Author's Note: Each chapter (fifteen and counting) will be from the perspective of a secondary character. These scenes will be short. They are intended to fill out the story, to expand upon plots and viewpoints that are only hinted at through dialog and conjecture in the game. The Grey Warden will not necessarily be the same in each chapter, though the origin and choices should (I hope) be evident in the context.

And, can I just say...how amazing is it that the fanfics for Dragon Age are so wonderful? It seems like every writer who contributes a story here is incredibly talented and a joy to read, and I'm not only saying that because I'm a contributer too. I have several new favorite authors, and they will be watched very soon.

Also, if you haven't seen the fanart by Aimo on deviantart...go there. Like, now. She made me squee over Alistair before I even knew who he was.

Even the rain smelled of blood and darkness. As the armies of men died under the onslaught of evil that was the Darkspawn, they were observed from afar by forces not entirely benign. An owl that on first glance appeared to be an owl like any other watched the battle from a tall pine. On second glance, however, it could be said that no owl possessed yellow eyes so intelligent and cunning. An accurate enough conjecture.

Morrigan shifted, her talons gripping deeper into the pine bark. Sap oozed out, sticking to the down that covered her feet.

Well, this is pleasant, she thought. She clicked her beak, annoyed. Wanton slaughter, rain, and pine sap? If there is a more thorough way to provoke my ire, I do not know it.

She would not have minded half so much if there had been anything of real interest going on. It was all hacking and slashing (and the occasional boom from a mage) and, quite often, death. There were fleeting glances of the golden-armored king, and more sightings of the stern-faced and formidable warriors that could only be Grey Wardens. But none of them were from the small band she had met earlier.

They were the only reason she was still sitting here, truth be told. That, and--

Bored already, girl? Flemeth's voice sent a itch down her spine. Tell me what you have learned.

Morrigan did not bother looking about for her mother. She would not see Flemeth unless she wanted to be seen.

Battles are idiotic, she replied. This one in particular.

Life is a battle, Flemeth snapped. Each day you win is one you survive. Now tell me; what half-demented battle plan have these heroes of men conjured from their proud minds?

The force here is bait, Morrigan recited. They are drawing in the Darkspawn so that the main force may come from behind and trap the horde between the two.

There were many advantages to being an owl, two of which were superior hearing and nearly silent flight. It had been child's play to listen in on battle plans and secrets within the camp.

They intend to light a beacon in the high tower to signal the second force. It seems the Grey Wardens we met today have been chosen to light it.

Hmm, Flemeth sounded deeply amused. And tell me, just how many survived this Joining of theirs?

Of the four we saw? The fool Alistair was already a Warden, it seems. Out of the others, one survived. The polite one who thanked you.

Flemeth laughed. Oh ho, of course! You mark that one, girl. It's rare to find someone whom the fates favor so well. Unlike that unfortunate soul there.

Who, Mother?

Who else? That fool in the golden armor.

The fool in question at least knew enough about fighting to avoid getting killed. Nevertheless, he seemed to be surrounded by Grey Wardens who kept back the majority of the Darkspawn.

And yet the horde advanced, and advanced further, and the line of men began to fall and die. The ones that remained would look up toward the tower, desperate for any sign of fire before they were cut down. Even Morrigan, who knew little of war, could see that something had gone wrong.

Fools indeed, Flemeth murmured. The Darkspawn have infiltrated the tower. The Wardens will have to fight their way to the top.

Oh, lovely, Morrigan said. Drama.

The battle went on and on, and Morrigan began to grow weary of the endless death and dismemberment. But the tension did not fade, and she could feel Flemeth waiting, poised to strike. The cries of the dying did not help, a chorus of "No" and "Maker" and "Andraste" and worst of all, "Why?!"

And then, erupting into the rainy night like a dragon's breath, the pyre at the top of the tower was lit.

That's it, then, Morrigan said, spreading her wings. Well done, Wardens. Now let us go home before my very bones are soaked.

A pressure like a great stone forced her wings down and clamped onto her mind. Wait.

Morrigan sat, and awaited the inevitable, glorious, and boring victory. But it did not occur. She strained her owl's eyes, searching for the missing forces. And then she saw them, marching...in retreat.

Drama indeed, she murmured. Their allies have abandoned them. How fare the Wardens in the tower?

Well enough for now, though they are tired and wounded. But...ah. The Darkspawn follow them up the tower. They will be overrun in a matter of moments.

There was the roaring of an ogre from the battlefield, and Morrigan turned just in time to see a man in golden armor fly through the air and crumple to the ground. He did not get up again. An older Warden leapt onto the ogre, cutting him down. And then, as he kneeled by his dead king, a Hurlock charged, axe swinging, and cut off his head.

The king is dead, said Morrigan, utterly indifferent.

And so is the senior Warden, Flemeth replied, in the manner of a scholar who has just discovered a fact that disproves her finest theory. The two in the tower are the last of their order.

So?

So, child, this is a Blight. We need Wardens. Go home and prepare for wounded. I will follow.

There were then great gusts of air, such that Morrigan was very nearly blown off her perch. A dragon, ancient and terrible rose from the woods nearby and made for the tower. When her mother had passed overhead and she could take off in safety, Morrigan headed for home.

The rain fell, and the night smelled of blood and darkness.