What We Must

Chapter 1: Trial By Darkspawn

"Get up!" The voice was rough, and the hands rougher as she was pulled up from the ground by her elbow and then half-pushed, half-thrown out of the way of a darkspawn maul. "Run!" Her rescuer turned, slamming his shield into the face of one while he impaled another on his sword, using his foot to push its body off of his sword before swinging the blade in a wide arc, beheading the first darkspawn before it could recover. Lorelei cast a regeneration and rejuvenation spell on him, and then they both ran, catching up to what was left of the group— plus Daylen Amell, a templar, and a handsome man that she didn't recognise— at a large bonfire, close to the gorge. Her fellow mage was wearing a stunned expression.

"Maker help us, they're everywhere," her rescuer said through grunts of pain— she reacted instinctively and the templar stepped forward, just as the target of her spell straightened, nodding his thanks before turning sharply to two newcomers who Lorelei recognized: the new, much-discussed Grey Warden recruit and the Grey Warden-once-Templar that the Revered Mother had been using to annoy the Senior Mages at every opportunity. "You— you've got to help us. The Tower— it's been taken."

"Taken? What do you mean— taken how?"

"The darkspawn— they came up from the lower chambers. Most of our men are dead." Lorelei glanced from her rescuer to the only other guard that she recognised, then back to the two Wardens, who had paled visibly.

"Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves," the former Templar declared, and Lorelei felt her blood suddenly go cold.

"Wait," she didn't realise that she'd spoken aloud until they all turned to her, and she straightened, summoning her nerve.

"We've no time," he insisted, "If we don't get to the beacon in time, Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"That's exactly my point," she continued, urging her mind to work faster as she remembered all the bits and pieces she'd overheard, "The Tower is completely overrun with darkspawn; you won't be able to reach it in time— but the Circle of Magi—"

"The Circle could signal Loghain," Daylen finished, and Lorelei nodded, ignoring the considering looks that she was getting.

"We can't just leave the Tower—"

"That's not what I'm suggesting at all," this seemed to give him pause, and she pressed on, "There is an alternative."

"If you've an idea," the Grey Warden recruit's voice was nearly a growl, and Lorelei tried not to look too intimidated by his fierce expression and facial tattoos.

"A small group re-takes the Tower and lights the beacon," she explained quickly, "And others go and inform the King, Teyrn Loghain, and the Circle of Magi— the Circle signals Loghain to charge, and the darkspawn sabotage fails."

"The darkspawn sabotage? I've never heard of darkspawn smart enough—"

"Can you risk it?" She snapped, and set the Grey Warden to blinking in shock. She was surprised at how intimidated he seemed, considering his past as a Templar-in-training. Perhaps she shouldn't have been.

"It is a good plan," the strange man spoke, and his dog— she was surprised that she hadn't noticed the beast sooner— barked, as if in agreement.

"We're under direct orders—" the Grey Warden seemed torn.

"Blame me, if you must," she said flatly, once again ignoring their expressions, "It will hardly matter if the battle is lost."

"You go and warn the mages, then," the Grey Warden said, straightening.

"They won't know when to signal," his companion said wryly, "Duncan didn't even tell me what it would be— he said that you'd know what to look for."

"Then you'll have to go," Lorelei said, and when she noted his expression turning mutinous, added, "The King is depending on you." He seemed to deflate, and she turned to the Templar, "Take him to Uldred, please."

"I will go to Loghain," the strange man said again, green eyes flashing in the firelight.

"I want to help re-take the tower," Daylen spoke up, and Lorelei frowned, thinking, then shook her head. "Why not? I want to fight!"

"You'll need to go find the King, and the Grey Warden Commander, on the front lines," she watched as Daylen's eyes widened in surprise, "I am— primarily— a healer— this makes me useful in a group, but weak on my own; I'd never make it, and you'd be as much a hindrance as a help in the kind of close-quarters combat that re-taking the tower will require. Daylen—" she looked away, "Be careful. Get to the Grey Warden Commander."

"So we'll be re-taking the Tower, then?" Her rescuer said, something softening briefly in his expression when she nodded. He gestured to the other soldier, who stepped closer. "Then let's get on with it." As she steeled herself for another encounter with darkspawn, the Grey Warden recruit sidestepped, pulling his bow, and fired quickly— they all turned to see the darkspawn stumble and then fall, impaling itself on its own axe. Her rescuer grunted and sprung forward, his comrade joining him, blades flashing red with blood and firelight.

"There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here," the Grey Warden observed as they reached a pause in the fighting, a mercifully empty room.

"Thought you'd get out of fighting, did you?" There was a taunting edge to the woman's voice, and Lorelei winced, hoping that her companions wouldn't fill every lull with bickering.

"I simply thought humans better prepared," the Grey Warden answered smoothly, and Lorelei quickly stepped between tattooed elf and irate soldier.

"If you have caught your breath, I'd advise against wasting it," she kept her voice low and even, "We have enough enemies to occupy us without fighting each other." The Grey Warden tilted his head, considering her, and the soldier turned away with an indignant huff of breath, and some muttered comment about Elves and mages, to which her rescuer from earlier responded with some platitude— and a name: Hilary. Lorelei made a note of it, grateful to have a label of sorts for the woman, even if it was just for her own inner narrative. "Is anyone injured?" She asked, and when she received answers in the negative, she closed her eyes, counting her reserves in her head. So far, she hadn't needed to resort to using lyrium potions, but the fighting was getting harder as they ascended the tower.

"You were right," Lorelei concentrated on the spell, only realising that he was talking to her when she looked up and started— his eyes were staring straight into her own, and he was wearing an intense expression. He grunted in pain and she dropped her eyes back to the long gash in his arm, watching as the magic shimmered over his skin and flesh and skin knit itself back together. He cleared his throat, "You were right," he repeated, and she frowned. "We would never have made it this far without a healer, and more powerful offensive spells would have done as much damage to us as it would have to the darkspawn."

"We're not through yet," she said grimly, glancing at the others. "Have you any other injuries?"

"Just bruises," he answered, baring his teeth in a grimace, and then grabbing her wrists as she began to gesture, "Don't waste your magic on bruises, girl!" She blinked, and he shook his head, looking like he was torn between exasperation and amusement. "If you were any greener, you'd be grass." He let go of her wrists, and his mouth tightened— she followed his gaze to her skin, already darkening from his grip. She stepped back and let her hands fall to her sides, something about his expression making her uneasy, and to her great relief, he turned away from her, shouldering his shield and taking his sword from Hilary. He said something to his comrade that she didn't quite hear, and the woman fell back, closer to Lorelei, just as he kicked the door open and the darkspawn rushed at them in waves.

"Wait," the Grey Warden's voice was low, and he held up a hand in a signal for them to be silent, tilting his head. Lorelei frowned, and listened to the sounds above them. "There is something very large up there," he explained, and Lorelei shared a look with the two battle-weary soldiers, using the break to cast lingering spells to bolster their stamina.

"How can you tell?" The elf made a disgusted face at the woman, then shrugged, something akin to sorrow flickering across his face.

"I am Dalish; such things are taught to us as children," he said, his tone flat. Lorelei wondered what his story was, and how he had come to join the Grey Wardens. Perhaps— no, even if they lived through this, she could not imagine convincing the standoffish archer to share such intimate details.

"Thank you for the warning," the answer was sincere, and the Grey Warden regarded the speaker with surprising respect, "Whatever it is, it is between us and the beacon; we must not let our guard down, and we must not falter." Lorelei swallowed as he swung his intense gaze back upon her before shifting his shield and turning back towards the stairs, then leading them forward to meet the 'very large thing' awaiting them on the top floor of the Tower.

The ogre roared, and swept its massive arm downward, breaking the shafts of the arrows lodged in its chest and charging as if the arrows had been little more than gnats biting into its flesh. Lorelei managed to finish her healing spell before being swept up into the air by a huge fist and hurled across the room like a spec of dust in the wake of a broom— one wielded with too much enthusiasm. Her arm hit the wall seconds before her body did, and she was aware of a sickening crunch and her own scream as her vision blurred from the pain. She forced herself to move, twisting until her good arm was underneath her, then pushing herself up into a kneeling position— she nearly fainted when she saw the bone protruding at the elbow, then she looked up and met the frenzied eyes of the ogre before it roared in pain and turned on the soldier who had stabbed it in the leg.

She forced her fingers to move, forced the sluggish magic, watching it shimmer over her arm— not enough, she'd need to straighten the break to heal it— and then there was someone there, thin fingers closing around her wrist and a force at her elbow. Her vision went black as he wrenched her arm straight, and held it as the magic worked bone and flesh and skin together. She glanced up with a mumbled thanks, to which the Dalish Warden simply nodded and nocked another arrow as if nothing had happened.

When she turned to resume healing, she nearly despaired— they were wearing the ogre down, but they were tiring themselves, and too quickly. Her blood was still rushing in her veins, so loud that she could barely hear her own thoughts. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see better through the strange red haze clouding her vision as she fumbled for a vial of lyrium potion and found none. She couldn't help but think that in this battle, Daylen would have been worth more than she— a burst of raw, wild power to reduce the great darkspawn to dust and blood and burnt bones.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the odd haze persisted, and she could see the life draining out of her companions through numerous wounds, following the paths of blood to the floor— and yes, the same was true of the ogre, and when she looked at her arm— it wasn't following the blood, it was the blood! Lorelei recoiled, wondering if this was how a blood mage saw the world, each creature possessing mana in the form of blood, life force to be stolen away and used as fuel, or manipulated to their own ends. The ogre roared and Lorelei forced her attention back to where it should be, just as the ogre prepared to bring its arms down on the fallen soldier— the man that had saved her life— as he reached for his sword and shield, unable to rise because of an injury to his leg. The scene seemed frozen in some horrible tableau, and Lorelei found herself thinking back to (of all things) her harrowing, and the demon that she'd had to resist.

"Maker forgive me," Lorelei whispered, and then she reached, gesturing wildly and pulling the energy toward her like she would were she draining life or mana from an opponent, only focussing on the many lines of flickering red energy under the skin of the ogre, who howled and turned, arms still raised, and took a couple thunderous steps toward her before crashing to its knees, surrounded by a cloud of red mist.

The power was overwhelming— Lorelei could feel it burning her magical channels even as the red mist soaked into her robes, and she almost lost hold of it before she managed to direct it— some into healing spells that went spinning into her comrades, some into a fireball that exploded into the beacon, and the rest into a blast of energy that lifted the ogre clear off the floor and slammed it into the wall so hard that the whole tower seemed to shudder and several stones were shaken loose from their places.

Ser Hilary— her helmet lost in the fray and sections of her golden hair pulled free from her bun and wild around her face— let loose a savage whoop and all but flew at the ogre, still stunned from the blast, and buried her swords in its heart, twisting them until the creature sputtered and went completely still— and then they all fell into a terrible silence as three pairs of eyes sought hers. Lorelei stared at her hands— stained nearly black with darkspawn blood— and willed them to stop shaking.

When they did, she looked up to shocked, awe-filled faces, and did her best to wipe her hands on her robes, which made little difference as they were soaked through with gore. Hilary whistled, and the Grey Warden headed for the window, looking out onto the battle below.

"You were right," Lorelei blinked at the odd note in his voice as the enigmatic elf turned his tattooed face back towards her and gestured for them to join him at the window, "We— Alistair and I— would never have made it to the beacon in time. Loghain's men have already charged." His face twisted into a grimace, "Do not think to grow accustomed to hearing such things from me." The distaste was clear in his tone, as was the unspoken human.

"It looks like it will be a victory," the human man added, sheathing his sword and leaning out the window slightly, "Though it will be a costly one. The horde is much larger than we'd thought, and even flanking the darkspawn, we will lose many men and women on the battlefield tonight."

"Not to mention the ones we lost here," Hilary added darkly, shaking blood out of her discarded helmet. "I'm beginning to think that these creatures are smarter than we thought and that it really may have been an act of sabotage," she continued, shooting Lorelei a considering glance, "I can't think of any other reason they'd be this far ahead of the Horde." The woman shuddered, strapped her helmet back onto her head, and went to work pulling her swords out of the ogre's chest.

"I don't know what to think," Lorelei said softly.

"Then you are smarter than most," she blinked, turning to once again meet the intense gaze of the knight, whose mouth twitched slightly as he explained, "Many are far too quick to form opinions— or worse, to adopt those of others. It cripples your ability to think, to adapt, to assess, to strategise. Something that you are surprisingly good at, for one so new to battle." There was something else under the words, a sort of wary respect, and Lorelei was caught between being flattered and— oddly, afraid that she was in some sort of trouble. Which she would be, but not for her strategy. She shivered, no doubt in her mind what would face her when it was revealed that she had— had she? It wasn't like the Circle allowed mages to learn enough about blood magic to know it with absolute certainty when they saw it. Perhaps this was something else, something more benign— but no, she knew in her core that it wasn't. She shook herself, grimacing in apology to the knight who was watching her appraisingly.

"I guess this is as good a time as any for introductions," Hilary said, sliding her swords into their sheaths with a look that said she would be getting one or both sets replaced at the earliest opportunity. "My name is Ser Hilary, one of the knights stationed at the Tower of Ishal." She winced, "One of two that survive."

"I am Ser Warren," he shifted his shield, grunting in pain at the movement— Lorelei immediately flicked her fingers, and as the magic settled into him, she wasn't sure if his expression was one of gratitude or amusement.

"My name is Lorelei," she answered in turn, "Is anyone else injured?" They all shook their heads, and she folded her hands in front of her.

"Very well," the Grey Warden answered, breathing his words out like a sigh, "I suppose that you have earned the right— I am called Theron." It had the sound of both a great insult and perhaps a greater compliment all at once, and Hilary was about to voice a heated reply when the Warden straightened, holding up his hand. "Darkspawn," he said simply, "Below us, and getting closer." Hilary grunted as she pushed a barrel of oil toward the stairs, and realising her intent, Warren helped her, and she used her swords to shatter it, spilling it down the stairs. Theron edged closer to the fire, an arrow already in his hand. Warren stepped back, casting his eyes about the room.

"There," he gestured behind the fallen ogre and the cart behind it, which formed a sort of barricade in front of the stairs, and they arranged themselves behind it— save for Theron, who stayed by the fire long enough to set an arrow alight, nock it, and— just as the first darkspawn managed to come into sight, slipping and sliding on hands and knees— loose it into the oil and set the floor ablaze beneath them.

"Easy, child," a gentle hand pushed her back into a prone position, and a familiar face swam into view, "You are not completely well yet."

"Senior Enchanter Wynne?" At the older woman's nod, Lorelei started to sit back up again, only to be pushed down again and treated to a low, musical laugh.

"The young are always in such a rush," Wynne mused, glancing behind her briefly before turning sharp eyes back on Lorelei, "Case in point."

"Senior Enchanter, they are insisting—"

"She is fit for visitors when I say, and not before," Wynne said firmly, and the Templar shifted— Lorelei started when she realised that she could feel his apprehension, like an energy in the room. Wynne turned to her again, and she realised that the Senior Enchanter had noticed her alarm. "Do not worry, child, you are not in trouble."

"But— the King, the Teyrn, the Grey Warden Commander—"

"None of whom should be out of bed," Lorelei blinked at the force behind Wynne's words, "I do not patch people up so that they can re-injure themselves so foolishly."

"Please, Senior Enchanter— what happened?" Lorelei's voice was barely above a whisper, and Wynne blinked owlishly at her before making shooing motions at the templar.

"Out," she said simply, and the templar backed out— Lorelei couldn't see it, but somehow, she knew— "Go pester someone else. I have work to do." She approached Lorelei again, and took a seat next to her cot.

"May I sit up? Please?" Wynne tilted her head, then smiled.

"You always were such a polite child," she mused, then gestured upward with her hands. Lorelei slowly pushed herself into a seated position, wincing as several bandages shifted over almost-healed wounds. "So— you were asking me what happened?" Lorelei nodded, "There are a few people who would like to ask you that very question— specifically, what possessed you to countermand a direct order from the King?" She wondered if the humour in Wynne's tone was at the audacity of her actions or at Lorelei's petrified expression.

"I..." Wynne sighed, clearly more amused than exasperated.

"Oh, child— like I said, you are not in trouble," her voice was soothing, and Lorelei wanted to close her eyes and let it wash over her— but she dared not, instead focusing on Wynne's face, "Nervy as it was, your intervention may well have saved many lives, including that of the King and the Grey Warden Commander, if the rumours are to be believed."

"Daylen—" Wynne made a face, and for a moment, she feared the worst.

"He is fine," Wynne said, "And he acquitted himself rather well, or so I am told." The older woman grew quiet, thoughtful even, and Lorelei shifted under the attention. "Since you don't seem at all likely to sleep, perhaps you can tell me what happened."

She closed her eyes, then forced them open again, for it was as if images of darkspawn were burned on the insides of her eyelids, "The darkspawn came up from the lower chambers, and within moments, they were everywhere. If not for Ser Warren, I would never have made it out alive." Wynne nodded grimly, and Lorelei wondered how many accounts she'd been told— and how long she'd been asleep. "When the Grey Wardens arrived and said that they had to light the beacon, I realised—"

"You realised that they would not make it in time."

"I— suspected that they wouldn't," she hedged, and Wynne smiled, seeing through her attempt at tact, "And I remembered Senior Enchanter Uldred saying something about being able to signal the Teyrn using magic." At Wynne's raised eyebrow, she shrugged, "He was talking about how he was going to bring it up in a meeting with the King and Teyrn Loghain, and I— overheard. I'm not generally noticed, I find; people speak quite freely in my presence."

"So you eavesdrop," Wynne's tone was chiding, but there was a little twitch at the side of her mouth that suggested that the Senior Enchanter was not quite as disapproving as she seemed.

"Not intentionally, but I remember what I overhear. Sometimes it turns out to be important." Wynne nodded, a sly twinkle in her eye, and she wondered if Wynne was thinking of Lorelei's perfect record on dormitory inspections, and whether it was due to this tendency to 'overhear' the Templars and senior mages discussing assignments and scheduling. It was, of course.

"Once Theron said that Alistair was the only one that would know when to signal— the rest just seemed so clear."

"That boy was a proper nuisance, by the way," Lorelei frowned, getting the distinct impression that what was worded like derision was actually a kind of compliment, "And you were right. The beacon was lit far too late— had Teyrn Loghain waited until then to charge, the battle would have ended far differently."

"He might have been forced to retreat," Lorelei thought aloud, and then wished she could take the words back at the look of horror on Wynne's face. She shifted, "At the top of the tower, Ser Warren said that it would be a close victory." Wynne nodded grimly.

"There were many that were not as lucky as you," Lorelei found herself studying Wynne closely, puzzled at the woman's tone— it suggested that Lorelei was not all that lucky.

"I remember being all but overwhelmed," she said slowly, "I assume that shortly after I blacked out—"

"Reinforcements arrived, yes," her tone was too guarded.

"Ser Warren, Ser Hilary, Theron— are they—"

"The Grey Warden recruit is fine," Lorelei forced her mouth to close, covering her lips with her hand, "I am afraid that we were unable to save Ser Hilary, and Ser Warren— it is too soon to say." Lorelei closed her eyes, remembering the abrasive (but undeniably brave) knight pushing her out of the way of a blade, before she herself was struck by several arrows. Lorelei laid her hand against the bandages on her chest, and, looking down, noticed that her skin was flushed.

"I have a fever," her voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and it sounded far too calm, "And I feel like my blood is burning under my skin." She looked up at Wynne, noting the stricken expression on the older woman's face, then closed her eyes. "There was so much blood, and I couldn't heal fast enough—" Her eyes flew open as her mind made the connections. "I'm sick from the darkspawn blood, aren't I?" She tried to suppress a shudder, remembering the soldiers who had come down with Blight-sickness, dying delusional and in horrible pain— the shudder turned into a fit of shivering, and Wynne's hands— cold against her skin— pushed her down until she was again lying flat on the cot.

"Rest, child," Wynne soothed, and Lorelei coughed, then reached up, grasping the older mage's hand with a grip as feeble as a child's.

"Senior Enchanter," she said softly, "Have I contracted the Blight—sickness? Please tell me the truth." Wynne looked torn, and her hesitation was enough of an answer. Lorelei closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "So I am to die," she mused, "I suppose it is appropriate." She remembered that horrible moment when she'd crippled the ogre, power humming in the air and then rushing through her, then spinning off into her spells. It had been terrifying and exhilarating and overwhelming, and she had known, in that instant, that it would not be without its price.

"Oh, child," Wynne flopped back down into her chair, and when Lorelei turned her head to look at her, she looked— deflated, and her eyes glittered, "Do not say such things. You did not deserve this."

"Ser Hilary deserved to live," Lorelei pointed out, "She fought well and bravely."

"As did you," Wynne said softly, and Lorelei shook her head.

"I was so desperate," she whispered, "I remember being afraid in my Harrowing, but that was— nothing. When we fought that creature at the top of the tower— we were dead, Senior Enchanter. It looked at me and I knew that we were going to die, the four of us, and I—" Lorelei closed her eyes, and tears made cold tracks down her cheeks.

"You tapped into reserves that you didn't know you had," Wynne's voice was soothing, and yet— there was a strange note in it, as if she suspected, in some part, to what Lorelei was on the edge of confessing. She shivered and tried to curl into a ball, then cried out as her body reminded her mind that it was only mostly-healed. "Rest, now," Wynne's voice floated above her, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the hum of magic and the tingling sensation as the spell settled into her skin— a sleep spell, to which she gladly surrendered.

When Lorelei started awake, gasping and holding her head in her hands, there was a stranger sitting in the chair beside her cot. He leaned forward slightly, but said nothing, waiting politely for her to catch her breath. She turned her head to study him, noting the beard, the dark skin, and the distinctive armour.

"You are the Grey Warden Commander," she said softly, straightening and hugging her arms to her chest self-consciously.

"I am," he answered simply, appraising her openly in such a way that she felt nervous, but not embarrassed, "And you are the mage that countermanded my order— the King's order, in fact." Lorelei blanched, and he chuckled, "Do not fret, my friend, I am not here to berate you."

"Why are you here?" He arched an eyebrow, and she bit her lip.

"I wished to speak with the mage responsible, if I have been informed correctly, for the success of our battle." His face had that strange quality of appearing open and unreadable at the same time. "I understand that without your quick thinking, Teyrn Loghain would not have received the signal to charge in time— and both of my Wardens might well be dead, to say nothing of myself and the King."

"It was hardly down to me," she said weakly, and he smiled.

"Your modesty is a credit to you, and to your training," he said solemnly, and Lorelei shivered, fever still very much present. "I understand that they do not teach strategy at the Circle?"

"They do not, but I have read many books on the subject," Lorelei admitted, and he nodded.

"I have had a few opportunities to enjoy the splendor of the Circle's library," he agreed, "You are lucky to have had access to so many wonderful books. I am glad that you put such an opportunity to good use."

"There is little else to do in the Tower other that study and read," she said, then winced and turned away as a coughing fit overcame her, "I am glad that it has given me a chance to be useful," she finished once she had control of herself again.

"You have served well," Duncan said smoothly, "I hope that you are willing to continue that service," she turned back to him, sure that her disbelief was written all over her face.

"You have a cure for the darkspawn sickness?" Her voice was wry, but with an edge of desperate hope that snuck into her tone— she swallowed, hating how pathetic she sounded, "I was not aware that there was such a thing."

"The Taint has but one cure," Duncan said slowly, something in his voice and his expression warning Lorelei that there was a serious catch, "But it means Joining the Grey Wardens."

"Then my fate is surely sealed."

"Oh?" She stared at him with undisguised astonishment.

"I can't imagine that an order of legendary warriors would want me— I am hardly remarkable." She picked at the edge of her sheet, then forced her hands to still.

"You have proven yourself to be quick-thinking and capable," he said, "You saw what needed to be done, you figured out how to do it, and then you accomplished your task, against considerable odds. This is not charity on my part," Lorelei blinked; were she able to tear her eyes away from his intense gaze, she would have, "I would not offer this if I did not believe that you had the makings of a Grey Warden."

"I would have thought you'd want someone like Daylen," she said softly, and he frowned, "I've never— I don't have anywhere near his power."

"That is the mage that you sent to me?" She nodded, and he seemed confused, "He is powerful, true, but I do not think that he could have struck down an ogre single-handedly. If reports are to be believed— and considering the source, I believe that they are— you did exactly that."

"I—" she faltered, looking down at her hands, "That doesn't count."

"No? It is hardly insignificant." Both of his eyebrows were raised, and he looked almost amused. Lorelei turned away.

"It is if I used blood magic," she forced the words out, and still, her voice was barely a whisper, and she clenched her hands into fists, then turned to Duncan, whose expression had changed to one of appraisal, rather than disgust, or even surprise.

"Did you?" He asked her baldly, and she winced. Anyone familiar with the Chantry's teachings would know exactly what he was asking her— and what her confession would mean. Lorelei chewed her lip before she gathered her courage, taking a deep, slow breath and feeling her ribs protest. She was, for better or worse, a basically honest person, and she would not insult him by lying even if she felt that she could be convincing. He was paying her a great compliment with his visit, and an even greater one with his offer.

"I— think so," she said carefully, "I've never— I never even dabbled before. I never would have considered it. I just read about it." Which might have been enough to seal her fate, if anyone had taken note. She looked away, "But up there in the tower— that ogre had us, and I had already used up all my lyrium potions, and something— I'm not even sure what happened, but suddenly I was, for lack of a better word, awakened to the power in blood, what it could do, and it was— easy. I've never felt such power; I was barely able to direct it. And then the ogre was down and the beacon was lit and we had a chance and I was covered in—" she allowed herself a bitter smile, "Perhaps that was when I was exposed to the— Taint, as you call it. It seems appropriate, somehow."

"In times of desperate need," Duncan said, and she turned back to him, feeling a great weight to his words, "Some Grey Warden mages have used blood magic to secure victory against the darkspawn. It does not happen particularly often, but nor is it uncommon. Our purpose is to defeat the darkspawn, and our duty is absolute, for we stand between the world and annihilation. Sometimes extreme measures are required, as are those willing to take them."

"You— suspected," Lorelei didn't mean to sound accusing, and she started to rephrase, but Duncan dismissed her apologies with a wave of his hand.

"What I heard described was— different— from what I have seen of the Circle's magic, but I know little of such things." Lorelei frowned, searching his face for tells and finding none.

"And now?" She asked, trying for a lighter tone and falling short.

"Now, more than ever, I am certain that you must undertake the Joining as soon as possible," there was an edge to his voice, and she felt her frown deepen, "Even if what you claim is true— my reasons to recruit you do not end at magical ability. You have more to offer than raw power, and I intend— should you accept my invitation— to take full advantage of your potential."

"You would still— but I'm—" She stopped at the look on his face, and took a deep breath. "I apologise; it is not my place to question your judgement."

"It is not my place to judge," Duncan spoke simply, offering neither lecture nor reassurance, "From murderers to maleficarum, we recruit those who show the skill and mettle to face the darkspawn in battle, those who are willing to walk away from their lives and put everything on the line to ensure an end to the Blight. I believe you to be such a one, and my invitation stands— though it will mean dedicating your life to eraticating the darkspawn. I have spoken to the senior mages, and they have agreed," at the look of disbelief on her face, he added, "We have not, of course, spoken of blood magic, but they believe, as I do: your talent is wasted on a slow and painful death."

"I still feel undeserving, but— if you are certain—" she broke off again at his expression, and winced in apology, "—then I am honoured. When would I have to—"

"I will have the Circle mages start preparations, and— I will send someone in to help you dress."

"That soon?"

"Yes." He levelled her with another, considering look, "You are not the only one exposed to the Taint. There are— others, and if they are to have their chance, it must be soon." Lorelei frowned, fiddling with her braid absently, something nagging at her.

"Ser Warren?" She asked finally, and he looked startled, then he nodded gravely.

"He is such a one," he answered, then he rose to leave, "I shall leave you to your preparations."

"Warden-Commander—"

"We do not stand on ceremony amongst ourselves," he said with some amusement, "In formal situations, Commander is sufficient. In all others, especially when we are alone, please call me Duncan." She nodded, then tilted her head.

"Very well— Duncan," she said softly, "My name is Lorelei, if you hadn't already been told that." From his expression, she gathered that he had. "I— thank you."

"Do not thank me just yet," he warned, "I have done you no favours." Lorelei wondered what exactly he meant by that, as his invitation, however generous he claimed it wasn't, was saving her from immident death— either from blight sickness or by order of the Chantry. Before she could ask him, he was gone.

The former Templar—Theron had referred to him as Alistair— was outside the tent as she pushed through the curtain serving as a door; he caught her as she stumbled, held her with surprising gentleness until she steadied, and said nothing of her weakness as he led her towards the old temple. The air felt heavy between them, and she saw nothing of the wise-cracking annoyance that she'd heard described. Had he not matched the physical description exactly, she might have thought her fellow mages speaking of entirely another Templar-turned-Grey Warden.

"Thank you, Alistair," Duncan said softly as they arrived, and her escort went swiftly to the Commander's side, "And now we begin." There were others here, Theron and four other men— three human, one elf— standing to the side of Duncan, and closer to Lorelei, Warren and two others— a fidgeting dark-haired man and a hard-looking woman with almost carrot-coloured hair. There were no introductions as Duncan continued in his low, serious voice, describing the First Wardens and their desperate plight.

"And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood— and mastered their Taint," Lorelei's head jerked up at the words, and her eyes flew from one face to the other, looking for signs that she had misheard, and finding none. Alistair's face held a flicker of sympathy, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "We speak only a few words, but they have been said since the first," Duncan continued, "Alistair?" Alistair nodded, and stepped forward.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn... and should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

"Carver, step forward," Duncan said, and the dark-haired stranger next to Warren took a few jerky steps and accepted the cup, swallowing hard before taking a sip. Duncan took the cup back, and the young man— he couldn't be older than Lorelei— collapsed, gasping for breath, his eyes rolling back in his head. Duncan waited, then knelt, feeling gently for a pulse, then nodding. "He lives," he declared, and Carver was taken away. Lorelei shuddered, but said nothing, wondering about the consequences of imbibing tainted blood— survival for now, but at what cost? "Aveline, step forward." She wanted to look away as the woman stepped forward, and the horrible scene was re-enacted.

Warren was next, and Lorelei closed her eyes, willing herself not to bolt, to run as none of the others had yet done and admiring their courage— though it was likely less courage and more grim resignation. It had not been said, but Lorelei had the feeling that those who did not step forward would be slain before they took more than a few steps back. The Joining ritual was a secret— what a horrible secret!— and it would remain one.

"Step forward, Lorelei," she blinked, finding that she stepped forward almost automatically, and took the cup. She stared into the chalice for a moment, seeing odd, swirling patterns in the black liquid, then closed her eyes, raised it to her lips, and took a sip of a poison so vile that it defied imagination. "You are all called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the greater good. From this moment forward, you are Grey Wardens."

She wasn't even embarrassed at the ragged scream that came loose from her throat as she collapsed, feeling as if she were falling into a nightmarish pit with no bottom as a twisted, horrible dragon screamed at her from an impossible height.