Miles Southwest of Highever Castle – Sometime Before Four Bells

The adrenaline was still running high and the horses running fast as the ragged band of survivors raced away from Highever Castle. The chill night wind and steady rain whipped against Duncan's face and he could barely feel his ears and nose anymore, but he knew they couldn't stop. Under the clear, moonlit sky, he could see some of the some of the people faltering, slouching in their saddles, faces ashen and eyelids drooping.

"Faster! Ride as if the archdemon were on your tail! Ride, I tell you!"

He swatted the rump of his horse with a switch and the steady thrum of hoofbeats accelerated. Whether or not Arl Howe had found the secret exit, he would surely have scouting parties out by now, looking for any escapees. Other than he, Alice Cousland and her hound, the group was in no shape to fight.

This was not what he had expected from his visit to Highever. He thought that it would be a cordial visit and that he would leave with one, possibly two potential recruits for the Grey Wardens and an allied army at his back. Instead, he was now leading a hopeless gaggle of, what had once been the one of the most powerful families in Ferelden, second only to the king. After his previous five failures, he had been growing desperate. Hopefully, this one would survive the joining. Only two other recruits awaited them in Ostagar, far from the twenty he had hoped for.

Another horse moved in next to his and he looked over to see Alice astride her mount, her face tensed and fixed as if carved of stone. She almost appeared as one of the fabled golems of Orzammar. Some might think that they were just fables, but Duncan knew otherwise.

"Why are we going southwest?" she asked impatiently. "We must find my brother along the road southeast of Highever. He is less than a half day's march from the castle."

Duncan understood what she was feeling far better than she, herself did – doubt, anger, remorse and, above all, fear. Every battle that he had fought, every step along the Deep Roads that he had taken was full of these feelings. So many friends fallen…so many friends dragged away by the Darkspawn. He understood and so her ire washed off his back like the falling rain.

"Where do you think Arl Howe will be looking for us?" He said it without anger or irritation, free of any hint of rebuke. He always felt that the best answers were the ones we found for ourselves.

Alice opened her mouth to rebut him, but stopped and wiped the rain from her eyes. She merely nodded and then pushed her knee into her horse's flank to open the distance between them. To the untrained eye, she might appear spoiled and petulant, but he knew she was a diamond in the rough. Her skill and fighting spirit were the talk of tournaments in the north of Ferelden.

Months ago, a bard in Amaranthine told him about a contest in which a young woman had bested several hardened knights and he knew that he had to investigate further. Yes, thank the Maker, he had made the right choice and it was up to him to polish that diamond.

Miles turned into leagues as they rode on and soon, a dim sliver of light appeared in the east just above the horizon as the rain slowed to a light, cold drizzle. Duncan always loved this time of the morning when the smell in the air changed and the birds began to sing. It gave him a sense of clarity and renewal. He gently pulled on the reins and his horse slowed to a walk. They had sped far enough for now. The horses and riders would need a break. The rest of the group followed suit as he raised himself up in the stirrups and scanned behind them.

"I see no pursuit thus far," he said to Alice. "We can rest the horses for an hour or two. We can then work our way eastward through the Bannorn and link up with Fergus."

As the dull, orange glow of dawn grew, he could faintly see pillars of smoke where Highever was supposed to be. He sighed. They were lucky to have escaped. Alice moved her horse closer again, the distinctive clip-clop clip-clop sound of horseshoes on hard ground filling the air.

"Why did you choose me, Duncan? I want to know."

He sat back down in the saddle and nodded, pursing his lips. "I was told of your skill months ago. I have travelled Ferelden, looking for the best and brightest of the land to join our order."

"Ser Gilmore spoke very highly of you and the Grey Wardens," she said. "It was his life's desire to join you."

"Ser Gilmore was a fine knight. He would have made an excellent Warden."

"He would have…." Her voice cracked and she caught herself, swallowed hard and then began speaking again. "So, why me? You could have saved Gilmore."

"I encountered him in the throne room as they held the door against Howe's men. I offered to take him with us to join the Wardens, but he refused. He said that he needed to buy you time and that you will make a fine a Warden."

He watched Alice dig her fingers into the pommel of her saddle until her hands were white, but her expression never changed. "I see." And he saw it too – guilt was written on her strained hands.

"In any case, I went to Highever and saw one of your tournaments. It wasn't so much that you were victorious, but that you were smart and resourceful. You outthought many of your opponents. I recall one knight that you fought swinging at empty space over and over again because you were two steps ahead of him. That's what I need to fight the Darkspawn."

"I appreciate the flattery, but surely, there must be others? Are we to go to Ostagar, just one Warden and a recruit?"

Unpleasant memories flashed in Duncan's head. He wasn't immune to guilt either. "There… were others. I went to the Brecilian Forests, the Circle Tower, Denerim, and finally Orzammar before returning to Highever."

She seemed interested, perking up a bit. "Who did you find? What happened?"

"I first recruited a Dalish Elf-"

"Dalish?" she interjected, before she caught herself for interrupting. "I'm sorry, please continue, Duncan."

Duncan had long since gotten past the feeling of being kicked in the gut over the fallen, but he still remembered most of them and tried, in some way, to honor them. Perhaps telling a little of their story would help to lighten the burden all of those lost souls had on his own. "His name was Theron Mahariel. He was a fiery one, like all of the others, part of a clan of wandering elves. I recruited him while he was looking for a mirror, an ancient elven artifact, that was making members of his clan ill."

"What is he like? Where is he now?

"He had dark hair, much like your own and he had intricate tattoos coving all of his face. He was utterly dedicated to the welfare of his clan…lighting fast with his bow and fleet of foot."

Alice narrowed her eyes as if reading something into his words. " Had…was? I'm getting the feeling that he is no longer with us."

Duncan nodded plainly. "He became ill. The healers tried everything, but to no avail. Then, there was a mage named Solona Arnell. She completed her Harrowing with astonishing skill, but then she became careless."

"I've only read about the Harrowing in my studies. Isn't that the initiation for a mage into the Circle?"

"Indeed it is. She emerged from the Fade after the Harrowing, not even having broken into perspiration. I thought she would be an excellent addition, but a friend of hers convinced her to take rash action."

"What happened to her?"

Duncan pursed his lips. He could see another face that would someday fade in clarity, but not entirely from memory. Her hair was platinum blonde and her eyes, crystal blue. "She assisted an apostate in escaping from the Circle. The Templars beheaded her before I could intervene and invoke the Right of Conscription."

Alice frowned. "I'm sensing a pattern here."

He sighed. "As you can see, you are the only one with me now. I recruited a City Elf in the Denerim Alienage. Her name was Kallian Tabris. Her mother was a friend of mine long ago. Kallian and a number of other elves were about to be married, but Bann Vaughn, the son of the Arl of Denerim took her and the other brides for the Right of First Night with them."

"That's barbaric!" she said, her ire rising. "My father respects the elves on our staff," she added, but then thought about what she had said. "I mean…my father respected them. Many had valued positions within the castle."

"I could see that when I was there. After Vaughn defiled them, Kallian led an escape from the Arl's estate. With only a sword and her torn wedding dress, she fought her way out of the dungeon."

"So, she survived?" Alice asked hopefully.

Duncan shook his head slowly. "No, she was hanged. Again, I was too late." For a moment, there was a lump in his throat and he swallowed it down hard. The last few weeks had been increasingly difficult on him. There were just too many personal failures that were adding up. A lot of ghostly faces danced in his dreams. He often saw Kallian in his sleep, dangling from the gallows, her neck stretched beyond all ability to survive. The Grey Warden was tiring of this line of conversation and said only a few more words on his other recruits. "There was also a casteless dwarf named Faren Brosca who died in the dungeons for daring to enter a contest reserved for nobles. Lastly, there was Duran Aeducan, the favorite son of the King of Orzammar, who perished in the Deep Roads, a victim of his brother's treachery. There are two recruits waiting in Ostagar, but from this trip, you, Alice, are the last."

It looked like she did not like the sound of that and she looked away. "Not a very successful trip, was it?"

"On the contrary, it was."

She turned back sharply and shot him a questioning glare. "What do you mean? Five other recruits are dead, horribly slain. And, who am I? Nothing but the ragged survivor of a ruined family."

"You are the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and the pupil of sword master Aedan. You will be an excellent addition to the Grey Wardens, I am sure."

Alice did not appear to share his sentiment and they rode in silence for the rest of the day.

As the sun began to set in the west, Duncan scanned the horizon and could see no one – it seemed as though his diversion to the southwest had evaded any pursuit for the moment. He could see that many of the stragglers were reaching the end of their stamina and even the horses might soon begin to trip and break a leg. A nearby copse of trees might offer a secure shelter for the night.

"Alice, we should set up camp over there. Direct your people to set up defensive positions."

"We must continue and find Fergus," she protested initially, but then looked back to her ragged force and sighed. "You're right. We can go no further." Then, she rose up in her saddle. "We will make camp over there!" she shouted, pointing her hand towards the trees. Dig pits and set up traps around the perimeter. We'll rest in shifts."

Knights, men-at-arms and servants dismounted with groans, some of them falling flat on the ground in exhaustion. Alice moved among them, helping them to their feet and then grabbed a shovel from one of the horses and began digging. Duncan rose back up in his stirrups and squinted his eyes as he peered to the east, looking for any sign of an army on the march. His eyesight may have gone a little blurry in the last few years, but he was still nearly as keen as an eagle. He sighed when he saw no sign of any force, only a smattering of cottages in a far off village. He swung his right leg over the cantle of the saddle and plopped onto the soft grass of the ground. For a second, he gritted his teeth as feeling spread back into his legs. He hated to admit it, but he was getting old. The Taint would overtake his body in a year, maybe two. Dementia and madness would follow if he allowed it, but, before then, he would travel to the Deep Roads, fight the Darkspawn, and die like a Grey Warden should.

"On my feet…it being my choice," he whispered.

He looked over to see a servant, who was striking some matches over a pile of wood and leaves. "I know it's cold, but no fires tonight. The smoke would surely draw attention."

The young elven man nodded and put the matches back in his pocket. Around the camp there was a bustle of activity. Despite their fatigue, people were sharpening stakes and setting traps as others fed horses and undid saddles. When the bustle of activity began to slow, Alice organized a night watch and a number of the group clustered around a tree to find relief from the frigid drizzle and lay down. Then, she marched right up to Duncan.

"You want me to be a Grey Warden…teach me," she said, putting the fingers of her right hand lightly on the grip of her sword. "Show me how to fight."

He'd seen amateurs duel, but the way in which she stood and touched her weapon told him that she wasn't an amateur. "We should rest, Alice. You'll need your strength for when we arrive at Ostagar."

Droplets of water trickled down her face and around the determined eyes that told Duncan that she wasn't going away. "Why wait, Duncan?" she asked. "The sooner we destroy the Darkspawn, the sooner I will put Rendon Howe's head on a pike," she said, her lip curling up in an expression of hatred. "And only your training me will make that happen. If you want me to fight your Darkspawn, teach me. Draw your weapon, ser."

He pursed his lips and nodded. There was no use in arguing. He slowly shuffled to the left as he drew both his sword and a parrying dagger in one, clean motion. Showing his main hand to her, he rotated the grip so that the flat of the blade faced her, letting her know that this was only a sparring match. She gave him a single nod of her head.

Duncan put the tips of his weapons together, taking a defensive stance, ready to parry any sudden attack. He advanced a quick step to provoke a reaction, but she didn't move and still hadn't drawn her weapon. This was the style that Master Aedan had taught her – he'd heard of it, but had never seen it for himself. Normally, he would try and push her sword away with his dagger and then strike, but she gave him nothing to work with.

He pushed the tip of his sword out in a feint and she slid to the side. Now, she was within range and he lunged in with a dagger strike, meaning to tap her on the head. Out came her sword, an arcing flash of silverite, cutting up at his underarm. He then realized that she had drawn him into a trap and he barely brought his sword down to deflect the attack away. As sword met sword, they clashed together, face to face and Alice twisted her weapon, using the quillons to hook Duncan's blade. With a flick of her wrists, his sword flew from his grasp and she raised her weapon for the coup de grace.

Without thinking, Duncan slid under the cut and grasped her arm, hurling her over his shoulder. Alice crashed on the ground and he was on her in the blink of an eye. With one knee, he pinned an arm to the ground, but she swept her free hand to a small scabbard and a dagger was in her grip so quickly it was as if it had appeared from nowhere. She thrust up at his face, but he caught her hand and forced it down, pinning the other arm with another knee.

She bucked her hips up and nearly knocked him forward, but he used his weight to force her back down. She snarled like her Mabari Hound, straining against his legs, but it was over. Even Cyrano leapt up, barking at Duncan, but Alice looked over to the dog. "No, boy. He's a friend. Sit."

Duncan relaxed and looked down at the young woman, her eyes still defiant. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine and he thought he saw Theron and Solona, Kallian and Faren, and even Duran, their cloudy dead eyes staring up at him, accusing. He gasped and his vision returned to see his recruit looking up at him, but now, her expression had softened. How many had he led to their deaths? He was tired, so tired, but now, his greatest challenge still lay ahead. If he could just temper this girl's obsession with vengeance, perhaps there might be hope.

He stepped off of her and extended a hand. "Rest now, Alice. I will show you more on the morrow."