"Is it true, then?"

"How should I know? It's not like she talks to apprentices. Hell, she doesn't even really talk to the First Enchanter anymore."

"Then ask her. I dare you."

"I don't know. What if she turns me into a toad for waking her up?"

"Coward. I bet she's too old to do any spells any more. I mean, look at her! She's wrinkled like an old apple."

The two apprentices stared at the wizen mage who sat, dozing in the sun. She looked like someone's grandmother with her silvered hair scraped back into a knot at the base of her neck and a knitted blanket around her knees. Could this really be the Grey Warden who had led the charge against the archdemon at Fort Drakon?

"Fine, I'll do your paper for summoning class if you ask her."

"Deal."

The young boy could not believe his luck. Summoning was his worst class. If he could get out of his paper simply by asking an old woman who she was, well, it was definitely worth it. Summoning was a pain in his arse and not just because his mentor insisted on nothing less than perfection. He had yet to summon anything beyond a baby nug that immediately dropped dead.

Closer he crept until he stood but a few paces away. He cleared his throat, "Umm, excuse me?"

"What is it, child," the old woman asked, her voice rusty from disuse. She did not open her eyes, though she turned her face towards the sunlight streaming through the tiny window.

"I, I mean, we," the boy gestured to his friend standing partially behind the door jamb, "We want to know if it's true you were at Fort Drakon?"

The old woman finally opened her eyes, staring intently at the boy. "So, someone finally works up the courage to ask me, then," she laughed softly, "Well, come sit, both of you, and I'll answer your question. It's not as though I have anything else to do."

"Where shall I start, boys," she asked as they seated themselves at her knees, "At the very beginning before Ostagar? Or shall I go forward straight to the arch demon?"

"You were at Ostagar," the second boy gasped.

"It seems I should start at the beginning," the old woman shifted and shakily reached for the mug of tea on the small table beside her.

"My name is Malaya, and I was a mage of the Circle and a Grey Warden," she paused to sip, "I suppose, since you both have taken the time and gathered the courage to talk to me, you may call me Maly, like my friends once did."

"Now then, where was I," she shook her head slowly, "Oh yes, the beginning. All good stories have a beginning and, I assure you, my story is a good one."