Beginnings

One.

The tears wouldn't stop, but they weren't the worst. She'd never been able to weep with dignity, the way her mother had at state funerals. Instead she cried in great, gasping sobs, with snorting and snuffles and all manner of sound that screamed out she was not a lady, despite her birth and her upbringing.

Duncan respected her grief by walking a fair distance apart from her. Hugo nuzzled at her hand every now and then in concern, but as much as she was grateful for the presence of the warhound, he was not what she needed.

I would have stayed, she thought. I would have stayed if you'd only wanted me to.

That was what hurt the most, although part of her knew she was being stupid. They'd told her to go. Logically, she knew she had to find Fergus. Logically, she knew she was the best chance her family had of getting revenge on the Howes. But logic had nothing to do with grief, and for this short time, grief held sway over Miranda Cousland, and would for some time yet.

By Ostagar she had controlled the worst of it. It was only at night when she woke that she felt overwhelmed and the tears came. They leaked, now, instead of gushed, and it helped to bury her hands in Hugo's short fur and let him lick the salt of them away.

The ruined fortress was magnificent, in its way, and she found herself admiring the architecture and sweeping views. It was defensively sound, but she wondered about the Darkspawn and their numbers. If it was truly a blight, as Duncan said, it seemed strange that the King and Loghain were willing to risk all of their resources on this one plan.

Cailan didn't recognise her at first, for which she was grateful. She didn't have the energy to press her cause - revenge against the Howes - figuring it would be better to approach him after the battle, as a full warden rather than the eligible noblewoman he no doubt had her pegged as. She was interested to finally see Loghain, the hero of Ferelden - Anora's father. He looked nothing like his daughter, she thought. Haggard. Dark circles under his eyes. Grumpy. I suppose if I'd spent half my life killing things I'd be grumpy too.

Duncan's steady presence was beginning to feel like an anchor and she found herself wanting to impress him. When he asked her to find the newest grey warden she was happy to oblige, but she took some time to wander through the camp before she seriously started to search.

She found him, eventually, talking to a mage. Dressed in splintmail with a sword and shield on his back, blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, he looked like some sort of avenging fade spirit - but he was arguing in the wearied, resigned tones of the seriously bored.

"And here I was going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one."

Her lips quirked in a smile that she quickly suppressed. When the mage departed he turned to face her and she felt a jolt of recognition. Those eyes... where had she seen them before? He looked puzzled as well - as though he should have recognised her, but his words were light. "One good thing about the blight is how it brings people together," he said.

She controlled the smile better this time. "You're a strange man, did you know that?"

"It's not the first time I've been told that. Wait, I do know you. You're the new recruit that Duncan brought."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Miranda.." she had been about to add "Cousland" but something stopped her.

"Right.. that was the name," he smiled then, suddenly sunny and she found it almost impossible not to smile in return. This was a grey warden? She'd pictured them all like Duncan - grave and ominous and full of gloomy predictions. This man looked as cheerful as a child in a sandpit. "You know, it's just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the grey wardens."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You want more women in the wardens, do you?"

"Would that be such a bad thing?" his smile was suggestive and she found herself glaring - this was the attitude she got from friends of Fergus when they saw her on the practice field - the attitude she often had to beat out of them. He noticed her glare and the smile faded. "Not that I'm some sort of drooling lecher... please stop looking at me like that..."

He was impossible not to like. But she kept her expression serious.

She probed him for information about Duncan and the Blight and reassessed her first impression. He wasn't stupid - he answered her questions concisely with a hint of humour. He was so proud of being a warden - that was what struck her the most. It made her think her decision to follow Duncan might have been the right one.

But when she asked him about the Joining, his face fell and she could get nothing from him. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait. We're not allowed to talk about it."

Duncan explained what they needed. She was eager to get out into the wilds. Apart from her battles with Howe's men alongside her mother she had not had the opportunity to test her skills, save against others on the practice field. She was interested to discover that she was frightened, a cold knot of fear in the centre of her stomach, but it was controllable and in an odd way, comforting. She was scared of her own death, she realised, which meant she must have something she wanted to live for.

Alistair stopped the three of them at the entrance to the wilds. "We'll need to work as a team," he said. "Daveth, you're an archer, and so are you my lady - I'll ask you to stay back and use your bows for as long as possible - if you need to draw steel, do so, but I don't want you wading into the field, especially with Jory there. There's a real possibility he could hit you without meaning to. I'll be able to cover that with my shield but a sword and dagger aren't much protection against a two handed sword."

She nodded. She wasn't the best archer, but she was competent, and she well knew that her style of fighting was better suited to stealth than frontal attack.

"I can warn you about approaching darkspawn," Alistair continued. "But the wilds have things other than that. There are wolves - bandits - spirits, even the occasional bear. Most of the wild animals will have fled when the darkspawn came, but those who remain are likely to be tainted or mad with fear - more likely to attack rather than less. So you'll all need to be on your guard." All traces of the sunny, joking man she'd met in the ruins were gone. This was a warrior - with experience and competence and she found herself revising her impression of him yet again.

"I have some templar abilities," he continued, "so if you find yourself in magical trouble..." Jory's mouth opened and he looked pale suddenly "... the darkspawn have some magic, yes Jory.. let me know and there's a chance I can help you out. Any questions?"

They were silent.

"Right," Alistair said. "Let's go."

It was a familiar dance, but with added steps. The churning nervousness in her stomach. Blood. She drew and released, and drew and released till her quiver was empty. Alistair and Jory fought back to back presenting a larger target that was easy for her to avoid, but she was unreasonably terrified of hitting one of them. Daveth was the better archer, but when it came to melee, she was far more effective at stealth and speed. In the end she gave him her quiver and Alistair took to letting her scout ahead whenever he sensed darkspawn. She would find Daveth a good shooting point and flank the enemies before Alistair and Jory attacked. Often she could get in two or three kills before having to slip away again once the men had drawn the darkspawn's attention.

After their fourth encounter, as Alistiar stood leaning on his sword and panting, he called her over. Jory had sustained a cut between the plates of his armour and Daveth was tending to it, out of their earshot.

"I've worked it out," he said as he caught his breath.

"Worked what out?" she asked.

"Where I know you from," he said then. So he had felt the same jolt of recognition she had.

"You know me?"

He grinned at her. "Redcliffe castle," he said then. "Nearly twelve years ago."

She was puzzled. She'd been to Redcliffe a few times in her life - her father was... had been a good friend to Arl Eamonn, but she couldn't fit Alistair into the pictures from those few times. She shook her head.

His grin faded a little. "There was a rusty cage," he said. "In the cellars?"

The memory exploded in her mind and she started to laugh. "You were the boy in the cage?" she said. His grin returned in full.

"You saved my life that day," he said. "Looks like you might make it a habit."

She found herself returning the smile, the first time since leaving Highever that it didn't feel forced.

The treaties weren't there. She looked up at Alistair from the empty chest and shrugged. He looked troubled. "I can't think of any reason why someone would take them," he said then.

The voice that greeted them was silky smooth and matched the woman perfectly. She was beautiful, and obviously an apostate mage. No circle mage ever wore robes that... revealing.

To her surprise, though, none of the men were eyeing her with any lust at all. Daveth and Jory looked afraid and Alistair looked... furious. Templar, she remembered.

"Your woman's mind does not frighten as easily, I hope?" the mage was saying. Miranda was nonplussed. Politeness took over and she introduced herself.

Daveth and Jory looked like she'd turned into a frog. Alistair was glaring suspiciously. She shrugged at them, remembering the words of her mother "It never hurts to be polite."

Meeting Morrigan's mother was surreal. Somehow it seemed she had taken charge and she thought it must be because of her gender. Although she had a healthy respect for mages she hadn't met many during her life and she reasoned if Morrigan and her mother wanted them dead they would have been long before now. As it was, they managed to get the treaties with no more trouble than a short walk out of their way and some polite conversation.

Morrigan guided them back through the wilds. When she was out of earshot Alistair came up beside her. "How did you do that?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"Convince them to give us the treaties?"

"I didn't have to do anything," she said, slightly irritated. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to be polite?"

Alistair's face clouded. "Well, not my mother, no," he said then. "I suppose templars haven't really tried the politeness option with apostate mages. Perhaps I should write to the grand cleric and suggest we make it part of the training."

"It might even help," she said, smiling. He grinned back at her.

"Good work," he said then. "You really handled yourself out there, you know?"

She found herself blushing with the praise. "I just hope you... do well in the joining." He had been about to say something else, she knew, and the grin had completely disappeared as he dropped back to talk with Daveth and Jory.

Well, I bet father wouldn't have let me go with him if he knew THAT. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Duncan and Alistair. How was she supposed to find Fergus or kill Howe if she was dead? She had half a mind to leave before they could force anything else down her throat. The two wardens looked so solemn... and so ... self righteous that she found herself itching to draw her dagger.

Daveth went first.. and died. Doesn't look pleasant, she thought to herself. But it was Jory's death that made her realise she had no real choice in this. I could take Duncan on his own, she thought - although she was probably being optimistic, but I don't think Alistair would stand there and watch. The two of them together could easily overpower her, and they would be ready - after what happened with Jory. Duncan offered her the cup. For a moment she stood there, arms folded across her chest. Duncan did not move but merely looked at her. Alistair had his hand on his sword hilt and she remembered him in the wilds, kicking a darkspawn off the blade and turning to the next in one fluid motion. Staring at her with mute pleading, too proud to ask for help in the cellar at Redcliffe. Would he really kill me? she thought. She looked up into his eyes and saw resignation - determination. He's part of something, she thought. And it's bigger than I am.

She reached out and took the cup.

The pain was searing and unbearable. She felt like every nerve was on fire. But she could have dealt with that if it wasn't for the fear - the crushing wrongness. An enormous dragon was screaming at her, its mouth open, flames pouring out of it and surrounding her with liquid pain. She struggled - cried out - tried to push herself away. Too late she realised she was on a precipice and the flames all but consumed her as she pushed herself over the edge and plunged downwards - the dragon's snake like head snapping down at her as she fell....

She opened her eyes and saw two faces - Duncan's, Alistair's. "It is done," Duncan said. Alive then, she said. Score one for me. Hooray.

Alistair helped her to her feet. "Did you have dreams?" he asked her. "I had terrible dreams, in my joining."

She shrugged, too angry with them both to answer. They gave her an amulet which she put on, the blood red vial resting between her breasts. It reminded her that she had changed. She didn't feel any different - apart from the crushing headache and the powerful urge to hit someone.

The king wanted to see her, Duncan said. She nodded. Duncan turned to go. Alistair stood for a minute longer. "You seem angry," he said.

She glared at him. "Wouldn't you be?" she said. "Duncan convinced me to join the grey wardens - I thought it would be a good idea, a way to get to Howe and revenge my family. My father trusted him. At no point did he tell me I risked death!"

Alistair looked a little sheepish at that. "We can't let people know that," he said. "Surely you understand why?"

She sniffed. "Well, yes," she said. "You wouldn't be able to recruit anyone if you told them they had a what...." she motioned towards the two corpses near them "two in three chance of dying?"

"We don't know that Jory..."

"Oh come on, Alistair."

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "We need wardens at the moment. Ferelden has so few. And you were our best candidate."

"I also happen to be the last of the Couslands," she said then. "Duncan didn't take that into account when he dragged me all the way here." She studied him for a long moment. He looked upset, but also strangely elated. Perhaps he had been serious when he said she was their best candidate. "Would you have killed me?" she asked then. "Like Jory? If I'd refused the cup?"

He squirmed. "Were you going to refuse it?" he asked.

"I was seriously considering drawing on Duncan," she replied. "But I figured you wouldn't just stand back and let me kill him."

Alistair looked shocked, and a little frightened. "You wouldn't have been able to kill him," he said. "He's the commander of the grey - you don't get there by being easy to overcome." She raised her eyebrow at him. He took a deep breath. "And no, I wouldn't have just stood there and let you kill my commander," he continued. "I have a duty. And Duncan is my friend."

They glared at each other. He really was a very handsome man, she thought, incongruously. Finally she took pity on him. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I'll probably get over it. After all, I am still alive. There just better be some compensations for drinking that swill."

He smiled a little then. "You'd better not keep the king waiting," he said after a moment. "He might get sad. Or..."

"All right, I'm going."