Disclaimer: All right to the Dragon Age series belong to Bioware and, sadly, EA.
"We'll kill them all!"
Theron's vow teemed with anger and outrage. His fist shook in the air as he spoke, his face contorted into a twisted scowl. The little girl in front of him gave him a hopeful, yet worried, look as she merely nodded her head at his words. Theron squeezed his bow and placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort.
"Do not fret Mariel. Your village shall be avenged," he whispered and wiped away her tears. He looked around, trying to gain a grasp over the situation. The night was dark and the forests held terrors beyond mere wolves and other creatures. There were demons, blood mages, sylvans, spiders, and even Darkspawn. None of those monsters interested Theron however, only the bandits who had raided Mariel's home.
It was a village that Theron had been all too familiar with. During his treks into the forests, he would come across the village for shelter. In turn, he would hunt for them, providing them food to survive. When the young Mariel, daughter of the village mayor, had come running towards him — her clothes bloody and innocence gone — she had told him of the bandits who had raided them. Now, here they stood, in the middle of a dark forest, ready to hunt down those who had killed her family.
Theron patted the tree next to him and noted its height. "Wait here. I'll see if I can find anything from above." Mariel nodded and sat down, her head laid back on the tree as she looked up at the sky. Theron gave her a mournful look before climbing. He pulled himself up the branches of the tree as his blond hair brushed against the leaves. Finally, he reached the top and poked his head out of the bundle of leaves. In the distance, he could see the mountains of the Coastlands, rumored to surround a Grey Warden fortress, while behind him was the smoldering ruins of Mariel's village.
Theron cursed at himself. He had promised to help those people and where was he when they needed his help the most? He was sleeping on a tree in a desolate forest. He looked longingly at the mountains. Once, he had tried to explore the caves that dotted the mountainsides, hoping to find that Warden fortress. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could find him. The legend who had disappeared five years ago. The man who ended the Blight seven years ago.
The Hero of Ferelden.
That quest proved fruitless.
Theron shook those thoughts out of his mind. He had to find those bandits. Finally, he saw wisps of smoke in a clearing near them, as well as a faint light. A fire, Theron noticed and so he he began to shimmy down the tree.
Mariel stood up at the sight of him, eager for news. Her ruby hair was a wild mess, with leaves stuck to its tresses. Her face was pale and round, and held a long cut that stretched across her right cheek. She was still a child, no more than six years old, and yet she had seen more than most people do their entire lives. She had seen the butchering of her friends and family, a sight no person should ever have to experience. Theron landed on the ground next to her.
"There's a camp about a mile ahead of us." Theron waited, letting that sink in. "Whether it's the bandits or someone else doesn't matter. We're gonna investigate."
Mariel nodded meekly and they began to silently walk through the night. From the corner of his eyes, Theron could see shadows watching him silently from the comforts of the darkness around them. To his right, Theron could see the edges of a swamp and to his left, a dirt road. In front of him, a flickering light that was his destination. He put one foot in front of the other, trying to minimize the noise made by the dry leaves as he stepped on them, and when finally he saw the small camp clearly through the many trees, he stopped. He gestured for Mariel to stay to which she simply whimpered and obeyed. He drew his bow and placed the arrow on the string, ready to fire. He knelt beside a tree and observed the scene.
A small, ragged tent — suitable for one man — stood a few feet away from the campfire, which burned brightly in the dark. Sitting on a log in front of the fire was a cloaked figure, who stoked the flames with a stick. Beside the log was an empty pot with crumbs of food clinging to the bottom of it. Theron noticed the backpack behind the man, which seemed fill to the brink with loot. Loot that could've very well have belonged to Mariel's village. Theron felt his face contort as he fed the thought.
This man was one of the bandits.
This man needed to die.
Theron pulled the arrow back on the bow and aimed. He let out a soft breath, letting the anger inside him transfer itself to the arrowpoint.
"Fire that arrow, boy, and you'll never fire another again."
Theron jumped and blinked in surprise. He couldn't have saw him. Theron had been quiet and the man wasn't even looking at him. Theron pulled back his bow again, but hesitated.
"Join me by the fire, if you wish. I mean you no harm," the cloaked man called out.
Theron gulped and began to approach the stranger, bow ready. Mariel went to follow him, but he gestured to stay back. It did not matter.
"The other may join us." The man's hooded head turned to Theron. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
Theron took in a harsh breath and nodded towards Mariel, who shuffled towards them. Together, they sat on the log parallel the man, with only the fire to separate them. The man's face was shadowed by his ragged black cloak, with only his mouth visible. Mariel fidgeted in her seat nervously, so Theron put his hand on her shoulder. He glared at the man.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am no one," the cloaked man said with a wave of his hand, "Simply a weary traveler."
Theron stubbornly shook his head. "What is your name?"
Theron could spy the small tracings of a smirk on the man's lips. "Names are cute, but they hold no meaning. For now, you may know me only as a wanderer," the man said, "What is your name?"
"Names are cute, but they hold no meaning," Theron imitated. The stranger scoffed.
"A tongue of thorns, I see."
"Best not to get too close."
The man scoffed again, a bit louder this time. "You threaten me? For what reason? I've done you no harm. I've let you share my flames. I even," the man paused to pick up his kettle, "offer you some food."
The man shook the kettle at them, beckoning them. Theron shook his head, until Mariel looked at him with wide brown eyes. "I'm hungry," she pleaded.
Theron scowled, got up, and took the kettle from the man's hand. As he did, he eyed the stranger suspiciously and took a whiff of the food to make sure it wasn't poisoned. He could be a blood mage, Theron thought, Preparing them to be sacrificed for some demon ritual. Suspicion and disgust were emotions presently seen on Theron's face, yet even he had noticed, the man made no comment. He merely stoked the flames with his head bowed so that his hood could cover his face. For a moment, there was silence, with only the crackling of the flames and the smacking of Mariel's lips as the only sounds. Finally, the man spoke.
"This is a strange sight to behold. A Dalish elf protecting a human girl. Why is that?"
Theron, unconsciously, traced his fingers across his Dalish markings, which coiled around his left eye, and scratched his pointed ears. For a moment, he remembered his clan. He remembered the arguments that came from his protests. He remembered the bitterness that came from his banishment. He glared at the man. "It's no business of yours," he snapped. The stranger tilted his head in curiosity.
"It was merely a question," the hooded man said, "but you are correct. It is none of my business."
"It's really good!" she said with her mouth full. Some bits of food sprang from her mouth, only to fall into the flames.
"Is it? It's the first meal that I've made in a while. I had not been too sure," he replied.
Mariel nodded her head with an enthusiastic fervor. "It's really, really good! My mama used to make a stew just like this until…"
Mariel trailed off and she bowed her head with furrowed brow. The cloaked man's head looked up at her with interest.
"Something happened to your parents, child?" he asked softly.
"Th-They were attacked by bandits." Mariel looked into the stew, lost in her memories. Lost in distant screams and bloodied bodies. Lost in tragedy. Theron put his arms around her in comfort. She gave him a sad smile before returning to her meal. Meanwhile, the man nodded in understanding. Theron's temper flared at the gesture. As if this stranger would know of her pain, of her lost! For all they knew, this stranger could've been a part of the raid.
The man's head turned towards Theron. "You've some quarrel with me, boy? Some words to say?" he challenged.
Theron slammed his palms on his knees. "You are conveniently placed close to the raided village. You have a bag of loot," he pointed at the bag behind the man, "and a hood over your face. You refuse to tell us your name or your purpose, except that you are a traveler! Who are you?"
The man raised his head, slightly, ever so slightly, but enough for Theron to see the pair of glowing icy blue eyes peering through the shadows on his face. Glowing eyes that were commonplace for Grey Wardens. Theron's own amber eyes widened in realization.
"You presume much, boy," the Grey Warden sneered.
"I-I didn't know you were a Grey Warden," Theron stammered.
The Warden tilted his head in question. "And what?" he asked, "That would've changed your opinion? You would've presumed my intentions were good? That I would know or have had anything to do with the raid on the girl's village?"
"We-Well you couldn't have! You're a-"
"A Grey Warden, I know. That does not leave me innocent of any such doings. Do not presume such things."
Theron looked at him in shock. The Grey Wardens were heroes! Warriors, whose skill was unmatched in battle! Men and women whose honor and sense of duty was unbounded! He should know. It was a Warden who had saved him after all.
The Warden seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't be naive," he said. He returned to picking at the embers of the waning fire, while Theron looked at him with wide eyes. His mind raced with a thousand questions, but only one of them stuck out in his mind.
"Do you know him?" he blurted out. The Warden sighed.
"Specify."
Theron perked up and he took on an excited expression. "Him! You know! The Warden! The Hero of Ferelden!"
The Warden grunted and was quiet for a while. His lips twitched at the title, as he continued picking at the fire.
"Yes," he said finally, "I am familiar with this Hero of Ferelden."
Theron was practically jumping in his seat. "What's he like? I heard he was once the lord of a great family, before being betrayed by a close friend. After a long journey, he killed the traitor and his hand lay thick with the man's blood," Theron rambled with a wide smile.
Again, the Warden was quiet, almost as if he was lost in thought. These pauses in behavior were overlooked by Theron, who continued. "I heard he saved the mages at the Circle by Lake Calenhad. When the templars gave him their wish to kill all the mages, the Warden defended them! He bloodied the Knight-Commander's nose and laid a single-man siege on the demon-filled Tower! They say that he faced a thousand demons and killed them all! As they returned to the Fade, he followed and finished them off there too!"
The Warden scowled. "Nothing so heroic," he snarled.
"What about the Temple of Sacred Ashes? They say he found it, tainted and full of dragon cultists and dragons! They say, he killed them all, along with their five High Dragon masters. They say that he freed the temple of the evil and used the power of Andraste to kill the High Dragons!"
The Warden laughed. "A Dalish elf who believes in Andraste? This is a strange sight to behold!"
Theron flushed a silent shade of pink. "I believe that Andraste did exist, yes, and no, it is not a popular belief among my brethren. I do, also, believe that Andraste channeled the powers of the elven gods to hold the powers she did and, in payment, she freed the elves and established the Dalish to help safeguard the secrets of the Elvhenan."
"My, my! What blasphemy you speak!" the Warden mocked with a smug smile, "I must say. The other Dalish must not have taken too kindly with those words." The Warden tilted his head. "Did they?"
Theron grinded his teeth. "No," he grumbled, "they did not."
The Warden was silent again, content with the revelation. Theron, however, refused to let his questions go unanswered. "You haven't answered my questions!"
The Warden gave him a quizzical look. "What questions?" he said innocently.
"On the Hero of Ferelden! The Warden-Commander!"
"Those weren't questions," the Warden pointed out with his stick, "They were merely exaggerated tales of triumph."
Theron shook with frustration. "Whatever! Are they true? What really happened?"
The Warden sighed, and gently placed his stick on the clapped his hands and began.
"You talk of the Hero of Ferelden as if he were some sort of god or hero. The Chosen of Andraste! Slayer of demons! An honorable avenger! No. None of that," he said with a thoughtful shake of the head, "He is a questionable man, who has had to make questionable decisions, in a questionable world. These stories you speak of. It was never anything so clean, so heroic. It was questionable."
"The traitor: Rendon Howe. It started with a tragedy, as all stories seem to start. The death of his family, before his very eyes. The destruction of his home and shattering of his life. Everything he had ever loved burned, at the orders of a man he had once loved as an uncle." The scowl on the Warden's face gave him a frightening appearance as he lunged himself into the dark entrenches of his mind. "That man became the right hand of Loghain, the false king. When this hero." the Warden spat, "found himself choosing between rescuing the captured princess, Anora, or sating his vengeance… he chose vengeance. You must've heard the state of Howe's body, following the Warden's beating. His head was in shattered pieces, smashed. At least that much of the story was true, the Warden's hand was thick with Howe's blood."
The Warden looked at his right hand. "As a result," he continued, "the alarms were sounded and the Warden was captured and thrown into a prison, where he was tortured, until he escaped. Many guards died during that escape. Men and women, whose only crime was to fulfill their duty."
The Warden looked back at the dismayed Theron. "The Circle Tower. Bereft with demons and other such creatures. It was in that place that the Warden almost broke. In that place, he encountered a Sloth demon, who thrust the Warden into dreams that he would have liked nothing better than to escape too. When the Warden rejected those dreams, he was thrust into an endless nightmare, where he had to watch his family be butchered over, and over again. Eventually, with his companion's help, he broke free and slayed that Sloth demon, but not before he had slain countless innocent mages, while he was possessed by the demon and subjected to his own inner wrath."
The Warden balled his fist and Theron could see him grind his teeth. "Most of the mages who had managed to survive the demons had died at the hands of a hero, who couldn't control himself."
"As for the Temple of Sacred Ashes," the Warden said with a scowl, "the Warden-Commander came across a village called Haven, which was bereft with the same dragon cultists you had spoken of. When the Warden discovered the body of a Templar, he was attacked. By all the villagers. He killed them. All of them."
The Warden's glare was an ugly thing as he spat out each word.
"Man. Woman. And child."
Theron's eyes went wide as he listened, horrified. His jaw dropped. The Warden explained, "Many of them were fanatics, willing to die for their petty Dragon god. Yet, some of them weren't. Some of them were simply fearful of what would happen if they didn't put on the guise of a fanatic. They feared of the consequences that would come if the other fanatics found them not fighting. So they attacked the Warden with the same ferocity as the others, to protect themselves. It was all the same to this hero that you admire so much."
"Even the children?" Theron choked out. The Warden nodded mournfully. Theron blinked several times. It couldn't be true. It couldn't… could it?
"He's no hero," Theron steamed. The Warden glanced at him with questioning eyes.
"No?" the Warden said, "Is he not? He ended the Fifth Blight. He overthrew the false king, Loghain, and reestablished the Theirin line of kings. He, almost, single-handedly killed the Archdemon, Urthemiel. He restored the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He wiped out the remaining Darkspawn from Ferelden's surface and ended the Darkspawn Civil War. He saved the city of Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep remained standing at the end of the Darkspawn attack. He saved Redcliffe. He made Bhelen king. He ended the curse on a Dalish clan and saved them from the werew— "
"He saved my clan," Theron muttered. The Warden stopped. Theron continued, "He saved me."
The Warden nodded. "You were one of those sick?"
Theron bowed his head and gave a slow nod. "I was."
Silence befell the camp once more. Their discussion had left them both with much to think on and they held solemn looks as they did so. Mariel, on the other hand, finished her meal and held the kettle out with a prideful smile.
"I'm done!" she cried. The Warden's face broke into a smile, before returning to its original state: a cold glower. He looked at Theron.
"I think I've seen these bandits you speak of."
Theron's head snapped up at him and he leaned forwards with interest. "Did you kill them?"
The Warden waved his hand dismissively at him. "No. They passed by me on the road, a few miles back. They were large men with heavy beards and painted faces. They held bags of loot in their hands and bloody weapons. I simply ignored them."
"Where were they headed?"
"West."
Theron shot up and grabbed his bow. "Thank you!" he yelled. He grabbed Mariel's hand. "Come on! We have to catch them."
"Sit down, boy! You've neither the skill or arrows to deal with all those men," the Warden hissed. Theron frowned at him.
"Then, what do you expect me to do?"
"To sit down, and let the situation be handled by your betters."
Theron looked at him in admiration. "You'll help us then?"
The Warden got up from his log and rolled his shoulder. For a moment, Theron could see the black armor underneath the equally black cloak. At its center was an engraved griffon head with glowing red eyes.
"Aye, I suppose I will," the Warden sighed. He walked towards his tent and pulled out a sheathed sword and a dagger, holding both in either hand. Theron's breath was rapid with boyish excitement.
"We'll be coming with you then!" he shouted eagerly. The Warden shook his hand as he strapped his sword on his back and his dagger on the back of his waist.
"No. You'll be in my way. This is a matter best left to me."
Theron stomped towards him, outraged, and jabbed his finger into the Warden's shoulder. "This isn't about you! This is about her," he pointed at the shy Mariel, "and her vengeance."
"Vengeance: a hunger best left unsatisfied and forgotten."
"What? No! Vengeance should be quenched! Justice should be dealt out!"
The Warden pointed a quick finger at Theron, inches from his face. "Vengeance and Justice are two very different things, boy." He turned to leave. "And vengeance can never be quenched."
Theron's face grew red and it trembled with fury. "What do you know of vengeance?"
"More than you know," he said glumly. He kicked dirt into the fire, putting it out. He began to walk down the narrow dirt road. Theron watched as he became a dot in the horizon and eventually disappeared. He turned towards Mariel, who had fallen asleep during his argument. He shook her awake and looked into her tired eyes.
"Come on," he whispered, "We have to find those bandits!"
Mariel nodded her head sleepily and rubbed her eyes. Theron rushed towards his bow and grabbed it. He grasped Mariel's hand, and ran in the Warden's direction. Mariel would have her vengeance and he… he would…
Theron frowned as he ran. Why was he doing this? To avenge those who were kind to him? To help this young, helpless girl? To satisfy his desire for justice? To be a hero… like the Hero of Ferelden was? Was that really the reason for his venture? To simply be a hero? Not to be a good samaritan, but to gain glory for his help and feel better about himself as a result? Was he really so shallow? And was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden a hero at all?
Theron snapped out of his trail of thoughts and stopped. He saw the Warden, who was crouching before a set of footprints. Theron and Mariel watched from the trees beside the road as he rubbed the dirt, then got up and continued down the path. The two followed him for miles. Eventually, dawn had arrived and the sky became split between night and day. The first traces of light were beginning to shine through the thick leaves of the trees. Still, they followed.
Finally, the Warden came across a makeshift outpost. Theron inched closer to the Warden as he called out to the watcher on the outpost's walls.
"Stand down, boy," the Warden yelled at the archer, whose bow was drawn aimed at the Warden, "and fetch your leader! I wish a word!"
"You lookin' for trouble Warden?" the archer yelled back, "Because you'll find it here!"
"Oh shut up!" the Warden snapped. "Your leader! Go get him!"
The archer turned his head slightly, eyes still on the hooded Grey Warden. "Aye boss! We got a idiot Warden here! Says he wants trouble!"
Suddenly, the gate to the outpost opened with a crack and a creak. Out came a large, bearded man and his smaller followers. In his hand was a large battle axe, and he walked with an arrogant swagger towards the Warden. He and his group of bandits stood a few feet away from the Warden as they spoke.
"What you seeking, Warden? Recruits? Company? Food? Trouble?" The bandit leader smiled, showcasing the gaps in his yellow teeth. "Death?"
The Grey Warden remained stone-faced. "A village was attacked and burned not far from here. Who did it?" he questioned. The bandits looked at each other in amusement.
"I wouldn't know," the leader replied with a grin.
"Maybe it was one of those nasty darkspawn!" one of them cried out.
"You should check with them!" another yelled.
"Yeah! Fuck off Warden!" added the archer on top.
"Who. Did. It?" the Warden growled. His tone was gruff and held a violent nature to it. It was, also, bordering on impatience.
One of the bandits walked forwards with an arrogant lean, grin, and a dagger pointing at the Warden. "Now, look buddy. You can either fuck off, like my buddy up top said, or — and this is the fun part —- we get to kill you. It ain't a hard decision."
A cold glare descended on the outspoken bandit, who stood in front of him. "Did you raid that village?"
The bandit grinned from ear to ear. "Damn right."
Mariel grunted beside Theron. He turned to look at her face, which was contorted into a harsh scowl. He balled his fist. However, the bandit did not stop there.
"Bunch of bleeders, they were. And criers! Couldn't stop bawling over that dead mommy and that other dead mommy next to her. One of 'em even-"
Theron didn't even see the strike. He had blinked and, where one moment the bandit was boasting, the next moment he saw blood gushing from the bandit's throat. The bandit, desperately, clutched at his open throat, before falling to his knees and eventually to the floor. The Warden loomed over his corpse, holding out a jagged dagger that dripped with blood.
The other bandits stood paralyzed at the sight, except for the archer who fired his arrow. The arrow went sailing at the Warden — who caught it in midair, inches from his face. With a bit of pressure, the arrow snapped in two in his hand and he threw it at the other bandits' feet.
For a long moment, all was silent and the world seemed to hold its breath. Finally, the leader screamed, "Well? What in the Maker's name are you waiting for?! Kill him!"
It was then that the Warden drew his sword. The rasp it made as it slid out of its scabbard sent shivers down Theron's spine, until he recognized the blade. Until he recognized it from all the tales he had heard.
Vigilance, it was called, a broad longsword crafted from volcanic aurum and the bones of an ancient dragon. Flames licked its golden blade, which had a convex edge that curved to a sharp point, so sharp that it was rumored to be able to split open the sky. The sword was said to have a life of its own and steadily grew in its power. The Antivan Crows were said to have stolen it, but that seemed to be a lie. If this was Vigilance… then that would mean…
The Warden threw his dagger at one of the charging bandits, who collapsed with a dagger embedded in his face. The first bandit, a small and nimble girl, struck with both her dagger simultaneously. The Warden merely took a step back and returned with an overarching slash of his sword, splitting open her chest. The others attacked and the Warden, lazily, returned their blows. The Warden was like a painter with their blood as the paint. His sword, the brush. The ground, the canvas. By the time seven of the bandits had fallen, in bloody pieces, the others — including the leader — had retreated into the open outpost. The archer, who remained standing on the outpost's battlements, remained firing at the Warden, who picked up one of the dead bandit's shield as defense. One of the archer's arrows pierced through the shield and stopped, inches from the Warden's glowing eyes. The Warden threw his cloak at the lone archer, in an attempt to obstruct the archer's vision. The archer hesitated, allowing the Warden to throw the shield at the archer, smacking into his face. The archer fell backwards off the battlements and disappeared behind the walls of the outpost.
With his cloak gone, Theron could see the Grey Warden clearly. Dark brown hair was pulled back into a long braid, while a few strands of hair lay hanging over his forehead. He had an oval face and a stern jaw, along with a crescent scar that ran from his cheek, over the bridge of his nose to the top of his left eyebrow. He had the look of a rugged, experienced man with a stoical face and cold eyes.
The Warden yanked his dagger out of the dead bandit's face and proceeded into the outpost with a confident walk. Theron gave Mariel an urgent look.
"Stay here," he said, leading to a nod. Content, he grabbed his bow and ran towards the outpost. The Warden would need help, even if he was the Warden-Commander. As he entered the gate, he found the Warden already engaged in battle, ducking and weaving to avoid the powerful swings of the bandit leader. The bodies of the other bandits were like a road from the gate's entrance to the Warden's current battle. From the corner of his eye, Theron could see the groaning archer who had fallen from the battlements. A quick shot from his bow led to an arrow running through the bandit's head. The dirt, once a light brown, was now stained with the blood and entrails of the raiders.
Meanwhile, the Warden dodged the frustrated bandit's attacks, with movements that could be best described as bored. Finally, he sent his sword up to meet the bandit's overarching swing. For a moment, the two remained there, weapons shifting to gain some ground over the other, until the Warden spun to the side — away from the clash— and sliced through the man's ankles. The large man screamed and fell, no longer sustained by the balance of his feet, which stood in front of him. The bandit tried, desperately, to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood from his dismembered ankles. The Warden grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up. He threw him towards a stack of crates at the far right of the outpost's courtyard. Barrels of alcohol fell over the bandit as he crashing into them, until only one barrel stood over the bandit's head. The Warden walked over to the bandit, who pleaded for his life.
"P-please! I ain't done nothin' to you! Jus' let me go! Killin' me ain't gonna solve anything, will it? I'm sorry about the village! I-I'm sorry about your friends there! Me and my boys had to make a living, ya' know? It's a kill or be killed world out there!" the bandit screamed as tears poured down his cheeks.
The Warden ignored him and threw a dagger at the barrel over the bandit. The dagger stuck into the barrel and some alcohol began to leak out. Behind the Warden, however, a bloody bandit began to stand, axe in hand. Theron watched as the bandit limped towards the Warden, a scowl on his face. The Warden seemed not to notice, so Theron moved quickly. With a quick draw of his bow, Theron aimed for the bandit. The arrow he fired went soaring into the side of the bandit's neck and out the other end. He saw a waterfall of blood gush out of the bandit's mouth as he choked and died. The Warden paid no mind to it and continued walking towards the barrel over the bandit. He yanked out the dagger and alcohol spilled out of the hole it made, splashing onto the bandit.
"You misunderstand," the Warden said, "I've no quarrel with you and your men. I had no connections to that village and its inhabitants."
"Then why?" the bandit squealed, "Why do this? Why did we do?"
The Warden grabbed one of the lit torches on the wall and the bandit's eyes went wide with fear as he stared into the flames. The Warden looked at him coldly. "You hurt someone. Someone who did not deserve to be hurt. Specifically," the Warden pointed at Mariel, who came shuffling past Theron with wild, angry eyes, "you hurt her."
Mariel stood next to the Warden, breathing heavy. Theron watched in shock as she took the torch from the Warden's hand and stood over the paralyzed bandit, who was drenched in alcohol. The Warden looked at her with cold eyes.
"Quench your hunger, child," he said and walked away, past Theron and through the gate. Mariel looked at the pleading bandit, stricken with a ferocious fury.
"Please," the bandit begged weakly, "don't…"
His pleas turned to screams as Mariel dropped the torch on him, setting him up in flames. The man writhed in agony as he screamed. Eventually, he was lost in the flames and the air became rife with the smell of burnt flesh. The whole time Theron and Mariel stood side by side, watching as the last of her family's killers went up in smoke.
Theron snapped out of his trance and looked around for the Warden. He nudged Mariel. "Let's go thank the Warden," he said. She nodded her head, eyes still enthralled by the flames. After a bit, she ran with him down the narrow, dirt road towards the cloaked figure in the distance.
Eventually, they reached him and walked with him. He paid them no mind as he walked towards the sunrise, basking in the morning light. Theron and Mariel walked behind him, on either side.
"We never got to thank you for helping," Theron said. Here he was. The man who had saved Theron all those years ago, when he was sweating and trembling as the wolf curse began to eat at his soul, along with many of his brethren. The man who ended the curse in the Brecilian Curse, and to who his Dalish clan owes a life debt to. This man was the Hero of Ferelden.
"What is your name?" Theron asked cautiously. The Warden stopped and turned his head to them slight, ever so slightly, but enough for Theron to see his glowing icy blue eyes. The sun rained down upon him, turning him into a silhouette as he spoke.
"Call me Dante."
This story is merely an introduction to Dante Cousland, the stoical and broken Hero of Ferelden, and a prologue, of sorts, to his adventures before, during, and after Inquisition.
I've already begun writing another story about his adventure to cure the Calling and how that adventure will lead to another confrontation with the Architect and the other surviving Tevinter magisters, along with the unearthing of ancient secrets long buried in Thedas.
Stick around for that if you like ;P.