In the far south, sunsets lasted quite a bit longer than they did where Teneira had grown up, and she was grateful that the twilight lingered just long enough to get back to camp. She could hear the low roar of soldiers carousing below them on the plain, but at their campsite, Duncan's face was sober. He silently took the vials of dark blood, heaved a deep breath, and seemed like he was about to speak to them, but thought better of it. He took another.

"This doesn't get easier," he said, as much to himself as to his charges, "No matter how many times I do it. Nothing to be done for it now, though." He looked up, "Alistair, bring the recruits up to the old temple. I need to have a final word with the Circle mages."

"What does he mean by that?" asked Daveth.

Ten looked down, and stayed silent, though she could feel Alistair's eyes on her, wondering if she would squeal. She kept mum. There was nothing they could do about it now. Even if she and Daveth took off into the wilds, they would not outrun the horde, and even if they managed to do that, there would surely be a price on both of their heads, not only for deserting the Grey Wardens, but for the crimes they had committed before being conscripted. As for Jory… Fuck that guy, she thought. She followed the little band to an alcove in the ruin that must have been a temple at some point, for it was surrounded by fine marble pillars and boasted an altar in the center.

"I think," said Daveth finally, taking in the columns, the altar, the ceremonial fire, "I think there's a chance we're not all going to come through this."

Ten kept her eyes on the ground.

"Ten, look at me," he said.

She forced herself to look up.

"You know something, don't you," he said.

"I'm just as in the dark as you are," she lied.

"But you're canny, you must have figured something out," he protested.

"If you thought about it a little, you'd have figured it out too," Ten lied again, "Why do you think we were sent to collect darkspawn blood?"

"Andraste's shapely arse," cursed Daveth, "You're right."

"I resigned myself to my death several weeks ago," she said, "And so did you. Don't you remember, those days in the dungeon? How we were going to the gallows, arm in arm, singing a merry tune? The jig at the end of the rope?"

"What about me?" Jory protested, "I wasn't in any dungeon. I didn't agree to any such thing. I didn't lead a life of crime, I didn't murder any banns. Why am I expected to do the same thing as… the two of you? My wife is in Highever, expecting my son, expecting me back!"

"It's too late," Daveth said, "You've made your bed, now lie in it."

"This can't possibly be right. How is it I'm the same as you, now? That's just not how it works. I'm not going to do it. They can't make me go through the same thing as… as an elf."

"Would you give it a rest?" Ten exclaimed, "It's not my fault you've gone through life being told you were better than everyone and made it to the far side of thirty before you learned you're just a plain old everyday prick like the rest of us."

"But I'm not," he protest, "I'm not the same as you."

"You got that right," said Ten, "I'm not a sniveling coward."

It occurred to her suddenly that Alistair was strangely silent during the whole exchange. She hadn't known him long, but the man, generally, did not like the quiet. He had a glib remark for pretty much everything, and had put himself between his bickering charges on more than one occasion, but now, he was standing, his back to them, letting them at each other, as though he couldn't look any of them in the eye.

"She's right," said Daveth, "I could die tonight, I could die in the coming battle, I could die in the Deep Roads, I could eat an iffy mushroom and die in a ditch. But this way, maybe, just maybe, there's a chance to take a few of them with me."

Duncan arrived then. "I assume you have questions," he said, "So I will explain. During the first blight, the first Grey Wardens learned that by taking the essence of the darkspawn into your body, you become immune to them. The blood that poisons hound and man alike, will have no effect on you, and you will be able to sense any darkspawn around you. Should you survive. You drink the blood, you gain the power to slay the Archdemon himself."

"Should we survive?" Jory said, his fears confirmed, "This is not what I signed up for."

"It's too late for that now," said Daveth.

Duncan, deaf to the knight's protests, set three stone chalices on the ancient altar before them, "Drink."

"Ready?" said Daveth.

"Ready," said Ten.

"It's been an honor, Miss Tabris."

"Likewise."

She took the chalice, which was heavier than she expected, in both hands and, breathing in through her mouth so she could not smell it, forced the viscous stuff down her throat.

The pain was instant, and intense, so intense she blacked out and was grateful for having done so. But then she realized… this was not her brain protecting her. This was something else. She was somewhere she had never been before, and got the distinct feeling she was looking through someone else's eyes. The sky was a livid yellow, and below, the horde of darkspawn marched, their steps echoing all around her. Up against the unearthly sky, she saw the dragon from her dreams, rearing up, and roaring.

She awoke with her cheek on the cool flagstone of the temple. She pushed herself up on her elbows, feeling like she ought to have a hangover, but she did not. She felt… different somehow. As if there was a new part of her sending new signals to her. There were five… ten… twelve darkspawn on the other side of the gate, a few dozen yards into the wild. Two emissaries. The rest were just stupid brutes like the others. They weren't coming for her, though, they were just… standing there. Waiting for something. She looked to her left and to her right.

"Maker's breath!" she jumped to her feet. Beside her, just as he'd imagined, Daveth lay, his body curled into itself, his eyes vacant, staring at a sky they could not see. Sorrow twined around the horror in her breast.

"Daveth didn't make it," said Alistair, "I'm sorry. I know you were friends. Sometimes that happens, when you can't take the taint."

"Well shit," she said, hurriedly wiping a tear from one eye.

She looked around for Jory, and found him, lying on the other side of Daveth and a pool of crimson, "I don't suppose the taint gave him that great hole in his chest?" she asked skeptically.

"He drew on me first," Duncan said, "It is a… regrettable duty."

"You killed him," she said, though not accusatory. She didn't really feel one way or the other about it, to be entirely honest.

"He tried to refuse."

"Well," she said, "Couldn't have happened to a better man. But… it's just me then, that survived? I'm the only one?"

"It is… regrettable," Duncan said again. She saw something in his face then. A certain hardness that she had suspected was there all along. This was a man who had to take pains to be gentle, not scare the children, and mostly succeeded.

"I think I can see why the order is dwindling," she said, "Have you considered a smaller dosage?" she thought of the years she'd spent inuring herself to various poisons so she could handle them without fear. She'd start with a wee bit, letting the stomach cramps or hives have their way with her for a few days, then taking a little more, until eventually she barely felt their effects, "Maybe if you started small and ramped it up over a few weeks or months, you'd have a better survival rate."

"The ritual is what it is," Duncan said, his face set grimly, "It's not just the blood. It's the ceremony."

"And they don't all have a two thirds casualty rate," Alistair said, "It's awful. But it's necessary."

"Far be it from me to question it now," she sighed, "Just… let me build Daveth a proper pyre. Please. He doesn't have any family, and he was one of my only friends I have left in the world. I'd like to send him to the Maker in the right way."

"I'll do you one better," Alistair said, "Let's wrap him up for now, and in the morning, I will go with you, we can go gather the wood and we'll do it right."

"We have a meeting with the king tomorrow evening, see that you're done by then," Duncan admonished, "Though your loyalty is admirable. It will serve you well."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes still on the ground.

The old warrior turned then, and left the two newest Grey Wardens to deal with the dead.

Stashed behind a pillar in the old temple were three simple muslin shrouds, one large, one medium sized, and one small. "You prepared for this didn't you," she said, "You even cut the winding sheets to our respective sizes."

"It's to be expected," said Alistair, "Unfortunately."

Ten took the large one and shook it out. She took two ends, Alistair took the others, and they spread it out on the flagstones next to Jory. Squatting, she put a hand under each of Jory's massive shoulders, and with her companion's help, managed to roll him onto the cloth. Together, they wrapped him up, and tied the winding sheet around him at neck, chest, waist, knees, and feet.

"Well Ser Jory," she said, "I'm sorry that happened. I hope you grow some more sense in the next life."

"We'll be sending him back to Highever for his wife to deal with. Poor woman," Alistair sighed.

"She's probably better off."

"I heard what he said to you," Alistair said.

"He was a bully and a fool," said Teneira, "Though I suppose nobody really deserves to go like that. Don't haunt me!" she commanded, her hand on the corpse's head.

They moved to the next dead man. Ten shut his eyes with one hand and got the shroud over him before they could pop open again as the eyes of the dead often did. "Well shit, Daveth," she sighed, "Why'd you have to go and leave me alone with these people? Who'm I going to take the piss out of everyone with now?"

"I'm right here," Alistair admonished.

"No offense," she said, "But him and me, we were alike. You know Duncan came and got us out of the dungeons, right?"

"I had heard that."

"So you can imagine neither of us were particularly fond of the law. And you, you were a Templar. That's basically like a guardsman. More than a guardsman. That's like a guardsman and a priest at the same time."

"Oh, I'm not all that bad," he said.

"I'm not saying you are," she sighed, "You've been nothing but decent with me, and trust me, I appreciate it. It's just not the same as having someone who understands you. Like it wasn't bad enough I was the only elf, and the only woman. Now I'm the only criminal, too."

They tied off the body.

"I've got to go bathe," said Ten, "After handling a corpse. It's bad luck not to. You ought to as well, but I'll thank you to stick to a different section of the river."

"Ten, it's the middle of the night and there are a thousand drunk soldiers very close to here. I don't like the odds of a naked woman in the river."

"I can be quiet."

"I don't want to have to spill any more blood," he said.

"Well I'm going whether you say so or not," she said, "You're not my commander anymore. In fact I think we have the same rank."

Down at the river, by the light of a torch she stuck in the sand of the bank, she scrubbed the day from her body as quickly as she could, not wanting to catch the eye of any of the Teyrn's men. She hurriedly dressed, not bothering to dry off, and scurried back to camp, where Alistair was sitting pensively by the fire.

"See? No harm done," she said.

"You're soaking wet," he said, "Sit down, dry yourself off, can't start your first day as a Grey Warden with a cold."

She did as she was bade.

"Say, is there any more of that whiskey?"

"Probably," she said, "We got a pretty good deal. I'm not going through the man's things, though, but I won't stop you."

"You just look like you could use some."

"If I drink tonight, I'm going to cry," she said, "And if I cry for Daveth, I'm going to cry for everyone I've lost and all the very fucked up things that have happened to me in the last few months, and then you're going to think I'm a soft little creature unworthy of having your back."

"I don't think anyone has ever mistaken you for soft," Alistair chuckled.

She looked at him a moment, and sighed, "Please. Talk to me about literally anything else."

"I know what it's like," he said, "To be alone like that."

"I'm sure you do," she said, "I feel like there aren't a whole lot of psychologically sound people in this line of work."

"You use a lot of big words," he observed.

"For an elf?"

"No, for anyone," he said, "And you talk too fast. I can hardly keep up half the time. Why do you do that?"

"It intimidates people," she said, "Makes them feel a little stupid. Started doing it for that reason and I can't seem to stop. I speak Orlesian too, you know."

"Really."

"And Antivan," she said, "Could curse you out in Nevarran but couldn't carry on a polite conversation."

"No point in polite conversations with Nevarrans, in my experience," Alistair said.

She chuckled, "I'm not trying to brag or anything. Well, maybe a little. But I'm not just some sad allegory about the treatment of my people. The elf who finally snapped. I'm a whole person, too."

"So, I admit, I'm more than a little curious. It's not every day you're asked to share camp with a notorious felon. Who were you before you started chopping up nobles with axes?"

"I had an alchemist's stall, in the Alienage in Denerim," she said, "Poultices and tinctures. Poisons when it served me."

"They really confine you to one part of the city?"

She nodded, "We're not locked in. Not usually. We can come and go as we please. But good luck trying to rent a flat, or buy a house anywhere else. Some neighborhoods the kids will straight up throw rocks at you if you wander in. And it's not just in Denerim. Any city of a certain size. My husband was from Highever."

"How long were you married?"

"A few hours," she said.

"Were you together long before that?"

"No," she said, "I met him that day, in fact. Our marriages are arranged. My dad wrote his dad, they determined it was a good match, negotiated a brideprice, he shows up, and there we were, for better or worse, in sickness, health, and hate crime."

"Really! I didn't know anyone still did that. I mean, aside from like, nobles making alliances. How does that even work?"

"You do what you're told and hope for the best. Just like everything else in life."

"No, I mean," he said, "And I don't mean to pry or anything, but what about, you know… love? Affection? Attraction? All the things that go into most normal marriages."

"See that there is why so many of you humans are utterly miserable in your marriages," she scoffed, "You people put all that ridiculousness first, just prance down the aisle with the first pretty thing that catches your eye, and then everyone is surprised when he gets bald and she gets fat and they resent their children and they both wonder why they did it in the first place."

"And you think it's better to find out one day, through no fault of your own, that a complete stranger is the most important person in your life and you just have to deal with it?"

"It's about putting the commitment before the person," said Ten, "It's not just about you, after all. It's about the whole community. You both decide to make it work, and so you make it work. And it's not like you stay strangers. You start as strangers, and if it's not a total disaster, you become friends after that, and then after a few months or years, you fall in love and have a dozen fat babies and die at a hundred holding hands. Or so I'm told."

"And you think that's how it works? You just get propped up in front of a stranger, get told "all right, this one's yours" and you're just inevitably going to fall in love?"

"Well it does work, for enough of them. Although, it's not like I had the opportunity to find out first hand," she sighed, fiddling with her wedding band. You're going to have to take that off eventually. "At this point, I don't suppose I ever will. And with that not at all depressing thought, I am going to go to bed." Without waiting for a response, she crawled into her tent, and was out by the time her head hit her bedroll.