Disclaimers: Dragon Age: Origins and all related characters are obviously copy-write to Bioware. I'm just playing with them.
Spoilers: Through end game, eventually. For Stolen Throne and Probably for The Calling too, once I've finished.
Author's Note: I love how the game plays with so many shades of Grey and Moral decisions. So i decided to explore what might end up happening in the Dragon Age: Origins Universe if the person who ended up taking the reins of the Ferelden Wardens was someone with questionable intentions. I do take liberties... sorry, poetic license with many of the things within the Dragon Age universe. Please enjoy, and all R&R's are greatly appreciated!
"He is a very angry young man." First Enchanter Irving sighed, and leant back against the edge of his desk. One hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose before running down over his beard. His eyes lifted and fixed onto the man standing before him.
Duncan looked tired. He looked haggered. But that man still stood, emanating power and authority, he shifted his weight, one hand casually resting on the back of Irving's chair. "But a very powerful one," He replied softly. "We could truly do with a recruit like him in our ranks."
Irving let out a long breath. Anton. Duncan, the Grey Warden, wanted to conscript Anton P'Sioux. The boy had...issues. Despite having successfully gone through his Harrowing, which came as a surprise to no-one, Anton was still getting into trouble with the templars. And the mages. And everyone he came across, really. When that chantry girl had immediately disowned Jowan, Anton had struck her across the face with his staff. He'd also smacked down two of Greagoir's templars with a fireball too, allowing Jowan to escape. The Maleficar. Anton had been involved with the Maleficar. Anton had always had a knack for the forbidden knowledge. But a Maleficar... Even Irving had thought Anton had to have a boundary somewhere. But he didn't. At every turn Anton defied them, argued with them, protested and challenged.
Irving wasn't normally one to raise his hand to apprentices, but even he had lost his temper with the boy. Anton just pushed and pushed and pushed until you broke.
"You don't seem to understand Duncan," Irving said. "He is incredibly intelligent. Arrogant with it, too. And anger...such...anger."
"Why is he angry?" Duncan asked.
"Oh, any number of reasons." Irving waved a hand. "Truthfully, I have never figured out why. His mentor was not a kind, or particularly patient mage, but that was many years ago now. Ever since the day he came to the circle he seemed to be very...angry about something. The problem is he keeps it contained."
"Perhaps he will find a release for it against the darkspawn then?" Duncan suggested, moving to pour himself a glass of water.
Irving was about to open his mouth when Greagoir entered. The Knight-Commander looked drained, and shot Irving a glance. Already Anton was dancing on very thin ice the First Enchanter knew – it was taking all of Greagoir's effort to keep him suppressed.
"That wretched boy is now locked up until we can find the resources to take him to Aeonar." The templar let his eyes wander over to Duncan, frowning at the warden. "What do you want?"
"I have a proposal concerning the young mage locked in your dungeon..."
It was raining the day Greagoir had found Anton. It was a heavy rain, the sort that soaked one to the very core, trickling down the back of your armour and soaking your gambeson. The air was thick and heavy, the sky black. The sun was not going to win that day, that much was certain.
The Knight-Commander had no idea what had possessed him to head out the doors to stand outside. Perhaps he had just wanted to check on the nature of the lake, or perhaps he was expecting a shipment of supplies in. To this day he couldn't remember.
The boy was stood – he couldn't have been more than four, or five years old. His black hair was drenched and clung to his neck. His dark clothes were soaked through, and he stood without any boots on his feet. He held a staff in one hand, a staff made from dragon bone. It was simple and basic in design, but towered several feet above the youth. One small hand clasped it tightly, and he was focused on something distant in the sky.
"Child?" Greagoir had spoken softly. Perhaps one of the young mage's had gotten out and was now lost. "You should be indoors. It is almost breakfast time."
The boy had turned then, looking over his shoulder at the templar. Dark eyes narrowed at him and Greagoir had almost felt crushed by the power that was suddenly ebbing from the youth. It was so strong the templar had to take a step back, drawing in a deep breath. He turned his head, and shouted on the templars posted at the main door to fetch Irving. Those dark eyes... they kept looking at him.
"Absolutely not!" Greagoir bellowed. "That boy is far too dangerous to be running around with the Grey Wardens. His power is wild, uncontrolled and directly linked to his temper." He shook his head. "There is no way I will ever let that boy go where a templar isn't there to control him."
Duncan sighed. "Do not fear, Knight-Commander. We have a warden in our midst who was trained as a templar. He never took his vows, but he is well practised in the arts of dispelling and controlling magic. I assure you he will be Anton's constant shadow." There was a pause, and Greagoir glared at Duncan. The warden used his trump card. "I can invoke the right of conscription if you so desire."
~xXx~
And so Anton became a Grey Warden recruit.
Duncan watched the boy across the fireplace as they made camp. The boy made him feel awkward – he was used to conversation, it wasn't always easy but most normal people had questions. Or at least attempted to make small talk. The dark haired mage just sat there, feeding the fire with sticks. He had taken the news that he had been recruited without comment. He marched along without complaint. When it came to mealtimes he ate sparingly, often quickly retiring to read the book he had brought along with himself, and write notes into a small, leather bond notebook he carried on himself constantly. He never let his staff from his sight either – and Irving had warned him that the boy would get very stressed and even violent whenever someone tried to take it away.
The Grey Warden let his eyes walk over the boys form – he was slender, like most mages, not built for physical strength but with a presence that suggested he wielded great power. He had never accepted his senior mage robes, instead opting for the dark colours of the apprentice ones. His dark hair was tied back loosely in a pony tail, the hair unkempt and dishevelled, stray strands falling about his face. It was an angular face, not unattractive but it looked a little..odd. His nose was too big, his lips too thin. His features, individually, all looked a little odd, but together they made a faintly handsome face. If it wasn't for that scowl. Duncan didn't know why the boy's features seemed to be in a permanent frown. But he seemed to growl at the whole world for the best part of his life, apart from when he was asleep.
"When we arrive at Ostagar, we will meet the King. He is an amiable man, but do not treat him casually. You must give him respect, and in return he will respect you." Duncan knew this information was sinking into the mage's mind, but the youth made no effort to reply, or respond. Duncan opted instead for stirring the pot of soup he was heating, and let out a long sigh falling into familiar silence.
"After this battle at Ostagar." The youth spoke. His voice was rich, rolling across the senses, drawing the listener in. Duncan was surprised, but found his mind absorbing every word. "Will I have to return to the Circle?"
For a moment the old warden was stunned into silence. Genuinely surprised that the lad had said anything at all, he groped for the answer. "No, you will be a Grey Warden, and loyal to us. The circle will have no power over you, unless you give them cause to hunt you down."
At the word loyal, those dark eyes had fixed onto Duncan. They were deep, rich eyes. Not quite a dark shade of brown, but not black either. There was no give in those eyes, no kindness, no compassion. His eyes narrowed as he took in the new information from the warden. The youth drew in a deep sigh.
"And what will be expected of me?"
"That you will do whatever is required of you to defeat the blight."
"And how do you know this is a real blight?"
Duncan used this opportunity of conversation to explain the complexities behind the Blight to the youth. He mentioned the arch demon, the taint, and how the darkspawn just tunnelled and tunnelled. Anton drank it up, listening to every single word carefully, and as they retired to their tents, Duncan saw the boy stay by the dying embers of the fire, no doubt writing up everything he had told him. The old warden smiled to himself – finally, he had found the lad's interest. Information.
~xXx~
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." Alistair sighed. His brown eyes shifted, focusing on Anton. He fixed them on Anton. For the first time in his life the mage felt compelled to fill a silence.
"Sorry, what?"
The Grey Warden let his eyes roam away from the mage and away, letting out another sigh. "Oh nothing. Just trying to find a bright side to all this. Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"
It was the look, Alistair reflected later. It made him feel about three feet tall, or that he had just stripped off all his armour, farted, and declared himself the Queen of Tevinter. The Warden struggled for something to say, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water until the mage spoke for him.
"Are you Alistair? Duncan sent me to find you."
"Oh! You must be the new recruit! From the circle of Magi! I'm sorry, I should've recognised you. I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden." He stuck out a hand in offering to Anton. Dark eyes looked down at it, and visibly his whole body tensed. He took a half step back, swallowing. "I...don't shake hands." He said finally, dark eyes lifting back to fix on Alistair's. Alistair's eyes narrowed to a thin frown. "Riiiight, and people normally call me strange. Nevermind!" He went on cheerfully, "Shall we go find the other recruits? They should be here somewhere..."
Anton said nothing, just stood there looking expectantly at Alistair. It was clear to the junior warden that this lad was about as comfortable at leading as he was. He swallowed, and offered a grin. "Well, after you." He gestured with one hand to hopefully prompt him into moving. Anton blinked at him and then nodded.
He turned back the way he came, and Alistair noted that the lad was as standoffish with Daveth and Jory as he was with him. The only one he seemed to pay any attention to when they spoke was Duncan, and even then it was with an eerie focus. One that was intense, like he was attempting to suck all the information out of him at once.
Once they had been sent into the Korcari wilds, Anton seemed to settle into the role of leader very easily. He walked a little way in front, at a forward pace, dark eyes seeming to scan the area intently. Obviously he was not aware that Alistair could sense the darkspawn coming, and neither were Daveth and Jory.
"How do we know we're not walking into the hoard?" Ser Jory said, worriedly.
"Don't worry." Alistair said. "I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen – Warden's can sense the darkspawn, they can't attack without warning."
"Oh, great." Ser Jory said flatly with a sigh, "So we'll know about them before the slit our throats, how lovely!"
"Don't worry, Jory!" Daveth went on, "I'm sure Alistair can give us plenty more warning than that."
"And I'm sure they'll have plenty warning from us if you keep blabbering on at the top of your voice." Anton snapped, turning around to fix Daveth with a glare. "So how about a little silence so we stop alerting every one of the foul creatures in this forest to our presence hmm?"
Silence descended on the group. Very little happened for several hours – they ran across a wolf pack Alistair and Jory swinging in and slicing the beasts up, Anton and Daveth hanging back to hit them with missiles from a vantage point.
Mage's made Alistair uncomfortable, and powerful ones made him even more uncomfortable. There was no doubt that Anton was powerful – he'd felt the strength of his connection with the veil when he was casting. But, oddly enough, when Anton wasn't casting there was no real background to his magic. It was almost as if the mage was sealing it up in a tight little ball, hiding it away to avoid detection. Alistair had already tried to rein it in, out of curiosity after Duncan had warned him that he may need to should the lad lose his temper. He had failed miserably, but then he also hadn't really been trying.
Daveth and Jory had gone on to scout ahead, and they were taking a lunch break. Anton ate nothing, but stared at Alistair while he ate his bread and cheese. It was an uncomfortable stare, Alistair could feel it at the back of his neck, and he couldn't take it any longer. He turned around, and threw one hand up in the air.
"What? What is it? Have I got some sort of boil growing out the back of my neck? Why are you staring at me?" Alistair ranted, glaring at Anton as he stood underneath a tree, leaning on his staff.
"You are a templar." The youth said softly, dark eyes roaming over Alistair's form. "I can feel it."
"Well, just as well I'm, on your side then, yes? Anyway, I didn't seem to effect you."
"No." Anton said moving forward and walking over to sit beside the Warden. His staff was placed at his feet, and the youth sighed, arms folding over his knees, eyes now focused on the country side. "You were never at the tower. I would've remembered you if you had been at the tower."
"I never took my vows." Alistair said softly. "I was about to, but then Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens. I haven't looked back since – I never wanted to be a templar."
Anton nodded, lifting one hand to smooth some stray strands of hair out his face. "I am glad of that, you would've made a terrible templar."
"Well... I'm not naturally disposed to killing people just because the Chantry says they're bad."
Anton fell into silence. Alistair found it was a comfortable silence, one he didn't need to fill. A smile touched his lips and he finished his lunch, just in time for Jory and Daveth to come running back to them. "I think we've found the ruins where the scrolls are, there is what looks like a tower or something over to the east." Daveth looked excited, and a little flushed. Jory looked downright terrified. "And there are darkspawn. We got close enough that they didn't see us, but we saw three or four heading in that direction."
"Good work." Alistair said, finishing off his cheese, and throwing the bread aside for the local fauna. He dusted off his hands and stood up, pulling his greaves back on and tightening them. "Lets get to it then, shall we?"
They moved off in silence, and through the trees. Alistair felt the tingle of magic as Anton cast a cloak spell over the four of them, muffling their steps and their breathing. He was grateful for it – he could feel the darkspawn up ahead. There were at least a dozen of them, a number he wasn't particularly keen on. And as much as he wanted to stop them and tell them the best strategy for approaching such a group, this was all part of the test. He stopped them and told them the numbers, that was all. It was Anton in the end, as they lurked in the forest just behind the wooden bridge, who came up with a plan of attack.
Alistair and Jory were to lurk in the woods, while Daveth, the quickest and lightest on his feet lured them out. He loosed one arrow, then another, taking one in the throat and injuring another in the leg. The plan worked, and a group of four rushed off in the direction of the forest, where Jory and Alistair slew them quietly. As reinforcements walked further across the bridge, Anton unleashed a lightning spell which leapt from one spawn to the other, killing three more and injuring another two beyond the ability to fight. The remainder of the darkspawn retained their formation on the other side of the Bridge.
Alistair stayed Anton's advance with one hand. "Do you feel that?" He whispered, as Daveth cautiously approached the bridge and began to disarm some traps.
The mage turned his dark eyes onto Alistair and raised his eyebrow in a mute enquiry. Alistair pointed to the darkspawn in front of them, across the bridge. "In the centre, there, a darkspawn mage. We call them emissary's."
Anton drew in a deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut. Alistair could feel the air around Anton itself change, taking on the coppery taste and smell of someone about to cast magic. When the mage opened his eyes, Alistair could've sworn they looked different. More a rich ruby than the dark shade it was previously. "I feel it." Anton said gently. "It is not like ordinary magic."
"No, it is magic born of the darkspawn taint."
The four of them began to advance, and the emissary's laugh resounded around the clearing. Fire flared and the hurlocks around him rushed them. Jory leapt in, his fear overcame now that he knew the beasts could be slain. Daveth found himself a high perch and sent arrow after arrow at them, felling first one, then two. Alistair himself bellowed a war cry, tempted to suppress the emissary's magic but resisting. Anton had to be able to use his own power against the darkspawn if he was ever to lean anything. Into the fray he went, feeling the Emissary summon some fire with a laugh. He could feel Anton draw his own power from a distance, and glanced over his should to see the boy midcast, his body still while he worked the energy around him.
A blue hue of light began at the top of Anton's staff, the boy summoning the energy and focusing it into a singular point. It formed an orb which rapidly expanded to surround him, before the boy manipulated it and formed a shield – and just in time too, as the Emissary's fireball glanced off it harmlessly. From within the protective shield, which seemed to dissipate with every blow of fire that landed upon it, Anton was working a spell.
His hands were held slightly apart, and forming within it was a spear of ice. It formed swiftly, and when it was done Anton dropped the shield, one of the Emissary's fireballs landing at his feet, setting the ground ablaze. It didn't seem to affect Anton's ice spear, and this he hurled with all his might towards the darkspawn. By this point all of the Emissary's party were slain, and there was only his magic left.
The spear pierced the creature's chest in an explosion of dark blood. It sprayed into the air and the beast fell down, dead. Alistair felt the magic drain away as Anton stopped casting, and wiped his sword clean of blood. Already Anton was kneeling by the corpse of a darkspawn, filling a vial of blood. Jory and Daveth followed suit, and Anton headed towards the body of the Emissary's.
For a moment he considered something, before taking an empty bottle from his pack and slitting the emissary's wrist to fill it with blood.
"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, sheathing his blade.
"The Emissary has a type of power I have never seen before. I wish to study it."
"But surely...you're verging on blood magic, yes?"
"Just because one is studying the energies contained within blood doesn't mean one is working blood magic." Anton replied flatly. Alistair frowned, he was pretty sure that was what blood magic entailed. But Anton seemed to hold no further interest in discussing the subject, and pocketed the vials of blood. He stood slowly, and Daveth headed over and pointed to the ruins in front of them. "Is that the box with the treaties there?" He asked.
"I suspect so." Alistair replied, and the four of them headed over to the chest. It was empty.
"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" A female voice interrupted them. Her footsteps clattered on the stone underneath her as they approached. Anton turned around, his dark eyes seeking out the form of the woman walking towards them. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"
Anton interrupted her. "We're looking for the treaties that were in the chest there. Do you know what happened to them?"