AN: Hello, everyone. Before I begin the story, I'd like to say a few words. First of all, I do not claim to own any of the characters from the Dragon Age series. Second of all, this story will include TWO MEN HAVING A HEALTHY, SEMI-EROTIC RELATIONSHIP. If you can't handle that, then I suggest clicking the back button, because I will not tolerate any kind of homophobia on my page WHATSOEVER. Also, if you're squeamish or pure-minded, you have been warned.

And now, on with the story!

Prologue

Every part of him, mind and body, was completely numb.

Blood soaked his leather armor from a wound in his shoulder. He barely felt the arrow, even though it was lodged quite deep in his skin. All he could see in the night were those black plumes of smoke rising above the fires that burned down Castle Cousland. His home. All he could hear were the screams of his father's soldiers as they were slaughtered in their desperate defense. The smell of blood and burning flesh clouded the air and made it hard to breathe.

"Your Lordship, we must make haste."

The Grey Warden Duncan sheathed his sword, still stained red from the attack. The old man was clearly a seasoned fighter, but the same could be said for the others of his order. Or so the rumors said.

"I'm not a lord, anymore," came the reply, the young Cousland's voice devoid of all emotion. "Call me Stryder."

It had all happened so fast. His father, the teyrn of Highever, had sent the bulk of their forces south to answer the king's call for battle. Howe— the treacherous bastard— had known they would be defenseless without the castle soldiers. And he had tricked them into a false sense of security.

Damn him.

It was a massacre to the fullest extent of the word. Blood seeped between the cobblestones paving the castle halls and formed scarlet pools at every corner. Corpses scattered across the halls, some fresher than others, but all innocent victims of a single madman. Soon, his ancestral home would be little more than a graveyard. The women unlucky enough to survive would be raped and the men tortured; their children would be sold into slavery and shipped to Antiva or the Imperium, never to be seen again. Death would be a mercy for the few that were left.

Alas, poor Dairren. He had been one of the first to fall at the arl's hands. It was an arrow meant for Stryder, but the bookish nobleman had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least Stryder and his mother had been given a fighting chance at survival; that was robbed of Dairren from the moment it began.

If I hadn't invited him to my bed, perhaps he and Lady Landra could have escaped before it was too late...

Duncan bowed curtly. "The Arl's men will, no doubt, be searching for any survivors. If we leave for Ostagar now, we may be able to outrun them."

Stryder's mabari, Magnus, whined loudly. The two men became aware of another presence lurking amidst the trees. Duncan tensed, grabbing the hilt of his dagger before taking a step forward.

"Show yourself," Duncan called, edging closer. There was no reply.

In an instant, Duncan had swept past the trees and taken the person by the neck. He held the dagger to their throat, his brown eyes cold and calculating. Even so, he was polite enough to keep them alive, despite their struggling.

"Wha—? Get off me!"

"Are you one of Howe's men?" Stryder asked, finding his voice. He stood up shakily and walked over to where Duncan had him restrained. Stryder ripped off the hood of the individual's cloak and was surprised to find a rather annoyed looking elf with rather hawkish features. That was good enough for him; Howe would never allow an elf to join his personal army. Not that they would want to, from the way he treated them.

"Certainly not," the elf snapped. His dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and though he carried a bow of Dalish craft, he did not have the markings of a clan elf. "I haven't done anything wrong. Release me at once!"

Stryder looked to Duncan. The Grey Warden nodded and pulled back from the elf. There was a thin sheen of sweat across the elf's brow, barely noticeable but nonetheless present. He stood up and brushed himself off, then extended a hand in greeting.

"Name's Berwick. Now what in the Maker's name is going on around here?"

An elf, speaking of the Maker? Strange. Stryder thought to himself, accepting the gesture carefully. "The castle is under siege."

"So I see," Berwick nodded towards the arrow in his shoulder. "You must be abandoning the fray. Smart. No shame in living, eh?"

Stryder stiffened. Fresh blood dripped from the wound, which didn't serve to help his growing irritation. Duncan took over quickly, lest the young lord lose his temper.

"I presume you are a traveler, then? Perhaps you would consider joining us."

"And just where are you going?" Berwick inquired with a hint of suspicion.

"Ostagar. I am a Grey Warden in the service of King Cailan," came Duncan's response. "The king could use all the help he could get in these dark times, and I'm sure you would be a welcomed addition."

Berwick raised his eyebrows. "Grey Wardens? Then the rumors are true. Apologies, ser Warden, but I have no desire to join the army. I like living, after all."

"I see. Then I advise you spend the night elsewhere; this place is will soon be overrun with the arl's soldiers, and they have no mercy for anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths," Duncan sighed.

Berwick's gaze flitted between them. He seemed to be measuring them. Duncan tilted his head slightly, frowning. His dark complexion was uncommon in Ferelden, and often unfairly served to intimidate the fair-skinned natives. Stryder simply thought the man was interesting... he carried an air of nobility, despite his humble demeanor. It was admirable, really.

"Of course. Maker's Blessings upon you, Grey Warden. Be safe," Berwick nodded, pulling his emerald hood over his head before disappearing into the forest once more.

Stryder watched Duncan with some amount of confusion.

"You could have used the right of conscription on him," Stryder said, frowning. Like you did with me, in the castle larder. "If you're so desperate for recruits, why did you let him get away?"

"He had no desire to become a Grey Warden or take part in the upcoming battles; I would not force our fate upon a man who does not wish to sacrifice everything for peace in Thedas. And as I recall, you were more than eager to join the Order at our first meeting," Duncan answered.

Judging from the look on his face, the senior Warden knew exactly what had passed through Stryder's head. And it was true; he had begged his father to let him go with Duncan. Now he only wished to be dead alongside his family.

"In death, sacrifice, young Stryder. Your parents died to protect you. They were willing to give their own lives to see that you lived out your own," Duncan put a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. "I understand loss more than you could ever know. But for the sake of your family, carry on. Don't let their sacrifice be for nothing."

Duncan's eyes softened. Stryder's throat closed, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent the tears in his eyes from spilling over.

"I... I understand."

The senior Warden nodded, and then the moment was over. The sound of shouting could be heard in the distance as Howe's personal army moved on to torment the villagers. Fury bubbled inside of him. How many people had to suffer before it ended?

Magnus barked and began trotting down the dirt road leading out of Highever. He seemed to understand that fleeing was the best option, despite what that meant. Duncan marched after the hound, his expression perfectly stoic. Or perhaps guarded was a word better suited to the older man; considering what they had both endured, it was no surprise to find his wary gaze on the path before them.

Stryder glanced one last time over his shoulder. His heart sank at the sight of his home, his beloved Highever, as it went down in flames. He had been born in that castle, walked those halls countless times, and now it was all gone. Because of one man's betrayal, so many lives were lost or changed forever.

The Couslands were gone... and he was the only survivor.

In a moment of anger, Stryder foolishly pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. White-hot pain erupted through his chest as the iron head was torn out, ripping flesh in the process; but he welcomed it. That pain meant he had escaped the castle intact, that he still had the ability to feel. Howe hadn't won yet. He would return with the force of a wildfire to tear apart everything the traitorous snake held dear. Grey Warden or not, he would do more than just survive.

He was justice.

He was vengeance.

He was Stryder Cousland, and he was ready to face his destiny.