[@Genkai]

[b]Kingdom of Ferelden. Woodsmen outpost[/b]

	Julien couldn't help but wonder on Wystellia's words about not being alone in this fight. A part of him wanted to believe these words, cling desperately to the idea that other Wardens had managed to escape the massacre, that there were other forces in Ferelden that could be marshaled to face the Blight. But another more rational, or maybe simply more pessimistic, made it hard for him to actually believe this notion. It was so much easier to believe that they were doomed. Because they were, weren't they? The whole Ferelden would be consumed by the Blight and two Wardens would make no difference. Except maybe kill a few more of the accursed Spawn. Not that it would make much difference in the end. If he were to be honest with himself, Julien felt as if he was already dead. His body was mostly healed and fit for travel, but for what? What could two Wardens do at this point that an army couldn't achieve? Maybe it would be better to go to Ostagar after all, at least he would die with some dignity left in that case.

	The duelist immediately chastised himself, shaking his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Hadn't he had just talked about the duty of the Grey Wardens to Wystellia? Were those just empty words? It was clear that both of them were shaken, to say the least, by recent events. They also lacked a plan, supplies and probably the mental capacity to even start working on fighting this Blight. By the Maker, it was already doubtful that the two of them would be able to contact the other Wardens before it was too late. Specially if Loghain had indeed decided to betray them, though why he would do that Julien couldn't even start to fanthom.

	Turning his back to the window and leaning on it with a heavy sigh of defeat. But what else could he do? He had joined the Wardens on his own will, he had said the words, drank the blood and survived. He was a Grey Warden and he had a mission. He may not have actually expected to have to fight a Blight in his lifetime but it was part of the job nevertheless. It was his duty and his legacy. Long ago he had decided to make his own path in the world. And what better legacy than helping to stop a Blight? Even if the chances of actually achieving something were quite low he still had to try. And if he died in the attempt, which probably would happen, Julien would at least be able to stand before the Maker with pride and say that he had did his best and died doing his duty. The duelist chuckled lightly at the thought

	His little pep talk finished, the now properly motivated Warden went to the other side of the room to check his gear. The woodsmen had stored it in a simple chest laid by the bed. Everything was there, or rather most of it anyways. His shortsword was missing but he probably lost it when his arm was almost chopped off. His armor had seen better days; the brigandine was dented ripped in some places while the chain mail was missing some links, it could probably be fixed easily by a good blacksmith. If he had the money to pay for it, which Julien hadn't. He had left most of his money at the camp. And to boot his helmet was missing too, but in this case he clearly remembered losing it at the start of the fight. Though at least his boots and longsword were in good condition. 

	Julien decided against putting his armor, what would be the point of doing that now? Preferring to remain in tunic and pants. Before following Wystellia's lead and seeking to offer his help to the locals. He spent the rest of the day helping the woodsmen carrying and cutting logs. Sometime after nightfall he returned to the cot they had graciously offered him and slept soundly despite everything. Remembering his father's words that a hard day of work were the best way to calm one's thoughts.

	The next day he woke up shortly after sunrise, and after praying, went about the business of dressing up. Julien started by putting the chain mail over the tunic and then the brigandine over it. It was not the most protective set but Julien's fighting style valued agility over sheer staying power. Something, he had to admit, wasn't as useful in large pitched battles as it was in tourneys, duels and small skirmishes. Not that he could change now, he had spent most of his life fighting like that and he was damn good at it. Still, it wouldn't hurt to look for ways to increase the protection in his legs next time he had the chance. 

	It was then that he heard the knock on the door. Deftly strapping his belt and pack on before sheathing his longsword he moved towards the door, not bothering to call out as he was so close to it.

	"Alright my friend." He grinned to Wystellia as he opened the door. "Ferelden won't save itself!" Sure, he believed that their mission was almost surely doomed. But that was no reason to not put up a brave face at least for Wystellia's benefit. They would need all the moral reinforcement they could get.