Dragon Age

"The Price of Salvation"

Written By: Knightfall and Mister Buch

Tales of selfless heroism are not soon forgotten, nor do they remain the same. With every passing year, on through the centuries and millennia that follow, these stories change hands. Soldiers become warriors. Tyrants become demons. Kings become gods.

But some stories are the exception—for only Grey Wardens remain beacons of virtue and resolve. Their story is an eternal struggle, destined to be passed down through the ages until the last living being upon the face of Thedas draws its last breath. For a Warden's work is never done, not even in death.

Thirty years into the Ninth Age, called the Dragon Age by some, the land was growing dark beneath the presence of an evil that had not surfaced in centuries. An evil so lost to the passage of time that many had forgotten its name, its face, and the potential for destruction that it retained.

A new Blight had begun, heaving out from southern lands and from the long-abandoned Deep Roads of the dwarven empire. From the darkness they came, in forces greater than the peoples of Thedas would ever know, with weapons that threatened to erase any trace of kingdom or country from the surface of the world—and they approached like a whisper. So quiet that only a chosen few could hear their approach.

The time of the Grey Wardens had come yet again.

Many were the tales of valor, and many were the deaths. But an act of treason brought the Order of the Grey Wardens to its knees, leaving only a bitter, inexperienced few in its wake. Along with their motley crew of companions, they moved through Ferelden, trying desperately to rebuild their Order, and bring an end to the Blight that had claimed their brethren.

–

The sun was the color of blood as it set behind the horizon, scattering haphazard light through the forest and across the weary bodies of the companions. The Warden watched the dimming skies with a grimace, knowing that to press on much further would only invite more danger after nightfall. These woods had their own demons on top of those that already stalked the land, silently hunting the living.

The darkspawn were everywhere, feeding on despair and destruction like an all-consuming plague. The companions had only just broken through a line of the beasts. It had only been a patrol, but it seemed like a small army. If they somehow encountered another patrol—or, Maker help them, another pack of wolves living amongst bear traps—the Warden wasn't sure they could survive another attack, not in their tired state.

He held out his hand, bringing his party to a halt. "Let's make camp here tonight," he said. His faithful warhound obediently sprinted around the immediate area, sniffing about for any hint of danger.

While the rest of the group seemed satisfied, Morrigan was the first to speak out. "Camp, you say? Sunlight still yet hangs in the sky. 'Tis a bitter assumption, but I might make the claim that the lot of you are scared of the dark."

Alistair shook his head and began to set his effects on the ground. "Give it a rest, will you? I'm tired, I'm hungry—I have darkspawn blood seeping into my smallclothes. Let's not drag this on."

Morrigan shrugged, as if it were no concern to her. "If you wish to let the Blight continue on because you want to get your beauty rest, then do not mind me. 'Tis not my world that needs saving. It will be there long after Ferelden is burned to the ground." She strayed off to the far side of the clearing to set up her tent, as she always did.

Alistair gritted his teeth, on the verge of saying something he might have regretted, as always. "You know," he said to the Warden, "I had grown up hearing fables of witches and apostates, and they were always delightfully evil characters. After actually meeting one, I think I shall be proud to return to Redcliffe and tell all the children, 'There's nothing to be frightened of. Witches aren't evil—they're just collectively bitchy!' Which is much worse, in my humble opinion."

He walked off to unstrap his armor, mumbling curses along the way.

The other companions quietly went about procedure. Sten disappeared into the treeline, looking for firewood; Leliana began unpacking the materials for their tents; Oghren was sneaking a drink from a flask that he believed no one knew about; and Zevran was already perched on a nearby rock, sharpening his blades with a whetstone.

It was business as usual: a comforting sight to the Warden. He almost forgot about his mission, the Blight, and Loghain's treachery when the campfire was finally going, the warmth of it driving away the chill of his worries.

Leliana began singing from her small tent, and her voice carried out into the night, mingling with the sounds of the forest without conflict, in perfect harmony.

All was right in the world for the Warden, for that pleasant moment.

He spotted another fire blink into existence from just outside the camp. The silence of the flames seemed unnatural until he remembered it was merely the product of distance. Morrigan. A woman so shrouded in mystery that he couldn't help but become intrigued. He started to walk toward her fire when he heard the sound of a wagon approaching from somewhere in the wood. The Warden would have drawn his blade had it not been for the merry song that accompanied the wagon's approach.

It was the dwarven merchants, Bodahn and Sandal, without a doubt. He should have known a bright fire would draw them from the main trading roads. It never ceased to amaze him how often they ran into each other. Like it was some otherworldly destiny.

"Oy there, friends!" Bodahn shouted as their wagon rolled within the light of the campfires. "Fancy meeting you lot out here in the middle of nowhere."

The Warden smiled. "We seem to be meeting here quite frequently, if you haven't noticed."

"Nowhere's a fine place to be, then. Got my best customers and my best friends all in the same place!" He laughed heartily. "Me and the boy are glad to see the likes of you out here, Warden. These woods haven't been getting any safer of late." He turned to Sandal. "Haven't they, boy?"

"Enchantment!" Sandal chirped, smiling as wide as ever.

"Oh, nothing gets under this boy's skin. For that I envy him, tonight of all nights." Bodahn climbed down off of his wagon and tugged at his braided beard. "I'm sure you won't mind if we set up shop in your circle tonight, will you Warden? These tired bones couldn't travel another mile."

"Not at all, Bodahn. We haven't much minded the last five nights either..." The Warden pointed to their wagon. "Just keep your merchandise under wraps. You know how Zevran gets when he sees shiny things laying out in the open."

Zevran stood up sharply from a shadow behind the wagon, his arms crossed and his face pouting. "Oh, whatever!" he harrumphed. "I'm not that predictable." He stormed off back to his tent.

"He'll be back," the Warden said when the elf had gone. "A good night to your and your boy, Bodahn. You know you're always welcome here."

Bodahn nodded happily. "Much obliged, Warden. We won't make a peep."

"Enchantment!" Sandal added.

"Yes, yes. That'll do, boy."

The Warden was about to turn back toward Morrigan's tent when he noticed another figure standing ominously at the far end of the camp, almost indistinguishable from the shadows and shrubs. He crept close and drew his dagger, certain that he had never seen this person before in his life.

He hunched down, ready to strike if it should be a darkspawn or possible thief. With only a few feet between them, he looked upon the amiable face of a young man, staring off into the distance like a corpse.

It was clear this man fellow was no threat, with not a sword, staff, or a battle scar to show that he had ever known a fight in his life. He wore a plaid shirt, neatly pressed without a sign of wear. The Warden stood fast and kept his dagger drawn. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Without so much as a start, the man began to speak. "My name is Levi Dryden, ser," he said plainly. "I've come to ask you a favor of great importance to me."

The Warden was no longer intimidated in the slightest. He sheathed his dagger and looked at the man, bewildered. "That's quite the introduction, Mister Dryden. You've walked far into hell to ask something of me that I'm likely not to give."

"Please, ser, just hear me out."

"I haven't left and you're not dead, so consider that permission to speak freely."

"Very well..." Levi cleared his throat. "My family are the descendants of the Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden, ser. Our name has been disgraced by her actions during her time. We've lived in shame and ridicule, but I know Sophia's work as a Grey Warden was honorable. I know it. I can get proof, but it's locked away in Soldier's Keep, high atop a mountain near the mines."

"Okay..." The Warden was still rightly confused by this man's presence. "Mister Dryden, I can sympathize with your plight, but you must understand that we have an important mission to adhere to, and we can't just roam around and clear the family names of everyone we meet..." He trailed off. "I mean...we've done it. In Orzammar we did it a lot, actually. We made nobles and kings out of just about everyone in that city—but I wouldn't like to do that again. The logistics do my head in."

"Oh." Levi's gaze dropped. "You see, I wouldn't ask you this favor if I didn't have a reason. You see, I ran across another Grey Warden some time ago. A man named Duncan who—"

"Who said 'Duncan'?" Alistair appeared beside the Warden as if by magic.

The Warden's eyes went wide. "What the—?"

"I'm sorry," Alistair continued, his eyes shimmering with tears. "It's just that, whenever someone talks about Duncan I get...I get...waaaaa!" He began sobbing into his gauntlets. The Warden patted him on the back in a half-hearted attempt to console him.

"He was doing so good for a long time," the Warden said to Levi, who shrugged helplessly at the accusing glance. "Now look what you've done! Can you please not mention…" but Alistair's sobs cut the admonishment off.

"Done…" he gulped, "Can…!"

"Oh, come on!"

But it was too late, and Alistair disappeared into his tent just as Zevran had.

Levi looked uncomfortable now. As he watched the scene he rubbed the tip of one of his thin braids, unsure how to react to the Warden's frustration. "Sorry about that," he eventually offered. "You have an… interesting group with you. The giant, the dwarves, the singing Orlesian lady."

"She's on a mission from the Maker," the Warden explained.

"And this elf over here robbing your fellow dwarven merchants."

"Yes. If it helps your opinion of us, the mage with the Fade spirit living inside of her is quite sensible."

At a loss, Levi renewed his entreaty. "Did, uhm," he glanced around. "Did Dun—I mean, did you know who ever mention…"

"Don't worry, he's gone now."

Levi coughed, smiling a little. "Right. Did Duncan never mention me? Levi of the Coins? Levi the Trader? Levi Longface?"

The Warden shook his head, visibly calming. "No. He mentioned little beyond the imminent battle and our role and duties as Grey Wardens."

At this, Levi seemed to shimmer with something, as if remembering a great happiness. Confining his excitement to widening eyes he interrupted. "Oh, well, actually I should say that Duncan promised me that he and I would look into this. He said it was important to the Wardens as well as my family."

"Uh-huh."

"And I know he would want his work carried on."

The Warden nodded silently.

"His pledge fulfilled."

"Yes."

"His dying wish to—"

"What?"

Levi stopped himself and nodded. "Well, that is, I certainly imagine it was his dying wish. It meant a lot to him, see."

The Warden sighed at the strange visitor. His strange quest was tiring him, and the resolve his companions apparently assumed limitless was beginning to fray around him. It was unlike him to show disregard for one in need, and he had to admit, the whole Duncan thing made him want to help. Something about Dryden's blank, open eyes or his mewling voice both glanced the Warden's nerve, and warmed his heart.

"All right," he said. "All right, fine. Your family's faith will be rewarded. "

The curious, once-noble face in front of the Warden's softened. As it did the campfire glowed at its edges, as if the merchant had only now allowed himself its warmth. Unconsciously the armor-clad camp leader followed suit, and felt his decision justified in the man's gratitude.

"A thousand blessings upon you, Warden. I'll mark the location on your map."

With a quietly proud nod, the Warden began to turn his head. It was as if the blood of dragon, soldier and broodmother were washed away by the act. This was why he liked his new life, his new purpose. The order to which he now belonged, which he now led across the blighted countryside, was more than he could ever be alone. Ferelden was a country ravaged by beasts and betrayed by heroes, but by his word it would be saved by those old friends it had chosen to ignore. The force for good, the last remaining piece of the King's legacy.

"And that'll be seven dollars, please," said Levi.

The Warden turned back around. "What?"

"Only seven dollars, ser! Or five hundred and sixty Microsoft points, but I prefer to round it up."

Mouthing silent objections, the Warden's face lay heavy. Eventually he demanded, "I thought you were asking me a favor!"

"Yes, of course!" Levi protested as if wounded. "This would be a great honor, and a boon to my family name! But, then again, these new weapons and armor don't pay for themselves, do they?"

"New what? Now you want me to buy you arms as well? I'm already buying them for the rest of these freeloaders…" he shot a glance to Sten, who repaid it with a cold stare before returning his attention to his new silverite massive gauntlets.

Levi almost laughed. "No! For you, of course! Soldier's Peak has all-new weapons and armor waiting for you! You and your men, in fact. Not to mention two achievements."

Aghast, the Warden searched for words polite enough to utter. "Look, don't you mean seven sovereigns?" he asked finally. "Because that would be okay. I find that on the bodies of seven ogres, you know. How about seven sovereigns?"

"No, I'm afraid that won't do. Seven bucks. Exciting quest, new talents. You'll get a great discount in my store when we're done…"

"I should think so!"

"Shall we leave now?"

The Warden flushed red. "No!" he yelled. "No we shan't! Did Duncan promise you seven dollars? And a big chunk of the Grey Wardens' official disc space, too?"

"Well, he did mention…"

"Oh, shut up. No. No, I'm not going to help you at that cost. Scurry off back to Edmonton, or East Anglia Games or wherever it is you're from."

"Denerim, ser."

"Yes, yes, Denerim, fine. I don't care. One certainly can tell that you're from a merchant family!"

With an almost-believable dejected look, Levi turned his heavy shoulders and wandered off. After a few steps, he stopped on the empty side of the camp. Then he began unpacking.

"Now what are you doing?" came an angry voice.

"I'll just wait here until you change your mind!" Levi called back.

"What!"

"I said I am waiting here—"

"I heard what you said!" the Warden roared. "I just didn't think that something that stupid had graced my ears. You can't stay here."

"Yes, I can." Levi quipped.

The Warden ran his hand over his face, frustrated beyond words. A whisker from his chin got caught in his gauntlets. It hurt. "Makerdammit! Look, I'm not saying it's beyond your ability to stay here. What I'm saying is: you're not going to stay here! I don't want you in my camp! Eating my rations, listening to my soothing music, engaging in comic relief with my dog!"

Levi ignored him and continued unpacking. He brushed past the Warden to hang a sign on a nearby tree that read Home, Sweet Home.

The Warden's hand instinctively went for his dagger, with every mind to cut this living, breathing blight upon his camp into pieces lighter than elfroot...but he held back, realizing that would be way too dark. "Fine!" He threw up his arms and turned his back on Levi. "Do what you will. You'll get nothing out of me!"

He kicked the mysterious Reserved for Shale signpost as he stormed off to his tent.

-One Week Later-

The Warden's eyes were aglow with an inner fire that had raged within him for days—and also with the real fire that sat burning not three feet away from him. He spun his dagger around in his hand, watching Levi Dryden unpack his things on the other side of camp for the seventh time.

"Is he still on your mind!" Oghren said, waddling around at the mercy of his drink. "Don't be mad, bucko! Get Glad!" He belched. "Look, when you see something you want, you take it. That's what you sodding rogues do, right? Now go over there and tell that...little lady how you really feel. Get down on one knee...look her straight in the eye and..."

Oghren passed out and tumbled face-first into the campfire. No one around the camp seemed to take notice.

"You're right, Oghren," the Warden said. "Thanks, buddy." He walked through the camp, with purpose in his stride and an eyelash in his eye. Halfway there, Morrigan cut him off.

"Take me, Warden!" she moaned. "Make a demon child with me tonight!"

"Not now, babe." He pushed past her and strolled right up to Levi until he was breathing down his neck. Levi didn't seem to notice. "Look, you mood-killer. I have half a mind to leave you in the woods for the bear trap-toting wolves to fight over. You want to bug me with a pointless offer? Fine! Go stand over there in the other corner with the tranquil and the nameless dwarf and the other people waiting on me to give them things! You can even have your own crate. But I don't want you here! I don't want capitalism at work in my favorite part of the game-slash-camp!"

Levi put down a short, ill-bound book entitled Pinnacle Station: The Fall of Dignity and looked up at the Warden. "Oh, I didn't see you there. Have you reconsidered my offer?"

The Warden briefly wished he was a mage so that he might destroy this man with every bit of fire he could muster. "For the last time, demon..."

"Do you have a stable connection to the internet, Warden? Have you signed up for an EA or BioWare Social account, yet? Have you registered your game online? Did you buy a new copy? If so you can get a gaudy piece of armor for free! Oh, you need to still have the little scrap of paper." Levi looked hopeful. "Either way, just hit the center button on your controller to bring up your Xbox Three-Sixty Dashboard and click on over to Warden's Keep. Nice name, huh?"

The Warden gritted his teeth. "I only have one-hundred Microsoft Points!"

"That's okay," Levi assured him, "You can buy a batch of eight-hundred for only ten dollars."

"That's more than what I need!"

Levi straightened his collar. "Well...have you ever wanted to Return To Ostagar? And there's always themes and gamer pictures! How'd you like your very own Levi Dryden gamer picture, eh?"

The Warden's world plunged into darkness right then. He didn't wake up until the next morning, and Levi had already gone.

Alistair strolled over, looking quite confused as he watched the Warden pull himself off the ground. "Rough night with Morrigan?"

"No," the Warden replied. His mind was a bit hazy, but none of his hair was missing so he couldn't have been laying with Morrigan the night before. "I had a strange dream..."

"Really?" Alistair looked uneasy. "I did, too, in fact. About watermelons. I think I might hate my father. What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"I miss Duncan."

"I know."

"Anywho, want me to get the camp all packed up?"

The Warden looked back to where Levi Dryden had once stood. There wasn't a trace of him. Not one bent blade of grass where he had once stood. What an awful, terrible dream. "Yes, Alistair—," he answered with equal parts weariness and hope, "Let's get the hell out of here."

–

It had been five days of straight walking through Ferelden. The Warden and his companions had hoped to reach the town of Haven by the end of the week, for every second counted on his quest to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. The Arl of Redcliffe needed their help, and without it he would surely die—and with him would founder any chance the lands might have against the Blight.

Near the base of the Frostback Mountains, where water ran down through the rocks as cool and pure as when it first melted from the snowy peaks above, Leliana suggested that they take a shortcut through a little-known road called Sulcher's Pass, which could shave an extra day off of their journey if the frost hadn't laid on too thick. The road was marked on their map in a sickly, ominous yellow, oddly similar to the ink the Warden remembered Dryden using to mark the 'Keep.' After shaking the notion from his head, the Warden decided to take the chance.

Halfway up the pass, in the middle of a clearing amongst tall elms and ruins from an Age long forgotten, a man stood sulking near his grounded wagon and scattered camping supplies. He seemed on the verge of tears as the Warden approached.

"Good day, ser," the Warden greeted. "Having some trouble?"

The man looked up from the ground. Seeing the travelers brightened his foul mood a bit. "Well met. It's good to see friendly travelers in this part of the world. I'm wondering if you might help out a stranded merchant?"

"We'd be happy to help. Not many people travel through this part of Ferelden."

"Yes, that's part of my problem. My mule got spooked by a wisp and buggered off into the woods. I've been searching since daybreak, but I've not found anything. So here I am, sitting tight on a load of merchandise with my arms tied behind my back just waiting to get robbed by any thieves what pass by."

The Warden looked over to the wagon, filled to the brim with various boxes and goods. "That's quite the predicament."

"It is. I'm Felix de Grosbois, anyway. As for that help, I'm wondering if you might take something off my hands. It's not something I want to be stuck with out here."

"What is it?"

"It's a control rod for a golem. Bought it cheap off a man in Jadar. I'll never get to use it since I'll be heading out to Orlais as soon as I catch that damned mule...but perhaps you could use it?"

The Warden looked around to his friends, none of whom objected. "I guess we could take it off your hands. A golem might come in handy with all the trouble we've got biting us on our heels." He reached into his purse. "How much do you want for it?"

"Oh, not much," Felix said. "Let's say...twelve-hundred Microsoft Points."

The Warden froze, his hand still clinging to a fistful of sovereigns in his purse. He let them fall, one at a time, as his eyes slowly drifted up to meet the man. "What did you just say?"

"I said twelve-hundred Microsoft Points. Oh, it's well worth it, I swear to you. That golem's a marvelous character, unless you're pretty far into your adventure. In that case, he might just sigh at you for hours at a time. And even if you aren't, then he… or she… what I'm saying is, expect sighing."

The Warden's hands balled into fists so tight his gauntlets tore into his palms. "I only have one-hundred Points..." he muttered.

"I see." Felix rubbed his chin, thinking hard for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "You could buy a set of sixteen-hundred Points for just twenty dollars!"

"That's more than what I need!" the Warden shouted, his form trembling in aggravation.

Felix fell deep into thought again. "Well...have you ever wanted to Return To Ostagar? I believe there's some new armor there lying around nowad—" The Warden punched him square in the jaw, so hard that he spun on his heels, doing a complete circle. "EAAAAAA....!" he choked, and fell to the ground, unconscious.

The Warden rummaged through the merchant's pockets until he found the control rod, then confidently pocketed it. "Take note! That's how we did things in the KotOR days, my friends. We bashed doors open in those days, too. We knew how to do things. And let me tell you, this was before bloody Microsoft Points. Bloody nobody got on my ship who I didn't ask! Well except that girl and the gizka. But I killed them for it…"

Alistair walked up and checked the man's pulse, then said at a teary whine, "Alistair disapproves!"

The Warden allowed a feral smile. "I know, buddy." He cracked his knuckles and headed off down the trail. "I know."

–

Short are the lives of the Grey Warden, but fast are the adventures and stories they leave behind. They are transient echoes of light and resolve, defining the Ages and ensuring that civilization soldiers forth whatever the cost—even at the expense of their own lives, their families, their friends...or their Microsoft Points.

The time of the Grey Wardens will come again, dear readers, and when it does keep your eyes locked to the shadows and to the Light of the Chantry, and patiently await the hour in which you, too, are called upon—to empty your wallets.

[Chapter Two of this fic is available for ten dollars (via ), and don't forget to register for your free Review Code, which gets you five extra jokes. But, Spoiler Alert: they're just okay, could've been better...]