Notes:

Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware.Rated M for language, violence and suggestive (maybe even explicit) themes.

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Enjoy.

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In An Age Full Of Heroes

Chapter II

The Rise of Dark

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Tent flaps were pushed aside, the canvas rustling. A stream of bleak light washed his vision white. Unwelcome sounds and smells eagerly rushed inside as the opportunity presented itself.

The clamour of an encamped army. Of men and women readying for warfare.

Nearly overwhelming in its cool intensity, a fresh breeze of autumn air filled his tent, alongside the scent of muddy and freshly dug earth. Carried only faintly by the arriving winds was the smell of sweaty and wet cattle mabari, accompanied by their barking.

The lulling cackle of hearth wood told him about the brazen pots heating above flickering fires, filled with stew full of bits of mashed potatoes and slices of hare or chicken supplemented with rosemary.

Rows of soldiery huddled around the beacon of warmth and prospect of hot and decent food. The clink of shifting armour plates and rustling of chainmail accompanied the buzzing chatter of anxious men and women trying to cover their dread with irony and black humour.

A voice breached the barriers of his slumber, 'Your lordship?'

Fergus mumbled something unintelligible in response, signalling his rousing wakefulness.

'My lord, the king wishes your presence.'

Fergus blinked and vainly rubbed rheum from his eyes, lids heavy with sleep and the recent depravation of it. The road and wilderness were no place for him. It made him feel old. His back sore and muscles aching everywhere.

Sleepily, he croaked, 'On my way.' And pushed back the fur covers, bare feet touching the cold ground.

The flaps rustled once more, close. Reducing the bustling noise to a far-away background static, just barely.

Fergus' stomach growled in contempt at being forgotten.

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After splashing icy water into his face and quickly checking his overall appearance, Fergus left his tent, nibbling at a piece of freshly baked bread. The walk proved short and the royal guardsmen waved him through without a pause.

Inside his friend and sharer of dear childhood memories already waited, regally attired as ever.

The ruling monarch of Ferelden acknowledged his presence. 'It is truly good to see you, my friend. A sight for sore eyes, you are.'

Still too sleepy for most cognitive process to be at their intellectual height, Fergus could only respond with inbred courtesy.

'Thank you, your majesty. I, too, have missed your company.'

Cailan laughed heartily. 'Oh no! None of that. Do not dare to majesty me,' the laugh in his voice subsided. 'I hear enough of that every day. Even from Loghain, the stubborn mule.'

This time they shared their humour.

'Very well, Cailan.' The two child and adulthood friends shared a crushing hug of welcome. 'It feels good to stand at your side again.'

'Quite good indeed, Fergus. Too long it has been. You were missed in Denerim. All seemed so bleak and dull. As more than dreary I perceived your absence.'

'You know why.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Duty to my family and my people. Not common occurrence, after all, for someone so young to be asked to study in the University of Orlais.'

'Duty,' Cailan nodded sagely. 'A burden all noble sons and daughters share.'

He didn't know why this surfaced after such a long time, but Fergus sourly blurted out, 'Yet, some choose not to.'

Cailan looked at him. 'Your brother.'

He sighed. 'Yes, my brother.' As always at the core of something, the little runt. Even after nearly a decade of absence he still haunts my thoughts.

'I never really understood.'

Fergus blinked, walking deeper into the tent. 'Understood what?' Locating a carafe of red wine, he poured himself some.

'Why he left.'

He sipped, then said, 'Neither did I.'

'Hm. All anyone could wish for, and he simply . . . gave it up. A loving and caring family. Status und wealth. And skill, by the Maker's grace. Skill that only one in hundreds of thousands possess. I've never seen anything like it ever since then.'

Yes, skill. Fergus had to admit his little brother that much, albeit only begrudgingly. The runt had possessed skill. And if he didn't, he learned quickly. Very quickly. Yet he had always lacked a certain sense of duty. Araris was only ever interested in Araris.

Cailan didn't seem to have noticed his lapse into remembrance. Fergus scrambled to put his thoughts into words. 'It's not for everyone . . . this burden that comes with it. The duties and tasks. Court politics, arranged marriages. Actually being responsible for something valuable, for the lives of thousands of people, looking up to you for guidance.' He grunted, vaguely amused. 'But look who I'm telling that.'

Smirking, Cailan filled a glass of his own with red wine. 'A reasonable argument, my friend. But nonetheless, without as much as an explanation. It rather seems like a coward's way.' And sipped thoughtfully.

To this, Fergus shook his head. 'Araris was many things. A coward he was not.'

'My point exactly, Fergus. Why, then, leave without as much as a whisper, vanishing without a single trace. Now, admittedly, I don't know your brother as well as you do – I've never even exchanged words with him – but from what I've heard it seemed unlike him.'

'True.'

Silence loomed heavy above. Like a towering usurper of activity glaring down at them with the burning fever of madness in his blackish eyes. His gaze a thick curtain of muteness draped over both of them.

Heat uncomfortably tickled Fergus' chest.

'A mystery, I guess. Let us speak of it no more. How fares your son?' Cailan said, changing the topic.

Fergus cracked a smile, one of fatherly proudness at that. 'He's a delight, Cailan. Oh, all the mischief he looks for. And my sweet Orianna, ah, her despair.' The Cousland family firstborn chuckled silently. 'Soon, you'll know, too. Being a parent, bringing new life into this world, it fills you with life and joy, truly. It does.'

'My heart is delighted at your fortune, Fergus. I can only hope.' The king smiled in an ominous way, Fergus had never seen a comparable expression on his friend. A sharp glint filled his eyes as they gazed into the back of the tent, where a small, locked chest sat perched atop a wooden table filled with ink-splattered missives and maps.

'Yet, it seems to me that even more congratulations are in order for your family, as you already mentioned.'

'Yes, indeed, we're all quite proud of-'

Unannounced, Teyrn Loghain barged into the tent. His eyes flat, filled with ice, regarding both of them. He looked like a man on a mission of utmost importance, ready to bark orders.

And bark orders he did, well barking might be a tad bit exaggerated.

Fergus was to lead a scouting party out into the Wilds and assess the approaching Darkspawn horde's strength.

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Dumat's breath!

Never had she seen a legion, an army or a single invasion force as large as the gathering horde of Darkspawn in the valley below. Not even the natural and artificial defences of an ancient fortress like Ostagar would do much good. There were torches beyond counting, and Ser Cauthrien knew for sure that not every of these vile creatures would be carrying one.

All the precious time Teryn Loghain and King Calian had spent persuading Grand Cleric Elemena to allow the mages to fight with them in the upcoming engagement had been for naught. Not even the most powerful sorcerer of Thedas could hope to stand against such evil might.

Every life of every courageous soldier they'd send out into the wilderness to assess the enemy's strength, full and utterly redundant. A task so many of them had paid for dearly.

Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane stood still as if carved out of a single piece of stone. His piercing gaze watched vigilantly.

Thunder cracked open the nightly sky, illuminating, for a heartbeat, the shivering mass of humans behind her. Howling winds tugged at nearby trees, smaller trunks creaked and bended. Big droplets of rain poured down heavily, clashing against armour at a rapid pace. Loghain's raven-coloured, shoulder-length hair was already drenched through, strands clinging to his face, lightly obscuring his view. Just like Ser Cauthrien's.

Right now, she simply hoped that her liege lord wasn't as unsure and unconvinced as she was. Not to say that she was completely terrified. She could only pray one prayer after another in the Maker's name that Loghain knew how to turn the tables. Now, when it mattered most to Ferelden.

A deafening roar rose up from the valley below, usurping even the raging storm in its loudness.

The Darkspawn horde charged and the earth trembled in response. Crude axes and swords glinted in the staccato bursts of thunder bolts' bright lightening. Lumbering frames of massive ogres ran on their muscled legs, some as thick as an oak's trunk.

The sharp illumination of thunder filled the sky once again. Standing huddled together on both sides of the towering and ragged cliffs upon which the Tevinter fortress perched atop, were a few figures.

Ser Cauthrien squinted against the rain, but she thought she saw coats and robes and cloaks fluttering in the strong winds, tugging. After a moment she was proven right. Even Loghain looked up at the display. Maybe her frightened mind imaged things that weren't real, but she could've sworn that there were deep voices uttering an ancient language, just on the edge of hearing, in between the winds' gusts and the rolling thunder.

A huge wave of golden flame spanned between the two groups of magi, first climbing up then rolling forward before descending, growing in size as it raced towards the charging masses of Darkspawn below.

A ritual of enormous proportion. For days they'd sat there, the magi. Now, they were finally ready to unleash their terrible powers.

The enormous spell scythed into the horde, sending chunks hurtling in every direction, sweeping over the plains in erratic and barely controlled rage. When the magical wisps finally faded, endless amounts of bits of Darkspawn covered scorched earth. Ogres, their limbs shredded to mottled pieces, faces mangled, tumbled around a few heavy steps before finally collapsing. Sorcerous fire ravaged the entire span of ground covering the valley below, reaching even into the Korcari Wilds. The flaming quickly spread into the woods, trees aflame like huge torches.

It didn't stop or even slow down the horde's advance, merely reduced thousands upon thousands of them into bloody bits of charred meat.

In the distance above, a huge fire suddenly sparked to life atop the Tower of Ishal, seen clearly even from leagues away. Her narrowed eyes scrutinized the battle, raging below the hill she stood upon, then wandered on towards Loghain's passive frame.

The Teryn turned his head and bellowed. "Ser Cauthrien!" She stepped closer in a rustle of chainmail.

'Yes, your lordship?'

'Sound . . . the retreat.'

Her heartbeat stopped, blood flow freezing solid inside her body. Every fibre of her being screamed and raged and clawed against what he just pronounced.

'But, your Grace, what about the king? We cannot leave him!'

He spun around, and grabbed her wrist in a painful grip, felt even through her gauntlets.

'Our king is lost.' Repeating softer, he muttered, voice deflated, 'Lost.'

He let go of her, and turned his gaze back upon the battlefield. Then he said, in his usual commanding voice, leaving no room for disapproval or disobeying, 'Relay my order, Ser Cauthrien.'

The female knight watched him for a moment, then turned on her heel and approached the army lying in wait. Her emotions raging like the sky above at what was happening.

This cannot be happening. The Fade must've trapped me within a nightmarish illusion. A fate that could be. Yet, still, unreal.

Just before she was out of earshot or the raging storm swallowed up Loghain's words, nothing more than a whisper was carried to her ears.

'Please forgive me, Maric, for I cannot.'

Edit: changed some sentences and words. Added some, deleted a few. Found some typos and corrected them.