03/31/2012
Another DAWC challenge I accepted: write a 'deleted scene' from Dragon Age... when karebear took it a step further and added a historical scene from DA should be written, I was enraptured by this codex entry. Much in the same tradition of all stories here, Bioware owns everything, and as always, enjoy!
o0o0o
Let me sing of heroes and honor lost and found,
Of monsters and men in all forms,
Of Dane, hunter without peer,
Feared by the forests of Ferelden,
Who one autumn morn spied
A hart of pure white in beam of warmest sun,
A prize for huntsman's spear...
"Andraste's flaming sword!" Dane cursed. That annoyingly spry stag had evaded his spear once again, kicking up its back legs in what appeared to be merriment and the ever present tease of being denied a successful hunt. It trotted off into the thick of the forest, bringing Dane out of his hiding place. He would play no more games with this stag; that he was sure of. Determined, he ran after the stag, scooping up his spear along the way.
His footfalls crackled through the forest, to what he was sure was the thrice-damned animal's ears, the way it started up a chase for the hunter to pursue. It led him over logs, past trickling streams of water. It took him through stride after stride of dense green, darkened wood, the light smell of fresh rain-kissed ground, and beams of bright sunshine. Bleats of panic and pleading fell on uncaring ears as Dane raised his spear once more, throwing with not his usually careful aim but compensating with strength and praying to the Maker it would be enough - -
The spear pierced through the stag's side, not killing him, but hindering him further movement. It collapsed in a grove, bleating with every pained breath it took. Dane, drawing his hunting blade from his boot, gave it a quick mercy dead and slit its throat. As the stag finally stilled, the forest grew quiet, save for Dane's panting breaths. The silence was momentarily further disrupted by the wet sucking noise of the spear being pulled from the carcass. This would be a proud kill for him, he could already see... there was probably enough meat to last him a few days, and the pelt large enough to serve as a blanket-
Twigs snapped under the weight of an intruder, pulling up Dane's gaze and spear. What he saw shocked and astounded him: a overly large canine creature standing on two legs. His eyes widened while looking into the dark, glittering orbs, recognizing a hunter when he saw one. The spear head was raised to ward off the new creature, but the slight waver could be easily interpreted as a sudden knowledge: this fight was already lost.
"'The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next,'" he whispered, watching the werewolf advance. "'For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light...'" His words faltered as the wolf circled him, growling something repeatedly. "'As the moth sees light,'" he continued in a louder voice, "'and goes toward the flame, she should see fire and go towards Light.'"
More beasts joined the circling, he soon noticed, doing the same action as the first werewolf. They varied not in structure, but in fur color... with same dark, glittering eyes that pierced through his armor better than any blade could.
"'The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death...'"
"Dane..." the wolf-beasts growled repeatedly, deep, rumbling noises that started through their chests and shook the hunter surely as an earthquake. The hunter in turn gripped his spear to him, his only defense against a large number of beasts circling him, joining the site at the outskirts of the glen, watching the happenings with impassioned eyes.
"'For the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation- -'"
"'And her sword,'" the lead werewolf finished in a deep, rumbling voice, stopping the ever-maddening circling. "There was a time I said that very prayer, when we all did. And the Maker has not saved us..."
Dane fell to his knees, scrunching his eyes shut. This was not how he wanted things to end for him, but dear Maker, grant him a quick death if he truly was a merciful being- -
"You have taken this stag from my woods and my pack, but nothing comes without a cost."
"Please, almighty Maker, make mine a quick death, for I have been ever faithful in devotion and nature- -"
"Stop that sniveling, human!" the werewolf roared, silencing Dane mid-sentence. A chorus of deafening roars followed, soon fading to echoes that scared away many a bird from its perch. "Die here, huntsman, alone and forgotten... or..."
"Or?" Dane asked, surprise lacing his tone, once again meeting the harsh eyes of the beast before him.
"Or take my pace amongst the wolves, as I take your place amongst man." As the huntsman grew confused, the wolf continued. "We are not so different, you and I. We are capable of speech, of understanding, of hunting..." Gesturing to the fallen stag, he added, "Of killing... of performing actions that cannot be taken back..."
"What will you do?" Dane asked. "What will you do after taking my place?"
"That is for me to decide, is it not?" Drawing closer, tracing a faint beating under the skin of the human's neck with a long nail, the werewolf asked, "What shall it be? Do you wish to save your life, and take my form?"
"... yes..."
o0o0o
The minstrel sat back in his seat, quill going lax in his fingers. "You said yes?"
"Aye, I did."
"Why?" He was half expecting for a fierce battle to break out between Dane and the werewolves, one that would lead to lasting glory, the gaining of a mystical weapon or set of armor, or even a divine sign of the Maker Himself. But to say yes, to willingly take the form of a monster to save your own life?
Standing from his seat, and throwing a few coins on the table in the middle of the tavern, Dane lightly scratched at the scruffy beard covering his chin. "Because he may have been not human, but he understood us better than we did of them. Some things cannot be repented, coins can't be unspent." A year and a day living under a lining of wolf's fur can't be unlived. Letting the silence hang between the two men, the hunter left the tavern, to see what could be done with his new life.
The minstrel, in the meantime, stared thoughtfully at the door, before tightening his grip on the quill once more to write:
But some things cannot be repent,
Some coinage cannot be unspent,
When hearts are wagered, a fissure rent.