Prologue: The Siege of Adamant Fortress
The percussive sound of warfare reverberated through his skull. Before him, on the desert plains of the Western Approach, the armies of the Inquisition marched forward as their massive trebuchets bombarded Adamant Fortress. On the other end of the battlefield, the ramparts of the Grey Wardens crumbled under the onslaught of stone and fire raining from the sky.
Calanon Tilfaris assessed the situation through his keen tactician's eye. The Inquisition possessed a massive numerical advantage, and their siege weapons were battering the walls to dust. It was only a matter of time, and not a lot of it, before they would breach the fortress. After that, the battle would be decided in close combat between the Wardens and the Inquisition.
Near the front of the Inquisition's battle-line, he could see Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, flanked by what he assumed to be his personal guard. The presence of the Inquisitor was significant, though Calanon was still unsure as to why the Inquisition was present at all. He notched an arrow to his bow and began to rise from his low crouch.
"Cal, where are you going?"
The question came from Nuvir, Cal's elven companion. They'd been traveling together ever since escaping Lydes Outpost.
"Those are my Warden brothers and sisters down there, Nuvir," he replied, "I'm going to go help."
"The Inquisition has the battle already won. They are simply too many." He paused, then added, "And perhaps it would be wrong to fight with them. If they're… acting like the Wardens at Lydes, then the Inquisition may be in the right, Cal."
"Don't you dare talk about the Wardens at Lydes!" he snapped. The pain of what had transpired between his comrades was too great to dwell upon, and he'd managed to avoid it for weeks.
"My apologies, I meant no offense," the elf responded, with a placating voice.
Cal took a moment to calm himself, then replied in a softer tone, "I know you didn't, Nuvir. To be honest, there was no real offense to be had. It's just… I'd rather not think about what happened at Lydes, if that's alright."
"I understand, my friend. It was not easy for me either, to see what we saw."
The shattering crash of the Inquisition breaking through fortress' front gate snapped the two back into focus.
"I need to go down there, if not to fight the Inquisition, then at least to find out what's happening and end this madness."
The elf nodded, then replied, "I, too, would like some answers to this confusion. Perhaps we will find them in the fortress."
He drew his weapon, a rather unique double-bladed sword joined in the middle by a staff measuring about a meter long.
"Then let us be off."
Under the shadow of night, the pair made their way across the desert towards the besieged stronghold, weapons drawn and eyes alert. When they arrived at the base of the walls, Cal reached into his pack and retrieved a length of rope, from which he fashioned a loop. As the sounds of battle raged around him, he threw the loop onto the parapet, fastening it to one of the crenels. Once he was satisfied that the rope was secured, he motioned to Nuvir, and the two began to climb the fortifications.
At the top of their climb, Cal found a collection of Wardens guarding makeshift defenses. From this close, he could hear the sounds of demons bellowing and electrical magic crackling through the air. Seeing the new arrivals climb over the parapet, the lead Warden drew his sword in alarm.
"Who in the blighted hell are you?"
Every Warden on the rampart turned to face the source of the commotion. Cal raised his hands, trying to show that he meant no harm. "Warden Calanon Tilfaris, brother. This is my companion, Nuvir."
Though he'd long ago abandoned his Warden's armor in favor of more inconspicuous clothing, he still carried his engraved token, with the emblem of the Order etched into its face. Reaching slowly to his pack, he gave the token to the lead Warden.
"Where'd you come from, Tilfaris?" the senior Warden asked, examining the emblem.
"Lydes Outpost. Something… strange happened there."
At that, the senior Warden gave a mirthless chuckle, turning over the token to examine the back, onto which were etched Cal's name and the date of his Joining.
"I'm afraid you'll find things are no less strange here, Tilfaris. The Warden-Commander and her Tevinter advisor have gone mad. They're practicing some kind of blood magic, with our brothers and sisters as the sacrifices," the Warden replied, finishing his examination of the token. He turned to the other Wardens and announced: "He is who he says he is, it appears. Stay focused, and stay alert for demons."
The rest of the Wardens returned to their posts, guarding against an attack. Cal walked to a raised command platform of sorts with the other Warden.
"Ah, I believe I failed to introduce myself," the Senior Warden said, "Warden-Lieutenant Servais Grenould, commander of Churneau Hold."
"Lieutenant, the mage Wardens at Lydes were binding demons with their blood magic. Is that what the Warden-Commander is doing here?"
Grenould nodded, his expression grim. "I'm afraid so. These men and women here have refused to take part," he said, gesturing to the assembled Wardens.
Calanon leaned against the wall, overwhelmed, letting out a deep sigh. It was just as he had feared, and the Order stood on the precipice of self-destruction. Behind him, Nuvir stepped forward and addressed Grenould.
"So, the Inquisition is here to stop the Commander," he said, more like a statement than a fact. It was one of the distinctive elements of the way he spoke.
"I would assume so. I don't wish to take up arms against him, though we may not have a choice," answered Grenould.
Now Cal spoke, though he kept his place along the wall: "And then what, leave our brothers and sisters to die? Blood magic or not, they're still the Grey Wardens. We can't let the Inquisition just kill them all!"
"They are not Grey Wardens!" spat Grenould, growing suddenly fierce.
"Do they not wear the armor? Or carry the emblem? How are we to know that Warden-Commander Clarel isn't right? Aren't we all fucking dying!"
Nuvir silenced them both by slamming his staff-blade into the wooden floor.
"Friends, I fear that the stress of this situation is weighing on us all," he began, "Cal, I know that you cannot believe that this blood magic ritual can truly be right, after what we saw in Lydes."
Cal let out another deep sigh, then responded, "You're right, I don't. Even still, I'm not sure what's right anymore."
They were interrupted by a shout from the other end of their fortifications.
"By the order of Warden-Commander Clarel, surrender your weapons and march for the Keep!"
"Open your eyes, Syenna!" responded the guard, "You know in your heart that this cannot be jus-"
He was cut off by a sharp thrust from the corrupted Warden's sword. "Traitors!" she shouted, wrenching her crimson blade free of his body. With a gasp, he fell, her name upon his lips.
An unearthly roar swept over the Wardens as demons came pouring onto the battlements. They were joined by more corrupted Wardens, charging into their former comrades.
Cal notched an arrow onto his bow, fletched with black feathers. He pulled in his breath as he sighted down a Shade, drawing the bow to its very limit. The chaos of battle seemed to slow as the archer steadied his aim.
The black-fletched arrow flew straight and true, piercing the light at the center of the demon's head. With a howl, the Shade dissipated in a flash of black smoke.
Notching another arrow to his drawstring, Cal drew back and dispatched a minor demon, some sort of Wraith. Nuvir fought amongst their allies, his sword reflecting the moonlight as the blades flashed in a deadly arc. Another of Cal's arrow's flew into the fray, the obsidian tip piercing through the thick armor of a pride demon.
Whirling about to search for targets, Cal drew an arrow at a corrupted Warden rushing straight for him. Once he had the Warden in his sights, however, he hesitated.
Dammit, she could've been me. I could've been her. This whole blighted thing isn't right.
The tip of his arrow faltered.
The charging Warden was closer now, her longsword coming down in its murderous fury. Yet still Cal hesitated, unwilling to end her life.
Just as the corrupted Warden was about to cleave Cal's head from his shoulders, a sudden blast of electricity slammed into her side, leaving her paralyzed on the ground. Cal looked up at the source of the spell and saw the Inquisitor fighting his way into the fray, alongside his companions.
At his left, a woman dressed in the coat of a Seeker swung her sword in a vicious swipe, her silver sword joining the Inquisitor's spectral blade in a deadly dance. At his right, a man dressed in the armor of the Wardens threw himself into the fray. Behind them, a raggedly dressed young man darted about, plunging his twin daggers into the backs of unsuspecting opponents. And far behind all of them, a dwarf wielding a crossbow larger than himself sniped away at distant enemies.
The Inquisitor's party swept through the enemy like a firestorm, laying waste to demons and corrupted Wardens with frightening efficiency. At the battle's conclusion, the Inquisitor approached Grenould.
"Keep your distance!" yelled Grenould, wary of the mage's intent.
"The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel, not kill Wardens! If you fall back you won't be harmed," replied the Inquisitor. Grenould considered his words.
"All right, my men will stay back. We want no part of this," the Warden acquiesced.
With a curt nod to the Lieutenant, the Inquisitor and his vanguard hefted their weapons once more and advanced deeper into Adamant Fortress.
The blood-mage's eyes shone with magic as she began the spell. This particular summoning would require deep preparation, as she hoped to raise a quite powerful demon. In front of her, Ser Yevin de Illincet looked up at his executioner, a woman dressed in shining silver armor.
"You have to do it, Ruth. For the Order," he spoke.
Ruth Covenfall looked back at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"You can't ask me to do that! After all we've been through, it's as if you're my brother."
"Don't think of it like that. We're Grey Wardens, we all give our lives to duty, one way or another. And remember the goal: we're going to strike down the Darkspawn once and for all. This is what's right."
"Dammit, Yevin, I can't-"
He grabbed her sword arm, guiding the blade out of its sheath.
"Yes, you can. You have to. Veliana has already begun the spell, and we're alone on this side of the battlements. It has to be you."
He guided the sword closer.
"We've done far harder things before. That battle at Deauvin Flats? That was hard. A simple spell to rid the world of the blights is far easier, no?"
Still leading her sword arm, he brought it to his neck.
"Remember, this is right. We're Grey Wardens, this is our job, and I'm damn proud of it."
Yevin dropped his arm, and his face took on a faraway expression. After a moment, he turned back, his face set in stone.
"In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death…"
Ruth pulled the sword back, readying herself.
"Sacrifice."
With an anguished yell, Ruth plunged the blade into his throat. Blood spilled from the gash, only to be frozen in midair by the swirling light of blood magic. With a flash of blinding green, a massive Shade, far greater than any Ruth had previously seen, sprung into existence over Yevin's corpse.
Quickly, the Mage bound the spirit to the will of the Wardens, even as Ruth stumbled against the ramparts. Her mind was racing, trying to justify her action. She'd thought up her excuses long ago, but she struggled to recall them while she steadied herself against the parapet.
This was right. We serve the Order. This will bring victory. This was our duty. We did right. I did right.
She clung to those words as she numbly sheathed her still-bloodied sword. She couldn't bring herself to look at it, stained with the blood of her comrade. A comrade dead by her hand.
This was right. I did my duty and nothing more.
And nothing less.
A runner came sprinting up to her, soaked in sweat and the filth of battle.
"Warden Covenfall! The Commander wishes you to return to the front. We need more time." The runner turned to the mage, who now wore a rather strange expression. "The Commander also wishes for you to return to her; She wants all of you in the same place."
The mage nodded and led the demon away. Ruth reached for her helmet and placed it over her head. She could still hear her blood pounding, reverberating through the metal helm. Unstrapping her shield, she made her way across the rampart to meet the Inquisition in battle. After using it to kill one of her own, she needed to turn her blade against an enemy foe.
Halfway across the fortress' wall, she was surprised to find the Warden Commander exiting her war room. Ruth brought her still slightly trembling fist to her chest in salute.
"At ease, Ser Ruth," said Commander Clarel, raising her head in greeting.
As Ruth returned her hand to her side, the Warden-Commander continued, her voice grave.
"The Inquisition draws near. Take command of the remaining defenders and buy us time, Covenfall. I promise, that will be all we need to complete our duty"
Duty. There's that damned word again.
Ruth nodded an affirmative, and Clarel turned to ascend the dais. Turning to run to the aid of her fellow Wardens, Ruth could hear the Commander address the crowd.
"Brothers, Sisters, the time of our victory draws near! Our sacrosanct duty, to protect the nations of Thedas from the Blights, shall be forever fulfilled. The moment of our Order is at hand!"
Victory. Duty. The Order.
The words raced through her silver helm, joining her rushing blood in a maddening cacophony. Racing across the battlements, Ruth could only pray that the Warden-Commander was right.
Hearing the sounds of battle draw closer, the conflicted Warden drew her sword, trying to keep her focus everywhere but the bloody blade. She approached one of the spellbinders among their ranks, her warrior's gaze scanning the battlefield.
"How goes the battle?" she called to the mage. He raised his staff and drew a rain of fire upon the Inquisition before turning to face her.
"Poorly, Sir. The Inquisition is far too many to meet in battle."
Ruth waved the battlemage back to the fight, then raised her voice to address the remaining Wardens: "Fall back to the gate! Form a double-line, and make them bleed for every blighted step!"
The warriors drew to close order and took a defensive position behind the gate. From here, the Inquisition's numerical advantage was somewhat mitigated, as they could only send forth as many men as could fit through the gate. Ruth joined the men guarding the gate, and for a time it seemed as though their line would hold.
Then the Inquisitor arrived.
Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, cast quite an imposing sight on the battlefield. He was surrounded by a bright ring of swirling energy, crackling through the night air. In his hand, the spectral blade of the Knight-Enchanter was leveled directly the Wardens.
With a yell, the battle was joined, and the Inquisitor cut a path through the assembled Wardens. Ruth found herself locked in a melee with man in black armor, with a red sash across his chest. Her eyes widened as she recognized her opponent: The Champion of Kirkwall, whom she'd met briefly during the Arishok's assault on the port city.
Their swords met in a shower of sparks. Though she was a quite proficient swordsman in her own right, Ruth knew she was outmatched by the sheer skill of her opposite. She parried his incoming thrusts, but she found herself pushed back by the onslaught of blows. When the Champion next attacked, she leveraged her blade against his, drawing them closer in a desperate gambit to land a lucky blow. The longer this fight went on, the less chance she'd have of leaving it alive.
It almost worked, but she was interrupted by lightning strike cast by the Inquisitor. By now, Ruth, bloodied and weary, was the last Warden left standing at the gate. Before she could turn to face her new target, the Inquisitor unleashed a blast of fury from his enchanted staff, sending Ser Ruth Covenfall hurtling off the battlements.
Cal certainly hadn't been expecting the Warden to fall out of the sky. It wasn't particularly unusual, he supposed, but he was surprised nonetheless when she crashed through the wooden cart with a resounding thud.
After the attack on the battlements, Cal, Nuvir, and Grenould had set out for the keep, to gather the answers they sought. They traveled the same path the Inquisitor had walked, and had yet to encounter resistance.
He made his way to the shattered cart, coming to a halt beside the unconscious figure. Removing the helmet from the Warden's body, he was met with a woman's face, bloody and filthy from the combat. As he knelt down to check warrior's pulse, he motioned to Grenould.
"Is she with us, or them?" he asked.
"She's not with my company, but I saw her with Clarel this morning" replied the Lieutenant. "I believe she came from Cumberland Hold. Perhaps-"
Grenould was interrupted by the shriek of a high dragon. Or rather, something like a high dragon, for the red light emanating from its scales was unlike any creature the Wardens had encountered. Circling about the keep and knocking down the tip of one of the towers, the dragon finally alighted at the highest point of the castle, glaring down at the keep.
"Why the hell is there a high dragon on the fortress?" asked Cal, his eyes wide.
"How in the blight should I know?" replied Grenould, equally apprehensive. Behind him, Nuvir drew his swordstaff and stepped forwards.
"Perhaps we should go find some answers, then," he stated, his breath even and posture steady.
Cal nodded in assent and moved to stand, but paused when he remembered the unconscious Warden lying at his feet.
"Friend or foe, we can't just leave her here," he said. Grenould sheathed his sword and moved to pick up the stunned warrior.
"I'll return to my men, and bind her there," he replied, and added, "Do try not to die up there."
"Honestly, trying is all we can do," remarked Cal wryly, as he and Nuvir made their way up the stairs, weapons at the ready.
Arriving on a rampart overlooking the assembly, Cal and Nuvir surveyed the scene. On their left, the Warden-Commander stood with a mage dressed in the garb of the Venatori. At the edge of the dais, a battle raged, with the Wardens fighting a contingent of demons alongside the Inquisition.
"What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Cal wondered aloud. Just moments earlier he'd seen the Inquisition cutting a bloody path through the Wardens, yet now they fought side-by-side. Nocking an arrow, Cal drew his bow to full strength and unleashed an arrow into the head of a Shade. Beside him, Nuvir opened his pack and retrieved a blue vial, which he promptly threw at a massive pride demon. The vial shattered in a burst of flame, and the demon roared in agony.
The battle did not last long, and soon the Inquisition was off to track down the Warden-Commander and the Venatori mage, who'd fled the dais during the battle. Cal and Nuvir slung their weapons over their backs and climbed down the keep to investigate. In the courtyard, Cal approached a Warden-Lieutenant.
"What happened here?" he asked, warily eying the assembled Wardens. The Lieutenant turned to face him with a pained expression
"The blighters were using us." He let out a long sigh as he looked over the battlefield. "And we fell for it."
A booming explosion and the scream of a high dragon cut off Cal's response, and they all rushed to the scene of the commotion. The found the Inquisitor's party finishing off a group of demons, as the Inquisitor himself knelt in front of a fade rift.
"Did he just… come out of the rift?" whispered Cal, slack-jawed. As they watched, the Inquisitor closed the breach and conferred with the Warden he'd been traveling with. To Cal's left, the Warden-Lieutenant motioned to the man.
"That's Senior Warden Stroud," he explained, "He's with the Inquisitor."
As Stroud and the Inquisitor conferred, an Ensign approached the Warden-Lieutenant. After a brief discussion in hushed whispers, the messenger saluted and left, while the Lieutenant straightened up and turned to Cal.
"It seems as though I'm the senior surviving officer," he stated. He stepped forward to approach the Inquisitor, and Cal took a moment to survey the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, and fires still burned in some places. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of death. Rubble and debris from the bombardment and spellcasting was strewn about the fortress. But the battle was over, and despite the cost, it was won.
The first thing Ruth noticed as she came to was that her head hurt. A lot. Slowly, she opened her eyes and tried to rise, but found herself bound in chains.
The battle must be over, she realized, for she could no longer hear the sounds of crashing steel. We must have lost.
At that, tears sprung unbidden to her eyes when she realized that the sacrifices of her brothers and sisters, of Yevin, had been in vain. That their deaths had done nothing, meant nothing.
That's not true. They died for what they believed in. The died for the Order. For duty. We just didn't get the victory. And that is no fault of the dead.
She heard footsteps approaching, and saw a Warden walking towards her side. When she noticed Ruth looking back at her, the Warden stopped at her shoulder.
"You're awake. Remember much?" she said.
"Last thing I saw, the Warden-Commander was trying to save us all," Ruth replied icily. "Clearly, we failed her."
The Warden drew a deep breath, then shook her head.
"No, she wasn't. Saving us, that is. She realized that before she died." At the mention of the word died, Ruth felt hot anger boiling within her.
"So, Commander Clarel is dead? Who killed her, the Inquisition, or her fellow Wardens?" she demanded, her voice laced with venom.
The Warden only shook his head once more, trying to figure out how to continue. Finally, she looked Ruth in the eye, her expression unreadable.
"There's no softer way to put this, sister. We were fooled," said the Warden, "There was no Calling, only a demon."
"What? What in all the fade are you talking about?"
"Some fucking demon tricked us," he began, before his countenance turned grave, "and we fell for it like blighted fools. There was no calling, there was no sacrifice to be made, just the blighted demons."
No.
It couldn't be. She couldn't believe it. Yet, hearing those words, the knot at the back of her mind came undone, bringing with it all the feelings of guilt and wrong that she'd been keeping suppressed since the rituals began.
Since she'd killed Yevin.
No, murdered.
And in the bleak dawn of the Western Approach, hidden in the still-burning ruins of Adamant Fortress, Ser Ruth Covenfall wept.