Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragon Age universe or Bioware.

Prologue: The Unlikely Recruit

Deep in the Southron Hills, Duncan sat by the fire, the dark of night surrounding him. He stared deep into the fire, the light dancing upon his creases and wrinkles. He felt old, wearied and tired. He had searched across all of Ferelden in hopes of finding a recruit to join the Grey Wardens. From Highever to Denerim, from Orzammar to the Brecilian Forest. Now, he was out of time. Ferelden was running out of time.

Throughout all of his travels, he had not been able to find a single recruit worthy. Sure, he found Ser Jory in Highever and later found the cutpurse Daveth in Denerim. Both of these men impressed him, for sure, but it wasn't enough. The Grey Wardens needed more men to increase their numbers. Cailan needed more Grey Wardens to assist him. Always more. Need drove him to search and now, he had found nothing.

Duncan sighed as he prodded the fire, eating up both the night and the wood. Duncan no longer knew what to do, where to go. There was nowhere else he could do in the time he had left. Would he go back to Ostagar empty handed? It would seem that that would be his only choice left.

Unless this follower of his made his move.

Since he had moved into the Hills, a man had followed him. He had kept his distance and taken all the proper steps to not be seen, to be sure, but Duncan was a seasoned warrior. Not wanting to get caught up in a needless fight, Duncan had taken steps to lose his attacker. But time and time again, he would walk up a hill and find the follower on the hill behind him, walking after him. It was intriguing. So now, he sat here, waiting for him to make his move.

Duncan could feel him moving around him in the darkness, amongst the trees and the tall grass. Sometimes, the crack of broken grass would betray his location; other times, it was merely the movement of the grass against his skin. Duncan already knew that this man was patient and cautious, like a wolf stalking his prey. Duncan was already finding this man interesting. And he was experienced.

The follower struck.

He was a blur that dashed through the tall grass, shooting across the fire with only a slight glint betraying his weapon. Duncan cocked his head and the blade flashed past his face. Duncan was finally able to study his attacker up close and personal, in the light of the fire.

He was as young as Alistair, or at least he guessed so; his face was obscured by long hair, which was tied into a ponytail in the back. He wore loose fitting leather armor, down to his boots. Straps covered his thighs, arms and chest and attached to those straps were knives. Hundreds of knives. Duncan wasn't sure if he had ever seen so many knives on a single person before. They were well worn, and Duncan was sure that his attacker knew how to use them. Though the weapons he wielded now were two long swords, one of elvish make and the other of human. The curved elvish sword he wielded in his left hand in a reverse grip, the blade protecting his upper arm. The human sword was by Duncan's ear, not even wavering.

The sword turned and slashed across the air towards Duncan's neck. Duncan already had his sword out and ready, meeting the blade with a loud clang. The attacker punched forward with his left arm, slashing the air with his elvish blade. Duncan brought up his dagger and met the elvish blade with another loud clang.

The attacker pushed forward, knocking Duncan on his back. Duncan put his foot in his attackers stomach and pushed him over his body. The attacker rolled across his back and found his footing. That was when Duncan noticed the first odd thing about his attacker.

He had no boots on. Just plain, uncovered feet touching the cold dirt.

The barefoot attacker slowly stood up, head hunched in the shadows, and his hands gripping his swords tight. His head turned slowly, revealing tanned skin, though his bangs still covered his eyes. Warily, he sidestepped and raised his weapons. Duncan stood up and dusted off his clothes before raising his sword. He was intrigued.

The attacker danced forward, slashing across the air. Duncan parried, spun and aimed a back fist at his head. The attacker dropped his head like water, the fist grazing his face, as he brought his other sword around towards Duncan's neck. Duncan let himself drop to the ground and kicked out at his attacker's legs. The legs flew forward, bringing the barefoot man off-balance.

The attacker gritted his teeth, sticking his sword into the ground and using his momentum to flip into the air, using his sword as a focal point. Continuing the spin, he flipped sideways, slashing his elvish sword down on Duncan's head. Duncan stepped back, the blade barely grazing his face. The attacker continued and pushed off the sword stuck into the ground. He flipped sideways across the air, his sword twirling in the air multiple times, and each time coming closer to Duncan's face.

Duncan once again dropped to the ground and rolled under his flying attacker, who landed nimbly on his feet. He spun around, holding his elvish sword before him. His human sword lay stuck into the ground behind Duncan.

"You should never let go of your sword," Duncan commented.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," the attacker replied gruffly. He lunged forward and Duncan ran forward as well.

Their steel blades clashed in the night air, sending sparks flying. The attacker meant to kill Duncan while Duncan only worked on studying this barefoot man. He had the speed and agility of an elf, yet had the physique of a human. Strange indeed. Only once did Duncan manage to drop him onto his back. And then the attacker replied in kind with an attack that Duncan had never seen before. Using his legs as momentum, he spun them across his body, kicking out wildly while slashing with his sword, all the while spinning on his free hand and on his back. Dust began to kick up around him before he jumped off his hands and landed nimbly on his feet by the fireplace. Slowly, almost wearily, he stood up straight and the light revealed his face.

Duncan's eyes widened.

Across his eyes, a purple sash was tied tightly. Across the front end, a familiar golden emblem glittered in the firelight. The familiar blazing sun within a circle that is shown throughout Ferelden. The symbol of the Maker.

"You're blind," Duncan breathed.

The attacker smiled briefly before darting forward, grabbing his human sword from its spot in the ground. Growling, he swept both swords in front of him, crossing them in front of him. Frowning, Duncan dashed forward and pushed his sword forward. Each blade clashed against each other, with Duncan's stopping both mid-swing. The blind man jerked to a stop. Duncan scoffed as he punched his gauntleted hand at the man's head.

The barefooted, blind man shouted as he fell to the ground before he quickly rolled back onto his feet. A thin line of blood dripped down his cheek as he got back onto his feet. Duncan remained silent, neither moving nor daring to breathe. He had an idea and he was willing to see if it worked.

The wind blew across the tall grass and through the leaves within the treetop. Duncan dare not make a sound as the blind man shifted his weight from foot to foot. He turned his head left and right, trying to find something. Duncan dare not move. Slowly, the blind man took a step forward, cautious and tentative. This proved Duncan's theory.

The blind man walked forward, barely brushing past Duncan's shoulder. Duncan shifted his foot. The man twitched his head. Duncan slammed the flat-end of his blade into the back of the man's knees and he crumbled to the ground with a grunt. The man tried to get up again but Duncan touched his blade to the man's throat and he stopped.

"You're very skilled," Duncan complimented. "You use the sounds around you to pinpoint your target. The sound of their breathing, the sound of their weapons cutting through the air. But when they don't move, you don't know where they are. Now, why were you following me?"

The blind man didn't answer.

"You gain nothing from being silent," Duncan continued. "All I want to know is why you're following me." The man pouted his lips a little.

"I was bored," he said roughly. "I've lived in these woods for most of my life. Not many people come through here. Farmers, travelers mostly, sometimes Dalish. But you…you smelled different. You carried yourself proudly. I wanted to know more about you."

"Why attack, then?" Duncan asked.

"The best way to know someone is to fight them," he replied. "All emotions are laid bare. I've learned a lot about you."

"Such as?"

"For an old bugger, you move pretty fast. Skilled with a blade, that's for sure. You've led a hard life. You regret something, though what, I don't know. And I don't want to know. That's personal to you and I'll respect that. You feel lost. You went out searching for something but didn't find it. So, what're you going to do now?"

"I invoke the Right of Conscription," Duncan merely proclaimed. The man froze.

"Oh, by Fen'Harel1, you're a Grey Warden, aren't you?" he breathed.

"And you're a half-elf, aren't you?" Duncan asked in return. The man breathed deeply through his nose.

"Aye, I am," he answered. "My mother was a dalish. My father was a human."

"And what is your name?" Duncan asked.

"My mother called me abelas," the blind man scoffed. "My father called me worm."

"Interesting," Duncan replied. "What do you call yourself?"

"Nothing."

Duncan blinked once before stepping off of the man. The man breathed before sitting up straight, rubbing his neck. He stared in Duncan's general direction, waiting for the old man to speak. Duncan waited for the man to speak. The blind man rubbed the back of his neck. He paused.

"Dagon," he spoke softly. "You can call me Dagon."

"What does it mean?" Duncan asked.

"No idea," Dagon replied. "It just sounds interesting, I guess. I've always introduced myself as such, but it's not my real name. Just the name I chose to call myself."

"That is, in the end, what a name is," Duncan said. The man looked in his direction, the golden sun of the Maker glistening in the light.

"You want to recruit me into the Grey Wardens?" Dagon asked.

"I already have," Duncan replied.

"You spoke words to me. They hold meaning only to those who give it meaning. I don't."

"Indeed. Then if need be, I will drag you kicking and screaming all the way to Ostagar."

"You can try."

"Or I could kill you."

"Again, you can try."

Duncan smiled. Dagon was testing him, seeing how tough he really was. After a moment, Dagon rubbed the stubble growing on his chin.

"Why Ostagar? It's at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, far from civilization. Why there?"

"Because that is where the Blight will start." Dagon froze.

"Darkspawn?" Duncan nodded, knowing that Dagon couldn't see it.

"Darkspawn. With an Archdemon behind them. Commanding them. They have only one objective. To kill every man, woman and child in Thedas, be they human, elven or dwarven. Ostagar is where they will meet the combined strength of King Cailan and Teryn Loghain."

"Those names supposed to mean something? I've lived in the Southron Hills for a long time."

"King Cailan is the King of Ferelden. Teryn Loghain is his father-in-law and war leader from Gwaren. They have already clashed with darkspawn several times, but at Ostagar is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. Together, they wish to end the Blight at Ostagar, though, I'm not entirely sure they can be stopped there. That is why we need every able bodied person willing to wield a sword against the Darkspawn. That is why I recruited you."

"Getting desperate, are we?"

"The Blight always calls for desperation. Now, will you join me willingly?"

Dagon stared in the direction of the fire. He stared for a long time, with Duncan patiently waiting for his answer.

"Sure. I'll come," was all Dagon said. He gave no reason why. Duncan nodded and slowly stood up.

"Tomorrow, we will be traveling west to Ostagar. There are only a few Grey Wardens in Ferelden at the moment, but all of them are there. The Blight must be stopped. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

"Spare the drama, old man. I want to get some sleep," Dagon groaned as he slumped onto his back. In a few seconds, he was fast asleep.

Duncan smiled to himself and felt a new burning sensation rising from within. A horrible feeling of unreality that could kill at a moment's notice.

A feeling of hope.

Hey there. New story. Just an idea I've been poking around with. Not sure where it'll go yet. My "side-side project," as it were. Expect even less frequent updates.

Hey check it out, there's supposed to be a footnote down here somewhere, explaining who Fen'Harel is. Can you see it?

11 Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf – Elven lord of tricksters and bringer of nightmares.