Wyl (you really REALLY should be reading his stuff, by the way) gave me this wonderful idea to try and help wipe away all the cobwebs in my head and to get through the crap RL has been handing to me lately (and I think its working 'cause I actually got some inspiration for Reborn!). He got the idea when I mentioned that I love the Legacy DLC and that my muse seemed more intent on playing through that than actually helping me write. So, here it is. The first chapter of my latest distraction...

Legacy of the Hawke

Chapter 1

The young mage glared over his shoulder at the group trailing slightly behind him, taking note of their ever roaming eyes and battle-ready stance as they moved, hands hovering over hilts or bows. Their leader, their Commander, walked tall and proud just slightly to his left, dark brown eyes narrowing whenever the mage turned his blue orbs upon him. Shifting his shoulders ever so slightly, the Commander allowed a frown to mar his narrow face.

"Just remember what you are doing this for, Malcolm," came the words the Grey Warden had repeated time and again since the former Circle mage found himself in this rather unenviable predicament.

Those cool blue eyes narrowed even further as he turned away, marching along the crumbling walkways of the ancient, underground fortress. "You do not need to remind me, Larius," his words practically seethed with the anger and, yes, hatred the young mage felt for the Grey Warden walking at his shoulder.

Aware of their mage's mood, the others allowed the silence to fall, save for the constant clicking of armored boot heels upon the crumbling stone. The mage could feel it, the powerful magics of the place, the wards that held centuries' old power. Powerful, even as they decayed. The ancient magic – blood magic – danced along his senses, warning him of the evil that not only was imprisoned within this massive structure, but the evil that was used to keep it so. This was why the Wardens had…recruited the newly made apostate. To help rebind the wards of the ancient prison.

And he shuddered at the thought, disgust and trepidation making him ill as he recalled what they expected of him.

To sell his soul to the most available demon, and to the Fade with the consequences to him. They did anything in the name of their self-imposed duty, under the guise of protecting others.

Malcolm surely disbelieved that they did anything with the goal of protecting in mind, their one purpose to eradicate darkspawn seeming to negate any human consideration. How he had ended up here was only proof of their single-minded purpose.

They needed a mage, one who was not a warden. Although the significance of that fact was lost upon Malcolm and none of his warden handlers had seen fit to explain the difference between a Warden mage and one who was not a member of the Order. Frankly, at this point, even his curiosity in the ancient Tevinter structure had waned and all he wanted was to get this ordeal over with and never see the wretched face of Larius or Wardens in general ever again.

If they laid one hand…one finger upon Leandra, the Fade itself would not hold them safe from him.

The thought caused a shudder to course through the young Spirit Healer's body, nearly choking him on the words. A gentle person by nature, Malcolm knew well that any threat to the woman he loved could cause even his closely held temper to explode. There was nothing and on one that he would battle to protect his beloved wife and newborn son.

Here, Malcolm shuddered, again forcing his fear down, scowling deeply as that fear was replaced with a bout of self-pity and disgust. For two weeks they had been stuck in this Maker-forsaken graveyard. Two weeks they had battled darkspawn, walking corpses, shades and other creatures of the Fade. The young mage glanced back…back toward layers and levels of ancient debris, stone, granite and dust, eyes penetrating, as though they could peer through the layers upon layers to the prisons of the demons he had to contain in order for this group to continue its trek to the lower reaches of the fortress. Closing his eyes, he refocused his attention forward, forward toward the prison they currently walked toward. Ashamed at himself for the wish he had made – the words spilling almost too easily from his mouth - those days prior as he placed the final seal on the powerful demon, for he had never, in all his twenty-three years ever been ashamed of who he was; of what he was. But now, free from the Circle, he found himself dreaming and wishing for things that, given his heritage - as well as Leandra's - that may well be hopeless and futile to hope for.

That his son, his Garrett, would be - and here he shudders again - normal.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts he stumbled upon more debris, scowling as Larius' hand shot forward to grasp the younger man by the arm to prevent him from falling to the crumbling stone at his feet. Harshly tugging his arm free of the iron grip the Warden held, Malcolm continued to walk forward, toward whatever destiny these interfering Grey Wardens had for him.

And what Legacy he would be leaving to his son.

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