#[ me: what if duncan was the grey warden who survived ]

[silverhalla]

brosca is the only one who will ever see Duncan as a savior, at the end of the war.

you’re a human noble. you’re a proud, happy member of house cousland. when howe betrays your family and you’re there, terrified, in the cellar with the shattered remains of your dying family, it’s you and your mother against the world. your mother: the pain-in-the-ass, hardheaded, spitfire of a woman that sassed you yesterday about manners is beside you, her eyes haggard and haunted. “He’s my husband,” she says, begging, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “He’s your father, and he’s dying, and I love him. Whatever he faces next, he faces it with me.”

She cannot be argued with. She cannot be reasoned with. You can beg and beg and beg your mama to come with you, to survive beside you, but the outcome will always be the same. Duncan will ask you to leave, and she will choose to stay. How can you live with that?

(It’s poetic justice, perhaps, how quickly you come to understand it.)

—-

You are a dwarven princess, beloved of the house aeducan, noble of caste and certain of birthright, when your brother betrays you.

Not the brother you expected to betray you, of course. Your bosom friend, your sovereign sibling. The one who would’ve had your back eternally, if the wide expanse of the throne hadn’t stood in the way. If only love could’ve bridged the chasm. the warden bridges what Trian could not, what Bhelen would not - a last-minute pardon, excusing you from a game you never knew you were playing.

(you had a birthright, certainly, and it was taken from you. all else you cling to is stolen valor now.

checkmate.)

—-

You are the young bride tabris, and your husband stands there bleeding.

Your cousin has already been stolen away, and it hurts, how innocent she was, when so much of you had been stolen away. You would’ve stood in her place a thousand times, and all the evil, lecherous, unspeakably human hands in the world wouldn’t have stopped you, if it meant shielding Shianni. Your husband, bright-eyed and already dying, even if he knows it not, comes to save you. He does not know you, but he saves you from horrors that you have braced against a thousand times before, before he knew you, even if it does not matter. he is noble, in that way.

Duncan is noble too. He offers you a way out - a way out from your family, from your friends, from the only world you have ever - could ever - know. he offers you a chance to die on the battlefield instead of dying in the cellar, before you would ever know this suffering, the suffering laid on you at birth, by mere sin of being elven.

(To die without knowing. Isn’t that worse?)

—-

You are mahariel, free to the wind, to the rain, to the very corruption of nature.

shemlen in the forest was an ill enough omen. to come with grave warnings of burial grounds and curses and demons? you should have fixed your young dalish curses on them, da’len, on what they wrought, and you should’ve turned and fled

you did not, and, by your side, he did not. in another world, you would have lived by his side. in this one, you watch him die again and again.

(it is in your nature, after all, the watching over of dying things.)

—-

You are a mage, human or elven, and it makes little difference.

the maker hates you regardless, or so the templars say. You are good, perhaps, and you turn them in, or else you are kind. It matters little to Andraste, if she’s the one listening, or to anyone else.

Duncan speaks. He offers you refuge, outside of the Circle, far from home. You’ve never seen sunlight unobstructed before, let alone war. You have to choose - Tranquility, or a noble death, somewhere down the road.

(it isn’t a choice, not really. it was made for you before you were even born.)

—-

but you, grey warden, you are something special.

He offers you a worthy death, somewhere in that nebulous future, and you don’t have to worry about how it comes anymore. You know where death will take you - on the doorstep of one darkspawn or another, not here, gasping, in the dirt.

Your sister says this life is worth it.

And it is, isn’t it, for yourself, for your family, for the few lonely friends that you leave behind? for finally, desperately, clawing your w ay out of poverty, even when it costs you everything? for rica to be safe?

(It will be worth it.

It must be worth it.)

[kinghomebody]

Dragon Age： The Veilguard ｜ Release Date Trailer

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Release Trailer did a lot for me in different ways and I have a lot of questions and theories.

1.) Lets talk about how there are stark similarities between Inquisition and The Veilgaurd.

The protagonist is found again in the Fade, this time it looks more grey than green and they do not inherit a mark. it also looks like Rook and The Inquisitor share the same physical position that they found within the fade at the start of their stories: Lower than someone thought to be much more important than them :Inquisitor the Divine, Rook, Solas.

With Rook you see more of what's happening within the fade and the statues of the Elven Patheon which what looks like a split amongst them. Three on the left near Rook and four on the right near Solas. Does this symbolize something? We know that the Evanuris did not always get along but does the positioning of the statues foreshadow that more of the elven gods side with him in wiping out everything and bringing back the days where everything is ruled by magic?

2.) The trailer did a wonderful job sprinkling nostalgia here and there and I have a few observed opinions.

The model they used for this Rook makes me think of two things of Dragon Age. Duncan and people from Rivain who have similar skin tones. Rook, in this trailer wears armor that on the shirt collar has wings. Apart from the Antivan Crows the only other faction you could think of that could be represented with wings are the Grey Wardens because of the griffins.

It’s also good to hear Morrigan’s voice again and see her also reminding me of Origins and Inquisition. For me I let her drink from the Well of Sorrows so she might either be completely under the control of Flemeth or have mastered it’s power. Of course Varric and Scout Harding who are still with the Inquisition will be with us. If we align with the Antivan Crows will we see Zevran?

There is an elf that looks like they have been captured by tentacles and you cannot see their left arm. Is that the Inquisitor? Or the Hero of Ferelden? I only speculate this because the Grey Wardens are center stage again and besides Hawke, if you allowed him to go with them for a time, The Hero of Ferelden who is on a quest to defeat the calling could have gotten themselves trapped somehow.

Titan lore will be most likely explored through Lace Harding seeing as she can freeze enemies similar to Solas and Sandal. Her body and eyes glow however it starts to change. In my opinion it might be because she is channeling magic directly through her body and dwarves are supposedly not suppose to have the ability to do magic. Sandal always uses a rune and Solas is an elf.

> In Sandal’s case we know that Bodan found him far in the Deep Roads and being exposed to lyrium for too long could have done something to him to wear he won’t get the negative symptoms of overusing it.

> In Lace’s case, she has no idea what’s going on, her body is changing, we know that when Dagna is face deep in a rune she feels “mountain- tall” and around all her people and they think as one and since we know the Ancient Elven Patheon fought the Titans at one point and separated them from their hearts that the dwarves might have lost their magic in a way – this is something I’m still working out from the Trespasser DLC. Harding might need to find the heart of a Titan if she want’s to survive with her new magic abilities or she might even become one – this is another theory. Also, her being able to create a stone wall. Does that mean the dwarven people could build cities with their bare hands. The “connection” with the “Stone” doesn’t sound too far off when you think about it.

Solas fighting the old gods in his Dreadwolf form was amazing to see. It’s interesting to visually see the difference in size between him and those he his up against even being as powerful as he is. With this and the darkspawn looking blighted along with the dragons that you see at the end of the trailer, there might as well be two blights at once, the veil being destroyed, the elven gods reeking havoc and (personally I didn’t see this but there's no way it won’t be brought up) maybe the Qunari invasion – unless it was settled before the events of The Veilgaurd. From combat finishers looking to be back, Griffins, Morrigan and Varric and everything literally being validated and lore accurate I’m very happy with this trailer.

[himluv]

DA: The Veilguard Predictions/Theories, pt. 3

Okay, last one, I promise. And this one is, uhhhhhh, real strong on the tinfoil. Bear with me.

Read part 1 here :)

Read part 2 here :)

3. DA:D’s Real Big Bad™

Okay, this is probably my most outrageous and unsubstantiated theory - but it’s also the one I’m most excited for. Buckle up, kids, because I think The Architect is back! 

So, when Bioware released the Dragon Age Day 2023 Thedas Calls trailer, Mark Darrah mentioned in the corresponding blog post that there was more to the trailer than just location reveals, “for those who listen closely.” Well, lemme tell you, I listened real close over and over again until something struck me.

“All the world will soon share the peace and comfort of my reign.” 

That voice… I know that voice, don't I? 

“I do not seek to rule my brethren. I only seek to release them from their chains.” 

The Architect told the Warden in Dragon Age: Awakening that it intended to use Grey Warden blood to return self-awareness and “freedom” to the Darkspawn, freeing them from their tethers to the Archdemons. 

But this was not The Architect’s first plan. No, its first plan was much, much worse. In The Calling, Maric, Duncan, Fiona and the other Grey Warden’s meet The Architect in the Deep Roads and learn that its plan is to spread the Blight over all of Thedas, thus ensuring a “lasting peace”. Nevermind that two-thirds of the population wouldn’t survive the process. **stares in solavellan**

A “lasting peace.”

“The peace and comfort of my reign.”

Now, sure, The Architect has stated that it doesn’t want to rule over its brethren, but that was in 9:31 Dragon. It’s been working on this plan since at least 9:10 Dragon (when The Calling takes place) and Dreadwolf is likely to take place somewhere around 9:52 Dragon. The Architect has had 40 years to scheme and experiment and come to the bitter realization that – if there is to be peace – it may have to rule after all. 

And I’m sure Corypheus’s rise and fall did not go unnoticed by The Architect. With Solas’s machinations putting a ticking clock on Thedas’s existence, perhaps The Architect feels the pressure to end the Blights once and for all, and bring its corrupted brand of “peace” to Thedas.

When you need to spread the Darkspawn taint in record time, what do you do? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe awaken two Archdemons simultaneously and unleash them upon the world? (as a treat?) After all, there can be no more Blights once all the Old Gods have been corrupted��

Which would directly pit The Architect against Solas AND the protagonists of DA:D. And, basically everyone, because no one wants a double Blight and/or to suffer a continent-wide Darkspawn plague.

So, yeah. That’s my super-duper tin-foil hat theory for Dreadwolf (now The Veilguard). Obviously, I could be completely wrong about everything. There’s so much lore in Dragon Age, and yet so little of that lore is unequivocally proven true. It’s all in-world texts that can be – and frequently are – wrong. So, even with exhaustive research and codex mining, there’s ALWAYS a chance that some fundamental piece of “evidence” turns out to just be… incorrect. 

In my opinion, that’s part of what makes this series so. effing. compelling. The whole world feels like an excavation, one where every interaction holds the potential for yet another clue. So, even if I am wrong, I can’t wait to learn the truth.

[drag0nagedatingsim]

Okay so I'm going to be extremely petty and nitpicky for a moment over word choices and phrasing.

Varric saying Rook isn't a chosen one. Is blatantly, factually, LITERALLY false.

Rook is CHOSEN by Varric.

"Oh but Rook's still a nobody"

ARE THEY??? ARE THEY THOUGH????????

Varric Tethras is:

1. Head of the Tethras House, one of the oldest noble dwarven houses in Thedas.

2. loaded.

3. friends with the Champion of Kirkwall.

4. the Viscount of Kirkwall.

5. in the inner circle of the Inquisition and friends with the Inquisitor.

6. on a first name basis with the fucking DIVINE.

The fact we didn't get to see a giant funeral with hundreds of guests and thousands of written letters about him is SUCH a missed opportunity. Like just look at the reception Mark Twain got when he died. Varric's death should have been equal or even MORE impactful to people in Thedas.

Rook is quite literally a chosen one, chosen by a powerful and rich and influential man, and mentored to be a leader. Rook is more of a chosen one than the former protagonists are!

The Warden - coincidence of where Duncan goes.

Hawke - refugee family trying to survive.

Inquisitor - "do they know I fell into this? almost literally?"

So I really really dislike the marketing that Rook is a nobody. You are NOT a nobody. And depending on your background, you're even infamous??? Does a "nobody" who's done nothing remarkable have the First Warden of the entire Grey Warden Order going "oh its YOUR ass" when he sees you?

Edit to add: I think this is what annoys me most about all the excuses for the Inquisitor not being the MC in DatV. The excuses don't work. Rook IS a chosen one, Rook IS known to the Dread Wolf, Rook is NOT a nobody. It just winds up feeling like Varric picked Rook over the Inquisitor, for whatever reason.

In my dreams they have 2 origin options, as Rook or the Inquisitor, BG3 Tav v Durge style. theyre a AAA company they can afford it

[dellamortethelesser]

Nadasa Thorne is so important to me as someone who’s been cradling Mahanon Tabris to his chest as his main Hero of Ferelden for two years. Veilguard gave me a perfect timeline to finally critically examine what Mahanon looks like down the line, two decades removed from the Fifth Blight.

Mahanon’s role was always, to me, a critical examination of the “perfect victim”; not only was Mahanon an imperfect victim in every way (angry, reactive, often vindictive, an avenger more than not) but he was also 20, trans, and had no real guidance after the worst was over. When a person who made hard, gutting decisions for the sake of their own survival is then granted a position of power and authority and no further guidance, he’s not going to start making better choices. And I didn’t want him to—he was never supposed to BE the sort of person who emulated abject goodness. I wanted his story to be gritty and real to ME.

Finally, though, I can pull back and examine what that does to someone cyclically. Nadasa was 16 when Mahanon conscripted him; ten years before the events of Veilguard, right around the events of Inquisition kicked up. Mahanon was the legendary Hero of Ferelden, but through Nadasa’s eyes I’m finally allowed to see the man he has become and always was, apart from and outliving his own myth.

Mahanon had no mentor example to rely on and so his only blueprint was his father. Nadasa ended up with blurred lines for their relationship; Mahanon was mentor and myth, father and legend and friend all at once. There was no clear distinguishing line between any of these things—and there should have been. Mahanon isolated Nadasa, unintentionally, due to his own PTSD, and triangulated him against other Wardens because he thought they couldn’t be trusted.

He instilled Nadasa with a strict “us vs them” mentality (a combination of survivor’s guilt and a belief that Duncan only wanted warm bodies to throw at the darkspawn) and, in tangent with his constant pushing of responsibility onto Nadasa that he wasn’t ready for, made Nadasa someone aloof and apart even from other wardens. He had no real support system outside of him: all Nadasa had was rank he hadn’t earned and social clout that came from being the apprentice to the Hero of Ferelden.

When Mahanon left for his Calling—where he did not say goodbye and gave Nadasa the responsibility of mailing off his farewell letters—Nadasa had nothing left. Mahanon saw himself as a paragon of what a Grey Warden should be, but not as a good man or a good politician. He wanted Nadasa to be all of those things, but with only Mahanon as an example, Nadasa could only ever turn out to be just like him.

The narrative arc of Veilguard puts Nadasa into a position where he can have that team and that support and find a way to lead them. But when I explore his arc outside of the context of being Rook, all he has is a legacy unaddressed. He can either keep carrying Mahanon’s because no one else will—because he loves Mahanon even if he doesn’t understand him, because nobody knew Mahanon better—or he can let it go and be the man that Mahanon wanted him to be rather than the one Mahanon made him to be.

Nadasa Thorne can perpetuate the cycle or break it. I’m really glad to see that I can have that with my two wardens.

[oceaneyesinla]

i just found some of my OLD dragon age writing that i finished but never posted on AO3 for some reason ????? so i'm putting it here because honestly i am in a dragon age mood atm

please be gentle, i wrote this in 2016 😭

my warden in origins was a Dalish elf, and i love her dearly

cw: mentions of parental death and death in general

Aurielle sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames. At night, sat on watch alone, she could almost pretend that she was back with her clan; her sister safely sleeping in an aravel nearby. There, she would have had company on watch and they would have joked among themselves, boasting about recent hunts and telling tales. It made her feel so lonely, thinking of her clan. She missed her sister the most; Aridhel was always her most treasured friend. But she left so much more behind; her uncle, her aunts, her cousins and her friends. Everything she held dear, ripped away. Honestly, she would have preferred to die with them than live alone.

Her mind kept wandering back to what Alistair had said before. The taint would kill her eventually, even though the Joining had technically saved her life. Had the Keeper known before she had sent her away? Did she know she was sending her to a death sentence regardless of whether the taint killed her now or later? Duncan had promised a cure, not this. She would likely never see her family again. Her little Aridhel, alone now. Creators, she would have given anything just to see her sister again.

“Aurielle?” She jumped as a voice behind her spoke, though she relaxed when Alistair sat next to her. He stayed silent for a moment, then continued, “Are you alright? You … took the news about the Calling pretty hard.”

She sighed, “I’m sorry. I reacted badly. It’s just … this isn’t how I saw my life turning out.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone can say that.”

She rolled her eyes, his humor making her smile, “Yes, probably, but … I was happy with my clan.”

“How did you end up here then? Duncan never said.”

Aurielle laughed, though there was an edge to it, “I’m sure he didn’t. You really want the full story?”

“Hey, I told you my tragic backstory. This will make us even.”

This time her laugh held more joy. He had a way of making her see the bright side of things, “You asked for it. I was a hunter with my clan; one of our best, may I add. Even better than my uncle, and he’s good. Anyway, I was out hunting with a friend of mine, Tamlen, and we were attacked by a few darkspawn who were ahead of the main horde. We tried to fight them, but there were too many.” She shivered at the memory and Alistair shifted toward her so that his arm was pressed against hers.She shot him a smile of thanks before carrying on.

“The next thing I knew, I woke up in camp. My sister was in tears next to me; she’d been there for two days, waiting for me to wake up. Duncan had carried me back to camp before heading off to kill a few darkspawn that were still around.” Aurielle shook her head, “We should have been more careful; the Keeper told us not to go too far south, because of the darkspawn. I should have been more careful.”

“Anyway, Duncan came back into the camp and told us to call off our search for Tamlen; that there was no chance he survived. Then he asked to speak to the Keeper. He said there was a cure for the taint, but I had to join the Grey Wardens.” Aurielle smiled sadly, “My clan was sending me away so that I would live, but I refused. The clan was my whole world before this, and I’m all my sister has. Duncan conscripted me, and said he would drag me kicking and screaming to Ostagar if he had to. I barely stayed long enough for Tamlen’s funeral.”

“Aridhel, my sister, she sobbed when I told her I was leaving. I told her I would come back to her and you know what she said to me? ‘That’s what Mamae said, and Papa, and Tamlen and they never came back’. She’s only twelve; too young to have seen so much sadness. That’s why I was so angry; I promised her that I would be cured and I would fight but then I would come home again. But it wasn’t a cure. I’ll die anyway and she’ll lose me all over again.”

“I … I’m so sorry, Aurielle. I understand now why you were upset. Duncan should have told you it wasn’t exactly a cure.”

She sighed, pulling her knees up under her chin, “He said what he needed to, to get a new recruit. I understand that. But I worry what this will do to Ari. She was already wary of humans, after what happened to our parents.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“They went to negotiate trade with a nearby village, as they usually did when we moved into a new area. It was so ordinary, I barely noticed them leave. Two of the shems decided they didn’t want to trade with 'knife-ears' so they attacked. My parents were killed, and the other hunter that went with them only lasted long enough to warn us of what had happened. I was fourteen and Ari was only seven.”

“How do you listen to me complain without hitting me? All I’ve done since Ostagar is moan about one thing or another.”

Aurielle smiled, “Who said I didn’t consider it?” At his laugh, she carried on, “You’re grieving, Alistair. I know what that’s like. Complain as long as you need. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks Aurielle. I’ve got your back too, you know?”

They sat in comfortable silence until the sun came up, arms still pressed together. In the morning, they carried on like nothing had changed but Aurielle felt lighter than she had in weeks and if anyone noticed the new happiness in her smile, they didn’t mention it.

[wardencallings]

Codex Entry -- Hero of Ferelden

A portrait of the then Warden Commander Alym Surana taken in 9:32 Dragon, or approximately one year following the conclusion of the Fifth Blight. (art by: @kittyoperas)

Alym Surana was born near Lothering. His mother was an elven servant to a family of human corn farmers. Hope Surana, an eccentric woman known for her uncanny ability to diagnose and treat "abnormalities in the biles," refused to disclose the identity of her son's father. Many believed Alym's sire to be a man named E'lio, a Dalish hunter who'd visited the farm around the time of the boy's conception, but he was never located to confirm or deny the parentage.

When Alym was five years old, his magic manifested for the first time, and the templars were contacted to escort him to the Circle near Lake Calenhad. It is unknown how Hope reacted to her son's departure as she was away selling crops in Lothering at the time. While initially resistant to the idea of leaving his home and his mother, Alym very quickly took to the structure of living within the Circle Tower. He enjoyed his studies and the routine such a lifestyle brought him.

Alym is a talented and determined student. He has a particular proficiency with Spirit and Ice, but he manages well with other schools of magic. However, Alym is too lax on matters of the Fade. The boy does not fear possession of himself nor his peers. This may prove to be a problem someday. I will keep an eye on his progress and mentor him personally to avoid a potentially undue outcome. -- The personal notes of First Enchanter Irving, found in his office within Kinloch Hold

When Warden-Commander Duncan arrived in search of a mage to help fight against the emerging Fifth Blight, Irving recommended Alym to the cause immediately. Regarding his choice, Irving later explained to his colleagues that Alym had both the skill and the resolve Duncan was looking for in a recruit, and it was Irving's belief that time outside of the Circle was necessary for Alym's growth as mage and person. While anxious about leaving the Tower and his friends, Alym felt pride in being chosen for such an important task and looked forward to fulfilling his new role.

Following the tragedy in Ostegar, Alym, one of the only surviving Grey Wardens, began to travel across Ferelden, searching for support in ending the Fifth Blight. Commander Loghain declared all Grey Wardens to be traitors to the crown, but Alym and fellow Warden Alistair made use of the conflicting information regarding the events at Ostegar and the chaos brought by the Darkspawn to escape Loghain's soldiers and others loyal to him.

On his return to Lothering, Alym attempted to find his mother. Despite much hostility from the local farmers, Alym was able to discover that his mother and the family she'd served had been killed by the Darkspawn when their farm had been attacked. The Warden visited the site of his childhood home and destroyed the Darkspawn that roamed its property. He then buried his mother and the humans, taking only one thing for himself: an amulet Hope had worn every day, one she'd believed kept her healthy and strong enough to work to earn her keep.

I was actually there when the Hero of Ferelden came to Lothering! None of us actually believed he was a Grey Warden at first. I mean, can you blame us? He was this awkward, gawky elf who asked all these weird questions. And he looked so weak! But then he killed all those bandits and Darkspawn. We believed him after that. Lothering still fell, but we had a renewed sense of hope after we'd seen what he accomplished there. He helped everyone, even that Qunari our Chantry had left to die. None of us understood it at the time, but I think I get it now. Uhh, just don't ask me to explain it. -- A former citizen of Lothering who relocated to Amaranthine following its destruction

It was in Lothering that Alym met Leliana, an Orlesian bard turned Chantry sister turned member of his traveling party. Leliana claimed to have seen a vision from the Maker himself urging her to help Alym. Despite not believing in the Maker and worshiping the Elven gods (casually) instead, Alym welcomed Leliana to his party readily. Later, Alym would admit to being taken by Leliana, both in her beauty and her resolve, which supplied much of his motivation to believe her story and accept her offer of aid.

Of his companions, Alym was closest to Leliana, Sten, Wynne, and of course, Puppy, the Mabari hound rescued from the Darkspawn taint at Ostegar. Later, Alym would meet and befriend Zevran Arainai, an Antivan Crow, and Shale, a dwarf-turned-golem in Honnleath. Despite both being Grey Wardens, Alym struggled to connect with Alistair, finding it difficult to penetrate the humor that masked his true self. Morrigan, alleged daughter of the Witch of the Wilds, and Alym held an antagonistic relationship (mostly from her end), and Alym, despite later allowing his entry into the Wardens, didn't know what to make of the dwarf Oghren, recruited from Orzammar. However, in the wake of the Blight, Alym spoke only highly of his companions. Likewise, those who traveled with the Hero and could be found also spoke highly of him.

The Warden Commander? Ha, you mean Alym? No one calls him that but the kissass recruits who don’t know better. He’s a decent guy – can’t hold his liquor, but decent. We kicked ass together, and not just the blasted Darkspawn. I tell you, we made Orzammar almost tolerable by the time we were through there! Blighter talks too much about his woman, though. He’d probably hit me if he found out I called Leliana that. Heh, you won't tell him I said that, will you? -- An excerpt of a conversation between Warden Oghren and a journalist in Redcliffe.

In Denerim, things took a considerable turn for the worse for the Warden. While assisting Alistair with an undisclosed personal matter, Alym learned of a blood mage apostate wreaking havoc across the city. The mage was known as "The Surgeon," and he had founded a cult called The Free Acolytes that was quickly gaining ground in Denerim. To make matters more dire, Alym learned that Arl Rendon was aiding the cult, and in exchange, The Free Acolytes were assisting in the new Tevinter slaver foothold forming in Denerim.

When Alym began investigating both Arl Rendon and the dark trade occurring in the Alienage, waves of assassination attempts began to plague the Warden and his company. Eventually, with no choice but to seek the source of the cult, Alym hunted down the Surgeon, finding his lair among the derelict buildings in the warehouse district. When the two met, however, Alym was shocked to learn that the Surgeon, whose real name was Vacen Cyrahel, was in fact Alym's own father. Not only did the two look extraordinarily alike, but Vacen told him he could sense their connection in their blood, and he expressed a desire for his son to join him as a free mage, one who did not fear demons nor those who tried to control the mages.

Only Wynne, Zevran, and Sten were present for this meeting with the Surgeon, and Alym persuaded them to keep Vacen's identity a secret from the rest of their companions. Wynne urged Alym to speak to Leliana on the subject, but the Warden feared her reaction to learning of Alym's tainted heritage. Things reached a boiling point when Vacen arrived to camp one night, offering Alym a place by his side for when he killed Rendon Howe and forged himself as the new Arl of Denerim. Alym, embarrassed and ashamed, ran off into the night, hoping to draw Vacen and The Free Acolytes away from his friends.

Alym has left us, as I feared he would should his father make another untimely appearance. I am afraid for the boy's sanity and his well-being. I had tried so hard to convince him that telling the others was a necessity; and if not Alistair and Morrigan, then Leliana, at the least. He told me that he "feared how she'd look at him" when she learned of his father and his crimes. I reminded him that Leliana saw him as more than the blood of his absent father, but he had a wild, terrified look in his eyes. There was no talking sense in him, then. -- An entry in the diary of Wynne

After a few weeks, Sten, accompanied by Puppy, found Alym hiding in the Alienage of Denerim. While blending in with the other elves, Alym had learned where the Tevinter slavers were operating their trade. Sten, Puppy, and Alym killed the traders, freed those about to be sold as slaves, and returned to camp. Alym explained himself to the party, apologized, and began to make a plan to kill both Arl Rendon and the Surgeon. To Leliana, he swore that he'd never abandon her again, and as a sign of his dedication and devotion to her, he began to wear an Andraste's Grace within the braid in his hair, marking the official start of their relationship.

After rescuing Anora and killing Arl Rendon, the Surgeon arrived to the palace, intending to seize claim to the throne alongside his cult. A terrible and bloody fight commenced, one that ended only when Alym launched shards of ice into his father's throat, killing him. Despite knowing his father's death as necessary, Alym struggled with his demise. Arl Rendon was similarly dispatched, and the Landsmeet was called. Alym supported Anora as queen, pushing back against the suggestion of Alistair due to his companion's seeming disinterest in the position of king. Alistair killed Loghain in a duel and thanked Alym for allowing him to remain a Warden and finally granting justice for Cailan and Duncan.

After the Archdemon was killed and Anora formally made Queen of Ferelden, Alym was appointed Warden Commander. Alym strove to reform the Wardens as stronger and more prepared than ever should they be needed again. One of his first actions was to rebuild Vigil's Keep as a base for the Grey Wardens. There he met and conscripted Nathaniel Howe, Anders, Velanna, and Sigrun, reunited with Oghren, and killed the Architect, a sentient Darkspawn Emissary.

A couple of years after the Fifth Blight, The Hero of Ferelden vanished. He is believed to be searching for a cure for the Calling, the point in which Grey Wardens succumb to the Darkspawn taint.

You are very brave to reach out to Lady Nightingale herself to ask of the Hero's whereabouts. I will spare you much of her scathing words to your inquiry, but leave you with this quote: "Keep looking and the crows will have your eyes." -- A letter from one of Nightingale's agents in response to a curious journalist in search of Alym

[finelyageddragons]

Currently in love with the relationship between the Grey Wardens and being doomed by the narrative, especially with how the HOF subverts that relationship so here's a 3am rant about it. Enjoy! The wardens are ghosts. They are born by letting go of everything you had before and drinking poison to bind your fate to the darkspawn and promise that your life and perhaps more importantly, your death belongs to them. The whole joining is a terrifying experience, you're drinking the blood of monsters and seeing a corrupt god in your mind and waking up to see those who died around you and being told you'll meet the same fate soon enough you've just been given more time to get there because to sacrifice, to die is a warden's purpose. Even if you survive becoming a warden, your best case scenario is sacrificing yourself to end the blight but it's far more likely you'll die fighting darkspawn or even more likely lose your mind and have to go to the deep roads to be lost and have your death be your last act of defiance in the face of this overwhelming wave of evil waiting to rise again. The best thing that can happen to a warden is to die in a meaningful way because you gave away your life the moment you drank that blood. All you are now is a soldier waiting to die in war and hopefully take the enemy down with you. It is tragic and haunting and noble and so full of grief. Grief for the live you gave behind and for the one you'll never have. Every warden spends every day of their life hoping not for a future or any life for themselves but simply to make their death mean something which is an incredibly interesting mental state and I could go on about how that effects individuals and messes with their values so that corruption is rife but what started this whole thing is Fereldan.

A wonderful post by @sapphim (which I don't know how to cite but I wanna give credit so if there's a way please tell me) discussed how beneficial it was for the wardens that the fifth blight occured in Fereldan and how much they lost by it being solved so soon. To put it simply, they wanted to sacrifice Fereldan as a lost cause and use it as an example of why they wardens shouldn't be neglected. They wanted it to be known of how much of a sacrifice they make an how important their duty by letting the country of Fereldan be an example of what happens when no one is there to do it and that the narrative has doomed everyone, that the world's crimes will be paid for unless someone is willing to be selfless and bear the burden to give the world another chance. Andraste would have been a great warden I'm sure. In the eyes of the warden, Fereldan is tainted just like their blood, it is promised to the darkspawn just like they are, willingly or not it bears the duty that all wardens do and must make the sacrifice they do too. For the greater good. To stop the darkspawn. It's better you having a death that matters than a life that lasts. This is the psychology of the wardens and they are applying those same beliefs to all of Fereldan. Why must they be the only ones doomed by the narrative? There is no surviving this story and there is saving the world there is only killing the darkspawn before it kills you. Thedas is at war with the archdemons and until they're all dead, there is no peace, there is only preparing for the next battle. There is no building a life, no building a country, there is nothing to protect because it is all doomed.

The way duty and sacrifice and the promise of the Grey Wardens must alter their values and perspective on life is fascinating and there is so much to explore here but what's important for this post is that the foundation of their entire order is that they are already dead.

This then brings us to the HOF and cheating death. Duncan is like the grim reaper in Origins the way he comes and snatches your soul at the end of each origin which I honestly love and it ties in so well to the idea that wardens are ghosts given you die in every other version of the story without him but that's the story of all wardens. They all die a symbolic death at the joining so that's okay but then Ostogar happens. Flemeth happens. You should have died. Fereldan should have been lost. Remember, the duty of the wardens is dying not surviving but you did survive, snatched away by a god. Every other warden has died thinking their paying the price for an absent god yet this goddess not only favours you, she changed fate for you. Every other warden throughout history has paid the price but not you. Not Fereldan. You get to cheat the fate while it dooms everyone else. Can you imagine how that must have felt for the other wardens? How much they must hate the hero for stealing the martyr Fereldan was set to be and making all their losses naught but a tragedy when it could have been so much more? Not only did you escape your own death but you stole the value of theirs. You survived which goes against everything the wardens are made for.

Going even further than that, you have the dark ritual where you can actively choose to cheat death again. When every other warden has had to give their life, had to sacrifice and lose and grieve and poison their humanity as they did their bodies, you get to escape it all. Wardens have struggled for decades to have a foothold in Fereldan but you'll go so far as to choose their ruler for them without any consultation. You have been a warden less than a year, ended a battle that they prepared for over hundreds of years and sacrificed more hundreds of years fighting in the past and not only have you defied everything they defined themselves by, you have made them look like fools and decided their fate for them. You have stolen the meaning of the death of every warden, you have stolen their martyrs and the justifications for their actions and by keeping your own life and humanity, by resisting their poison you have made them all look like monsters.

The hero was doomed by the narrative as all wardens are but they rewrote fate, they stole their life back so many times and by surviving, they created a whole new narrative that ruined everything the wardens were built upon. The wardens were made to be ghosts, not heroes. They're meant to die and be remembered nobly so they can be redeemed for they had to do to get there but not you hero. You get to shame us all, don't you?

[shannaraisles]

Let It Snow - for @tangerineloves

For the charming @tangerineloves, who requested some Alistair/Warden OC lovin' for the season. Thank you so much for commissioning me, darling - hope your festive is good to you!

Let It Snow

Snow fell.

It fell soft and silent over the ruins of Denerim City, at first just to melt away on contact with charred wood and scorched stone, then to begin to lay and pile up, covering the worst signs of the damage inflicted upon the city by the last battle of the Blight. Overnight, the city went from a blackened memory of foundations and walls, to a romantic ruin blanketed in white.

The timing could not have been more perfect. Satinalia had arrived, and despite the wreckage that still littered the city from a battle won barely two months before, this was a night in which everyone had been told to forget their cares. They had a lot to celebrate, from the mere fact of their survival after a year of terror to the Grey Wardens’ announcement that the Fifth Blight was officially over, to the raising of their new young king to his throne - not only a king, but a hero in his own right, the man who had struck the final blow that killed the archdemon right here in Denerim itself. 

That young king had already made it very clear that his plan for Ferelden would be different from the plans enacted by his brother and father, and tonight was where that would begin - elves and dwarves were not only invited to the royal celebration held in the ruined market square, but were given places of honour; commoners were expected to mingle with nobles, just as they did on this night in cities like Treviso. Everyone would be masked and incognito. Tonight was a night to celebrate just being yourself. 

A night in which the young man dancing with you, drinking with you, sharing stories with you, might just be that young king you so admired and wished well. A young king who needed to know that he was not despised by his people just for being the forgotten son of a popular ruler long lost to mystery. 

Alistair couldn’t help smiling a little behind his mask, reveling in the novelty of being just another face among the crowd for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since his last Satinalia ... so many lost, so much found and gained, so much pain and joy experienced. He felt much older than his twenty years, and yet, right now, he thought he could glimpse the carefree boy he had been when Duncan had first inducted him into the Wardens. 

“... strange, to be celebrating in a ruin, don’t you think?”

The words caught his ear, his head tilting just a little as he focused in on the conversation taking place not too far away between what he could only assume was a pair of dwarves. 

“Can’t think of a better place to do it,” was the robust reply from behind an intricate mask crafted of delicate steel. “We survived another year and look at what we survived! Seems pretty good to me.”

“It’s cold,” his companion complained from the depths of a similarly beautiful black iron mask.

“Go get a drink and stop complaining, then.”

Biting down on a laugh, Alistair moved away from the dwarves, brushing snow from the shoulders of his black velvet coat absently as he pivoted to avoid a gaggle of giggling girls, at least two of which were definitely not as noble as their companions thought them to be. 

“- we going?”

“The king is here somewhere! We should find him and kiss him!”

Thank the Maker for the mask. Suddenly his face felt hot enough to cook dinner for six, a strangled cough escaping his throat as his pivot almost spun him entirely around in the hope of escaping to the keep. No such luck for him, though - a hand caught his, pulling him back from his hopeful lurch and into the thick of the dancers, giving him no choice but to fall into step or disrupt the dance entirely.

“I’m terribly sorry, I -”

His apology was stopped by the sudden press of lips to his own. He froze, shock and disgust at the fact that he was allowing a stranger to steal a kiss from him coursing through his limbs ... and then he realised this was no stranger. He knew these lips, the soft, lithe form pressed to his own, the scent of her hair, the tingle of magic that lingered on her skin at all times. Forgetting his shock, the risk of being caught and recognised, his hands reached to pull her closer, lips parting to steal yet more kisses, sharing his grin with her even as he felt her lips curve in an answering grin of her own. 

It was only when he noticed the small throng around them raising a jeering, cheering cackle of encouragement that he broke that kiss and opened his eyes once more, gazing down at a gorgeous mask of blue and silver ... into the lovely eyes of his lover and fellow hero, Mira Surana, the elven mage who had truly saved Ferelden not so very long ago. She offered him a cheeky little smirk in response. 

“Leliana owes me two gold,” was her friendly greeting, her laugh punctuating the drop of his jaw as he stared at her. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. You know what she’s like.”

“But ... what if someone ... what if Eamon saw ...?”

He didn’t need to see her entire face to know the expression aimed squarely at him beneath the mask now speckled with the melted droplets of snow falling from above them. 

“It’s Satinalia,” she reminded him, still pressed close amid the dancing throng about them. “When else can we be openly as we truly are to each other, than tonight?”

He felt the pang of guilt and pain all over again at her words. He would dearly have loved to have married her, to have her sat on the throne at his side, but in this, Eamon was absolutely right - the people of Ferelden would not accept an elven mage on the throne. Yet Alistair had not been ready to let go of her, his Mira, his first and only love, and despite the pain of knowing that one day a noble woman would rightfully share his bed in the eyes of the Maker and the world, she had agreed to stay with him in the only way they knew how - as a secret known only to a privileged few. 

“But -”

She stopped his protest with another kiss, and again, he melted into her, only too ready to forget his crown and responsibilities in her arms. And she was right. Tonight, of all nights, who cared who saw what and thought what? So what if someone recognised the king in the arms of a beautiful woman? For most of them, it would be nothing more than titillating gossip; for some, the concern it might raise would be dealt with.

It was Satinalia. His people were safe and fed and sheltered, celebrating their survival and the coming year at his side in the midst of the ruins of the year that had passed. And the woman he loved was in his arms, warm and loving and determined to keep him from thinking any sad or troubling thoughts for the rest of the night. They had earned this.

He had his Mira in his arms, and their lives ahead of them. 

Let it snow.

[petrow1tch]

Yeah so what are your thoughts on the dark ritual in DAO?

LOL ok so i'll try to give two (relatively short) answers, one is a gameplay one, and the other is how i justified in from the lore perspective with my HoF

(GAMEPLAY) The intro of the game where you gather the blood of darkspawn, yeah, the ritual of joining is shrouded in mystery, like "why we don't tell you what is the ritual? dont worry about it wink wink", so you think "hmm is there something wrong with it, what's up?"

So then you start the ritual and BAM you can die during it. One way or another. It feels like "damn ok i'm in it now, but i guess i can see why they kept it a secret, ok, now to play the game and be a hero". Suprises are seemingly over.

then BAM at the end of the game is another reveal that to kill the Archdemon you need to die with it, and, like, ok, it is a bit sudden to give that info to the player who already went through with the Landsmeet and had some plot expectations from it. It feels like a rug being swept from under your feet; and then BAM again here comes Morrigan and says "oh btw you can just not die, just let me have the baby", and, this whole part seems very rushed? Like, ok, there were supposed to be any stakes with choosing who's going to die to end the blight, and suddenly there isn't? (Thats if you're playing a male warden ofc, who can do so himself no matter who's he is in romance with, or you can try and force Alistair to sleep with Morrigan, which i'm not just a fan of. He's already eager to sacrifice himself if you say "i don't wanna die" to Riordan when he says you gotta die to kill AD so why would he agree to a ritual (that he doesn't benefit from) from an apostate (that he dislikes)? If you romance Alistair, then forcing him to sleep with Morrigan is the only choice you have to save your loved one and yourself, but again, would you force someone you love to cheat on you with a person he hates? For a ritual? That he would oppose?)

So, yeah, that whole "die to win" and dark ritual reveal was kinda badly executed IMO

now, to LORE part of why i actually don't mind using the dark ritual

People say that even from in-universe perspective it would be weird to agree to the ritual since the old god would technically still be alive and Morrigan is shady, but you know what? My HoF dgaf.

Now, let's take a look. My HoF is a male Cousland rogue, who was opposed to joining the Grey Wardens when Duncan arrived at the Highever, so that's the angle from which i'm basing my dark ritual choice. It'd be different for different origins methinks.

During Howe's massacre of the castle, Duncan presented the HoF with a "choice":

"Die here or i'll save you to conscript you into GW"

Now. I'm replaying DA2 currently, and this Duncan's offer very much reminds me of Arishok's "we give choice. they can choose to not accept qun and die or to accept the qun and live. #democracy"

So my HoF, who previously stated that he has no interest in joining Grey Wardens, feels very cheated by Duncan using HoF's life as a bargaining chip. It shouldn't have happened! First, Howe slaughtered his entire family, and now Duncan is using the moment to claim HoF's life for his own goal to add numbers to his "glorious murder-suicide" cult? That's fucked up. But HoF doesn't have much choice if he wants to live, so he accepts the offer, with main goal being survival to avenge his family and to live in spite of it all.

So, now we get to the joining, HoF meets Alistair, they gather the blood, meet Morrigan, and go back to the joining ritual. Suddenly HoF sees that you can die from the joining ritual, and from the Duncan also if you reject the joining ritual. what the fuck. Again, there's is no other choice than to accept the outcome that guarantees the bigger chance of survival. HoF goes through with the joining ritual, feeling even more disdain towards GWs.

Joining, Ostagar, saving by Flemeth. HoF and Alistair are the only GW survivors. This is where HoF was about to say "fuck it" and disappear, until Flemeth gathered his ass, after which he decided to wait with rush decisions.

While traveling with Morrigan and Alistair to Lothering, HoF had time to gather his thoughts. He learned that Alistair considered GWs to be his family, and HoF could relate to losing it all at one night, so his disdain towards GWs melted away a bit just for this one guy, who basically lived through the same experience as he did. HoF also found Morrigan interesting and could see reason in some of her actions and decisions, thus they started to form some sort of friendship.

While traveling with these two, HoF found to like Alistair not for just being someone with the same lived experience, but also for a person that he is. You could say it was love, but HoF knew that that couldn't happen, so the best he could do was to be a very good friend.

The longer they traveled, the more HoF understood Alistair's point of view on Wardens as a family, since the adventuring party themselves became some sort of found family to each other. Some of them may not like one another, but they still care for each other's well-being because at the very least, you need them to reach your own goals (committing the dark ritual; avenging the Cousland family; ending the Blight), and at best, they're the ones who you consider friend or even more.

So all this said, HoF found more and more reasons to stay alive, not anymore blinded by anger and revenge, but also for helping those he holds close to his heart. Ending the Blight transformed from being something that he was forced, almost ensalved to do, into something more of a favor for someone he loves.

After gathering all armies, HoF traveled to Denerim where he finally had the chance to kill Howe. He decided to kill everyone who ever associated themselves with Howe, anyone who ever helped him to kill Cousland's family. Be it conspirators, merchants, or even his kids. (Keeping true to his promise, HoF later killed Nathaniel immediately upon learning who he was)

At the Landsmeet, HoF was determined to help Alistair in avoiding the throne, as he wasn't as concerned with grand political scheme as he was with the Alistair's feelings. Thus Anora was made queen, Loghain was executed and Alistair happily gave up any and all rights he had to the royalty. Seemingly a happy end, now to just go to Redcliffe and slay a big evil dragon and the friend's errand is done? WRONG

HEY

GREY WARDEN

WE WANT YOU TO DIE SO FUCKING BAD

HoF and Alistair learn from Riordan that to kill an Archdemon, a warden must sacrifice himself, dying in the process.

He survived the slaughter of his family, he survived the joining, he survived the Fade, Deep Roads, ancient curses and armies of undead, just to die anyways? No. Not gonna happen. HoF will not die killing an Archdemon.

...

"I'll do it"

Facecrack of the fucking century. The man who was the only one HoF could relate to, the man who he considered his closest friend, the man he loved and went all this way for. Alistair says he will kill himself to slay the archdemon.

Without even a chance to say his word, HoF gets shut out by Riordan telling them to get ready for march to Denerim tomorrow. Coming out of the room, he is on the point of breaking apart between his will to live in spite of it all and his desire to save Alistair. There seems no other choice than to forfeit his life and sacrifice himself, that is until he happens on Morrigan in the middle of his room.

And now, now we have this picture of Morrigan suggesting HoF a dark ritual, which would save the chosen warden from untimely death and help Morrigan herself with her goal.

Of course HoF would agree to the ritual.

Of course HoF would help his friend who he had no reason to disagree with prior, fully knowing she has her secrets, but still considering her family

Of course HoF would do anything to save Alistair, whom he loves. Had he known about what it takes to kill an Archdemon, he'd force him to become a king, but alas, the "glorious murder-suicide" cult wouldn't tell all it's secrets neither to him, nor Alistair.

So HoF goes through with the ritual, and when the time comes, he leaves Alistair to defend the gates of the city, much to his surprise. HoF has one chance to do it right, and he cant afford to fuck it up even in the slightest. Doesn't matter what Alistair thinks of him, "how could the man who only yesterday refused to die to archdemon, suddnly leave me here to fight lesser battle, and go to face the dragon himself, without me". It is not important. What is important, is that HoF gonna save Alistair, and that HoF is gonna live in spite of it all.

so yeah lorewise i think dark ritual is pretty neat

[pupkinpumpkin]

https://www.tumblr.com/thievinghippo/763052703781879808/31-days-of-dragon-age?source=share

Day 1: Introduce your Hero of Ferelden

Elena Cousland Theirin

Noble who became Queen of Ferelden with Alistair

She loves pink and she will make sure her makeup is perfect as she cracks your skull open with her warhammer 🩷

Her family named their mabari Howeler as a fun little joke at Arl Howe's expense, but I imagine it drives him crazy

I think in the beginning she sees her becoming a Grey Warden as just some step she has to take in order to murder Howe, because she is all about revenge for awhile.

As a young adult, she was very flirty and usually used people to raise her status, using her pretty eyes and innocent smile to get what she wanted. A little bit before the events of origins, she and her friend get in a massive argument because of how much she uses people to get what she wants and she starts thinking "oh shit am I a bad person?"

In the beginning, she was definitely flirting with Leliana and Alistair for funsies, but she starts actually developing feelings for Alistair and she realizes she really likes just traveling and not being a noble who has to play everyone in order to survive, so she starts thinking of leaving her old life behind when this is done and just being with Alistair, because she really does truly love him.

And then she finds out he's the king's son.

This really fucks with her, because on the one hand, she could totally use him to gain a better status. On the other hand, he genuinely doesn't want to be king and she doesn't want to make him do anything he doesn't want to. She loves him and becomes terrified of accidentally manipulating him

She ends up hardening Alistair, because as much as she loves him, he needs to grow a spine. This leads to him saying he actually wants to be king at the Landsmeet, so she decides this

She loves Alistair and refuses to see him with another woman

She does not like Anora because Anora reminds her too much of herself before she joined the Grey Wardens

Alistair genuinely cares about his people and would make a good king, but needs to be wary of people trying to manipulate him into doing what they want

Alistair will be unhappy if he does not have someone he trusts and cares about by his side

She loves Alistair, knows politics, would be happy to provide an heir (she really wants kids), and knows the struggle of being a grey warden

During the Landsmeet, she asks Alistair if being king is what he truly wants and he says yes. So she announces that he will be king and she will be his queen

She and Alistair had two kids, Duncan and Faith, warrior and mage respectively because I will make Fiona face the consequences of her actions if it's the last thing I do, and because no one can tell me otherwise, Elena Cousland finally finds the cure for the calling and her, Alistair, and their kids live happily ever after 🩷

[icgaminglogs]

Warden Cousland's War Journal

Chapter 10: The Anvil of the Void

The faster I can get out of these caves, the better I’ll feel. Alistair tells me this is where Grey Wardens go when their time is up. That’s not encouraging. Nor is knowing exactly how long I have to live. Thirty years, he says. The nightmares visions I had after the Joining have mostly faded, but they’ll return, and when they do...this is my fate. Dying down here in the darkness, taking as many darkspawn with me as I can. And Duncan had started having them again, Alistair says. No wonder he looked so grim when I first saw him at Highever. He was never expecting to survive this Blight, was he?

Best not to say that to Alistair.

We’ve been tracking Branka’s path through the Deep Roads. Bhelen’s map got us to Caridin’s Cross, with about as much darkspawn to deal with as you might expect. From here, Oghren says she’d make for the old Ortan Thaig. Apparently Caridin lived there before he became a Paragon and since he never bothered to go out and create his own thaig it’s the best bet for where the Anvil might be.

A thaig is apparently a sort of colony, ruled by a noble famly as near as I can understand it. It’s not a city, exactly, but I’m not sure it was entirely independent, either. There aren’t any anymore, as far as I know; all the ones I’ve seen or heard of – which aren’t that many, to be fair – have been abandoned for years. Probably centuries, ever since the First Blight when the darkspawn first swarmed out of the Deep Roads. Perhaps there was once a chance for a thaig to become a true city of its own, I don’t know. I’m not sure it entirely matters these days, anyway.

Oghren’s told me a little about this Anvil that Branka’s looking for. It’s supposed to be an artifact of the Paragon Caridin, who Caridin’s Cross was named for. Just what it does has been lost to time, apparently, but Branka thought it was worth taking her entire house into the Deep Roads for.

Dwarven customs make little sense to me. They treat their Paragons almost as living deities – living ancestors, I guess they would say? - which is why Branka is so important; she’s the only current living Paragon, so her voice would have quite a bit of sway in the Assembly. And to be named a Paragon, you have to achieve something so great that it alters the very fabric of dwarven society, pretty much. Branka invented a clean-burning coal – or found a way to burn coal cleanly, I’m honestly not sure which – which doesn’t sound all that impressive until you remember that dwarves live underground and ventilation is always going to be a problem. A smokeless forge or foundry would absolutely be a massive improvement down here. Caridin is the one who made the golems, though no one really knows how he did it. Something about the Anvil, which is why Branka’s gone looking for it.

I have to wonder, if Caridin made the golems, did Shale know him? Maybe I’ll ask it her. I can’t just keep referring to Shale as it, and she just seems female. Possibly it’s the dry, scathing tone she always uses. It’s a bit like Morrigan, though I’m never telling either of them that.

********

Ortan Thaig is still here, and Branka definitely passed this way. We found an old camp of hers, home now to a madman. His name is Ruck. I think I ran into his mother back in Orzammar; telling her what her son has become would break her heart, and what little bit of Ruck is left beneath the madness knows that, I think. He’s asked me to tell her he’s dead. I don’t much like lying, but in this case...well, it would be a mercy, wouldn’t it? The son she knew is dead, in a way. Down here in the Deep Roads there’s nothing to live on but vermin and darkspawn; there is no saving him. But he gave us something of a direction to go in, amidst his ravings and ramblings.

Unfortunately those directions led us straight to a spider lair. I never liked the eight-legged beasts even when they weren’t the size of a pony; I hate these giant web-spinners down here. Clearing the nest took more effort than I’m willing to admit, but it paid off. We found Branka’s journal. She left it behind as a message to anyone who came after her, though whatever she wanted to tell Oghren she didn’t write down. Seems she had a feeling he’d come after her, though. Or she really did just have her husband in her thoughts, who knows. She left him behind in Orzammar after taking everyone else with her, and she had to have a reason for that.

Our path now leads to the Dead Trenches. No telling what we’ll find there but darkspawn; the name isn’t exactly encouraging. According to Oghren this is where the darkspawn horde starts from, at least here in Ferelden. We’ll need to tread very carefully.

********

It was there. It was there. The archdemon. We saw the Blighted thing, flying over the crevasse. It was just as I’d seen it in my dreams, just as twisted, just as terrible. I could feel it, almost hear its call...and I’m sure it felt me, and Alistair. I don’t remember ever being that terrified. But this confirms it. Loghain insists that this isn’t a true Blight because no one’s seen an archdemon, but it’s here, and it’s real.

There are actually dwarves here, too. The Legion of the Dead, they call themselves. Dwarves who have given themselves wholly to fighting the darkspawn. A bit like Grey Wardens, but without the taint Joining ceremony, I suppose. Kardol, their leader, seems a hard sort, but you’d have to be to survive down here. Especially since each member of the Legion is a dead dwarf walking. They hold funerals for each new member. I’ll likely be seeing them again when my time comes and I have to come back here to die in the dark.

At least I won’t fall alone. That’s some comfort.

********

Branka’s gone mad. Worse than mad. Maker help me, I never imagined anything like this. I knew darkspawn didn’t eat all their victims, and I’ve heard there are fates worse than death, but I’ve never seen one until now.

It seems like what is now called the Dead Trenches was once Bownammar, a fortress built by Caridin to be the headquarters of the Legion. We’ve helped Kardol take it back, at least for now, but what we found in the deepest part of the fort...I lack the words to describe it.

We found one of Branka’s house, a dwarf called Hespith. She was half-mad from the taint, raving, speaking in a rhyme that seemed like nonsense until we realized her ravings had been warnings. She’d been captured, along with who knows how many others; the men had been killed, but the women left alive, forcibly tainted...and Branka let it happen. I don’t know why, but seeing what one of those poor sods became…

Maker, I wish I could forget the sight. I haven’t had much time or much chance to actually learn more about the creatures we’re fighting, but I’d never considered how the blighted monsters are made. Broodmothers...and Branka let this happen? Knowingly? Willingly?

Her name was Laryn, once. I wonder if she remembered it, after what was done to her. I wonder if there was still some part of her that survived, deep inside. I don’t know whether that would be worse than losing everything she was entirely in becoming that creature.

Whichever it is – I think this is how the dwarves say it – may the Stone accept her and guide her spirit home.

Branka can’t be far now. She has a lot to answer for.

********

I have learned more things down here in this darkness than I ever wanted to know. We found Branka. She felt no remorse for what she’d done, leaving members of her house to the darkspawn. Whatever woman Oghren married originally had vanished; she was consumed by her need to find the Anvil. Find it, and use it. Which is something else we couldn’t allow.

Branka let Laryn be taken and changed so she could have a neverending line of darkspawn to throw at the traps Caridin left on the path to the Anvil. She locked us into that labyrinth, too, which proved to be her final mistake. We made it through, found the Anvil, but we also found Caridin. The Paragon had been turned into a golem. Because that was the secret, what he’d never allowed to be known. No one can create life, so to give life to a golem it had to come from somewhere else. Every golem walking was once a dwarf. And the process, from what Caridin told us and what we found in fragments of journals, was incredibly painful. Living dwarves, entombed in giant suits of armor, with molten lyrium poured in once the armor was complete, and then came the hammering, the forging...

Maker, poor Shale.

Caridin begged us to destroy the Anvil. Branka wouldn’t hear of it and insisted we save it. And use it. Make more golems? Knowing what the cost is? Not a chance. She didn’t take that well. Attacked us. Oghren tried to talk her down, insisted she could be reasoned with, but she didn’t give him a chance to try. We had to cut her down. So much for the last living Paragon.

Caridin’s last act was to forge us a crown to end the dispute over Orzammar’s throne. The word of a Paragon, even if it’s not Branka, should at least solve that problem, though Caridin himself won’t be there to see it. With the Anvil destroyed, he cast himself into the lava.

Two Paragons gone. Though one, I suppose, was lost long before she came to this cave.

There’s a monument against the wall, covered in dwarven runes. Oghren says it’s a list of names, a memorial to those dwarves who volunteered to become golems. We’ll take a rubbing of it back to the Shaperate. Those dwarves deserve to be remembered.

********

On our way back to Orzammar, Shale asked if we could take a detour. Well, not so much asked, as mentioned she remembered something of who she’d been before and the area around Caridin’s Cross. Maybe seeing those names on the memorial or meeting the Paragon himself jogged her memory. Regardless, I felt she was owed this much.

It’s an odd thing, to be led by half-remembered steps, but Shale led us through the Deep Roads to another lost thaig. Like all the others we’ve seen, this one’s been long abandoned by anyone but darkspawn, but there were still some things left. Including a monument to those of the thaig who had been made golems. Shale’s name – Shayle’s name – was on the list. Shayle, of House Cadash. She was a she – still is – and a warrior of her House. I’m not entirely sure how she’s taking the news that she truly was small and squishy once, but she’s not going to pieces or destroying things so I’ll take that as a good thing.

When we returned to Orzammar we went straight to the Assembly. I wanted to get this mess over with as quickly as possible. It’s been too blasted long since I saw the sun or felt wind on my face. The crown Caridin forged was accepted as sign of the Paragon’s blessing, though I confess I lied in part to the Assembly. Caridin himself didn’t name a king; he left the decision up to me. I didn’t think that would go over well, so I simply told them that Caridin had chosen Bhelen. It worked. Harrowmont accepted his loss, Bhelen was crowned, problem solved. Mostly.

Bhelen’s first act was to order Harrowmont’s execution, which...seems a little much, but I’ve done more than enoug interfering in dwarven politics for one life. And it does make a certain amount of hard sense to kill the man and ensure his followers have no one to rally around. Hopefully it will mean Orzammar is united fully behind Bhelen. Either way, the new king intends to honor the treaty with the Wardens. That’s three allies behind me; I just need to speak with the elves now.

[mumms-the-word]

Bound by Blood - Ch. 3

Ch. 3 - Recruited

Characters: Alistair, fem!Surana, Zevran, fem!Tabris, and basically the rest of the DAO crew Plot: Seventeen-year-old Nyssa Surana never expected to find herself a Grey Warden - let alone one of three surviving Wardens, one of which is her own cousin, Velle Tabris. She's the last person anyone would ever choose to save the world. Young, inexperienced, deeply anxious, and only just out of the Circle Tower for the first time in a decade, she's convinced she's as unlikely a hero as unlikely heroes come. But someone has to save Ferelden from the Fifth Blight...and keep her cousin out of trouble...and try not to fall in love with the charming Alistair Theirin, all at the same time. Three impossible tasks, but she's determined to succeed, even with the odds stacked against her. A/N: Duncan offers Nyssa another choice. He thinks she has what it takes to become a Grey Warden...but does Nyssa agree?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | My Fic Masterlist | Read on AO3

She thought for a moment she would be sick. But the nausea that churned within her was not nearly so strong as when she saw open wounds or festering injuries. Instead, it was a slow, broiling dread within her that sank into the pit of her stomach and came to rest, like a rock on a lakebed.

She had killed him. He was dead by her hand. By her decision. She could hardly make sense of it as reality, and yet the evidence was literally in her hands and lying on the cot in front of her. The soldier was dead.

She didn’t even know his name.

“You did well, Nyssa,” Duncan said softly, as she set the cup and tincture aside and unsteadily got to her feet.

She wiped at her eyes and nodded, though she wasn’t sure she agreed. Her stomach was all twisted inside her, her knees weak, her mind spiraling. She was a murderer. A monster. She was diseased and unclean, just as much as the man she had killed. Maybe moreso. No matter how many times she wiped her hands on her robes, her palms felt tacky with blood that wasn’t there.

And yet, the man’s death brought a strange sense of relief, as well. He looked peaceful now, and there was something reassuring in knowing that she had helped him find that peace.

But she had also taken his life. Her hands administered the tincture, her lips had uttered the lies. How could both things be true at once?

She looked down at her hands, expecting to see a black stain there, but they looked as pale as ever. She crossed her arms tightly, tucking her hands beneath her arms to hide them. From herself or from Duncan, it didn’t matter.

“Is that the fate of anyone who is tainted by the darkspawn blood?” she asked bluntly, her voice still thick with tears, though her eyes were dry now. “I thought the Wardens had a cure for such things.”

“We do, in theory. But it is complicated.”

She looked up at him, then. She must look a sight, with bloodshot eyes and a running nose and blotches of red on her pale skin, but he didn’t so much as bat an eye. “Can it be taught? Can I learn it?”

“Nyssa…”

“I know I could not save this man, but…” She clenched her fists in the fabric of her sleeves and then changed her mind and gathered the fabric of her skirt in her fists instead. “But perhaps I can help those in the future. I want to help those in the future. I don’t want to have to do this again. Ever again.”

Duncan was quiet for a moment, contemplating something as he watched her, but eventually, he nodded. He beckoned her to follow him. “Join me for a moment, will you? We can talk more freely elsewhere.”

She glanced at the dead man in his cot, wondering if she ought to tell the Chantry sisters what had happened, but no. They probably already knew, and if she spoke with them without Duncan at her side, they would surely try to turn her over to the templars for punishment. The thought made her heart seize up with fear. She quickly turned away, hurrying after Duncan as he left the clinic and ventured down to the lower level of the ruins. Despite her rush, her steps were heavy with the weight of her conscience and the slow-building fear that her actions would soon have serious consequences.

She was a murderer now, after all. The thought nearly made her sick.

They left the clinic behind and wandered down to the bonfire where she had first seen Duncan. There, he sat down on a fallen stone column and gestured to the space next to him.

“Sit, if you please.”

Fidgeting with the calming spell bead on her necklace, she glanced over her shoulder at the purple Circle of Magi tents. She could see most of the mages in the spaces between the tents, in the midst of a ritual that consumed all of their attention. Wynne, however, stood apart. She watched Nyssa curiously but didn’t move.

“Here?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from Wynne. “The other mages and the templars will…”

“They will see nothing more than a young woman keeping an old man company,“ he finished for her, smiling faintly. He glanced over at Wynne and gave her a small nod.

Nyssa suspected the other mages and the templars would see a lot more than that if they cared to look. Duncan was no ordinary man, after all. But Wynne had suggested she speak with Duncan in the first place and the two of them seemed to know each other. If Wynne didn’t care, then surely there was no harm.

She sat down reluctantly on the stone column beside him. “With all due respect, Ser Duncan, you’re not that old a man.”

Though he bore a few streaks of gray in his black hair, he was hale, hearty, and admittedly handsome. He reminded her of artistic sketches of Rivaini pirates, while also maintaining the romantic bearing of an experienced knight in a Free Marcher grand tourney. “Old” was perhaps an overstatement on his part, though he said it with a weight of truth she couldn’t quite understand.

He chuckled. “You’re too kind. Now, tell me. Why do you think the Wardens have a cure for the darkspawn taint?”

“Because that is what people say,” she said. “They say that Grey Wardens are resistant to the effects of the taint and that only they can fight darkspawn without having to worry about getting sick from their blood.”

"Do believe everything people say?"

She flushed. "Of course not. I read similar things in the books in the Circle library. And I—I know how to research. Properly. I know how to...consider information critically. I had good tutors and mentors."

He chuckled again, nodding as if to concede the point. “Very well. What else do people say about us? About the Wardens, or our purpose here?”

She hesitated. Not everything people said about the Wardens was good. She had heard quite a lot of negative talk about the Wardens as she wandered Ostagar, grumbles about the Wardens and how close they were to the king, complaints that they did whatever they pleased while no one else had that luxury. But Duncan had asked, and she suspected he'd heard far worse than what she might say about them.

“They say that this army needs you,” she said. “But also that you’re just trying to steal the king’s glory. That you’re heroes, but also that you’re not all that important. That you take in criminals and don’t respect the laws of the land. And that you’re the only ones who can stop the darkspawn threat, whether it is a Blight or not. It's a mix, really.”

That faint smile of his had returned. “What do you believe?”

She frowned. If he had asked her a month ago, when she was still safe in Kinloch Hold, her answer would have been simple, perhaps even naïve. The Wardens are heroes of the Blights. If he had asked her this morning, before the death of that soldier, her answer would have been different, but still reductive. The Wardens are important allies to the king's army and the only ones who know about darkspawn. But he was asking her now.

The Wardens looked different to her now. The whole world did, really.

She looked up at the sky, her view partly clouded over by smoke from Duncan’s bonfire and blocked here and there by bits of the ruins. “I don’t know,” she said. “When we met in the tower, I thought of you like a hero. But what you just asked me to do was...”

She trailed off, that same nausea taking over her again, like a weight in her stomach. She folded her arms over her middle, keeping her gaze on the sky. Heroes didn't ask young women to kill others or imply that they would kill them if she hesitated too long. But at the same time, if death was assured...if all that awaited that soldier was a painful death or a cursed half-life existence...it was a difficult choice. She hated it. She wanted to hate Duncan for forcing her to choose. But she couldn't bring herself to even dislike him. It was a choice borne out of necessity, at least to a point. 

“I think the truth is complicated," she murmured, after a moment. "I think all of it could be true at the same time. I think…”

She paused, her mind taking her back to the very moment when Duncan had directed her to end the man’s life, despite him being a Warden who should, in theory, know how to cure someone of the darkspawn corruption. She took a deep breath. “I think Wardens do what is necessary. Even when it is difficult. Perhaps…especially when it is difficult. But I don’t know if that’s the best answer or even a good answer.”

Duncan’s smile merely grew. He looked at the sky along with her. “It is as good an answer as any, for now.”

Together they watched as a few low-hanging gray clouds sailed aloft overhead, the smoke from the bonfire growing thinner and disappearing the higher it climbed toward the sky. After a few weeks on the road and camping out here among the ruins, she was starting to get a sense of that "scent" people spoke of, the scent that warned of incoming rain. There would be no clear skies for the battle tonight or early tomorrow morning, whenever it came.

She glanced at Duncan as the silence stretched on between them. “You…aren’t going to tell me how to save a person from the darkspawn taint corrupting them, are you?”

He kept his eyes on the sky, but she saw a crooked smirk beneath his rough beard. “Unfortunately that is a Grey Warden secret. The only way I could reveal it to you is if you were to become a Grey Warden yourself. Then I would have to bind you to secrecy as well.” He tilted his head, his gaze once more falling on her. “Does that interest you?”

She blinked. “What—becoming a Grey Warden?”

Surely he was joking. Her, become a Grey Warden? She was hardly any use as a mage or a healer at this point. She had completed her Harrowing a month ago. She was seventeen and still cried when she saw wounded soldiers tossing and turning in their cots. She shifted to face him now, preparing to find him mocking her, but he merely watched for her response.

He was completely serious.

“You can’t really mean that,” she said. “I’m…”

She had a ready list of her many faults to spill out to him, but something gave her pause. For one thing, she didn’t know where to start. In her mind, a list of every reason why she wouldn't be a good Warden, why she wasn't a very good mage or even a good person, could stretch out for hours. It played in an endless loop at the back of her mind most days, especially since coming here to Ostagar. Nyssa the Warden didn't exactly have a ring to it. Though Nyssa Surana, Mage of Kinloch Hold didn't either, if she were honest with herself.

Not that it mattered. Everyone said the Grey Wardens were extraordinary fighters and she was…well, not that. She had only learned combative spells to pass her tests and train for the Harrowing. She’d never actually hurt anybody…until today.

“From what I know about you,” Duncan said after a moment, after it was clear her silence wouldn't get broken otherwise, “you are a talented mage who completed her Harrowing at a surprisingly young age and in record time for Kinloch Hold’s Circle of Magi. You are selfless and kind, and you act despite your fears and doubts. In time, you could even be brave and bold. Or am I wrong?”

She said nothing, feeling as though disagreement would come across as disrespecting his opinion. And she did respect him, even if she didn’t believe him.

He was just being overly kind, offering her this opportunity. She was seventeen—with barely a grasp on her magical education, only two weeks’ worth of experience in healing or dealing with battle wounds, and absolutely no desire to kill anything more dangerous than a tiny errant spider. She didn't even like eating meat that much because she cried if she thought too long about what it takes to butcher an animal. She couldn't be some exceptional, quick-on-their-feet, brave or courageous fighter like the Wardens needed...

Could she?

“Are the Wardens really so desperate they’d take the youngest mage in camp just to fill their ranks?” she asked, wincing slightly.

But Duncan shook his head. “Do not belittle my offer, or you belittle me in the process. I would not be asking if I did not think you would make a fine Grey Warden. You have potential—you can be trained to overcome whatever shortcomings you fear you have. And the Wardens would benefit from someone who views the world the way you do.”

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

But he didn't answer her. Instead, he softened his tone and said, “Think about what I offer, Nyssa."

"But I don't know what you're offering," she protested, turning to face him more fully. She clenched her hands tightly together in her lap, her brows drawn as she looked up at him. "Are the Wardens heroes, or aren't they? Do you need a mage or don't you? Why me? What can I offer that you don't already have?"

"Magic, for one," Duncan said. She thought she caught a glimmer of humor in his eye, but then he blinked and it was gone. "We currently do not have any mages in our ranks. But to answer your other questions…allow me to put it this way. Being a Grey Warden is a calling. A sacrifice. Our duty is to battle darkspawn wherever they appear. Nothing more, nothing less."

Still, she hesitated. "It seems a lot more complicated than that."

"Perhaps, but in times like these, I find the best path forward is the simplest one. Don't you agree?"

She didn't disagree, if that was worth anything. She painfully unclenched her hands and rubbed her palms against the fabric of her robes over her knees. “Ser Duncan, I…I’m not sure I’m…”

“I shall make the choices clear,” he said, his tone once more that of a commanding officer, a Warden-Commander. Stoic. Firm. “You must either choose to stay a mage, allied and bound to the Circle of Magi, or you must accept this opportunity to become a Warden, allied and bound with your fellow Grey Wardens. Once you become a Warden, you are a Warden for life. You must leave the Circle and everything else behind. It means freedom from your tower, but also a dedication to fighting darkspawn, with or without a Blight. Do you understand?"

She nodded, hesitant, her heart pounding in her chest. "I understand." Maker help me...

Duncan watched her for a moment as she struggled to hold his gaze, her hands clenching and unclenching her robes. He sighed very softly through his nose, so faint she thought she imagined it, and then added with a hint of quiet kindness, "You stand at a crossroads, my young friend. The rest of your life is before you. Whether you spend it with the Circle of Magi or with the Wardens is the choice I offer. But if being a Warden is not the path you want to take, then you must let me know now and we will speak no more of this matter.”

She chewed her bottom lip, her fingers now anxiously fidgeting with the embroidery of her sleeve hems. Another choice. Why must she choose? Why couldn't he conscript her and be done with it? Why couldn't he set the course of her life forever after so she could just...deal with it?

But that was just it, wasn't it? This was him being kind. He was extending both an offer and a way out. A path forward and a safe retreat. At least, in theory. In reality...

Circle mage or Warden mage. Those were her choices. Bound to the Circle, or bound to the Wardens.

She closed her eyes, envisioning the tower that had been her reluctant home for a decade, the home she would now have to say goodbye to if she accepted Duncan's offer. Kinloch Hold, with its libraries and classrooms, its massive mage dormitories and its hidden corners. There was a lot of good there. Bright-eyed young mages, still children, eagerly trying to learn magic, giggling at her attempts to help them with their spells. Patient Tranquil, with their steady hands and emotionless speech, always working in the kitchens and the stockrooms. The rare, kind templars, like Cullen who made her feel more safe than surveilled, who always looked away when he caught her out of bed late at night when she had been absorbed in reading. The mentors who had encouraged her study. The older mages like Anders who had made her laugh and the apprentices like Jowan who had somehow coaxed their way into being her friend, despite her being embarrassingly shy. She'd miss it all. She couldn't deny that.

But there was more that she wouldn't miss. More that she was eager to get away from. The Circle politics, for one, with mages constantly rehashing the same debates over the same lines in the Chant of Light, arguing with Chantry priests and templars alike. The military presence of the templars as a whole, those who stared daggers at her as she passed, as if she were about to burst into flame at any moment. The strange, awkward loneliness that comes only when you're locked in a tower full of people, and yet still don't know your place among them, even after ten years.

At least with the Wardens, she would know. She would be the only Warden mage under Duncan's command, her sole purpose being to follow orders, whatever those would be. Orders like...ending a man's suffering. Taking a man's life. 

A sudden, panicked thought gripped her as she considered the repercussions of that choice all over again. She had killed someone—killed someone—on Duncan's suggestion. Once the Chantry sisters put two and two together, she was bound to face punishment from the templars, if not directly from the king himself. If the templars got involved, she could be made Tranquil, or executed. If the king stepped in, she was sure to be hanged.

The only way to shelter from that particular storm was to join the Wardens.  

She opened her eyes as that last thought struck her. It was an errant thought that had wriggled its way into her mind, unbidden, yet it felt like a lifeline now. The Wardens were her only chance of surviving an execution. 

Had this been Duncan's plan all along? Had he placed that first choice before her, with the soldier's life in her hands, in order to trap her into this decision? Or was it all coincidence, a test that he could conveniently use?

Did he truly see potential in her, or had circumstance forced his hand?

Cautiously, she chanced a glance at Duncan, both her mind and heart racing. "Ser Duncan," she said, once more balling up the fabric of her skirt in her fists. "I don't...really have a choice, do I? Now that I've..."

But Duncan's face was inscrutable. A mask. "Being a Grey Warden can be a very hard road, especially for one so young. But I believe you are capable of walking it, Nyssa, if this is the road you want to take."

It was both the answer she expected and not an answer at all. She swallowed, nodded, and took a deep breath, her heart still racing in her chest. Whether Duncan viewed it as a choice or not, from her perspective, there was no choice. There was no going back now, after what she had done. 

“So be it,” she said, half-disbelieving the words were actually coming out of her mouth. “If you’ll have me, I want to join the Wardens.”

Duncan nodded gravely in return, but there was that hint of a smile on his lips too. “So be it,” he echoed. “Then let us not waste time.”

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 5: Flemeth’s Hut

In which Astala discovers she's not dead, but many others are, and now they have to deal with this.

Wordcount: 3653

WARNINGS:

- discussion of death - mention of cannibalism - abuse from parent to child in action

(Read the whole chapter on AO3 or down below)

Somebody screamed.

Astala bolted upright, reaching for her weapons. Only then did she realize that it was she who was screaming.

Where was she?

The interior of the hut was unfamiliar. Astala sat up to try and get a better look at her surroundings but didn't get far before she registered pain. It was dull, a throbbing to the rhythm of her heartbeat accompanied by tightness in her shoulder and belly when she moved. It sat deep. What had-

The tower.

Right.

Tentatively, Astala finished sitting up. She could do that. That was good. Going by everything she remembered—arrows, darkspawn and the Archdemon—she should be dead. She should be very dead. How was she not dead? How had she arrived... here?

She had just enough time to take a proper look around—she saw a pot over the fire, smelled stew coming from it, felt fur below her hands and spotted drying herbs hanging from the wooden beams above her—before the door opened and a young woman entered. Dark hair pulled into a bun, patchwork leather skirt and deep purple tunic... Astala blinked.

"Morrigan?"

Morrigan turned to her with a small but genuine smile. “Ah! You are awake! Mother shall be pleased.”

She crouched down in front of the pot, lifted the lid and stirred the contents. The smell of meat intensified. Astala’s stomach growled loudly.

“What happened?” Astala asked.

“You were injured, and Mother rescued you,” Morrigan answered, throwing her a glance crowned by a small frown. “Do you not remember?”

“I…” Astala strained her memory, trying to recall what exactly had happened at the tower. “There were lots of darkspawn. And a dragon! How did your mother do that?”

“I suggest you ask her,” Morrigan answered. “She may even give you an answer.”

Astala tried swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It worked just fine, apart from the pull and the fact that the throbbing sensation in her abdomen intensified. But she’d be able to make her way back to Ostagar.

A trickle of cold dread ran through her veins. Was there an Ostagar to make her way back to?

“What happened to the king’s army?” she asked.

“Your teyrn Loghain quit the field,” Morrigan said, trying a bit of the stew and adding some herbs. “The darkspawn won your battle.”

“So…” Astala said and got all words stuck in her throat. Defeat. At the hand of darkspawn. “The king’s army?”

“Massacred. There are no more Grey Wardens, other than you, the dwarven girl, and the human boy.” She paused and glanced back at the door. “He… is not taking it well.”

Astala stayed seated. She stared into the slow, licking flames below the pot and tried to wrap her head around what Morrigan had just said.

“All of them?” she finally asked. “Duncan? Our commander?”

“Dead,” Morrigan simply said, not without sympathy.

“Everybody?” Astala asked again. Jerome, Onastas, Martin with his huge pot full of food, Palla with the intimidating grey eyes…

Leonard.

Khêd.

Ilanlas.

 “Did… you say your mother only saved us three? Could the others have survived?”

Morrigan closed the lid of the pot with a firm clack of metal against metal. Then she stood up, and only then she turned to Astala.

“I am afraid I do not know,” she said. “You do not want to know what is happening in that valley.”

“Why?” Astala asked. “What's happening?”

“Are you sure you want me to describe it?” Morrigan asked.

Astala pushed herself off the bed. She could stand, fine even. She crossed her arms; she was feeling cold. Blood loss, probably.

“Please, tell me.”

Morrigan exhaled sharply, but she leaned against the hearth and spoke: “I had a good view of the battlefield. ‘Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them… feeding, I think.”

She took a careful look at Astala. Astala swallowed but nodded.

“Continue?”

“The darkspawn are also looking for survivors,” Morrigan said. She wasn't enjoying this conversation. “They drag them down beneath the ground; I cannot say why.”

Sand against her cheek, slipping uselessly through her fingers. Claws wrapped around her ankle, pulling, the screeching darkspawn dragging her into the cave that had swallowed Ilanlas’ friend.

Maker save her, and may his gods watch over Ilanlas. The cold dread in her veins spread.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan,” Astala managed to say, dragging herself back to the present.

“I…” Morrigan hesitated. “You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Still.” Astala gave her a weak smile. “Can you tell me where Alistair and Sulri are?”

“Outside,” Morrigan said. “Mother wished to talk to you as well once you woke up.”

“Thank you,” Astala said again and started walking. She could walk. Good.

Once she was outside of the hut, she took a deep breath and just stood there for a moment, soaking in the light of the afternoon sun.

She was alive.

She was alive.

-

She found Alistair at the edge of the lagoon that surrounded the hut, staring out over the murky water. He didn't say anything when she approached and stood next to him. Neither did she. What could words do in a moment like this?

For a while, they stared over the water together.

Finally, Alistair heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling like a mountain shrugging.

"Sorry," he sniffled and wiped his nose. Then: "You're alive, Maker's Breath!"

Before Astala could stop him, he enveloped her in a tight hug, the kind that slowly squeezed the air out of you. Astala tensed her back against the pressure and awkwardly patted Alistair on the back.

"You also look… alive," she said when he finally let her go.

Alistair smiled, let out a little huffed laugh. The smile dissolved almost immediately.

"Duncan and… Everybody. They-"

"I know," Astala said, and patted this huge shem on the arm once more. "I know."

Alistait accepted the comfort, poor as it was. He stood there for a while longer with his head bowed. He really wasn't taking it well.

"Well," he finally said. "We are here. And Sulri is here. That has to count for something."

Astala thought of Ilanlas, and Khêd, and nodded for appearance's sake. The inky clouds that had preceded the darkspawn still swirled above them. The sun didn't quite manage to break through.

They went to Sulri, who was sitting at the back of the hut, where the roof jutted out from the wall, throwing pebbles into the lagoon. The rhythmic plitch of the stones hitting the water disturbed the dead silence around them. Astala found herself scanning the horizon for darkspawn, and was relieved when she saw none.

She crouched down next to Sulri and waved hello. Alistair sat down on Sulri's other side. Sulri didn't acknowledge either of them. Instead, she took a larger stone and lobbed it into the lake.

Sploosh.

Cradled by the circular waves from the stone's impact, the cadaver of a fish rose to the surface.

Sulri wrinkled her nose, sat the next stone in her hand down and scooted away from the water.

Astala sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she said.

Sulri was still staring at the dead fish, expression between mildly disgusted and outraged, as if the poor thing was to blame for all of this. Astala tapped her knee to get her attention.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she repeated. "Did you know him for long?"

Sulri shook her head and then waved her off. She didn't want to talk? That was okay. Astala had seen worse responses to grief.

Alistair heaved another big sigh. "What do we do now?"

Astala bit the inside of her cheek, waiting to see if any of them would come up with a brilliant solution.

"Well…" she said tentatively when nothing happened. "I would… It might be a good idea to take things slow. We almost died, after all."

"There's no time for taking it slow!" Alistair threw his hands into the air. "We've failed! The darkspawn will overrun Ferelden and all Grey Wardens are dead!"

"Are they?"

Astala scrambled to her feet. Flemeth had stepped around the house, followed by Morrigan. The elderly woman crossed her arms.

"And here I was under the impression I had saved three of the order."

"But we- I'm sorry, ah… madam," Alistair stammered. "What do we call you? You never gave us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," Morrigan's mother said. "The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"The Flemeth? From the legends?" Although still soft, Alistair's voice was briefly filled with awe instead of sadness before he caught himself. "Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth answered flatly. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Astala doubted there had been only a bit of magic involved in getting them out of that tower and dragging them—her?—back from the funeral pyre.

"If I may," she ventured. "I- Thank you for saving us, really. I'm very grateful to still be alive. But… why did you save us?"

"Well," Flemeth said as if it was obvious. "We cannot have all the Grey Wardens die at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn."

"Yes, but…" Astala hesitated.

It didn't do to anger a powerful witch. Certainly not by questioning her motive and reason behind saving them instead of… well, anybody else.

"We aren't the most experienced," she finally said.

"Does that matter?" Flemeth answered, absolutely unperturbed. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land in the face of a Blight. Or has that changed while I wasn't looking?"

Astala didn't like her tone. Save her or no, she hadn't almost died only for this woman to be needling her. As if Flemeth was her supervisor on a job!

"I don't know if the Grey Wardens are the best candidates to unite the land," she said, carefully but firmly. "They didn't manage to do so at Ostagar, at least."

"No thanks to teyrn Loghain," Flemeth said, nodded and waited expectantly.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Alistair said bitterly. "Why would he do it?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth mused and nodded. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."

Alistair visibly sat up straighter at the witch's approval.

"Perhaps," Flemeth continued, genuinely serious from what Astala could gather, "Loghain thinks the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the real threat that lies behind it."

"Is it too much to expect that a tainted Old God will be taken seriously?" Alistair muttered.

Astala cast a glance around. She still didn't see any darkspawn, but that didn't set her at ease. The monsters weren't gone. Or, rather, they were, but in the wrong direction.

She had tk warn her family.

"Maybe we could try to contact the other Grey Wardens," she ventured. "There are more elsewhere, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "The nearest Grey Wardens are in Orlais, and it would take far too long to gather them and an army. Not to mention that nobody wants Orlesians here. We would be kicked out before we could say hello, and not just by Loghain."

Sulri tapped Astala's leg and started signing. She slowed down when Astala asked her to, made her gestures as broad as possible. Still, Astala understood absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't think this is going to work right now."

Sulri lowered her hands with an expression that could have frozen flames.

Astala shrugged apologetically and turned back to Flemeth. "So what do we do then?"

"Why do you ask me?" Flemeth answered and blinked owlishly. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

Morrigan, who had been silently standing behind her mother, turned abruptly and left. Flemeth paid her no mind, not even when the door to the hut shut rather loudly.

"At the very least, we have to warn everybody," Alistair said, answering Astala's question. "Teyrn Loghain may think the darkspawn are just a minor threat, but we can't leave everybody else exposed to danger!"

Flemeth turned her attention to him, head cocked to one side. "And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain directly of his mistake?"

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair jumped to his feet. "If arl Eamon knew what Loghain did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for an execution!"

Astala frowned. "You know an arl? Personally?"

"I…" Alistair hesitated.

"I suppose," Flemeth quickly intervened, "that this arl Eamon was not at Ostagar."

"That's right!" Alistair looked from Flemeth to Astala, and brightened up for the first time in the whole conversation. "He still has all his troops. And he was Cailan's uncle! He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet, of course!"

In the shadow cast by her hut, Flemeth's eyes gleamed.

"We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alistair finished the thought.

"Now, wait a moment-" Astala started, but Flemeth was quicker.

"What happened to the treaties I kept safe? Have you managed to lose them as well?"

"They- I have them!" Alistair pulled them out from under the breastplate of his armor. "How could I forget about them?"

He pressed the treaties into her hands and looked down at her expectantly.

Astala leafed through the old, yellowed pages and looked back up at Alistair. "I don't-"

"Grey Wardens can demand the help from dwarves, elves, mages! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!" Alistair said.

Sulri snatched the treaties out of Astala's hands. Astala let her.

"Alistair…" she said. "There are three of us."

"Exactly!" Alistair said and nodded emphatically. "We need an army, and there we have it!"

Astala must've made the wrong kind of expression, because he went on.

"This is our only chance! There's nothing holding the darkspawn back from marching into Ferelden and burning it to the ground. We have to do this!" He took a deep breath and gestured at the three of them. "We are the only ones who can."

Astala stared at him and then at Flemeth. Flemeth looked back. She didn't blink. Her mouth didn't curve, but in her eyes there was a mad sort of smile.

Astala looked back at Alistair and saw only determination scrawled over a canvas of grief.

Oh Maker.

Oh, fuck.

-

Flemeth was of the opinion that they better leave if they wanted to keep avoiding the darkspawn. So they went and got their things. What things they still had left. Astala pulled on the gambeson—she'd have to clean the blood out of it, and mend it—and decided to leave the chain mail behind. It was broken, she had no way to fix it, and it would only weigh her down. She kept the breastplate. It had the Grey Warden's griffon on it, and that might be useful.

Everything else was still in that ruin now occupied by darkspawn: her pack, hurriedly assembled and then lovingly stocked up by her father; her blanket, bought with the money Ilanlas had gotten for her; the scrap metal she'd feverishly collected from darkspawn corpses in hopes of selling it and maybe getting something good out of her conscription. She still had her weapons, her coin pouch, and a contract with an order that didn't exist in Ferelden anymore. Save for the three of them, of course. What a grand fucking team. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that she still had boots and that it was summer, not winter.

Speaking of boots, she had absolutely ruined them. Her mother might even have been proud, covered stains from darkspawn blood as the boots now were. The worst kind of irony.

Morrigan reappeared briefly to provide them with pack rolls and provisions, and then disappeared into the inside of the hut again. Astala tied her pack with her meager belongings to her belt. Alistair carried the bulk of everything. Sulri needed help with her pack and took a long time to ask for it. But, at some point, they were ready to go.

Astala turned to Flemeth. "Thank you again for helping us."

"Thank me once all of this is over," Flemeth answered curtly. "And, before you leave, I do have one more thing to offer you."

The door to the hut opened and shut. Flemeth stopped speaking and her eyes left Astala to fix on Morrigan, who was approaching them, ignoring their group in favor of her mother.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or…" She glanced at their packs. "... none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl," Flemeth said gravely.

"Oh," Morrigan said in a mocking tone, "such a-"

"And you will be joining them."

"What!?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears," Flemeth said and laughed at her own joke.

Astala couldn't say she found it funny. Not when Morrigan was growing visibly pale.

"Thank you," she said tentatively when neither Alistair nor Sulri said anything. "Really. But if Morrigan doesn't want to join us…"

"Nonsense." Flemeth cut her off. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan protested, her voice raised in alarm.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance," Flemeth simply said. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Excuse me?" Astala burst out. She must've misheard.

"Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth but…" Alistair said, absolving Flemeth of the need to answer Astala. "Won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth replied.

"Point taken," Alistair said, none too happy.

"Mother…" Morrigan turned to the old woman. "This is not how I wanted this! I- I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said forcefully. "Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." She paused to give her words the appropriate weight. "Even I."

"I… understand…" Morrigan said with a strained sigh.

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth turned her full attention to them. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

Morrigan was staring back at the hut, where the stew was probably still bubbling, and she wouldn't eat it.

"Hey, you'll be okay with us," Astala said quietly to Morrigan.

Morrigan threw her a cold look, as if it was Astala who was dragging her into an adventure she didn't want to go on. Then she turned around.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please."

When she left, Flemeth didn't look after her; she was back to staring at Astala with those unsettling golden eyes. She didn't say anything, either. The one who broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence was Alistair, who leaned closer.

"What a shock, right? 'Three guests or none', and then, poof! She leaves with us."

Astala eyed Flemeth, and was struck by the absolute certainty that Flemeth was hearing every word Alistair said.

"She's a bit… dramatic, don't you think?" Alistair went on. "'Shall we have three guests or… none'. Why that long pause?"

Astala took a deep, steadying breath. "She was looking at our packs and putting two and two together."

Alistair hesitated, then nodded as if considering this, and backed away again.

Flemeth kept looking at Astala. Astala refused to look away.

Finally, Morrigan returned, a pack slung over her shoulder with a bedroll, blanket and fur jacket tied up on top of it. Her mouth, drawn into a thin line, relaxed in a very deliberate way as she approached.

"Farewell, Mother," she said with a casual sigh. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth barked. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight."

Morrigan physically recoiled, and her expression crumbled.

"I-" she stammered. "All I meant was-"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth answered gently. "Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan turned away abruptly and joined their group, which had waited a few steps away. When she reached them, her expression was impenetrably neutral.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." She crossed her arms. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide."

Astala tore her gaze from Flemeth, who was still staring at her, and waited for Alistair to take the lead and answer.

That didn't happen, and the silence started to become uncomfortable.

Finally, Astala cleared her throat. "I like your idea."

Morrigan looked at the other two. Sulri gave a shrug so exaggerated it swam in sarcasm, and Alistair said nothing.

"Very well then," Morrigan said, a few degrees colder. "Follow me, if you please."

She led them to a new path, neither the one by which they had come to nor the one by which they had left the hut before their- her Joining. Astala fell in behind Morrigan, Alistair and Sulri joined… and, just like that, they were off.

To gather an army.

One uncomfortable conversation about Morrigan's cooking skills later, Astala already had enough. This was the stupidest thing she had ever signed up for in a long time.

[attractthecrows]

OC INTERVIEW

I was going through my Sy tag and found this old tag game from [checks timestamp] 2015. Since I'm dusting her off for a new playthrough I thought I'd update it. 

Tagged: some 9 years ago by @ofwolvesandshatteredshields (HAHA SURPRISE!)

Tagging: oh god oh fuck um. uh. hm

@storybookhawke @hawkeykirsah @greywardan @dammithawke @warden-mahariel and ive run out of people. do it anyways its fun 

Pick one of your characters and answer as if you're them being interviewed. Tag some others. 

CHARACTER: Sylaira Mahariel (Longbowman, Ranger, Assassin, HoF, died bringing down the Archdemon)

If I get into it I may compile like an actual article written by Brother Genitivi about Warden Mahariel (interviewed after the Landsmeet but before the battle of Denerim) but thats a bigass maybe lmfao

ANYWAYS LET's BEGIN

1. What is your name?

Sy Mahariel

2. What is your real name?

That is my real name. Sy is short for Sylaira, if you wish to be pedantic. Most simply call me Grey Warden, which suits me just fine.

3. Do you know why you were called that?

I'm called Grey Warden because that's what I am. …Oh, you meant the name?

My parents died before I had the chance to ask them. Ashalle told me once that my mother honored Sylaise; I assume that's why. Our names are similar, though I'm not exactly the best disciple of the Hearthkeeper.

4. Single or taken?

Taken for granted, primarily. Next question.

5. Have any abilities or powers?

I am a Dalish hunter. What does that tell you?

…Oh, all right. We - the hunters, that is - are proficient with longbows, shortbows, light blades, and simple potion-making, though we usually leave that for the craftsmen. Basic survival and tracking skills are also standard. Personally, I prefer longbows. Mine is dragonthorn and sylvanwood.

And over the course of the Blight I've picked up the skills of a ranger, and Grey Wardens have their own abilities.

6. Some have called you a Mary Sue. Thoughts?

Is that a reference to some shem hero? There are far too many.

7. What's your eye color?

I'm sitting right in front of you. Have you not eyes? They are blue, last I checked.

The color used to be deeper, in fact. It's faded out some in recent months. Blight sickness will do that.

8. What's your hair color?

…Black, as you can see. Have you received a blow to the head recently? What is the relevance of this, anyways? If you're committing my likeness to paper, focus on the vallaslin. It is the Hearthkeeper, Sylaise's pattern of clan Sabrae. Also in blue, I may add.

9. Have you got any family members?

My clan is my family. I had to leave them when I was recruited by the Warden Duncan, or risk spreading the Blight to them all.

10. Oh? What about pets?

There is a wardog that imprinted on me after the battle of Ostagar. Clever thing, highly loyal, obsessed with food. He reminds me of an old friend of mine, so I call him Fenarel.

11. Now tell me about something you don't like.

You don't have enough paper in that little notebook of yours, Genitivi, nor do we have time. In summary, though: Darkspawn. The Chantry. Wastefulness. And arrogant shems who think they know what's best.

12. Do you have any hobbies you enjoy?

Look around us, old man. We are in the midst of a Blight. I am one of two total Grey Wardens remaining in the entirety of Ferelden. Do you think I have time for hobbies?

Before the Blight, I enjoyed assisting Master Ilen, the clan craftsman. He tells me I have a good hand for bowmaking.

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

I challenge you to find me a Dalish hunter who has not.

14. Ever killed anyone before?

[She stares deadpan at me.] Are you serious?

You're serious.

Yes, I have killed people, you stupid shemlen.

Humans threatening our clan. Bandits. Carta. Blood mages. Tevinter slavers. Overzealous templars. Casteless thugs. Deeply, deeply stupid farmers hoping for reward money. Idiot knights defending the honor of an honorless man. At least two Arls and a Teyrn. Shall I continue?

15. What kind of animal are you?

I am an elf.

Ah, metaphorically. I've no idea. Wardens are associated with griffons, are they not? Likely one of those.

16. What are your worst habits?

I hold onto hope when I should be practical, according to Sten. I am too forgiving, according to Morrigan. I am too compassionate, according to Shale. I catastrophize too much, according to Zevran, which seems silly, to me; we're in a Blight. This is a catastrophe. I am too reckless, according to Alistair. And I drink too much.

17. Do you look up to anyone?

In the clan, I looked up to the hahrens; we all do. I looked up to Duncan, when he was alive. Neither of those are available to me now.

18. Orientation?

Looks to be… south-southwest.

That's not what I meant.

I know what you meant and am giving you an easy out.

19. Did you go to school?

Isn't that what shem nobles do with their children? No, we don't do that. We follow the Vir Tanadhal or Vir Atish'an, and every hunter knows the Vir Banal'ras. Dalish children are taught our history and culture by the hahrens. But no, there is no "school".

20. Would you want to marry and have children one day?

I did, once. I was… you humans call it 'betrothed'? I had hoped to marry Tamlen. But that is not possible anymore.

21. Have any fans?

Preoccupation with me tends to lead more to assassins than 'fans'.

22. What are you most afraid of?

I do not hold fear in my heart.

23. What do you usually wear?

I spend most of my time on the battlefield, so, armor.

24. Do you love someone?

Yes.

24a. Care to elaborate?

No.

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

[she levels an icy glare at me and does not answer]

26. We're not done yet…

Then stop asking stupid questions.

27. What 'class' are you?

What, like noble, commoner, mage? The Dalish don't do that.

28. How many friends do you have?

More than you'd think, although likely I will not see many of them again. And the people traveling with me will always be important to me.

29. Thoughts on pie? 

Leliana's mentioned that. It's a type of food, yes? I've never had it.

[We take a brief intermission while I find us some pie.]

This is… fruit? In a pastry? It's good. Impractical - we could never make such things in the aravels - but tasty.

30. Favorite drink?

The only 'drink' we get with any regularity is… I'm not sure how to describe it, actually. Alistair calls it "Grey Whiskey". It's quite something.

In my clan, we make honey mead and wild fruit wines. Those always remind me of home.

31. What's your favorite place?

There is a birch grove in the Brecilian forest. I imagine it's fallen to the Blight, by now. I used to go there with Tamlen, a long time ago.

32. Are you interested in someone?

[She does not meet my gaze.] Even if I were, such follies are dangerous.

33. What's your cup size?

[I had barely enough time to notice her glare before her fist shot out and collided with my nose. In lieu of an answer, she threw a rag at me to staunch the blood.]

34. Would you rather swim in a lake, or the ocean?

[She laughs. It's unexpected, but a lovely sound.] Have you been to the Ferelden coast, Genitivi? It'd be safer to swim in Orzammar. Lakes, thank you very much.

35. What's your type?

Not you. Next question.

36. Any fetishes?

[She glares at me.]

37. Top or bottom? Dominant or submissive?

[She stands to leave.]

38. No, please don't leave. I'm sorry. Do you prefer camping or sleeping indoors?

[She sits back down.] You, old man, have a fondness for dangerous and inappropriate questions. This I will answer, though my patience wears thin.

I prefer camping. My entire life prior to the Blight, I remember being able to hear the wind in the trees and see the sky. It is comforting to know one's place in nature. Walls and roofs have their place, but I don't like them, and I particularly dislike being underground.

39. Do you carry anything sentimental?

…Yes. All Grey Wardens wear a pendant that we receive after the Joining. And I've kept my old hunting gloves; Ashalle gave them to me when I received my vallaslin, and they were made by Master Ilen. [After a long, heavy moment, she slips a ring off of her finger and places it in my palm. It is a simple band carved from wood, detailed with elfroot leaves, warm in the hand.] And this - you call it a promise ring, I believe. Tamlen gave me this, a long time ago, before we came of age, before the Blight, to declare our intent to marry. Ma vhenan. Ma abelas. It reminds me of what I have lost. I will carry it until my death.

40. Thank you for your time.

Mhm. I recommend leaving the city, old man. You're in no condition to defend yourself from hordes of darkspawn, and they're approaching quickly.

[anna-dreamer]

OMG this. Thank you OP! This is what I've always wanted to say about the way the PC gets recruited into Wardens in DAO but couldn’t bring myself to write about it. Hope it’s ok if i rant about stuff! I just so happen to be that player whose PCs are mostly that - desperate victims of circumstance getting press-ganged into the Wardens by Duncan. Just so happy that somebody is talking about it! 

This is the way i initially played ALL but one of my origins. As for me, before starting a new playthrough i still have to make a conscious decision for my PC to WANT to become a Grey Warden, since the writing doesn’t really do it for me! In my personal impression as a player, only Brosca has a fair and square roleplay opportunity to actually want the Joining and to root for the Wardens. They’ve been through shit, they are about to lose everything, and they are saved miraculously. They finally get a chance to improve their life. Beside them... I just don’t feel much solid internal motivation in the narrative for any other Wardens! Sure, Amell and Surana get to actually leave the Circle, but the circumstances aren’t exactly in their favour anyway since they immediately are thrusted into another type of prison, one that is their own bodies now. Some freedom for them mages. Joining heals Mahariel, but it also determines their soon-to-come death, forces them to leave behind their clan, loved ones, and old life and to go with a strange shem to shemlen world. Cousland is forced to leave their parents to die after that Warden stranger makes their father give them up to him as a recruit. Tabris has to trust that shem with their life or also face death, while that shem previously has been rude and dismissive and has done nothing to earn their trust. Amell and Surana also find themselves at mercy of that stranger with imminent demise as an alternative if he doesn’t step in. Even Aeducan cannot survive their exile without the Wardens, and they specifically demand to join them, otherwise they will leave Aeducan to their death. Maybe it’s just me, but none of those situations sound like a positive introduction to the Wardens, and honestly, none of my PCs except for Brosca wanted to join them. They had to, but they surely didn’t like it. 

When i first picked up DAO i didn’t know anything about Grey Wardens put i already have heard about mages being under the Chantry control and the elves being an oppressed minority. So my first Warden was, of course, an elven mage named Myriil. He was a timid and gentle fellow with a lot of anger and frustration issues (which is unsurprising if you consider a drastic lack of freedom or choice in Magi Origin). 

When it came to either face the wrath of Templars or be conscripted into Wardens, the choice was not only obvious but also incredibly devoid of PC agency. What happened for Myriil is his leash was given from one master to another, from Chantry to Wardens. That proved to be true as soon as it became clear just what the Joining was. I vividly remember my helpless rage when that cut scene played out and i could do nothing to escape it. Here we have a mage who suffered from Circle abuse his whole life, who then was conscripted into the Wardens with death as the only alternative and who is now being tricked to drinking that concoction that will change his body forever. Not only Myriil, but almost ALL my Wardens felt tremendous disgust towards the order as well as their own body after the Joining. It’s a traumatizing experience. None of my PCs ever return in the Awakening because they want NOTHING to do with the Grey Wardens. They want their lives back, while they still have time. And many of them I headcanon to go look for the cure.

As for Myriil, i felt that after leaving the Circle, surviving the battle, and with his new master dead, he had next to no motivation to take up a mantle of a Grey Warden and not to BOLT immediately. Sure, there was this saving the world business, as in ‘‘only you can save them’’, but again, as it happened with the recruitment, it felt like an external motivation, which you have to obey, but you don’t really like it. Maybe i am wrong, but an internal motivation that i as a player don’t have to invent entirely by myself would be kinda nice, no? So that, you know, my PCs don’t have to hate every second of this forced Wardenship?

And oh boy that Alistair thing does not help the situation at all. Since my first playthrough i’ve felt that exact alienation towards Alistair, and it always has to be worked through entirely within headcanon space, since there are no opportunities to do that in the text. I find it both ironic and frustrating that Alistair, himself a victim of being forced into what he never wanted to be, comes off as completely blind towards his companion’s plight who is forcefully being made a Grey Warden. When playing DAO for the first time, i found it really hard to connect to Alistair specifically because of that. His worship of Grey Wardens was rather isolating for Myriil who had no desire to adopt this identity. I even made it a roleplay thing as he hated it when people addressed him as the Warden: he would always reply, I am not a Warden. 

Seeing how Grey Wardens were all about “The ends justify the means”, during Landsmeet when an opportunity to make Loghain a Grey Warden came up, i immediately was like, NO. That fate is worse than death. Duncan would do such thing - but i will not. And mind you, i still had no idea about the ultimate sacrifice! Also I had just found out about the early death thing because due to that alienation i didn’t really talk to Alistair! My mage boy did tell Alistair that he felt betrayed, and there, i believe, came a sole opportunity to directly express PC’s disdain towards Duncan, He got what he deserved. I did pick that line because i was pissed, but later i felt i had to apologize to Alistair since he really loved Duncan and wasn't responsible for Duncan’s choices. But the thing is - the fact that Duncan was nice to Alistair and gave him a whole new life doesn’t negate that he tricked and forced people into his command and killed Ser Jori who did no wrong. And it would be great if Alistair recognized that. 

A thing that I find really fascinating about Alistair and the Warden's dynamic is how for Alistair becoming a Warden was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, but it's very easy to have a Warden for whom it ruined their life.

Like, the only Warden who absolutely had to become a Warden or they would die is Mahariel, because the Joining was the only thing that would stop the Blight from killing them. Some of the others needed rescue, but Duncan could've "conscripted" them and then let them go free once they were away from the people threatening them. Some of them would've been in trouble if left on their own, but the Wardens weren't the only group that could've helped them! It's possible to play a Warden who absolutely wants to be a Grey Warden, but it's just as easy to portray them as a frightened, desperate victim of circumstance getting press-ganged into the Wardens by the man who in that moment has a huge amount of power over them. The Warden can say no... but they don't really have a choice.

Meanwhile for Alistair, Duncan absolutely saved him. He hated the Templars and the Wardens were a dream come true for him. But that creates a situation where you can have this massive disconnect between him and the Warden, because for him the Wardens were his salvation but it's very easy for the Warden to view it as a fate worse than death, and we never really get a chance to get into that conversation with him. Which is like... I would've loved to really get into that with Alistair! It would've been fascinating to hear Alistair's near-worship of Duncan and respond to it with "He ruined my life, I didn't want to be a Warden and he made me do it anyway". And I do wonder if sparing Loghain might have been gone over somewhat better if we were able to have that conversation with Alistair before that point? Because Alistair has this very firm image of the Wardens as heroes because he views Duncan as a hero, and the image of joining the Wardens as a reward when... yeah, for most people being dragged into a secretive society that worships self-sacrifice and that will ultimately kill them is very much not a reward. It is better than the Templars! But it's not something most people would want. So Alistair is looking at you sparing Loghain and going "You're rewarding him for what he did", but for any Warden who wasn't super into joining the Wardens it's more... this is a punishment for Loghain. This isn't something he wants. He's being sentenced to serve the organization he betrayed until the day he dies, and from the way Riordan talks about it it seems pretty clear to me that his intent was basically "If I can't kill the Archdemon, these two young adults should not be the ones to die for the world"? The intent in putting Loghain through the Joining is to have a convenient sacrifice to throw onto the fire, not to spare him or reward him. From what people have said Alistair is less angry with you if you sacrifice Loghain, which suggests that in hindsight and with the knowledge of how killing the Archdemon works he does understand that joining the Wardens was not a reward for Loghain? But it's a little sad that there's no equivalent realization if you don't sacrifice anyone, so if you choose to go through with the ritual after sparing Loghain Alistair just... continues to be angry with the Warden for keeping Loghain alive. I don't know if it's ever even confirmed that he was told about how the Warden who lands the final blow dies. Although he does seem to have relaxed about it by the time of Awakening.

I wonder if a Warden who was forced into the Wardens by Duncan ever explained that to Alistair, though. Because the disconnect between Alistair worshipping Duncan for saving him and a Warden who loathes the man for forcing them into a situation they never wanted to be in against their will on pain of death is fascinating to me.