Author's Note – As promised, the tale goes on! Longer notes at the end as usual. F!Warden/Leliana romance, for those who just joined us.

Hugs to Genjutsu- Dragon for the beta!

Late Bloomingtide, 31 Dragon

"Join us, brothers and sisters."

Talia's voice held steady, but her heart was thundering in her chest, and her gut was roiling so savagely that she hadn't been able to manage more than a few sips of tea at breakfast. Alistair stood beside her, outwardly no less calm than she appeared to be, though she knew that he shared the trepidation that she felt.

Behind them stood Warden-Constable Clarel de Chanson, second-in-command of the Orlesian order. The mage had been the first off the ship three days earlier, caught between awed exultation that the Archdemon had been slain and frustrated fury at being kept so long from the fight by Loghain Mac Tir.

Spread out around the perimeter of the chamber were ten other Grey Wardens; only a fraction of the number that had arrived with her, but all that the room could comfortably accommodate. After a year with she and Alistair the sole Grey Wardens in Ferelden, it was dizzying to look about and see so much Warden blue. All of them, she and Alistair included, were wearing their armor with surcoats of blue trimmed with silver and the twin griffons of the order's heraldry adorning the front, their weapons sheathed or secured at their backs. It looked impressive, but all of them knew that the purpose was not merely ceremonial.

Other Grey Wardens stood outside, guarding the entrance to the room, which had been used by Denerim's guard to muster each shift and assign the day's patrols. Queen Anora had given the Wardens a vacant wing of the barracks in Fort Drakon as temporary headquarters, the rest of Denerim being too heavily damaged to provide any suitable buildings. The battered remnants of the guard had been warned to give the ceremony privacy, but no chances were being taken.

In the center of the chamber, facing Talia and Alistair, waited the Grey Warden recruits, nine in all.

"Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant."

Cauthrien stood at the fore, her expression calm, her gaze steady. Her resolve had not wavered – at least not visibly – when they had been told that the ritual required that they drink darkspawn blood, and that some of them might not survive their Joining.

Mhairi was beside her; she'd plainly been shaken by the revelations, but she'd held firm, as had Anders, though the mage looked more serious than Talia had ever seen him. Hardly surprising, since his only option besides the Grey Wardens was trying to evade the wrath of the templars, many of whom remained in Denerim to oversee the mages who were still tending to the survivors of the battle. Talia had had sharp words with Knight-Commander Greagoir about Rylock's attack during the battle, been assured that the lieutenant had gone rogue, but she'd seen other templars regarding Anders with no less hostility. If he survived the Joining, he would still not be out of danger.

If he survived ...

Oghren was still standing, but the taint had begun to gain ground; the dwarf's normally ruddy face was grey-tinged, with the first hint of the dark spiderwebbing of veins appearing on at his temples and cheeks, but his gruff bluster remained intact. Five other recruits were afflicted with the taint: Taylen, a Dalish archer; two dwarves: Korthun and Icaris, and two humans: one a mercenary named Dannor, the other a member of Denerim's guard named Arissa.

Scores more had been tainted by darkspawn blood in the battle: in the eyes, the mouth, an open wound. Most of them had died quickly, or been killed by folk terrified that they would become ghouls and spread the taint further. Of the six, Oghren was definitely in the best condition; the rest leaned upon each other to remain upright, and Taylen was too weak to stand, and had been brought in on a litter. Clarel said that the advance of the taint seemed to have little influence on the odds of survival, so any who had accepted the offer of recruitment were to be given the chance. The dwarves and Arissa had been fairly pragmatic about the prospect of life as Grey Wardens, but Dannor and Taylen had protested bitterly, only acceding when told – gently but firmly – that there was no alternative. They would be Grey Wardens or they would be dead. That it was true did not lessen the bitter taste that the ultimatum had left on Talia's tongue, or make the half resentful, half fearful glares that the pair directed at her burn any less, though she gave no outward sign.

"Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn."

Others had volunteered. Even after the death of the Archdemon, darkspawn remained a threat and would for several more years, until what was known as the Thaw ended and the last of the monsters were either killed or driven back below the ground. The Ferelden order would need to be rebuilt to meet the threat, and with their role in ending this most recent Blight still fresh in the minds of the populace, there was no shortage of those wanting to join an order of heroes.

Clarel had recommended against it for the moment. Large numbers in a Joining risked large numbers of deaths that would be difficult to conceal in Fort Drakon. Discussions were underway about a new headquarters in Ferelden, and once that was done and privacy ensured, more Joinings could be undertaken, never more than a few at a time. Had it been her choice, Talia would have done none at all, but as Ferelden's Warden-Commander, she no more had that choice than had Duncan.

"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

As she spoke the final words, Talia accepted the chalice from Alistair and held it out: the same one that she had drunk from, found amid the ruins of Ostagar. And then she faltered, unable to make herself choose who would be the first to drink. Who might be the first to die.

Cauthrien stepped forward, cobalt blue eyes regarding Talia gravely as she held out her hands. Of all those before her, Loghain Mac Tir's former second-in-command likely understood best the doubts that gnawed at Talia. They had spoken at length of what had transpired from the retreat at Ostagar onward, how duty and loyalty had ensnared one who had always regarded both as ideals of the highest order and realized only too late that the blade could cut both ways. Those who had died as a result of Cauthrien's actions – and inaction – could never be brought back. To serve as a Grey Warden would be her atonement … or to die here as a Grey Warden. She seemed prepared to accept either fate with equal pragmatism.

Talia placed the chalice in Cauthrien's hands, then held her breath as the warrior lifted it to her lips without hesitation, features set in resolve. Did she hope to die? She swallowed once, grimacing in distaste, then once more, lowering the chalice back to Talia's waiting hands.

For a long moment, nothing. Their eyes met, Cauthrien's clearly puzzled: Is that all there is? Abruptly, her face twisted into a rictus of agony; she doubled over with a groan, and when she staggered back and lifted her head, her eyes had rolled back until only the whites showed. Talia stood frozen, her heart in her throat, the memory of Daveth all too clear in her mind; he had died just like this.

"Maker's balls!" she heard Dannor mutter as Cauthrien collapsed to the stone floor and lay motionless. Handing the chalice to Alistair, Talia knelt beside the fallen woman, feeling at her throat with trembling fingers.

"She's alive," she reported after a moment, looking up to meet Alistair's eyes and seeing her own relief reflected there. A murmur of approval rippled through the circle of Wardens; such a formidable fighter would be a welcome addition to their ranks.

She stood, and two of the Wardens bore Cauthrien to the cots that waited at the back of the room: one for each of the recruits, though no one believed that all of them would be occupied by living Wardens at the conclusion of the Joining.

"Let's get this over with." Oghren stepped up to Alistair, swaying slightly as he held out his hands for the chalice, then peering at the thick, black liquid within. "What is this, the sample size?" he demanded, tipping it up and draining the contents in three great gulps. He lowered the cup, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and emitted a sonorous belch as he handed the chalice back and Alistair passed it off to be refilled.

"Not bad," he grunted, then clutched at his gut and toppled with a strangled oath. Talia crouched next to Alistair, watching with her heart in her throat as he felt for a pulse, then sagging against him a bit when he looked to her and nodded. Oghren was carried to a cot and began snoring almost immediately, bringing a few smiles to the serious faces of the Wardens.

The survival of the first two seemed to hearten the recruits, and Anders managed a trace of his typical jauntiness as he stepped forward and took the cup. "Just so you know, if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smalls with a tattoo on my ass, I'm blaming you." His levity drew disapproving frowns from a few of the Wardens, chuckles from more; when he too survived the draught, the relief was paired with a rising tension. Everyone present knew that it couldn't last.

Then it was Mhairi who stepped forward, nervous but resolved, Mhairi who drank and fell to the stone with her eyes rolled white, but this time, when Talia knelt beside her, her trembling fingers could not find any trace of a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry, Mhairi" she whispered, feeling the sting of tears as she reached out to close the sightless eyes of the woman who had risked her own life to save Talia and Alistair. Of the four who had spirited them out of Fort Drakon, only Cauthrien survived. Trystan had been swept away when the dwarven explosives had opened the Deep Roads tunnels beneath the city to the river and bay, sweeping away the darkspawn but collapsing many of the streets into the raging torrent beneath. Kylon had fallen protecting Fergus and Anora as they struggled to save elves in the Alienage, trapped when the Archdemon had destroyed the bridge leading to the other side of Denerim.

Mhairi's body was carried to the back of the room, placed on a cot a bit away from the three survivors, and a blanket drawn over her face. The Joining continued.

Korthun survived. Icaris and Arissa died.

"No." Dannor stumbled back as Talia approached him, his pale face twisted into a visage of fear and loathing. "You lied to us! You told us this would save our lives!"

"We told you it was your only chance," she countered, her voice giving no hint of the stab of guilt that his words triggered in her. They had not promised that the Joining would cure the taint; he had heard what he desperately wanted to believe, but that did not lessen the dread that began to tighten her gut as she handed the chalice to Alistair and held her hands out to Dannor. "It still is." She could feel the weight of Clarel's eyes on her back, knew that it fell to her to resolve this … one way or the other. "You have to drink," she told him, holding his eyes, willing him to obey.

"I won't!" Bending, he snatched a small dagger from his boot and lunged for her, but the advancing taint had slowed his movements and dulled his reflexes. It was only too easy for Talia to draw her own dagger, sidestep to avoid his attack, and drive her blade in beneath his ribs and up. His knife clattered to the floor, and she caught him as he crumpled, lowering him onto his back and looking into his wide eyes as the life faded from them.

"I am sorry, Dannor." She closed his eyes and stood, feeling her pulse roaring in her ears and unable to look up to meet the eyes of the rest, knowing that one remained.

"Kill me," Taylen said in a flat voice when she turned to him as Dannor was borne away. "This is an abomination," he spat, glaring around at them in disgust. "You are no better than the darkspawn. Kill me and return me to my clan."

This was nothing that Talia had anticipated or prepared herself for. She looked to Clarel helplessly; the older Warden nodded gravely, making no move to step in.

Talia swallowed hard against a throat that seemed impossibly tight and knelt beside Taylen, reaching out to take up the dagger that she had laid aside, Dannor's blood still glistening on the blade. "You're sure?" she asked him softly. "There's still a chance -"

"I don't want it," he cut her off, loathing burning behind the taint haze in his eyes. "Kill me, Warden, or give me that blade and I'll do it myself.

Talia nodded, reaching out to grip his shoulder with her free hand and positioning the dagger. "I'm -" she started to speak, but couldn't finish. The blade was sharp; it needed only a bit of pressure to slip between two ribs and into the heart. Taylen stiffened, one hand coming up to convulsively clutch at the hand holding the dagger. Then he went limp, his final breath escaping him in a thin wheeze, but it seemed to Talia that his eyes still watched her accusingly.

She pulled the dagger out and let it fall to the floor. She never wanted to touch it again; she had killed many times since Rendon Howe had attacked Highever, but never like this. A hand appeared before her: Alistair's. She took it, let him help her to her feet, but didn't let herself lean into him as she very much wanted to do.

"Five dead." Clarel joined them, offering Talia a damp rag. "Not as many as some Joinings I've attended, but this one was … more difficult than most." Her measuring gaze took in Talia. "You did well."

"I didn't want to do any of it," Talia told her, scrubbing the blood from her hands and watching as Taylen's body was carried to the last empty cot. The blood on her surcoat could not be so easily wiped away; fortunately, it was still cool enough that cloaks were worn outside. "I don't … know if I can do it again." She met Clarel's dark eyes. "Does it get easier?"

The Warden-Constable shook her head. "Nor should it. Those who die in the Joining, are no less our brethren than those who are lost in battle against the darkspawn. Their deaths should never be taken lightly."

"No," Talia agreed with a heavy sigh. Her gaze shifted to the cots whose occupants' faces were not covered. Four out of nine. She was relieved that Cauthrien, Oghren and Anders had survived, felt guilty for feeling relief. And Mhairi - "How long will they be out?" she asked, swallowing the lump that was trying to rise. Not here. Not now.

"Several hours," Clarel replied, adding with a faint smile, "I suspect that your dwarven friend will sleep longer than that. We will watch over them and send word when they awaken."

Talia shook her head. "They'll belong to the Fereldan order. Alistair and I can stay with them."

Clarel's smile broadened a bit. "Learn to delegate," she advised. "You spent a year with no one but yourselves to rely upon. These will be the first, but the Fereldan order will grow. For now, you should consider us to be under your command and utilize us as such."

Talia strongly doubted that it would be so simple as that, particularly if she started making decisions that the more experienced Wardens did not agree with, but right now, the fresh bloodstains on the floor were making it hard to breathe.

The prospect of returning to the castle raised a new dilemma. "What do we tell people?" she asked Clarel worriedly, then looked quizzically to Alistair. "What did Duncan tell everyone at Ostagar? About Jory and Daveth, I mean?" The Joining had taken place in an isolated section of the ruins, but it would have been difficult to conceal the fact that three recruits had accompanied Duncan and Alistair, but only one returned. Yet no one had remarked upon it in the war council that she had been present for.

Alistair blinked. "He … told them that they had been killed by darkspawn," he said, eyeing her bemusedly. "I just figured he'd told you, but -"

"Other stuff came up," she finished for him wryly.

"Indeed," Clarel chuckled, then grew serious once more. "Traditionally, Grey Warden recruits are sequestered until after their first sortie against the darkspawn. Those who do not survive their Joining are reported to the rest of the world as having been killed in battle." She glanced toward the door. "The current circumstances present a challenge, but we have some experience in such situations." She turned back to them, her dark eyes serious. "It is imperative that none outside the order know the truth of the matter."

Talia nodded wearily. It wasn't the first time they'd been given that warning since the reinforcements had arrived. Fortunately, she had been able to say that Alistair had told her of the restriction early on, and the other Wardens seemed to have accepted their word that they had told none of their companions. She'd caught Clarel giving Leliana a measuring glance on occasion, but she had been careful to give the Warden-Constable nothing to fuel suspicion.

They left, though not without Talia checking on the four unconscious Wardens, assuring herself that yes, they were still breathing.

She could feel the curious eyes upon her and Alistair as they moved through Fort Drakon; more than a few of those who had volunteered to join the Grey Wardens had been among Denerim's guard. She kept her expression impassive, her cloak drawn around her, and they did not speak until they were on the street.

"That was ..." Alistair drew a shaky breath, let it out, scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, "rough."

"Yes." A pitifully inadequate descriptive, but Talia's mind felt too wrung out and numb to search for a better fit. They walked in silence, occasionally lifting hands to acknowledge the cries of greeting called to them from those working to clear away the rubble. No darkspawn, thank the Maker. They were well away from Denerim, seeking to once again go underground, back to the Deep Roads, pursued by teams of newly arrived Grey Wardens and members of the Legion of the Dead. Soon enough, Talia and Alistair would join them in that task, but for the first time in a year, there were others to share that burden, and so for a few more days, at least, they would rest. Only the deteriorating condition of the tainted recruits had necessitated this Joining.

"I would have helped with -" Alistair rubbed one hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. "You know."

"I know." Talia gave him a wan smile, then sighed. "It just happened so fast. I didn't expect Taylen to -" She broke off, her hand reaching instinctively for the comfort of a burly head, finding only empty air as she had at least a score of times in the past few days, her mind still unable to fully accept that Brego was gone. Her gaze turned downward where, despite the regular rains, traces of the blood that had been spilled still lingered in the streets: dried in the cracks between cobblestones, staining the wood of collapsed buildings. So much blood … would it ever be washed away?

"You're going to tell her?" he asked as they approached the palace.

Talia nodded, shrugged. "She knows anyway." She had told Leliana all the secrets of the Grey Wardens. It had seemed the right thing to do in the moment; she had not wanted to hide anything from her lover. That had been long before Riordan had warned them: if the other Grey Wardens discovered that the Orlesian knew so much, they would conscript her, force her to undergo the Joining: force her to become one of them, alive or dead. Icy tendrils of fear unfurled in her gut alongside white-hot claws of rage at the thought of her bard crumpling to the floor with eyes rolled white, and she felt her fists clenching, her windpipe narrowing.

"It's all right," he reassured her quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "They don't know, and we're not going to tell them." Talia was the Warden-Commander in name, but Alistair had been at her side from the moment both of them had been released from bed rest, offering his opinions, supporting her decisions. She would have had it no other way; just as in the Blight, his presence, his humor, his understanding, made the daunting task that lay before her seem bearable.

"She knows how to keep secrets," Talia reasoned. Leliana had played the Grand Game in Orlais, and though she had left that life behind, the skills that she had learned remained with her.

"Yes." Talia caught the odd note in Alistair's voice, but before she could give it much thought, they were being saluted by the guards on duty at the gates, and her attention shifted to getting upstairs to her rooms without being noticed. She didn't want to have to answer any questions about the Joining, though she knew that their other companions would be worried about Oghren, Anora would want to know about Cauthrien, and Fergus would ask after Anders. All three were all right, but those questions would lead to queries bout the rest of the recruits, and she didn't feel ready to lie to them, even with Clarel having provided the lie.

She had killed two men. Murdered them, and watched three more die because she had told them they had no other choice. And these were only the first. How many more deaths in the name of restoring the Fereldan order and remaining vigilant? How much more blood on her hands?

Her armor felt heavier and tighter with each step, making it harder and harder to draw breath. Ahead, familiar voices became audible: Fergus, Anora, Wynne, out of sight in the corridor leading to the conference room, but judging from the sound, approaching the intersection. Talia pulled to a halt, panic rising; in the next moment, Zevran sauntered around the corner, his pose as indolent as ever, but his eyes alert, sweeping this way and that in search of any potential threat to Ferelden's monarchs.

His gaze fell upon them, reading Talia's mood in an instant; the faintest nod directed them to a nondescript door, behind which they found a narrow staircase evidently intended to allow servants to move discreetly between floors. Talia ducked inside gratefully, Alistair behind her, and they made their way to their rooms in the guest wing without encountering anyone else who would ask questions.

"Get some rest," Alistair advised her as he paused with her outside her door. "Then come get me, and we can talk to them together."

Talia nodded, covering the hand that he laid on her shoulder with her own and squeezing it briefly before turning the knob and stepping inside. Leliana was seated at the desk; she set her quill aside and turned, watching worriedly as Talia closed the door, worry turning to alarm as she let the cloak fall to the floor and began tugging the bloody surcoat over her head. It snagged on her armor, and she yanked at it fiercely, breath rasping in her throat, the scent of blood strong in her nose and memory, wanting nothing more than to burn the damned thing.

Leliana rose and came to her wordlessly, gentle hands helping to free the surcoat and ease it over her head, then moving with the same quiet efficiency to the buckles of the armor when Talia attacked them next, hands trembling with the need to be free of the plate, which felt almost as heavy as when it had nearly drowned her in the Deep Roads

When the last piece had clattered to the floor, the bard took her lover's hands and led her away from the heap, further into the room, before drawing her into an embrace. Talia held on tight, her face pressed against Leliana's neck as the tremors that she had held back rolled through her with unstoppable force. No tears fell; the emotions storming through her were too intense: guilt, grief and a towering, frustrated fury. She clung to Leliana like a rock in that storm, breathing in great, shuddering gasps as Mhairi's still face, Dannor's terrified expression and Taylen's loathing gaze filled her mind. Leliana guided her to the floor, stroking her hair and rubbing her back while making soft sounds of comfort.

Slowly, slowly, the storm abated; Talia's breathing slowed and steadied, and the shudders that wracked her tapered off. She remained where she was for a time, bone-weary now and comforted by the warmth of her bard's arms and the delicate fragrance of Andraste's grace.

"What happened?" Leliana asked carefully after a time.

Talia sat up, drawing a slow breath, then another, and rubbing her hands over her face. Fixing her gaze upon the blue sky outside the window, she told it all, her voice a dull monotone bled dry of emotion. More than once, she faltered; each time, the soft pressure of fingers intertwined with her own or the warmth of a hand against her face steadied her until she finished.

"I never killed anyone like that before," she concluded miserably, drooping in defeat. "I murdered them."

"No." Leliana's response was gentle but firm, and a hand beneath her chin nudged her head up to meet the tender regard of cerulean eyes. "They were dying, my love. You gave them mercy."

"It doesn't feel that way." Giving mercy had been an infrequent but dreaded necessity during the Blight. Individuals tainted by darkspawn blood, faced with the prospect of an inexorable and agonizing decline, sometimes begged for a quick death. Others, already too far gone and descended into the mindless savagery of ghouls, had to be killed to keep them from attacking others and spreading the taint. "There will be other Joinings, others who try to back out like Dannor. Like Jory." The knight had not been tainted, but when he had refused the cup, tried to fight, Duncan had killed him anyway. "The Fereldan order has to be rebuilt." The thirty years that had seemed like a lifetime when Alistair had first told her, then all too short a time to be with her love, now stretched before her like an endless road through bleak terrain.

"Then you will do what must be done," Leliana told her earnestly. "And I will be with you."

Another fear surged to the fore, and Talia caught the bard's hand in her own. "The other Wardens can't know what I've told you." She had warned Leliana of this more than once in the past few days, but the memory of Mhairi's still features added a new urgency. "They'll try to conscript you."

"They will not learn of it from me," the Orlesian replied as calmly as if it were the first time she had been so cautioned, instead of the tenth. "I am an accomplished liar." The pretty face grew shadowed as the last words were spoken, and Talia leaned forward to give her lover a reassuring kiss.

"I'm glad of that," she said fervently when she drew back a bit. "I wish I was better at it."

"I wish that you did not have to be." Too pragmatic to pretend that it would be otherwise, Leliana searched Talia's face. "Can you lie to Fergus and the others? Use the story that Warden-Constable Clarel provided?"

"I have to," Talia replied simply. "I'm going to tell them that not all of the tainted ones made it to the Joining, though: Taylen and Dannor." That at least would explain the distress that she doubted she would be able to fully conceal.

Leliana accepted this with a nod. "The closer a lie is to the truth, the easier it is to tell," she agreed, sadness again touching her expression. Talia drew her into another embrace, not so desperate now, and for a time was content to remain so, drawing strength from the contact and the warmth of the sun through the window.

After a bit, however, she drew back once again. "We should go get Alistair and find the others."

Leliana regarded her worriedly. "Perhaps you should rest for a while first?" she suggested, nodding toward the bed.

It sounded tempting, but Talia shook her head. "The guards saw us come in. They'll come looking for us before long." She'd never be able to rest waiting for the knock on the door. "And Alistair's alone now. He needs us." He would be feeling the events of the Joining very nearly as keenly as Talia, and likely blaming himself for not stepping in to deal with Dannor or Taylen.

She stood, reaching out a hand to help Leliana to her feet, then paused, letting their foreheads touch. "I'm glad that I have you," she said softly, her fingertips grazing along the curve of her lover's cheek. The road ahead of her was daunting, but with Leliana and Alistair at her side, she could walk it.

This one is definitely going to be what Moments In Time started out to be: a series of loosely connected one-shots tying the end of the original story to the beginning of Steadfast. Elements of DA2, Awakenings & Witch Hunt will be visible here and there, but it's mostly going to be either alternative takes or original content, as I wasn't that fond of Awakenings & have yet to play Witch Hunt.

This scene felt like a natural starting point. The first Joining is a pivotal moment for both Talia and Alistair, and it made sense to me to have it in Denerim, as well as to have the Warden reinforcements present. Having other tainted recruits besides Oghren made sense, as well, and let me work in some additional reactions that weren't possible in the Awakenings Joining. Mhairi remained a casualty; a bit of regret for that, but I wanted a known face among the losses, and Cauthrien, Anders and Oghren were not options.

Not sure how many installations this will be, but I'm estimating ten or so (one or two may be multi-chapter). I want to keep it limited, because I do want to finish Steadfast & Two Of A Kind, and the Inquiition fic – the first chapter should be up in a few days – is going to be another behemoth. Going to go back to keeping multiple fics in rotation to combat writer's block, but since I'm in a job that will not be shut down by the Coronavirus, the next few weeks are likely to be busier than usual.

Also still RP-ing over at thedastimelinesdotcom, where we're welcoming new players, whether OC's or canons. Definitely slowed down, but we're still telling stories, so if that's something that interests you, come on by and check it out!