A dragon flew overhead. The archdemon. It roared and sailed to the ground. The beast sensed him then and he felt it reaching into his mind with a song. It called to him, invaded him. The dragon came at him, the ground quaking beneath it. The song grew louder, and louder still. He fell to his knees and screamed, cradling his head in his hands until he forced himself to stand once more. The dragon towered over him, corruption dripping from its mouth. He yelled out in frustration and his fingers closed around the hilt of a dagger, and he ran.
"I think he's coming around, Duncan."
The voice broke through the roaring in his head, muffled and distorted. Daveth stirred, and felt the cool touch of stone beneath him. The gentle kiss of a breeze upon his cheeks coaxed him to open his eyes.
"Oh, Maker," Daveth groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. His head throbbed mercilessly as his eyes focused. Duncan and Alistair stood above him.
"Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Daveth," Duncan said, holding out a hand to him. Daveth took it and struggled to his feet. "How do you feel?"
"My head is killing me," Daveth began, feeling a pang in his stomach. "And I'm starving. What about the others?"
"They live." Duncan nodded toward the ground behind him, where Natia and Jory were laying. "Alistair, take Daveth to the tent and get him some stew. I'll stay here and watch over the others."
He followed Alistair to the campfire, his head throbbing and stomach growling. Something felt different inside of him, he could feel it. He sat by the fire and Alistair handed him a bowl of stew, grey and unappealing, though no food had ever looked finer. He devoured it and begged for seconds.
Alistair chuckled and played at wiping a tear from his eye. "I remember my Joining. I ate so much I thought I was going to burst. Between you and me, I can't believe Ser Jory made it. I thought Duncan was going to have to run him through."
Daveth chewed and swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"When you passed out, he panicked and started going on about his wife and how he couldn't leave her alone. Duncan calmed him down and he finally took the chalice and drank, poor bastard. But Natia, she drank it without as much as a tremble. She's something else."
"She is," Daveth agreed as he reached for his flagon. He drank deeply and sighed. "So what happens now?"
"We wait for the others and then... well, Duncan will fill you in."
It wasn't long before the knight came lumbering toward the fire, his wide eyes moving wildly as he walked. He sat heavily beside Daveth and stared wide-eyed into the flames. Alistair stood and said he would be heading back to Duncan.
Daveth watched the templar leave and turned to Jory. "Bloody hell, eh, Ser Knight? My head is still throbbing." When the knight shrugged, Daveth pressed on. "Did you have any dreams? I swear I was face to face with the archdemon, I was. And I heard this song… this awful song."
Jory slumped forward and groaned. "This was a mistake. I never wanted this. If I had known, I never…"
"It's too late now, isn't it?" Daveth smiled ruefully as he shook his head. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the knight. All he wanted was a taste of glory, after all, but glory was a thing of boyhood dreams. "Come on, Ser Knight, eat something. Battle is coming."
The armies had left their camps and Ostagar was quiet. Fires burned around the ruin, casting shadows against the old stone. Duncan stood solemnly before them, looking each of them over silently. Daveth met the Warden's gaze and nodded. Inside he was quaking, but he could fake confidence when he had to. At last, Duncan spoke.
"You heard the plan, Natia," he began, turning to the dwarf. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon so Teyrn Loghain knows when to charge." She nodded.
Alistair cried out, and Daveth saw the color rise to the templar's cheeks. "What? I won't be in the battle?"
"King Cailan requested you do this specifically," Duncan said. "There will be other battles. Now, Daveth and Jory, you will be waiting with the teyrn's forces."
Jory whimpered. Natia shifted uncomfortably and awkwardly patted the knight on his arm. She caught Daveth's gaze and shook her head.
Daveth smirked and cleared his throat. "Where will you be, Duncan?"
"I will be with the king on the battlefield, with the rest of the Grey Wardens. Now, I want no heroics from any of you. Keep your posts and if you are needed, we will send word. You are Grey Wardens, and I expect you to be worthy of that title."
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I get it. But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold? That's where I draw the line."
Natia laughed. "I think I'd like to see that."
"For you, maybe," Alistair arched an eyebrow. "But it has to be a pretty dress." Daveth felt a pang of jealously at the exchange, and frowned.
Duncan sighed, and rubbed his brow. "It is time. Alistair, Natia… head to the Tower. Daveth, Jory, you'll find Teyrn Loghain's army through those gates."
"Duncan… may the Maker watch over you," Alistair hesitated. Daveth saw the sadness in his eyes.
"Maker watch over us all," Duncan said. The Warden looked them over one last time, and then he was gone.
Daveth heard the sounds of battle as he looked toward the tower. The beacon should have been lit by now, he thought. He flexed his fingers nervously and furrowed his brow.
"Something isn't right here, Ser Knight," he said in a hushed voice. "The others should have lit the beacon by now."
"Nothing about this is right!" Jory sputtered, his eyes darting wildly. "We're all doomed. Blight take us all!" He whimpered and dropped his gaze. "My wife… I'm sorry… I just… I don't… She's in Highever all alone." He began to sob.
Daveth groaned and grabbed the knight's shoulder. "Dammit, Jory, get a hold of yourself. What would your pretty little wife think if she saw your blubbering?" He pushed the knight aside, disgusted. "Redcliffe must have been low on soldiers when they accepted you into their ranks."
"The beacon!" a soldier cried out. Daveth turned and saw the flames burning in the distance.
"Get ready, Ser Knight." Daveth steeled himself and waited for the soldiers to march. He heard the blow of a horn and the army began to move – in the wrong direction. He ran alongside a soldier. "What are you doing?" The soldier did not respond.
Daveth fell back and stared stupidly at the army. "What are you doing?" He yelled again. "They're going the wrong way! Jory, we need to get to the tower." He turned and moved to grab the knight's arm, but he wasn't there.
"Jory!" he yelled, looking left and right. He saw him, then, moving with the army. Jory glanced over his shoulder at Daveth, his wide face drenched with tears, and in an instant he was gone.
Daveth clenched his jaw and turned back to the tower. He wasn't going to run away. Not now. Not ever.
He saw the darkspawn before he sensed them. He positioned himself behind a crumbling pillar and watched. There were hundreds of them swarming toward the tower. He'd never make it past them. Unless they had a small army with them at the top of the tower, Natia and Alistair were done for.
"Dammit," he muttered. He closed his eyes and tried to think. If he cut through the Wilds now… maybe he could find his way to the battlefield and do something. Daveth opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He ran.
He heard a growl behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a hurlock charging toward him. He rolled to his left and unsheathed his longbow. He loosed an arrow and caught the hurlock in the throat. It staggered forward and fell to its knees, and finally came to rest. He caught his breath and ran for the gates again, praying that more weren't close behind.
There weren't. Daveth made it to the Wilds and cut through a thatch of trees. Staying clear of the main trail was safer. He heard something behind him and he froze. Again, the crunch of leaves, and a low growl. Wolves. He had come across wolves when Duncan sent the four of them into the Wilds, but now he was alone. He reached clumsily for his daggers and backed away. The wolves stalked toward him, fangs bared and dripping.
Suddenly, a great burst of flame roared past his head. The wolves yelped and backed away. Another burst of flame sent them running. Daveth spun around. It was the witch, Morrigan.
"Y-you!" he stammered as he stumbled backwards. "What are you doing?"
"I'm saving your life. Or did you think I meant to hit you with the flames?" she rolled her eyes. "Come. We don't have much time."
He hesitated, still clutching his daggers.
"'Tis not an option, you fool. We must go, now!"
"I have to get to the king's army! I have to warn them!"
"Your king is dead," Morrigan spat, though he thought he saw a flash of sympathy behind her yellow eyes. "Everyone is dead."
Daveth opened his mouth but words escaped him. He couldn't be the last Grey Warden left, could he? He stumbled after her helplessly, and for the first time since his mother died, he prayed.
"Your friends live," Morrigan's mother said. The lines of her face danced and crinkled as she spoke. "I'm afraid the king and the rest of the Grey Wardens were not so lucky."
Daveth closed his eyes. "So, we've lost, then? The Blight will destroy us all."
She clicked her tongue. "Now, now, dear boy, you have more at your disposal than you think."
Daveth cocked his head. He wanted to ask what she meant, but he was sure he wouldn't get an answer. "How did you save them?"
The old witch cackled. "I transformed into a great bird and plucked them from the tower with my talons. One of my more useful tricks. Now, I must tend to your friends' wounds." She disappeared back into the hut.
Daveth stared out into the Wilds and sighed. Jory was gone, the coward, but Natia and Alistair would survive, and that was something to be thankful for. He leaned against a rock and closed his eyes. And as he gave himself up to the Fade, he heard the mournful howl of wolves in the distance.