Six Wardens and a Blight

Prologue

Warden-Commander Duncan paced restlessly around the time-worn columns and courtyards of the Ostagar ruins. "Ferelden is in serious trouble. I've got to get recruiting," he muttered gravely. "We're going to need lots of brave and able Wardens to defeat this Blight. And for some reason, in the two decades since the order returned to Ferelden, I've only managed to dredge up two dozen."

Teyrn Loghain, the king's most trusted general, couldn't help overhearing as he passed by. "Seriously? Wow, you must really suck at this whole leadership thing."

"Well, at least I never got my butt kicked by a tree," Duncan retorted smugly.

The old man's cheeks flamed. "Just for that remark, I'm deserting the field and letting the darkspawn eat you," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing!" Loghain replied a little too innocently. "So, recruiting, is it? Who are you planning on getting?"

"I'm not sure. I was thinking of maybe a wrongfully deposed noble, or a condemned criminal, or a diseased recluse, or someone from some sort of oppressed minority."

Loghain quirked an eyebrow. "But…why? Wouldn't someone without all that legal and psychological baggage be a better choice? Someone normal and healthy?

"Yeah, but my way is a lot more dramatic."

"Suit yourself. Idiot," Loghain grumbled as he walked away.

"Now then," Duncan mused. "The only question is, which of the prospects should I recruit?

An elven messenger tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ser. I couldn't help overhearing. You've got those two dozen other Wardens camped in the valley. Why don't you send some of them out to recruit the ones you can't visit personally? I mean, if your need for recruits is really that dire."

Duncan sighed wearily. "Oh, don't think I haven't thought of that. But the king won't let the other Wardens leave. He's keeping them all around to serve as technical consultants for that stupid screenplay he's writing about Grey Wardens fighting space robots in a post-apocalyptic warzone."

"Wow, that's rough," the elf replied sympathetically. "Well, I just came to let you know you have some visitors. Six angsty-looking kids are asking for you at the gate."

"Six angsty-looking-?" Duncan gasped. "It can't be!" Running across the old stone bridge, Duncan found a beautiful young noblewoman, a ragged elven man, a dwarven prince, an elven sorceress, a casteless bruiser, and a Dalish huntress all lined up in a row.

"Hi, Commander," the noblewoman greeted brightly. "We hear you're looking for recruits, and we've come to volunteer."

Duncan gasped in disbelief. "Elissa Cousland? You're alive? But I heard that your family's castle was sacked."

Elissa shrugged nonchalantly. "It was. I snuck out when I heard the screams, like any sane person would."

"But how? Surely the attackers barricaded all the secret passages and placed the front door under heavy guard?"

"I didn't use either of those. I climbed out the window. It wasn't that hard. I'm sure every teen in Ferelden has had to climb out their bedroom window at some point."

"A window? Duncan was taken aback. "Huh. That's actually a really good idea. I never would have thought of that." His eyes flitted to the Alienage elf in dirty rags. "What about you? Aren't you Darrian Tabris, from Denerim? I thought the guards arrested you for killing the arl's filthy bastard rapist son?"

Darrian, his clothes soaked with blood, grinned maniacally. "They tried. But I think it's already been established that I know how to kill humans. Slowly and painfully, if possible. Heck, I killed like fifty of them at the arl's palace, and that was when I was only level two!"

The Warden-Commander faltered. "How, though? You city elves aren't allowed to own weapons. If I'd been there, I could have lent you one, but…"

The elf rolled his eyes. "Duh, I'm a rogue. I simply pickpocketed a couple of daggers in the Market District before I went to the palace."

"Oh. Well…good, I guess," said Duncan uncertainly. "And you?" He turned to the dwarven thug with the branded face. "Faren Brosca? Weren't you sentenced to death for messing up a Proving match?"

"Yeah, so what? I busted out." Faren chuckled. "Ser Duncan, I'm a mafia enforcer. Do you really think that was the first jail cell I've had to break out of?"

"And no one came after you?" Duncan challenged.

"Well, no," Faren admitted. "But it was no big deal. I just walked away while they were busy making long-winded speeches about how much trouble I was in." He folded his muscular arms defiantly. "As far as I'm concerned, it's their own fault for standing there pontificating when they should have been clapping me in irons."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Duncan apologized.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Faren replied. "I really didn't need your help."

Duncan's eye twitched violently. "And you, Lord Aeducan? What are you doing here? You were exiled to the Deep Roads for kinslaying, last I heard."

Duran Aeducan raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Well, sure, but I am a dwarven warrior prince. I was born and raised to kill darkspawn. And with Orzammar being so close to the surface, I made it out of the Deep Roads in like fifteen minutes."

The Warden-Commander was ready to explode. "But what about me?" he yelled furiously. "I'm supposed to be a freaking hero! Does no one here need my help?" He grabbed the elven mage by the shoulders, eyes alight with hope. "Miss Surana, you're an elf, a mage, and a woman! Surely someone as downtrodden as you could use my help?"

"No, sorry," Neria replied. "I've actually won the favor of the Circle and the Templars by helping Irving spy on Jowan. I'm set for life." She gave him a little shove. "And who are you calling downtrodden? I could set your beard on fire with my brain if I felt like it, buster!"

Duncan began to fume. "This is ridiculous! Between King Cailan's borderline mental retardation and Teyrn Loghain's shifty eyes, it's obvious that I'm not going to survive the upcoming battle. My only role in this freaking saga was to rescue the savior of Ferelden, and you damn kids have robbed me of it!"

"Uh, we're sorry?" Elissa ventured meekly.

"Shut up! I don't need your pity!" he thundered. Then, suddenly, he remembered the sixth candidate. The Dalish huntress, whose skin was marred with the telltale lesions of a Blight disease. "Lyna Mahariel!" He threw his arms around the girl, sighing with relief. "Thank the Maker! At least you still need me, after your run-in with Eluvian."

Lyna hesitated. "Well, actually, Commander, I'm on a course of experimental medication that seems to be…"

Duncan glowered menacingly.

"Er, I mean, yes, certainly!" Lyna fibbed hastily. "Of course I still need your help, kind mentor."

The Warden-Commander beamed. "That's the spirit!" He swept all six into a group hug. "Now that we understand each other, we'd better get a move on. I want to introduce you to King Cailan."

The six recruits trailed their new commander uneasily. "Maker's Breath, I think the Taint's gone to his head," Neria whispered.

"Don't worry," Duran reassured her. "You heard the spoilers. Soon he'll be dead and we'll be running the show."

Faren sighed. "Thank the stone for Loghain's shifty eyes."