Chapter 6

Firelight

1

Dante squirmed and readjusted in the saddle, the stiff leather creaking under him. It had been quite a while since he'd been on horseback for any considerable length of time and it was taking some getting used to. As a younger man he'd been quite a proficient rider; taking long hunting trips onto the plains with his father and brother, tracking dear and elk, but he'd gotten out of the habit when he realised that riding the servant girls was a lot more fun.

His back was beginning to ache and he legs were going to numb; but he supposed it beat walking this sort of distance by a long shot. He patted his steed on the side of it's muscular neck, he was a fine horse and had been acquired at quite a bargain too. "The Shadow of Death" his mount had once been called by his former warlord owner, or so the merchant had claimed. That was a bit too garish for Dante's taste, besides, it was a bad idea to get too attached to war horses and so he decided not to name him.

Alistair drew alongside, riding his own chestnut mount and wearing his new, lightweight steel armour. The bandits had fetched quite a high bounty in Lothering and there had been plenty of merchants with wares to sell. 'How much longer before we make camp?' Alistair asked, wincing. It seemed Dante was not the only one who found horseback an uncomfortable mode of transportation.

'I want to keep going until sunset.' Dante replied, eyeing the horizon. 'If any more of Loghain's men catch our trail; I want to be as far away as possible.'

'Fine.' Alistair sighed. He looked back over his shoulder at the rest of their convoy. 'I might... go and see how Leliana's getting on.'

'Very considerate of you.' Dante smirked, watching his friend slow his horse in order to get next to the young Orlesian. Leliana was riding just behind Morrigan but in front of the old shire-horse that pulled the rickety wooden cart which Sten sat in. The decision to purchase a cart had been made partly because they needed to carry a lot of supplies and partly out of fear that Sten would break the back of any horse he mounted, especially now he was wearing heavy armour. But the Qunari had made no objection, nor had he said anything else since his release from custody.

Another horse drew alongside his own, but this time Morrigan was the rider. 'May I speak with you a moment?' She asked, meaning to speak whether he allowed it or not. ''Tis about what you saw during our confrontation with the bandits.'

Ah yes, I had known that this subject was going to crop up. 'I must admit...' He started, not knowing how he meant to continue. He honestly didn't know how he felt about what he had seen. Morrigan had taken on the form of a creature that had frightened him badly, Maker knew what else she was capable of. He should probably call her a filthy maleficar, accuse her of being a dangerous witch and cast her from his party, if not kill her outright. But he couldn't bring himself to do any of those things. He knew she was dangerous, an unpredictable element in an unstable situation; but he also knew that he was captivated by her. 'I was a little startled by your sudden transformation.' he settled on.

'You have not told any of the others of what happened.'

'What would I tell them? I'm not really sure what happened, and I was there.'

'It was not blood magic.' She said in hushed tones. 'Nor were you in any danger, I had merely...'

'Stop.' He held up his hand, demanding immediate silence. A familiar itch crept up the back of his neck. It was a feeling he recognised from Ostagar.

'Darkspawn!'

2

'Get back Sandal!' Bodahn screamed as the darkspawn closed in on him and his son. 'Don't let them touch you!'

Had he not wanted to leave Orzammar for this exact reason? Hadn't he taken his son and fled the dark places of the world to stop this from happening? After all the years he spent scavenging the deep roads, managing somehow to avoid an encounter with the darkspawn, they should find him here? It looked like the rumours he'd heard about another blight had been true, unless this was just a darkspawn raid that he'd stumbled into the middle of. That would make him the unluckiest dwarf in all of Thedas he supposed.

Bodahn pulled Sandal closer, his eyes desperately searching for any way out. It was a long way back to Lothering, but he was sure they could make it if they could somehow get away. He would leave his cargo behind, sacrifice it all to grubby darkspawn hands, but he knew it wouldn't preoccupy the beasts for long. It was blood they were after, not trinkets and finery. If he had to; he would give his life for his son's. Maybe he could draw their attention long enough for Sandal to escape, slip into the woods and disappear.

He looked into his son's face, not a trace of fear to be found. 'Sandal.' he whispered, 'I want you to run, back to Lothering. Keep going as far and as fast as you can.'

Sandal didn't move, he only looked back at his father with his usual vacant expression. The darkspawn were close now. Hideous, toothy grins painted on their faces. A hurlock moved forward, drool bubbling down its dirty face. There was a savage looking war-axe clutched in one of its claws, it let out an unholy howl and raised it's rusty weapon for the strike.

Bodahn hugged his boy into his chest and closed his eyes, clenching his teeth, ready for the blow that was to come. His heart was beating so heavily he was sure he could hear it. There was a meaty thud, and then... nothing. He tentatively open one eye. The darkspawn before him now stood headless. It rocked on its feet for a moment before collapsing backwards. The other darkspawn were shrieking in rage, Bodahn followed their gazes to a man on horseback, iron armour glinting dully in the late afternoon sun. The rider dismounted; sword in one hand, thick metal shield in the other. One darkspawn attacked; the rider slammed his shield into the charging beast, knocking it sprawling. The stranger followed the darkspawn down, stabbing his sword through its chest.

The sound that Bodahn had mistaken for his own beating heart filled the air again, only this time he recognised it for what it was. Reinforcements!

3

Dante wrenched his sword from the darkspawn's corpse, sending a fine spray of blood into the air. A second darkspawn sprinted forward, it swung it's crude sword at him, he ducked under the blow and spun away, slicing with his own weapon as he did so. It opened a huge gash in the darkspawn's gut and dark blood spilled onto the ground. 'Stay down!' Dante yelled at pair of terrified dwarves.

The darkspawn formed up, getting ready to charge together. An arrow soared through the air, hitting one of the fiends in the neck and sending it tumbling into the undergrowth. Alistair came running from the tree-line, preferring to fight on foot rather than on horseback. He struck a darkspawn with the edge of his shield before using his blade to cut a deep wound in the chest of a second. A third came at Dante, he swung his blade in an overhead arch. Fergus's blade hacked into it's shoulder, the darkspawn flopped into the dirt, it's arm almost completely severed. Dante roared at the rest of the beasts, feeling the dark thrill of battle filling him. More arrows rained in from out of sight, it seemed that Leliana was making good use of her bow.

Sten walked onto the battlefield, great-sword held up, ready to draw blood. The remaining darkspawn scurried back from him. He went straight into the thick of them, hacking and slashing with his mighty blade. Limbs were severed, heads were lopped off, one of the spawn was even cut in half, its upper body trying to scramble away from the Qunari before succumbing to its massive wound. The arrows were now joined by bolts of purple magic, every darkspawn the strange energy hit collapsed in a shaking heap.

Dane spend onto the field, leaping through the air and knocking a darkspawn flat onto its back. The monster grabbed Dane's snapping jaws and tried in vein to push the hound away. The darkspawn lost its grip and Dane clamped down, sinking his teeth into the beast's shrieking face.

The few darkspawn that remained fled the field, squealing in fear. Dante couldn't help but admire his group's handiwork; an entire darkspawn raiding party reduced to frightened stragglers in mere moments. It seems that the situation isn't entirely hopeless after all, he chuckled to himself.

He suddenly remembered his task, 'Leliana!' he called.

The young redhead came jogging over, 'Yes?' she asked, not looking even slightly perturbed by the bloodshed, What kind of chantry sister is this?

'Take Sten and Dane and track the survivors down.' He commanded, pointing his sword in the direction that the darkspawn had fled. She didn't need to be told twice as she set off into the woodland with the Qunari and the war-hound. 'Search the corpses...' he yelled to Alistair, 'take anything we can use.'

The two dwarves approached him, looking slightly shaken but otherwise unharmed. The elder of the two held out a grateful hand. 'Might timely arrival friend.' He said, shaking Dante's hand warmly. 'We're much obliged.'

'You're quite welcome.' Dante smiled back.

'The names Bodahn; merchant, entrepreneur, obtainer of the unusual. And this is Sandal, say hello boy.' Bodahn gestured to the other dwarf.

'Hello.' Sandal spoke simply, in a slow, disjointed lexicon.

Sounds like he's a few eggs short of a dozen. Dante thought, perhaps unkindly.

Bodahn had commenced picking up his goods that were strewn across the road. 'The roads have been mighty dangerous in recent days.' He scooped up an armful of fine silk shirts and put them back into their bag. 'Mind if ask what brings and your associates out here? Perhaps we are going same way?' He set the bag down and attempted to right his toppled cart, but could only lift the heavy wooden wagon a few inches off the ground.

Dante leant a helping hand, he had gotten strong since the joining and had little trouble shifting the cart back onto its wheels. 'I doubt you want to risk travelling with a Grey Warden.'

Bodahn's eyes widened. 'A Warden?' He asked in disbelief. 'My... that... does rather explain a lot.' He looked at his son, who was happily plucking pendants from the roadside. 'No offence, but I think there's likely to be more excitement on your road than my boy and I can handle. But allow me to bid you thanks and be on my way.'

'That's probably a wise decision.' Dante grabbed his horse's reins and swung into the saddle. 'Look after yourself Bodahn.' He spurred his horse into a slow trot, 'Goodbye Sandal.'

'Goodbye!' Sandal waved.

4

The temperature dropped harshly as the sun moved behind the horizon, and it wasn't long after that, that Dante found a suitable place to set up camp. They unrolled their hides in a circle and built a small pit for a fire in the centre. All except for Morrigan; who set up a makeshift tent several yards away from the others. Apparently preferring privacy to the warmth of the fire.

Dante sent Alistair and Dane off to find something to eat, it would probably be some hare that was all skin and bone, but something was better than nothing. He and Sten went to find a tree that was dry enough to make decent firewood.

It was the first time Dante had been alone with the Qunari and there was a frosty atmosphere between them. 'So Sten...' Dante began, scrambling blindly for a topic of conversation. 'How are you feeling now you're free?'

Sten turned to Dante, his arms full of sticks. 'I must confess I did not think the priestess would free me. As for how I feel; it does not matter. I made an oath and I will keep it. I will follow you into battle and I will find my atonement.'

'I'm not organising a crusade Sten. What if I don't lead you to your atonement?'

'Then I will find it myself.' He said flatly, walking away.

Dante headed back to the main party camp, worried about what Sten had said. He's a Qunari, he has no stake in this battle. It would not matter to him if all of Fereldan burned. He's a good warrior, he'll be useful, but I cannot trust him with anything of any real importance.

He dumped his firewood next to the ring of stones in which Leliana was trying to get a fire going. She was working on the flint but failing to get any sparks going. 'This is much harder than I remember it being.'

'Difficult for a simpleton perhaps.' Morrigan strolled up to the fire pit and with a flick of her wrist the pile of dry kindling erupted into flame.

Leliana looked up at her wide-eyed, not sure whether to be grateful or insulted. 'Well...' she finally spoke, '...there's no need to be rude about it.' Dante guessed it was impossible for Leliana to ever sound truly angry with such an adorable Orlesian accent.

Morrigan, it seemed, didn't find it quite so charming. 'If you have quite finished; there is something I need to discuss with the Warden.'

Leliana looked to Dante, seemingly needing his approval. 'It's fine, Leliana. Perhaps you would be so kind as to get the pots from the cart? I'm eager to eat as soon as Alistair returns and we've cooked whatever he's found.'

'Alright.' She said agreeably and made her way over to where they'd left the horses and their cart. Dante watched her walk away, leaving him alone with Morrigan.

'I assume you want to continue our conversation on you being a...' he searched for the word, '...shape-shifter?'

'You would not be wrong to call me such. Though I think you should know that I was not born this way. Tis a skill like any other, one that was taught by to me by Flemeth over many years.'

'Perhaps I should apologise for the way I acted. But you must understand that I was unnerved; I had never seen magic like that before.'

'No?' She sounded surprised, as if she believed that most children grew up in the wilds with a witch as a mother. 'Such magic is not unheard of in the remote corners of world. There are traditions of magic outside circle of magi; despite what the chantry would have you believe.' She spoke with obvious disdain when she mentioned the chantry.

Dante was no mage, but he supposed that if he was; he wouldn't want to be locked up simply because of the circumstance of his birth.

'Some of these traditions are old, indeed...' Morrigan continued, '...passed down as carefully guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but some still exist. And my mother is one of them.'

'By "practitioner", you mean apostate don't you?' He asked her.

'I know what you think, what you've been told about apostates, but not all apostates use blood magic and other forbidden arts. Maleficarum do, but do not condemn all those who do not fall under the circle's thrall for sake of what might be. In fact, there are those who see the word apostate as meaning freedom.'

Dante frowned, Do you imprison the majority for the sins of a minority? Would more lives be lost by letting all mages roam free, easy prey for demons? Does an abomination cause more pain to innocent people than the circle causes to innocent mages? It was a complex issue to be certain, and one he had not fully made him mind up on yet, so he decided to keep his mouth closed and change the subject. 'Can you change into other human forms as well?'

'The form of an animal is different to my own. I may study it; learn to move as it does, think as it does, and in time; become as it is. I gain nothing from watching another human. I already am as they are. I learn nothing. I have heard tales from my mother of some who can adopt the form of other people, but they are unpredictable and dangerous things, and eventually forget their original form.' She saw the concerned look on Dante's face and thought that she had probably told him too much, for a non-mage. 'But in answer to your question; mine is only human form that I possess.'

Dane's happy barks echoed from the trees, signalling the return of their companions. Dante turned to the sound. 'I appreciate you talking to me like this Morrigan.' He said earnestly.

'So have you an opinion on my abilities?' She asked, 'Am I an abomination to be put to the torch?'

'Actually I think your abilities sound quite useful.'

He smiled at her raised eyebrows, 'Oh?' She smiled back in spite of herself, 'You are simply full of surprises aren't you, little man?'

'You have no idea.' He said, walking over to greet Alistair, who had just strolled into camp with an armful of rabbits. 'And I resent the "little man" remark.'

5

Dante stood on the precipice and looked into the darkness. A thousand torches marching beneath him, a thousand more behind them, and thousands more waiting in the blackness. He heard their snarling, their gnashing of teeth and was suddenly aware that there was no victory to be had here. There was no hope.

He would run. He would run home to Highever, let Howe's men kill him if they could. For if he was dead then he wouldn't have to face the approaching horror. He was stood upon an ancient stone bridge, he realised now. But there was no river below him, just an endless flow of hideous darkspawn. There was no sky above him, just cold, unfeeling stone.

He was so cold. Icy fingers pulled at him. The fingers of the dead. Duncan, Cailan, his father, his mother and all those who would die before the end.

Death approached on black wings. The arch-demon swooped low, low enough for him to smell it. It stank of rotting flesh and sick cattle. It landed before him, teeth bared and eyes blazing. It roared, louder in here; with the stone roof echoing the creature's fury. Fear surrounded him like a wave of freezing water. He had to escape. He had to get away whatever the cost.

The bridge crumbled behind him. Huge chunks of rock crashing into the blackness below. He backed up as far as he could, right to the edge. His heels hung over the drop. Nowhere to run.

The arch-demon came toward him. It was so terrible that he thought he might lose his mind from the fear. Nowhere to run. So he jumped. He flung himself backwards off of the bridge. He plummeted toward the darkspawn and they in turn rose to meet him. Closer, closer, closer...

Blood in the earth, blood in the water, blood in the stone.

6

Dante shot blot upright on his bedroll and to his relief; found himself looking into the face of a friend. His heart was pounding in his chest and a bead of cold sweat ran down his back.

'Bad dreams?' Alistair asked, he was crouching beside Dante's bedroll and looked concerned.

Even now the memories of the dream were fading, but he couldn't seem to shake the sense of dread that lingered in his mind. 'It seemed so real.' He shuddered.

'It is real, sort of.' Alistair spoke in an almost apologetic tone. 'Part of being Warden is hearing them. The Archdemon talks to darkspawn, it commands them. You heard it, that's what you felt in the dream. And that's how we know this is really a blight.'

Dante thought of his dream and how the Archdemon had terrified him. The pospect of more of these dreams was a daunting one. 'How often will I have these dreams?' he asked, dreading the answer.

'You eventually learn to block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say that they can even understand the Archdemon a bit; but I sure can't.' Alistair stood up and offered Dante a hand. 'Anyway, its your watch.'

Dante took his hand and clambered up to his feet, feeling stiff, after many years of soft beds; sleeping on the ground was an unwelcome change of pace. 'While we're here: are there any other surprises I should know about?'

Alistair grinned, showing his slightly yellowed but remarkably straight teeth. 'Other than dying young? No, I'm all tapped out for surprises.'

7

Dante slipped some clothes on, picked up a bear hide, his sword and a water skin and, with Alistair, walked from his bedroll and into the centre of camp. There, by the camp-fire, sat Sten.

'I'll take the next watch.' Dante told the Qunari, 'Get some sleep Sten.'

Sten didn't reply, but quietly moved from the log he had been sitting on and over to his own bedroll. Dante watched him go, one dark eyebrow raised, and wondered if he'd ever get used to the Qunari. He lowered himself onto the log and pulled the large fur around his shoulders, shielding him from the chilly night air. He adjusted, trying to get comfortable where he sat; preparing for a long night.

'Right.' Alistair said, followed by a stretch and yawn. 'Wake me in a few hours, I'll take the last watch.'

Dante was about to voice his agreement; when he was interrupted by a sweet voice with a delicate Orlesian accent. Making both men turn to its source. 'Good evening Grey Wardens.' Leliana said, approaching them. She was dressed in an simple yet elegant nightdress that would have seemed more at home in a young noblewoman's bedchamber than in their camp in the middle of the wilderness.

Alistair looked over his shoulder and then pivoted on the spot. 'Oh... good... good evening Leliana.' He stuttered, subtly trying to straighten his hair.

Leliana looked between the two of them, smiling slightly. She certainly is very attractive. Dante thought, wondering what she looked like under that robe, in spite of himself.

'Are you to take the next watch?' She asked Dante.

Dante took a moment to regain his thoughts, shaking his head slightly. 'I... am.' He said uncertainly.

'Perhaps you would care for some company?'

'Ummm... there's really no need. You can get some sleep if you'd prefer, I'm alright on my own.'

'I don't mind.' She came over and sat down next to him.

'You could always join me for my watch later if you'd rather?' Alistair interjected.

'No, that's quite alright. I'm fine here.' She said.

An awkward moment passed, Alistair not returning to his bed, yet not saying anything either. 'Okay then.' He said simply as he walked off, looking back several times as he did so.

Dante and Leliana sat in silence for some time, but it didn't feel awkward, they simple sat. Eventually his thoughts turned to their first meeting and what she had said to him. A question formed in his mind, and after that, he couldn't push it away.

'Leliana.' She looked at him, the camp-fire reflected in her cool blue eyes. 'Can I ask you about this vision of yours?'

She sighed, yet didn't look particularly perturbed by his question. 'I knew this would come up, but I don't really know how to explain it.' She took a moment to compose herself. 'I had a dream, in it there was an impenetrable darkness, and a terrible noise. I was stood on the brink. The sun became dark and... I fell.'

'So... it's just a dream. Why say its a vision?'

'I have had dreams, this was different. And then, the next day when I went to chantry gardens, the old rose bush had flowered. Everyone knew that that bush was dead; it was grey and gnarled, the ugliest looking thing you'd ever seen. But that day: it had flowered, a single red rose.'

Sounds a lot like a coincidence to me. 'And that... made you want to help me?' He asked, trying to conceal his scepticism.

'In the dream, I was unsure; had I fallen or did I jump? I'd do anything to stop the blight, and I truly believe that we can stop it. There are so many beautiful things in the Maker's world, I cant simply sit by while all that is destroyed.'

Dante stroked the long stubble on his chin, 'I suppose I couldn't sit by and do nothing either.' Knowing full well that the man he had been could have easily done nothing.

She looked up at him sweetly, 'That's why you volunteered to join order.'

He just smiled at that. What would she have thought of me before I joined the Wardens? He noticed her shiver and frowned. The night had gotten colder and the fire was getting low. 'Sorry.' He said, sliding the fur off of his back and throwing it over her shoulders, annoyed with himself for not offering earlier.

'Thank you.' She said. He could of sworn she had a slight blush on her cheeks, but it might have only been the dying firelight. 'There is enough room for both of us, I think.' She lifted one side of the blanket and slid closer to him, putting the hide around him as well. She was pressed up against him and he could feel her warmth and smell her sweet scent, he felt a familiar stirring and had to control himself. The two of them sat together and finished their watch, never struggling for conversation. The time flew past and Alistair came to relieve them of duty before they knew it.

8

Back in the saddle and moving west. Redcliffe was their destination, Alistair was confident that it was the best place to start; given Alistair's history growing up with Arl Eamon, and Eamon's history of distrusting Loghain.

It was another utterly miserable day; it had started raining just before sunrise and hadn't stopped, even well into the afternoon. Dante's thick iron armour, which he was confident could stop a crossbow bolt at ten paces, was worst than useless against the constant downpour. Icy water ran from his hair, down his neck and straight down his back. Worse still was the fact that the combination of damp and the movement of the horse had begun to chafe his inner thighs, making every moment even more uncomfortable.

Sten sat stiffly among the supplies in the cart, rocking from side to side as the wooden wheels wobbled on the uneven road. Dante hadn't thought it possible for the Qunari to look more glum than his usual glum expression, and yet; here it was. Leliana and Morrigan was riding side by side, hotly engaged in a debate about the existence of the Maker.

Alistair rode alongside Dante, looking as wet and miserable as Dante himself. His head was down and he had a deep frown painted across his face. Dante smiled over at his fellow Warden, Alistair noticed the gaze, yet would not meet his eye. Dante's brows drew together, perhaps Alistair's anguished expression was due to more than simply the downpour. Alistair swallowed and looked back at his other travelling companions, making sure that they were out of earshot. He manoeuvred his horse closer to Dante's, leaning in conspiratorially. Dante could clearly see where this was going. Can I just ride off now; before I have to hear about another fucking problem I'm going to have to deal with?

'Can we talk?' Alistair whispered, so quietly that Dante could barely hear him over the horse's footfalls. 'I need to tell you something... something I probably should have told you earlier.'

Dante sighed, rubbing unconsciously at his right temple, trying to pre-empt a headache. 'I'm not going to like this am I?'

'I... I don't know, I doubt it. I've never liked it much.' He struggled, 'Did I tell you how I know Arl Eamon?'

He thought back; so much had happened recently. 'You said; he raised you, yes?'

'Yes, well, the reason for that was... my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my half brother... I suppose.'

Dante looked at him open mouthed, and had to grip the reigns to stop himself from toppling out of his saddle. The look on his face said that he had something big to tell me, but this is BIG.

'What?' He managed, still feeling as shocked as if Alistair had told him that he was the Maker's own son. 'Don't you think you should have told me this before?'

'And when could I have slipped that in precisely? "Oh, and by the way; King Maric had sex with one of his castle's serving girls and conceived a bastard! That's me!"' He waved his hands for extra effect, a stupid grin across his face. 'I'm sorry.' He switched back to miserable, 'I was an... inconvenience, a threat to Cailan's throne, so they kept me out of the way. Everyone who knew either resented or coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I suppose... I didn't want you to know as long as possible.' Now he met Dante's eye. 'Sorry.'

Dante empathised, he too had grown up in the shadow of his father's reputation. 'I understand.'

Alistair smiled weakly, 'I'm glad.' He said earnestly. 'Anyway; eventually the Arl got remarried to an Orlesian girl. It caused a fair bit of trouble too, with the war with Orlais only recently having come to an end, but he loved her. She didn't like the rumours that pegged me as Arl's bastard. They weren't true but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care for gossip, but she did. So off I was packed to nearest monastery. The castle was no home to me by then anyway, she made sure of that.' He scowled, 'She hated me.'

'Did she know the truth about your father?'

Alistair shrugged, 'She may have, but I think it more likely that she feared the rumours were true.'

Dante scratched his head, fingers combing through his sopping wet hair. 'Wait a moment. Doesn't that make you the heir to throne?'

Alistair started as if Dante had slapped him in the face. 'I certainly hope not!' he squeaked. 'At any rate; I am the son of a commoner and a Grey Warden to boot, if there's an heir to be found its Arl Eamon.'

Dante raised a questioning eyebrow.

'Eamon more is far more suited. True, he's not of royal blood but he was Cailan's uncle and very popular.' He turned his attention back to the road before them, hands tight on his reigns with unease. 'Now can we move on? I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Wardens, alright.'

Dante considered for a moment. 'As you command... my prince.' He said with as sweeping and exaggerated a bow as he could manage from horseback.

'Oh lovely...' Alistair moaned, not quite able to hold back a smile, 'I just know that I'm going to regret this.'

9

It was easy to see how Redcliffe got its name, a huge natural wall of furious red rock ran adjacent to the road they were now travelling on. It towered over them life an enormous crimson wave. Blood in the earth... Dante thought, and shuddered silently. On the other side of the of the road was a sudden and steep drop, a hundred feet or more down to a small pebbly beach and then the cold, dark water of Lake Calenhad, which looked more like and ocean than a lake to Dante. He stared out at the huge expanse of murky water and sucked his teeth nervously, he had always had a fear of deep water; because anything could be lurking below you and you'd have no way of knowing, he thought and felt his flesh creep.

'Not far now.' Alistair shouted from behind him, riding next to Leliana as he usually did. 'Redcliffe is just over the next bridge.'

The travelling had been good for the past few days and they had seen no sign of any darkspawn since leaving the far south. He and Leliana had grown to become friends, often taking watch together and talking into the early hours. Well, she talked and he listened mostly, but that was the way he preferred it. Alistair had also proven himself to be a good travelling companion, and their daily sparring sessions had begun to forge a strong bond between the two of them. Alistair was always good for a laugh too, and Maker knew you could use as many laughs as you could get when the odds were this highly stacked against you. Sten however was another matter entirely. A dozen times Dante had attempted to broker conversation with the giant, and every time he had been blocked by a sharp, one word answer or some standoffish comment. So he had given up: for now at least. As for Morrigan, well, he had decided to keep clear of the witch when he could. He knew he couldn't trust her, he knew that she had much that she had not told him, and he knew that she intrigued him. That was a bad combination and likely to cause distractions that could get people killed. Thus he avoided her, but she seemed to prefer solitude anyway, always making her camp a fair distance from the rest of the group.

At last the bridge came into view. A ram-shackled and crumbling thing by the look of it. Spanning a wide yet shallow river that cascaded down the red rocks and suddenly disappeared over a precipice and out of sight. A single figure stood on the bridge, a bow hung his back. A scout or watchman of some kind. Not unexpected, especially with so many enemies around these days.

As the company drew closer the scout came into more detail. He was a tall, lanky, sickly looking man. No, not even a man, a boy. A pale boy with messy red hair and dark rings around his eyes. Dante began to feel uneasy. You don't appoint one single man to keep watch on the only road into town, not with darkspawn about. And you certainly don't choose a lad who looks too weak to draw the string on that bow he's carrying.

He gave Alistair a worried glance and could tell that his fellow Warden felt the same way. Dante pulled his horse up next to the sickly youth and looked down at him. The boy took a step back, his eyes wide and frightened. It suddenly occurred to Dante what he must look like; dirty faced, bearded and wearing rugged armour that had more scratches and dents than an eighty year old whore. He guessed he probably looked more like a bandit than a legendary hero of old.

'You've reached the village of Redcliffe.' The boy asserted, pale lip quivering slightly, trying to hide the fear in his voice. 'State your business.'

Facing down a group of intimidating strangers alone? The boy has more bones than I would've guessed.

Dante gave his most charming smile, trying to put the lad a bit more at ease. 'My name is Dante, of the Grey Wardens.'

The lad gawked, showing a set of uneven teeth. 'Grey Wardens?' He just about gasped. 'Have you come to help us?'

Dante's thick brows drew together. It seemed that he was right, something was amiss in Redcliffe. 'What do you mean? Is there some kind of problem?'

'You... you don't know? Has nobody out there heard?'

The hair on his arms prickled. He almost didn't dare ask the question. 'Heard what?'

The lad seemed to go even paler, a feat that Dante would've thought impossible, until he saw it right before his eyes. He licked his lips. 'The village has come under assault. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack until dawn. Everyone's been fighting and dying. We have no army to defend us, no Arl, and there's no king to send help. So many have died, and those left are terrified that they're next.'

Monsters? Monsters? Dante stared down the road, eyes narrowed. The road forked after a short distance. The left route heading uphill, the right sloping down. From what he'd heard about Redcliffe; the castle sat on a high peak while Redcliffe village was right on the water's edge. There was no sign of anything amiss, certainly no sign of any monsters.

Alistair kicked his horse forward suddenly. Startling the boy into taking another step back. 'No Arl?' he yelped, 'What's happened to Arl Eamon?'

The boy looked between Dante and Alistair, his hand twitched as if to reach for his bow, but he quickly thought better of it. 'The Arl has been deathly ill... nobody even knows if he's still alive. We haven't heard from the castle in days.'

Monsters in command of one of the greatest fortresses in all Fereldan, and holding an Arl hostage on top of that? That's assuming that the Arl is still alive at all. What the fuck has happened to the world?

'We shouldn't stay here.' The boy gazed worriedly along the road that forked off and headed up hill, presumably toward the castle. 'I should take you to see Bann Teagan. Ever since the attacks began he's all that's been holding us together, and I think he'll want to see you.'

The pale youth hustled off down the road, frequently looking over his shoulder to check if the strangers were following him. Dante and Alistair looked at each other and shrugged, kicking their horses into a trot. The shire horse pulled the rickety cart into motion, Dante could clearly hear its creaky wheels bumping down the road.

Alistair brought his mount alongside the boy, who was marching purposefully done the hill. 'Did you say Bann Teagan?' He asked, 'Arl Eamon's brother? Here in Redcliffe?'

'Yes. The village isn't far, come on.'

Now Dante saw the signs. The occasional dark stain on the roadside, the odd personal effect left uncared for. A child's doll lying in a puddle. A strange smell wafted through the air, burning wood accompanied by the aroma of pulled pork and crackling. Smells that Dante usually found quite pleasurable, but he knew where those smells were coming from and it made his stomach churn. Something was definitely wrong in Redcliffe.