Love is a weakness. Love is a cancer that grows inside and makes one do foolish things. Love is death. The love you dream of is something that would be more important to one than anything, even life. I know no such love.

~Morrigan

The Witch and the Warden

He was lost.

Truly, utterly, lost.

He'd come here seeking his quarry, and he'd gone and gotten himself lost. Dreadfully, terribly, hopelessly lost. There was nothing to track the man by. He huddled deeper into his matte-black cloak, wishing that his armor provided more warmth than protection. It did not, however, and there was no use griping about it. The last remaining streaks of daylight had long since faded, though the last vestiges of evening could be seen across the sky; great tears of oranges and reds and pinks as the setting sun dipped below the horizon.

The Kocari Wilds were not known for their hospitality.

Nor were the darkspawn.

Blighted Darkspawn!

He swore ineffectually as he dragged the last corpse away from his campsite; little more than his pack, a crudely erected tent, and a firepit about as deep as a shallow grave. Which, considering the bloody history of the Kocari Wilds, might as well be one. He didn't bother to burry the hurlocks that had attacked him, however. The blighted creatures each bore a bloodied, opened neck, the signs of a sure, clean cut from behind.

He dragged some into the swamp, others, he simply kicked down the shallow embankment of the camp. He paused, listening as the broken bodies tumbled down the slope, to the craggy peaks of the rocks below; turning only when he heard the distinctive crack of bones breaking and bodies belching their bodily fluids into the swamp. Satisfied that'd dispensed with the last of the darkspawn bodies, he returned his attention to the task at hand.

He could do nothing for the smell, however, and was forced to attend to this task of his in filthy rechid silence. He soon proved to be woefully ineffectual at it, smelly or no. His forehead was streaked with sweat after the first three swipes, each, ending in humiliating failure. It was almost laughable, really. No, it was laughable. In his world, he'd been able to tackle tasks such as these with all the ease to which he had become so accustomed during his time in the village.

Here, couldn't so much as light a sodding fire!

He struck at the wood with the flint once, twice, three times, and each time produced naught but sparks. His brow creased behind the cowl, reflecting his silent anxiety. With, or without a fire, he would be spending the night in the Wilds. That the ruin he'd settled into provided little to no shelter from the wind, did little to assauged his doubts. NOT that he disliked the cold mind you, he just...

...very much preffered the fire.

Reaching into his pack, he retrieved another piece of flint, and, not wishing to exercise his talent, lest he be discovered, furtively struck at it for a fourth time. Sparks. Nothing more than feeble, ineffectual sparks. Repressing a griamce, he tried again, this time producing a single, solitary ember. That lifted his spirits somewhat. And so he struck out a sixth time, half-expecting what little dry-brush he'd gathered to burst into flames before him...

...only to receive not so much as a spark.

"Andraste's knicker weasels!" He spat, flinging the piece of flint and timber into the marsh with much of the firewood. He immediately regretted his decision. Now, not only did he not have any wood with which to light his fire, but the darkness was rapidly encroaching upon him. Already, he could hear the far-off howls of wolves in the distance, and it was with no small amount of displeasure that he realized he'd just given away his location.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

He rounded on the sound with a start, his eyes widening at what, or rather, who, he found there. A log. And standing upon the log, was a woman straight out of the Wild itself such was her appearance. For a moment, the hunter had to check his eyes; because it appeared that the Kocari Wilds were playing their tricks upon him once again. He found himself staring-gawping really-at a strange and gorgeous creature, one who would make a goddess green from envy.

She was a svelte, exotic-looking young woman with long black hair and large eyes. Dressed in little more than rags-the stranger garments exposing a great deal of skin mind you-she moved amongst that which was both swamp and bog and forest with a gracefulness that bellied her beauty. Forced to cease in his assault upon his campfire, the man straightened, the likes of his hood and cowl rippling with the winds whilst he peered inquisitively at this newcomer.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" She mused aloud, the words emerging as a soft, silken purr. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or are you merely an intruder come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of...easy prey?" Well, she was certainly gazing at him as if he were her prey. It might have been a disturbing notion, were it not for her bewitching beauty.

"What say you then?" She pressed, her golden eyes gleaming dangerously. "Scavenger, or intruder?"

Best to be wary, then.

The hunter raised his hands placatingly, revealing that he was not armed.

"I am neither." He said, in a voice like liquid, watching her every step, gauging her every move, her every reaction. "I came here seeking direction, nothing more."

"Direction?" The woman quirked an eyebrow, though in anger of amusement remained to be seen. "Tis' death that you'll find here, I'm afraid." She had ceased her approach a few yards off, instead choosing to rest her back against one of the many gnarled,rooted trees that populated the Wilds. When he awaited further elaboration, she simply folded her arms and stared at him expectantly, awaiting his answer.

One that he readily gave.

"If my death truly awaits me within this blighted forest, then I shall greet it with open arms." the hunter began stoically. "However, there is no need for you to concern yourself on my behalf." And here he offered an upturned gauntlet, revealing his hand. With a gesture of his hand, a great black flame burst into being upon his fingertips, an ill similie of the tried and true orangish red, but a flame nonetheless. Waves of heat emanated from it, threatening to consume his palm at the slightest provocation.

Suddenly, he crushed his hand into a fist around the fire and exintguished it. He felt his strength ebb somewhat, and yet he was left feeling strangely refreshed. He'd refrained from lighting the fire with magic solely based on the fact that it would give away his position. Now, he felt all the more foolish for not having done so to begin with. If he'd just lit the sodding fire with mana to begin with, then maybe he wouldn't find himself face to face with this woman of the wilds.

Out of pride, it anything else.

"As you can see, I am capable of defending myself." he finished.

"T'is so?" This seemed to amuse the woman. "It seems to me, that you do not frighten as easily as the rest of your kind, mage." Smiling, she pushed off her perch, nimbly moving past him, toward the nether regions of the desciated tower. "I have watched your progress for some time. Where does he go, I wondered, why is he here? And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"I'm searching for someone." He replied, haunting her every step with baleful eyes. "And who, might you be?"

"Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine." she countered.

"Very well." With the fingers of his free hand, he peeled away the cloak in which his visage had hidden. "Though it has been some time since I've used it in this realm."

He was a handsome fellow, if intense. His blond hair was disheveled, his blue eyes intelligent, his features balanced. Whisker marks tripled each cheek, cheeks that had once dimpled with a constantly bright and enthused grin; no matter the situation or mission. Now, he was intense. His face had hardened, his visage freed of the baby fat that had plagued him in his younger years. Chiseled and nigh but expressionless, that face bore a series of angry red lines from left ear to right, drooping down his chin and neck and lips, which pursed now into a small smile as he flung a hand forward, two fingers jutting prominently outward and toward his chest.

His armor-thick and heavy plated-was just as impressive.

Lacking the distinctive gleam of silverlite, it was wrought of heavy grey iron, and therefore far more durable than the flashy armor that most favored. Strapped across his back in typical fashion of most magi, he carried his staff. It was a polished white, with a silvery ball clasped in a claw at its end that gave off a constant and diffuse flow of magical power.

Below it, however a pair of unsheathed silverlite daggers dangled loosely from his belt, bound only by a thick leather cord to keep them from falling to the wayside. Whether he had yet more weapons secreted away on his form seemed unlikely, armed and armored to the teeth as he was. And there, emblazoned upon his armor-plated chest, that symbol which could never be displayed in anything other than royal grandeur, were a pair of Griffons.

"You may call me Naruto." he genuflected neatly before her. "Grey Warden, at your service."

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish." she answered, eyes widening ever so slightly, her gaze straying over the magnificent creatures of the sky. Ah. So she recognized the symbol of the order, then.

At that precise moment, his stomach growled.

"I would rather wish for a hot meal and a warm bed," Naruto laughed, "But I suppose your name will have to do."

"I suppose it shall." Morrigan smiled. She did smile, right? Was that a smile? It was becoming difficult to discern anything within the gloom. "Tell me then Grey Warden, shall I guess your purpose?" She supposed. "You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer? Those treaties, perhaps? If tis so, then I should tell you, you will not find them here."

"Treaties?" Naruto blinked. He'd come seeking no such thing. A man. Not a map or some series of ancient documents that compelled the other races to act on his behalf. He'd been trying to find the ruins of Ostagar this entire time, and rather horribly, at that. Still, if these "treaties" truly belonged to the Grey Wardnes, then at the very least he was compelled to collect and return them to the Wardens, though his objectives in this world didn't quite coincide with theirs.

"Come," Morrigan offered. "I will take you to mother."

"Mother?"

"Did you think I spawned from a log, little man?" Morrigan riposted sharply.

"Er...ah...no?"

"Good." Her mood brightened somewhat at that, "Now then, handsome lad, I suggest you follow. The darkspawn are as likely to have noticed your prescence in the Wilds as I have, and their concern for your well-being is sorely lacking. At the very least, you may have a full stomach before your ordeal is over." Wafting past him, she beckoned to the bushes, and he followed her into the darkness, enticed by the prospect least slaking his hunger before the night's end.

How little he knew.

A/N: The pairing is NarutoxMorrigan. The Hero of Ferelden and all the other lovable characters of Originas will still show up, don't worry DA fans. Naruto will most likely join the lot of them, too. Also, please not that, at this time, this story takes places a few months prior to his/her arrival. I haven't quite decided who it'll be, Dward/Elf/Human based on approval and opinion and such. I hope you liked Morrigan! I did my best to keep her in character! ALso, care to gather why Naruto is from his own universe, and WHY he's currently trapped in the DA one...hmm?