The Grey Warden came during the harvest. The field Teagan was working was cradled in one of Rainesfere's rolling valleys; trees rose high on all sides, crowning the surrounding hills and wind-murmuring to each other as the harvesters worked. The air was thick with dust and chaff and the smell of fallen leaves, just edging into cold. That hint of crispness settled pleasantly on Teagan's skin as he worked amidst the slice and whisper of sickles and threshing, the barking of dogs weaving through the rhythmic sounds — no laughing children, not during the harvest, as all but babes were put to work at some task or another. He found one such child suddenly in his path — Rogher's youngest. Deliah? That must be it.
"What is it, Deliah?" Teagan wiped his brow as he stood, stretched his back.
"There's a man to see you," the girl mumbled, shy before her bann. "Mama says he's a Grey Warden."
The words spilled a chill down his back, much harsher than the gentle bite in the air. Darkspawn, here?
But when he turned to look where Deliah pointed, the figure at the end of the rows of golden wheat didn't seem agitated. In fact, he was attracting a small crowd of children, and two dogs.
Teagan kept an eye on the scene as he signaled his departure to the other harvesters. As he approached, he caught Deliah's much less reserved sister demanding, "Are there mabari with the Grey Wardens? We don't have any mabari, but look at Rabbit, he's our smartest!"
Rabbit rolled over in delight, showing his belly.
"A worthy protector," the Warden said gravely. "Some Wardens have mabari companions, but we keep no kennels."
"The Wardens kept griffons once, child." Teagan told her, and noted how the Warden's focus shifted to him. "Ask your Nan about those. And shouldn't you be with the others?" he suggested, gently shooing the children away before turning to face the Warden. It was the first time he had seen one, after their long exile from Ferelden. He was tall, dark-skinned enough to be Rivaini, features striking in a quiet, self-contained way, and something of that description nagged at a recessed corner of memory before the pieces came together. "You are Duncan, I think. Tell me, what can Rainesfere do for the Warden-Commander? You'll have to pardon me, I'm afraid I'm in no fit state to shake your hand."
Duncan held out a hand regardless, gaze calm. "I trust I've handled far worse than wheat chaff, Bann Teagan."
"You've never been on a farm at harvest, then. The choice is yours, of course."
Duncan's handshake was firm, restrained. His hand felt large and warm. Teagan could feel the callouses of a life lived by the sword, hard up against his own, less prominent set. Duncan spoke as he let go, brow quirked. "It's not a place I expect to find a bann, I confess."
"Ah, well. A simple enough tale. One of the men was injured in a hunting accident, and every able hand needed at harvest. I was passing through, but I had time."
"I know of many banns who would join their freeholders on the battlefield. I confess, this is the first I've seen of a bann joining them—"
"In a regular field? Oh, I think there's more than you would expect. Of course, I'm of limited use here— just a strong back and a pair of hands, really. The skilled work is beyond me completely." Teagan glanced away from Duncan, taking in the long roll of the fields again, before he looked back with more focus. "But you came to discuss the less gentle kind of field, I assume."
"You would be right. Such peaceful pursuits are rare in a Grey Warden's life." Duncan was watching the workers in the field. Teagan, in turn, watched Duncan. He looked dignified, reserved, but there was an edge of something— not regret, and Teagan did not know the man well enough to call it wistfulness. But it was not a thing said in that tone by a man who wasn't at least... tired.
Teagan knew himself well enough to realize he found this man appealing, especially in profile like this, framed against Rainesfere's varied landscape in the full flush of autumn — the two suited each other, this man with his well-worn armour and the land in that last gasp of light and warmth before the long ache of winter. This man who spoke as if peaceful pursuits were as far beyond him as it was beyond fish to fly.
"I confess it's not much of an invitation, to ask a man whether he would like to work in your field, but you're welcome to a little peaceful labour," Teagan joked, if feebly.
Something like a smile tugged at the other man's lips. "Some other time, I'm afraid. I am trying to familiarize myself with the Bannorn."
"There's quite a lot of us to cover then, of course. I won't keep you." He signaled for Duncan to walk back towards the village with him. The Frostbacks loomed, cold and distant far past their destination. "Is it the land you need to know? Or... Are you looking for recruits?"
"Both are, as ever, welcome. I confess my interest in Rainesfere is largely geographical — the dwarves told me some of the Deep Roads used to surface here, long ago." Teagan nodded — he knew of the places and was already thinking who in the holding could be spared as guides, but part of him wondered what the dwarves must have thought of the man. Their people respected the Grey Wardens, Teagan knew that much. He realized Duncan was still talking. "Arl Eamon had not told me of any prospects in the area, but I mean to see the people for myself, as much as I can."
His brother was a good man, but Teagan knew his weaknesses well enough. "You mean you think the nobles don't always care to recommend anyone who isn't a knight."
Duncan glanced at him. "I find that exceptional people can rise up in the most varied places," he responded diplomatically, after a pause.
Teagan chuckled, but sobered quickly with his next question. "Tell me, Duncan, how fares the order? I want to know what work — what life — I'd be recommending my people to." They had finally reached the last of the endless heave of worked land and arrived by the village well. Teagan considered leaning upon it, but it was the center of the square, and he could feel the villagers watching them curiously, hands still busy, unminded and practiced, with their work. He found himself leading Duncan to a spot behind the mayor's house, where the bann's own horses were tied — those who had not been put to work in the fields or mills.
Duncan, mindful of their route and likely guessing its reasons, waited until then to respond. "There are too few of us, still. We are always seeking exceptional warriors who've proven themselves before joining us." Teagan's horse snorted at the strange person, and Teagan put a hand out to settle it. Duncan let the horse smell him — it let out an uncertain whuff and shook its head — then put a calming hand on it too, briefly. Duncan stood by him for a contemplative moment, their hands on the horse. Teagan found himself disinclined to step back. "But right now we need two things most — old blood as well as new."
"Seasoned teachers and promising pupils?" Teagan hazarded.
"Just so."
"The Rebellion rather trimmed down the ranks of our veterans," Teagan mused. "And those who remain are often much needed where they are — second siblings taking over as heirs, holdings consolidated as lines died on the battlefield." He gave Duncan a sympathetic look. "You've a rough time ahead of you there, I'm afraid, and my folk not much help for it."
Duncan nodded, and Teagan must have imagined the slight sinking of his shoulders — the man's carriage was too upright for that. Not rigid, nor stiff. Just very solid.
"For the younger ones, though," Teagan continued, "there I might be of some use. There's Aslanna, in Wood's Reach south of here — I've met her myself, quite the formidable young lady already. She may need a season or two more hardening, but I think she shows promise. Do you have a map?" Duncan produced a map that included Rainesfere and Redcliffe, as well as a book to lay the map over as a writing surface. Teagan couldn't help peeking at the title, expecting some tome of military strategy or Grey Warden history. Instead, it was something called Songs of the Stone , and a closer look at the author's name made him suspect it was dwarven — poetry, perhaps? He realized his inspection had gone on too long to really be polite, so discarded pretense and made a small noise of interest, smiling up at Duncan. "Begging your pardon, my friend. Does dwarven poetry differ much from our own?"
Duncan's hand came up, to take the book back or merely touch it, and Teagan held it loosely, ready to give it up as payment for his breach, but the hand retreated again in a loose first. "It is very structured — they have extremely strict metres. My guide in the Deep Roads sang her favourites, even as she fought."
Teagan tried to image it, and wondered if the dwarf woman was a Grey Warden. "She sounds a formidable companion."
"She was." There was a slight pause then, a distance in his eyes before Duncan seemed fully present again. "She had been on the surface a long time, and I think it helped her to have the songs when she returned home."
Teagan noted the past tense that seemed a little too final, more in the tone and expression than the words, but didn't press — he had done enough of that in asking about the book at all. "Then I'm honoured by the chance to learn her story. So, Aslanna..." He marked the village of Wood's Reach on the map, Duncan coming to look over his shoulder. His presence was warm, solid but unpressing. "Here. And to the west— I know of one place where the Deep Roads surfaced once; there is a waterfall and a grove of birch, very lovely and rather singularly out of place. It's a pleasant spot, hard to miss if you're in the area. Unfortunately, I am not so familiar with the other—" Teagan marked a light circle in the general area "— for which I recommend a guide who can take you to both with confidence. I'll ask the mayor if she can spare anyone." Duncan's eyes flitted between Teagan and the map, taking in his gestures, his words. "And I think... for your young blood... Norris, maybe. The settlement farthest east in Rainesfere, near to Lake Calenhad. He is—" Teagan sighed. "He is their best hunter."
Duncan nodded again. "I understand. But the darkspawn threat is ever present. Without the Wardens, there would be no land safe to hunt in."
"And if I didn't understand that," Teagan smiled at him, tightly, "I wouldn't have given you their names." He expelled another breath. "If you find them worthy," Teagan bundled the book and map together, "and if they agree to join you..." He held them out, and waited for Duncan to reach and take them. "Then I surrender them into your care. Treat them well, Warden." His eyes, he knew, must be hard, but the words were soft, and the book and map slid out of his hands and into Duncan's. He let them go.
"Of course." Duncan's response was grave as he held Teagan's gaze — he seemed a man who was always grave. Teagan wondered what it would take to smooth away those hard lines. He found himself studied by Duncan in turn— and he found himself not minding.
Then Duncan took a breath, and broke away. "We must discuss Rainesfere's defenses. With the Deep Roads so close here, there is some chance of darkspawn raids."
Teagan nodded, and turned to talk of strategy. Here, he found steady ground: Duncan had a solid grasp of defense and, better yet, the sense to listen when someone else knew the land better. Teagan sent one of the children — a clutch of them had gathered by the well to stare, even though they had plenty of tasks they should be at — to retrieve the mayor, and she in turn selected a youth to go with Duncan to the Deep Road sites. Duncan listened to the mayor as she spoke of how many fighters the village had, which homesteads were most defensible or vulnerable; Teagan largely stayed out of this more localized discussion, speaking only when he could contribute resources or some knowledge of wider affairs. The impromptu conference broke up just as the shadows of the houses started to creep upon them.
"You sure you don't want to stay the night?" the mayor asked. Teagan turned to Duncan, interested in the answer — perhaps for a little more than the sensibility of the suggestion.
"Thank you, but I have too much ground to cover. Wardens are used to camping in the wilds at need."
The mayor shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. You just send my boy back safe."
"Of course." Duncan turned to his other host. "Thank you, Bann Teagan."
"Anything to aid the Grey Wardens, my friend. May your expedition be uneventful."
Duncan smiled, just a little. And then he was turning to leave, already speaking to his guide, Maren, who trotted to keep up, all enthusiasm.
Teagan watched the man take his leave, content to call the encounter a pleasant diversion. Appealing the Warden-Commander might be, but he clearly had greater things on his mind than idle distraction. Teagan put it out of his mind, and silently wished the Warden well one more time.
Teagan had not expected to see the man again quite so soon, but few sights were more welcome than a Grey Warden wading into a flagging battle to lay waste to the darkspawn. It afforded Teagan a moment to catch his breath, and he spent it watching the precise economy with which Duncan dispatched two hurlocks before Teagan himself charged back into the fray, intercepting a genlock's sword as it swung towards one of his soldiers. She grunted thanks at him, and he pressed on, his guard rallying as Duncan turned the tide.
Magnificent creature. He was a marvel, wielding sword and dagger as if born to it. Teagan even found himself, briefly, beside the man, though he had no time for distraction then, bashing his shield against one of the foul beasts and striking another in the face with his pommel before using a wide sweep of his sword to take them both down. With Duncan's arrival putting a mighty second wind in their sails, they cleared out the raiding party quickly after that.
Teagan didn't properly see Duncan again until he found time to take care of his own minor scrapes — he'd set to immediately with seeing who was injured and in need of urgent care; he'd been vaguely aware of Duncan ghosting away into the surrounding woods before returning again to walk thoughtfully down the line of injured, who were by then well in hand. Thus did Teagan find Duncan standing over him at the end of the short row of their makeshift infirmary, attempting to bandage his own arm. Those of his party not injured had more important tasks to see to; the warmth that licked on his back from a bonfire of darkspawn corpses attested to that.
"Would an extra hand be welcome?" Duncan offered.
Teagan grinned at him, an edge of battle fever still in him. "Most welcome. If you could tie this off?"
Duncan's touch was gentle but firm, putting just the right pressure on the dressing. "You have not been exposed to the taint."
Teagan's breath rushed out. "Thank you. Have the others—" but Teagan stopped himself at the thinning of Duncan's lips.
"Just one. He told me his name is Renart. I have offered to make him a Warden, if we can save him in time."
This time, Teagan's breath left him in a weak trickle. "And my thanks again, for whatever chance you can give him. And for coming when you did — your entrance was most spectacular, you know."
Duncan rumbled something that may almost have been a chuckle, and Teagan warmed. "I'd been trying to track down this party for some time before they came upon you. I can only apologize for not coming sooner, though you and your guard acquitted yourselves well." He paused, then. For a rather long time, Teagan noted distantly; and his hand still putting pressure on the dressing. Finally, Duncan's eyes sought his. "Would you consider joining the Grey?" Duncan's face was grave as he asked.
"Oh, you'll find sword arms as good as mine by the dozen," Teagan dismissed the idea lightly, consciously removing himself from under Duncan's hand and busying himself with packing away the injury kit.
But when he looked up, Duncan's gaze on him was sharper, heavier than before. "Sword arms, perhaps. But you are a capable leader and seneschal. Your brother and Cailan commend you." Teagan's brow rose: that was news to him. "The Grey Wardens need men where all three skills combine."
Teagan put down the injury kit. "Ferelden does too," he said softly, and held up a hand when Duncan opened his mouth. "I know the darkspawn threaten us all. I know that without the Grey Wardens, there would be no Ferelden for me to steward in my small way. But I trust you," he said, soft and serious in the quiet night. "I trust the Grey Wardens to do it without me. I trust that there are people, good people, who will join your order and do all the things that I could, separately or together. I trust that Ferelden's strength does not live in me alone. And the Wardens need people who will aid them outside the order, too."
Duncan blinked at him, slow. "You are right in that. The Wardens have few friends in Ferelden."
"Then let me be a friend, Duncan." He reached out and put a hand on Duncan's arm, grip firm but undemanding. Duncan's eyes slid to it before fixing back on Teagan's. "I'm needed here, and I think I would do more good for the Wardens where I am than with you. I trust you— can I ask you the same in return?"
Teagan found himself caught, gaze locked with Duncan, hand still upon his arm. The moment stretched. Duncan's skin was warm under his fingertips.
It stretched too long, and Teagan broke away. "My apologies, I know we've barely met. But please understand, I hold both you and the order in the highest—"
Duncan squeezed his arm, and Teagan fell silent. "You are a friend of the order, Teagan. Had we never met, you still would be. It is why I can place my trust in you. Know that you would be ever welcome among us."
Teagan felt a smile tug at him, faint at the corners of his mouth. "Would you believe I consider it the highest honour to refuse your invitation?"
"From you?" Duncan did chuckle then. "I believe it."
Teagan took a deep breath and looked around, re-centering himself. His guard had the site well in hand, fires long set to burn out the darkspawn and their taint; the injured cared for; the two dead ready by their own pyres for words from their bann. He looked back at Duncan. "Are you staying with us?"
Duncan shook his head. "I sense no more darkspawn in the area. You should be safe. But I must see where this party was trying to go, and get Renart to the Order. He should rest, now, but I will return for him after my sweep. We'll be gone before you wake."
Teagan nodded. "Maren?"
"Sent back safe."
He had run out of excuses, then. It was time to heave himself up and face the pyres.
But Duncan spoke, arresting him. "May I pay my respects? They died fighting darkspawn."
Teagan blinked at the unexpected offer. "Of course. You are most welcome, and have every right. You fought together, however briefly."
"Thank you." Duncan nodded, and followed behind Teagan as he made his way to the pyres. At this silent signal, the others of his guard paused in their tasks, drifted closer, until all living were gathered. Teagan spoke simple words — a task he had performed too many times for his liking — and to his surprise, Duncan added his own, what sounded like a Grey Warden ritual. The soldiers murmured their assent, and Teagan lit the pyres.
The bodies burned a long time, the heat and smell a little sick. After some minutes, Teagan felt Duncan's hand on his shoulder. He followed the line of his arm to his eyes, where the firelight reflected, showing his face in flickers and leaving his eyes a mystery. Duncan indicated his departure with an inclination of his head. Teagan nodded, and Duncan husked away into the shadows, to whatever tasks tugged at a Warden as evening melted into night.
For himself, Teagan watched the fires a bit longer.
Teagan was making his way down the stairs to dinner from his rooms in Redcliffe castle when he heard the voice. He recognized it without question, and it made him pause — this interest in the Grey Warden, sustained across such scant encounters, was disconcerting in how firmly it had taken root. He could confess to himself, here in this stairwell, that he had read more about the Grey Wardens in recent months than was perhaps reasonably explained away. And thought on the one warden he knew perhaps too many times. Ah, but there was no help for it; he had weathered worse than being faced with the object of an infatuation.
Teagan trotted down the last of the stairs, and emerged into the hall to find his brother conversing with Duncan.
"—several promising youths, but I'm afraid we are too short on seasoned men. You yourself recommended two dozen for a proper defense. I'm afraid Redcliffe can muster no more than that at the moment."
"And seasoned women?" Duncan probed.
Teagan stepped in at this before Eamon could say anything, smiling smoothly as he spoke. "Redcliffe has no lady knights at present, I'm afraid— although I've been hoping for news of Aslanna. How fares your recruit? Please excuse my interruption," he added.
Duncan turned to him, and Teagan realized his face had been tense when speaking with Eamon, for it relaxed now. "Bann Teagan." He inclined his head. "Aslanna was an excellent choice. She's doing very well."
Teagan smiled again, this time with no artifice behind it.
"You know Warden-Commander Duncan, Teagan?" Eamon asked.
Duncan answered for him. "I'm pleased to call your brother a friend, Arl Eamon. We met some months ago." Teagan warmed at what he perceived to be a rare gesture, and wondered for an infantile moment whether Duncan had thought of him, too.
"Wonderful," Eamon clasped his hands together. It would please him, Teagan thought, to have the family web of influence expanded thus. It was a benefit, he knew, but Eamon's aims did not have to be Teagan's as well. "I've invited Duncan and his men to dine with us," Eamon continued.
"Are you staying for long?" Teagan asked, carefully keeping the hope out of his voice.
Duncan shook his head. "We cross Lake Calenhad in the morning."
"Redcliffe welcomes you, however brief your stay," Eamon inserted magnanimously. "Come, come, we can discuss further as we eat." Eamon ushered them gently to the dining room, where Teagan found Duncan seated across from him on Eamon's left. Eamon monopolized him for most of the meal, following up on plans for defenses, hearing the latest reports on darkspawn movements, and volunteering occasional advice. Teagan noted that Duncan listened carefully to this last, his face thoughtful. And Teagan thought again of Duncan's Rivaini skin, realized how carefully neutral Duncan's accent was amidst the soft south-Fereldan murmur of the dining room. Wondered, at how a man like Duncan came to be Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and how the position sat with him.
The dinner thinned around them. Teagan, having volunteered only occasional comments, stayed while others left, and eventually even Eamon excused himself. Duncan seemed about to get up as well, and Teagan found himself speaking into the otherwise empty room— "Duncan."
Duncan stopped mid-rise.
Teagan took a breath. "I disagree with Eamon, you know. I love my brother but— the Maker did not see fit to give us similar views on governance. And—" Teagan took another breath, and watched Duncan carefully as he spoke, "—a man in your position may be more interested in governance than most Wardens-Commander."
Duncan sat back down.
"Forgive me for being so blunt, Duncan." Teagan paused. "I don't mean to presume, but I know the Order has had a difficult history in Ferelden. You're the first of your kind here in a long time, yes?"
Duncan's mouth twitched, something like a pained smile. "And though you're too polite to say it, I'm an outsider at that. I grew up in Orlais," he offered.
Teagan whistled. "Troubles upon troubles. Tell me, how was your tour of the Bannorn?"
Duncan sighed. "Less productive than I'd hoped. Only a handful of recruits, and..."
"And the banns are a stubborn and fractious lot. Much concerned with their own holdings, and not very interested in the wider world. Am I close to the mark?"
"Your neighbours were not too pleased to have a Grey Warden asking to take their best people." Duncan looked tired then, in the firelight. The torches played upon his dark skin, casting hollows under his eyes.
Teagan was the one to sigh, then. He rubbed his forehead. "I can barely blame them."
"The Wardens are a hard life, and often a short one." Duncan paused, and Teagan felt the edge of something darker behind his words, in his brief hesitation.
He cut in before Duncan could continue. "It's a lot to ask of a land recovering from war. But it's necessary," he finished firmly.
Duncan met his eyes, grave. "Yes," he said.
Teagan blew out a breath. "We Fereldans are proud. Try appealing to their local pride. Talk about the honour in having a hero come from their ranks."
"Heroics." Duncan was silent a moment. "The Grey Wardens have had our share of heroes, but I would hesitate to make false promises about the kind of life it is."
"Or what kind of end they are likely to meet?" Teagan suggested gently. He reached out, then, to touch Duncan's arm. "It is no lie. Every Warden is a hero."
Duncan held his gaze, unmoving under Teagan's fingertips.
"Think on it, my friend," Teagan urged. He left his hand there a moment longer before withdrawing it.
"I will."
Duncan stood, and this time Teagan did not stop him.
Teagan did not expect to see the Warden again for some time, but as he was swinging a blunted sword against a knight's shield on the practice grounds, he looked up to see him a week later, like an apparition, across the square. In his distraction the knight — Elric — almost bashed him with his shield. Teagan dodged, with a soft rebuke at himself for his infatuation, then charged Elric outright, surprising him. The knight landed hard on his back amidst the snow, Teagan's sword gentle at his throat.
"Yield, yield," Elric gasped, but Teagan was already sheathing the practice blade. He offered the man a hand up — rising from the ground in full armour was no mean feat — and Elric took it gratefully.
When he turned to look at Duncan again, the man was striding toward him. There was a woman behind him in mage robes, her staff protruding over her back. "Duncan," Tagan greeted warmly, offering a forearm to clasp. Duncan took it, his grip firm. His touch was hot. Teagan almost withdrew his hand, too hastily for courtesy, before firming his grip and letting go when Duncan did.
"Bann Teagan. That was a good bout."
"Just Teagan, friend." He smiled, wishing the familiarity had come naturally to Duncan. No matter; he did not expect his disproportionate regard to be returned. "And this is a recruit, I presume? Redcliffe is honoured by such company." He bowed.
The mage held out a hand, bold. "Lirena Kellan. I'm a spirit healer."
Teagan took her hand. "A rare gift. And much needed among the Wardens, yes?" he asked, turning to Duncan.
"Much needed everywhere, I'm afraid. First Enchanter Irving was not happy to see her go."
"Short-sighted of him," Lirena declared. "Besides, what Circle mage would turn down a chance to roam free?"
"The Wardens come with their own burdens," Duncan cautioned. The tone was weary, as if this was not the first time he'd reminded her.
"Yes, but at least I'm out under the sky," Lirena returned.
Teagan stirred. "I understand Grey Wardens spend a lot of time in the Deep Roads."
"Well then, that will be interesting. At least it's somewhere new," Lirena answered, stubborn. She looked so young to Teagan. He wondered how Duncan saw her. Worthy, at least. And he wondered, then, how many young people Duncan had watched die under his command. He suppressed a shiver. Ill thoughts, for a bright day like this.
"It's good to see someone so interested in being a Warden," he said diplomatically. "Have you ever been in battle?"
"Just once. There were some raiders going at the village, and the templars called some mages out to help. Duncan says fighting darkspawn is different."
"Very," Teagan agreed. "Duncan is a veteran of many battles, Lirena. You would do well to heed him."
"I've heard of you though." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You fight too, right? We watched your bout."
"There are many better," Teagan demurred.
"Why don't you fight Duncan?" Lirena declared. "I want to see who I'm following here."
Unexpectedly, Duncan laughed, a short, low rumble. Teagan watched, mesmerized, as the shadows fell away from his face.
"I—" Teagan started, distracted. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be much of a fight."
Duncan sobered. "Don't sell yourself short, my friend. I have fought beside you."
Teagan shook his head. "As you wish."
Lirena clapped her hands. "Excellent." She turned to face the knights that had gathered in a loose clump around them. "Come on, you lot. Clear a space!"
Duncan shook his head, and went to select two blunted blades. Teagan rolled his shoulders, loosening them and resettling his shield.
They squared off. Teagan studied Duncan freely, now. He wasn't a small man, and it would have surprised him that he wielded two blades if Teagan hadn't seen him fight. Duncan was fast, with a solid defense. Teagan would have to rely on strategy.
"Ready?" he called.
Duncan nodded.
Teagan charged, sweeping his sword in a vertical arc. Duncan caught it on his crossed blades, as Teagan had expected, and Teagan's other arm was already moving to shove him with his shield. Duncan leapt back, light-footed, and pivoted into a backhanded slice with his left dagger. Teagan was caught with his shield arm extended, so he followed the momentum into a roll, leaping to his feet at the end. Duncan was already on him, sword swinging. Teagan stepped into it, and cut upwards with his shield. He clipped Duncan on the chin, but Duncan barely staggered, left hand snaking around the shield to slide, blunted, across Teagan's side.
Teagan danced back, side aching from the impact. Only then did Duncan take a moment to rub his jaw. Teagan's breathing was rough, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Duncan's darker skin glistened faintly with its own sheen. The strong muscles of his arms corded as he crossed his blades before him.
Teagan assayed a thrust, Duncan turning it aside. Teagan let him, arm curving, then cutting sharply out with a pommel strike to Duncan's chest. It landed with a solid hit, Duncan stepping back— only to drop and sweep Teagan's legs. Teagan blinked up at the sky, winded, and felt Duncan's blades crossed at his throat, Duncan kneeling on his chest, the solid press of him. "Yield," he coughed, distracted by the feel of Duncan so solid and present above him.
Duncan relented immediately, dropping the blades and offering him a hand up. Teagan took it, warm and a little slippery with sweat, and Duncan heaved him up, chest to chest, both of them breathing heavily. Teagan stepped back a little too hastily.
He heard clapping. "Good bout!" Lirena shouted. Teagan laughed weakly.
"I told you it wouldn't be a fair fight."
"But you got him twice," Lirena said.
Duncan chuckled. "She's right. You use the shield as if you were born to it. I knew someone once who... It was a good bout."
"It's how I was taught," Teagan demurred. He noted how Duncan spoke of another comrade with a finality that sent a chill up his spine. He turned to Lirena. "Milady, I trust you're satisfied with what manner of man you choose to follow?"
Lirena snorted. "No fine ladies here." She crossed her arms. "But yes, thanks."
Teagan turned back to Duncan. He kept the note of hope out of his voice as he asked, "Are you staying long?"
Duncan shook his head. "Just passing through. I need to get Lirena to the others. I stopped here to pick up the supplies I left before going to the Circle."
Teagan nodded. "Then I wish you both safe travels."
"Thank you as always, friend. Teagan."
Teagan smiled. "Of course."
Duncan collected Lirena, and headed toward the stables. Teagan allowed himself a sigh, and turned to the gathered knights. "Elric, why don't you pair with Matias this time." He paired them all off, and didn't turn to watch Duncan disappear again.
It was raining in Rainesfere the next time Duncan came, a cold spring rain that drenched the thirsty soil. Teagan was late in his office, long past the dinner hour, the thick rustle of paper heavy around him as he went over accounts. Thunder rumbled, and a servant knocked. Teagan looked up.
"A Grey Warden to see you, messere," Ailsa murmured.
Teagan's heart beat heavy in his chest.
"Let them in."
Duncan came cloaked, the rain dripping off his cowl. His sword and dagger rested easy at his back, and Teagan breathed in the physicality of him, the sheer presence of the man.
"Teagan," Duncan greeted.
Teagan got up, and came around his desk. "Duncan," he returned, holding out a hand. Duncan clasped his forearm, the grip by now familiar and sure, and Teagan breathed. Duncan smelled of forests, with a faint tinge of blood, blanketed all over by the damp smell of wool.
"What brings the Warden-Commander to my doorstep?" Teagan leaned back against his desk, and resisted crossing his arms. He had nothing to hide from Duncan, save his own wayward feelings. He leaned back instead, palms hot on the lacquered surface of his desk.
Duncan hesitated, uncharacteristically. Teagan's interest piqued. "I have been among the Bannorn."
"May Andraste's spirit guide you. How were my neighbours?"
"Your advice was sound. I have more recruits." Duncan sighed. "I try to caution them, before they join, about the realities of a Warden's life. The dangers."
"My friend, I have never seen you be anything but frank about the life of the Wardens." Teagan's hand drifted up, before curling into a fist and falling to his side. "Duncan," he said. Duncan met his gaze, calm and steady, the shadows heavy in his eyes. "You look like you could use a drink. Join me?"
Duncan rumbled an assent, and Teagan heaved himself off the desk to lead the way to the dining room. He stopped a servant, up late, to request that drinks be brought, then paused. He turned to Duncan. "Have you eaten?"
"I ate on the road."
"Just drinks it is then. Thank you," he said, returning to the servant.
They settled at the table, Duncan throwing off his cloak, and the servant appeared shortly with the drinks. The shadows lay heavy in the room, only a candle on the table between them keeping them at bay. The household was settling for the night. The slight sounds of Duncan shifting seemed unnaturally loud to Teagan's ears, or perhaps it was just that he was so focused on the man. "A toast," Teagan offered. "To the Grey Wardens."
Duncan raised his glass. "The Grey Wardens."
They touched glasses, with a high, clear clink, fingers just shy of brushing, and Teagan took a large swallow, then watched, arrested, as Duncan's throat worked. Duncan drank with his eyes closed, head tipped back. Teagan's lips parted; he closed them. Duncan's eyes were still shut.
"The Grey Wardens carry a heavy burden," Teagan said. "Some more than others."
Duncan sighed. "It is a duty I accepted when I became Warden-Commander."
Teagan watched the tense slope of Duncan's shoulders, the tired lines of his face. The way he held the glass, strong fingers loose.
"There's more to the Wardens, isn't there?" he asked softly. "Something that makes you speak of all your comrades as if they are gone."
Duncan regarded him steadily, silent.
"I understand the necessity of the Wardens, and the sacrifice you make. But I hesitate, sometimes, to commend the best of my people to you, my friend."
In that soft hour long past midnight, with the darkness held at bay only by the candle at his elbow, the words slipped easy from his tongue. And there beside him sat another beacon to hold back the dark, a man who burned not blinding bright but with the banked flame of long-reserved strength.
"And yet commend them you do. For which I am ever grateful."
"It can be... difficult. To see the best among us go to so certain a doom." Teagan wanted to watch Duncan's face, but found himself unwilling to breach the privacy of Duncan's reaction. And as the man's silence stretched on, Teagan laughed softly to himself. "Look at me, going on as if we who are left behind have any right to complain."
The pause hung.
"It is a sacrifice," Duncan finally said. "Every Grey Warden gives up much. But there are some losses we mourn more than others."
Teagan looked, and Duncan met his eye; held his gaze, steady and strong.
"Some Wardens are more mourned," he assayed.
Duncan's eyes fell shut, and the breath left him in a long sigh. He had never seen the man look so vulnerable.
"Teagan—" Duncan began, but Teagan found himself speaking already.
"Duncan— Are we naming this, my friend? I would not push you, but— I must know, I think. I won't hide behind careful turn of phrase here. Not in this."
Duncan almost smiled. Teagan could see it, the slight relaxation of old, worn tension in his face. "We are grown men here."
"Or so I was led to think, yes. " Teagan took a breath. "Duncan, you are a singular creature. I can count the men who've caught my eye on one hand. But we are both men of duty."
Duncan regarded him steadily. "Attachment is not... recommended. Among Grey Wardens. We are no templars or Chantry-sworn. We have our passions." He paused, there. Teagan swallowed. "For all that... There are few laws that bind us, Teagan. We act as we will— so long as it aids the fight against the darkspawn."
"It is unwise," Teagan concluded for him.
For so self-contained a man, Teagan found Duncan's face capable of endless emotions. Sadness, mostly. "Unwise," Duncan echoed.
And Teagan would have left it at that, but for the way the candlelight cradled Duncan's features just then, caught in a moment of— Maker help him, Teagan was no saint but he could not be imagining this — a moment of true regret.
"And do you always heed wisdom?" He felt the words leave him, dry in his mouth.
Duncan's gaze was on him again. "I've heeded yours."
"You are not one to lay your choices at other's doors, Duncan. And this is a bad time to listen to my advice, I feel. I'm hardly unbiased."
And for a moment, Duncan's eyes blazed. "Neither am I."
Oh. Maker.
He'd seen this ferocity when Duncan was in battle, and the breath left him to have that intensity directed at him.
"I understand the stakes," Teagan found himself saying. "I know you aren't mine to keep." No more than a man could possess a mountain.
"It is not given to the Wardens to keep anything for long," Duncan replied.
Teagan reached out, and found that Duncan's skin felt warm upon his fingertips, creased with lines of worry and age, rough where stubble grew.
"A night could be ours. Surely even a Warden can have that."
Duncan kissed him. Teagan had not expected that.
It was hard, firm. Teagan's fingers curled, one hand cupping Duncan's face closer and the other already in his hair somehow. He felt one of Duncan's palms, large and warm upon his neck, before Duncan's mouth opened to him and he was lost to it.
He felt Duncan's breath, hot upon his face, and then Duncan was pulling him up, out of the chair, and Teagan stepped into it, pressed flush against him. The heat of the man, Maker. Duncan was solid under his hands, unyielding but where their lips met, and there... Teagan breathed, hard, as Duncan's tongue mapped his mouth, sliding one hand behind Duncan's back to press them more closely together
Teagan broke away, gasping. "My quarters—"
Duncan kissed him again. Teagan breathed into it, feeling the echo of his exhale from against Duncan's cheek. He pulled Duncan, stumbling, and they ended up against the wall of the dining room, Duncan's hands on his hips and Teagan's mouth on his neck. He pulled away with a mighty effort. "Up the stairs," he panted.
They stumbled up the staircase like men half their age, and Teagan laughed, breathy and harsh, against Duncan's skin. And then Duncan backed him up against Teagan's door and all the laugher left him, lost in the heat of Duncan's mouth, the slick slide of his tongue against Teagan's throat. He fumbled for the doorknob, his other hand busy under Duncan's cuirass, and then the door was open, and they were falling through, and Teagan's breath was harsh against Duncan's throat.
Teagan gained his footing for a moment, and breathed. "Just for tonight?" he asked, because he had to know.
"I cannot promise more," Duncan rumbled, and then Teagan's hands were on Duncan's shoulders, undoing the armour. Duncan's hands were on his laces, getting him out of his tunic; Teagan could not remember the last time it had felt so heady with a man. He turned Duncan around, pushed him down on the bed, his armour falling loose around him with a metallic sound.
Teagan climbed atop him, and Duncan's hands were on his hips, pushing his breeches down. Teagan clambered out of his tunic, and he felt Duncan's hands depart his hips briefly, only to emerge from his disrobing to see Duncan bare-chested below him. He leaned down, unable to resist, until he felt Duncan's skin on his, hot and smooth and endless, and he breathed. His mouth was on Duncan's chest, the dusky skin pebbling before his breath, and when he licked, Duncan sighed. He ground his hips down, helpless, Duncan rising up to meet him. "My friend," he gasped, "we are going to have to get these off if this is to go further."
"Yes," Duncan said, and then his hands were pushing Teagan's breeches down, and Teagan moved his knees, and then he was naked before Duncan, breathing hot and hard and his skin fever-fresh from touching. His fingers were scrabbling at Duncan's laces, his mouth melding with Duncan's own, and then the laces were undone, and Duncan was in his hand, and he pressed himself against him. Duncan moved underneath him, and then Duncan's hand was on him, warm and sure, and Teagan groaned into Duncan's mouth.
Teagan moved his hand on Duncan, long hard strokes, and Duncan made a low noise. He hadn't had a man in a long time, and had forgotten how different they sounded in bed, deep and thrilling and, Maker, so good. He tangled his other hand in Duncan's hair, disturbing it from its neat tail, and pulled back a moment to see the dark spill of it across his pillow. Duncan regarded him in turn, a steady, hot gaze, and Teagan found himself saying, "I want you inside me."
Duncan's gaze sharpened at that, searing, and Teagan couldn't take it; he closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against Duncan's for a moment; just breathed. Duncan's hand was still on him, strong and solid, and he let his breath come harsh and hard against Duncan's face. Then he pulled away and fumbled with the bedside table to produce a jar of oil. Duncan mouthed at his cheek, taking the bottle, with a rough, "Let me."
Teagan nodded, breathless. He felt Duncan's hands working on the bottle, parting him, a thick finger sliding inside. Maker, it had been a while. He let himself get lost in it, the slick feel of Duncan opening him up, one finger, then two, then three, and all the while their faces were pressed together, breath echoing back in a heady wash. And then the overwhelming pressure of Duncan's fingers was gone, and Duncan's other hand was on his face, eyes open and questioning. Teagan nodded again, and he felt Duncan lining himself up, and then Duncan was pressing against him, and then he was in and—
Teagan breathed.
He slid down, until he seated himself fully. His eyes had fallen closed; he opened them, to see Duncan laid out before him, chest heaving, eyes dark, hair a spilled black mess. "Just for tonight?" he whispered, because he could not help himself.
And, "Just for tonight," Duncan answered, and moved . Teagan's breath left him. He curved his back, seeking his pleasure, and rolled his hips to meet Duncan's thrusts. He could hear Duncan's breathing grow harsher, echoing his own, and the sight of the man below him was enough to send thrills through him. He clenched around Duncan, and Duncan made another sound, deep in his throat, eyes falling shut and head tipping back, their hips joining in a low grind. Then Duncan's eyes flew open, and with a fierce look he changed his angle, digging his heels into the bed and, Maker,yes . Teagan's breaths were coming out in gasps; when he felt Duncan's hand on him, he let out choked noise. Duncan stroked, twisting and swiping at the tip, and that was it for Teagan; he spilled messily over Duncan's hand, his chest, a cry caught in his throat. It was only a few thrusts later that he felt Duncan find his own release with a groan, and Teagan stilled atop him, dripping sweat and breathing hard.
He stayed there, watching Duncan for a moment, then surprised himself by leaning down and kissing him. It was almost sweet, slow and languorous and sated.
When he leaned back, Duncan looked about to say something and— "Don't." Teagan spoke first. He moved, letting Duncan slip out of him. "I know. You have duties. But just let me..."
Teagan kissed him again. After a moment, he felt Duncan's hand in his hair, stroking along his braid, and his shoulders relaxed. He opened himself up further, kissed deeper, got a little lost in it until he felt Duncan stirring again against his thigh. He chuckled. "I've heard of Warden stamina, my friend, but unfortunately this is not a gift I possess."
"I've asked enough of you," Duncan rumbled, his hand still in Teagan's hair.
Teagan laughed. "You? This may be the most selfish thing I've ever done."
"Don't." Duncan said it this time. "If you can have yours then let me have this. There is little enough chance for it, in a Warden-Commander's life."
Teagan couldn't say anything, feeling more than a little humbled. Instead, he dug around beside the bed and came up with his pants. "Here," he offered. "We're a mess."
Duncan wiped himself off unselfconsciously, then did the same for Teagan, a strangely tender gesture. Teagan's throat felt tight at it, and he swallowed the feeling down, snagging the blankets instead and coming to lie down beside Duncan. Duncan put his arm around him; Teagan closed his eyes, and reflected on the too-long unfamiliar feeling of another body beside his, another's breathing in the quiet night. It was a long time before he slept, but neither of them spoke.
Teagan opened his eyes to the thin grey light of a Rainesfere morning. The sullen beams rested uneasily on Duncan's shoulders as the man pulled up his socks, sitting on the edge of the bed. Teagan sat up. It seemed a long distance now, between his hands and that strong back, the air thick with their positions' endless demands.
Teagan took a breath. He had never seen himself as a coward.
He reached out, and ran a hand down the thick muscles of Duncan's spine. He could just see the man's eyes falling closed at that, lashes just visible around the high cut of his cheekbones. Duncan sighed heavily, and raised his hand up to touch Teagan's briefly where it had come to rest on his shoulder. Then he stood up, and pulled on his shirt.
Teagan closed his eyes in turn, then braced himself against the demands of their stations and went to pull some clean pants out of his wardrobe. Dressed, he turned around to see Duncan in his gambeson, pulling on his cuirass.
"Here," he said, stepping close. "Let me."
Duncan met his eyes, gaze unreadable. But he dropped his hands.
Teagan settled the cuirass on him, belted it in place, let his fingers linger. Then the pauldrons, the greaves, the gauntlets. Each was pitted with scars, blows taken by metal instead of skin, speaking of a harsh life of duty. He trailed his hands up Duncan's armoured arms, his shoulders, his neck, until he was cupping Duncan's face, fingers in his beard. He leaned in, until they were sharing breath, lips almost brushing, foreheads together. "Be safe, my friend," he said, his eyes still closed.
Duncan's hands came up to cover his, and took them gently away. Teagan let him, opening his eyes.
Duncan made him no promises in answer, and Teagan didn't expect it. The door closed behind him.
Teagan sighed, and put his face in his hands.
He didn't know how long it was until a servant knocked on his door. "Petitioners from Faren's Hollow, my lord."
Teagan took a deep breath. "I'll be right there," he called, and opened the door.