They were about twenty minutes into their journey, having lost sight of Valmirren over the crest of a hill, when Pigeon sounded a warning bark. The three of them froze, looking down the road, which was more of a path at this point. The landscape was the last of the Bannorn moors, which ran up against the weathered ridge of the coastal range, so trees were sparse, growing in clutches here and there. Pigeon had approached one of these copses and was circling it, growling. Ten felt a familiar tingling go up her spine but could not pinpoint any one individual. Darkspawn… this far east? There just isn't space for there to be too many to sense.

"Never a dull moment with you, is there," Zev groaned.

"Well you were just expressing your jealousy that I kept all the Tevinters to myself," said Ten, "Bigoted villagers are almost as good, yes?"

"I suppose," he said.

They caught up to the hound at the bottom of the hill.

"We know there's someone in there!" Ten shouted, "You can come out or the dog can drag you."

Ten unhooked her ax from her belt with her right hand and grabbed her dagger with her left. She heard the hiss of steel as Zev drew both of his blades. From somewhere beneath her voluminous cloak, Nayara produced a nasty looking knife, too large to be used primarily for chopping vegetables, but still not large enough to be called a dagger.

"If you call off the hound, we will come out. We mean no harm!" a male voice issued from within the trees.

"Relax!" shouted Ten, the command which between her and the dog had come to mean just that. Pigeon dropped to her haunches and the growling lowered in volume, but her ears stayed back and her nose stayed in the air.

First one, then two more men walked out of the glade. They were armored and had blades on their backs, though it all looked ill-fitting, too large, as though it were made for much bigger men. Then, each of them was stooped over, skin and bones. The armor was just fine, Ten realized, it was the men that had changed. The stench struck Ten right in the nostrils. Even with the chill in the air dampening the usual country smells of manure and cow flatulence, these men were rank. She felt sympathy for her dog and her stronger olfactory senses.

"Ah, shit. Elves with knives, just what we need," the first man grunted to his companions. There was something off about his movements. His head twitched on his shoulders and it seemed like his eyes were constantly darting off in another direction. As she looked over the other two, she realized none of them were in great shape. The second man's hair was coming off in patches, and his eyes looked filmy. The third, though, was the most horrifying. The tip of his nose had rotted clear off, and Ten could see through his shaggy gray hair that his earlobes were going in the same direction. She nicknamed the Twitch, Baldy, and Rot in her mind.

"What were you doing in there?" asked Ten, "I hope not an orgy."

"Knives and a sense of humor. Just our luck," Rot said. He was clearly missing a few teeth along with the nose.

"What, are you the world's worst highwaymen? We can smell you," Nayara said, crossing her arms.

"We're just poor wretches, waiting to die," he said, "And we were doing just that until your mongrel found us. We'd be very appreciative if you'd let us go in peace."

"What's wrong with you?" asked Zev, covering his nose.

A dark realization struck Ten, freezing her where she stood. "You fought darkspawn, didn't you," said Ten, the fear and irritation in her breast melting into sympathy, and another, darker fear that one day, this would be her own fate. "Got blood in your eyes."

"Eyes, nose, mouth, open wounds…" Rot said.

"We were the militia of Vanderk Hollow out in the Hinterlands," Twitch said, "Then I guess Vanderk Hollow is no more, just another burnt out husk along the south road…"

"That's a good two-week march on two good legs," said Ten, "You came three fourths of the way across this nation just to die in a rowan grove spitting distance from the capital?"

"We hung on as long as we could. We escorted our people, what's left of them, to shelter," said Twitch, "Our task being completed, we elected to stay out here rather than scare everyone in town and ask the good people of Denerim to waste resources on men who've been effectively dead for three weeks."

"I'm sorry," said Ten, "I don't know if there's anything we can do for you."

"There's not," said Baldy, "There were twenty of us who survived the sack of the village. The rest dropped dead along the road. Had to take Kira's head off ourselves, she really lost it in the end. We were hoping to be left alone and freeze overnight before our minds go. Not a bad death, or so I've heard."

"Is this how you want to go?" asked Ten.

"At this point we don't much care, missus," said Twitch.

"Well," she said, rummaging through her pack and finding a large flask of a distillation of the embrium flower, "This should be enough for the three of you, if you change your minds. It's just sleep, no coughing or retching or anything." She held it out to them. Rot took it, and Ten could see that two of his fingers were gone and a third was close to. "And… if you want to go the freezing route, this will help." She held out a bottle of liquor - she thought it might have been distilled from wheat, but she wasn't entirely sure - that she had been using for antiseptic. There was plenty for three men already wasting away to drink until they passed out and didn't feel the cold. Baldy took it from her.

"Who are you?" asked Baldy, "Folks around here are tightfisted. They don't just go around passing out booze and poisons. Could hardly get them to part with a crust of bread And how did you know about the darkspawn?"

"Wait…" said Twitch, "Those broadsides along the road… elfin woman, five feet and a couple pennies, dark of complexion… you're the last Grey Warden, aren't you."

"And what if I am?"

"Well I'd wonder what you were doing out here. But I'd also trust you to know about the darkspawn," he said, "And if you're not telling us of some secret stash of knowledge that can save us… I trust there's not one."

"I'm sorry," she said, "You're right, there is not much I can do for you beyond keeping you from feeling it. But are you sure this is where you want to die? The coast is that way, only a few miles. I don't suppose you've ever seen the ocean before."

"Our families know to look for our bodies here in the morning," said Rot.

"And… the trees are nice," Baldy added.

"Well, may the Maker take you to his side," said Ten.

"Maker watch over you," said Twitch.

"Thank you," said Ten. They watched the men re-enter the copse which would be their deathbeds, and went on down the road.

"That was depressing," Zev said, "And a waste of good liquor. Truly, manita, you are kind about the strangest things sometimes."

"Is that what happens when you fight darkspawn?" asked Nayara, "Why aren't you falling apart?"

"Magic, I guess," said Ten, "We take a small amount of the blood at our initiation, if we survive it, I guess it… binds us to them somehow. And makes us immune from the immediate effects of the blood, though from what I hear, it will get to all of us in the end. I don't know exactly how it works."

"Longer," said Zevran, "So… in some years time…"

"That will be me," Ten confirmed, "And if I'm in their situation I only hope someone comes by with a sedative and a bottle of whiskey at the end. But, for now, it's better not to be hung from a tree."

They walked quickly up the path. The terrain was hillier than Ten had anticipated, and there was the added eeriness of being able to see the lights atop the wall of Denerim in the distance every time they crested a hill. By the time they could see the village of Hathenor Pen from the hilltop across from the one it was situated on, the light had decidedly faded. It was not so much a village as Ten had imagined them, one which looked like Lothering had before it had burned, or any of the hamlets which dotted the Coastlands on their way out to Highever the last time they had left Denerim. Rather, it resembled a primitive fort. Perched on the apex of a hill, with the heather and gorse of the Bannorn rolling around it, it was surrounded by stakes hewn from pine logs, driven into the ground, which would prevent an assault. The hills beyond had been cleared of the bush and had likely been planted with whatever staples in the months before. They were - something Ten had never seen in any farmers' fields - dotted with watchtowers, one on each of the four corners of each field. Of course an Elvish village would have to be a veritable fortress. They truly don't like us having anything for ourselves.

They started down the steep path, having to pick their way slowly to avoid taking a fall and tumbling down the rest of the hill. Concentrating so hard on the rocks and roots in the half light, Ten did not hear the hoofbeats in the distance. By the time Pigeon had begun barking her head off, twenty or so riders, who were coming across the moors from the south, had reached the main path, blocking their path, and showed no signs of slowing as they rode towards them.

"Shit," Nayara sighed, "This is what I was hoping to avoid."

"I don't suppose they might be friendly," said Ten.

"What do you think the odds are that a large group of armed human men who just happen to be riding past an Elvish village are friendly?" asked Nayara, "Or that they'll remain so once they see two elfin women and a man who rather looks like one."

"I am sure you meant that as an insult, but I assure you it is not," said Zev.

Ten shook her head and kept her hand on her ax, though it would be far less useful on a mounted foe. None of her poisons would do much, the dosage being calibrated for people, not horses. But then… her hand fell on one of the three explosive vials she had spent so much time and minor injuries on. She tucked it into a pouch at her belt. She looked over at Zevran, who had drawn the longer of his blades.

"You're best off with something pointy," he said, "Standing still, so you can move to the left or right."

"You've done this before," said Ten.

"It's not ideal," he said, "But I am guessing from the look of them that those are not trained warhorses. All we need is to scare them. Remember, the riders are predators, but the horses are prey. A spooked horse can easily become its rider's worst enemy."

"A spooked horse is everyone's enemy," Nayara said.

"Sure, but we are not sitting on them are we."

Ten whistled for Pigeon, who obediently dashed back from investigating something in the bush.

"Be scary," she commanded.

Not needing to be told twice, Pigeon laid her ears back and bared her teeth. She actually likely has more training fighting mounted foes than any of us. She then let loose a howl, a dead-on impression of a timber wolf that chilled even Ten's blood. It had the desired effect. Half of the horses reared back, four of them tossing their riders aside like ragdolls, the other two turning, their own riders holding on for dear life as they galloped away from the predator. Pigeon took this as an invitation, and bolted down the path, barking at the top of her lungs, herding the horses into a tight cluster in the center of the path. The riders made all sorts of noises to encourage their mounts into action, but they being just plain old draft ponies, were far more concerned with the existential threat of an angry war dog than whatever their masters had to say.

Hand still on her ax, Ten walked slowly down the hill and approached the cluster of men. One had a halberd out, and clearly no idea how to use it. He was sort of poking around with it, while trying to maintain his balance in the saddle.

"Girl, call off your dog!" he shouted, pointing the halberd out at her, as though she would need the extra convincing to keep her distance.

She looked at the weapon, about six feet long with a fairly crude blade on the end. She looked at Pigeon, who looked back at her.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

World's best game of fetch the stick, eh?

Ten nodded, and the dog leapt in the air, getting the wooden shaft of the halberd between her jaws and ripping it right out of the rider's hand. The horse, predictably, snapped, rearing back, bucking in a circle as its rider cursed and the dog dragged her prize back to her mistress. Ten wiped the drool from the shaft and hefted it in her hands. She had to grip it further up on the shaft than was really intended just to maintain her balance, but it was certainly more useful than either her ax or dagger.

"Relax, girl," she said. Pigeon sat obediently at her feet, the corners of her mouth turning up in a cheeky grin at the rider, who was having his bones rattled by his nervous mount.

"There, I called off the dog," she said, turning the halberd around so the pike end was facing the group, "Can I ask why a group of armed men is rampaging through the countryside on such nervous mounts?"

"We are the riders of Kinnisboro, charged with safety on these roads!" their chagrined leader announced. He was cloaked and cowled, certainly understandable given the weather, but the lower half of his face was covered, not by a scarf tied against the cold, but a light piece of cloth, which allowed him to hide his face, while also breathing somewhat normally.

"Charged by whom?"

"We have taken it upon ourselves. Times are dark, fighting men are few."

"Yes, very few, as I see none before me," said Ten She tossed the pilfered halberd from one hand to the other, which had the effect of showing the posse that in spite of her size, she was more than capable of handling it with ease, "See, I've been charged with safety as well. I'm here to make sure there are no inbred backwoodsmen terrorizing elves just going about our business. Have you seen any?"

"Uh, Clem, is she talking about us?" asked a voice from the back.

"And who exactly are you?" asked their leader, apparently called Clem.

"I could ask the same of you," Ten said.

"Is it illegal to walk the roads?" Zevran asked.

"Foreign," one of the men grunted.

"Suspicious," said another.

"You're headed to that hamlet of knife-eared castoffs!" Clem said, "I see they intend to grow their numbers. We can't have that, can we. Altogether too much trouble…"

"If I'm not mistaken, it is you who are blocking the road at the moment," Ten said, "If you'd fuck off and mind your business, we'd be no trouble at all."

"Hey! It's illegal to tell a human to fuck off!" exclaimed a voice from the back of the group.

"It is?" Zev asked.

"Well you can fuck off too then!" said Ten, "And while you're at it, stay away from Hathenor Pen."

"And who are you to tell us that?" asked Clem.

"The girl with your halberd," said Ten, "And the dog that scared away half your horses. Better go check on your men, that one hasn't gotten up yet." She pointed with his halberd at where one of the men was in an inert heap on the ground.

"I don't know about this," said one of the men from the back, who had managed to get his mount under control, though it was snorting and making quiet, unhappy horse noises.

"Don't be ridiculous. There are only three of them. And they're elves!" Clem exclaimed.

"Don't get me wrong, gentlemen, I am certainly not against a healthy level of vigilantism. Seems like it's the only thing that gets things done, these days, but I really fail to see how nursing mother poses a threat," Ten said, "And, should you decide my friends and I would look better decorating trees, you're right, it is about ten… twelve… fifteen against three at this point, I don't think that man's getting up or the ones who just ran are coming back, and I'm sure with a little effort you might take us down… but I guarantee you it will be so very not worth it for you."

"Don't tell me what's worth what, you knife-eared bitch."

"Suit yourself," Ten said. She called Pigeon back to her side. She motioned to her companions to spread out, and she threw the vial. She wasn't quite sure what she was expecting, after all she hadn't ever set one off anywhere but the enclosed space of the cellars, but it wasn't a sound like an enormous thunderclap followed by a flash of green radiating out from the ground where she'd thrown it. It dissipated almost as soon as it began, but it was enough to send the rest of the already nervous horses into to fullblown panic mode, squealing and wheeling, setting off in several different directions.

Unfortunately for Ten, one of those directions was directly at her. She managed to get enough of herself out of the way that she was knocked to the side rather than under the hooves, but still received a mighty blow to her head and side of her neck in doing so, and because the Maker was not satisfied He had yet put her in her place, He also put a large stone for her to fall against. Or perhaps, He just preferred the aesthetic of putting contusions on both sides of her head.

With her ears ringing, she rose to see that about half of the remaining horses had taken their riders with them, leaving only nine men to contend with, two of whom had been thrown. Still, she was moving more slowly than she was used to. Zevran seemed unhurt, as always. Nayara, though she had said she could handle herself in a fight, appeared to be panicking, having backed up to an outcropping, her blade out in front of her. Pigeon had backed up to her, growling at any of the remaining horsemen who tried to approach her.

About six feet from her, the one called Clem, whose horse had thrown him, had picked himself up and produced a nasty-looking knife from somewhere. He closed the distance between them in two strides. Ten shook her head, from the look of him he wasn't in much better shape than she was. She at least had the use of both arms, his right arm was dangling uselessly at his side. She took her axe, and her dagger, and raised them, though as he got closer, she realized her vision was doubled and she wasn't entirely sure which of the two of him she ought to strike out at. She managed to parry his first strike with her ax and stick her dagger a few inches into his unprotected midsection while he was trying to force her down. He was, of course, stronger than she, and resisting it was becoming decidedly not worth it.

She pulled the dagger from him, the slow spread of blood over his clothing telling her she had not stuck it nearly deep enough. She jerked back with her ax, catching the edge of his blade on the head of it, yanking it out of his hand. She watched it fall harmlessly to the ground, but was not quick enough to realize it was his boot she should be worried about, as it made contact with her sternum, and she fell flat on her back, striking her head yet again. Dazed, she rolled out of the way as he tried to bring it down on her throat, but her next attempt to get her dagger in the back of his leg, sever the tendon at his ankle missed miserably, and he again had her pinned, this time casting off his dagger and getting his knee at her chest both hands around her throat.

"So is this like a thing for you?" she managed to spit before they closed, "You want to watch me die you sick fuck?"

"Just have to remind you people," he hissed, his hot, whiskey-soaked breath making her stomach turn, "It doesn't matter who you think you are. At the end of the day, you're just another lowlife, knife-eared, noth-"

There was the zip of an arrow through the air, a low gasp as it found the man's throat, and a shower of blood. Then Ten was pinned not by hands around her throat, but by his sheer deadweight as he bled out on top of her. It was crushing her lungs, which were already not in great shape… come to think of it, he fall against the outcropping had apparently broken a couple of her ribs. As the world faded in front of her, she heard men shouting from a distance.

"What's going on down there?!"

"Oh, shit! That's the…"

"Boys, looks like we'll have to die as we lived!"

"Oh thank the Maker. Come get us ya inbred cowfuckers!"

"For Vanderk Hollow!"