Author's Notes: Hey everyone, just a few things:
*One of the reviewers PMed me and asked about further details of The Warden in this story. I PMed them back and promised I'd make a full character description if people cared. I'm going to go ahead and assume you do, and put one on my profile page. If you're interested, go ahead and click my name towards the top of the page and scroll down (or just look down, seeing as how my profile page is more or less barren) to where it says "Requested Character Description."
*As I mentioned before, this is the chapter that contains the Templar attack I mentioned in the summary.
*I noticed someone in a review mentioned that the Grey Wardens would know the story that The Warden told during the trial last chapter (i.e. the one that more-or-less repeats what happened during the Human Noble Origin). Well, yes, they would. But he was less revealing it and more reiterating it so he could reveal a point (about how he had to make a sacrifice that Bethany wouldn't).
Thanks again to everyone who took the time to review. Especially those of you who have actually pointed things out in my story. If I were reviewing, I would've just typed something along the lines of "Cool Story, Bro." Or just not type a review at all. Luckily a lot of you are less lazy than I am.
Hundreds of trees. Thousands of trees. Perhaps millions. It's all he could see, and endless range of trees that extended in all directions. The Korcari Wilds, perhaps? It feels that way, but he doesn't recognize any landmarks or animal life indigenous to the Wilds.
The sun's rays are suddenly invisible. A shadow is cast across the forest, as if a large cloud overhead were passing by. But it wasn't that. It was never a cloud, never some coincidental act of nature; it was always the phantom of his worst foe.
His world is shifted to the source of the shadow: The Archdemon. The pinnacle of his life. The bane of his past. He killed it, he watched it die. But while he took the Archdemon away from the world, he could never purge it from his soul.
It began to descend, it was charging right for him. He reached for his sword, he realized he didn't have one. He tried raise his shield, but his arm felt broken. He tried to move his feet, but it seemed as if they were rooted in the ground.
The Archdemon was in front of him now, its mouth extended open, its razor-sharp teeth ready to take revenge. And he couldn't do anything. He couldn't fight, he couldn't retreat, he couldn't even scream if he wanted to. All he could do was watch as it impacted him, and the dark of death consumed his vision.
He felt like he was falling, falling in some nameless pitch-black pit, where his eyes were forcibly shut and he could never hit the ground. Just falling...
Falling...
Falling...
Cousland woke up to the sound of his own panted breathing. He felt his heart rapidly beating, as if it were trying to furiously pound its way out of his chest. His vision was blurred, and he had a lingering sensation that he was still falling despite having woken up. Sweat covered his body and his limbs felt paralyzed to his bed.
The Warden began to wrest control back to his body, managing to use his arms to push himself up from his lying position and wearily shake his head. The earlier blur in his eyes eroded, revealing the shape and furnishings of his quarters.
For all of his accomplishments and status, The Warden-Commander's personal room was exceptionally barren. A single full-size bed, a desk in the corner, a cabinet attached to a wall, and a single mounted candle (currently unlit).
Cousland began to lean forward, having regained full consciousness and control of his body. He planted both his hands on his forehead, slowly moving them down his face and massaging his eyes. He grunted something incomprehensible; and let out a deep, masculine sigh. It was probably past midnight, a few hours before dawn. A new morning would soon start, and it wouldn't wait for his insomnia.
"Just another day on the job."
...
The Warden was walking on top of his stronghold's outer wall, dressed in simple twine-colored burlap clothes and without weapons or armor. Night had blackened the colors of Vigil's Keep and its surroundings, limiting the Warden-Commander's true visibility to the areas on the wall that were brightened from lit torches attached to the structure. They revealed the figures of several Knights of the Silver Order, rigidly stone-faced and facing out towards the lands surrounding the Keep with dragonthorn bows in their hands, constantly vigilant of any force that may emerge to threaten The Ferelden Wardens.
They said nothing as he passed by, just as they were instructed. Knights of the Silver Order lived and trained alongside the Grey Wardens, and though they tended to have far lesser natural talents than his Grey Wardens, they were almost just as disciplined. The Knights of The Silver Order demanded a 24/7 lifestyle devoted to The Vigil and The Grey Wardens. The typical day of one could be summarized as "Wake up, duties, five-minute lunch, duties, dinner in the barracks, duties, go to sleep." And yet, each year The Warden-Commander received hundreds of requests of aspiring young men and women to join. Serving under his command had a certain appeal to one's personal honor, and many would be humbled to do so. However, it also had a more practical side to it. Being granted Knighthood under Ferelden's Hero carried a certain prestige to it, and Knights on leave from the fortress would often find, particularly in the Arling of Amaranthine and the City of Denerim, that they'd suddenly find themselves at the social events of Teyrns and Arls, their meals would be paid by others, and others would address them as "Ser." And whenever they brought it up in conversation, the listener would suddenly drop their intended topics and say something along the lines of: "Really? At Vigil's Keep? What do you do there? Do you know the Hero of Ferelden? What's he like?" with a sudden enthrallment. Of course at their core they all became Knights to serve, or at least listed it as a reason more important than respect; but like a Doctor that becomes such to save lives, they'll quickly find that there are additional perks that came along.
Eventually, The Warden-Commander reached the front of the wall, right on top of the gate where he had met Tavish yesterday. Forward from there lie the long, winding road to Denerim, the same one he once walked down with Mhairi once named Warden-Commander in order to assume command of The Keep and begin his new life. And on that spot above the gate, he saw two other figures, not of knights, but two men that he knew would fight to their dying breath for him, and would then get up and try to give even more. A tall man, dressed in blackblade armor, leaning over the wall's stone edge and looking out towards the road with a manner of seriousness and slight gloom. Next to him stood the figure of a short, stout, and peculiar-smelling dwarf, still clad in the Legion of The Dead Armor from yesterday and looking in the same direction as the aforementioned man. They were Nathaniel and Oghren, his two Ferelden Warden-Lieutenants, the two men whom he trusted to command divisions of his forces and personally train and oversee all the Grey Wardens he couldn't reach in one day.
Oghren spoke first as Cousland approached them: "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" He wasn't laughing or drunk or angry, for a rare moment it seemed he were level-headed and contemplating as he gazed out towards the road that they all walked down when first reaching Vigil's Keep, when they first began their new lives.
Cousland joined them and placed two hands on stone blocks as he leaned over and began to look upon the same road, responding once he did:
"The Archdemon again."
Nathaniel spoke next:
"I had a dream about it as well. It was distant, somewhere in the sky, but it was..."
Howe shook his head and didn't finish his sentence.
"Distant?" Cousland thought as a flashback of his dream entered his mind: a mental picture of the Archdemon right in front of him with it's jaw wide open. He replied to Howe:
"Distant? Funny, in my dreams he's always really close."
"You don't think it's another-"
"I've been having these dreams for years. If there was really another Blight, they would've taken two nations by now. Besides, it's always flying above the Korcari Wilds, we could be sensing Darkspawn with memories of the Fifth Blight."
"Not the most reassuring argument."
"It's been a long time since the Fourth Blight, no one really still knows what The Grey Wardens were sensing 400 years ago after Garahel's time. All I know is that a Sixth Blight happening this soon would be nigh impossible, and we don't have any real evidence to support it. We could just be having regular bad dreams, though I doubt that as well."
"You're doubting a lot, I take it?"
"Back when I was a recruit a lot of people thought that a Fifth Blight was impossible because of how long it had been since the Fourth. I'm not going to be just as foolish as they were by saying there won't be a Sixth because this time it hasn't been long enough, but I haven't been given reason to think the exact opposite either. So yes, I'm doubting any sort of explanation I can give when it comes to dreaming about the Archdemon again, Sixth Blight included."
Oghren grunted, returning to his typical coarse tone: "I don't care why the sod it wants to be in my head, I just want to shut it up already."
Nathaniel turned his head towards Cousland: "That's another issue, it...speaks."
Cousland turned back to Nathaniel and replied: "Yeah, you get used to that over time. I even understand it a little. I translate some of the phrases from my first dreams occasionally when I have the time."
"What was it saying?"
"Back then? Just telling the Darkspawn to march faster and kill everything. Nothing too new or interesting."
"I mean from our dreams."
"That's a little harder. From what I understand, it's saying something about some great force 'coming back' and 'rising.' There's a lot of words I don't know yet, and the other Warden-Commanders I've met don't know either."
"Hm."
"'Hm' indeed."
There was nothing but silence then. Not exactly a comfortable silence, but certainly not an awkward one. It was more an agreed one of uncertainty, the combined appreciation of a moment of calm that contrasted with their darker times. It could've continued until the sun rose and it was time for them to lead the Wardens of Ferelden, but instead it was interrupted as Oghren spoke:
"I gotta get going, sodding underlings aren't gonna outdrink themselves, eheheh."
Cousland angled his head down towards Oghren and replied:
"You get on that then. Just make sure you're at least half-sober come morning fitness training."
"Eh, but I don't even do any of those. I just get to yell at the tall ones while they run around me."
"Yes, but you're supposed to yell coherent and derogatory things at them so they're in a stressed environment, like 'maggots' or 'worthless', not 'Thunderhumping Nug Lovers.'
"And that's the worst kind of 'em all..."
"Ok, fine, quarter-sober then. As long as you're not falling to the ground yelling 'Asschabs!' than I'll live."
"Aye, you'll make a warrior out of me yet, Commander. See ya then."
Oghren walked away towards his right, leaving through the same direction The Warden had entered. Once out of earshot he heard Nathaniel whisper towards his ear:
"He isn't really going to be drunk this morning, is he?"
"No, not really. He may act like he'll be, but I know Oghren well enough when he's just acting. Chances are he'll get back to the barracks, raise a mug to impress his Wardens, and then act like he's passing out so he can get some sleep. He isn't going to be just quarter-sober tomorrow, or even just half-sober: he's going to be as clean as an Orlesian Noble come tomorrow."
"I don't think I'll ever understand him."
"Like I've told you before, it's because acting that way is what's normal for him, and he knows deep down that he has something important to do."
"I don't think I'll ever understand that either."
"Then go ahead and be broody, I like the collection of dysfunctional personalities we have so far anyway. Adds flavor."
"How clever."
Nathaniel had said the last phrase sarcastically, but his voice lacked any spite or even genuine annoyance like it would six years ago; at this point he had come to accept The Commander's occasional witty remarks, perhaps even enjoy them. Cousland responded:
"I'm no terrorist mage, but I try."
Cousland extended one of his arms over towards Howe, casually giving him a single pat on the back and continuing:
"Here, I'll take the reins for the rest of the night. Go ahead and get some sleep my friend."
Nathaniel Howe began to walk in the same direct Oghren did, but just five steps into leaving, he stopped, the lack of his footstep noise becoming apparent to The Warden-Commander, who was staring at the road once more. He didn't say anything, so Cousland took the initiative and spoke:
"Do you have something you want to say to me?"
He remained silent for seconds more, before saying:
"The South Barracks, some of the Wardens have gathered and are talking about what has transpired today. They could use some motivation."
"Are you telling me to go to the Barracks and give a speech?"
"No, I just said that you could."
Nathaniel continued to walk in the same direction Oghren. Cousland waited a few minutes before he himself went in the same direction his Lieutenants did, taking Howe's advice of going to the barracks to help boost morale, a thought passing through his mind as he made his way there:
"So I have Oghren that won't admit that he actually performs the duties I assign him, and Nathaniel that won't admit that he just wants to help me. Is it really that conventional to be unconventional around here?"
...
The barracks were crowded, the type of crowded that if someone entered the room with two arms straight up in the air, they wouldn't have enough space to put them down. The smell of ale and evaporated sweat filled the air. The super-majority of figures in the room were male, though some of of the opposite sex had mixed in the crowd with the same sense of rough brotherly camaraderie that typically developed between male soldiers. The noises of the room consisted of lively mix of laughter, loud conversation, and of course some shouting at the main event.
Cut to the center of the room, where the shouting was directed and the sole exception of the crowded rule. The Wardens had formed a circle around a human male and elf male that stood in the center, both of them bare-chested and barefoot and without any armor. The human was larger, standing at around 6'3" (191 cm) and carried a hulking muscled frame, almost resembling a Qunari. The elf was much smaller, around 5'7" (170 cm) and was gifted with more a rouge's finesse than a warrior's brute strength. Both had their fists raised and binarily circled each other, staring the other down and trying to make small movements to psyche the other out, analyzing for weaknesses, openings, opportunities...
The elf struck first, throwing a lightning-fast jab towards the chest of the human. The human grabbed his arm mid-punch and used his freehand to counter with an uppercut. The elf's feet were lifted from the ground as it connected with his chin, the taste of blood filling his jaw as his lower and upper sets of teeth violently clashed together. He fell backwards, the back of his head colliding against the ground with a loud "klunk." The victorious Grey Warden broadened his chest and extended both his arms horizontally in the air, shouting with a slightly smug confidence:
"Any other takers?"
A voice behind him plainly answered:
"Right here."
"Alright, but don't say I didn't-"
He stopped mid-speech and the rest of the crowd fell silent as he turned and saw the voice's source was none other than the Commander Of The Grey himself. An expression of horror had taken his face, too shocked to even say "Oh shit!"
The Warden-Commander stepped forward between the two opponents of the circle, and continued with a rhetorical question:
"What was that offer about again?"
"Commander, I-"
The Hero Of Ferelden's fist shot out with unrivaled speed and power, burying itself deep inside his abdominal muscles. A combination of blood and saliva sprayed from the victim's mouth, and he collapsed to the ground as if The Warden had magically hit an "off" switch somewhere inside his body. The Warden-Commander looked down at him as he began to curl up from the pain around his stomach. The Warden-Commander turned towards the now obedient group of assembled Grey Warden, speaking to them as the struck man writhed in pain.
"Hazing. It's none of your duty to break in the newer members of the order, that duty-"
The Warden-Commander placed a foot on top of the elven warden, whom was just beginning to attempt to rise from the ground himself.
"-is mine."
Cousland's eyes darted down towards the Elf, the latter still dazed from the hit he had received from the now-immobilized human. The Warden-Commander switched from addressing the crowd to him alone:
"That is not how you were trained to attack a larger opponent, Warden."
"But-"
"Drop and give me thirty."
"Yes, Ser."
The elf flipped himself over on his stomach and returned back to touching the ground, using his upper body strength to rise and lower himself from the ground in the standard military push-up fashion. He did the first few with ease, but upon trying to repeat the motion a fifth time, found an unbearable weight suddenly hit him. The Warden-Commander had planted his foot between his shoulders, and then leaned on his knee to make sure that all of his weight was crushing the subordinate below. He collapsed to the ground, and heard his superior's voice directed at him once more:
"I didn't count thirty push-ups, Warden."
The elf didn't say anything back, he just gritted his teeth and began to use all of his strength to fight against the force of the added weight, slowly managing to rise as high as his arms could push, and then controllably descend back towards the ground.
"Now to just do that twenty-four more times without dying..."
The Warden-Commander, while still standing on the elf below, shifted his focus back to the crowd, and begun an uninterrupted speech:
"Now, listen, I came down here because of what has happened today, and I know that all of you know what I'm talking about. Earlier last evening, you stood silently as I ordered one of our own to death. And I have heard of whispers, rumors of two more of our kind falling to darkspawn in the Deep Roads. And it is my responsibility as your Commander to inform you that those rumors should be stopped immediately, because in a discussion with Warden-Lieutenant Howe, we believe it is exceptionally unlikely that both the Junior Warden and Warden-Recruit have not been Killed In Action during the Joining Preparation. And as most of you know, this is the first time casualties have occurred in the Deep Road for Ferelden's Grey Wardens since the very day we began using them for The Joining half a decade ago. It gives me no pleasure to remind you of these events, and the question of if this is all worth it has haunted me for all of my years as your Warden-Commander. And often I find myself questioning if I would my own end would be mourned this way if I had fallen, if one day during a personal mission to the Deep Roads, that I may be surrounded by hordes of Darkspawn, and one you would take my place. I don't know the answer, because telling all of you to remember me when the day comes that I am gone is one order I cannot give. So instead, let me tell you that if I were in their shoes; if I were on trial, if I had fallen in battle, if I had one day gone missing when the world needed me; that I would want you to move on. To not forget, but move on. For there is no such thing as simple death in The Grey Wardens. All of it has meaning, for both those brave men, and for the women that I had condemned earlier. It is all for the sake of the greater good. As said by the Grey Wardens before us, and the Wardens before them, and the Wardens whom first drank of Darkspawn Blood: In peace, vigilance."
The crowd of Grey Wardens spoke the next part in unison: "In war, victory."
The Warden-Commander spoke the next part:
"And in death..."
Cousland struggled for a bit, a feeling in his throat felt had built up, trying to prevent him from saying the last word. The word that had marked the lives of the three lost today, that had marked the lives of all the Wardens had lost, and that had marked his very own; from that day when Arl Howe's troops stormed the castle, to this day, to this moment, to his dying breath twenty years from now when The Calling had finally consumed his humanity. The word that he struggled to barely say to end his speech:
"...Sacrifice."
The Hero Of Ferelden looked towards the ground, and made a sharp nasal inhale, closing his eyes and imagining the faces of all he had failed to protect over the years. His family, his comrades, the inhabitants of The City of Amaranthine as he burned it to the ground. The list would only get longer. He remembered the words Bethany had spoke at the trial:
"My brother was...killed by darkspawn. My mother...there was a blood mage that...I don't even know. And my sister...the Templars..."
He imagined he was back at the trial, this time The Wardens were not in the room. He didn't have to care about consequences of his decisions or the weight of his words, and he spoke owe differently this time:
"Had I been in your place, I would've done the same thing."
Cousland opened his eyes and exhaled, returning to reality. He removed his foot from the Elven Warden, who was still trying to do thirty impossibly weighted push-ups, and extended his arm downward, offering his hand to help pull him up. The junior Warden grabbed it and was pulled back to his feet, gasping for air and moving back towards the crowd.
The Warden-Commander realized that he had been silent during his imagination's dominance, and uttered a gruff "That is all" before making his way towards the Barracks' door at a far end of the room, the crowd parting and making a comfortable amount of space for him as he did.
...
Cousland stepped back out to the cold nighttime air, the door to the barracks shutting behind him as he did. The building The Warden had just left was the South Barracks, a single-story building located in the courtyard located in front of Vigil's Keep's main building. He looked towards the sky, it was still dark, the sun wouldn't begin to rise for another hour or so.
The door opened again. The Warden-Commander turned to see a young male Grey Warden, albeit with an apparently unrecognizable face due to the poor lighting of night, wearing inscribed leather light armor and of a short stature.
"Ser, a group of Wardens says there's a situation at the gate."
"What kind of situation?"
The young Warden pointed over his Commander's shoulder: "Look for yourself."
The Warden-Commander's body began to turn, but stopped immediately after. A dormant, honed sense of the Warden-Commander suddenly clicked: He didn't recognize this man, and he was directing him to turn around. Cousland returned to looking at the subordinate, and inquired:
"Are you a Grey Warden?"
"Yes, Ser."
The Warden-Commander casually put a hand in one of his pockets and asked:
"Really? Which day was your Joining?"
"To be honest, I don't really remember."
In a swift and blurred motion, Cousland had removed his hand from his pocket and darted it towards his subordinate. The young Warden blinked, his eyes unable to comprehend the alacrity of what had just happened. He looked down, and saw that a knife was in The Warden-Commander's hand, its tip resting inside his leather armor at a point where it covered the skin above his heart. If pushed in any more, it would pierce his skin and move forward through an opening between two rib bones to end his life. He heard The Hero of Ferelden speak as if he were simply responding to him:
"You don't remember the day your life changed?"
"I-"
"You are not a Grey Warden. I know all of them by heart. I thought I couldn't recognize you because of the night, but I think my gut isn't right in this case. And the way you're approaching me when I'm seemingly unarmed and at a point where there's no one else to see me, you probably had to rush out of the barracks so you wouldn't miss this opportunity to be able to stab me in the back and get away with no witnesses. All you needed me to do was to turn around and direct my trained awareness to another area."
Cousland heard a click behind him. The sound of a crossbow having been prepped to be shot and aimed at his skull. A low voice followed:
"Drop it."
Cousland, with casual defiance, quipped:
"That's the noise of a yew crossbow, standard single-shot. Couldn't help but notice that it creaks a little when you hold it like that, that's an older design. Alistair upgraded the Ferelden Army to Whitewood four years ago. Only the Chantry keeps those in storage...Templars. The Chantry always reuses their ranged equipment after all."
"At this range it can still take your head clean off."
Cousland arched his back and leaned towards the Templar behind him, moving his head closer to the crossbow until it actually touched the edge slightly, as if trying to aid in his own execution.
"You're right, it can. But crossbows are noisy, and distinct. That's why you tried to get me with a knife instead of just shooting me as soon as I came out of the building. And if your friend here did that, you could've walked away with no problems. But if you shoot a single bolt, my Wardens will rush out the barracks and see their Warden-Commander dead, and you standing next to him. You know what they'd do about me if I died? They'd do what I've told them to do: they'd move on. They wouldn't forget, but they'd move on. After all, I've already done my part. There's no more Archdemons for me to kill, no civil war for me to settle. They'd promote one of my Lieutenants, and we'd still one of the strongest forces of Ferelden. But you...they wouldn't forget. I'd reflexively kill your friend here, leaving you the only one left out here to be discovered. The Wardens would swarm you, with more ferocity than either of us could imagine. They'd take it slow with you. Tie you up, give everyone a turn with a knife until you've stopped breathing - and than do more. They'd rip you apart piece by piece, every bit of flesh, every single bone; all beyond recognition. And five hundred years from now when someone's writing about history, they'd talk about you, the great Ferelden betrayer, whose skull rests on top of Vigil's Keep as a savage trophy to that day."
The Warden-Commander felt the crossbow begin to vibrate against the back of his head, he could tell the Templar holding the crossbow was shuddering from nerves.
"He's afraid. I just need to make sure his crossbow's lined directly at the back of my head while I'm looking at the other guy, and..."
Cousland made a quick full-body motion to his right, jerking his head out of the way from the weapon that was aimed at him. The Templar Crossbowman, shaken after the mental occupation of The Warden's words; reacted both too slowly and too quickly, shooting too slowly for his bolt to hit Cousland, but too quickly for his cohort to dodge. The bolt intended for The Warden buried itself right between the Warden Imposter's eyes, a fatal shot. The Templar recoiled from shock, and then felt a sharp pain in his chest, looking down to see The Warden-Commander's knife bloodily lodged below his throat, his world going black as Cousland spoke the last words he ever heard:
"Or history can forget you right here, right now."
The door from the barracks swung open, The Grey Wardens that The Warden-Commander had spoken to earlier flooded out to the sight of an unarmed Hero Of Ferelden standing next to two deceased opponents: one a impersonating a Grey Warden; the other a fully armored Templar, just as Cousland had predicted. The Commander of The Grey, unshaken, spoke sarcastically:
"Thanks 'team,' I love it when you all leave me to take on fully armed assassins while I'm off-duty. Never thought I did enough in my sixteen hour workday anyway."
Before the discernment and following embarrassment could fully set in with the Wardens, the sound of a crossbow bolt being fired was again heard, this time distant. Heads turned towards the apparent source: the Keep's outer wall, near the spot Cousland and had been standing on earlier with his co-leaders. It had come from outside the Keep's walls, from a foreign force. Knights of the Silver Order saw what The Wardens couldn't from their position, and confirmed a suspicion and fear as one of them shouted:
"We're under attack!"
Their world shifted at that point: The thunderous rumble of an army charging had arisen with no warning, drowning out lesser noises and all dialogue that didn't consist of shouting. A constant rain of arrows were falling upon their comrades on the wall. Knights of The Silver Order were scrambling into their drilled fighting positions and returning fire. It was something that hadn't happened in years: an attack on The Keep itself. Cousland's face became one of controlled and authoritative anger; his eyebrows angled, brow furrowed, and his eyes locked in a serious, unblinking gaze. Words erupted from his mouth to form a command:
"Gear up, double-time! All of you form up in front of that gate, and if any one of you aren't there by sixty seconds like we've practiced-"
The Warden-Commander pointed to the corpses of the men he just killed:
"-then I swear to the Maker I'll be dumping your bodies in the same ditch as these two!"
His words were met with multiple hastily done sayings of "Yes, Ser!" as Wardens flooded back inside to retrieve their weapon and arms. Before The Warden-Commander could do so himself, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and looked behind himself and saw the sight of his Assistant injured with a limp in her right leg and fresh stab in her left arm, with frantic eyes and gasping between each phrase as she spoke:
"Ser, I- Howe...the way here...and, and..."
She lost her stance and began to fall towards the ground. Cousland caught her mid-fall and spoke softer words:
"Slow down, you're injured."
The Warden-Commander turned back to the crowd of Wardens and shouted:
"I need a healer here Ay-Sap!"
Three different Warden Mages broke off the main horde of Wardens at their Commander's request. Cousland pointed at a single one and than curled his index finger for them to help. Cousland released his assistant to the pointed-at mage's arms, who than laid her against the wall of the South Barracks as gently as he could amidst the chaos of Grey Wardens stormed from the building to get in formation, and the intensifying of the archery battle between the unknown forces outside and the knights on top of the wall. He placed two hands over her abdomen, and green light emitted from his hands as he attempted to diagnose and fix any physical problems.
Cousland descended towards the ground, bending on one knee and reaching eye level with his assistant. She had a hazed look upon her, her eyes wandering, her mouth freely agape; and weak, passive breathing despite her obvious pain. Cousland, recognizing this as a familiar sign of a more subtle injury, spoke to the Warden Healer:
"Is there poison in her system?"
"Yes, Ser."
"How bad is it?"
"Bad."
"Is she going to make it?"
The Warden Healer's face crumpled and became solemn. He replied not only with the answer to the question, but the answer to the question The Warden-Commander would've asked next:
"She's got two minutes before her heart stops, give or take a few seconds. All the healing in the world can't stop that."
Cousland's face remained commanding and unreadable as if he were unaffected. He stared at his dying subordinate, the rest of his body unmoving as he raised one arm and pointed towards the group of now-assembled Grey Wardens in front of the gate and spoke to the Healer:
"Join the rest of your division."
"Yes, Ser."
The Healer left as instructed, and the Warden-Commander leaned closer to his assistant, as to be able to speak at a normal, coherent volume and his voice not be lost amidst the chaos of fighting as he spoke:
"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but I need you to stay awake and tell me what happened to you."
The Junior Warden slowly made vocal motions to speak, her speech slurring:
"S-s...serrrr I-"
"Don't bother with the respectful parts, you've earned the right to speak without it."
"I-I wass sennnt here...by...Howe. Messsagge...a warning..."
"A warning? About what?"
His assistant opened her mouth to speak, but stumbled and no noise came. She gritted her teeth and took as deep a breath as her failing muscles would allow, and mustered the willpower to speak coherently:
"Templars...assassins. They're pinning down the Wardens...in the North Barracks. Howe tried to break out...but...traps. They have an entire system of traps in front of the exit. C-c-couldn't send more than two Wardens out at a time without setting them off...they'd pick off the two Wardens easily if we did only send two at a time. Howe tried to disarm the traps...but they would just shoot at him and force him to stop. He said he'd lose more than thirty Wardens if we tried to force our way out...so we decided it was best if one of us tried to run through...avoid the traps...and relay a message. I...volunteered."
An agonized expression came to the Junior Warden's face as she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She arched forward and violently coughed, traces of blood falling from her mouth as she did. She reflexively tried to raise her arm to cover her face, but her strength was too weak to even do that. She looked at The Warden-Commander, and said with a barely audible voice:
"Commander...am I going to die?"
Cousland placed a hand on her shoulder:
"I am sorry."
"It was an...honor, to serve under you...Ser. I don't...re...regret...any of...it..."
She closed her eyes, her mouth stopped moving, The Warden-Commander felt her muscles lifelessly stop under her shoulder. Cousland bowed his head, silently lingering.
"You don't regret anything? That makes one of us."
Eventually, he reached towards her lower armor and grabbed a sheathed sword she had attached to her armor. He detached the sheath without withdrawing the sword, carrying it in one hand as he stood up and turned towards
The door to the South Barracks burst open. One Grey Warden, the last to leave the Barracks, was taking about twice as long as everyone else. Noticing The Commander of the Grey standing next to the barracks as he was leaving, he spoke with a stutter:
"Ser, I was just-"
Cousland, uninterested, interrupted him:
"Go tell the rest of your division that I won't be joining them, I have business in the Keep to attend to."
The Warden-Commander began to walk, not towards the division of Grey Wardens in front of the gate, but towards the main building of Vigil's Keep, where the North Barracks were located. He unsheathed the sword he was carrying, dropping the sheath and revealing a White Steel longsword with frost rune enchantments, sublimating ice constantly emitting from its blade. He moved forward without looking back at his soldiers, not concerned one bit that his Wardens might lose.
...
Panted breathing, sprinting footsteps against stone ground, eyes looking for an escape...somewhere...somewhere...
"A door!"
In a swift motion, he opened it, slipped inside the room, and closed it behind him, wasting no time to lock it. He observed his new surroundings: a small room no other exits...a dead end. No choice but to fight.
With shaky hands, he loaded his last bolt into his crossbow, aiming his weapon at the door, ready to make a point blank shot.
The sound of a foot impacting the wooden surface of the door came next, followed by the shattering of the wood to shards. They scattered throughout the air like an explosion's shrapnel, rendering his visibility useless. He bit his tongue, unsure of where to shoot, and out of reaction made a random shot hoping for the best...
The sound of a bolt impacting flesh. A good shot. He couldn't believe it. He was actually going to take down him with a random shot. He was going to live.
But it wasn't enough. Somehow, the poison wasn't working. The guaranteed one-shot one-kill poison wasn't killing. The figure that had been chasing approached. Closer. Closer.
He felt a hand at his throat. It lifted him in the air like he was as light as a feather. His esophagus caved in beneath the pressure of its fingers. Oxygen denied to him, he felt like his life was being drained by the second. His vision began to turn dark, he became disorientatingly light-headed, reality feeling absent. But then it threw him to the ground, headfirst hitting the stone ground and feeling pain putting reality back in him tenfold. He saw blood, a lot of it. He wasn't even sure where it came from. The foot of a man entered his vision, stepping on his pool of blood and placing itself inches from his eyes. He looked up; to the figure of the one stepping in his pool of blood, to the figure who had killed his Templar comrades with ease, to the figure who had chased him across the Keep, to figure who had taken a dose of lethal poison and was standing here unaffected, to the figure of the man known as the Hero of Ferelden.
"The coated substance on that crossbow bolt you shot me with, that's Concentrated Pride Demonic Poison. That's a tier-five poison, impressive. Should cause any target shot to slow down in three seconds, go numb and begin to faint in thirty seconds, and die in three minutes. Made from the hearts of mages who were possessed by not just a demon, but a pride demon. Rarest kind you can find."
The Warden-Commander looked at the Templar Assassin who had shot him with a crossbow, his jaw was cracked and he couldn't say a word back, so Cousland answered a question he knew the Templar wanted to ask:
"Too bad I'm immune to poison."
The Warden-Commander walked away back into full view of the Templar. The Templar could see a bleeding shoulder wound presumably from where he shot the Commander of the Grey, of which Cousland was apparently unconcerned with. Also peculiar was Cousland holding out one open hand in front of him, with the crossbow bolt that was shot at him resting in its palm (presumably having been plucked out of the wound). The Warden-Commander looked down at the bolt, pacing and speaking while he did:
"My assistant was limping from a crossbow shot to her right leg. I've killed twenty Templars here, but you're the only one that uses a poisoned crossbow. So I guess that narrows the suspect list down to you alone."
Cousland curled up his fingers and clenched the crossbow bolt in his hand, looking back in the Templar Assassin's eyes:
"That women you shot, she was a devout woman in the Chantry in her old life. She recited the Chant every day, and was a dutiful Guard to her province in the Freemarches. But her lord was not as devout, and one day the town guard was ordered to burn the local Chantry to the ground and murder the Revered Mother there because she spoke out against his decision to ally with blood mages. She approached her liege with respect and pleaded with him to revoke his command. Her lord refused, accused her of insubordination, and had her locked up in the dungeon. But he didn't know that the women he accused was once an orphan raised by a mercenary company that her deceased parents once served for before their deaths. The mercenaries were not a fit substitute for parents...they beat her, they abused her, they did things that no little girl should have to go through. And she grew up with a perspective of what it was like to feel true pain, to be able to get up after falling so far, to know the instinct of fighting for your life. So as a young adolescent, she traveled to the town of the aforementioned lord and tried to start over as a devout woman of the Chantry and a respectable guardswoman. But when her lord had made those orders, those instincts, that idea of fighting for your life, it all came back. She strangled the guard watching her cell, stormed the noble's house, killed his bodyguards, and put her sword to his heart. She stayed there until her fellow guards survived, and surrendered herself peacefully, claiming she did this only to protect the Chantry that had changed her life. But the son of the deceased lord wouldn't hear it, and ordered her to be hanged. And it was then that I arrived, currently on a trip to the Freemarches to inspect one of my outposts and having heard the intriguing story of the guard-turned-traitor. I visited her cell, heard her story, and found potential even she didn't see. When she spoke, she resented herself. She saw herself as some stupid girl that should've been left to die along with her parents, some stupid girl who tried as hard as she could to forget the abuse she suffered and not let the anger consume her, and failed. But I saw someone whom I could relate to, someone who had the same fighting spirit I did, someone who I could trust as a confidante and pass down the knowledge needed to lead the Wardens when I am gone from this world. I couldn't pardon her back to her old life, but I offered her a place at my side as a Grey Warden. And when she joined; she did everything she was supposed to, followed every guideline, met every deadline, reached every goal. She was worth ten of any templar, if not more. But now she's dead, because of you."
The Warden-Commander leaned down to the wounded Templar Assassin, gripping his lower jaw with his left hand and pulling down to force his mouth open. He than hovered his right hand above his open mouth, opening it to reveal the bolt he had been examining, suspending it right above the Templar's face with two fingers. The Templar's eyes went wide with fear as Cousland spoke his next words:
"But as I was saying, this really is a nice poison. Look, even though you shot me there's still enough trace material left coated on it-"
The Warden-Commander dropped the poisoned bolt down the Templar's throat.
"-to kill a man."
Cousland stood up, looking down at the Templar who struggled fruitlessly trying to eject the bolt with his broken jaw:
"Of course with that little amount it's going to be longer than three minutes. I'd say around thirty. Half an hour of long, painful, reflection. About your life, and the life you just took."
The Commander of the Grey turned from the assassin and walked out the door he had broken down earlier, saying a few last words to the future poison victim as he did:
"See you in the blackest depths of the Fade, Murderer."
...
The Warden-Commander exited the Keep to the sight of his forces victorious. The rumble of an advancing army was replaced by cheers, the front gate was still closed, the templars having never breached it. Spotting Nathaniel Howe amongst the relieved Grey Wardens, he approached him and asked:
"What's the situation?"
Nathaniel turned and opened his mouth to say something, but noticed bandages wrapped around The Commander's wound from the crossbow when he did, and answered his question with an unrelated question:
"Were you injured in the battle?"
"This? I can worry about this later. What's more important right now is that I get a full report."
"Right. I disarmed all of the traps and made my way here after you confronted the Templars watching the door. By then, the fighting was already over. From what I've gathered, there's no casualties from the battle. The Templars' bows couldn't pierce the silverite armor of the knights on the wall, and their siege equipment couldn't reach the front gate."
"And what of the situation at the North Barracks?"
"A few injured Grey Wardens, no deaths. Well, aside from..."
Nathaniel nodded his head towards the spot where The Commander's assistant had died, then continued:
"...her."
Cousland, seemingly unaffected, replied:
"Right, 'her.'"
"You have my sympathies. I know you placed a lot of trust in her."
"I'll live. That's more than can be said for others."
"You were not...intimate, with her, were you?"
"You mean if I had any romantic relations, or if I had bedded her? The answer's no to both of those. I don't get those kinds of feelings. Not anymore."
"Ah, sorry I asked."
"No harm done. Anyway, do you have an idea of why ostensibly Templar forces attacked us today?"
"Not one."
"Did you get a good look at the Templars them, did you?"
"They appeared different, slimmer armor and utilized daggers and bows instead of the traditional Templar equipment."
"Right, I thought the same. They looked like Templar-Hunters."
"Templar-Hunters? I haven't seen one since my days in the Freemarches. Why would they come here?"
"Templar-Hunters were used for more subtle operations the typical Templar couldn't handle with heavy armor and conventional training. They used to be here in Ferelden too, but they were abolished during the Blessed Age because of training and controversy over The Chantry having trained assassins at their command. This happened in most other nations as well, and over time most abandoned the training under pressure, but there's one Knight-Commander that trained Templar-Hunters in our lifetime, and her name was Meredith Stannard. When Knight-Commander Meredith lost control of Kirkwall and fell to the champion, there was a question of what to do with them. With most of the Mages from Kirkwall having either fled or been killed, the remaining Templar-Hunters were either forced into retirement or to transfer. And the majority of those who transferred did so to the closest possible Major Templar chapter...Denerim."
A mental image of Knight-Commander Tavish's face flashed in Cousland's mind. He continued:
"Nathaniel; who's the Knight-Commander of Denerim's Chantry? Who's the man that's more fanatical about apostates and maleficarum than the Divine herself? Who's the man that came here and demanded to see me in person? And then tried to convince me to release the blood mage? And when I refused, could've hypothetically gone back to his subordinates and coordinated an attack as plan B?"
"Would Knight-Commander Tavish actually attack us?"
"I'm not 100% sure, no. There's a few things that don't add up, like how he managed to get elite units inside the Fortress walls, which we've never had any security problems with before; yet the men for the actual frontal assault couldn't even bring down a single knight or warden. It could be that the frontal assault was a feint and he was hoping the Templar-Hunters would manage to take care of your division, and then be able to flank our forces at the gate. That'd be a fool's strategy, but than again, attacking us when we're allied with the crown and trained to fight much worse than simple mage-hunters isn't too smart either. Something tells me there's more to this, but for now we only have one lead, and that's Tavish. "
"Seems reasonable, though as you said, uncertain. I'd imagine the best place to start would be his Chantry in Denerim. If I leave now I can-"
"No, I need you to stay here and look over the Keep."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the one who's going to be knocking on the Grand Cleric's door and asking if Tavish is home."
"Commander, I know Tavish might have made this personal, but we don't even know if he is planning to ambush us if we leave, or if he has more forces in the forests that are going to renew the assault."
"I'll take Oghren with me just in case. And it's not because of revenge. It's because you don't have the credentials to get into the Royal Palace."
"What?"
"Like I said, if this entire assault was just as it appears to be, than it's a fool's attack. But if there's more to it...if I were to try to assassinate the Commander of the Grey, I'd be damn sure to try and kill his greatest ally, the King, while I'm at it. No one's broken into the Palace in years, but neither has anyone managed to get past the Knights here. And if someone has the resources and mettle to try and kill me, they aren't far off from reaching Alistair too."
"That's a stretch."
"Either way, it's a chance we can't afford to take. Any message you might try to send at the front gate will get lost in the thousands of letters and complaints he receives each day. If I show up, it'll take half an hour max for them to set a meeting."
"Than I can't stop you, can I? When will you depart?"
"Within the hour. Go ahead and find Oghren, tell him I need him ready to travel Ay-Sap. As for me, I need to take care of something quickly before I leave."
The Warden-Commander turned from his Lieutenant and began walking, making his way towards the dungeon.
...
Cousland entered the dark, single-room dungeon of Vigil's Keep. He had came to find Bethany Hawke, but in a strange way, she had found him. As soon as Cousland shut the door behind him, the sharpened end of a staff was at his throat. Someone had escaped from their cell. Cousland casually spoke:
"You know, I'm not unaware of the irony of the situation, but this isn't the first time I've had something pointed at me like that today. And it didn't end too well for the last person who tried it."
"Oh, I thought you were a Templar."
Bethany lowered her staff. Cousland, bemused, said:
"You do know I'm the one who sentenced you to death, right?"
"Yes, but..."
Bethany pointed to a Templar who was knocked out on the ground, apparently by some spell. Procedure between prisoners and their overseers seemed rather obsolete at this point.
"...one of them opened my cell door and pulled out their sword. I've always been a little jumpy around them."
"That doesn't change the fact that you had a chance to kill me a few seconds ago."
"Oh...that..."
Bethany looked at The Warden's feet, and then slowly moved her head up towards his face, inspecting the exact damage he'd be able to do even if mortally wounded and about to die. She said after a long while:
"...I'll take my chances with the rope."
"She's really accepted her fate, hasn't she?" Cousland thought, as a feeling of guilt knotted in his stomach. He took an equally long pause, and then said:
"Well, you can forget about the rope. I'm overruling my judgement in favor of a new trial."
Bethany's eyes widened as she responded with shock:
"Wait, what? Why?"
"Because it would be seen as rash by outside parties if I fully pardoned you, so I'm retrying you instead under the reasons of the recent Templar attack and thus the need for a witness from the Kirkwall Incident."
Bethany blinked, not really understanding half of what The Warden-Commander just said. Cousland, noticing this, continued:
"Miss Hawke...or, do you prefer Bethany?"
"Bethany. Hawke's my older sister's name and 'miss'...just doesn't sound right."
"Than Bethany, have you ever had someone killed because you had to? Don't answer that, because it's something better left unsaid, but think about it, and know that last night I made my decision because I had to. I had to because powers I couldn't control forced me into doing so. And know that right now, one of those powers decided to turn on me anyway, giving me the rare chance to do things the way I want to."
Bethany again stayed silent, not sure of what to make of all of it. Being locked up in a cell, being sentenced to death, hearing fighting outside your cell, some man trying to clandestinely kill you, and than finally the same person who sentenced you to death freeing you and than talking about things you don't know about was disorientating to say the least; one of those few things that fills up the human mind's thought process with so much bewilderment that a first opinion doesn't form. Cousland again continued:
"Point is, you're free. I just need you to follow me to someone in a city away from here testify about what your experience with the Templars in Kirkwall, the fact that one tried to kill you, and when I expose that Templars have attack Vigil's Keep, the idea that you helped a Mage rebellion will be seen much more sympathetically by the First Warden and the Divine. After that, I hold some makeshift trial for five minutes in some official-looking room, of which you're pardoned from and given the freedom to combat the Darkspawn without any superiors accompanying you. After that, you can go do whatever you like as long as you don't blow up any Chantries."
Bethany, finally starting to make sense of what he was saying, spoke:
"Aren't you afraid that I might turn on you? Not even a little?"
Cousland looked her back in the eye with unaltered confidence and said:
"Not one bit."
Bethany paused, contemplating exactly what was being presented to her, and than subsequently saying:
"Then I suppose I'm following you. But where, exactly, are we going?"
"To the only place where a Teyrn would bow down and a Bann would feel poor. We're going to Denerim."
Author's Notes: Personally, I thought this chapter could've been better. It feels like it doesn't flow as well and isn't as refined as the last two. I'd like to go back and revise certain parts one day, maybe actually give the Warden-Commander's Assistant an actual name instead of just using titles, but seeing as how the protagonist doesn't have a name either and she was killed off three chapters in to the story, I don't think it's necessary. For now, this chapter serves its purpose, and advances this little story closer to the final part of this excessively long prologue.
Speaking of which, the next chapter will be the final of the prologue. It will reveal an antagonist that serves as one of the few able to go toe-to-toe with The Warden, show more of Cousland's darker side, and establish a broad idea of exactly what he's going to be facing. Following that, The Warden will begin going into unknown territory, places not shown in the DA games (well, aside from one particular City...), and the long-winded background explanations and flavor tangents will be replaced by actual physical descriptions of where they are (the Vigil's Keep is an actual location in Awakening, and doesn't need to be visually described, as opposed to say, a city in the Tevinter Imperium). Also notable is that following the Prologue, Bethany will start acting like her normal self again (she's shaken up by the whole "being sentenced to death" ordeal, and thus isn't trying to make normal conversation or anything) and I'll start developing the romance I put in the summary (which will take place over a long period of time considering The Warden tried to hang her, bit of a point of tension).
*If you don't know what the Blackblade Armor is, Google "Blackblade Armor Set" and pick the result from the Dragon Age Wiki. Technically it doesn't really exist in the DA universe because two pieces of it were cut from Awakening, but I always used it in my game (via console commands), so I decided to include it anyway.
*The part where The Warden-Commander talks about "understanding" the Archdemon is a reference to DA:O when Alistair says that some of the older Grey Wardens could understand parts of what the Archdemon was saying.
*That knife that The Warden was using against The Grey Warden Imposter is the same "Murder Knife" that was used in DA:O (if you don't know what I'm talking about, go to Youtube and look up any video that contains a cinematic death where The Warden kills someone following a conversation, I think in just about every one he pulls out a knife from no where and does some brutal execution).
*Why do I describe The Warden as appearing "unaffected" and "unreadable" when confronted about his assistant's death? Because he's shutting it off so he can stay in control and think logically. Deep down, he's genuinely remorseful that he couldn't do anything about the poison and incredibly pissed at the Templars who caused it. But he also knows that he has to keep his cool and not become either too soft or too rash so he can figure everything out and strike back.
*Why am I skipping over all the action (like how the battle went and how The Warden managed to kill off all the Templar assassins in the North barracks)? Because the details are relatively unimportant and as of now The Warden-Commander and his Grey Wardens haven't really been faced with an equal challenge. Describing how dominant The Warden is at everything is already starting to feel a little repetitive, and describing how great he was at killing unnamed henchmen #1,137-1,157 wouldn't help. Next chapter should remedy this a bit.
*Next chapter will have less spontaneous monologues. Honest.
*Fun Fact: If you hit ctrl+f and search "as if" (without quotation marks) and hit the next button until you reach the bottom, you'll find out that I used it 7 (8 if you include the one in this bullet point) times.
*Damn these are a lot of asterisks.