HEROES OF FERELDAN


Chapter Seven

A NEW DAY—

He was startled by a drop of water landing on his forehead. His eyes struggling to choose whether to wake or allow sleep to reclaim him. Artha had found difficulty in sleeping, with the clanging of battle rattling in his dreams, breaking the illusions of contentment that his mind was desperate to conjure. That night he was allowed some rest, pressured by the weakness of his tired brain. But now he was awake and he doubted slumber would come to him again, like catching a fly with your bare hands. He wipes the cool droplet away and raises himself up.

Artha woke to the smell and the warmth of a fire. Duncan was already up, or that he had simply not slept that night, roasting some pouch over the flames. They did not exchange many words to each other—Duncan being a man of few words and Artha just could not be fucked. The only sounds came from Fang who barked every night at the moon's radiance.

They had travelled south through the Bannorn, the central lowlands which formed the backbone of agriculture and produce as well as population. Banns control Freeholders who though not considered nobility provided the primary source of income for them in the country—they were essential. More or less Freeholders were commoners who own their own land and often would swear loyalty to a bann or arl more in the name of business. No formal oath of allegiance is sworn thus it was not unheard of for banns to court freeholders away from neighbouring bannorns—as such they tend to ignite feuds that can last for ages.

This even more prevalent in the aptly named the Bannorn. They travelled past Karling in Dogwood and to Calenfort where they were able to replenish their supplies and obtained mounts to ride the rest of the way. Luckily most of the country was preoccupied with the troubles down south, none bat an eye for them. "The journey to Ostagar will be perilous especially now an enemy is revealed and maybe hunting us," the Grey Warden reasoned.

"Perhaps if I was permitted to kill that treacherous slug then I wouldn't—"

"You'll what?" Duncan stopped him, the angry young lad refused to make eye contact with him. "You think you would have made it within a sword length of him? Surrounded by soldiers with more outside your gates, you would have died—yes you may have even killed him, but you would have sacrificed everything that your mother and father fought and suffered for; your life."

The young Cousland remained non-verbal ever since and spoke only to answer a question with minimal words. For Artha, the wound was fresh, their faces burnt in his memory, a lasting scar that only death or tranquil will remedy it.

Again, the two travellers rode on until they exited the region, taking the southern passage of the Imperial Highway. An internationally-spanning road made of stone and magic by the Tevinter Imperium back when Tevinter ruled all of Thedas, built to connect the old empire.

The Highway is commonly considered an ancient architectural marvel, with great arches erected throughout the roadway, they once had had a white glow to them though now with the passage of time reclaimed by the earth; vines and shrubbery were signs of its losing battle with nature. Where they were now, fortified by the woods on either side. At night when they lit a fire on the edge of the road, Duncan decided to recount to the boy some of his own adventures and experiences, something to pass the time and or elevate the lad's spirit. "So why did you join, the Grey Wardens I mean?"

Duncan didn't answer immediately but paused, starring out into the middle distance with a smile. "Sometimes I forget about that, like another life not my own, then sometimes it doesn't matter." He then took a deep breath in. "I don't think I had much of a choice in the matter and rightly so by my book. I was conscripted, by an Orlesian Commander of the Grey or Warden-Commander for short by the name of Genevieve," again he fell silent. "I don't believe I ever found out why she conscripted me," he whispered.

They slept soundly that night and what dreams that swam around him he could not recall the next morning as the sun climbed over the distant mountains scape and the dew had begun to dry, Artha was kicked half awake. Duncan presented to him a sword.

"Get up, my boy. I want you to show me what you got."

Artha groggily shook himself the rest of the way. He looked at the sword but refused, saying he had his own, gesturing to the weapon of his House.

"You don't want to ruin that sword for nothing. This is a practice blade, my lord, already blunted."

The boy nodded and grabbed hold of the hilt and rose to his feet. He was no stranger to the sword and after that night he liked to think he knew a thing or two about combat. Nevertheless he had reservations about sparring with the Grey Warden.

"How about the basics?"

Artha nodded and took a tighter stance, in close manner he would employ the hilt and utilizing thrusts as well as emphases its length offensively and defensively. He remembered the training. Duncan used the same stance and when he swung, Artha parried using the flat of the blade then blocking its slide with the cross-guard. After their blades parted Artha took a high stance, raising his blade above his head and his dominant foot forward. He swung and Duncan blocked and Artha returned to a neutral guard and took a step back.

"Impressive, Antivan guard?" Artha nodded and then Duncan made several movements so swiftly that Artha struggled to keep with, leaving him just blocking and parrying until finally he lost his step and claimed the stony ground. Not the first to fall hard upon the Imperial Highway. Fang just found it all amusing, barking cheerfully as though in mockery. "The Antivan guard was designed for open or guerrilla warfare, my lord Cousland. The idea is to take this guard at passing and for no more than a few seconds, slice diagonally to cut the enemy down and then move on." He then offered his hand to him which he begrudgingly accepted. "It isn't very effective between two locked in a duel."

"What do you call that move you just did there?" Artha inquired.

"That is called a flurry, boy," he explained. "The trick is to plan every move for you have but a split second to do so. I suggest you become acquainted with the human anatomy and armouring."

"Can you tell me more about…the Grey Wardens?" he asked, during a brief respite. "I mean, not the legends but what they truly are?"

"Well the truth is often what we make it, my lord," he chuckled, offering the young lordling some wine from a metallic flask. "We are a military order unlike most others, but we hold no allegiances to any one ruler or country. We dedicate ourselves only in the safeguarding of all Thedas against the darkspawn. We hold a lonely vigil, my lord. Enduring lives of hardship and sacrifice to protect the world from evil that can never truly be conquered. But among the suffering and isolation is the path of valor, and those of us who give ourselves to the cause are rewarded with the knowledge that we have become something more than we are. We are not heroes, my lord…we are vigilant."

They spent a few more minutes sparring, Duncan improving on the young lad's form, and then they moved on to a quick breakfast before mounting up and riding off down the Highway with their mabari dog on their tail, tongue out of a charming smile. They would be another day or so before arrival at Ostagar, with haste.


DRAGON AGE—

Author's Note: This one was short but I felt that things would have happened on their journey to the south which I have attempted to recount. Though I suspect most of that time would be spent for the Warden to come to terms with the events at Highever, I refuse to believe no dialogue was shared on the way.