This story is my first attempt at fanfiction. The Dragon Age story is really the first one that has ever inspired to write about characters and themes that are not my own. (Enter requisite disclaimer about ownership here.) This entry is the first of, what I hope to be, many chapters in a saga that chronicles the adventures of a Dalish warden and Anders. I hope you all enjoy it!
Gwenna felt the electric prickle of power before she could identify its source. The air in the keep was heavy with an uncanny heat. She could sense, as always, the familiar taint of Darkspawn, but there was another magic here as well. As she charged up the stone stairs, hot on Mhairi's heels, other familiarities began to invade Gwenna's senses. Dimly, she could hear the low crackle of smoldering flames. As she rounded the bend that took her into the fortress loft, the acrid sweetness of charred flesh assailed her nostrils. She arrived just in time to witness two things. First, was Mhairi removing her sword wetly from the torso of a dead Hurlock, and second, was a blast of flame that enveloped the far corner of the room. A handful of remaining Darkspawn crumpled, shrieking, into a fiery heap on the floor. Gwenna squinted through the fog of lingering smoke, trying to assess the situation. She could vaguely make out a pile of expired bodies, some Darkspawn, others not. A lone man appeared to be standing among them. She strained to make out his face.
Then, for half a beat of her heart, Gwenna's blood ran cold. She felt her pulse, rapid and flimsy, hammering at her throat as flickering light glinted red and gold on a lock of sandy-colored hair. She felt stalwart knees lose resolve as shadows played along the chiseled line of a stubbled jaw and a thin, aquiline nose. Her breath froze in her chest as hazel eyes, always so full of resolute sadness, fixed their gaze on her.
'He's here!', she thought, breathlessly.
But…. No. This was not the same man. These eyes, though sad still, were lighter, and more heavily lined at the corners. This man was taller and leaner, and likely a few years older. He was, she now realized, clad in long robes of Tevinter fashion and carried a carved wooden staff that stood easily her height and half again. A mage then, but not a Warden. Certainly not the one she had initially mistaken him for. How had this man been the only one to survive here?
As he looked up to see two armored officials nearing the entrance, Anders had to suppress the urge to flee. He was outnumbered, for starters and, quite literally, backed into a corner. Even if he could make his way out of the keep, the courtyard was littered with guards. Besides, if his guess was accurate, the elven officer with the tattoos was none other than The Hero of Ferelden herself, commander of the Grey Wardens. There had been much talk of her impending arrival during his brief stay at Vigil's Keep. Anders had gleaned enough from those conversations to know that making an enemy of this woman was a complication that he neither needed nor wanted. No, it was best to let his tongue do the maneuvering here. The commander had a reputation for being fierce, but fair. Perhaps she would be willing to see reason.
The Grey Warden's gaze was making him uncomfortable. Her eyes were fixed in his direction, and a series of strange emotions seemed to pass across her face as she apprised him, none of which were clear enough to make out. Anders cleared his throat nervously and spoke.
"Er, I didn't do it!" He joked awkwardly, gesturing toward the pile. " However, Biff here made the funniest gurgle when he went down."
The commander blinked twice. "Right. And who are you supposed to be?"
"You may call me Anders, my dear lady. I am a mage and, sadly, a wanted apostate."
Again, a storm cloud of emotions moved across the commander's face. Anders flexed jittery fingers. "We were stopping here on our way back to the circle. Just a short rest. Now they're all dead, shame."
Anders's eyes followed the warden's gaze as it made a considering pass toward several corpses in Templar armor, then settled back upon him.
"That's convenient", she commented dryly.
"Yes, well, the Maker moves in mysterious ways," Anders replied. Then, more earnestly, " I'll tell you what. Why don't I help you out here, and then we can discuss what comes next later, once these bastards have been properly put to rest, yes?"
The warden commander eyed him warily, or perhaps it was only curiously. After a long moment, she gave him one curt nod and turned on her heel to exit.
