CHAPTER 1

..x..

Blood splattered the cold ground, painting it red as a terrified scream cut the silence. A man fell and cowered over the dirt. A grizzly gash splitting open his gut as innards spilled out from within. A miserable whimper escaped him as the dark shape of a monster stepped over him. Its reflection upon his petrified stare. The creature leaned over him with its twisted, jagged blade. And the man let out a drowning wail as his throat was slit. It cackled. Soulless grey eyes admiring its work as blood pooled beneath its victim's corpse.

It was a work of art. A gift for its god, and soon, a new meal for it.

The monster continued to laugh, rising to its feet. A sword silenced it, bursting through its chest. It looked down at the blade dripping with its blood. Its permanent grin and blank stare unchanged despite its agony. Then, a long dagger came over its shoulder. It slashed across its neck, swift and deep, cutting open its ashen flesh. The monster gargled, reaching for its gushing wound as it fell on one side, revealing a dark, rugged knight. The man's brown gaze was as sharp as his blades, his bearded face worn from years of countless battles.

Duncan's steel scale hauberk rattled as he took a knee, the back of it long as a bird's tails. Beneath the heavy metal, he wore a sapphire blue, long-sleeved gambeson. And over the cloth armor, steel pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves. With a swift yank, he tore the same rag from the corpse and rose, bringing it up to wipe red splatters sullying the regal symbol on his steel breastplate. They were two regal griffons, back to back, with open beaks as if in a quiet cry, each spreading one wing to the east and to the west.

It was the emblem of a legendary order. Warriors he commanded within the borders of Ferelden's kingdom.

The Grey Wardens.

The quality of his weapons and armor rivaled that of the knights serving under nobility. Set apart by the shade of blue few could afford to wear. All funded through centuries of protecting humanity from the very creature he slew. Creatures only he and his men could truly defeat and no one else dared to willfully face.

"Damn it… We were too late," uttered a young man standing a distance behind him, wielding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He was glaring down at another monster lying dead at his feet, drops of its blood marring his fair features and staining his short, dirty-blond hair. He was barely in his twenties, clad in similar gear and with a matching griffon on his breastplate and shield, yet lacking the tails on his commander's armor.

With a scowl, Duncan surveyed the surrounding carnage, taking in the details. Wagons lay toppled over, the contents scattered about, mixing with the blood and gore of both travelers and cattle. The breeze blew over their remains. The only movement being the rustling clothes and hair as an eerie silence fell over them.

He turned to see past the cliff by the road, gaze narrowed as the scent of death filled his nose. "I'm afraid the worst is yet to come, Alistair."

Frowning at his words, Alistair sheathed his sword at the hip and slowly went to stand beside his mentor. His hazel-brown eyes widened at what they saw over the edge overlooking the woods below. More of the same creatures stalked the land in a seemingly endless swarm, weaving their way through the trees like a plague of locusts. Ominous clouds rolled after them, crackling with red lighting as they crawled over the horizon and all vegetation in their wake withered and died.

"Maker… There's so many of them," he breathed and shifted a fearful stare to Duncan. "This is it, isn't it? This is really a Blight."

Duncan's jaw set and he spun about to walk back towards the road. "Come. We have no time to waste."

"Right…" Alistair started after him, a crease remaining on his brow.

Pausing, the Warden-Commander glanced at him, then returned to their path ahead. He continued to walk, steadfast in his steps, knowing that the coming days would forever change his charge's life, as well as that of everyone in Ferelden. Maker help us all...

.x.x.x.x.

Stories of their ongoing fight against the darkspawn reached Highever several weeks ago after they gave the news of the Blight to the king of Ferelden. Yet, the people of Highever didn't seem worried by the danger stalking from the south. Instead, Teyrn Bryce Cousland's upcoming tourney was all they talked about.

The town around Highever Castle was almost half the size of Ferelden's capital city. Which was the largest in the country. Quaint, wooden huts and shops stood at every corner. Plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys. The scent of burning wood and cooking meals permeated the air, mixing with the smell of cattle and horses the breeze carried as it blew over them from the farmlands.

Townsfolk filled the dirt roads. Some were merchants, hurrying to set up their stores, a few dragging carts in a haste. The rest of the villagers rushed to the arena, excited smiles over dirt-covered faces.

Alistair dodged people as he walked with Duncan, who seemed completely unaffected by the crowd. He visited many places with him over the past few months, but only here did he appear to fit right in. Someone shoved him as they ran past him, earning an annoyed glare out of him. "Geez, not even an apology… I thought they'd be as nice and polite as you are, Duncan."

He smiled. "Highever's common folk can have a certain level of character. Don't take it personal."

"Why are they even this excited? Are these people not scared? I mean, it's not as if there's an army of monsters currently threatening everything and everyone they know..."

"Unfortunately, most don't believe this is a true Blight." Duncan turned sideways to avoid another running citizen. "It has been centuries since the last. And we killed so many darkspawn then, most assumed we defeated them for good. This in addition to the spreading rumors of the king's success against them in the south."

"I don't know if I would call that success. Every time we kill the bastards, more sprout up from the ground. Like weeds! Though I find those a lot easier to look at." Alistair paused as a grin spread over his lips. "You know, darkspawn should consider wearing daisies over their heads. It would help draw attention away from their ugly mugs."

Duncan let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head. "Perhaps you can make the suggestion once we return to Ostagar."

"Yeah, maybe..." Alistair's smile faded. "Hey, Duncan… I've been meaning to ask..."

"Yes?"

"I thought it only took one Grey Warden to do the recruiting. Why couldn't I stay behind with the others?"

"The tourney will help us find the last of the new recruits we need for the upcoming battle. It will be good experience for you, should you need to recruit others in the future." He gave his shoulder a firm pat. "Be patient, Alistair. You will be back on the battlefield soon enough."

"Sure…" he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right..."

As they neared an alley, a merchant bumped into Alistair from behind, causing him to miss a step and stumble with a curse. At the same time, a blur of grey clothes slammed onto his side at an angle, bouncing off of him and dropping to the ground.

The hooded figure landed on their rear before him, letting out a feminine 'oomph' and a quiet curse of their own.

"Hey!" he called with concern, immediately taking a knee to place a hand on their shoulder. "Are you—"

She looked up at him, and what he saw underneath that hood took his breath away.

Eyes the color of the sky locked with his, her surprise showing over them as the woman also seemed to pause. Loose strands of chestnut hair framed an almond-shaped face, accentuating porcelain skin that held not a single blemish. Full, soft-pink lips parted as she panted for breath. Cheeks flushed and brow sweating from her running.

Whoever she was, he'd never seen a girl as pretty as her.

Numbly, he offered her his hand, still stunned into silence as he stared. Her gloved fingers came to rest on his palm and she allowed him to pull her up to her feet.

"Thank you, ser..." She promptly adjusted her hood before his companion could see her features too. "My apologies." She gave a curt bow and whirled around to dash in the same direction in which they headed.

He mutely watched her disappear into the crowd, rooted to the spot. Then, a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You should close your mouth now, Alistair. Lest a fly make its way in."

"Uh…" He snapped out of his daze and shut his mouth, a slight blush rising to his ivory cheeks. "Right… Sorry."

Duncan put on an amused smile and resumed their walk, shaking his head. "Come. The tourney is about to begin."

.x.x.x.x.

Highever's arena was modest. Lined with flags of various colors as they flapped in the gentle afternoon breeze. Stands stood at two sides of the dirt field at the center. Filled with townsfolk dressed in thick robes or tunics. The younger ladies wore their best garments, aiming to woo the strapping knights who would soon battle each other for the teyrn's favor. Others were families seeking a bit of action. A few of the men covered in mud from having worked in the fields that morning.

Teyrn Bryce Cousland sat with his family in an elevated balcony, at the far end of the field. Grey hair combed back, while he wore a fine purple tunic and dark-colored breeches. His wife, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, sat to his left, wearing a silk dress the color of blue ice, long white hair tied up in an elaborate braid. His son wore maroon silks, brown hair combed to one side as he sat on a smaller chair at his father's right hand. A redheaded woman, who wore a dress of the same colors also accompanied him. And near them stood a child also in a fine dark green tunic as he excitedly stared out into the arena.

They were the rulers of the Highever teyrnir and second in class only to the king of Ferelden himself.

Alistair looked away from the noble family and took in the surrounding view. Next to him, Duncan observed their surroundings, arms crossed. They sat closest to the field and near the teyrn and his family. Seats usually reserved for honored guests.

After a few moments, the townsfolk stopped filtering in, filling every seat. The teyrn stood, raising his hand to the crowd to silence them. "Welcome to the tourney!" he greeted in a booming voice. "Today we not only celebrate our king's victories against the darkspawn in the south. But we also prove our strength and courage in battle! The winner of this tourney will be declared Champion of Highever! And carry with them our name throughout the kingdom!"

The people cheered, pumping their fists into the air as they waited for their lord to make the last call.

"Let the festivities begin!"

More cheers followed, filling the arena with noise.

Alistair gave Duncan an odd look, speaking quietly, "Isn't it a little early to celebrate like this?"

"These are the families of the men who will march with him tomorrow. He is using the rumors of our success against the darkspawn to keep them at ease before heading for battle." Duncan turned sharp, brown eyes towards him. "Remember… A good leader always keeps morale up, even when the future is uncertain."

The euphoria died down when an old man sauntered into the arena, carrying with him a scroll. He came to a stop at the foot of the teyrn's balcony and unraveled it. His voice was thick with age but strong as it boomed over the would-be battlefield.

"From the Storm Coast to the north comes Ser Doren Fhal! And from Denerim, once serving the crown itself, Ser Yule Sharpe!"

Two muscular men stepped in from the sidelines as spectators cheered. One of them carried a claymore, while the other sported an axe and a shield. They measured each other up for a moment, the noise growing silent as everyone watched. A horn blew, and they swung, their weapons clashing along with their battle cries.

The brawniest men Alistair ever saw fought in the three matches that followed. And despite being well-built himself, watching these behemoths made him feel rather small. Metal clashed against metal as their weapons met. Blood and sweat dripping over the ground as some landed hits on faces, armors or shields. All were intent on proving their might before their adoring spectators. Their determination was almost admirable.

Duncan observed the fights with interest but was still unimpressed. To him, they were more of the same—men pounding their chests with no skills to show for it.

Until the next match came.

The arena quieted down once more as the breeze picked up the flags, making them flap a little louder. The last two men left the arena, one holding on to an injury.

"For the next match!" The old announcer lifted the scroll once more, his voice commanding their attention. "He hails from the vast farmlands of Lothering! I present to you, Ser Hadrick Gilbern!"

An armored man with a long, red beard walked out on confident steps, resting a massive great axe over one shoulder. He roared, throwing a fist to the sky as the townsfolk cheered, hungry for more action.

"And from our very own Highever!" The old man paused, raising a bushy brow. "Lady Elissa!"

All went quiet as a hooded woman made her way to the center of the arena, her posture exuding confidence and pride. Her dark gray cloak flowed with the wind, making it flap and float around a lithe form. She made no gestures for applause, and the spectators seemed unsure from the start. Fereldan women could bear arms. But many still thought them incapable of the same feats of strength and skill as men. To the spectators, this match would be but a waste of time.

"Hey… I think that's the girl from before," Alistair whispered with a hint of surprise. "No wonder she was in such a hurry… Seems she almost missed it."

"Hrm..." Duncan grunted in agreement, eyeing the woman.

He took notice of the sword and dagger at her hips. A rogue's choice of weapons, which meant she would be the agile sort. Hard leather armor clung to her hourglass figure, showing the delicate shape of a feminine body. Yet it was clear she was no wallflower. Toned muscles lay under gray leggings and a fitted, long-sleeved tunic displayed the strength of her arms. Still, although she appeared capable, her opponent was larger than her.

The burly man's rumbling laughter disrupted the silence. And he directed a sadistic smirk towards the old announcer. "Is this a joke? This is my next opponent?"

"Yes, Ser Hadrick. We do not keep women from participating."

"All right then." Hadrick gazed towards her, smile hardening into a glare as he bent the knees and prepared his axe. "I don't much enjoy hurting women, so just go down easy and I'll spare ye the pain, lassie."

She said nothing, drawing her weapons in two fluid motions.

"Ugh… I can't look." Alistair winced, trying to tear his eyes away from the scene below.

Duncan watched with quiet interest as the horn again signaled the start of the match.

With a cry, Hadrick moved in first, fast despite the weight of his steel plate armor. He swung his axe sideways, prompting a gasp from the onlookers.

Elissa huffed as she ducked and rolled, dodging the attack. She sidestepped, circling her opponent as a cat would its prey.

He gave her an irritated glare but went along with it, gripping the axe with both hands, adjusting it for another swing.

The Grey Wardens observed as she continued to measure her adversary. Waiting for his next attack.

Hadrick grew impatient with the pacing and charged, letting out a roaring battle cry. He swung upwards at her as she jumped back and avoided the hit. He brought down the axe, hitting the spot where she once stood. He plucked his weapon from the ground with a frustrated growl and slashed left only to hit air once more.

It seemed she was mocking him.

"Isn't she goin' to fight back? This is gettin' old," someone shouted from the stands.

Duncan analyzed her every move while running a hand down his thick, black beard.

"Fight, woman!" Hadrick snapped, huffing as he swung, only to miss once more. "I said fight!" He attacked again.

This time she blocked with both of her blades, the weight of the blow making her slide back two feet.

The masses finally cheered.

"Die, wench!" He kept striking, over and over, drawing energy from the crowd. But each hit was blocked or deflected in thundering clashes. He got slower the more he hit, but the man was too focused on defeating her to notice or care.

After blocking a few more hits, Elissa moved, fluid like water, dodging one of his attacks while slicing his arm open with her dagger. He screamed and his axe dropped to the ground, he panicked and swung his other arm to punch. She slid under it and slithered around him, pivoting on one foot and turning to face his back. And in the blink of an eye, her dagger was at his neck while she held onto him from behind.

The audience gasped and everything went silent.

Hadrick froze in place when the icy steel of her blade pressed against his beating jugular. He gulped, and a bead of sweat slid down his brow. The fight was over.

"Woah…" Alistair breathed out in disbelief while those around them erupted into applause.

A corner of Duncan's lips curled up. "Defeating a foe larger than herself by turning their brute strength against them. Wearing them out. Well done."

The matches that followed were against men with past victories. And they ended in the same fashion—with her blades mere inches from slitting their throats. Elissa was fast and precise, well trained on the skills of a rogue. She was able to break through the opposition, gaining the support of those in the stands. And soon they were at the last match, with all the prior warriors defeated by her and the next contender.

"Welcome to the last match!" The old announcer's voice boomed once again. "The winner will be the victor of the tourney and thus earn the title of Champion of Highever!"

More cheers and eager claps filled their ears.

"Please welcome! The winners of the prior battles! Ser Gilmore of Highever!" The old man gestured towards one side of the arena.

Whistles and cries erupted, and some women screamed with glee. The strapping, red-headed boy waved to them, a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. He wore copper chainmail armor and a black gambeson underneath.

"And Lady Elissa of Highever!"

She stepped forth from the opposite side, weapons at the ready.

Ser Gilmore, who served under the teyrn himself, bowed to her, a small smile on his lips. "May the best warrior win, my lady."

Elissa responded with only a subtle tilt of her head.

Another horn signaled the start of the match.

Without warning, she kicked forth first, charging at full sprint. Gilmore had little time to raise his sword and block. His eyes went wide, shocked by her sudden burst of movement. Before, she'd taken her time defeating her opponents. Now she seemed intent on bringing a swift end to their match.

Withdrawing her arms, she spun and forced him to block with his shield. The tip of her dagger slid over the polished steel surface, sending sparks flying. Ser Gilmore clenched his teeth and swung with it, slamming it against her chest and pushing her off of him. He slashed at her as she stumbled back, barely missing her middle. She hopped back, putting distance between them, then paused her movements, dropping into a stance once more.

They stared at each other for a fleeting minute. Gilmore narrowed his eyes and discarded the shield, changing his posture to hold the blade with both hands.

"He knows he will have to compensate for his lack of speed against her," Duncan said. More to himself than his companion. "He will focus on his offense to make up the difference. Very good."

Elissa slid lower, switching the position of her dagger to face backward, pommel facing him. The new stance was for increased defense and more power at short range. While her sword kept its reach.

His brows went up. "She knows this…"

Meanwhile, Alistair gazed at him in silent wonder. It was hard to gain the Warden Commander's attention but impressing him was far more so. Yet Duncan held conflict in his usually decisive eyes. He was having a hard time figuring out which of the two fighters was suited to be a Grey Warden—if not both.

The match soon increased in speed. Their roars and the impact of their blades resonating through the arena. Elissa was finding this man more difficult to fight than the previous ones, driven to dodge often and strike urgently.

Clenching her teeth, Elissa stepped back, and he swung. She crouched, dodging the hit. Gilmore followed through after the swing, turning on one foot and going low with a kick to the ankles. It tripped her, and she fell hard on her back before he brought the blade down upon her. With a gasp, she rolled to the side as the sword stabbed through her cloak, tearing away her cover.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and backed away, exposed for all to see.

Everyone except the Wardens gasped at what they saw.

"M-My…" Ser Gilmore stammered as he gazed up, all color draining from his face. "My lady!"

A horrified teyrna stood from her seat, shouting at her. "Everil!"

Everil panted for breath while giving all a determined smirk. Unfazed by the dirt and sweat clinging to her waist-long hair and by the anger in her mother's eyes.

Puzzled, Alistair looked to his mentor. "I take it they know her…?"

"They should," Duncan answered, his tone carrying a hint of disappointment. "She's the teyrn's daughter. Lady Everil Cousland."

His brows went up and he blinked. "Oh…"

Teyrn Bryce took his wife's hand, giving her a reassuring smile while also urging her to sit. He stood, the mere action silencing the whispers from the stands. "Proceed with the match!"

Gilmore's head snapped towards him. "But, Your Lordship!"

"Come now, Ser Gilmore. Chivalry is hardly necessary at this point, don't you think?" Everil teased, the elegant smirk still upon her lips. "Besides, you owe me a rematch. Especially after shamelessly cheating your way into victory the last time we sparred."

"Hmph… I suppose I do," he answered and moved to face her, bowing his head. "My apologies, my lady. I just didn't expect you to join in the festivities. Especially considering your parents expressly forbid you from doing so."

"Yes, I admit to hearing such orders. But while I'm mostly a dutiful daughter, I'm also a woman of free will." She lowered herself into a fighting stance. "And right now, my will is to win this tourney!"

"We will see about that!" he cried out and rushed forth, closing the distance, only to have his attack blocked. He brought up his blade and swung. She leaned back, his attack missing her completely. With a roar, she pivoted and struck. Using her weight to compensate for strength as the pommel of her dagger met his ribs. Gilmore grunted in pain and avoided a slash. His arm came around in a sweeping arch, leading with the sword's hilt. She crouched as the pommel missed her, bolted forth, and slashed with her blades.

Up, down, side-to-side—he gritted his teeth while blocking every attack. He leaned sideways, avoiding a blade swooshing inches from his cheek.

For a split second, her middle lay exposed, so he brought his leg up, kicking her square on the stomach. The hit knocked the air out of her, sending her to the ground. And while others would have checked on their lord's daughter, he instead took the opportunity, moving in to claim the victory.

But Everil kicked up, both feet connecting with his chest and knocking him back with a grunt. She got on her feet and charged, clashing blades with him once more as he deflected the hits. She ducked and leaned, avoiding a sideway slash before darting at him. In one quick movement, her arm was about his neck, and her leg hooked around his calf, pilfering his balance and slamming to the ground.

Before he knew it, she was on top of him, her blade touching his throat. Gilmore's chest heaved, surprise melting into a smirk as he watched her lean down to stare him in the eyes.

"I win…" Everil whispered, lips spreading into a wide smile.

The crowd roared, rising from their seats. Her family also stood, clapping to her victory.

As the two fighters helped each other up, the old man approached them, taking Everil's hand to lift her arm for all to see. "The winner of this year's tourney! Lady Everil Cousland of Highever!" More cheers filled the arena as both warriors shook forearms, grinning at each other.

The noise grew silent when the teyrn spoke, casting a warm smile upon her. "Well done, my child!" Bryce called out, loud enough for all to hear. "While this may have been quite the unexpected turn of events, your display of skill proves you are ready! Ready for the task I am about to bestow upon you!"

He turned wise eyes towards those in the stands, raising a hand. "People of Highever! As you all know, my eldest son and I will join the king in the battle against the darkspawn in the south! Good soldiers—your sons, husbands, and fathers— will march with us to answer the king's call to arms!"

Bryce looked about the arena at his subjects, who listened to his words. "I understand no assurances will keep you from fretting over those you love but know you will be left in good hands!" He gestured towards Everil with an open hand. "With her strength and compassion, my daughter earned your trust throughout the years! And so has she earned mine! Thus, I have decided that she will remain here to take my place until my return!"

Everil's eyes went wide. "What…?"

The townsfolk clapped and cheered, smiles on their faces. "Hail Teyrn Cousland! Hail Lady Everil!"

"Thank you!" Bryce waved at them. "Enjoy the festivities!"

And while her family carried smiles on their faces, Everil's held only disappointment.