As Duncan approached, my brain hit the panic button.

Right.

Time to save Ferelden with my encyclopedic knowledge of the worst betrayal in modern RPG history and absolutely zero plan.

Perfect.

An image of Fen'Harel flickered in my mind's eye.

Well.

Second worst betrayal, at least.

How exactly was I supposed to tell him? "Hi, yes, pleasure to meet you, by the way Loghain's going to abandon you all to die. Kisses."

Before I could assemble even a fraction of that disaster into a sentence, Duncan was already upon us.

"Duncan," Judd greeted him with a wide smile, shaking his hand like they were old friends who didn't have a Darkspawn problem to worry about. "So, you've returned from Highever, then? All is well, I hope?"

I released a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. Okay. He wasn't here for me. Small mercies.

Duncan shook Judd's hand firmly, though his expression was sombre. "I'm afraid not, Ser Judd. Arl Howe has revealed himself a traitor. His men attacked the castle the night I arrived."

Judd went pale. "Maker save us. And... the Teyrn?"

"Slain. Both the Teyrn and the Teyrna."

His voice was soft, but steady. Duncan didn't flinch from the weight of the words. There was sorrow there, but not surprise.

He laid a hand on Judd's shoulder, a silent offer of shared grief.

"I'm sorry. I know you were close."

Judd nodded stiffly, blinking hard. "He was a good man. Loyal to the end."

I looked away, suddenly very aware of the lump forming in my throat. I'd known this was coming—I'd known. But knowing a thing and watching it ruin someone are two very different beasts. It didn't feel like cutscene exposition anymore. It just felt like grief. Real and raw and too close to home.

"Survivors?" I asked, quietly, torn between blending into the scenery and satisfying my own need to know the world state I was working with.

"The Teyrn's sons still live. His eldest is scouting in the Wilds as we speak. The youngest is my newest recruit."

"And a fine young man, he is," Judd said, voice thick. "That bastard Howe... may the Void chew on his bones."

"Arl Howe will answer for his crimes," Duncan said. "But for now, the Blight must take precedence. The Horde approaches."

"Of course," Judd nodded, blinking hard. "We just had a run-in with a few Darkspawn stragglers ourselves."

He glanced sideways at me. "Probably wouldn't be here to talk about it if it wasn't for her."

My stomach dipped as Duncan turned his attention to me, studying me properly for the first time.

"Is that so?" he asked, his tone curious but mild. His eyes were sharp, though—measuring.

"I wouldn't go that far," I said quickly, lifting my hands in surrender. "Right place, right time. That's all."

"Don't be modest," Judd insisted. "She fought with steel in both hands. Took down a Hurlock that had me pinned. She moves like someone trained."

Duncan's brow furrowed slightly. "Do you have military experience, Miss...?"

"Duval. Lauren Duval."

Bond. James Bond.

"Miss Duval," Duncan repeated, as if filing it away for later. "Well met."

His gaze lingered, just long enough to make me feel like he saw more than I wanted him to.

"If you're not with the King's army, what brings you to Ostagar?"

I hesitated. Truth? Lie? Partial truth with extra garnish?

"I was told the Wardens were here. I need to speak with one. With you, actually." I paused, heart racing. "Not now, obviously—you have recruits to prepare and I—" I have a cover story to think up. "—I should really slip into something less comfortable, more setting-appropriate. But when you have a moment, I—well. I have something to tell you. Something important."

He gave a slight incline of his head, his face inscrutable. "I will make time, Miss Duval."

Judd grinned, oblivious to the tension that had formed in the air between me and the Warden Commander.

"If you're looking for new recruits, Duncan, you might consider her. Maker's breath, the way she dropped that Hurlock, you'd think she was Garahel come again...though maybe not in that outfit."

"Judd's being dramatic," I said, dismissively. "My actual weapon of choice is sarcasm. The swords were more of a… situational accessory."

Duncan's mouth twitched, just barely.

"There's a Warden in my company who'd agree with you. Though he'd argue sarcasm takes more skill than swordplay."

I blinked.

Oh. That was definitely about Alistair.

In all the chaos, I hadn't let myself think much beyond the immediate panic and the avalanche of responsibility falling squarely on my shoulders—but… Alistair.

I wondered if I'd get a chance to meet him.

My Cousland's best friend. My emotional support himbo. The guy who cracked bad jokes under pressure and still found time to be loyal to a fault.

And now he was here. Real. Somewhere in this very camp, probably trying to carry too many swords at once or getting bullied by a smart-mouthed apostate.

A stupid grin threatened to betray me.

Keep it together, Duval.

This wasn't the time to fangirl over Ferelden's resident jester with a shield and the mother of all daddy issues. There was a real man in front of me, watching me like I might say something important—or stupid.

Duncan regarded me for a moment longer.

"That is to say—You might be better suited to our ranks than you think."

I laughed too hard. It was the laugh of a woman trying desperately not to be recruited into a death cult on a technicality.

"Oh, I don't think I'm quite Grey Warden material," I said, forcing a smile. "And besides, I'm not sure I'd pass the... background check."

Duncan smiled faintly.

"We rarely have the luxury of ideal candidates. Sometimes, the Wardens find those we least expect."

"Right," I said, clapping my hands once. "Well, see I have this whole plan where I'm not going to die in a swamp today and—no offense—but adopting the lifestyle of a Grey Warden isn't exactly aligned with my current interests."

He chuckled, but his gaze didn't waver.

"Still, the offer stands."

He turned to go, nodding politely to each man.

"Three new recruits to prepare, and very little time. Good hunting, Ser Judd. We will speak again soon."

Then he turned to me.

"Miss Duval."

He extended his hand again. I reached for it instinctively—

—and flinched when he caught my wrist, gently, but firmly.

"Your hand. You're bleeding."

I blinked. "Oh. Huh. Must've happened during the fight. I'll be fine."

But Judd was staring at my hand now, too. His face had gone slack.

I followed his gaze.

Red blood, smeared with something darker.

Oily. Black. Glinting faintly.

No. No, no, no—

"The taint," Duncan said quietly. "You have been infected."

My stomach twisted.

"No." I choked, softly. "No, I feel fine. I'm...I'm fine."

"You won't feel its effects yet," he continued, voice low and even, like he'd said these words too many times before. "But it is already inside you. Without intervention, it will kill you."

I closed my eyes for a second, forcing the panic back. This was happening. It was happening now. It was happening too fast.

Something hollow and cold sank into my chest.

"The only known cure," he continued, voice careful, measured—

"—is to become a Grey Warden," I finished, numbly.

The noise inside my head was deafening—thoughts crashing into each other like drunk drivers at a four-way stop. The Joining. The nightmares. The early death. The fifty-fifty shot of not even surviving the initiation. The cheerful fine print of the Warden welcome package.

Of course.

I exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "Flemeth always gets her way in the end, doesn't she? Probably cackling into her soup cauldron right now."

Duncan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Of course he didn't. He was just standing there. Waiting. Like he'd already seen how this ended.

I looked down at my hand. At the black smear where fate had apparently signed its name.

I could scream. I could cry. I could run.

But I was tired of pretending I had choices.

I looked up at him. My voice came out flat, exhausted, barely above a breath.

"If the offer still stands... I'd very much like not to die, thanks."

He inclined his head. "Then welcome, Lauren Duval. We shall begin preparations at once."

And just like that, my path was set.

But I wasn't done yet.

Because I had a story to tell.

And Duncan needed to hear it—before it was too late.