Chapter 1: Dreaming
I'll wake up soon. I have to.
But this is no dream. The forced march from Highever to Ostagar has taken days, with very little rest. Duncan fears assassins and keeps us moving. He says little to me, and I don't volunteer information or ask any questions. He doesn't seem to know quite what to say, but then again, what do you say when you've taken a girl from her dying family in the middle of the night?
My only hope is that I find my brother, Fergus. Our destination, Ostagar, is where he was headed with Highever's armies. But how do I tell him that his wife and child are dead? That our parents were slain by Arl Howe's soldiers? Anger bubbles in my veins yet again. Howe was my father's friend. For a brief time my parents thought I'd marry Thomas, Rendon Howe's youngest son. Now all I want is to kill the entire family and burn their castle to the ground.
"Calm your anger," Duncan says yet again in his gentle, stoic voice. "There will be a time to loose your rage on appropriate targets, but right now you must focus."
Ser Gilmore was supposed to be the one going with Duncan. He should be joining the ancient, revered order of the Grey Wardens, or maybe even Fergus. Not I. The Maker works in strange ways, though, because I know if Fergus had been home, or Ser Gilmore had left with Duncan, I'd be dead. The Chantry services in Highever taught us that the Maker has plans that may not always be evident to the individual. I never really paid much attention during services. "Too much energy, Pup," my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland, would say about me, smiling affectionately while reaching out to ruffle my hair. I would always duck away, moving too quickly for him, and he'd laugh. Fergus was the heir, the responsible one, while I was the roguish youngest child. "We'll never marry you off; then what of you?" my mother, Teyrna Eleanor, would say, but with a smile.
Highever is one of the largest and most powerful Teyrnirs in Ferelden and now it is nothing. It will come under Howe's jurisdiction and the Cousland name will be erased from history. My only hope now lies in the Grey Wardens.
He tells me some stories about the Wardens: their history, their purpose. I half-listen, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of death.
The overcast sky drapes the land in a blanket of gray. Very little changes in the scenery, and the nights and days blend until I don't know how long it has been since fleeing Highever. I am alone with my thoughts. Sometimes I practice thrusts with my daggers, both to keep in practice and to alleviate anger. I hurl them at tree trunks in spirals; each trunk has Arl Rendon Howe's face. Duncan watches but says little. His eyes are old, but sharp and shrewd, and I wonder what he sees in my fighting technique. He doesn't seem disappointed.
Our trek takes us south from Highever's coastline into a land of tree copses and stone ruins that rise out of the earth like the bones of long-dead behemoth creatures. They are spectacular enough to jar me from my brooding. I inhale sharply as a row of massive bone-colored columns jut from the ground like broken ribs. Vaulted arches connect some of them; in other pairs, the arches have crumbled in the middle and the sides reach for each other. A pair of lovers that will never connect.
For once, Duncan's face shows pleasure. "We are nearing Ostagar," he says. "We're only a day and a half away. A day, if we quicken our pace."
All I have in this world are the clothes on my back, my daggers, the family sword and shield, and my Mabari hound, Kitty; Oren named him. Kitty travels behind us, obediently following Duncan's lead. He doesn't seem to care about the days and nights passing into blurs of time. Then again, he hasn't lost anything and has nothing to think about. Arriving at Ostagar will be a relief, because then at least I will have things to do other than walk and think.
Fatigue makes my legs feel detached from my body. Somehow I pick my feet up and put them down again. We march through the night and by sunrise my stomach is growling and my chin rests on my chest. When I can keep my eyes open, they stare at the ground as I will my feet to move. As a result, I run into Duncan's back. His heavy metal armor clangs and his hand flies to the hilt of his silverite greatsword, more from instinct than any need to hurt me. At least I hope. "Ostagar," he says and his voice is the whisper of wind before a storm, all reverence, but holding back excitement.
I see why.
The ancient fortress ruins refuse to be beaten by time's wiles. They stand broken, yet proud, much like the order of Grey Wardens. It has only been in the last half an age that they were allowed back into Ferelden, thanks to King Maric. Like this fortress, they represent an unwillingness to yield. I am awake now, and follow Duncan across the bridge spanning a massive chasm that makes me dizzy when I look down. I get dizzier when I see where chunks of stone have been taken out of the bridge, and where large cracks threaten to sunder the stone beneath my feet. The air smells of pine and as we near the other side and the noise of a bustling camp reaches my ears.
A man clad in gleaming gold-leaf plate armor even at this early hour greets us at the end of the bridge. He looks familiar, but I am not sure why until I see Duncan bow, eyes to the ground. "Your majesty," he says.
Five years ago Father, Mother, Fergus and I traveled to Denerim. Oren was still an infant, so Oriana stayed in Highever with him. It was only the second time I'd been to the capital city. My parents forced me into a proper frock and fussed over me, hoping I'd remember my etiquette lessons. We'd be surrounded by the rest of Ferelden's nobility as we stood in the Landsmeet chambers to watch Cailan Theirin, son of King Maric, crowned.
I bow as my etiquette instructor taught me. Mistress Sylvie was never pleased she had to teach me to bow, since I frequently wore the light leather armor that currently clothes me. "A proper young lady should curtsy, and be in a dress no less," she would grumble to my mother while I fed scraps of food to my dog under the table. The memory brings a smile to my face, which is almost instantly replaced by tears. My family is dead. "Your highness," I manage to mumble.
"Well Duncan, you've returned from your recruiting expedition, and you've only brought one potential new Warden?" Cailan asks, but he is smiling. His gold armor gleams; his light blue eyes sparkle. His smile is huge. He exudes sunlight and confidence, and though I'm the daughter of the second most powerful man in Ferelden, I am shadowed and small in comparison. I rise, but I can't look at Cailan's brilliance. He is every inch a king and commander and he knows it. "You're… Teyrn Cousland's youngest," Cailan says, and my heart skips. "Duncan!" Cailan's smile widens and Duncan masks his wariness well. "How did you ever convince Teyrn Bryce to give up his youngest? And a daughter, at that?" He is trying hard not to laugh. While my father rarely went to Denerim, Cailan seems to know his reputation well enough. The king's face suddenly loses all trace of a smile. "You didn't have to conscript her, did you?"
Duncan glances at me, giving me the opportunity to explain the situation, but I shake my head just enough for him to see and keep staring at the ground. Rendon Howe is not the most powerful Arl in the country, but to tell the king of Howe's actions just smacks of tattling. I despise tattlers, and got into—and won—more than my share of squabbles in the streets of Highever over it.
"She came voluntarily," Duncan says, and then tells the King about Howe, much to my relief. I mistook his stoicism for insensitivity. "Have the others returned?"
"Just waiting on you," Cailan says. "And thank the Maker you've returned when you did. Loghain is talking strategy in my tent and it's making my head spin. Perhaps your years of experience fighting darkspawn will convince him that we need different tactics than those he used against the Orlesians."
Darkspawn. I've been so filled with grief that I've neglected to consider the true enemy. One does not grow up the child of a Teyrn and remain uneducated. I was taught the history of the Chantry, and the hubris of the Tevinter mages that tore the Fade. It allowed all manner of demons and soulless darkspawn into Thedas. The last time the darkspawn hordes gathered on the surface and launched an all-out Blight was four hundred years ago. Ferelden spent the better part of the last one hundred years struggling to repel the Orlesian forces and regain independence. A Blight was the last thing on our minds.
But of course if the Wardens are active again, and King Cailan has amassed them with his regular army, we must be Blight-stricken again.
"Take your time to explore the camp," Duncan tells me. His face is lined and his eyes dull. He does not relish moderating arguments between the King and Teyrn Loghain, himself a celebrated hero—the man who helped Maric drive the Orlesians from Ferelden for good.
People surround me, but I am alone. Even Kitty has gone trotting off to explore.
I want nothing more than to sleep, but I don't trust anyone and don't know where to go. So I start walking. Listening. It's the best way to pick up information. There are very few women in camp; I spy a few mages and several templars. The rest of Cailan's men must be encamped elsewhere. I vaguely remember Duncan saying Wardens made other soldiers nervous, but he didn't go into detail.
The morning passes in a pine scented haze. I find a large evergreen tree to sit under; my dog joins me and we catch a few hours of sleep. When I wake the sun is high and I am still outdoors, surrounded by the skeletons of Tevinter fortresses. Pine needles fall from my dark hair when I shake the sleep from my head. I head back to camp proper. The smell of cooking lunch wafts through the air, mingling with the pine and making my stomach growl like a feral animal.
Now that I've slept and eaten things do not seem as bleak. The situation is still less than preferable, but I'm starting to formulate a plan. I learned that Fergus was last in the Korcari Wilds, just south of here. I can strike out and find him, and he and I can retake Highever. Then we will let our father's troops join up with Cailan's as they march on the darkspawn. Certainly more helpful than training one orphan girl with rogue tendencies to be a Grey Warden, right?
"No," Duncan says when I ask. "The Korcari Wilds are too large to explore in the time we have. And no patrols have reported seeing signs of anyone else out there." He dips hard bread in the gray-brown stew, but doesn't eat it. It hovers over his bowl and he stares ahead at something only he can see. "And one Warden could make all the difference," he adds.
After lunch I am introduced to the other two new recruits, Ser Jory and Daveth. "Oh, we're not Wardens yet," Jory says and Daveth nods when I ask. "We have the Joining ceremony to undergo." No one has told me about this Joining. Then again, all those two know about it is we need to undergo it. Jory is from Redcliffe, but he tells me he has a pregnant wife in Highever.
The mention of my former home jolts me like the shockbomb a young mage accidentally left in front of my chambers once. I never tracked him down to find out if it really was an accident, but I also never forgot the feeling of cold and buzzing dizziness. "Where are you from?" Jory asks. He is older than me by a good ten years at least; receding hair, shadow of stubble on his jaw, but he seems kind.
He also has no idea what has happened to Highever.
"Duncan stumbled upon me," I say. I smile. "He liked what I could do with my daggers." It's not entirely a lie. The truth will hurt us both, and we have an important task ahead.
Daveth is closer to my age and seems more excited about becoming a Warden. "We play an important role in all of this. Whatever the Joining involves, bring it on, I say." Jory is less convinced, and returns to his tent. "You're not just some random rogue," Daveth says when Jory is gone. We head away from the bustle of camp to a quieter locale. "I know a noble when I see one."
"You know nothing about me," I say as lightly as possible, but my fingers are itching toward my daggers.
Next to me, Daveth smiles. He has gray-blue eyes and wears his dark hair longer than I wear mine. "Do you ever wonder why we're all here?"
"Constantly," I confess. I think about all the people here in camp. The Wardens smile and laugh but each one, especially the older ones, has a weariness in his eyes and slumps slightly when he thinks no one is looking and I wonder, what burden must a Warden bear that leaves him looking so downcast? Will I end up that way?
"Volunteer or conscripted?" Daveth asks.
I'm a little of both. I left with Duncan of my own free will, but if I'd stayed I'd be dead now. "Does it really matter?" I ask at last. "We're here. The ends will have to justify the means."
"Diplomatic," Daveth says with a ghost of a smile. "Your manners and speech will mark you as a noble, regardless of what you want people to know."
"You know many nobles, I take it?" I ask.
"When you're making your living cutting purses in Denerim, it's sort of an occupational hazard," Daveth says. "Of course, I wasn't very good at it. I tried to steal from Duncan. Failed, ran off, was caught by the guards. They were about to hang me when Duncan conscripted me," he says. "He saved my life."
I see a pattern forming.
Daveth is right about one thing. I am still a noble, and as such I dislike being indebted to anyone. "I'm sure he knows how much you appreciate that," I say, and nod once to take my leave.
"Does he know how much you appreciate it?" Daveth asks my retreating back. I keep walking because in truth, I don't have an answer.
Ostagar is in ruins, but stands proud as if it too is part of the pine forest that has grown up around it in the days since the Tevinter Imperium. The camp has been set up to use these ruins to divide it. Practicing mages occupy one area; the templar guards won't let me in close to see what they are doing. A faint reek of rotting meat wafts from the Mabari kennels, and I wonder if Kitty is in there, or still with Duncan; both seemed to have taken a liking to one another. Even my dog leaves me. Excellent.
I've been told to seek out Alistair, the newest among the Grey Wardens, who has been tasked with preparing Jory, Daveth, and me for the Joining. I find Alistair lounging against a ruined stone column, arms crossed over his chest. Three mages surround him, but he keeps smiling. He catches me watching and winks, and I turn away lest he see my slight blush. I don't want to appear rude and interrupt when he is conducting Warden business. But I have no problem being rude and listening in. I had a reputation of being the most well-informed young lady in Highever at one time for a reason. I can slip through the shadows like a specter and remain silent as a hunting predator ready to pounce. I do so now, lightly stepping behind one column and moving in.
"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage snaps.
Alistair's face falls momentarily at the rebuke, but then he shakes his head. "And here I thought we were getting on so well," he tells the mage. "I was even about to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one."
The mage's mouth hangs open and he looks like a fish about to bite a baited hook. He snaps his jaws together and turns away from Alistair. I sidle around the other side of the pillar so Grumpy Mage doesn't catch me. But Alistair does. "You know," he says, wandering over to me. "One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."
"I know exactly what you mean," I tell him. I come out into the open.
"Wait." He scrutinizes my features and I squirm. There is something familiar about him, but I can't place it. I've never met this man before, and I'm sure I would remember if I had. He's handsome, but it's not off-putting. He seems easy-going, and quick with a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. His dark blonde hair sticks up in the front and I have to resist the urge to flatten it. "We haven't met, have we?" he asks. His eyes narrow. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"
I truly smile for the first time in days and I feel as if my face will crack. "I'm not a mage, and we haven't met. You must be Alistair."
"Ah! You must be Duncan's newest recruit!" He gives me an appraising look, but doesn't appear critical. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."
There it is again. That word keeps popping up like a poisonous snake. All Jory, Daveth and I know is that we must undertake the ritual. "Pleased to meet you," I say. From the way my stomach flips about, I must have pushed my emotions down there. "My name is Fianna."
"Right! That was the name!" He taps his chin thoughtfully, staring at me until I don't know whether or not I should ask him to stop, or just hit him. "It just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"
"I can handle myself better than most," I say.
"I'm getting that impression," Alistair says. His eyes are now on my daggers and he looks a tad suspicious. I hadn't even realized I was holding one. I slide it into my sheath and offer a shrug as an apology. "So I'm curious," he says. "Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"
I shake my head. Thieves, bandits, treacherous soldiers of the man my father thought was his friend? Sure. Soulless monsters fixated on murder and destruction, not so much.
"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was," Alistair tells me, all trace of glibness gone from his voice. His face has a hint of the shadow the other Wardens have and I wonder if I too will have the look after my Joining. He shakes his head and his eyes clear, all sparkle and gaiety again. "Anyhow, whenever you're ready let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."
"I'm ready now," I offer. "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."
We walk through camp; mages practice spells and glyphs. A mother of the Chantry preaches from a hastily erected log stage. The dappled sunlight grows more golden as evening approaches. Next to me, Alistair greets everyone in the camp by name. Every greeting is also filled with banter and the glib humor the mage disliked so much, but everyone he talks to walks away with a smile. I also don't feel quite as empty now; it was difficult being alone with Duncan for so long. He was a kind man, but haunted. Also, I respected and even feared him some, and didn't feel I could talk to him. Alistair can't be much older than I, and he is so easygoing that my tension drips out of me like honey from a comb.
"So, that argument I saw… what was it about?"
Alistair pauses and thinks, then remembers. "With the mage? The Circle is here at the King's request, which upsets the Chantry. They love making mages feel unwelcome." He snorts slightly when he laughs and I nod knowingly. The revered mother of Highever's Chantry disapproved of my father allowing traveling mages to stay. But as the main Teyrnir between Denerim and the Circle on the northern end of Lake Calenhad, it was practical as well as polite. "This puts me in a bit of an awkward position," Alistair says, and I look at him expectantly. "I was once a templar," he tells me.
I expected some frightening confession of Blood Magic or something equally heinous. "That would be awkward," I say.
"I'm sure the revered mother had that in mind when she sent me with the message." Alistair looks thoughtful and the dappled sun flashes in his eyes. I can't tell if they're brown or deep blue yet. But they are playful and kind, which is important. "The mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along." He shakes his head and the golden light plays over his dark blond hair. "Apparently they didn't get the same speech." His smile is rueful, and he shrugs just a little, as if he can't help who or what he is, or what matters are.
I feel more comfortable in a quarter of an hour walking and talking with him than I have all day in the camp. "Well, if you're going to cooperate even at the risk of being a glorified messenger, than I look forward to traveling with you," I tell him. His eyebrows raise and he seems caught off guard, but then his smile broadens.
"You do? Huh. That's a switch," he says, and we keep walking.
Ser Jory and Daveth are waiting with Duncan at the central bonfire that burns even during the day. "You will be going out into the Korcari Wilds," Duncan tells us. Daveth leans forward in anticipation, while Jory leans back and looks away. Alistair finds this perfectly normal, and I just stand, arms crossed over my chest and eyes narrow. "There are items necessary to your joining ritual that you must collect. First, each of you must acquire a vial of darkspawn blood."
Jory blanches. I hope Duncan conscripted him, because I don't understand why a man so afraid of everything that must be done would volunteer for this. We are Ferelden people, and we're not exactly known for having an organized, easy life. It is usually sooner, rather than later, that anyone of Fereldan origin realizes that we must do what needs to be done, like it or not.
"Second," Duncan says, paying little heed to Jory's evident fear, "there was a Grey Warden outpost located in the Wilds. In the keep there were documents: treaties the Wardens of old used to require armies to come to their aid against the Blight. We need those treaties now more than ever."
"Where do we start looking?" Daveth asks.
"And what of the darkspawn?" Jory asks.
"I'll be accompanying you," Alistair says. I hope my relief doesn't show on my face. "All Grey Wardens have an innate ability to sense darkspawn. We won't be caught unawares."
Jory mutters to himself because he has figured out Daveth and I don't wish to hear his complaints. Daveth is thoughtful and serious, and though he's not undergone the Joining, he looks every part the stern Grey Warden he is so excited to become. And Alistair, proud Grey Warden that he is, is the most relaxed of any of us.
As the sun dips low, the scents of cooking begin to fill the air again. It all smells wonderful, but I'm not hungry. The other Wardens drink and toast and joke throughout the meal. Jory, Daveth and I can only manage to stare at our stew. I sip some ale, mostly to dull the nerves than to taste the bitterness. I've tasted enough of that in the last few weeks.
When the meal winds down my food is still untouched. Alistair approaches us, face slightly red from drink. "Even if you couldn't eat, you'll want to get rest," he says. "You all have a long day ahead tomorrow, and we start at sunrise."
Most of the Wardens share tents, as supplies are limited. As I am the only female, either among the recruits or the rest of the Wardens, I have my tent to myself. Kitty crawls in at least, and flops against me, trying to force me out of my bedroll.
I absently pet his fur and his breathing grows slow and deep. I envy his ability to sleep. The long, dark moments become hours. The wind whistles through the pines with a sound of mourning. Every so often I hear an outcry. At first it startles me and I sit up, but then I realize it happens regularly, as if someone, or many people, are having bad dreams. When I was young I would have nightmares that woke me and the rest of the castle with my screams. It was Nan's responsibility to look in on me, but more often than not my mother would also come and comfort me back to sleep.
I turn on my side and hug the rough blanket to me. I thought I was through with nightmares.
Morning breaks with the sounds of dozens of people waking and preparing for the day. I didn't sleep at all, so I am the first of the recruit scouting party to emerge. I yawn and check my things. I have my daggers, but also the Cousland family sword. I set my jaw resolutely; I will use this blade not as a reminder of my losses, but an oath of vengeance. If slaying darkspawn legions gets me to Howe, I'll do it.
Alistair emerges, still buckling the last of his splintmail armor into place. His dark blond hair sticks up in spikes and he tries to flatten them with his hand. When he sees me he seems embarrassed. "I hope you don't plan to always show me up like this," he says with a yawn.
"I couldn't sleep," I admit. "When the sun came up I figured I'd get ready."
Again he regards me in such a way that I fear he is seeing below the surface of me, into my thoughts and mind. I am afraid of what he will see, because I know I am afraid of it, myself. But I am saved by Jory and Daveth appearing. They both yawn and their shadowed eyes tell me they slept no better than I did. It makes me feel better.
We exchange nods as greeting. We gear up and Alistair leads us to the gate. "Gentlemen? And lady," he adds with an apologetic smile. "We enter the Wilds."