Hey guys this is the story I said I'd be focusing on in the latest chapter of Jaws of the Wolf, so here's the very first chapter. Sorry it's a bit short, but this IS my first Dragon Age fanfic, and I haven't really played much of Origins. So read, rate, review and enjoy!
Olaf Aeducan tossed and turned in his tent, trying desperately to attain sleep which he knew would never come. He needed the rest, but he also dreaded it. His dreams were haunted with the faces of those he had left to die at Ostagar. And then there was that damn Archdemon. Whenever he slept, he would have the same dream. Watching as that damnable dragon roared at its horde, then trembling as it turned its baleful eyes to his, its gaze burning its way to his very soul, sending the same message: We are coming for you and there's nothing you can do to stop us, then feeling his body being burnt to a crisp. Those two glassy orbs would be filled with such hate that Olaf would wonder whether all that hate could be produced by anything short of a demon. Could it?
He gave up trying to sleep and, buckling his armour on, he made his way to relieve Alistair of watch. He walked up behind his friend and shook him by the shoulder. "Hey, you awake?" Alistair snapped upright, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. "Oh it's you" he mumbled, his voice thick. "Sorry" Olaf said, a sheepish grin working its way onto his face. "Get some sleep, it's my shift." he said. Alistair nodded, and went to his tent where he promptly collapsed with a clang. Olaf sat on the log next to the fire and gazed into its depths, his mind wandering. He remembered the horrible events of Bhelen's betrayal, the bodies of the soldiers guarding him strewn before him, and the look of horror on his father's face. He saw the attack on Ostagar, the corpses lying in the street, the fleeing soldiers as that bastard Loghain ordered a full retreat just to become King himself. The mere mention of that traitor's name sent his blood boiling. He could feel the rage building, a mounting pressure building up behind his eyes. His fingers slowly curled into a fist, each digit like a claw of a wolf. The edge of his vision started turning red, and his breathing deepened. With a roar of anger, his smashed his fist against a nearby tree, shattering the bark. He felt the fragile bark give way under his gauntleted fist, and felt something run down his fingers. He tugged off his right gauntlet to see all the knuckles on his hand bleeding profusely, painting his fingers crimson. He swore in dwarfish, then reached for his pack where his bandages lay. "And what hath caused your discomfort my friend?" A silky, sultry voice called out from the darkness. Olaf finished wrapping the bandage round his knuckles and turned to see Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, ambling towards him from her tent on the opposite side of the camp, away from the others. He couldn't help but stare at her. Her figure was so different from those of dwarva women he had grown used to. His eyes took in the graceful curves of her body, her wide hips, and her large bosoms, barely covered by the swathe of her blouse. He stared at her, she who saved him from certain death, she who knew him best and, though he was scared to admit it, she who had almost claimed his heart, as she sat down beside him. She was still a head and shoulders taller than he was, but she didn't seem to notice.
"You didn't answer me" she said pointedly. Olaf coughed awkwardly as he felt his face flush. "Ah yes" he said, his rich deep baritone voice rumbled "just remembering some painful memories" One of Morrigan's eyebrows shot up at that last remark. "Well" she said, her tone betraying her interest instantly "why not just tell me? 'Twould be much easier for the both of us." Olaf sighed, she had a point. She always seemed to know what would ease his mind. How, though? How did she ALWAYS know? He sighed and leaned back, letting his mind wander. "Let's see" he began, sifting through his memories to find the exact details. "Ah yes, there was the time where I saved my big brother's life." Morrigan's golden eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Olaf asked "It is kind of an important detail. It's actually due to that that I'm up here. Ironically it ended up with me being framed for his murder." His eyes took on a glazed quality, as if he was staring off into the vast void. "Ah Bhelen" he said, a small smile on his lips "I was right. You're paranoia will be the end of you" He then glanced up at Morrigan, who had been staring at him this entire time, a look of polite inquiry on her face. "Where was I?" he asked "Ah yes, the story of me saving my big brother Trian" and with that, he began to weave his tale.