Chapter Eight

—OSTAGAR—

The Tevinter Imperium was one of the oldest surviving human nation in the world—a magocracy, built upon the power of mages. Before the rise of Andraste and the founding of her Chantry the Imperium's power was unrivalled and its borders stretched across almost the entire continent. As far south as Fereldan and eastward as the nation of Rivain.

In the far south of Fereldan, straddling upon a narrow pass in the hills at the borders of the Korcari Wilds the Imperium had erected a grand fortress to defend the northern lowlands from Chasind Wildling invaders. It represented the furthest point of encroachment by ancient Tevinter into the barbarian lands of the southeast—Ostagar. It was exceedingly difficult to attack due to its naturally defensible position.

However, like most southern Imperial holding, the fortress was abandoned around the First Blight of -200 Ancient and the collapse of the Tevinter Imperium. Historians have even uncovered evidence to suggest it was sacked at least once. As they approached the ruins, Artha gasped; its mighty archways, a staple of Tevinter architecture seen even with the Imperial Highway.

It was a testament of their power, though abandoned, most of the walls still stood, and a titanic Tower of Ishal at the very end looked like it were constructed by giants. The young man was speechless. He had never gone this far south, never seen such marvels.

It was fitting that it would be the site of the upcoming battle, though now they faced a different adversary. Artha had never actually seen these darkspawn before save through his imagination and nightmares conjured by Nan's fantastical stories.

Ostagar was made up of two structures; the Western Fortress and East Watch where the Imperial road turned in through the side of the structure and the Tower of Ishal stood brazenly over the ruins. They rode their horses through the gatehouse and handed their reins to a couple of pages for the stable. Artha couldn't stop looking up—the walls seemed to dwarf them, leaving him almost intimidated. Surely they were safe here from the blighted monsters.

To their surprise, a man was approaching them, escorted by two guards. This man, tall—well taller than him at any rate, raising himself with his arms behind him, an air of regal power. He wore armour of glistening gold, great armoured shoulders that bore the crimson hounds of House Theirin, who held the kingship of Fereldan since the Exalted Age.

"King Cailan," Duncan announced, bowing slightly before the young man, with his forearms crossed over his heart. "We didn't expect a—"

"A royal welcome?" the king finished smiling coyly at him. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

The king's smile seemed to widen in excitement. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" he cheered. "Glorious!" Artha soon caught the young king's eye and he moved to address him. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is he?"

Standing before the ruler of his country, Artha started to feel rather star-struck, his joints had stiffened. Now standing so close he had a better look at the young ruler. He was perhaps a few years older than he with long, blond hair tied in the same style as his, framed a soft yet chiseled face and decorated by a light stubble. He was young for a king and as his peaceful rule could be testament of his privileged and protected upbringing, he was likely new to battle, yet Artha could glimpse in his grey irises a subtle wisdom in contrast to how most of his subjects viewed him.

Duncan cleared his throat in preparation to introduce him but Cailan stopped him with a simple gesture. "No need, Duncan," he said then turned back to the young lordling who immediately straightened up. "You are Bryce Cousland's youngest, are you not? I don't think we ever actually met."

"Yes your Majesty," he bowed his head low. "My name is Artha."

"Your brother has already arrived with Highever soldiers, but we are still awaiting your father's arrival."

Artha paused, his grief once again gripping him, the anger. "He's not coming, your Grace," he trembled. "My father died a few days ago."

"Dead?!" The king's eyes widened in shock at the news. "Duncan, do you know anything about this?"

The Grey Warden Commander sighed, taking in a deep breath before he recounted the events that led them there. "Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine has shown himself a traitor and laid siege upon Highever castle. The teyrn and his wife are dead. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told any story he wished."

King Cailan began to pace about them, processing this devastating turn. "I…can scarcely believe it. How did he think he could get away with such treachery!" The young king the turned to the youngest Cousland son, the boy's head lowered, his gaze not meeting his. "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my armies north and bring Howe to justice," he placed a hand on his shoulder as he vowed. "You have my word he will hang. I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this."

It fell short to his liking but Artha could do in his situation other than take what he could. The young king then gestured for them to follow as he led them across a wide bridge past the Tower of Ishal to their right. The bridge hovered over a deep ravine with a few acres of open field stretching southward where forests dominated the wilds. They passed into the Western Fortress atop an adjoining hill where Fereldan forces had set up temporary residency within the fortress' spacious courtyard and battlements. Hundreds of tents were pitched and everywhere he looked Artha saw soldiers in suits of armour of many kinds and styles. He even saw a couple of mages conversing with the other warriors as though the Circle of Magi did not exist. Perhaps it was the absence of Templars, he thought.

"No doubt you wish to see your brother," said the king. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting the Wilds."

Artha looked up at the ginormous Tevinter statues guarding the gate but he could not shake the bitterness his wonder brought. "I am not eager to tell him, your Grace."

Again, the king expressed his grievance and sorrow, bobbing his head in understanding. "Of that I have no doubt." They reached a large pavilion to the left that bore banners at the entrance of two red mabari hounds rampant upon a golden field—sigil of House Theirin. It was the king's tent. "You will see him again once the battle is over, I am certain. The darkspawn are numerous but they aren't infinite. We have won so many battles already and we'll overpower them before long." He then offered his hand to which Artha responded in kind, grabbing hold of each other's forearm, an unspoken oath of brotherhood. "I apologise but all I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

Artha and Warden Duncan saluted their king as he ventured into his tent complaining about boring strategy meetings with Teyrn Loghain. One of his guards however was ordered to escort the two men to the cook for some breakfast. As they made their way through the encampment they were greeted with some inquisitive eyes and some staring with admiration, clearly meant for Ser Duncan.

"Does it ever get tiring, ser?" the guard asked him. "The fame and all that?"

"Frankly dear boy, I see less of it where I go."

Artha looked around him and noticed some air of difference in the attitudes seen in the soldiers as compared to other battle encampments he'd seen in the past. "The others— the atmosphere here doesn't seem all that tense. It's not as if the Blight is some incredibly dangerous threat which could encompass the world."

"Well, it is as the king said; we've won three battles against these monsters already. I guess the others are somewhat confident...well too confident if I'm honest," said the guard glumly. "His Grace isn't even sure this is a true Blight. Nor do I for that matter. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

Artha chuckled. "You seem somewhat disappointed."

The guard sighed, passing around a bowl of warm onion soup. "I'd hoped for a war like in the old tales. A king and his men riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" he chuckle at that thought, like nostalgia washing over his weary eyes. After passing some bread they ate, revelling in small talk about their lives in Fereldan or at least Artha and the guard did, Duncan remained quiet, in thought with worried brow. After the meal the man excused himself and returned to his post by the royal tent.

It was just Artha and the Warden at that point and he lead the boy up a rampart to an open battlement. On that plateau housed a small band of warriors that looked similar to Duncan in some respects. Emblazed on their chests were twin golden griffons, addorsed with elevated wings maintaining a branch fesswise was shared throughout the ranks of Grey Warden soldiers. Artha couldn't help it and ran to every one of them to introduce himself though most were quite busy in their own things.

"What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here." Yet Duncan did not seem very reassured. The king didn't seem to take the darkspawn very seriously. "Despite the victory so far, the horde grows larger with each passing day." Duncan then walked over to a balcony overlooking the ravine. "I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

Artha came to join him, forearms leaned against the stone bannister, strange to say but the scenery the sun illuminated a beautiful canvased green forest. "Why not?" he asked. "He looks like he holds the Grey Wardens in high regard."

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais," Duncan stifled a chuckle. He knew that Fereldan was always going to be suspicious about the Orlesians, especially so close to the end of their occupation. Then there was Cailan's relationship with them…in particular with Empress Celene; a scandalous rumour thought its truth may yet see the light of day. The Warden looked up to the sky, hoping to connect with their Maker in his growing despair. "He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable, but our numbers in Fereldan are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."

Artha then asked what was to be done next to which Duncan simply eluded to some Grey Warden initiation ritual. "Wait, am I the only recruit?"

"Actually there are another two other recruits here already, waiting for us to arrive." Then when Artha tried to ask about this ritual, the Grey Warden simply assured him that he would learn more about the 'Joining' as he called it in good time. In the meantime Duncan suggested he find the rest of their comrades and prepare the ritual. "There is also another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it is time to summon the other recruits."

The young man nodded and saluted before leaving while Fang stayed behind. Artha couldn't explain it but now, given free reign, he was especially overwhelmed by the prospects ahead. So much to see yet also so little, constrained to this small encampment, bustling with life as it were, reminded him of the market at Denerim.

He spoke to some soldiers, or specifically the ones that camped with mabari dogs similar to Fang. 'Ash Warriors', they called themselves. Fierce warriors, patron students of the Dwarven berserker, fighting on pure rage which he said allowed them to fight with their hounds. They mentioned that darkspawn blood was poisonous though not always fatal. Some of the warhounds even looked a little ill; the Kennel master that cared for them told him that they were a result of contact with the darkspawn blood. He knew a remedy but such a cure came from a rare flower found deep within the Korcari Wilds.

…

What drew Artha next was a section of the camp which was guarded by Chantry Templars, one of them warned him that the mages were not to be interrupted. Over the Templar's shoulders he could see men and women in light cloth robes with long rods of varying styles and materials, arms waving about and some sort of light surrounding them. He was intrigued, he'd never really seen a mage before, not in this manner with their magic displayed in the open like that. Apparently they were performing some ritual, their spirits had entered into the realm of dreams.

Artha excused himself and complied. But again he was captivated by the mages, one of which, an elderly woman stood outside the site, arms crossed, back reclined against a tree that sprouted from the courtyard.

"Greetings, young man," she said when she noticed him staring. "You are Duncan's newest recruit are you not?" Artha was only slightly taken aback for it seemed as though everyone was aware of who he was or at least that he was a candidate for the Grey Wardens. She even complemented on the fact that Duncan was not a man easily impressed. The woman was indeed old, but her figure revealed none of lag or much sign of decreasing health. The only tell of her advanced age was some wrinkles across her forehead and under her eyes as well as the grey of her hair, tied back in a bun.

She wore traditional robes like the ones used by the other mages though hers were orange with gilded embroidery and golden buckle with a Chantry motif, holding two belts that went around her waist.

Her staff were of two serpentine figures wounding around each other with their heads meeting at the top to hold some sort of gem.

The woman made her acquaintance, introducing herself as Wynne, a Circle mage, which meant she was part of the Chantry system. Magic wielders were often treated with suspicion, for anyone to hold such innate, raw power would be dangerous and as the Chantry preached magic's hand in the corruption of the Golden City. Alas, Wynne made sure to treat these situations rationally. "To defeat the darkspawn, we have to work together," she said. "It's not an idea everyone seems to be able to grasp."

"Have you yourself slain one, a darkspawn I mean?"

"Stragglers, yes... not the vast horde the scouts speak of." Then she asked how much the young lad knew about the connection between the darkspawn and the Fade.

All he knew really were the Chantry tales or scholarly research. The Fade was where one's spirit goes when it leaves the body, whether in sleep to dream or to die.

"It's home to many spirits, some benevolent while others are less so. At the heart of the Fade lies the Black City."

This tale Artha knew quite well. In many if not all sermons Mother Mallol would mention or elude to the Tevinter sacrilege where Imperial Magisters tried to enter the Golden City physically and the Maker cast them out as darkspawn, starting the First Blight. He wondered what became of the revered mother. All of those people, Mallol, Ser Gilmore, even Barrow, and all the people that might have escaped the fall of his Household. Artha released the pain in deep sighs. "The Chant of Light says many things," he said darkly.

"It may be allegory, meant to teach us that our own evil causes human suffering," the older woman offered as she placed her staff down against the tree and took a seat beside her.

Artha nodded and all of a sudden he was reminded of a story that Nan used to tell him. An old tale about a war dog named Hohaku, born of royalty to a tribal chief. He grew up a fine, strong pup, given everything and destined to be the partner of the chief's eldest son.

The young hound became arrogant, prideful, taking food from his kin and warning them; in the manner of dogs that is—that the chief's family would punish them if they tried to attack him. Soon the time came for the chief's son to choose a war hound. Many people came to the chief, whispering of Hohaku's bullying though with each complaint the chief saw only strength and pride and sent them away.

But as his son grew the chief watched more closely, after all his boy would one day depend on this dog. If the humblest of his people could not trust the hound, how could he? Strong or not he needed a reliable companion for his son and chose Hohaku's brother instead.

Ashamed but without remorse, Hohaku darted for the chief in a fit of rage, biting his hand. Hohaku was struck, cursed and chased throughout the village but none would offer him shelter devoid of scorn and hatred. Nan said that before the chief had reached him, the tribe had torn Hohaku apart.

"Now, what should you carry from this tale?" Nan has asked an intrigued five year-old Artha.

"How you treat the least is remembered by the greatest so one must not abuse their power?" he answered, also taking a sip of hot coco. Hohaku took advantage of a position he thought he was entitled to, much like the mages who thought their power alone could grant them entry into the Maker's domain.

He had not realised that he had drifted off and before long Wynne gave him the most comforting of smiles. "At least it's something to ponder," Artha finally said.

"Yes, occasionally it is wise to contemplate one's actions. Well I'm certain Duncan has more for you to do than talk to me." Artha nodded but soon his attentions drifted as another robed man walked past, though he seemed different, vacant and passive, his expression was blank and he had a symbol on his forehead—the radiant sun of the Chantry of Andraste. "One of the Circle's Tranquils." Suddenly Wynne's became saddened and allowed the young man to excuse himself of her company.

Soon another man, this time a soldier or a rogue by the look of his gear flagged him over. Rugged beard and dark hair he did not look out of the ordinary. Clad in studded, leather armour with a lot of pockets and compartments hidden around his body. "Well, you're not what I thought you'd be," he remarked once Artha reached him. A woman he was with sighed, seemingly a little vexed and marched off.

"Oh, and what's that?"

"Me, I was hoping for a comely lass with golden hair and terrible eyesight," the roguish man laughed. He then reached his hand for him and told him his name was Daveth. "About bloody time you came along. I was beginning to think they cooked this ritual up just for our benefit."

It dawned on Artha that this man must be one of the other recruits joining him. "Yeah, what do you know about this ritual?"

"Well I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking and I'm thinking that they plan to send us into the Wilds," he informed him so casually. Must have been used to this sort of thing. But for Artha, this was all pretty new territory.

"Aren't there barbarians in the Wilds?"

Daveth shrugged. "Chasind barbarian, yes. Cannibals…and witches too! My home's not far and I've grown up on tales of the Wilds, even been in there a few times myself. Scary place."

To the western side of the fortress outstretched over the stone barriers stood a wall of dark trees. The Korcari Wilds were infamous, its mysterious and threatening nature incited many tales of lost children snapped up by barbarians or monsters. Travellers passing Highever to get to the Storm Coast would say that even at the entrance of the dark forest, they could hear the crunching of bones and flesh being gnawed upon by the beasts. They certainly scared Artha a lot, and as if it weren't scary enough, throw darkspawn into the mix and now, even as an adult, he'd expect his nights to be plagued by nightmares.

"Anyway," Daveth sighed to break himself of the silence. "I expect it's time to get back to Ser Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything." And then he was off again.

Artha didn't know what else to do but made his way to the ruins of Ostagar's Main Hall. The guards and other soldiers informed him that that was where he'd likely find this Alistair. He wondered if he'd know what the man looked like.

…