Chapter 1

Sleep had always been difficult, even before the Taint complicated things.

Ophelia found herself wandering the halls tonight, slippered feet padding softly on the same stone floors she had walked as a child. Dinner had ended long ago, and in the depths of winter the castle had been darkened for hours. The sounds of sleep surrounded her – soft sighs and breathing slipped beneath heavy wooden doors, and she wished again that she could find the same peace that those dreamers did. Her breath hazed around her as she ambled, the ghostly presence her only companionship.

She made her way towards the courtyard, navigating the halls without light. Being outside had always helped when she couldn't sleep. These halls held too many memories, ones that waxed stronger in the depths of night and rose around to press at her with the musty weight of the past. Her mother's quick smile, the laughter of her nephew…Father.

She was surprised to see her oldest Warden Brennan drooping sleepily atop the gates as she stepped into the courtyard, crushing frosted blades of grass that speared the soft soles of her slippers as she drifted closer. She pulled her furred robe tighter around her shoulders to ward out the chill and called out to the nodding guard. "Hail, Brennan. Isn't it a bit cold for your old bones out here?"

The Dalish elf nearly toppled over the edge of the parapet in his sharp snap awake, quickly composing himself and raising a gloved hand in salute. "Don't be so quick to bury me," he grumped. "Maker's Balls, woman. I'm barely twenty years older than you."

"How did you end up the lucky bastard with night watch? Don't we have fresh green recruits for that sort of thing?" She grinned up at him from the base of the wall.

"Lost a game of cards, I did." Brennan cursed and spat on the stones near his feet. "It's bloody freezing up here too. Last time I ever play cards with Percy, that's for sure."

"Well, of course you should know better than that," Ophelia laughed. "Zevran taught every one of those Andersfeldian Wardens how to play the last time he passed through. And if Zevran taught them that means they are most likely cheating to boot."

Brennan grunted in assent. "Aye, I should have known better, if that little bastard Crow is involved." He rubbed his stiff hands together in an effort to warm them and squinted down at her in concern. "But what of you, Ophelia? It's not exactly ideal weather for a midnight stroll, so I doubt you're out here for your own pleasure. "

"No, not pleasure." Her grin faded and shadows crept into her eyes. "The usual."

Brennan nodded understandingly and shrugged. "Happens to us all, sometimes."

Ophelia frowned and scrubbed at her face with one hand, stifling a yawn. "That's just it though, Brennan. Things had died down for awhile, even the dreams had faded. But suddenly they are back? I don't understand." She began pacing a slow circuit around the small courtyard, restless energy seeking a release. "And I been hearing rumors that even the experienced Wardens from Anderfels and Orlais who have come here are Dreaming again. Nothing specific but…well, I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me nervous."

Brennan watched Ophelia haunt the courtyard in slippers and a robe, divested of all armor and weapons, and was reminded again of just how young their leader was. She had seen more in her short life than most would ever, and had survived the worst the Darkspawn had thrown at her. She was exactly what the wrecked Grey Wardens of Ferelden had needed to rebuild themselves, and with the help of Anderfels and Orlais she had managed in a few short years to create a thriving Warden outpost at her old holding Highever.

But tonight, she was just Ophelia. Young enough to be the daughter he'd never have, and Brennan found himself watching her with the concern of a father. She haunted this castle as much as it haunted her.

"What would you have us do then, my Grey Lady? Mount an invasion of the Fade and demand it to send up better dreams?" Brennan teased her lightly, dropping to one knee in mockery, hoping to break her from her brooding silence. Teasing Ophelia was always rolling the dice. Usually she responded in kind but occasionally she retreated, her eyes shuttering as she quickly changed the subject. He never had the heart to ask her who the teasing reminded her of, and he doubted she would tell him anyways.

"Don't be silly. And stop calling me that," came the reply from behind his back, and he was nearly startled off the castle wall again.

"Bloody rogue and your damn sneaking ways!" He bellowed to cover his surprise as he spun around, but was happy to see her grey eyes dance with laughter. "Are you trying to kill me, woman?" He clutched his chest dramatically.

"And rob the Warden Brennan of his glorious end in the Deep Roads? Andraste forbid!" She widened her eyes in mock horror, playing along. "I can see your grave now: Here lies Warden Brennan, felled by a wall." She chuckled and took a seat on the rock parapet beside him.

"No talk of the Deep Road." He ground out. "I'm not that old yet, and you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Thank the Maker for that." She sighed and picked at the moss growing along the mortar of the wall. "I truly don't know how I'd run this place without you Brennan."

"Oh, about the same, I'd assume. Only who will you have to threaten with castration after I'm gone? Any of the other men would take you seriously, or drop their trousers where they stood out of loyalty. A little dissention within the ranks is good for you, my dear." Brennan laughed at the expression of horror on Ophelia's face before his voice grew somber. "That's why they call you that, you know. You're our Grey Lady. You may not allow yourself to be called Cousland again, but the men need to give you a title. You inspire them, Ophelia."

Her expression twisted in annoyance and she opened her mouth to protest, but Brennan headed her off. "No, you need to hear this. You've been complaining about that nickname for ages now, but it means something to the men. Most of them are more than a little in love with you, and any of them would give their lives for you. They would follow you to the depths of Hell if you asked."

"But I didn't. I didn't ask for any of this. I appreciate the opportunity to serve the Wardens and Fereles, but I am suffocating under the weight of their regard." She bit the ends off each word, anger sharpening her tongue.

"You are a soldier now, girl. You understand morale." Brennan chided her gently. "It is your gift, the ability to lead. You inspire loyalty with your words, and cement it with your actions. Don't deny the men their right to put you on at least a small pedestal. They want to feel as if they serve something greater than themselves."

"I suppose. But do you really think they'd drop their trousers – hold up, what's that?" Ophelia stood from her seat and leaned against the outer parapet, narrowing her eyes towards the south. Brennan moved to join her and they saw a figure approaching the castle gates, staggering slightly with exhaustion.

"Hail!" Ophelia cried out, her voice strong to carry over the winter wind. "Who approaches?

The figure resolved itself into a man, roadstained and gaunt, who stumbled to a stop before the castle gates. He moved with awkward exhaustion, as if his legs had been running so long they had forgotten how to stop moving. "I am Warren, from the South. Near the…Korcari Wilds," the man gasped out. "Is this is holding of the Grey Wardens?"

"It is." Ophelia replied, motioning Brennan to open the small door near the gates as she hurried to descend the wall.

Brennan hesitated, a hand on the latch. "Are you sure? It could be anything, a trap or ambush."

"Yes, I'm sure," she snapped. "Can't you see the man is half dead? Show some compassion, Brennan. And run to tell the staff to prepare a meal and a bed for this man, he looks as if he could use it."

"Compassion can also carry poisoned knives, and slip into bedrooms in the night…just ask Zev." Brennan muttered as he turned the lock on the small wooden door. "But all right, all right!" He threw up his hands at Ophelia's pointed glare and stalked off towards the great hall, muttering under his breath.

Ophelia opened the small door and Warren wobbled through the archway, holding the wall for support. She waited patiently for him to regain his breath before he spoke.

"I come with a message for the Grey Lady." Warren looked around at the empty courtyard, gasping. "Is she in residence?"

"Speaking." Ophelia felt her lips curl in a wry smile at Warren's look of dismay.

"B-but you're…you're –" the messenger sputtered in confusion.

"I'm what? Not old enough? Not tall enough? Not armed enough? Even the greatest of warriors wear pajamas, you know."

"But you're not ugly!" Warren immediately blushed furiously and squirmed under Ophelia's raised eyebrow. "Er, forgive me my lady, that came out wrong. I mean that…well, it's just that in the South the tales say you were scarred. And somehow I expected you to be older. Are you sure you're the Grey Lady?"

Ophelia swept back her long dark bangs to show the angry red slash that bisected her face, running from the right side of her forehead and down across the outer edge of her left eye before disappearing into her scalp above her left ear.

"Archdemons have horns." she said simply before dropping her hair back into place, carefully covering the worst of the scar. "I'm just lucky it missed an eye. Have I convinced you now?

Warren shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Yes, milady. My apologies." He crossed his forearms on his chest and bowed, his soldier's training taking over when manners failed him.

"No harm done. Now what is your message Warren, before we all freeze to death out here?"

"It's darkspawn, milady."

Ophelia felt the breath freeze in her lungs. "Darkspawn? In the Korcari Wilds? There have always been stragglers around," she responded offhandedly, but the Taint screamed in her veins and she struggled to maintain composure. "What is different this time?"

"It's…it's the children." Warren's voice trailed into a stark whisper before he cleared his throat. "I am a guard in one of the small villages, but we can't handle this ourselves. We need help, these aren't the usual raids or hit and run my company and I deal with. The darkspawn are stealing our children. They sweep in under cover of the night and pluck our children straight out of their beds. They have no interest in anyone else, although they will kill anyone who resists them."

"Sweet Andraste," Ophelia swore, clenching her hands into tight fists. She needed a blade in hand so badly she could taste steel on the back of her tongue. Her body flamed with the impulse to throw herself on the road towards the Korcari now, planning be damned. "They're murdering children?"

"No, milady." Warren interrupted, and she struggled to hear him over the gibbering of the Taint in her ears. "It's worse. They want the children alive. They steal them away screaming into the night, take them only Maker knows where, and we haven't seen them again."

Ophelia felt bile rise in her throat, and she was glad her famously large appetite hadn't made an appearance at dinner last night. The Taint rolled in her blood, rubbing like greasy fur inside her skull and she knew this most definitely qualified as Bad.

Brennan tore back into the courtyard, eyeing Warren suspiciously. "Ophelia, wha-"

She held up one trembling hand, silencing him mid-word. Under the weak moonlight her face was washed of all color and warmth, and she looked little more than a statue to him, carved of cold marble and resolution.

"Saddle our horses, and those of five other Wardens. I don't care who, I trust you to choose. We leave, now."

"But…where…now?" Brennan sputtered, looking at the moon just rising in the sky. The look on her face scared him more than any darkspawn he'd ever met.

She turned towards the southeast, her eyes drawn like a lodestone to iron. "We ride to Denerim, Brennan. We must see the King."