Emergence

Prologue

The streets were nearly empty when he arrived—as they should be, for the rain and wind were relentless. He found this slightly convenient, knowing that he would not be able to stand the human traffic of Kirkwallers and merchants alike. His excitement was overwhelming—growing with every step he took. His footfalls seemed to echo as he picked up the pace, breaking into a run as he made his way back home. He had not seen his home in a while and everyone understood why, even though they did not like it. He was a Grey Warden, a sworn defender of the land against the creatures of evil known as darkspawn, and being a Grey Warden meant that you had to forget your life and dedicate a new one to the Order's one and only purpose.

Some say the men and women chosen to be Grey Wardens could have refused the offer, but he had no choice in the matter. He still remembered how it happened—how he was on the way to Highever to visit his best friend with his father when they were attacked by a caravan of the vile things. They had come out of nowhere, like a thief in the night, and overwhelmed him and his father. Despite being skilled fighters, they were outnumbered and he eventually witnessed the darkspawn mauling his father—his hero, his role model—to death, until the older man became nothing more but an unrecognizable mass of bloody flesh and bones.

Rage and fear had struck him at the same time, but he chose to let his rage overpower his urgent desire to run and hide. He had retaliated again, this time alone, and managed to bring down a number of the darkspawn before one of them clawed him in the face, leaving a very deep cut down the side of his left eye. He ignored the injury and continued fighting, but gradually felt his energy drain and his strength diminishing. He had been ready for death, at that very moment—ready to see his father again, ready to feel sorry for leaving the family he had made and loved for months, ready to look after his wife and unborn son from the Fade itself.

He had closed his eyes and braced himself for the pain, but after a few seconds, none came. Instead, he felt the air drop in temperature and a chill was emanating from whatever was standing in front of him. Curiosity seized him and he opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with the frozen band of darkspawn.

"How…?" he whispered, leaning in to check whether the darkspawn was truly frozen to the bone or not.

"Magic, boy," a deep voice said from behind, startling him. He turned around—a little too quickly—and felt himself weaken tremendously. As though his legs had become jelly, he fell—right into the arms of a dark-skinned man. Behind his rescuer stood a robed Qunari—he had only heard so many tales and legends of their race, and found himself in awe of the Qunari's presence—and a red-haired woman. They were all looking at him with the same expression: worry.

"I'm all right," he said weakly, and attempted to stand but was forced back down by the man supporting him.

"No, you're not," the man said, his brown eyes softening, "Now stay still, or you're going to hurt yourself even more."

He did not resist, and felt himself being propped up against a nearby tree. Black spots were beginning to swim around him as his cut began to sting, and he groaned involuntarily. The man turned back to his companions and nodded, saying something that he could not make out. His hearing was dulling, too—he was surely going to die, so what hope did they have of saving him now?

The red-haired woman stepped forward and pulled out a vial of what seemed to be blood—or was it some kind of medicine?—and coaxed him into drinking it. He had thought it was a particularly effective kind of medicine because it tasted like hell—so revolting it was that he did not hear the Qunari speaking before that. As he forced himself to swallow the disgusting medicine, he could not help but think of how much it reeked of darkspawn—as though it had come from the creatures themselves.

Before he could ask, he was plunged into a headache—he felt like his skull was being seized by the claws of a dragon, or being crushed by the bat of an ogre. He started screaming as he saw visions—surely just hallucinations—of the darkspawn, of many more horrors that would surely plague his dreams from then on and then, just when he was about to plead for death, for anyone to stick a dagger in his chest, the hallucinations ceased and his world descended into what seemed like eternal darkness.

When he awoke, the three people that had saved him from the darkspawn answered his urgent questions. What had happened? What was that liquid they fed him? Was he going mad? What was going on?

"You're a Grey Warden now," the Qunari said, offering him a cup of water, "Drink this. After a dozen cups, I'm sure you'll forget the taste of the blood."

"The blood?" he repeated, horrified, "You made me drink the blood of that—that demon? And now I'm a—a Grey Warden?"

"Yes," the dark-skinned warrior said, nodding, "You… do know who we are, right?"

It only took him a few seconds to lunge towards the tall warrior and punch him in the face, but not before the Qunari caught him in an ethereal prison, suspending him in midair.

"I told you he wouldn't take it well," the Qunari mage said, sighing and shaking his head, "Now we're going to have to erase his memory and—"

"Don't you dare!" he roared, struggling against the steel grip of the magic prison, "I have a family to go back to—a wife and—"

"You can't," the warrior shook his head, looking at him with an apologetic expression, "I am sorry, but the Grey Wardens cannot go back to the life they once had—"

"I didn't choose to become a Grey Warden," he growled, glaring at the man, "Now release me. I can't stay here. My father—my father was just killed…"

"The most you can do is write to your family and inform them of this tragedy," the mage suggested, crossing his arms over his chest, "And soon—for we must move swiftly. The darkspawn—"

"I can't just… write to them like… like it doesn't matter… like it isn't important enough," he retorted, clenching his fists, "My father was… the greatest man I ever knew. The greatest man Kirkwall ever knew."

"Is he famous?" asked the redhead, walking into view all of a sudden. Her nonchalance and ignorance angered him greatly, but no one could have recognized his father when he was in that state, so he held back on his rising frustration.

"His name was…" he sighed as his gaze fell to the ground, the loss almost too painful to bear, "Logan Warren the Sixth."

"Kirkwall's Champion?" the Qunari looked up, seemingly intrigued. "That means…"

"Yes," he said, nodding, "Now, if you'll release me, I must go to Kirkwall. I must tell them…"

The dark-skinned warrior waved it off. "I'm sorry, but you can't do that. We'll send a courier to the viscount of Kirkwall himself—he will have to be the one who breaks the news to your family. You must stay with us. The darkspawn situation grows more serious—"

"I don't care."

"What?"

He exhaled. "I don't care about the darkspawn."

"Don't you care about what they'll do once they find their archdemon?" the Qunari said forcefully, frowning, "Do you want the darkspawn to kill your family like they killed your father? Well?"

"Avitus," the warrior said, shaking his head, "Don't be so hard on him. He's just a boy."

The words had hit him, then, like a steel knife in his heart. He had thought about his wife, his family and her family, and how they'd suffer if the darkspawn managed to overrun the entire Free Marches. He had thought about his father again—he thought about what his father would have done and realized that Logan Warren would not have left the Grey Wardens for his own family if he were in his son's shoes.

He had no choice.

"You're back," Revka Amell breathed, her brown eyes staring back at his blue ones. He found himself violently pulled out from his memories and into the eyes of the woman he loved—the woman he hadn't seen in months since his acceptance into the Order. She opened the door a little wider and ran down the steps of the Warren estate, not caring that she was exhausted, not caring that she had just given birth to a beautiful baby boy that looked so much like his father—

"My love," he called out to her, and caught her in his arms, "I… what are you doing out here? You're supposed to—the baby, I mean—"

"He's fine," she told him, smiling.

"He?" repeated the Warden, feeling the excitement and happiness grow within him, "It's a boy?"

"Yes," she said, and took his hand, "Come, you'll want to see him—"

"Revka Amell!" boomed the loud voice of the second man he had respected next to his own father, Aristide Amell, "What are you doing running off like that? You've just given birth to your own son and—" The old man stopped short when he saw his daughter's husband embracing her, and relaxed visibly. He motioned towards the door. "Well, come on. You haven't got all day. Your son is waiting to see his father."

Your son. He felt his heart lift as he let Revka pull him up the stone steps and into his old home. He was dizzy with happiness by the time they arrived in their room, where his mother and her parents were waiting for him. Revka's sister was there as well, smiling proudly at the both of them.

"Welcome back," his mother said, approaching him with tears in her eyes, "You're just in time."

"I know," he breathed, smiling. "Let me see."

Aristide was holding the baby. He approached his father-in-law and reached out for his son, and the older Amell smiled briefly, placing the sleeping baby in the Warden's arms. In that moment, the darkspawn were non-existent. There was no threat of an archdemon—no war between Thedas and the evil that came from beneath—just him and his son. He wondered if this was how his father felt when he first carried him, and decided that it had to be.

He was so focused on studying his son's face that Revka had to prod him lightly, to bring him out of his trance. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she said, laughing, "Go on. Name him."

The baby stirred in his arms and he looked back down, only to find his boy staring at him curiously with the same blue eyes that belonged to him. To his father. Pride swelled in his heart and he chuckled. "He looks like… me."

He blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape and smiled even wider. There was no doubt… he knew exactly what to name his legacy.

"Logan," he breathed, "Logan James Warren… the Seventh."