Chapter One: A Royal Welcome

Duncan led his recruits over to the bridge, where a blond warrior in gold armor stood, holding a gilded sword and shield.

"Ah! A golden saint!" Elissa yelped, drawing her sword. "Kill it! Its Daedric heart is worth two hundred drakes!"

"No, dear, this is King Cailan," Duncan explained.

"Heya." The king's eyes sparkled. "So, you're going to be Grey Wardens? That's so cool! I've always wanted to be a Grey Warden. Either that or a cowboy." The king pulled out a hobby horse and lariat, capering around gleefully. "Yee haw!"

"Um, Your Majesty?" Duncan coughed awkwardly. "I was thinking, maybe you shouldn't be risking yourself in this battle. Seeing as how the dynasty is already kind of fragile, and you don't have an heir yet, you really ought to be back at the palace where it's safe."

At this suggestion, all the merriment fled the king's face. "No! Please don't make me go home!" He lowered his voice nervously. "Anora's there."

"Oh." Duncan's face fell. "Well, in that case, I suppose the darkspawn will be less dangerous and far more pleasant."

Cailan was relieved. "Thanks for understanding. Now, then, why don't you introduce me to the recruits?"

"Okay." Duncan nudged Darrian forward. "This is Darrian Tabris."

Cailan smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, friend."

"Bite me, golden-boy!" the elf snarled.

Cailan just laughed merrily. "Aw, you're a lively one, aren't you? So, how's life in the Alienage? Short and unpleasant, I trust?"

"I killed an arl's son for raping my cousin!" Darrian blurted randomly. "And I'll kill you, too! I'll kill all of you! Slowly and painfully, if possible!"

"Such a kidder! I like that. Put her there, you son of a gun." The king held out his hand, but the elf just tried to bite it.

"Kill all humans!" Darrian raved, waving a bloody sword.

"What a nice young man," the king chirped obliviously, moving along to the next recruit. "Ah, I recognize you. Bryce Cousland's daughter, right? How's the family?"

"They're dead, you moron!" Elissa snapped disgustedly. "Honestly, how does even the most oblivious monarch manage not to hear that the most powerful family in his realm has been deposed and slaughtered to the last man, woman, and child?"

"Ouch. Tough break," Cailain sympathized.

"Arl Howe did it. I saw the whole thing. Arrest him!"

"Sorry," the king apologized. "I really wish I could, but I'm busy with my screenplay at the moment. I'll see what I can do when we get back to the capitol."

"Well, can you at least send out a warrant for his arrest?" Elissa persisted. "Or write a letter asking someone to look into it? The mastermind behind this assassination plot could strike again if it is left uninvestigated."

An evil laugh echoed from the vicinity of Loghain's tent, but Cailan pointedly ignored it. "Look, you seem like a nice girl, so I'll level with you. I may be king, but it's my wife who actually rules this country. If I try to make any actual commands or decisions, she'll beat me."

"Can't you get a restraining order?"

"Sorry, but it's too dangerous."

"Thanks for nothing, jerkwad," Elissa grumbled.

"You're very welcome, it was nice to meet you," the king replied cheerfully. He turned to the next recruit. "And you are?"

"Duran Aeducan, former prince of Orzammar," the dwarf replied proudly.

"Really? Why, I met your father, King Endrin, once. I hope someday I'll be as fair and wise a ruler as he."

Faren snickered. "You wanna be a gullible old idiot who feeds his only non-evil son to the darkspawn?"

"Cram it, duster!" Duran unceremoniously decked him in the face.

Duncan stepped in. "Break it up, you two! Your Majesty, one last thing before you go. I really think you ought to wait for Arl Eamon's troops before you go picking fights with poisonous orcs. After all, it's taken an alliance of nations to defeat every other Blight in history, and you don't even have your whole country with—"

"Ah, Duncan," Cailan chided. "You're overreacting. This isn't a Blight. I know, because I asked my Magic 8-Ball, and when I shook it up, it said 'Looks Doubtful.'"

Duncan was miffed. "You think I don't know a Blight when I see one, punk?"

"Don't challenge me!" Cailan commanded imperiously. "The Ball knows all. It said so on the commercial." He composed himself. "But I can't talk about that right now. I've got a screenplay to write. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

"Creators, what a tool," said Lyna.

Duncan winced. "Lyna, we're all thinking it, but try not to say the words out loud. Now, come along, everyone. It's time you started preparing for the Joining."

"What's that?" Neria wanted to know.

"A terrifying, inescapable, and probably lethal rite of passage."

"What, again?" The elven mage groaned. "I just had one of those last week. Can't you give me a pass on this one?"

"Sorry, Neria, but rules are rules. I've got two other recruits waiting for us in camp; you should go find them and introduce yourselves. You can't miss them. They're wearing the reddest shirts you ever saw. After that, go find Alistair, and he'll help you get ready for the ritual."

"Who's Alistair?" Faren asked.

"The guy you need to find."

"Yes, but who is he?"

"Alistair."

"Can you give us at least a vague description of this Alistair guy, so we don't have to wander around the camp for the next hour, initiating dialogues with every living soul we find?"

"…No. Bye!" With that, Duncan ran off to attend to more important business; standing stoically by the fire and looking impressive.

The six recruits trudged wearily into the camp. Near the quartermaster's supply stand, they saw a handsome young man in a blindingly red shirt flirting clumsily with a female soldier. "Hey, baby, you must be tired, 'cause you've been running through my mind all day!"

"Amateur," the woman scoffed.

"Ooh, you've got spunk." He sidled up close to her. "I lost my phone number, can I have yours?"

Lyna tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me? I couldn't help noticing how red your shirt is. Are you a Grey Warden recruit?"

"That's me." The lecherous recruit's eyes lit up. "Mm, you're so female. I find that quality attractive in a woman. Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven, baby?"

"Hey!" Elissa protested. "Why are you flirting with her and not me?"

"Wait your turn, hot stuff," he chided. "So, you must be the new recruits. I'm Daveth, a rascally rogue with a heart of gold."

"Hey, you can't be the rascally rogue with the heart of gold!" Faren protested. "I'm the rascally rogue with the heart of gold!"

"What?" Daveth was outraged. "You already have a rascally rogue? But that makes me totally redundant." He paled. "Holy Maker, I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Sorry, salroka, but it's looking that way," Faren apologized.

Meanwhile, Darrian had gone to visit the quartermaster, hoping to replace some of his terrible starting equipment. The man looked him over disdainfully. "Is that one of my servants? I can't quite tell, you knife-ears all look alike to me. Didn't I ask you to go launder my Klansman's hood?"

Darrian's mouth began to froth. "How dare you speak to me that way?" He drew his sword, and his skin turned sort of green and lumpy. "KILL ALL HUMANS!"

"Ah!" the quartermaster yelped. "Sorry, ser, sorry!"

"You'd better be!" Darrian growled. "Now give me a helmet, some new daggers, and then go donate fifty sovereigns to the National Association for the Advancement of Elven People!"

Heading up a set of old stone steps, the Wardens found a second man in a flaming red shirt. "Hi," he greeted. "I'm Ser Jory, from Highever."

"A knight from Highever?" said Elissa. "Then why don't you recognize the rightful teyrna of Highever?"

Jory glanced awkwardly from Elissa's face to his feet. "I—uh, sorry, milady. It must be your new haircut."

"I haven't had a haircut!" Elissa snapped. "Now listen! As your rightful liege, I demand that you return to Highever immediately to investigate the mass murder of my family and retainers."

"Sorry, milady, but I can't. I'm going to be a Grey Warden, and it's going to be totally awesome!" He pulled out a hobby horse with griffon wings and capered around happily.

"Does no one in Ferelden care that there is a psychotic assassin on the loose, backed by his own private army?" Elissa exclaimed in disbelief.

But Jory wasn't listening. He was busy twirling a lariat. "Yee haw! I'm going to be the greatest hero in Fereldan history!"

"Well, good for you," said Neria uncertainly. "I'm Neria Surana, of the Circle of Magi."

Jory screamed like a girl. "A mage! AHHH!" He dropped his hobby griffon and ran like the Archdemon was chasing. "Save me, Duncan!"

Duran, who was getting bored, wandered to a nearby cage. There, an emaciated prisoner sat wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of bikini briefs. "Hey, what are you doing in there? Are you supposed to be some kind of stripper?"

"No!"

"Good, 'cause I don't think you've got the body for it. Why are you sitting in there in your underwear?"

The man looked a little sheepish. "Well, some of the guys swiped my underwear the other night and hoisted it up the flagpole. I snuck out to retrieve it, and when I stripped down to put it back on, I was arrested for public nudity before I could explain the situation. Now they're going to hang me as a criminal. But I can handle an undeserved execution. What really ticks me off is the fact that they haven't fed me. Could you score me some hardtack?"

"Gee, I don't know," said Duran. "Wouldn't it be better if I just straightened out this whole unjust execution thing?"

The prisoner waved off his concerns. "It's nice of you to be concerned, but really, that won't be necessary. Just the food and water, please."

"Are you sure?" Duran persisted. "Because I'm a dwarf noble, well-trained at diplomacy and manipulation, with a high Coercion score. I'm sure could totally clear up this little misunderstanding."

The starving prisoner's eyes hardened. "Mind your own business, hero!"

The six recruits pressed on, and were still searching in vain for the mysterious Alistair, when a kennel master called out to them. "Hey, you guys are Wardens, right? Can you give me a hand with this injured wonder-dog?"

"Wonder-dog?" Elissa repeated suspiciously.

"Yeah, a mabari war hound. He'll serve you with the loyalty of Lassie, the courage of Rin-Tin-Tin, and the cuddliness of Beethoven, if you'll help me treat his injuries.

Lady Cousland peered over the kennel fence. "Hey, that's my dog, you creep! Give him back this instant! No wonder he's ill! You separated him from his imprinted master!"

The kennel master began to sweat nervously. "I don't know what you—"

"I'll prove it." She snapped her fingers. "Roll over, Dog."

Lyna frowned. "Your dog's name is Dog? You shemlen aren't much for imagination, are you?"

"Shut up!"

"Look," said the kennel master. "I'm sure we can—"

She whacked him over the head with the pommel of the Cousland family blade. "Give me back my puppy right now, you slimy fence!"

Six wardens and a warhound continued on to the far end of the encampment, where a large and ornate tent was standing. The recruits tried to go in and investigate, but a guard stood in their path. "This is the tent of Teyrn Loghain. YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

"Aw, come on, please?" Duran wheedled.

"Well, okay, since you asked me so persuasively," the guard immediately relented, opening the door for them.

Ferelden's greatest warrior, in all his shifty-eyed glory, looked up at his visitors with a scowl. Or at least a slightly deeper scowl than usual. "Not again! I really need to fire that idiot guard."

"No argument here," said Duran.

"You must be the Grey Warden recruits," the teyrn realized. "What do you want with me? Make it quick, I'm busy planning my strategy for betraying…I mean, defending our idiot…I mean, beloved king."

Faren gave the teyrn a funny look. "Does the word subtlety mean anything to you, ser?"

"No." He shooed them all back out the door. "Now move along, have a nice day, see you in Hell."

"Well," Faren observed. "It looks like we've just met our archnemesis."