Genikon found the long journey to be nothing but nerve wracking. He was used to long walks to the blasted hills, where they would eventually burrow underground in search of the Deep Roads. That was where their journey would really start...back when he was a real Grey Warden...one who routinely fought Darkspawn, not other sentient beings.
While he had met a great many good people in his short stint in the Fereldan Grey Wardens so far, he was also deeply unhappy with the work he had been doing since he arrived. His first mission was an unmitigated failure. Certainly, the Dalish had survived, but the Templars had all perished. He also had his own reservations about how germane that mission had been to Grey Warden interests. But he supposed that the Wardens in this country had a special relationship with the Dalish, the likes of which he had not seen in the country he called his own. The second mission had been a qualified success, which was surprising considering how much had gone wrong with that group. At least that quest had seemed pertinent to Warden interests, although Genikon still shuddered when he thought about what was in that man's notes. What had become of the lyrium crazed man who called himself Eland, Genikon had never asked. He would leave that fully up to the Warden-Commander to decide.
This new mission evoked even more reservations than his first mission on Fereldan soil, despite the fact that it was unquestionably of Warden interest. While he feared for the souls and minds of his fellow Wardens trapped within Aeonar's walls, he also found himself longing for the days when Darkspawn were the worst things he could expect to face in a battle. He had no idea what they would be facing in the fights ahead, but he could only hope that he was up to it.
Genikon tried to set a balanced pace as they journeyed. While he could withstand a far more brutal pace, he kept in mind that some here were not used to trekking for hours upon hours, for day after day. So they took several breaks, and moved perhaps not as swiftly as they could. His own feet itched to scout ahead, but so did several others, he allowed them to check ahead, to map their progress against the sky and the windings of rivers and valleys. Meanwhile, he kept an eyes on those most likely to flag behind, and adjusted their pace accordingly.
They were still some ways away from the supposed site of Aeonar when they walked right into an ambush. Or at least, it would have been an ambush, had it not somehow turned on itself right as it was about to be sprung. Genikon's bow was off his back and an arrow in hand, battle reflexes honed by years of fighting ( reflexes that he wished that he did not need), before searching for a target. Meanwhile, his mind was processing all he could hear and see. A man's voice: Antivan... and strangely familiar. Genikon could not place where or why it was familiar though. His mind soon moved on as a man was tossed out into the road just as Genikon readied his arrow. His first reaction was brutal, Genikon drew back his bow and let it loose. It thudded into the fallen man's chest and he went still, either dead or knocked out.