Chapter 6 - Living Legends

The ship rocked dolefully in the grim dawn. From her seat at the foot of the mast, Arual could see the smoldering remains of Highever.

After Bran and Duncan had dragged her through the rat tunnels, the three of them, filthy with dirt and blood, had hidden in the forest that surrounded the castle grounds. For hours, Arual clutched the sword her father had given her and waited for a battle that did not come.

In the low light of predawn, Duncan had led them away from the castle and to the sea. There, he'd bartered a ride from an old fisherman. If he recognized Arual, he didn't show it, nor did she blame him. Disheveled was too kind a word for the state she found herself in. Perhaps that was why he'd agreed to ferry them to the next small fishing town along the Waking Sea. Then again, perhaps it was the measly coin Duncan offered, or that the old man held some reverence for the disgraced order Duncan represented.

In either case, he'd agreed to help them, and had the decency (or brains) not to ask about the blood on their clothes, Duncan's armor, or Arual's sword.

Duncan took it upon himself to arrange their travel, leaving Arual to count the dead.

Mother, Father, Oriana, Oren, Roderick, Old Nan... she thought, each name a weight in her chest. Black circles had formed around her eyes—trophies from the broken nose she'd earned last night. Her eyes stung, not from the bruising, but the silent tears that made their way down the muck on her face. She felt small, drawn, and cold in a way she had never known existed.

It was not a cold borne of a morning chill, though there was that. It was a cold borne of emptiness. Something precious had been ripped out of her, leaving in its place a great cavity where the cold had snuck in and taken root. She shuddered.

Bran, who lay curled around Arual's bare feet, lifted his head as Duncan approached.

"My Lady."

"I'm not a Lady anymore, Duncan," she said hoarsely, voice raw from crying. She never took her gaze from the ruins of castle Highever. She did not dare so much as blink.

"Arual," he corrected gently. There was the sound of rustling fabric. Out of the corner of her eye, Arual saw Duncan produce an old cloak. Silently, he stooped and placed it around her shoulders. It was threadbare and smelled of fish and sweat—probably bartered off the old man, like their passage on the little boat. It did little to keep the chill away, but Arual found herself clutching it around her all the same.

"We have a few hours before we make it to the next port," Duncan said. "You would do well to get some rest."

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

It was warm and heavy, just like her father's had been. Just like her brother's. Just like Roderick's.

Arual flinched away from Duncan and the memories conjured by his simple touch.

"Don't!" she cried, sharper and louder than she meant. Duncan snatched his hand away, but his expression never changed. He watched her cautiously, curiously. Arual took several steadying breaths, fighting down a wave of emotion.

"Don't..." she repeated, softly this time.

Duncan said nothing. He nodded knowingly, and left her to her grief.

The fisherman delivered them, as promised, in West Hill. There, Duncan hid Arual and Bran away in a copse of trees and went into town with the fisherman's cloak around his shoulders to hide his blood-stained armor. Arual clung to Bran. Body heat resonated through the Mabari's short fur. Though the morning was cold, Arual found the heat cloying, but held on all the same. Bran, as ever, was a comfort to her—one she desperately needed in that moment.

I could run, she realized quietly as she waited for the Grey Warden to return. There was no need for her to wait here like a stray child for Duncan, or for her to become a Grey Warden. That was a decision someone had made for her—a bargain struck between men. No one had asked her if she wanted to become a Warden.

No one had asked her what she wanted.

Where would I go? she wondered haltingly. What would I do?

She had no money, no means, very little clothes, and no plan other than to free herself from a promise made without her consent. Whether Arual liked it or not, she was trapped. All she could do was learn to navigate this new cage and wait for the right moment to pick the lock.

I must get to Fergus and the king, she reasoned. Together, they would have the political power and justification to seek retribution against Howe and all his traitorous soldiers.

Only they can help me avenge everyone.

Within an hour, Duncan returned with a sack of supplies—soap, clothes, an empty waterskin, a loaf of hard bread, cheese, and cured meats. Maker only knew how he paid for it all (assuming he'd paid at all).

"There is a stream of clean water nearby," he said, the implications obvious. Arual was all too glad for the opportunity to wash away the evidence of the night before. Bran stood guard over her and the sword as Arual scrubbed every inch of her skin and hair until her flesh was raw and the water around her was darkened by ash and blood. The water was near freezing, but Arual hardly seemed to notice.

The clothes Duncan had procured for her were simple, but of sturdy quality—a long shirt, tunic, roughspun trousers, hose, shoes, belt, and jerkin. Layers against the cold in the south. The clothes, it seemed, were secondhand. Judging by the sweat stains and the smell of fish, she guessed Duncan had bought it off a fisherman's son. The clothes fit her well enough. The boy must have been young for a woman to fit his clothes so easily. Distantly, she prayed he'd be able to buy more with the coin Duncan hopefully gave him.

Thinking of the boy whose clothes she now wore drew her mind back to Highever and it's people. Highever had been home to more than Arual's family. Nearly twenty thousand souls lived on the cliffs of Highever, under the watchful eye of the Couslands. Now those souls were without protection. Would the mayor and city guard be enough to protect the people of Highever until Fergus returned?

Maker, what they must be thinking... she mused. Doubtless, fear and rumors were running rampant through the streets. What would they be saying?

Arual wanted nothing more than to run back home and let her subjects know that she was all right, that the Couslands had not abandoned them, but what then? If Howe's men returned to sack Highever, she'd be placing anyone who came between her and her would be killers in danger. Would she risk the lives of more of her subjects?

She shook her head as though to dislodge the thought. After all that had happened, she couldn't place anyone else she cared about in danger. All she could do was hope that, should Howe's men attack, they would spare her people.

Someday, I'll return, she promised silently. I'll make it right. I swear it.

Once Arual, Duncan, and Bran had had a chance to wash the blood and dirt away, they broke their fast on the meager food Duncan had provided.

If possible, the so-called meal only served to make Arual hungrier.

All too soon, Duncan declared they were done and helped Arual pack up what supplies they had. The last thing they wanted to do was leave evidence. If Howe's men were looking for Arual, they didn't want to give them any idea they'd ever been here.

"You must hide your face until we get to Ostagar," Duncan said, passing her back the cloak. Arual nodded. With quick, practiced hands, she knotted her long wet hair into a single braid and fastened it into a crown. With the hood of the cape drawn low over her face, her long hair disappeared altogether.

The sword was another matter.

Cutting the remnants of her nightdress into strips, Arual and Duncan created a harness of sorts that strapped the sword to Arual's back. It was crude, but with the cloak adjusted just right the sword was easily hidden.

I'm just another conscript, Arual thought. A poor kid who showed some promise with a blade, or maybe stole one too many fish and now I'm being sent off to join the Grey Wardens and die in the south.

The tale was an easy one to weave, one that was almost believable.

"We'll make for the Imperial Highway," Duncan said, checking his equipment.

Arual raised a brow. "Not exactly laying low."

"It is the fastest way to reach Ostagar. We don't have time to catch our dinner every night, and swords alone make poor hunting tools. With our supplies low as they are, we'll need to barter for tents or find an inn when we need to rest. The Imperial Highway will have what we need along the way. If we're lucky, we may even be able to find some horses, or a caravan heading south."

Arual nodded. Despite Duncan's prompting, she hadn't slept that night, and was too tired to argue.

So long as we make it to the south, I'll take whatever path I have to.

The Imperial Highway had been built by the Tevinter Imperium during the Ancient Age. Constructed from stone quarried by slaves in Kirkwall, the elevated road connected many of the great lands of Thedas. It circled Lake Calenhad and the Bannorn with one branch ending in Denerim and the other at Ostagar, its southmost point. Despite the splendor of some sections, the intended project was never finished, and many sections had fallen into disrepair over the centuries. Nevertheless, it remained useful to many travelers and merchants looking for a safe and quick road.

Here, Arual was just another faceless, sexless traveler. Duncan had hidden her in plain sight. Even if Howe's men were still searching for her, their chances of finding her amongst the throng was nil.

The three of them made good time along the paved causeway. They walked until midday when they took a rest and ate what was left of their rations.

Pain began to creep into Arual's bones. It had been easy enough to ignore when she'd been moving, but at rest every ache and pain made themselves known in different ways. Her muscles ached. Her neck, back, and shoulders were stiff with tension. She rubbed her temples to try to quiet the pounding of her skull, but to no avail. Her joints cried out for relief from the walking, and she was sure her feet were blistering from the soft secondhand shoes. Worst of all was the fatigue.

She had not slept for a day and a half. Her only food had been meager rations. She was tired from the walking and the pain and the turmoil of her heart.

Perhaps a short rest... she thought as she leaned against the old stone archway. The moss that covered the stone was soft and smelled wonderfully earthy. The gentle breeze cleaned the sweat from her brow.

Despite herself, Arual began to nod off in the lee of one of the arches that dotted the Imperial Highway.

Arual stood amongst the rubble of castle Highever.

It was dark. A dense fog blanketed the ground. Here and there the ruins of the great fortress pierced the haze like jagged, stony fingers. She shivered, and looked up, hugging herself. There were no stars in the night sky.

A groan snaked its way up from near her feet. Arual looked down with a jolt. Hands reached up from the fog—some she recognized, and many more she didn't. They were the hands of her loved ones, of her fallen family, her friends, of men, women, elves, children—all of them reaching towards her, desperate, angry. They grabbed at her clothes, and limbs, pulling her down into the mist. Arual cried out, her voice somehow foreign to her as he tried to pull away and wrench herself free.

Save us, they called in a voice of thousands. Save us!

"I'm sorry!" Arual cried. The ghostly hands of the fallen clawed at her, raked her clothes to tatters and cut her flesh in their desperation. Save us, their cries echoed all around her. Save us!

"I can't!" Arual screamed again, "Let me go! I can't save you!"

Save us!

Arual awoke with a start, a scream dying on her lips. The blood rushing in her ears drowned out Duncan's words as he knelt beside her, face pinched with concern. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the echoes of screams.

"I'm all right," she lied, waving him off. She stood quickly—too quickly it seemed as the blood rushed out of her head leaving her dizzy and seeing spots. She braced against the arch she'd fallen asleep under, her back to Duncan. She put a hand out to stop him from coming any closer.

"I'm all right," she lied again, more to herself than to Duncan.

They walked on into the night, neither of them speaking. Arual couldn't say if it was because Duncan was simply a stoic man, or if he was actively giving her the silence she craved, but she appreciated it all the same.

That night, they made a small camp beneath a ruined part of the causeway. The stone cracked where tree branches had grown into the highway creating a tent of leaf and stone. Duncan and Arual had gathered enough kindling, wood, and dry moss to make a small fire for the night, which Duncan lit with a bit of flint from his pocket and the edge of a dagger.

While they'd built up the fire, Bran had busied himself catching rabbits. The warhound had never been trained to hunt, but fortunately for the hungry travelers he took to it quite easily.

Arual watched in mild awe as Duncan quickly skinned, gutted, and skewered the rabbits on a pair of long sticks and set them over the fire to cook. He tossed the offal to the well-deserving Mabari and wiped the blood from his hands on the hem of his tunic.

"You must have spent a long time traveling," Arual said quietly, breaking their hours-long silence, "to be able to do that so quickly."

Duncan glanced at her before tending to the rabbits. A long moment passed, and it seemed to Arual that Duncan was weighing his words before speaking.

"I have," he said at last.

"I've never had to skin my own rabbit," Arual confessed. "Or cook my own food, for that matter. My father trained me as a warrior, but...he never prepared me for the life of a soldier. Or a Warden."

Perhaps if he thinks me unskilled, he won't be so eager to recruit me, Arual thought.

It wasn't a lie, of course. Arual had been taught a great many things in her life as a teyrn's daughter, but hunting and skinning wildlife was not among them.

Duncan was silent for a time as he digested her words.

"I suppose you feel a bit out of your element," he ventured.

"A bit."

"It was the same for me when my parents died," Duncan said softly. For a moment, Arual wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. She opened her mouth to ask, but Duncan continued in a gentle, subdued cadence. "I was just a boy, alone on the streets of Val Royeaux. I had to learn a great many things, and quickly, in order to survive."

"Oh, you're from Orlais, then?" Arual asked before she could help herself.

Duncan shrugged. "After a fashion. The truth is I was born in Highever, though much of my youth was spent traveling."

Arual found herself sitting up a little straighter, leaning forward just a little more, her eyes growing wide with childlike intrigue.

"You were from Highever?" she gasped.

Duncan nodded. He tried to stifle a chuckle, but failed. Embarrassed, Arual sank back into herself a little. Not to be deterred, Duncan carried on as though he were unaware of her discomfort.

"Yes, I'm from Highever. Originally. Though the Grey Wardens protect all of Thedas, not simply one small nation. That was a lesson my Warden-Commander drilled into me during my first few months with the order. She had to be quite strict with me, you know? I was not so eager to join the Wardens myself."

At this Arual's ears perked back up. "You weren't?"

"Oh, no," Duncan said, almost smiling again. His dark eyes swam with old memories as he tended the fire. "The first man I ever killed was a Grey Warden. I had only meant to rob him, but we fought. When my blade took him, he thanked me. I thought, how horrible the fate of a Warden must be for this man to thank me for taking his life."

"Will you tell me about it?" Arual asked timidly. "And about the Grey Wardens?"

Duncan scratched his bearded chin and sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, bit Arual thought she saw a twinkle in his dark eyes.

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything," she breathed.

Arual, Duncan, and Bran spent three days along the Imperial Highway. Despite Duncan's plans to find horses or a caravan of sorts, it seemed they had worn their luck thin in West Hill, and were forced to walk.

In that time, however, Arual asked what had to have been a hundred questions about the Grey Wardens and Duncan's time with them.

Duncan was all too happy to answer them.

Until then, all Arual had known of the order came from history lessons, unkind rumors among the noble class, and bedtime stories her father used to tell her.

Duncan's stories made her think of those times most of all, and filled her heart with a quiet longing, but it could not hamper her curiosity or the childlike wonder she suddenly found herself wrapped in.

When she slept, her dreams were not filled with nightmares of regret, but of griffins and magic and glory.

"I can't believe you knew King Maric!" she gushed. She clasped her hands and looked to the heavens as though she might see an image of the late king there, shining in all his glory. "I've read just about every book in the Cousland library about him. My father fought beside him, you know, when he lead the rebel army against the usurper from Orlais—"

Duncan had nothing but warm smiles and quiet laughter for his charge's newfound enthusiasm. Her fascination with the history of Thedas made for interesting conversation, especially on the rate occasion he revealed something her books had left out. To see her scandalized face one would think she was a maiden in Val Royeaux being told the latest gossip.

It certainly made their time on the road pass quickly.

Too quickly.

On the second night, they stayed in Redcliffe and were the guests of Arl Eamon Guirren. Unlike many other nobles, the arl didn't seem to hold any mistrust of the Grey Wardens, and welcomed Duncan and Arual into his home with gusto.

Arual, for her part, was grateful for the chance to have a hot bath instead of scrubbing hastily in a cold stream.

I suppose this will be my last got bath for a long while, she mused, pondering the tales Duncan had told her of the open road and his battles against the darkspawn. She supposed her life would begin to look very much like those stories from now on...

A thrill ran through her at the idea of a life filled with peril and adventure, but it was quickly silenced by a pang of regret. She was a noble lady. Her duty had always been to her family and her people before herself.

To think she would so readily abandon her thoughts of returning to Highever, or of avenging her parents...

She felt like a child taken on by a fantasy and playing pretend.

I am the daughter of a teyrn, she reminded herself. I must not forget this.

While in Redcliffe, Duncan sent several missives ahead of them to Ostagar by raven, and spent several hours in hushed talks with the arl.

The next morning, they were off with the dawn. Arl Eamon had been kind enough to send them with a pair of horses, their saddle bags full of supplies.

"Your generosity is appreciated, my Lord," Arual said with a bow.

"It is the least I could do for the daughter of Bryce Cousland," the elderly man said. He made to embrace her, but Arual stepped carefully out of his grasp. She offered, instead, a sad smile and her hand which he accepted with a knowing look. Eamon, like Duncan, was no stranger to loss or the nightmares that came with it.

It was late into the afternoon on the third day when, at last, Ostagar appeared on the horizon.

A ruined fortress on the edge of the Korcari Wilds, Ostagar represented the furthest point of encroachment by the ancient Tevinter Imperium into the barbarian lands of the southeast. Once, the fortress had been one of the most important defensive Imperial holdings south of the Waking Sea. Now, it's ruins were the stronghold the king's armies had built against the invading darkspawn and the final foothold of civilization in known Thedas.

Arual found herself spurring her horse forward until it was almost at a trot.

Without realizing it, her eagerness and anxiety at seeing Fergus again seeped into the beast.

Her mind raced, her heart fluttered. At last, they had made it to the fabled Ostagar, a place she only knew from history books and stories. At last, she would meet the king

As they approached the ruins, Arual could see a golden figure moving toward them. The man was ostensibly beautiful—hair as bright and shining as the sun framed an angular face and chiseled jaw. His gilded armor was polished to a mirror like sheen, the breastplate expertly crafted into the likeness of a snarling Mabari hound.

He was accompanied by an entourage of five armored knights, each bearing the arms and colors of the crown. Though he wore no crown, Arual had little doubt this man could be any other than King Cailan Theirin.

He smiled wide with glittering blue eyes as Arual and Duncan dismounted their horses at the gates.

"Ho there, Duncan!" he called gleefully. "I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun."

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" said the king, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Grey Warden as though to emphasize his point. "Glorious!"

Still laughing, he spun back around, moving easily in his armor as though it were a second skin.

"The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"

"Yes," said Duncan. "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty—"

"No need, Duncan," the king said with a wave of his hand. He took a step toward Arual.

"You are Bryce's youngest, are you not?" he asked. "I don't believe we've ever formally met."

"Yes, your Majesty," Arual said with a low bow. "I am Arual Cousland of Highever."

King Cailan nodded, evidently proud he'd recognized her. "Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we are still awaiting your father."

Arual's mouth became a thin line as she straightened. With an effort, she met the king's eye. She needed him to understand the gravity of her words, and all they meant.

"He's not coming, your Majesty," she said somberly. "He...died when our castle was taken."

"Dead?" echoed the king with incredulity. "Taken? What do you mean, my lady?"

"It is as I said, your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor. He and his men stormed and overthrew castle Highever in the night. If it had not been for Duncan, I would not have escaped either, and he would have told you any lie he wished."

"I...can scarcely believe it!" cried the king, looking truly crestfallen. "How could he think he would get away with such treachery?"

As though they were old friends, the king snatched up Arual's hands and closed his gauntleted fists around hers. He met her eye very seriously, and for a moment Arual forgot to breathe.

"As soon as our business here is at an end, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word, my lady."

Arual blinked, astonished. She had heard stories of the young and overeager king of Ferelden, but she had thought them to be the exaggerations of frumpy old nobles. King Cailan, however, seemed to live up to his reputation and more. Here he was—a man hardly older than Arual, chomping at the bit to fight darkspawn in his gilded armor alongside the fabled Grey Wardens, and making earnest promises of justice and retribution without a moment's hesitation.

"Thank you...thank you, your Majesty," she stammered.

He nodded sternly, then released her hands. Arual took a step back, inviting breathing room between them. If the king took notice of her discomfort, he didn't show it.

"No doubt you wish to see your brother," he said knowingly. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"I must go to him, your Majesty," Arual insisted. "He may be in danger."

"We are all in danger, my lady. Nothing can be done until your brother and his team returns. I do apologize, but my hands are tied. As are yours All I can suggest is you vent your anger against the darkspawn."

Arual worried at her lower lip. If Howe had planned to overtake Highever as he had, who was to say that he had not also planted an assassin amongst the men Fergus commanded, or within Ostagar knowing he'd be here?

If he had, the rouge might have made a move by now, she thought. She tried to tell herself that she was overthinking things, that she'd had too little sleep and was weary from the road. It was as the king said: her hands were tied. Even if she could make her way into the wilds, finding Fergus would be nearly impossible. The sword hidden on her back felt heavy.

I will have to be content for now, she huffed.

"Thank you, your Majesty," she said with another low bow.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent," the king said, looking between her and Duncan. "No doubt Loghain waits to bore me with his strategies..."

"Loghain?" Arual echoed. "As in Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir? As in the Hero of River Dane? As in—"

"As in my father-in-law and self-appointed babysitter, yes?" the king groaned with a roll of his eyes.

Arual gasped, her hands shooting up to cover her open mouth. Teyrn Loghain was a man almost as notorious as the late King Maric. If even half the stories she'd heard of him were true, then he was practically a living legend!

"Could...could I meet him?" she ventured breathlessly.

"There will be time for that later," Duncan said, exasperated. He seemed utterly disenchanted by the idea of being surrounded by literal heroes. Arual was gobsmacked.

Duncan ignored her and turned his attention back to the king. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," he said.

A smile cracked the king's handsome face. "Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

Arual tilted her head. "I didn't realize things were going so well."

The king heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Arual pressed.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do..."

With a swagger that betrayed his youthfulness, King Cailan turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder to them. "Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

Arual watched him go with mixed feelings. He seemed so confident, so radiant in his armor and easy smiles. It was easy to see why so many soldiers had flocked to his call for arms against the darkspawn. He was like a hero in a tale, inspiring confidence with his talk of glory and victory. Yet something in Arual felt skeptical.

"What the king said is true," Duncan said as though reading her thoughts. She spared him a sideling glance. "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"Yet you don't wound very reassured."

Duncan took the reins of his horse in hand and clicked his tongue to urge the steed forward. Arual followed suit. She noted how Duncan glanced around at the troops gathered to be certain no one was watching or listening. He dropped his voice low, speaking under the indistinct chatter all around the camp.

"I know there is an archdemon behind this," he confided. "But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings."

"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly."

"Yet not enough to await reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais," Duncan veritably growled. "He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

Arual stopped in her tracks, her horse and Bran stopping beside her. In his haste, Duncan didn't notice until he'd taken several strides forward. He, too, stopped and turned to regard his new recruit over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Arual asked. "What ritual?"

Duncan faced her completely, nodding as though he knew this question would come up eventually. "Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden," he explained. "The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon."

Arual sighed, annoyed. "No time for a meal or a bath, then..."

"Sadly, no."

He stepped forward and took the reins to Arual's horse. She raised a curious brow.

"I'll see to the horses," he said. "In the meantime, go to the hospital tent and seek healing for your broken nose and other injuries."

Arual shrugged. "They're not so bad."

"Trust me, you'll need your full strength for what lies ahead."

He said it casually, yet there was a decisiveness in his voice that brokered no argument. Arual felt a cool dread stir in her guts. Just what was this Joining ritual?

"When you're ready," Duncan continued, "the Grey Warden tent is on the other side of the bridge. There, you will find a Warden named Alistair. He will help you prepare for the ritual."

"Very well," Arual huffed.

Duncan nodded and gave a small, tired smile. "Welcome to Ostagar, my lady."