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Big Swords and Pointy Ears

Skylar passed Alistar on her way back to her tent. The ex-Templar looked particularly distressed and it wasn't even after breakfast yet. She had a sneaking suspicion that their favorite elven apostate was behind the pained look on Alistar's face. He had his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbled something about how one could even set fire to metal, but so absorbed in his internal monologue that he didn't even bother acknowledging the warrior.


Oh Maker, she thought. Let's hope the tent is all in one piece.


As she approached, everything seemed alright, at least from the outside. She pushed back the flap, revealing the nearly spotless interior of her makeshift quarters. It was much cleaner than it had been this morning. Surain was standing there, his scowling face broken by a rapid blinking. Apparently she had caught him by surprise, as his "hello there" seemed lacking his usual sass.


"Thanks for tidying up," she said smoothly as she crossed to where her belongings were and placed her dirty clothes to the side of that. She thought about asking why he had decided to clean, but thought that not doing so would irk him more, so she kept her inquiries to herself. Her stomach growled, its complaint seemed to echo in the small cabin. She hadn't had a proper meal since before sundown yesterday, and while she had appreciated Surain passing off his portion of soup to her, it hadn't been nearly enough to sate her hunger.


"You must be hungry, yes?" Her gaze rested firmly on the elf's dark eyes. "I'm going for breakfast if you'd like to join."


While she waited for his reponse, she plaited her damp hair into a single braid which she tied off with a piece of string from her pack. It was much too hot to have her hair unbound for today.
 
Surain blinked once more at her, his train of thought failing to catch up with the situation. It was like he was thinking something, but he had no idea what; whatever it was, it was hardly beneficial to coming up with a reply as he floundered to think—or rather, not think, apparently—of something to say.


"I... yes, I'm hungry," he began, rubbing his forehead, trying to stop himself from drawing a blank. "...famished, even. Getting something to eat would be a good idea." he finished, shaking his head slightly as to clear it. Words... words words words. Alright. That was strange, he thought, his mildly confused look returning to a slight scowl as they exited the tent together, Skylar in lead.


Somewhere in the distance, two guards laughed as they told their friends about the lovestruck Grey Warden recruits.


They made their way to the mess hall, taking their bowls and bread and sitting down at a nearby table. The whole morning was forgotten as Surain tore into his loaf of bread hungrily, and Skylar ate just as ravenously. This morning had been surprisingly eventful, what, with the man whom he had found in the tent—


I swear, if someone else tries that again, after I cleaned everything, there will be... something.... dire. I promise it, he thought, an interesting look passing his face that was a cross between anger and humour. That look was replaced with a pure scowl as a certain blonde approached and sat down at their table next to Skylar.


"Hello Skylar." the templar greeted pleasantly, before turning his attention to the elf, who was sighing in anticipation. "Hello Surain," began the man, causing the elf to raise an eyebrow in response. So this wasn't about—? "So, set anyone on fire recently?" Dammit.





The following conversation took up the entire time for breakfast, and was funny and informative. By the end of it, Surain had revealed what he had done, but refused to comment on why. It was amusing to see Alistair's face turn from accusatory to disbelieving as the conversation went on, and Skylar... well, Skylar reacted how she did. That was more interesting than amusing. Surain? Oh, well he just grinned at Alistair, triumphant in the fact that he had set someone on fire and wasn't to blame. All in all, it was an eventful morning.
 
Skylar, Alistar, and Surain had been summoned to accompany Duncan to a meeting with the king. The meeting place was to the west of the old temple, and the group arrived shortly after the sun had set. There was a group of people gathered around a large table that had a large map of Thedas spread across it. Skylar recognized Duncan and the king, his golden armor seemed duller in the dim lighting of the evening. The others were unfamiliar to her. She followed Alistar's lead and took up a position at the table in between him and Duncan, Surain stood slight apart from both of them, his trademark scowl firmly in place.


"Loghain, my decision is final," the king snapped. He addressed a large, dark-haired man who wore a suit of heavy armor. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."


"You risk too much, Cailan," Loghain retorted. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."


"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all," was Cailan's reply.


Loghain was obviously frustrated with the golden king. "I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we nee the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"


"'Tis not a 'fool notion'. Our arguments with the Orelsians are a thing of the past... and you will remember who is king."


Skylar could have sliced the tension between the two men with the tip of her sword. She looked to Duncan, but she could not read the expression on his face.


"How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Fereldan over to those who enslaved us for a century," Loghain spat.


"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" The king turned his gaze to Duncan. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"


"They are, your Majesty," the Warden replied with a nod of his head.


Cailan smiled, the shot a glance at Surain. "And this is the elven apostate I met earlier? I hear congratulations are in order."


Oh, Maker, please let Surain not pick this moment to sass the king again.
 
Surain watched the whole ordeal with an unamused, if neutral look. The more he listened, the more his respect for the king dropped. This man wasn't interested in tactics, or formations, or actual ways to fight a war; he was interested in glory. That was fine and dandy until one is surrounded and beheaded by the enemy—albeit, with that armour, the king would look fabulous while he flailed around, headless.


The small, unnoticeable smile that had been creeping onto his face was crushed when he schooled his expression, the king addressing him. "Would it not be better to wait until after the victory for congratulations," he paused, struggling with what he was about to add, "...my lord?" Sickening. Shemlen, arrogant, king.


If one had cared to notice, the mage at the war table tensed instantly at the mention of an apostate, turning to stare wide-eyed at the elf. The Chantry mother openly glared at Surain, sickened by their cooperation. In any other situation, Surain would have winked at her. Perhaps set her on fire. Possibly both. But, alas, the king of the shems probably wouldn't appreciate that, and as much as it pained him to say it, he was a powerful, dangerous man.


What was most interesting was the piercing gaze that Loghain gave the elf upon his comment. It wasn't angry, nor was it kind; it stared deep into him and searched for his motives—for his drive. Surain had never felt so naked in his life, even as he returned the gaze with a stare. That lasted a full second before the great general's attention was brought back to the king, who seemed to have ignored Surain's comment.


"Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be proud and honoured to join their ranks." The king said chidingly. The mother from the chantry looked like she was about to explode, her face was so red. The king was congratulating an apostate. Maker forbid!


Loghain had a reply on his tongue. "Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality." Said the general, extenuating every syllable. I'm scared. A shemlen is making sense, thought Surain, giving the general a curious look. Perhaps not all hum—


"Fine." thank the creators, "Speak your strategy." The king conceded, sounding like a child who wasn't given what they asked for. Leaning over the war table, he continued, "The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our line and then..?"


"You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cov—" Loghain was cut off by the king.


"—To flank the darkspawn, I remember. This is the tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes?" Is it that tower? That's... interesting if it is. "Who shall light this beacon?"


"I have a few men stationed there. It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital." The general said, not seeing the point of the question.


"Then we should send our best. Send Alistair, the apostate, and the other new Grey Warden recruit," he paused, glancing at Duncan who nodded in return. "to make sure it's done."


Everyone looked at Surain, apparently expecting him to say something. He thought quickly. "...My lord," he began slightly faster this time. "If the task is indeed so vital, why not send a large group of soldiers?" he replied, managing to keep a sneer off of his face and out of his voice. He was really getting good at this. Honestly, I hate shems, and I hate this one in particular, but I've already hurt my clan by acting on that before, and those were just thieves. Who knows what a king can do?


"The elf is correct, You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?" asked the man, not batting an eye at Surain for what he said.


"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens flight the blight no matter where they're from." The King replied tersely.


This time it was Duncan who spoke up. "Your majesty, you should consider the possibility of the archedemon appearing." Warned the man of many belts. You aren't always right. You don't know what your doing. Listen. Surian thought, staring at the king intently.


"There haven't been any signs of dragons in the wilds." interjected Loghain evenly, not taking a side.


"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan." We are his men you gold-plated ass.


"I—" Duncan caught himself, "...yes, your majesty."


"Your majesty," interrupted the circle mage at the table, "The tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The circle of magi—"


"—We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage! Save them for the darkspawn!" the chantry mother interrupted, disgust and distrust registering well on her face. Surain was about to comment, something about how pitiful it must be to be governed by the chantry, but Loghain beat him to it.


"Enough!" The man said, "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon." The man conceded, realising how pointless it would be to argue the issue.


"Thank you, Loghain." The king said smugly before continuing: "I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!" announced the king, grinning stupidly. Well, everything he does is done stupidly. I suppose this can't be an exception.


Loghain walked away from the table, face turned away from them all. "Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all." He seemed to mumble, not being heard by most occupants of the discussion, save for himself and the king. A dramatic end to a pointless discussion.


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"You heard the plan. You, Surain, and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and insure the beacon is lit." Duncan spoke directly to Skylar, designating her as the working leader. If Surain were honest, the king only addressed him because of the day prior. Otherwise, Skylar would've been first and foremost in that conversation.


"What? I won't be in the battle?" asked Alistair, alarmed. Whine, whine, whine. Is that all blonde shemlen do? thought Surain in irritation, scowl deepening slightly. First the king, now the fool. It was odd who those to acted so... you know what? Why should he care? Humanity is strange.


"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teryn Loghain's men won't know when to charge." explained Duncan. Yes... pacify the man-child... make him feel important...


"So he need three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?" asked the templar. He was obviously not amused, but Surain chose not to comment; creators know that, after that last meeting, trying to reason with a shem seemed like a stupid idea.
 
Skylar was content to hang back and observe the conversation that unfolded before her. When Surain managed make some semblance of a respectful reply to the king, choking out the words 'my lord' at the end, Skylar had to place her hand over her mouth to hide her smirk. I wonder how much pain he is in from having to get those words out, she wondered. She could see the insults swirling behind the elf's dark eyes; the vein at the corner of his left eye twitched.





Everyone's reaction was different to the knowledge that there was an apostate in their midst. The circle mage and Chantry mother both looked obviously displeased and even anxious, but Loghain had fixed Surain was a penetrating gaze that was neither angry nor friendly. Skylar did not envy the elf for she certainly would have squirmed under the general's scrutinty.


Then the moment was lost, and the coversation turned to tactical matters. It appeared they were implementing a bait and attack sort of stategy. The king and the Wardens would draw the darkspawn horde out into the open, then at a lighted signal from the Tower of Ishal, Loghain and his men would lead a flanking attack. It seemed a solid plan to Skylar. Once the horde was sandwiched between the two forces it wouldn't take long for the Wardens to reign victorious.


Calian did not seem satisfied that Loghain's men were held in charge of lighting the beacon at the top of the Tower. He wanted Alistar, Surain and herself to be accountable for making sure the signal was sent at the proper time. Skylar furrowed her brow at that - it seemed a bit of overkill to have three Grey Wardens, but there would be no arguing with the king. If this was what he wanted, it would be so.


Surain voiced Skylar's thoughts, wondering why a large troop of soldiers should not be sent instead. Loghain also voiced his agreement with the elf, but the king would have none of that. And so the plan was set.


Duncan voiced his concerns that they should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing. Skylar shuddered, remembering her visions of the archdemon as it opened its mouth impossibly wide to scream at her in her dreams. But Calian seemed unphased, that's what the Wardens were for after all, right? And so, with a few objections from the Chantry mother and the Circle mage, the plan had been set.


xXx


Alistar was being very obnoxious this evening. And that was saying something, for Skylar was normally very tolerant of such behavior. "Oh stop your whining, Alistar," she groaned, her tone laced with exasperation. Even though she would have rather been assigned to the front lines as well, there was no point in moaning about it. "We have an important job to do." Turning her attentions back to Duncan, she continued. "I'm ready to go."


Alistar shot her a dirty look and signed, resigning himself to his fate, it would seem. "Yes, so am I."


Duncan chuckled, but continued with instructions. "You'll need to cross the gorge, and head through the gate and up to the tower enterance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley."


"When will we know when to light the beacon?" Skylar asked. It wouldn't do very well if the beacon didn't go off precisely when it needed to.


"We will signal to you when the time is right. Alistar will know what do look for." Duncan leveled a sobering look at the ex-Templar who pretended he hadn't noticed and kicked a bit of gravel under his feet.


Even though she didn't want to jinx anything by speaking it out into the universe, Skylar had to know. "And what happens if the Archdemon appears?"


"We soil our drawers, that's what." Alistar said, only half-jokingly. Skylar could tell that through all his bravado, he was just as nervous as she was. It was hard to gauge what Surain felt; any emotions he may have had about the whole thing were concealed behind his scowling mask.


"If it does, leave it to us. I want no heroics from any of you." Duncan warned and the look in his eyes told the Wardens he meant every word.


"I guess we are ready," Skylar said to break the heaviness of the moment. She hoisted her sword comfortably over her shoulders, it's heavy weight was comforting, and grounding.


"Then I must join the others," Duncan said. "From here, you three are on your own. Remember, you are all Grey Wardens. I expect you to act worthy of that title." He shot a pointed gaze at Surain, who simply returned the stare with a look of mock innocence.


"Duncan... may the Maker watch over you." Alistar murmured.


"May He watch over us all."
 
May the creators watch over us. Save for Alistair. He can keep his 'Maker'.


Duncan left immediately after, meeting up with the king a ways off, who in turn was heading down to the front lines of the army amassed just under the bridge they would need to cross. It seemed that they didn't shouldn't dally.


"Well, if you are quite finished, we have a torch to babysit." Surain finally spoke after several seconds of Skylar, Alistair, and him exchanging glances. Apparently these people were too melancholy for their own good, but at least it didn't take much for them to get going once they were brought back to reality. The group soon left for the tower after retrieving what equipment they wanted to bring. Surain himself had grabbed a few salves and the one lyrium potion he had managed to scrounge up from his traveling with Alistair. The templar himself elected not to bring anything but his sword and shield. It wasn't a dangerous mission, after all. Skylar had gone and retrieved her mabari from the kennels, whom was more than happy to tag along for the retrieval mission. That is, after unsuccessfully attempting to relieve himself on the elf of the group.


By the time they had made it back to the bridge, the battle was starting. Off in the distance was the darkspawn hoard, cloaked in the eerie fog of the Kokari Wilds as they gathered to charge. Single darkspawn or small groups were nothing in the face of the army, and it quickly became evident to Surain just how in over his head he, and probably everyone else involved, was.


With unified screams and the stomping of a thousand feet, the beasts charged the army of men, faced with flaming arrows and war dogs before Cailan led the charge against them. Wait. Something isn't right.


"Wasn't he supposed to hold the line?" asked Surain in a loud voice, trying to be heard over the sounds of battle and the now thundering storm. Alistair gave him a look that said, 'as if you understand strategy' before looking ahead. "We need to cross the bridge! The tower of Ishal is just over there!" he shouted to his companions, denying Surain a reply. As soon as he said it, a flaming bolder, launched by one of the enemy trebuchet or perhaps thrown by those massive darkspawn, whatever they were called, landed four metres infront of the group, killing three archers and injuring four more.


"...Be careful, watch out for the rocks!" added the templar, earning him a look that said 'as if you understand the obvious' from Surain. The elf quickly unsheathed his staff and brandished it in front of him. He might be able to throw up a shield, or, if he were lucky and had enough time, even shoot some of the boulders out of the sky. He wasn't going to try either of those, though, and instead work to conserve his magic for when it was necessary.


The trek across the bridge proved surprisingly simple, ignoring all of the screaming around them. It seemed that the maker or the creators genuinely smiled upon them all, saving them a fiery, rocky death at the hands of random fortune. There were some narrow calls, admittedly; Alistair and Surain were even knocked down on top of each other at one point, both having dived out of the way of a boulder. They were quick to pretend that never happened and get to their feet.


The group arrived at the tower gates only to see a guard and a circle mage sprint out of the tower. Upon seeing them approach, they eagerly ran up to them. "You... you're Grey Wardens, aren't you?! The tower... It's been taken!" the soldier said, his face ashen, his voice wavering, his loins... hopefully unsoiled.


"What are you talking about, man? Taken how?" asked Alistair quickly, a note of authority in his voice. At any other time, Surain would have been interested in that note of confidence that rang as he spoke.


The man was terrified. "The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers! They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!" he replied quickly.


"Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!" concluded Alistair, his voice clear through the storm. This really was a change for him, Surain would study it later.


Both the soldier and the mage darted off, leaving the group of Grey Wardens and the mabari to deal with the situation themselves. Skylar and Alistair took up the front, with Surain following closely behind.


The first darkspawn they came across were wailing on two guardsmen from the tower; they were taken out quickly as the guards and grey wardens teamed up. Lighting arced through the air, blood splattered everywhere, shields shone through the moonlight until they were covered in mud or blood; the battles were concise, and with each one, they gathered more guardsmen to fight through the courtyard with them until they at last arrived at the doorway to the tower, where the guards stopped being helpful—they didn't want to go in, only stay out and guard the entrance. Typical.


It seemed like a good time to mention the terrible feeling Surain had in his stomach. It wasn't sickness of any kind, he knew, and he wasn't hungry. No, the feeling was intuitive in nature. It was bad. It might have been caused when he saw Cailan break the battle formation, or perhaps when the guardsmen wouldn't enter. He didn't know and didn't have time to find out.


"I have a bad feeling about this." He mumbled as they walked into the tower, ready to climb three stories full of Darkspawn. This was not what he had in mind when arriving, but the universe is known to have a sense of humour.
 
The feeling of dread that had crept up the back of Skylar's neck since they had crossed the bridge to the base of the tower was now in full force. There weren't supposed to be darkspawn here... And when the guardsman insisted upon staying outside the tower to guard the entrance to the tower, the feeling amplifed tenfold. It appeare that Surain shared her reservations, for he voiced his bad feeling under his breath as they crossed the threshold into the tower. Tank whined as well - it was if he could feel it too.


The first room they entered was swarmed by darkspawn and it took the group several minutes to slay all them. For all their differences, they made an excellent team. Each member played on the strengths and weaknesses of the others, and they moved as a solid unit - leaving corpses and darkspawn blood in their wake.


"Maker's breath," Alistar swore as they climbed the steps to the second level. "What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"


"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," Skylar teased - trying to bring some lightness to the heavy, sour mood that blanketed the group.


"Right," the ex-Templar muttered. "Because this is all clearly a misunderstanding. We'll laught about this later." He took a deep breath, casting a look back at Surain. "At any rate, we need to hurry. We need to get up to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time! Teryn Loghain will be waiting for the signal."


"Thank you for reminding us why we're here, Alistar." Skylar's voice held a teasing sort of tone, and she smiled as she stepped ahead of the group. Tank was hot on the heels of his mistress and he snorted indignantly at the blonde Warden as he passed by.


The second level proved more difficult than the first. A main group of darkspawn charged them, while another flanked them from behind. Tank snarled and barked, his teeth ripping into the throats of as many darkspawn as he could reach. Skylar hacked and slashed her away through the mass of enemies, black blood splattered across her face and she wiped it from her eyes with the back of her hand. A volley of arrows arced her way and she threw up her arm - though that would provide little protection. But a shimmering magical barrier bloomed in front of the warrior, effectively flinging away the arrows. She would have to remember to thank Surain later for that. There was one more group to fight through in the room with the stairs leading up to the third floor. They were making good time, all things considered.


"Loghain better be ready to charge as soon as we light the signal," Alistar murmured as they reached the third floor. "The king depends on it." Skylar could feel the retort about to leave Surain's lips and she silenced him with a look. This was Alistar's way of dealing with his nerves, and they would have to be understanding of it.
 
The comment Surain had at the tip of his tounge died as he and Skylar shared a look. Alistair was their defense; if stupidly repeating himself was his way of calming his nerves, then it was in his best interest to let him.


Although, insulting Alistair might be worth getting stabbed over...


Surain looked away first, a hard understanding passing between them as the group climbed the stairs to face what other atrocities could be thrown at them. What greeted them was the unholy stench of bloody, gory corpses coupled with tainted flesh. Bodies and bits of them were piled around the edges of the room they entered, all of which were acknowledged and then ignored by everyone in the group. It was easier fight that way.


Entering the next room, they were ambushed by a group of Darkspawn. The fight was brutal, grinding; by the end, everyone had a few scratches. "Wait, everyone, let's rest for a bit." called Alistair, much to the agreement of the rest of the party. Even Tank sported a long, shallow cut to his side—a gift from a lucky genlock.


Surain, having been towards the back, had taken the least amount damage, and any that he had was quickly healed. With that, the First made to treat his companions. Tank could wait, he decided, and Skylar had treated most of her wounds by then. The templar was closest and seemed to be in the midst of searching for something to serve as a bandage, so he headed to him first. "What are you doing?" Alistair asked the elf wairly as he approached, some sort of red substance in hand. "Let me help you," he replied coldly, not asking as he sat down and made ready to treat the blonde.


Alistair managed a snort, "Oh, so the mighty, self-righteous elf helps the lowly- Ow! Careful!" he cut himself off, Surain having sat down and begun to plaster the biggest cut with a healing salve, having no regard for Alistair's comfort. "Follow your own advice, and I won't need to do this again." he returned curtly, efficiently tending to the wounds.


It wasn't long before the wounds were bandaged, Surain passing his hand over them, casting a bit of healing magic. As he sat up, Alistair stretched his previously injured arm, staring at it in an almost disbelieving fashion. By the time the confused look passed on to Surain, the elf had set off to heal Tank, paying him no regard. The man turned his gaze to Skylar, his stupefied expression appearing almost funny in the context. "Thank you?" he called out to Surain, unsure of himself.


"Ah, so you do have manners." came the sarcastic reply from Surain, who didn't look up from his work on Tank. The dog seemed to understand what the elf was doing, so he didn't bite his arm off; that didn't stop the knife-ear from being gentle, however. Alistair snorted at the comment and got to his feet, shaking his head. Ironic little... elf... witch? he thought silently.


The group quickly set out again, everyone ready to continue. They turned their attention to a door on the right: Through it, there were several Darkspawn, one of which towering over the rest, and several caged mabari. "That lever over there! It'll release the hounds!" called Alistair, raising his shield to deflect the arrows coming their way. Surprisingly, it was Tank who barked, barreled his way past Alistair, and set the dogs free with a mighty lunge.


By the time the group finished with the beasts on that side of the room, the dogs had overtaken and ravaged what enemies there were on the other side. It seemed that they all collectively blinked at once. "Good... dog?" Alistair asked, looking around at the squad. He was answered by a happy bark from Tank.


They proceeded carefully, dealing with the few Darkspawn who had been hiding in the adjacent rooms and making their way to the end of that floor. "Something feels..." began the Templar, looking up the stairs warily. "Off."


It was the second time that day Skylar managed to silence Surain with a look. The elf shrugged and began to make his way up, the rest of the group following quickly. "The tower isn't going to light itself." he reminded everyone as they arrived at the top and opened the door.


The stench was almost as disgusting as the sight in front of them. A... ogre, was it? Was that the name of the darkspawn described to him on the way? It's not that impor—movemovemove Surain thought frantically, the ogre having stopped eating someone's corpse and beginning to charge at them. Alistair voiced his thoughts. "Move!" he shouted, dashing to the side. Surain followed suit, managing not to stumble at the sudden movement as he bodily threw himself to the side.


The orge slammed into the wall as everyone recovered, causing the stone stucture to shake at the force. Alistair, Skylar, and Tank moved in behind it as Surain managed to fire off a slowing spell. Surain used SLOW! It's not very effective...


Alistair managed to dodge the first blow from the ogre; Tank was not so lucky, the backhand catching him and sending him to the side with a whine. This was going to be bloody.
 
Skylar grit her teeth as she barely made it out of the stumbling ogre's path. However, Tank could not move fast enough and was smacked away off to the side, yelping in pain. This ogre was a big bastard, bigger than any opponent she had ever faced before - it was something that Skylar would exploit. The bigger the target, the easier to hit - and the bigger they were, the less mobility they had. It took the ogre a precious few moments to recover from it's charge, and it stomped its gnarled feet as it turned back to face the group.


"I'll draw it's attention," she stated as she placed both hands on the pommel of her sword, arcing it over her right shoulder. "Surain, stay back - make sure that thing doesn't squash me. Alistar, stay behind it - hack away at it's legs until it turns on you, then I'll attack until it turns back to me, understood?"


Both her companions gave curt nods. Alistar shifted his grip on his shield and sword, while Surain stepped back a few paces - his staff twirling through his fingers. The ogre charged again with a blood-curdling roar that Skylar felt in her very core. A few weeks ago, she might've turned tail and ran, but she stood strong and met the ogre with her sword, slicing deep into the muscle of it's left calf as she tucked and rolled between it's legs. The beast let out a bellow of pain, it's hand reaching for the warrior but she slipped through it's fingers.


The battle continued on this way. Skylar and Alistar successfully alternated catching the beast's attention and getting in blows that were slowly wittling it down, while Surain was all but a blur of magic - simulataneously casting offensive and defensive spells. But they all were exhausted - sweat dripped from Skylar's brow and it was becoming increasingly difficult to swing her sword over her head. She had acquired a few more scratches - a particularly deep one spanned from the front of her left shoulder, past her collarbone, and ended almost at her breastbone. On their last pass, Skylar didn't move out of the way fast enough and the ogre caught her by the leg, yanking her up into the air and shaking her like a ragdoll before it cast her off to the side of the room when Alistar took the opportunity and sank his blade deep into the monster's chest. With one last earth-shattering roar, the beast crumpled and was dead.


None of them had the energy for celebration. Skylar used everything she had to pull herself to her feet. "Someone light that blighted beacon," she croaked.


Alistar was closest. He took one of the still lit torches from the wall and flung it into the signal pit. It erupted into flames, burning bright enough that it could be seen for miles.


Another wave of darkspawn poured out of the door behind them, and the last thing Skylar remembered was the white-hot pain of an arrow sinking into her back and then---- nothing.




xXx

​




"Ah, your eyes finally open," Morrigan's sultry voice purred. "Mother will be pleased."


Skylar's consciousness came back to her with a start. She sat bolt right up in the soft bed beneath her. "I--- you? Where am I?" she moaned.


"Back in the Wilds of course. I'm Morrigan, lest you have forgotten and I have just bandaged your wounds. You're welcome, by the way," the witche replied with a cheeky smile. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember mother's rescue?"


"I remember being overrun by darkspawn..." Skylar took account of her surroundings. It seemed she was inside a small hut, probably the one they had stood outside only a day before. There was a roaring fire crackling off to the side, it's warmth was a comfort. But where were Surain and Alistar? And Tank?


"Mother managed to save you and your friends, but 'twas a close call. What is important is that you all live... The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field - the darkspawn won your battle. Those who were abandoned were massacred. You human friend - the blonde one - he is not taking it well."


Loghain had not come to aid? "What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?"


"All dead," Morrigan said simply. "Your friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him - he is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."


That bastard. I will see him pay for this. "Thank you for helping me, Morrigan." Skylar swung her feet off the side of the bed and tested the steadiness of her legs before standing to full height - which wasn't much. She had been stripped to her undergarments and several large bandages swathed her frame. Her armor was in a pile a few paces away and she made quick work of re-equipping it.


The witch seemed caught of guard by Skylar's thanks. "I... you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work - I am no healer. I will stay here and make us something to eat."
 
Surain looked up just in time to see Skylar fall to an arrow in the back; darkspawn were storming into the room in unending amounts, and one had caught her just as she stood.





Too... Tired...


Surain twirled his staff sluggishly, creating a shimmering shield that just barely managed to veer them off course. Stumbling at the exertion, he just barely managed to not collapse.





Can't...


Black spots dotted his vision as he spun before smashing the butt of his staff on the ground, causing flames to erupt in front of him to scorch the charging darkspawn.





...Sorry...


There was a roar as his vision went black and the world ended.


-


Surain had been out cold throughout the entire conversation, sleeping unsoundly. Even though he had been hurt the least—having only taken a minor stabbing from a genlock before he collapsed fully—he was magically and physically exhausted. The whispers in his dreams, breaking into his mind, trying to steal him further into the fade were ceaseless, unending trials that he was almost failing.


It was either luck or divine intervention that caused him to wake at Skylar's voice. Her blunt, warm, and soft tone of voice lulled him away from the temptations of what wasn't and tugged him ever-the-gently into reality. Why had Morrigan's sharp, cutting voice not done the same? More relevantly, why hadn't anything woken him up by that point? Perhaps it was because Skylar's voice was the last he had heard before he fell. Perhaps... his mind was playing a trick on him? That must be it, surely.


His eyes opened suddenly and took in his surroundings: A hut. Two women around him, one dressed, and the other—he turned away, looking at himself. Aside from one bandage that covered his side, and a section of cloth that served as smallclothes, he was utterly nude. Wonderful. Sitting up, Surain tried to speak, "I-" he began, before breaking out in of coughing. Water. Now.


Morrigan looked startled at the sudden noise but quickly recovered. "Ah, so the elf joins us as well. How sad, I had hoped you would make a lovely stew." she said teasingly, in an almost gentle way. Surain threw her a casual glare before drinking what she gave him hungrily. It was a few moments before he cleared his throat and tried a rebuttal. "I would be rubbish in a stew."


He, by this point, managed to swing his legs so that his feet touched the ground, and covered his waist with the thin blanket he had been provided. His cot was, if one were standing at the opposite side of the room looking at it, to the left of Skylars, which was between him and the door. She seemed—well, he didn't know; his eyes didn't dare stray to her in her undressed state. She was a shemlen and he had some self-respect. The fact that she was a woman, and that his keeper would have boxed his ears if he even thought about daring to look also helped.


His avoidance called Morrigan to snort. "Oh, how noble of you." she commented, drowning her words in sarcasm. He ignored her, noticed his clothes neatly folded next to his cot, and stood up to put them on. Her decency, he would respect; he didn't care what she did to his.


It was quick, and he finished robing just as Skylar finished putting on her apparently intricate armor, despite her head start. "I suppose you are curious about what happened as well?" the witch beside him asked, her voice retaining that odd gentleness that had been absent in their first encounter. "Yes, two things: What was the result of the battle, and how did we survive and end up here?" Surain asked quickly, shaking off the drowsiness.


Morrigan sighed heavily. "The man who was supposed to come to the king's aid quit the field, so your army fell to the darkspawn." she began, causing the elf's eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline. His lack of comment made her continue. "As for your second query, my mother rescued you. Barely. 'Twas a close call."


Surain's brow furrowed in an almost humorous way. "And Alistair? The dog? Where are they?"


"Both are waiting outside. Alistair—the other human with you—hasn't been taking this well. I'd suggest being gentle."


To say that the cynical elf was overly surprised would be a lie. Oh, a human betrayed someone? Yes, the sky is blue today, good on you for noticing. It was more the sudden change of situation and how he, of all people, was alive that disturbed him. It seemed random. Arbitrary, even, how and why he, Skylar, the idiot, and the mutt survived over the entire rest of the army.


The king died? So what? He had no interest for human politics; Creators damn it, he could go home to his clan now, and never pay mind to this again. He supposed the issue with the blight was still real, but there were others who could deal with that, right? Perhaps the general would be able.


Surain shook his head to clear it, a habit he had gained over the last few weeks,and sighed. "Thank you, Morrigan." he replied absentmindedly, as if forgetting she was a human. She was a mage like him, an apostate like him, hated the chantry like him—shorten her height and file her ears, and one wouldn't be able to tell the difference. And the fact that she saved him, in part at least, helped.


"You're... welcome?" she was caught off guard a second time by these people's... generosity? Why were they like this? They owed her nothing, and she expected as much. She watched the elf make his way to the door, where Skylar was standing.


"Are you well?" Surain asked the warrior calmly, preparing to follow her outside. He needed to keep a clear head, and wanted to know if she was doing the same. As she responded, they made their way outside.


-


Stepping outside behind Skylar, Surain only caught some of what Flemeth had said. "...Grey Wardens. You worry too much, young man." she chided gesturing to the pair of them. Alistair's face went from sad, to shocked, to happy, to shocked again. "You..." he laughed disblievingly, "You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure." he said, looking at Skylar. Surain stood a ways off, arms crossed, a light scowl on his features. He wasn't angry, or hostile; it was another habit he had picked up recently.
 
"I have been... better," Skylar admitted as the pair exited the hut. She had been right in assuming this was the same place they had been before, for the scene in front of them was familiar. The gentle noise of the life teeming in the Wilds added a pleasant sort of white noise to the evening, and the crackle of the fire in front of them was comforting. Alistar was there, along with Morrigan's mother and Tank. The Mabari hound let out a happy bark and pranced over to this mistress, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He sniffed her, then once he was satisfied she was well, turned his attentions to the scrowling mage. He sniffed around the elf in a circle, and pawed at the bottom of his robes with a whine. And then the dog rose up on his back legs, planting his front paws squarely on Surain's shoulders and gave the mage and long lick from his chin to his eyebrows.


Skylar laughed softly, and placed her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. "Get off, Tank," she scolded, but her tone was only half-hearted.


Tank, his mission complete, pressed off of the elf with ease with a happy bark, and returned to Skylar' side. He obediently sat just at her feet, looking up at her expectantly. "Down," she commanded with a smile as she caressed the top of his large, bony head. The hound prostrated himself at her side, his paws crossed one over the other.


"You.... You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure," Alistar exclaimed, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe the other two Wardens stood before him. His face flitted between several emotions: shock, awe, sadness, anger. He looked considerably better than Skylar felt, but there was a long scratch across his face that had long ago clotted.


Skylar moved towards the ex-Templar and placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "We are alright," she said softly. "Your concern is appreciated."


Alistar shook his head, a more somber mood overtaking him. "It doesn't seem real," he muttered. "If not for Morrigan's mother we would all be dead on top of that tower."


Morrigan's mother shot the blonde a nasty look. "Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," she said indigantly. The grey of her hair was illuminated softly in the flickering of the fire, the planes and wrinkles of her face cast into strange shadows.


Skylar took up a seat on one of the nearby logs. It would do her good to rest as much as possible, plus it allowed her a prime seat to watch Alistar and the witch coversate back and forth. She stretched out her sore legs, wincing as they came to full extension. There had never been a time when Skylar had to fight like that, it had pushed her to her limits and beyond. Even with healing, her body still felt the aftermath of being abused so terribly.


"I didn't mean..." he stammered. "But what do we call you? You-- you never told us your name?"


The witch let out a heavy breath through her nostrils. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth, so I suppose that will do for now," she conceded.


"Flemeth from the legends?" Alistar's eyebrows raised, his mouth hung open slightly at her words. "You are the witch of the wilds aren't you?"


Flemeth peered down her nose at him, amused by his incredulity. "And what does that mean?" she scoffed. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you all well, has it not?"


It was true. Alistar seemed unnecessarily judgemental now that he knew the woman's identity. But Flemeth had been nothing but kind - if you could call it that - to them in all of their interactions. But Skylar was curious... "Why did you save us?"


Flemeth turned her piercing gaze to the red-headed warrior. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with the darkspawn."


Ah. so it was not just from the kindness of the witch's heart then. She had her own purpose for the three Wardens it seemed. But without an army, how were they supposed to fight the darkspawn? If a horde could obliterate the king and his army in one battle, what use was a scraggly band of new Wardens? Skylar looked to Surain, who's expression had not changed much in the last few moments. Would he stay? There would be no reason to, he didn't owe them anything and he was probably hard-pressed to return to his clan.
 
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Surain kept his eyes trained on Flemeth, who in turn looked at him. "It has always been the Grey Warden's duty to unite the lands against the blight," she paused, passing her gaze over all of them, "Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"


Surain was the one who interrupted the small silence that came after, "It changed when most of them were slaughtered." he replied coldly, still not lifting the mask of a scowl on his face. This discussion was pointless if nothing would come of it; best to get the obvious out of the way first and make a decision about what to do. They were going to do that, yes?


His comment seemed to rile Alistair up. "But we were fighting the darkspawn! The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?" he asked angrily, refusing to give Surain's comment the honour of a reply.


Flemeth turned her attention to the templar and bobbed her head in agreement. "Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat." she suggested.


"The archdemon." Alistair answered slowly, as if the word disgusted him to say.


Surain looked at Skylar and Alistair, thinking for a moment. If the wardens in Ferelden were all gathered here, and they were destroyed, then we're are the last ones left in reasonable distance, right? That's at least likely. Further, if Loghain didn't want 'foreign' help from wardens when the king was alive, it's even more unlikely for help to arrive now. Moreover, a grey warden is needed to end the blight... right?


So, if we're the last three wardens left, and one is needed to end the blight... he paused, looking up to see everyone stare at him. "...Then we need to find the archdemon." he thought aloud, answering their expectant stares. Why was his opinion wanted now? Shemlen were so strange—people had been content to let him remain in the background before.


"By ourselves?" asked Alistair incredulously, "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without a half-dozen nations at his back." he began quietly. "Not to mention, I don't know how."


"How to kill an archdemon, or how to raise an army? It seems to me that those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?" Flemeth countered, staring pointedly at all of them.


The answer hit Surain immediately, but it seemed that Alistair didn't get it. "I... I don't know!" he appeared to be at a lost for words. "Duncan said that the wardens of Orlais have been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely." He finished with conviction. Odd. So, he knew this man?


"Perhaps we could go to him then." Suggested Surain, a heavy-handed sarcastic undertone plaguing his reply.


"I suppose... Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle." began the blonde, missing the sarcasm. "I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alistair concluded, getting excited. It was adorable. In a pathetic, templar sort of way.


There was a silence that followed that; apparently, he had expected a roar of agreement. Surain was more so appalled that no one had pointed out the obvious yet. "Surely there are other allies that we have. Surely." he said, staring Alistair in the eye.


The man's face lit up like a funeral pyre. "Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a blight!" He replied excitedly, eyes widening with realization.


Flemeth crossed her arms and gave a thin smile. "I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else... this sounds like an army to me." she added helpfully.


"So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and... build an army?" Alistair asked, eyes shifting from Surain to Skylar, who had been silent for most of the conversation. It seemed that the elf's time in the limelight was over, for now. Perhaps he could sneak away at some point? Try to find his clan?


But did he want to? Of course, that's a stupid question. But as much as he wanted to... could he really trust these two to end the blight? If the blight wasn't stopped, then his clan would die anyway, and he would likely join them. On the other hand, could they really stop the blight? Maybe, if he went north where his clan had been heading, he could find them and hide with them...


But that was uncertain. He had a vague idea of where they might be, and while he might be able to stay with another clan until the Arlathvhen came round, that was still years due. And who's to say that the blight wouldn't consume them as well? Would he be able to risk it? To flee, hope to find his clan, and hope that these two idiots would be able to fight the blight on their own?


No. Hope is stupid. He had no choice but to stay here and help them. Damn it to the fade, he would have to do it by himself if he needed to. The blight needed to end, and every Grey Warden was needed to ensure that. Surain's face relaxed into an expression of resignation; fate was a bitch, he decided, but there was no other option than to join them in fighting the blight.


All of this was decided as the conversation went on, he only half-listening.
 
"Why not?" Skylar said. Her green eyes flashed playfully in the light of the flickering fire. "Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?"


Flemeth nodded, seemingly pleased by Skylar's answer. "So you are set then?" she asked. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"


The red-headed warrior's nod was answer enough. "I don't suppose you could offer any more help?" The question came almost hesitantly for Skylar was unsure how deep the Witch of the Wilds' willingness to help them went. If they had worn out their welcome. she was loathe to anger their host.


The smile that spread across Flemeth's face put Skylar's worry to ease. "Now that you mention it, I do have one more thing to offer..." The witch's voice trailed off as Morrigan appeared from the hut. The younger witch's hips swung hypnotically as she made her way over to the fire.


"The stew is bubbling now, Mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or none?" The end of the quesion was punctuated by a pointed glance at Alistar, then Surain.


"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl," Flemeth said. "And you will be joining them."


Morrigan smiled. "Such a shame--" And then the rest of her mother's comment registered. "What?!" Her pouty mouth twisted into a scowl.


"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" Flemeth's throaty chuckle floated over the stillness in the Wilds.





It was a turn of events that Skylar had least expected, but Morrigan would be a welcome addition to their little group. Two apostates were better than none, right? But the sultry mage seemed non-plussed at the idea. "I think it's an excellent idea," Skylar offered cautiously. It was a rock and a hard place, siding with one witch was sure to ruffle the feathers of the other.


"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan huffed as she folded her arms over her chest.


"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Grey Wardens--" Flemeth's gaze turned to Skylar. "--consider this repayment for your lives.


"Very well," Skylar said. She rose from her seated position on the log and stretched her arms over her head. "We will take her with us."


"Not to... look a gift horse in the mouth," Alistar said. "But won't this add to our problem? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate. And we already have one of those to deal with." He gave Surain a pointed side-eyes glance.


Flemeth in turn fixed Alistar with a sobering look. "If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, then perhaps I should have left you on that tower, hm?"


At least the Templar had the decency to look embarassed. "Point...taken," he mumbled.


"Mother," Morrigan said. "This is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready--"


Flemeth cut her off. "You must be ready. Alone, these three must unite Fereldan against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."


Thanks for the vote of confidence.





"I... understand," Morrigan said, although her tone portrayed otherwise.


Satisfied with Morrigan's complacency, Flemeth turned her attentions back to the group. "And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value most in this world. I do this because you must succeed."


Maker, no pressure or anything. "I understand," Skylar replied, looking to Alistar and Surain to gauge their reactions to all of this.


Morrigan huffed quietly. "Allow me to get my things, if you please." She spun on her heel and headed back off towards the hut, more than likely for the last time.
 
There was a distinct air of awkwardness as Surain, Alistair, and Skylar exchanged glances, each of them refraining from commenting. Surain was... excited? Yes, among other things. Another mage! Who knows—aside from Morrigan herself, of course—what spells she knew? What she could teach him? Of course, it would probably come at a price... but he was a First. Magic for magic, maybe?


Just the fact that she had a sharp tounge also helped. One could only bear to hear blonde's blabbering and Skylar's... er... Note to self, think of alliterated insult for Short—ah! Short Skylar, of course.


And Alistair doesn't like her. That in and of itself made this worth celebrating.


So, would Morrigan traveling with them be a good thing? Without a doubt.


-


Her exit from the hut came a few minutes later and was announced by a curt bark from Tank, drawing everyone's attention to the advancing witch. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens," she stopped in front of the three of them, "I suggest a village North of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much of what you need there." Morrigan said concisely. Good; formalities and politeness were wastes of time.


She wasn't done. "Or, if you prefer, I can simply be your silent guide." Surain could practically sense Alistair's eye twitch behind him. Down, boy.


The elf felt far more comfortable dealing with Morrigan than most of the other people he met recently; so much so, that he didn't bothering waiting for his companions to reply. "Actually, I've some questions." he answered, avoiding her question. He would ask what he wanted, then he would stop talking. An amazing philosophy, really. "I may have answers. Ask." She replied, turning her narrowed eyes to the elf who spoke.


He met her eyes for a moment before speaking. "What skills do you have, exactly?" he asked evenly, resting one of his hands on his hip.


"I know a few spells, though I'm nowhere as powerful as mother. I have also studied History. And your Grey Warden treaties." she listed off, only pausing briefly to think.


"Can you cook?" Alistair asked abruptly, a small grin playing on his face.


Her glare almost turned him to stone. "I... can cook, yes."


Surain sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ignore him. You don't have to cook." he interjected, much to the blonde's disappointment. "Right, well, I hope you like burnt rabbit stew. My cooking is rubbish." Alistair added, his tone gaining the weight of some seriousness.


"I also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow right in this marsh. Not that I would suggest 'tis at all related to cooking." she commented lightly, feigning innocence. Surain had to stifle a smile from showing; Morrigan was the by far best shemlen he'd met so far.


Seeing as Skylar didn't comment, and Alistair seemingly decided to stop sharing his stupidity through his mouth, Surain trudged on with asking important questions. Ask, answer, ignore Alistair's comment, sigh, repeat. The next few minutes were mostly just that as they learned all they needed to know for the moment.


Somewhere in the conversation, Alistair mentioned that Darkspawn could sense them since they were Grey Wardens. "Of course. Wonderful. Any other 'blessings' that come with being a Grey Warden?" asked Surain sharply, sending a glare at the templar.


"Aside from the shortened life and nightmares, not that I can think of. What, would you have joined if you knew?" pointed out the blonde, raising an eyebrow. "Probably. Although, slow, painful death admittedly sounds like the better option, now." Surain countered, narrowing his gaze.


"If you two are quite finished, it would be best to set out before the darkspawn die of old age." Morrigan interrupted, giving them both an incredibly judgmental stare. Surain returned it with his own before conceding a nod. "True, we'd best be off." he said. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He and Morrigan would likely be fine in the Wilds at night alone, but with Skylar and Alistair tagging along, things would be... difficult. It'd be best to leave as soon as possible


Morrigan accepted this and turned to speak with her mother as the wardens made ready to leave. "Farewell, mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut." Teased Morrigan, causing a glare to come from her mother. "Bah! 'Tis far more likely that you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the blight."


Morrigan hesitated. "I... all I meant was..."


Flemeth's gaze turned gentle at her stammering, "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear." she replied, crossing her arms. It seemed that those two were actually capable of affection. Someone should tell Alistair, who was busy trying to get Tank off of his feet.


Silence enveloped everyone in the area as they were about to leave. Surprisingly, Surain had one more thing to say. Turning to Flemeth right before they left, he spoke. "Ma serannas, Asha'belannar." he said respectfully. Actually, that was the most respectful he'd been to anyone in the past two weeks.


"Mala suledin nadas..." she returned solemnly and with a nod, before promptly throwing all seriousness out of the window. "Now, off with you! I have stew to enjoy, and you have a blight to end." she commanded, waving them off.


If Surain was surprised that Flemeth knew elvish, he didn't say anything; the elf just nodded and made off with everyone else, purposely looking forward. The witch was right—the blight wouldn't end itself. That, and he was done with his daily quota of talking with idiots. Perhaps Morrigan would be interested in banter?


Evidently not, as they traveled for the most part in silence for the remainder of that day.
 
The rag-tag group of Wardens and mages had traveled without speaking for most of their journey. The silence was odd. Skylar had expected there to be banter back and forth, at least between Alistar and the mages, if not between Morrigan and Surain. But it was a somber mood that blanketed the group. The death of Duncan, the king, and the rest of the Grey Wardens weighed heavily on Alistar, and he kept his eyes just ahead of his feet, plodding along methodically - almost as if by muscle memory. Morrigan tried to look aloof, but Skylar could see in her eyes that already she missed the Wilds and her mother, although the sultry mage would probably never admit it. Surain, well, he was another story. The mage was almost entirely unreadable to Skylar, his ever present scowl marring his otherwise striking features. She had thought he might leave, given the circumstances, and was surprised to find he had even come this far.





The sun blistered overhead, beating down on the top of Skylar's head, sweat trickled down the back of her neck. The dirt from the road was everywhere, even in crevices that Skylar didn't even know existed. She could kill a man for a bath and a change of clothes, and perhaps something to eat. Her stomach growled at the thought of food and her mouth watered. It had been almost a full day since she had eaten and her body voiced its protest. Tank whined, as if he could sense his mistress' discomfort and shared it. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and to the side, panting with the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. Skylar reached down and stroked the top of his enormous head. As a reward for his good behavior, she would make sure the pup got a big steak for his troubles.


The bridge to Lothering loomed ahead. The shade from the archways over top was a much welcome sight, shielding the group from the sun's rays as they passed underneath. Up in the distance Skylar could see an encampment of sorts: carts piled on the sides of the road, bags and boxes were piled up in such a way that would make it nearly impossible to get through except through a small opening in the center. There was a group of men scattered around the area, and one of them leapt to his feet as the Wardens and Morrigan approached.


"Wake up, gentlemen!" he bellowed, rallying the others around him as he approached the group. "More travelers to attend to." He planted himself only a few paces from Skylar, looking her up and down appreciatively. "I'd guess the pretty one is the leader."


Skylar looked back at Morrigan expectantly, and when the mage arched a delicate eyebrow at her, Skylar realized the man had been speaking to her. Why did everyone assume she was the leader of this little party? Alistar was the most seasoned Warden of all of them. Shouldn't he be the one they looked to for leadership?


One of the men that had taken up a position next to the first, looked uneasily over the group before them. "Err... they don't look much like them others, you know. Uh... maybe we should just let these ones pass."


"Nonsense," the first man scoffed before turning his attentions back to the Wardens and Morrigan. "Greetings, travelers," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.


Alistar spat. "Highwaymen. Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose." His nose crinkled in disgust, not bothering to hide his disdain for the men in front of them.


"They are fools to get in our way," Morrigan agreed. Surely it was a sign of the end of the world that she had actually agreed with Alistar. "I say we teach them a lesson," she finished with a sneer.


Surain, of course, was silent, but his eyes carefully assessed each man in front of them with purpose.


"Now is that anyway to greet someone?" the leader of the highwaymen chided. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on."


Skylar narrowed her eyes at the man, swinging her sword up and over her left shoulder. It was a gesture meant to show they were not a helpless group. "You should listen to your friend," she suggested. "We are not refugees."


The second oaf looked to the first, his expression lingering somewhere between unease and panic. "What did I tell you," he hissed. "No wagons, and--" with a pointed look at Skylar's sword "--this one is armed."


"The toll applies to everyone, Hanric," the leader said. "That is why it's a toll and not - say - a refugee tax."


"Oh, right," Hanric said thickly, his head nodded in agreeance. He was a simple one indeed. "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay."


"Forget it," Skylar said evenly, squaring off her stance just slightly. "We're not paying."


"Well I can't say I'm happy to hear that," the leader said, although his tone suggested otherwise. "We have rules, you know."


"Right," Hanric said eagerly. "We get to ransack your corpse then. Those are the rules!"


Skylar wanted to avoid ending this little confrontation with violence. Perhaps these men would respond well to a little intimidation? After all, the Grey Wardens were a well known force, definitely one not to be reckoned with. "Are you sure you want to fight a Grey Warden?"
 
The apparent leader seemed to hesitate for a moment, coming to the realisation that he was not dealing with simple soldiers. It almost seemed funny—the man’s eyes bulged slightly, his hand twitched. His entire body screamed, ‘oh shit’ louder than any voice could. Pathetic, giving away so much. This pitiful idiot of a leader would be terrible at cards, and even worse in battle.


At least with cards, a loss wouldn’t cost him his life.


Surain knew that the man was almost ready to surrender, but the fear fell just short of utterly convincing. He was afraid enough to do something stupid, not, say, throw himself down and beg for mercy. It seemed the elf had to do everything around here, or at least the snob thought so, even if Skylar had done a perfectly good job.


Little sparks of purple lightning danced around his fingertips as he lazily unhooked his staff after Skylar finished. “I’d recommend stepping aside, if I were you. Or not. I love the sound of screaming in the morning.” he paused, making a show of looking the group up and down. “...Although, I don’t think you’d last long enough to make it worthwhile.”


Truthfully, Surain was about ready to flay these men where they stood. He was tired, thirsty, his robes chafed and these idiots had the audacity to stand in his way? They deserved death… or worse. They deserved to travel with Alistair. Besides, would the wardens be stopped by mere highwaymen? The wardens had a reputation, and respect was synonymous with fear. If they died, that fear would spread. If they lived, they themselves would spread it. Whichever happened was inconsequential.


The weeks past have given Surain the time to think about such things. Certainly Alistair was no company—he spent the entire time looking down, thankfully. Hopefully he would develop an annoying crick in his neck because of it. Skylar had tried to talk—only for Surain to shut her down quickly everytime. They were merely allies, and friendship with a human was a weakness. Morrigan and he spoke a little, though not much. She seemed to retreat to her own shell, much like Surain. Was he that annoying? No, of course not.


And that was the journey that brought them here, facing a group of rapidly surrendering idiots. It seemed they didn’t want to die. As the group passed by them, Alistair looking up long enough to stare at them warily, Surain couldn’t help himself. “A shoddy operation. I could have done better.” he commented to no one in particular, allowing a smile before his customary scowl set in. Alistair gave him a disparaging look while Morrigan gave him an amused raise of her eyebrow. Tank ignored him entirely, stupid dog.


The silence after didn’t last long, as Alistair stopped the group to talk. Surain and Morrigan both leveled the exact same expectant, mildly condescending look at him as he did so, the similarity of them unbeknownst to either. “Ah, so you have finally decided to join us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed too much trouble, I take it?” sassed Morrigan, crossing her arms.


“Is my being upset so hard to understand?” Yes. “Have you never lost someone close to you?” When I did, Duncan exploited that to get me to join you. “What would you do if your mother died?” Alistair complained, seemingly offended.


“Before or after I stopped laughing?” Morrigan retorted impishly. Surain’s lips twitched as he almost failed to keep a scowl.


“Right, very creepy. Forget I asked.” Alistair replied, looking at the completely in-sync mages and realising he was outnumbered.


“What is it that you want to say?” asked the elf of the group impatiently. Those bandits had almost died for getting between him and a bath; this had better not be a waste of time.


“Something about his naval, I suspect. He certainly has been contemplating it long enough.”


“Oh, I get it, this is the part where we’re shocked to discover that you’ve never had a friend in your entire life.”


“I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”


Alistair turned away from the utter witch they were traveling with in favour of looking towards Surain and Skylar, the latter having been silent through the entire time. Oh, sure, just stand there and look pretty, thought the elf towards Skylar, before pausing, ...not that you look pretty. You’re a human. Ew. At this point, she seemed to be saying something in reply to Alistair’s question, but Surain was no longer paying attention. I mean, the hair is nice… if she were an elf… she is a bit short though… what about a dwarf? That would be better… or would it? She is an adorable human. Like a puppy. A genocidal puppy.


“...what do you think, Surain?” someone asked him, drawing him out of his thoughts. Surain was completely loss as to where they were in the conversation, and quickly thought of something to say. “...We don’t have enough information. Making a plan now is pointless, unless we can reasonably assume that the locations we’re visiting will give us the allies that we need.” he paused, his mind catching up to his words. “Granted, any information would be better than what we have now.”


“So, you agree with me?” Alistair replied, dumbfounded. Surain didn’t reply, save for a slightly deepening of his scowl. “Have you—either of you—looked over the treaties?” the templar continued, pushing aside his shock. Surain gave a curt nod and purposely looked away from Skylar, not wanting a repetition of what just happened.


“There are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also still think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first.”


Surain les Skylar take the conversation from there, not having the patience for this. They couldn’t fully decide anyway until they had more information. Didn’t the humans have a—what’s it called—tavern? Or maybe it was a brothel? Human shops are so confusing. Either way, they needed somewhere to buy information.


-


Skylar and the crew seemed to be busy dealing with a merchant who was exhorting the village folk. Good for them. Surain didn’t really care enough and wandered around, looking for something to catch his eye… until he spotted a downtrodden elven family. Several feelings jumped up within Surain, even as he beat them all down savagely. The mage found himself walking towards them anyway, only to have the man of the family call him over anyway.


“An elf!” The wife exclaimed quietly at the sight of one of her kin that was armed and wasn’t a refugee. “Greetings to you, my lord. If it isn't too much to ask… might you be able to spare us some bread?” the husband asked hesitantly; it seemed that he was ashamed of begging, especially in front of his family.”


“What happened to you?” asked the mage in a tone of mixed suspicion and anger.


“We thought it would be safer in Lothering, that the Teryn would bring his soldiers here,” he said, “but bandits attacked us and took everything! Our food, our clothes… my daughter’s pet lamb.” he continued, looking at his daughter sadly. “Nobody cares about a few elves. Can you help us?”


That cut into Surain, right through the chain that held his emotions in check. He pushed the anger down with some success and tried to think logically; he couldn’t spare the minimal amount of money he had with him—he needed clothes, they all needed food for their journey. That was too much.


However, the bandits took from many people. Killing them would allow the family to look for their things.. and perhaps allow him and the others to gather what had been taken from other refugees and ‘repurpose’ it for food and clothes. Killing them would help everyone in the future as well, who wanted to go on the highway. “I can’t spare any money at the moment, however, I’ll be back soon.” The man scoffed.


“I had thought an elf would be more compassionate.”


“I had thought an elf would be more patient.” Surain replied sharply before walking away towards the group, who were apparently waiting for him, having finished the business with the merchant. “Where have you been? We’ve been dealing with…” Alistair trailed off as Surain marched straight past him, back towards the highway. “Those bandits are going to die. Feel free to join me.” the elf replied curtly, barely slowing his step to say that much as he headed towards where the highwaymen were.


The fight was a blur of lighting and blood. The group had probably joined him to make sure he fared well, and probably killed a few of the bandits themselves, but Surain was the force of the battle; lightning, shield, lighting—even as men were electrocuted to death, screaming, and arrows deflected off of magical barriers, Surain faltered only a little. Rage could only take one so far, and so he ended with a cut on his shoulder and splattered with blood by the end it all.


He took a moment to gather his strength and heal himself by the end of it, before turning to find that his group was there with him. They seemed unharmed, if a bit surprised. Alistair was staring at him like he had grown another head, which caused the elf to glare in return. “Close your mouth—you’re going to catch a fly—and help me loot these bodies. Leave the crates.” it wasn’t a question, and Surain didn’t fully expect anyone to listen to him anyway; still, he was willing to do it by himself and later return to the family.
 
"Those bandits are going to die. Feel free to join me," Surain said, making large purposeful steps towards the bridge where the highwaymen still lay in wait for other unfortunate refugees. Skylar took immediate note of the elven family who had taken up a small space near one of the alleyways of the village. Her lips pursed, it was heartbreaking to see how most of the world treated elves. In her father's house, everyone had been treated as an equal, no matter the shape of your ears. This family looked the part of downtrodden refugees and more than likely had come to Lothering seeking refuge. She had noticed Surain speaking with the briefly, and knew that she had to help him.


The warrior was hot on his heels and she could almost feel the anger rolling off of him in waves. Alistar and Morrigan had to sprint to catch up.


"What exactly are we doing?" Alistar asked, jogging up next to Skylar. "We can't go around helping every poor soul reclaim every little lost thing, we'll never get around to invoking the treaties if that's the case."


Skylar glanced from him to Morrigan, who seemed indifference to the motives behind Surain's move, maybe even a little excited at the prospect of a fight. "Because, Alistar," she replied, leveling him with a stony gaze, "If this is something Surain needs to do, we will help him. That is what friends do."


Alistar opened his mouth and then must have thought the better of whatever he had wanted to say and shut it swiftly.


They advanced on the highwaymen, and Surain didn't even give them a chance to speak before lightening arced from his staff to several of the theives, electrocuting them instantly. Immediately and without question, Skylar leapt to his aid, hacking away at any highwaymen that dared to get within reach of her long blade. The fight was over much quicker than anticipated, the force of Surain's rage fueling his magical abilities had made quick work of all of their enemies. She flicked the bandit's blood off her sword and slung it back over her shoulder, eying the elf to make sure he had not been harmed. There was a superficial cut to his shoulder that he healed almost effortlessly. She envied him for that, his healing abilities.


He turned to face them, almost surprised to see all of them, even Tank, standing there. Alistar was staring at him, mouth agape, and Skylar almost didn't blame him. Surain looked terrifying, with his blood spattered face and his scowl, the emotions that had rolled off of him so strongly moments ago were now more subdued, but not entirely gone. "Close your mouth," he snapped at Alistar. "You're going to catch a fly - and help me loot these bodies. Leave the crates."


Skylar did as he bade and Alistar was not far behind. Morrigan, however, folded her arms over her chest and huffed. "I am not picking through bodies like a vulture."


It didn't take long to vest the corpses of any and all valuables. The highwaymen had a fair amount of coin on their person, more than likely the culmination of exhorting several small amounts from frightened refugees over the course of several days. It sickened Skylar to think that some people would abuse other's fear of the Blight for personal gain. She combined all the gold into a single small purse and tucked it into her vest for safekeeping. Something white caught the corner of her eye, sticking out of one of the crates. Delicately she removed it, turning the bit of fuzzy cloth this way and that way. It was a small stuffed lamb, a child's toy. Skylar thought of the frightened little elf girl, and how when she was a small girl her stuffed dog had always made her feel safer. She tucked the little lamb into the other side of her vest and knew what she had to do. If she voiced any of her plans to Alistar, he would object and Morrigan would probably tease her for being too soft.


Guesturing for Tank to follow, she made her way back down into the village, leaving the rest of the group behind to finish looting. The elven family was still right where they had been before, and they seemed uneasy as Skylar approached them. She crouched low, focusing on the little girl that hid behind her mother's skirts.


"It's okay," she said with a genuine smile. "I have something for you and for your parents, want to see?" She extracted the pouch of gold and the stuffed lamb and held both in plain view. The elf woman's eyes widened and misted over with tears, while the man still stared skeptically at Skylar.


"Forgive us, milady," he said warily. "We are not in the habit of receiving gifts from shemlens."


Skylar sighed. "I know, I'm very sorry you have a bad impression of us shelmens, but we aren't all bad, I promise." She reached up and placed the bag of gold into the father's hands. "Take this, please. It isn't much but it will help you and your family at least get some food and shelter."


The little girl shyly made her way from behind her mother and had a small smile on her face as Skylar extended the toy to her. She snatched it up and pressed it to her chest happily.


"Thank you," the woman said, her voice thick with emotion.


Skylar stood up and smiled at all of them. "You're welcome. I hope whatever gods you worship watch over you."
 
Even as Skylar left them, the raggity group of wardens were finishing up with the bodies. Surain had calmed down in the few minutes they had been going about collecting money from the corpses, and managed to take a moment to think about his actions—and, more importantly, the emotions which caused them.


Emotions were never his strong suit, or perhaps they were; always was he too sensitive, too open to pathos from any source, and he hated himself for it. Logic was always the answer, even as wild emotions flung him around his pubescent life so quickly that he never found a place to stop and think, it helped him stay grounded. Everything was always too fast with emotions, too blurry—happy, sad, angry—’I love you’, ‘I hate you’, ‘I need you’, ‘fuck off’—It never ended! He recalled spening a year and a half trying to silence this part of him, trying to cut the ropes which pulled at him. He failed, obviously. One can’t kill feelings.


So he mastered them instead. No longer was he the slave to every urge, desire, feeling that plagued him. He learned, through weeks’ worth of crying, fighting, and internalising, that forcusing on one emotion in particular was easier to manage. Anger could be cold, hot, or whatever else he needed. It gave purpose—sadness or happiness bred complacency. Whenever he was overwhelmed, frustration turned to anger, and anger drove him forward. A difficult spell? That spell would be crushed under his heel. An annoying clanmate? He would plan his revenge over the course of many sleepless nights, fueled by his desire to see them suffer. Of course, he wasn’t angry all of the time. He had friends, and he laughed, cried, and was open with them. But when everything became too much, he turned to anger. It was basic, pure, and easy to manipulate.


But with Nat’s death, his induction into the Grey Wardens, and him being surrounded by shemlens, he simply hasn’t had the time or a way to deal with the anger he was left with. It was a remarkable enough feat that he hadn’t hurt anyone in an accidental lash out of rage yet. It wouldn’t be long before something dramatic happened, however—a breakdown, or perhaps a spontaneous murder—as he was at the end of his rope.


The irony of the situation was lost on him.


So, why had the elven family affected him so much? 1 part racism, 2 parts elven sympathy, and 97 parts emotional instability. And it annoyed Alistair, who was currently voicing his blonde, annoying, templar opinion. “I still don’t understand why we needed to kill these men.” he commented, rifling through the armor of one of the archers.


“You don’t understand something? How completely expected.” replied the witch of the group.


Alistair continued undeterred, “I mean, sure they were bad men, but we can’t stop to help everyone. We’ll never get anywhere that way.” He only partially believed in what he said; he loved helping people, but if it was Surain who suggested it… well, it was Surain who suggested it.


“This gold will pay for your new armor. My new robes. Food so that we won’t die. These bandits would have killed, raped and hurt people in the future, and have done so in the past. I don’t care what you think, but we need the gold and killing these bastards is an easy way to make it both ‘moral’ and efficient.” replied Surain, his voice suggesting he was, in fact, talking to a child.


Alistair grumbled a reply, “Oh, and I bet those elves had nothing to do with your decision.”


The elf in question turned sharply enough to almost give himself whiplash. “Someone has to fix what you shemlen did,” he replied hatefully, finished ‘collecting’ the money. “But if you’d prefer for me to be more cruel and hateful, like your people, I’ll do so.”


Alistair blinked at the elf, staring as he turned tail and made his way to where Skylar was. “...Was it something I said?” he asked no one in particular, earning a roll of the eyes from Morrigan as she lazily trailed behind the other apostate. Mages were strange.


“...gods you worship watch over you.” Surain overheard Skylar say as he arrived to speak with the family. His eyebrows almost made an a noise by how fast they shot into his hairline. What? he thought, glancing between Skylar and the family repeatedly. WHAT? he added, focusing in on the little lamb the girl held, and Skylar’s still-outstretched hand. WHAT? It appeared the shock of the revalation that Skylar had gone out of her way to hep these people had broken Surain, as the elf simply stared at everyone involved owlishly.


“...mi’lord?” asked the husband of the family uncertainly. It seemed enough to shock Surain out of his state, causing his shocked expression to be replaced by the most neutral expression he could muster—an odd cross between a scowl and a grin of delight. “Yes… Right, well… The bandits are, uh,” he paused to clear his throat, his mind not quite caught up with the situation. “Dead. You might be able to find some of your things by their camp.” he finished quietly. To say that this put him in an awkward situation would be a massive understatement—almost as massive as his disdain for Alistair. Or Bears.


“They’re dead? Is that what all of that light was?” with an almost automatic nod from Surain, she continued. “Oh, thank you! We might be able to find our things…” she looked at her husband, who had just arrived at the same conclusion. “If we hurry. Thank you so much, messere, but if we may…” Surain waved him off stiffly. “May Mythal watch over you. Dareth shiral.” he said, causing the man to pause as he nodded and began to nudge his family in the direction of the highway. “You as well.” he replied, glancing between both of the wardens before half-running over to the battleground


The family ran off, leaving Surain and Skylar standing there, the former of which so confused with Skylar that he couldn’t help give her a passing look of bewilderment. Was she really willing to go this far in order to deceive him? To get him to trust her? Her resolve was impressive, but his was bigger. With a sigh, he turned away from her and to Alistair and Morrigan, who had only just arrived. Plan. They needed a plan. He needed to plan. Planning was less confusing than everything else. Planning was coping. “We need information. Rumours. Anything to give us an edge. Templar, you know more about human villages than I do. Where should we look?”


“I’m not a templar, and you’re asking me? What happened to the high-and-mighty mage who didn’t need anyone?” Alistair asked, a smirk appearing on his face.


Surain ignored him and turned to their witch. “You’ve been to this village before, yes? Can you help?”


“Yes, there is the ‘tavern’, I think it’s called, where many people pass through, I’ve noticed in my ventures. Aside from that, we might try the local ‘chantry’, if you can withstand the ignorance therein. ‘Tis another popular location.” Morrigan answered simply, if only to spite Alistair, who looked at Skylar helplessly as he was ignored.


“Thank you. The chantry is that rather unimpressive building over there, yes?” he asked, pointing to the tallest, most secure building in the entire village. At Morrigan's nod, he continued. “Let’s head there. Perhaps we can speak to someone in charge. Afterwards, we can stop by the tavern as we are buying supplies. Objections?” he asked, looking at Skylar, who was had been silent until now. It didn’t occur to him that he was upsetting the balance of power in their little group, where Skylar was the unsaid leader.
 
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