A/N: Well and you know the usual...Bioware owns. I'm just frittering about as usual...

-oo-

Chapter 1 – A Story To Tell

The sharp scent of dust burned her nostrils. Even her throat felt gritty; too parched for even the simple act of swallowing. She couldn't remember when she'd last had a drink. Or a meal or…she hadn't even had a chance to eat at her own banquet held in her honour. She'd been too busy running errands, running after her two brothers, jumping – high and frequently - for her father to do his bidding like the obedient, good daughter that she was…because she would have done anything for her father.

Mostly...

She'd met the Darkspawn almost immediately after the last echoing boom had faded from the great iron doors closing. She'd been plunged into near darkness, the only light to see by a couple of sputtering oil lamps and the phosphorescent seams of yellow lyrium in the old highway walls…

Calea fell against the old road marker, trying to pick herself up again and finding it even more difficult this time. The oozing gash on her right leg reminded her how close she'd come to that fate worse than death and she made an extra effort to rise, pushing herself upwards and stumbling on.

There had only been three or four of them, being too busy fighting them off to stand and count them accurately. While she'd been grateful she hadn't been wearing her constricting armour, she'd also cursed the fact that she had been without any kind of protection.

She knew she'd been tainted after she'd run, feet slipping, sliding and tearing over broken rock and jagged stone. If there had been more Darkspawn to follow, they could have done it by the trail of blood she'd left behind.

They hadn't. That had seemed to be it…or so it seemed, but it was only a matter of time before the poison crawling through her veins would start to call to them. The Grey Warden had told her there was a Blight on and if there was a Blight, the Darkspawn would be breeding.

Calea was quite confident she wasn't ready for parenthood. Yet.

But Harrowmont had told her that the Grey Wardens were here, somewhere and if she could get to them, find them somehow, she might have a chance at survival. Clearly, he hadn't figured on the Darkspawn getting to her first. With nothing to her stolen name but some thin sacking, a short sword and her father's old training shield, she had searched nonetheless. It had seemed as good a way as any to pass the time…

The taint now burned her from the inside out, causing muscles to seize and her limbs to feel heavy and alien and…did she just drop her sword? There was a sound; metallic, clanging on stone but it did not sound familiar.

"Maker's breath! It's a dwarf!"

Calea's vision flickered purple and red. She could…sense them.

"My Lady Aeducan!" A deep voice; so like her father's; worried and surprised. "How did you come to be here?"

Her sight snapped into focus. She stared incredulously at the tall human, taking little notice of the others behind him gaping at her as though encountering dwarves randomly in the Deep Roads was a rare occurrence.

"Made a wrong turn to the costume ball…" She surprised herself by speaking clearly, but what the sodding stone did he mean 'how did you come to be here'? Were all humans so unobservant? How else could a former member of the royal family come to be wandering around in the Deep Roads looking like a Brand with the pox?

"It seems you have quite the story to tell." His name was…Duncan, she remembered. It was the sort of name she associated not with the famed Grey Wardens but some kind of…confectionery, or some kind of device for extracting dead things out of drinking wells with.

"I have…" She raised a grubby hand. "I have…quite a number of…" hurrk. Splatter, splatter…splorch.

She'd thrown up all over his boots. And then…she fell into her puddle of vile, blackened vomit, her last thought being that she wished she could see Bhelen right now. So she could throw up on him too. A lot. And then maybe smear his ugly fake-Surfacer-tan-face into it.

-oo-

The rat had a tiny pink nose. It was scarred, Talion noticed; some battle trophy from a previous fight. Lying on its side; its breathing laboured. Talion watched the last of short life drain from it, stroking its back in what she hoped was a comforting manner until the last choking coughs heralded the end of its existence. Her head tilted against the stone as she continued to watch the creature in her lap, until all warmth had dissipated and its limbs began to stiffen in death.

Her gaze stretched to the small scrap of a window high above; barely a tear in the metre-thick walls of the prison tower. Her thoughts ambled to the chain of events that had led to her being here.

She supposed, in hindsight that it could have been worse. It could have been her that had been dragged first into Vaughan's room. Of course, the logical part of her reminded, if she had been first, her cousin's maidenhood might have remained intact…unlike Vaughan's…everything else.

Honestly, who knew humans had the same colour blood as they? And so much of it too?

He'd made such a funny noise when she'd made that first cut. Soris had gone pale when he'd realised what she'd done, but Talion hadn't cared. She'd wanted to make sure Lord Vaughan would never be able to do to another girl what he'd done to Shianni.

And then she couldn't stop.

Everything her mother had taught her had come back in a single, blinding moment that had lasted until the expensive Orlesian rugs had been soaked with blood and the walls spattered with gore and the partially-digested contents of their stomachs. Vaughan had screamed the most…almost as if he'd been scared of her. Which was stupid. No one was scared of Elves.

Talion laughed; the sound echoing from wall to wall twisting as it journeyed into a bitter, hysterical noise. It only ended when it was replaced by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Metal whined and the door scraped open.

"On your feet, knife ears!"

Talion sighed. Scooping the dead rat from her lap she balanced it on her shoulder and stood. The prison guard did not seem to notice, shrinking back from her as she passed through the door.

"Maker's breath, she stinks!" Another guard held out manacles, stretched far in front of him, his nose screwed up into a bulbous raisin on his scarred, ugly face. Talion merely stared. He should talk…she observed, wrinkling her own nose. He smelled of human sweat, sour, stale ale and bad breath. Humans, she found, did not only bleed a lot, but they perspired more; the grunting, damp, stinking beasts that they were…and people call Elves animals…

"Down 'ere…" The second guard gestured for her to follow, with gloved hands pinching at the end of his nose still. The three of them traversed damp stone and rotting straw past cells both occupied and empty, until they reached a set of narrow iron doors at the end of a dim corridor. Opened by unseen hands beyond, Talion's eyes were blasted by bright sunlight, stinging and burning. She flinched, prodded forwards by something sharp and cold at her back. She stumbled, steadied herself quickly, the overexposed landscape before her dimming as her light-abused eyes became accustomed to the daylight.

It was just dawn.

A small gathering of people shifted their feet on the far side of the grimy quadrangle, including - Talion saw with sinking heart - her father; his face pensive and lined with worry. In pride of place was the raised wooden structure of the gallows, arm stretched high against the blush of the early morning sky like a maiden awakening from slumber.

Fascinated, Talion wandered forward, only to be grabbed by the ear and told roughly to remain still. Her father approached, accompanied by a human dressed in robe-like armour. Talion smiled in greeting because she'd been brought up to be courteous. She remembered apologising to Lord Vaughan's carcass for the mess she'd made though really, it hadn't been her blood messing up the place.

She'd hardly bled at all.

Voices buzzed around her head. Her father reached forward for her hand.

"Oh hullo Dad," she smiled at her father. "Guess what I'm doing today?"

"…the Rite of Conscription is ours to invoke…"

"I've always wanted to be taller," Talion said thoughtfully. "How much taller do you think hanging's going to make me?"

"Then take this filth away and be done with it!"

"Ah, child…"

Talion hung her head at her father's tone, barely aware of the manacles being removed from her bruised wrists.

"This is not the life I would have wished for you," he was telling her, one hand resting on the top of her head, "but if it means you have a chance to live outside these walls, you must take it and learn to live it the best you can."

She raised her head. "Huh?"

"You are to come with me to Ostagar," the robe-wearing human was speaking to her, "to be a Grey Warden," he added. "Our Order could certainly do with a woman of your talents."

Grey Warden…? Talion cocked her head at the human, staring until she reminded herself that it was rude to stare. Talents…? She hoped that didn't mean weird things with cucumbers and other men with badly-trimmed beards. No, he explained. No cucumbers. A Blight threatened Ferelden and more Grey Wardens were needed to fight this scourge. He'd been impressed with the tale of her rescue and escape; had known her mother Adaia in her youth. Unable to recruit the mother, he was now honoured to conscript the daughter.

Oh…I see. Reaching up towards her shoulder, Talion idly stroked the dead rat still there. "Brilliant…" she murmured.

"Only," she added, her rumbling stomach giving support to her statement, "Can I have the cucumber anyway? I'm dead starving…"

-oo-

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

The quill in Jowan's hand ceased its studious scratching across the parchment. His eyes slid towards the young woman who had just spoken and then towards Senior Enchanter Lhambra at the far end of the room.

It was easy to see who the object of Ella's torment was from the hue of the man's skin, never mind the heat radiating from his intense blush. Jowan groaned inwardly. The individual was not another Apprentice, but one of the Templars on duty; a new one…What was his name again? Ser Cupboard? Ser Collar? Ser Cabbage?

"Well you do have beautiful eyes, Ser Cullen," Jowan heard Ella say.

The name supplied, Jowan slapped the table, "Ah! That's the name!" he heard his voice say out loud.

"Apprentice Jowan!" Senior Enchanter Lhambra's sharp voice called across the room suddenly bereft of idle yet quiet chatter. "My desk please!"

Heart sinking to his ankles, Jowan carefully returned his quill to the ink stand and slid off the bench. It was just typical that he'd be the one who got into trouble even though it was Majella Amell who'd been the one who'd been poking the hornet's nest. As his dragging feet brought him closer to his sentence, he heard Ella giggle behind him.

"Well you do! And you know what else Ser Cullen? Lots of girls just love a man with a stutter. Go on, keep doing it at me. It's so sweet…!"

It was difficult concentrating on what the Senior Enchanter was telling him while Ella's conversation continued with the young Templar just at the edge of his hearing.

"Why don't you think it's alright to speak to a Templar?" Jowan heard Ella enquire, seeing the pout in his head.

"…I suppose you think random, nonsensical utterances during study hall are perfectly appropriate, Apprentice?" the Senior Enchanter's voice sliced at his ears, dragging him back to the mage in front of him.

"Well, no Senior Enchanter, I…"

"It's not like I've asked you to rip my clothes off and ravish me up against the conical flasks, Ser Cullen…"

"And you wonder why others your age have already undergone their Harrowing and not you?" Lhambra continued.

"Well, no Senior Enchanter, I…"

"It could break the flasks. We spent all day yesterday sterilising them. Do you realise how much effort goes into blowing those in the first place?"

"If you would pay more attention to where you are and what you are doing, perhaps the First Enchanter might advance you up that list."

"Well, it…there's a list?"

"Do try to apply yourself a bit more, Apprentice…"

"And anyway, you're more Jowan's type so…"

"I do not want to have sex with a Templar!"

The conversation in the corner ceased abruptly, along with every other head in the room rising from their text books to stare at him. In his peripheral vision, Jowan could see Ella turn; a deep frown carving her forehead into windblown dunes of exasperation. Acknowledging the look he grimaced, his hand going to the top of his head in embarrassment. Oh…there's me and my lack of inner monologue again, isn't it? Ella spread her hands wide at him, shaking her head in dismay.

"Apprentice Jowan…!"

Jowan turned back. In attempting to defend his manhood, he'd completely and stupidly forgotten all about Senior Enchanter Lhambra's existence. The elder mage's visage was thunderous; lightning flashes of anger sparking in her dark eyes and her skin suffusing with gathering dark clouds of impatience.

Then just as quickly as it had arisen, the anger vanished. Lhambra lifted her eyes ceiling-wards. "Report to the Chantry, Apprentice…" the Senior Enchanter sighed. "You are to remain there until the supper bell. An afternoon's worth of prayer and quiet reflection will hopefully remind you why the development of single-mindedness is essential in the study and practice of magic." The Senior Enchanter scribbled a rapid note on a small square of parchment and handed it to him. "Take this to the Revered Mother, Apprentice," she instructed him. "With any luck Mother Bon will have you scrubbing every candle holder with a toothpick, along with that new initiate…"

Her words were threatening, but Jowan's heart lightened, cradling the Senior Enchanter's note in his hands like a rare jewel.

"Well?" Lhambra's voice was sharp as a knife again. "Off you trot!"

Jowan didn't need to be told twice. He stopped briefly at his bench to collect his things on his way to the exit; his passage bringing him past Ella.

Half concealed by the Templar she had been harassing, she turned and winked at him.

Jowan resisted the urge to blow her a grateful kiss.

-oo-

"And this my darling Bryce brought back from Orlais. The Comte was so drunk he mistook Bryce for the King!"

Aerydd grimaced at the forced titters of laughter floating down the long stone passageway from the direction of the solarium. Pausing under the archway, she and Ser Gilmore shared a brief, pained glance before she shook her hair from her shoulders, bracing herself for the approaching encounter.

"After you, my lady…" Gilmore placed a hand on the door. She placed a hand over his, pulling the door closed.

"No, Ser Gilmore, after you…"

"Alas, my lady," Ser Gilmore placed a regretful hand over his heart. "I must return to my duties."

"Coward…" she hissed at him, even her forced confidence failing her. His answering grin however, was unrepentant.

"If we are to have the castle prepared on time for the Arl's arrival, that is," he reminded her more gently.

Aerydd snorted, unimpressed. "You'd think we were preparing for the Empress of Orlais, not one of father's vassals," she sighed. "And no," she added quickly before he could say it himself. "You don't need to remind me how important the Howes and Amaranthine are to this Teyrnir. I just don't see the point in getting so excited about this stupid war."

"You don't find the King's enthusiasm contagious my lady?" Ser Gilmore asked with twinkling eyes.

Aerydd rolled her eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. "Ask me again when our troops begin to return from the field tainted and injured, no longer able to work our fields, Ser Gilmore."

Her childhood friend grimaced in defeat. "My apologies, my lady," he began. "You know I didn't mean…"

"This isn't your fault Ser Gilmore," she reminded him. "But the fault of these dark creatures threatening our lands." She sighed, giving his arm a friendly squeeze. "I only hope Arl Howe's vanity extends beyond pleasing the King to actual concern for his people. From what I hear, he…"

Her words were cut short. The door to the solarium opened, revealing a surprised Lady Landra and a far too pleased Lord Dairren behind. Aerydd noticed Ser Gilmore stepping hastily from the door, his hand crossing his chest in respectful salute as the party passed by.

"Lady Landra…" Aerydd murmured with a dutiful curtsey.

"Lady Aerydd! This is a lovely surprise! You remember my son, Dairren?"

I remember all my father's tenants, Lady Landra…Aerydd thought, sliding a look towards Ser Gilmore, but the blasted man still had his head bowed.

"I introduced the two of you at your mother's spring salon…or was it at the Wintersend Ball? No, come to think of it, I believe it was…"

"It was sometime, mother…" Placing his hands firmly on his parent's shoulders, Lord Dairren manoeuvred her firmly into the passageway. To Aerydd he said somewhat apologetically; "My mother is tired. The journey here was a tad…fraught."

"Checkpoints every where," Lady Landra fussed. "One would think we were at war…"

"That's because we are, mother," Lord Dairren reminded his mother.

"Nonsense!" Lady Landra retorted. "Your father tells me this will all be over by summer's end." Finding herself well away from her intended target, she resisted being steered briefly to throw over her shoulder: "Dairren's still single too!"

"Mother…!"

"Well you are," Lady Landra told her son. "No point dressing the sheep up to look like lamb, dear…"

Their arguing voices disappeared around the corner. Aerydd breathed a sigh of relief, though she knew it was only to be a brief respite. If her father's plans were to be followed, only she and her mother were to be left to entertain Lady Landra. Her mother took far too much delight in reminding her only daughter that she had well and truly reached the age of marriageability. It was even better if someone else did the job for her so the Teyrna could sit back safe in the knowledge that she wasn't the one needing to make the effort.

Aerydd's argument that her life would be better spent looking after all of Fergus' children just didn't cut it any more. Two children supplying two sets of grandchildren were better than just the one. It added variety as well as quantity.

She turned to Ser Gilmore, still the ever dutiful soldier by the door.

"I guess it's too late to disguise myself as one of father's footsoldiers and follow Fergus to Ostagar?" she whispered.

"I heard that!" her mother's voice called from inside the solarium. "Don't make me hide the key to the armoury, young lady!"

Ser Gilmore lifted his head, green eyes sparkling with humour at her.

"It seems your fate is sealed, my lady…" he whispered.

She made a face at him, punching at his arm. "And yours with me, it seems," she reminded him. Receiving his respectful bow, she watched her old friend depart then squaring her shoulders once more, stepped into the room to face her mother…

-oo-