had helped Sten and Alistair with their own recruits. Although still lacking in skill, the men in the militia at least now had a working knowledge and confidence in their swordsmanship. It would not be a total blood bath.

Word soon arrived from Ser Perth's men for the Warden and her group to get into position. The plan called for Roland, the Sten and Leliana to accompany Ser Perth and his knights up by the mill. Adela, Alistair and Morrigan would remain with the militia by the docks. Wynne and Hafter would be inside the Chantry, along with Bann Teagan, a last line of defense should the knights and militia fails.

Roland admitted to not liking the idea of leaving Adela's side. However, splitting the group was a good decision if solely for keeping morale up. With final farewells and good lucks tossed about, Roland led his group up to the mill to await the start of the battle.

DA:O

Adela was nervous. As she always was before a battle. The time before, when there was time to think - and for someone like Adela, there was always time to think - made her far more nervous than battles that are just sprung upon her. With time to think came time to think of everything that could go wrong. In addition, facing these strange foes even more could go wrong. She took several breaths, trying to calm herself. She looked over at Alistair, who was examining his blade. A smile crossed her face as she watched him. Alistair never seemed nervous before a battle. But then, he was an accomplished warrior, well trained, and naturally brave. She was an artist who had been trained by her mother at the art of bow and dagger, but had never really had any cause for their use until fairly recently. The other Warden looked up and grinned at her, sheathing his sword and motioning her to him. The elf had to tell herself not to run to his side.

Putting his arm around her slender shoulders, Alistair bent down. "Nervous?" he asked, putting a teasing quality to his voice.

Nodding, she snuggled closer to him, trying hard not to appear nervous as many of the militiamen were watching the two wardens. "Do I look nervous?" she asked, lifting her face to watch Alistair.

He shook his head. "No, not really." he honestly replied. "Just a little tentative."

"Humph!" she grunted a bit, her gaze wandering up to the mill. "I'm a little worried about Roland," she confided, turning her gaze back to Alistair.

She missed the little flicker of a grimace on his face. "Why?" He asked.

Shrugging her shoulders, lifting his arm with the movement, she answered, "It's only been a couple of weeks since we rescued him," she explained.

Snorting, Alistair commented, "Don't worry about him, Adela," he gave her a little shake. "He was well trained before his imprisonment, and dutiful in his practice since. He's in good shape, and more than capable to handle a few walking corpses." He shifted, pulling her in front of him as he draped his arms across her, resting his chin on her head. "He's a good enough soldier that if he felt his presence was a detriment; he would stay out of the fight."

She lifted her face, turning it slightly to the side so that Alistair could see her smile. "Thanks, Alistair."

The human gave her a squeeze and she rested her hands on his arms. He let his eyes wander the courtyard, where most of the militiamen had been stationed. If the creatures got past the knights and Roland's group by the mill, it was their duty to stop any of the monsters from entering the Chantry, wherein stood Wynne, Hafter and Bann Teagan, defending what was left of the villagers. He shivered slightly, recalling the undead they had encountered in the Circle Tower. He had no desire to face their like again, but here they were, preparing to battle them for the village. His eyes wandered upward, to where Castle Redcliffe sat upon its cliff overlooking the lake and village. A flicker caught his attention and he straightened, rising from his perch behind Adela. The elf noticed his movement and stood up, following his gaze with her own.

A cloud of darkness rose from the castle, spreading and running along the bridge that connected the village to the castle. Alistair called out to the militiamen to ready their arms.

The walking dead were running.

DA:O

Roland spotted the undead, and called for the knights and his companions to be ready. He had expected the undead to be shambling, slow moving, as those few he had encountered in the Circle Tower had been. The pace with which these undead moved was startling in their quickness. The noise the arose from the parched throats of the dead was horrifying: guttural snarls, gnawing sounds. The knight shook himself as their Orlesian archer shot off the first volley.

Leliana, firing off arrows enchanted with fire, sent a steady stream of the missiles into the first bodies running to them. The Sten stepped in, swinging his greatsword, easily cleaving the nearest corpse from shoulder to groin. Another slipped by the giant, and Roland met it with a shield bash to its face, his sword cutting into its chest and out the back. Ser Perth rushed forward, leading his knights. Dwyn, the dwarven merchant Adela had to bribe to assist in the battle, led his group of mercenaries off to the side, crushing and hacking at the corpses before they could exit the pass's bottleneck. Berwick, the elf from the tavern Adela had persuaded to join the ranks, fired off arrows at a speed that challenged the lovely Orlesian archer. The ranks of the undead quickly diminished.

The group stepped back, taking a moment to catch their breath or apply poultices to wounds. No one had fallen, and Roland took that as a good sign.

The next group that attacked was easily twice the size of the first, and more horrifying. Leliana and Berwick's arrows, each enchanted with magical fire, did the most damage. Roland waded into the undead's midst, swinging his sword, pleased with how easily it came back to him. His shield cleared a path, knocking many of the creatures down. The Sten swung down with his mighty blade, cleaving many of the corpses in two.

Ser Perth and his men fared well. One knight had been badly injured, but could move on his own power. Perth ordered him to the chantry for healing and, albeit reluctantly, the young knight obeyed. Roland had numerous scratches on his face, but nothing serious. Few of the creatures wielded blades. The Sten and Leliana both were unscathed.

There was little time for rest as the third group - far larger than the first two - descended upon them in a hungry wave.

DA:O

Adela turned to watch as the lone knight entered the Chantry for healing. She looked around, first taking note of the nervous militiamen, and then allowed her vision to pass beyond their barricaded front. Her eyes narrowed and she tugged Alistair over, pointing to where she saw movement. The human squinted his eyes, and then they widened.

The undead had found a path to the village's center.

Nervous curses and harsh mumbles sounded from the militiamen. The archers raised their bows and sent a volley into the mass of undead bodies that shambled, ran and shuffled into the square. Adela raised her bow and sent a steady stream of missiles into the midst, felling several of the corpses. With a great war cry, Alistair raised his shield and sword and plunged into the mass of bodies, bashing and swinging his sword, cleaving many in two as he turned to meet the rush.

Words of magic spilled from Morrigan's lips and ice fell upon several of the nearby undead, freezing them to the spot. Lloyd, the tavern keeper Adela had earlier conscripted into the militia, rushed forward with a heavy dagger and stabbed at one of the frozen corpses. With a snarl, Morrigan stepped back, and her form shimmered. In her place stood a giant spider, spewing forth a great web that entangled many of the shambling forms just outside of the square, gaining the militiamen time to dispatch those already in the courtyard. Her form shimmered again, and in its place stood the form of a great black wolf. With a howl, Morrigan plunged into the fray, tearing and clawing the walking dead to pieces.

Fighting down the surge of fear that threatened to overtake her, Adela continued to concentrate her shots to the corpses just beyond the square's borders, slowing down and felling many of those dead that had not yet engaged their allies. A sharp, chilling pain shot through her shoulder, causing her to drop her bow. Her arm and hand numbed, she turned into the gaping maw of a large shambling corpse. She stumbled back, reaching for her daggers, but her right hand would not obey her commands. Her dagger held in her left hand, she swiped at the monster, parrying its claws, turning them aside. She managed to duck beneath a powerful swing, its claws catching in her hair, tearing through it with a growl. Straightening, she thrust her dagger into one of its eyes. With a snarling growl, it clawed at its face, swinging out again to knock the elf from her feet.

The numbing chill that had taken over her right arm had spread across her shoulders and down her torso, and the elf found herself weakening. With a shake of its head, the corpse bent down to grab at the stricken woman. There was a shout, then the monster was knocked back, and then down onto its back. Murdock stepped forward, and sent a stream of arrows into the struggling corpse. A look of concern crossed his craggy face and he bent to the woman. Murmuring a thanks, darkness overtook her.

DA:O

The smell was horrendous, but they had agreed that, during respites of attacks, the bodies were to be burned. Each position had built a large bonfire. Roland watched as Dwyn and his men carried the corpses and tossed them into the blaze. The knight's eyes roamed over the scene. They had been fortunate; despite the numbers of walking corpses sent against them, they had lost no one in the battle. Many of the injuries sustained were cared for with poultices. His eyes continued further down, toward the village center. He hated not knowing how his companions fared. Trusting in their skills, the Highever Knight turned his attention back to the pass, standing guard and ready alongside the Sten, Ser Perth and his knights as the mercenaries cleared the bodies.

DA:O

"For the Grey Wardens!" echoed from his lips, his shield covered with the blood and gore of his foes, his sword - Oathkeeper - maintaining its sharpness as it sliced into putrid flesh, shattering bone, and stopping the hoard of undead.

From the corner of his eye he saw the familiar dark shape of Morrigan in her wolf form. He allowed himself a moment to be grateful the acerbic witch was on their side - well, as far as he could tell. He turned his eyes from her ripping the arm from a corpse to engage another enemy.

Finally, the hoard stopped coming. Alistair ordered the militiamen to gather the corpses and toss them onto the bon fire. The smell would be horrid, but they could ill afford for the corpses to rise back up, especially if another mass of them attacked. The fire had been set closer to the docks, downwind.

Bending at the waist, the ex-templar took a moment to gather his breath, then rose to search out Adela.

DA:O

"Hush, child," Wynne scolded as she sent another warming burst of healing magic through her limbs. "If you don't relax the magic will take longer to heal."

Lying back on the bedroll, Adela watched as the elderly mage's face crinkled in concentration. A large figure knelt at her side, patting her hand. "Easy, my lady," Teagan's warm tones soothed. "Had Murdock not brought you in here, your wounds could well be far worse."

Managing a weak smile, the elf nodded as the warmth flowed back into her tiny form. She was far more concerned about her friends and the militia outside of the chantry's walls, but she knew that she was currently in no condition to help. The corpse that had attacked her had literally frozen her blood, and had the mayor not intervened so aptly, she would have died with barely a scratch.

She could admit it: she was embarrassed by how small a wound it took to knock her down. Never mind that the small wound was created by a magically animated corpse; never mind that, as Wynne had said, her blood had literally turned to ice. The scratch was barely anything any of the others would have noticed and yet here she was, the Maker bedamned appointed Commander (okay, Duncan, really, I'm beginning to think perhaps all that darkspawn blood sullied your thinking!) and she couldn't outlast a scrape? Wynne chuckled at her and she turned to regard her friend.

"Really, child," the mage scolded as she watched Adela flex her now responsive hands, "the look on your face…"

Adela cocked a brow at her as she pushed herself up. "Really, Wynne." the elf complained, sitting up and allowing her equilibrium to catch up. "Can you see Alistair or Roland falling down in a faint because a scratch?'

Wynne's own expression matched the elf's. "If it was the same 'scratch' you just suffered?" A smile crossed the older woman's still lovely face. "Yes I would even go so far as to say Sten would have difficulties as well." She reached a hand out and touched Adela's face with affection. "These undead are unnatural, child. The spirits that inhabit them are driven mad and have certain abilities from the Fade. The attack upon you was magical in nature." She smiled as she rose to her feet. "Take a few more moments here, Adela," she chided as she turned. "I trust the good Bann here will be certain you behave yourself."

"Indeed, Lady Mage," the Bann bowed his head gracefully to the mage. "I shall see to it that she rests for a few moments longer."

Eyeing them both, the elf could only roll her eyes as she pushed her back against the wall behind her. "Fine, fine. A few minutes, Wynne." she agreed, glaring defiantly at the mage's retreating back. Bann Teagan chuckled at her as he took a seat beside her against the wall.

After a moment of silence, the Bann spoke. "I know how you feel, Commander," he said as he turned his friendly gaze to her.

"Please," Adela begged, "Just Adela. Commander is…well, that's just not me."

Chuckling, he bowed his head. "Adela. My thanks." He turned his eyes to the Chantry doors, where stood Ser Belmont, the knight who had arrived earlier with injuries, guarding the entrance. "I can hear the battle raging outside. And, yet I remain behind those doors." He turned back to her. "While you and your companions fight for this village, I remain hidden away." His face frowned. "I feel almost…cowardly for doing so."

Adela placed a hand on his arm. "Not cowardly, Bann Teagan," she replied. "You are the last line of defense for these people. Without you," her arm swept to indicate a small group of children, huddled with the revered mother, who was telling them a story at this moment. "these people would feel more despaired than they already do." She smiled. "Keeping their spirits from completely failing is necessary for their survival as well."

Gratitude spread across his handsome face, and the Bann took one of Adela's small hands in his. Kissing the knuckles gently, he murmured, "My thanks, Adela." A grin. "And, please, call me Teagan."

She bowed her head, accepting the invitation. Then, giving the Bann's hand a squeeze, she rose, unsteadily, to her feet. Teagan rose with her, placing a concerned hand under her elbow. Taking several deep breaths, the elf nodded to the Bann, who released her. Glancing around, making certain Wynne was no where to be seen, the elf walked to the huge double doors. The knight standing guard bowed to her and opened the doors to allow her to exit.

DA:O

"Easy, laddie," Murdock placed a gnarled hand on the younger man's arm, pulling him to a stop, urging him to calm down. Alistair glanced at the hand, and stopped. The mayor continued. "She took a little damage from one of those corpses, and the mage in the Chantry is healing her now." The older man's gravelly voice rumbled through Alistair's head. "She's a tough little one, and I'm sure she'll be fine. Just give it a bit."

The wind changed direction just briefly and the pungent smell of burning flesh assailed his nostrils. Both men winced, bringing hands to their faces. The wind shifted again, carrying the odor along.

The doors opened behind them, and Alistair's relief was palpable as he watched Adela step through, her bow back in hand. She paused briefly, surveying the carnage, taking note that none of the militiamen lay dead upon the ground. Her eyes, tired, fixed upon Alistair's face, and she smiled. The young man smiled back at her, watching as she stepped to his side. She bowed her thanks once again to the mayor, who merely chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes turned toward the horizon.

The sky was lightening, dawn's promise just within an hour's reach.

DA:O

The Sten growled in his native tongue, his sharp blade taking the head of the nearest walking corpse from its neck. Growling, he spun to sweep aside several more of the undead menace.

Arrows sped in a steady stream from the Orlesian's bow, their flaming enchantments burning holes into their targets where they hit. She glanced over her shoulder, taking note of her dwindling supply. Berwick, his own arrows having long since been spent, had taken sword and dagger in hand and was attacking those corpses that had gotten past the warriors and threatened the archers.

Roland and Ser Perth found themselves back to back, surrounded by a dozen of the putrid foes. Roland darted forward, his shield bashing into and smashing the face of one, while his sword found the chest of another. Ser Perth's greatsword swung overhead, cleaving down to slice one foe from head to gullet, twisting to send the thing to the ground.

This last wave of foes had been relentless, and several of the defenders died, torn and ravaged within the pass. Roland avoided all thought of the need to burn their corpses once the dawn rose, lest they, too, rise to join the ranks of the undead.

The last of the corpses surrounding the two knights fell. Ser Perth clapped a heavy hand to the younger man's shoulder as Roland raised his eyes to the horizon.

Over which the sun was rising.