Chapter Text
“And so is the Golden City blackened with each step you take in my Hall. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world.”
Just outside a Grey Warden encampment near South Reach, 9:30 Dragon
Blight has come to Ferelden.
Duncan knew this in his bones. He’d felt the truth long before he laid eyes on the writhing hoards marching North from the Wilds. He knew it in every breath he’d drawn since the whispers started in his dreams. It was almost polite for the Darkspawn to announce themselves so quietly.
We are coming. Prepare or die.
And prepare he did. Or rather, he tried. Valiantly. He was thankful that the late King Maric’s son respected the Wardens so deeply, or else he feared the rest of the Ferelden nobility would have already run him out of their strongholds. Four-hundred years had reduced the word ‘Blight’, and even the Wardens themselves, to mere inconveniences. There was no one left to remember the evil that was rising beneath their feet. Still, King Cailan had amassed a respectable force, and it was steadily growing. Yet, in the pit of Duncan’s stomach, the dread remained.
He reflected on his youth often these days. Whether he survived this Blight or not, he knew his life would come to an end sooner rather than later. The Calling would take him if the encroaching hoard did not. He was left with a sickening, futile suspicion that nothing he did would be enough. He had rebuilt his life from the ground up- from petty thief to Warden Commander. He’d given up his family name and dedicated himself entirely to the Wardens. He asked for no thanks, and didn’t deign to expect it. Still, he had a horrible feeling that he would be a footnote in the ruined annals of a long forgotten history after the lands of Thedas were razed to the ground.
What warriors he had were able, but few. If Teryn Loghain Mac Tir’s pride would abate, he could have more bodies from the neighboring country of Orlais, though he wasn’t confident King Cailan had the backbone to push past the reservations of his advisors. In that sense, Duncan desperately longed for Maric to rise from the dead and advocate for strength through unity, as had been his way. Of course, Duncan knew that was folly. Without Maric, and without many of the comrades he fought alongside for years- taken either by conflict or their tainted blood long before the end of their natural lifespan- Duncan felt unprepared. Vulnerable. The young men and women newly dedicated to the Wardens were nothing to sneer at, but they were, on the whole, unseasoned. Many had still never even seen Darkspawn or met their blades in battle. They didn’t understand. They hadn’t ever had to look true malice in the eye and go on fighting anyway.
Satisfied with the perimeter of his solo reconnaissance, Duncan let out the stagnant breath he realized he’d been holding and began the walk back to the Wardens' makeshift camp. They were on their way to meet the King in the ruins of Ostagar where they would confront the Darkspawn in a large-scale strike. Duncan knew they were nearing the source of the hoards as he'd been ambushed by two darkspawn scouts near the overlook where he idled. Or rather, they had attempted to ambush him. The shambling things clumsily announced themselves, and he’d dispatched them both easily enough. Individually the 'spawn were certainly unsettling to look at, and capable enough, but without direction they could be felled just as easily as anyone else. Perhaps easier. Duncan's thoughts wandered back to his memories of the larger hoard. They moved and swelled in tandem almost as if they were a gargantuan, breathing whole. A united collective. Defeating them would not be simple, especially if their leader revealed itself. He didn’t want to spare that idea any more consideration.
One thing at a time.
Back at the camp, his men were making preparations to leave, as ordered. Morale was high, likely because they made ready to stand behind the King in battle. It was something to write home about. If any of these people understood just what was about to occur, Duncan assumed the mood would be far more dire. It was almost laughable, but he didn’t spare the energy. Instead, he made a silent decision and grabbed one of the newly initiated Wardens gently by the arm as he passed. He was presumably on his way to deliver supplies to one of the wagons being readied to depart.
“Alistair.”
The young man stopped at once. He placed the supplies respectfully at his feet and gave Duncan his full and eager attention, golden brown eyes gleaming. He was capable, respectful, more than little awkward, and always eager to please. Duncan hoped to break him a little of that pliability. A man should have his own principles, or at least enough to protect his peace. Alistair had likely never truly known peace, having been juggled between nobility and the Chantry for the brunt of his childhood, effectively fatherless as he was. Duncan was also acutely aware of the fatherly role he was beginning to fill, and had the fleeting thought that some distance might be prudent. However, he found repeatedly that he could barely help himself.
“What is it, Commander?”
Duncan placed a reassuring hand on Alistair’s bicep, hoping that the informality of the gesture would signal to the boy to relax. He did, a little.
“I want to make one more stop in Highever for recruiting before I join you all in Ostagar. I’ll be back within the next month. There are some northern Lords who have not yet provided warriors to join our ranks. They may need a little persuading face-to-face.”
Alistair’s face was an open book for his warring emotions. He’d effectively been Duncan’s shadow since his recruitment, and was likely about to protest. Duncan responded preemptively.
“I have no need for backup, it’ll be dull, frankly. Politicking. What I do need is for you to put the newest recruits through the paces before your arrival at Ostagar. You’ve seen Darkspawn before. Try to prepare them. Get some of the other officers to help if you want, when they’re not busy. I’ll tell them to keep an eye on you.”
“Um, y-yes sir.”
Duncan almost left the conversation there, lest he say something especially paternal, but Alistair spoke up again.
“If I may, Duncan, why backtrack so far? We’ve only just now made it to South Reach, and you’re going back the way we came. Surely the Northern armies are enough combined with the Wardens we have? I know morale will be better with you here.”
A fair question, all things considered. It was Duncan’s own anxieties that led him to this decision, he knew this. Still.
“A single warrior can turn the tide of battle. It serves us to welcome any new members that we can to an Order such as ours, while we still have time.”
Alistair just looked at him. For a moment it almost felt like he could read every thought behind Duncan’s eyes.
“All this- it won't be enough... will it?”
Damn the boy and his disarming innocence. It made Duncan forget that he was also perceptive.
He was so much like his father.