A bowl of warm soup was just what the doctor ordered. The methodical movement of bringing spoon to mouth was calming and the flavor of the soup was decent, even if I wasn't much of a soup person.

I reviewed my memories of the game, specifically the Dalish origins track. Mahariel had left with Merril and maybe that other elf, Fenarel. When Duncan returned it would be with Mahariel and he would presumably be taking the both of us to Ostagar after Mahariel parted with his clan. Or her, I don't know yet.

Or maybe he'll just kill me. It was the only way to keep me from becoming a darkspawn and a danger to others around me. I don't really have any advertisable skills in combat, what the hell would I do on the battlefield when darkspawn showed up? Run screaming? It's not like my knowledge would do anything for them. A Blight had to be stopped and it was going to be stopped, one way or another. Knowing how it got from here to there wasn't really going to change the major must-have events that would happen. I was so extraneous it wasn't funny.

Thinking positive in this situation was beyond me. How could I make myself valuable to a man who was, knowingly or not, going to be dead soon? He didn't have time to teach me shit, not some dumpy short woman from suspicious, tainted ruins.

At this point, I was resigned to accepting my death on Duncan's sword with grace.

My wooden spoon clattered against my bowl as I stood, belly full and now faintly nauseous. "Keeper? Where...?" I gestured with the bowl helplessly and she took it from me.

"I will take it. Do not get up," she told me shortly, turning away. Did I look so frail?

Truthfully, I couldn't lift any more than that bowl. If my outer appearance matched anything of what I felt like within, it was a wonder she didn't send me back to the tent.

What a mess.

I sat staring at the fire, unaware of time passing until a familiar voice threaded through my wool-gathering. Deep and firm, a hint of gravel to betray his weariness. There was no mistaking the voice of the man who narrated the first game of Dragon Age.

How surreal is it to hear him speak, know he's going to die, and be unable to stop it? I was in no position to be jumping in front of an ogre at least double my height. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I was too numb to work myself up enough to let them fall. So I turned around instead.

Duncan was... Real. He was a real man, I don't know how else to say it. He looked haggard, his hair was more grey than it was in the game. His skin was definitely a leathery kind of tan, not just because he was naturally olive toned. He wasn't a character model with texture mapping and lighting, and this was fucking real.

The reality was hitting me now like it hadn't before. My heart hammered in my chest. Everything was too real. These weren't game graphics. The rock making my butt fall asleep was real, and the dirt under my feet was actual dirt. What I ate earlier was real soup, made by a real person, and made of real ingredients.

Those tears I was unable to let go before were edging the corners of my eyes again. I quickly turned back around, rubbing furiously at my face, bending until my forehead touched my knees. I couldn't even find it in me to notice what Mahariel had looked like. Fuck.

I didn't hear them talking about what was going to happen, I was too busy listening to the blood rushing in my ears and having a mental fucking breakdown. Excuse me.

I couldn't just let Duncan kill me now. I couldn't, this was my life. I had to get out of here, I had to... I had to do something! I had to prove I was worthy of becoming a Grey Warden, somehow.

Voices pulled me from my internal meltdown, and I lifted my head to see the storyteller, Paivel, gathering the children. This was the part where Mahariel told the history of their people with Paivel after asking for Tamlen's funeral rites.

What was I doing? This clan just lost someone and I'm just... Useless. How could someone like me prove my worth?

I stayed quiet as I looked at the elf next to Paivel. He... This was Mahariel. Someone I would possibly be getting close to as he stopped the Blight. It was going to be him stopping the Blight, after all, not me. It wasn't my place.

My God, he was the Hero of Ferelden. I stared a little harder, only half listening to what they said.

Mahariel was taller than I expected. Hell, most of these elves were taller than I expected, but that could be because I was simply short. Duncan was taller than all of them. I didn't know if this was because Duncan was truly tall or of average height for a Thedas man.

He was pale, like most of the other elves here. Their skin was always shaded by the forest, it was little wonder. His bow was still on his back beside a quiver of arrows, daggers at his hips. I forgot that all of the origin story characters are trained combatants. Even the mage ones, locked away in their towers, knew how to use their talents. And Mahariel's muscles were clearly stating he knew how to use his weapons.

His hair was brown like mine, or like mine would be if it wasn't bleached. No, a stray bit of light caught his hair and I changed my assessment. His hair was auburn, shot through with strands of earthy red. Mine was a true, dull brown.

"We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."

The last part of the story was spoken quietly, by someone who didn't look entirely aware of what they were saying. Mahariel's voice wasn't like I had thought, though I wasn't sure what I was thinking it would be. I had to remember he had just lost his best friend and he was as sick with the taint as I was, though it was hard to believe. I would probably never see what a normal Mahariel was like. One thing was certain, and that was he had a lot more will than I did to be going out and fighting darkspawn when I knew exactly how crappy he had to be feeling right now.

I didn't get up or follow him when he left, I didn't have the right to talk to him. The only thing we shared was the taint. But I watched him go, heading towards the Keeper and Duncan where they were conversing. Or had been until they noticed Mahariel walking toward them.

They were going to tell about him joining the Wardens. Would Duncan talk to me about that as well or would he simply tell me I was to die?

From the Mahariel-Duncan-Keeper corner there were no outbursts, no exclamations or protests. Mahariel simply bowed his head respectfully. Or maybe in resignation. He looked defeated. He looked like shit. Duncan crossed his arms in a salute and left the Keeper with Mahariel. Then he turned his eyes my direction and headed straight for me.

I froze. Like a deer in the fucking headlights. Inside, my mind was begging me to get up and run while I had the chance. The flames in front of me seemed to flicker faster with each step closer Duncan came.

"Peace, I have only come to speak with you," Duncan said, low and soothing as he lowered himself to sit across from me.

Really? I can't help it, I laughed. It wasn't a funny ha-ha laugh, it was a high pitched, nervous giggle indicative of my mental state.

As soon as it escaped me I clamped my mouth shut and whimpered. I was usually more in control of myself, but my nerves were shot and this man was the one who would decide my fate.

Judging by the rise of his brow, it looked like that fate was growing dim.

"S-Sorry," I stammered, "I'm- I don't really... Fuck, I don't really know what's going on, okay? Please don't kill me. I don't want to be killed."

Duncan cut me off before I could ramble further. "I will not kill you. I have come to offer you a choice," he said, quite calm. If that calm veneer was to help keep me placid, it wasn't working very well. "People like you are valuable to the Wardens. The Keeper told me she has informed you of the knowledge I left with her for your sake. You know you have the taint."

I nodded and he continued.

"The Grey Wardens have a cure for this taint, but accepting this cure means to join the Wardens. As a mage, you will be a welcome member of the Wardens. We accept all into our ranks, and you will not need to fear the templars."

... Mage?