Chapter Three: In the Dark of the Night

Sucking down monster blood, lyrium, and a touch of zesty lemon, the recruits slipped into a coma, where an archdemon was waiting for them.

"SCREEEEEE!" the terrible creature roared

"What's wrong, boss?" asked one of its darkspawn subjects.

"Ah, nothing, I just stubbed my toe."

"Ouch. Want me to get you a cold compress?"

"Never mind that," said the tainted dragon. "There's some Grey Wardens telepathically spying on me again. Get yourself to Ostagar and tell those peeping Toms to leave me alone!"

The recruits drifted awake at long last. Duncan absently glanced up from the magazine he was reading. "Oh, look at that. You're not dead. Good for you."

"How was it?" Alistair asked. "Did you see the archdemon? Did it threaten you with a restraining order like it did with me?"

"A restraining order against Alistair?" Duncan's eyes took on a longing look. "Hm, there's a thought…"

Alistair scooped his reluctant mentor into a python-like embrace. "Oh, Daddykins, you crack me up!" He turned back to the recruits. "But on a more serious note, I've got something for you. These are magic fraternity pins to help you remember your hazing. All us Grey Wardens wear them."

"Then where's yours?" Elissa asked.

"I, uh, hawked it for some cheese," the former Templar replied sheepishly.

"That reminds me," Duncan interrupted. "Alistair, I finally managed to get you on the waiting list for that addiction clinic back in Denerim."

"All right! I won't let you down, Daddykins. I'll be cheese-free before you know it!"

"Good. For now, though, the recruits and I have to go see the king. He's having a very important meeting, and he wants them all to be there."

"Why?" Neria wondered.

Duncan shrugged. "He said something about getting your autograph."

"Aren't we going to give our fallen comrades a proper burial?" Duran indicated the corpses of the two unlucky red-garbed recruits, still sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood.

"Meh, what's the point?" said Duncan. "This place will be choked with bloody corpses if—or rather, when we lose this battle. In fact, you may as well strip their bodies naked before we ditch them. You might be able to get a few silvers for the armor."

"This is crazy. Am I the only one around here with any respect for human life?" Duran demanded.

"Yes," said Darrian succinctly, slipping on Daveth's studded leather.

At the other side of the ruined temple, King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain were talking strategy. "For the umpteenth time, you idiot, this is going to be a large-scale melee battle!" Loghain snapped. "Going to the front line would be suicide even against a human army. Against a horde of monsters who can poison and disease you merely by touching you, it's past crazy, it's freaking hilarious."

"Prince Aeducan did it!" Cailan defended.

"Will you stop arguing with me and get your gilded butt back to the palace?"

"No!" King Cailan whimpered pitifully. "Please, anything but that. My horrible wife is there."

"Hey, that's my daughter you're talking about!"

"Oh yeah." The king paused thoughtfully. "That actually explains a lot."

"Shut up!"

"Look, you don't need to worry, Loghain. There won't be any danger if we just wait for the Orlesians."

Loghain didn't answer, he just snarled venomously.

"Is, uh, everything all right, Your Majesty?" Elissa ventured.

"Oh sure." The king chuckled. "Teyrn Loghain just does that whenever anyone says the word 'Orlesians.'"

"RAAAAAUGH!" snarled the teyrn again.

"What's he got against Orlesians?"

"RAAAAAUGH!"

Faren was laughing hysterically. "Hey Loghain? Orlesians! Orlesians! Orlesians!"

"RAAAAUGH! RAAAAUGH! RAAAAUGH!" the teyrn roared uncontrollably.

"Awesome!" giggled the dwarf.

The teyrn glared, and all around him, flowers began to wilt and storm clouds began to gather. "It's not funny, damn it! Those dirty Frenchies killed my father, raped my mother, and worse yet, stole my puppy!"

"Wow, this guy's got a really angsty past," Lyna observed. "Maybe he'd make a good Grey Warden."

"RAAAAUGH!" snarled Alistair as he passed by.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Padawan," Duncan admonished. "Now, Loghain, why not listen to the king and wait for the Orl—uh, for those Francophone guys who shall remain nameless? I mean, this appears to be the first halfway intelligent idea he's ever had. Shouldn't we try to encourage that?"

"No!"

"But—"

"Not listening!" Loghain stubbornly shoved his fingers in his ears. "Kill all Orlesians! Slowly and painfully, if possible!"

Darrian grinned. "Hey, I think I'm starting to like this guy."

"All right, all right!" the king snapped. "We'll do it your way, Loghain. Just don't start with the sob stories about your dead puppy again."

The teyrn smirked triumphantly. "Then we'll need a patsy—uh, I mean, hero—to light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal."

"Okay, then, I'll just pick someone completely and totally at random," said the king. "How about Padawan Alistair?"

"You mean that guy who looks exactly like you?" Elissa asked.

"DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLE!" Alistair's voice echoed over the wall.

"Is he some kind of relative of yours? Are you trying to keep your only heir safe in case the worst should befall you?" The young noblewoman's jaw dropped. "Holy Maker, did you just make two intelligent decisions in the same day?"

"What? No." The king blinked in surprise. "It's because I want Alistair as far away as possible when we start the victory party, or he'll finish off all the cheese platters before I get a taste."

"Well, then," said Duncan, "I guess we're all set for the battle, then."

"Yeah, right. Suckers." Teyrn Loghain cackled with cold satisfaction. "Heh heh heh…Mwhahahahahah!"

"Ho boy," Lyna muttered. "We really are doomed, aren't we?"

Alistair was furious when he heard the news. "What? You want to spare me the experience of marching to almost certain death against a horde of flesh-eating monsters? This is an outrage!"

Elissa tried to soothe him. "Don't worry, Alistair. There's sure to be plenty of monsters at the tower for us to fight. I mean, there always are, right?"

"The king gave you an important job, Alistair," said Duncan.

"Yeah, right. He's probably just trying to keep me away from his cheese platter," the Templar sulked. "If that jerk ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm not doing it."

Alistair's new comrades eyed him with concern. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, not meeting their eyes.

"Just get to the tower and try not to die," Duncan ordered. "You're on your own now. It was nice knowing you."

"Duncan, are you trying to tell us something?" Alistair asked obliviously.

"Alistair, you idiot, that does it! After I kick the bucket, they're in charge." The Warden-Commander indicated his new recruits.

"Roger, boss," said Elissa. "Sorry again for surviving without your help."

"May the Force be with you, Daddykins," Alistair added.

"Ugh," grumbled Duncan as he stalked off. "At least in death, I'll finally be free of that creepy kid."

The royal clone laughed. "Ah, Daddykins, a joker to the last."

In the valley below, King Cailan galloped to the front line on his hobby horse. "Yee haw! I'm gonna stab me a dragon!"

"Your Majesty," said Duncan longsufferingly, "do we really have to conduct this battle in the dark of the night, with a thunderstorm raging?"

"Yeah, I know it's not ideal fighting weather, but I couldn't afford enough dry ice and wind machines to create a thick layer of fog over the field. And I want this battle to look nice and epic for when they make a movie of this. Which they totally will." The king framed the scene before him with an imaginary camera. "They'll probably call it 'King Cool Pwns Again.' Ooh, I hope they can get Arnold Schwarzenegger to play me!"

Duncan sighed. "Maybe it's not too late for me to cut and run like Loghain."

Cailan gave the Warden-Commander a reassuring slap on the back. "Ah, don't worry, Duncan. The darkspawn may have the advantages of numbers, magical powers, and a gigantic, millennia-old dragon on their side, but we're the good guys. Epic last-ditch fights like this one never fail. Plus," he added with a secretive smile, "I have a secret weapon. My awesome daddy's equally awesome sword; a blade of legend forged especially to destroy darkspawn."

"So where is it?" Duncan asked skeptically.

The king froze in his tracks, eyes falling to the empty scabbard on his belt. "Uh oh." He searched his pockets lamely. "I, uh, must've left it in the royal arms chest."

"Well, it's not doing us any good there, you moron!"

The argument was interrupted by a barrage of sinister, unintelligible whispers. The king glared at his men. "For the last time, I order you to stop whispering about me behind my back! Just because a guy forgets to bring a sword into battle, that shouldn't affect his reputation as a warrior."

"No, sire, it's just the darkspawn," Duncan corrected mildly.

Right on cue, a gargantuan horde of giant horned ogres, fearsome fanged hurlocks, mysterious shadow-swathed shrieks, and adorably chubby little genlocks came pouring out of the Wilds.

King Cailan composed himself. "All right, then. Seeing as how the war hounds lack any type of armor or defensive techniques, let's use them as our first line of defense." He waved the legion of mabari forward. "Eat Lassie, punks!"

To nobody's surprise, five seconds later, the battlefield was littered with dead puppies. "Ouch." King Cailan winced. "That's not terribly encouraging. Oh well." Lacking his own sword, the king swiped an underling's blade and hoisted it epically into the air. "FOR ENGLAND! Uh, I mean FERELDEN!"