Dragon Age

Ballad of Ostagar

Prologue

Synopsis: Their world crumbling in around them. Thrown into a fight they barely understand and they doubt they could win. The only thing they can do is put one foot in front of the other, and trust that in both themselves and each other they can endure. All Origins. Ferelden's win Ostagar.

The horde burst forth from the tree line, a tide of black monsters streaming from the cover of the dark trees in their thousands. A colossal war host whose sole purpose was simply to destroy, to kill everything in their path. The screams and screeches of the monsters could be heard no matter where on the field you were, whether you were within the ranks of the King's army or still within the fortress.

August Cousland watched the tide of death encroach towards them, unable to peel his eyes away from the sight. Until recently he had never even seen Darkspawn let alone fought against them. Until barely a week ago he had considered them old scare stories parents told their children to make them behave. Eat your vegetables, go to bed early, listen to your elders or the Darkspawn will come and get you. His first and so far only encounter was out in the Wilds earlier in the day and even then that was just a small band of monsters and not the vast army coming towards them.

If he felt such fear watching this horde approaching from a distance then what must the King's own troops feel standing against them? Down below stood the King's army, which the King himself was leading, alongside several Arls and Banns and Duncan and his Grey Wardens. The thought brought a further burden onto his shoulders. If he failed to light the beacon, to summon the other half of the army under Teyrn Loghain, then it would be a miracle for the King's own force to win the day and not all be slaughtered where they stood.

The arrows were loosed first, a cloud of black metal and timber flying high into the air, pivoting as one and falling upon the monsters as one. The first wave of monsters fell, arrows piercing through legs and arms, through eye sockets and chests. Those who fell were trampled underfoot by those behind them.

Still the horde came.

The Mabari were unleashed next, nearly a hundred of the magnificent warhounds released by their handlers and covering the distance between them and the horde in moments. They barrelled into them, knocking Hurlocks and Genlocks aside, powerful jaws piercing flesh and breaking bone.

The horde stumbled, their momentum gone.

There was a roar from below, and the war cry roused many others to shout and roar and scream their defiance against the enemy. Then finally the army charged, with a golden armoured King at the head, leading thousands of armed and armoured men and women into battle. The image roused August from his stupefied thoughts and returned to him his resolve.

They needed to light the beacon.

"Watch out!"

Someone barrelled into him, sending the two of them flying to the ground in an entanglement of limbs. August looked up to see that it was Alistair, his fellow and senior Grey Warden who had tackled him to the ground. He was about to curse at him, demand what he was doing, but the words never came as a flaming fireball smashed into the portion of the bridge he had stood a moment before, the two archers loosing arrows crushed underneath the heavy and burning rock.

It wasn't the only one, flaming fireballs flew from the tree line, aiming at the fortress itself. August quickly scrambled to his feet and followed Alistair along the bridge, casting quick glances as the debris both flew overhead and connected with the bridge, archers who were positioned there to support the troops on the ground were either being crushed or thrown aside like ragdolls.

It seemed like an eternity before they crossed the bridge and made it to the moderate safety of the other side, the tower of Ishal now just a few meters away from them. August bent over, catching his breath before looking over to Alistair. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Alistair replied, nodding his head. Another crash signalled that yet another fireball had struck the bridge, sending a few more men flying. "How the hell are they doing that."

"Siege engines I think, maybe catapults or trebuchets," August answered, remembering those times when his father would explain warfare and tactics to both Fergus and himself. He had always found those lectures the most interesting, learning about historic battles, assembling armies, laying siege to castles and cities. When he was a child he would dream of fighting alongside his father, of becoming a great Knight and hero. Needless to say it wasn't what he had expected.

"But the Darkspawn are supposed to be a mindless horde. How the hell can they construct siege engines!" Alistair asked, watching as yet another fireball flew overhead, a trail of smoke following in its wake.

"Don't know, doesn't matter." August shook himself and smacked his cheeks with his hands. "The King's army is moving, and we need to light that Beacon."

Alistair took a long look at the ruined bridge, its ramparts broken and flaming, of the surviving archers who remained at their posts, firing arrow after arrow into the black tide before them. He fell into step with August, the two Wardens making their way to the tower and the beacon. All they needed to do was light it.

The oaken doors separating the tower from the entrance opened with a groan of barely used hinges and a handful of men barrelled through, their weapons drawn and black blood on their armour. August and Alistair quickened their steps, closing the distance at a jog by the time they reached them.

"What's wrong?" August demanded, giving the handful of men a critical eye. One of them was a Mage, by the robes and staff, but the others were soldiers

"Darkspawn," one of the men almost cried, face pale and eyes wide. "They came through the bottom of the tower. Their slaughtering everyone, the Guard Commander is dead, Maker help me oh Maker."

"Calm down," August almost shouted, fighting down the urge to panic himself. Darkspawn in the tower, between him and the beacon. He looked over to Alistair, waiting for the senior Warden of the two to get control of the situation, to give orders but found the man looking to him instead. August blinked, the cold knot expanding when he realised that Alistair was expecting him to take charge.

"Warden, what do we do?" The Mage asked, another two men stumbled from the open door. The shouts of men and monster, the clang of steel and the visceral squelching of blood being spilt and bones being broken. August took a deep breath, fighting down the panic, and hardened his resolve. He looked at the dozen men and drew both his weapons, his longsword and his father's dagger, painfully aware of the screech of metal against the leather hide of the scabbards.

"Draw weapons," he ordered, turning to the open door. He heard the sounds of swords being unsheathed and shields being un-slung. Those sounds were the balm he needed. He took his fear and panic and locked it away. He closed his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and opened them again. He didn't look back. "Soldiers in front, archers and Mages behind! Let's take the tower back from these things!"

He entered through the great heavy doors at a trot and into the chaos. He took in everything at a glance. The defenders had been pushed from the entrance of the tower and into the courtyard, Darkspawn archers were loosing arrows from the ramparts and the stone steps, driving the men further back. He counted maybe a dozen more men and women still alive and fighting against thrice their number of Darkspawn.

He threw the dagger at the nearest Hurlock, the blade spinning through the air before imbedding into the creatures throat with a spurt of black blood. The creature fell back, gurgling and thrashing as August rushed past and into the fray. He cleaved another Hurlock from left shoulder to right thigh with his longsword, Alistair barrelling into the one beside him, pummelling him with his shield and killing the stumbling foe with a quick stab of his sword.

The men behind him roared a cry of battle before they too joined the melee, blades swinging and stabbing as the surprised monsters were cut down by sword and axe. A black arrow soared into a man's leg, and he uttered a surprised yelp before the Genlock he was fighting ran him through with a wickedly curved shortsword. August looked up in disgust at the archers on the rampart above, cursing them back to the hole they crawled from.

A blazing fireball encompassed them, setting them and the surrounding stonework alight in unnatural flame. He looked to his left to see the Mage raising his staff and calling upon the magic of the Fade. The magic which was despised and locked away by the Chantry, that he was taught to view with suspicion and fear all his life and in this very moment he couldn't be happier to see it.

One of the flaming archers fell from their perch, consumed by flames and screaming. August ignored the thrashing creature and forced himself onward to the base of the steps, sidestepping a Hurlock and dispatching him with a deft swing of his sword. His sword clashed with the blade of another Hurlock, and he looked into a nightmarish face of sickly green skin, pointed teeth and dark soulless eyes snarling at him.

Panic overtook him for a moment, but then he remembered the events which brought him here, of Cousland Castle in flames, of Orianna and Oren dead on the floor, of his father propped against a wall, stabbed in the back and left to die and of his mother ordering Duncan to take him while she held off their pursuers. He didn't see the Hurlock anymore, he saw that smug bastard Rendon Howe. He put his weight into his sword, sending the creature stumbling and took his head from his shoulders.

Alistair was suddenly there, between him and the stairs, his Templar shield raised and taking an arrow aimed at him with a dull thunk. He offered the Templar initiate a nod of thanks. That was the second time the senior Warden had saved his life, and August had to admit that maybe he had been unkind and rash in his first impression of the man.

The very air crackled with energy as a thunderbolt fizzed overhead and slammed onto the top of the steps. Another Mage, this one a woman, had managed to join them at the base of the steps, her eyes blazing and her staff crackling with energy as she fired off a series of thunderbolts at the archers in front of them. More men soon joined them, forming into a wall of shields as they ascended the steps, arrows thunking and thudding against the metal and wooden shields.

The second they reached the top of the stairs they broke apart, engaging the Darkspawn troops. They expected the lightly armed Genlocks and Hurlocks but they weren't expecting to run into an Emissary. August had fought one before in the Wilds, but was still unprepared for when it fired off a fireball, engulfing one of the soldiers in a burning ball of flame.

The Mage countered with another thunderbolt, catching the tall creature on the shoulder and staggering him. Alistair moved in next, battering him with his shield while August circled around him and stabbed him in the back. The Emissary roared its anger at the world before falling to a knee, attempted to swipe at Alistair with his staff, he missed and the former Templar finished him off with a deft swing of his blade.

August wrenched the sword from the dead Emissary and took another moment to catch his breath, moving over to the rampart overlooking the courtyard. The soldiers and guards had managed to rally and turn the tables, and what few Darkspawn left alive were quickly being dispatched. The entrance to the tower was theirs but there was an entire tower full of the monsters to clear and they didn't have the time to clear it.

He scanned the courtyard, trying to take his mind from the dark thoughts swirling through him, when his gaze fell upon something in the corner of the courtyard, something he did not expect and then an idea began to form in his mind. A crazy, insane, one in a million chance of working kind of idea but an idea none the less.

"We need to assemble the men, clear that tower out and light the beacon." Alistair said as he came to stand beside him. "The King won't be able to hold the horde off for much longer."

"Yes," August agreed offhandedly, eyes now fixed on the device. "But we're going to need to become a little bit creative."

"What?" August was suddenly moving, skipping steps as he descended to the ground, Alistair following him with a frown on his face, confused by his fellow Wardens sudden behaviour. "August what are you doing?"

August didn't answer at first, calling over a few of the men and ordering them to follow him but finally he gave Alistair a sideways glance. "We need to light the beacon as fast as possible, but ploughing into that tower and clearing it out will take more time than we can afford."

"The King's army should be able to hold out," Alistair put in, his frown deepening into confusion.

"It's not the King's army holding out that worries me," August replied, and the more he thought about it the more morbid sense it made. "Teyrn Loghain may be many things, a lot of which I don't agree with but he is a strategist and a realist first and foremost. If we take too much time and the King's forces are diminished to the point where they won't be able to hold the line then he will probably order his forces to withdraw to save what is left of the army."

"That's absurd," Alistair blurted out, horrified that his fellow Warden would even consider such a thing. "Cailan is like a son to Loghain, he was his father's best friend and practically raised the King. Cailan married his daughter! He wouldn't abandon him on the field to die let alone the army!"

"Loghain will do what he feels is best for Ferelden and if that means leaving the King to die then so be it. If we light that beacon and Cailan's army is too diminished or, Maker help me for saying it, destroyed then he will order the rest to march north." They came to a large object, covered by a tarpaulin cover to protect against the rain. He ordered the men to remove the cover. "That means we're going to need to get creative."

"Creative?"

The men pulled the cover away, revealing the object underneath. It was a ballista, a large wooden weapons platform not unlike a crossbow and it was already loaded with a javelin. It must have been left here to help protect it from the rain then conveniently forgotten about by whoever left it there. "Yes, creative. You there find me some rope, maybe a hundred lengths."

"Yes Warden!"

"The rest of you move it out into the open, can anyone operate it!?"

"Yes Warden, we can!"

"Very good, get her setup!" August ordered. "I want you to aim for the window at the top of the tower. That's where the beacon will be."

"What in the name of the Maker are you planning."

August grinned, "Just wait and see."

It didn't take long for the men to return with a very long and very sturdy rope, one end was tied onto the javelin while the other was tied onto the ballista itself, it's wheels kept in place by rocks. Alistair watched the whole thing, mentally ticking the minutes by in his head and then it clicked. "Please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do!?"

August's response was unbuckling the breastplate of his armour, followed by his gauntlets and greaves. By the time the ballista was ready to fire he was standing dressed in his underclothes, buckling his belt back into place, his sword and dagger sheathed. "Whatever you think I'm going to be doing is probably close enough."

"Are you out of your mind!?"

"Probably." August allowed with a shrug. "While I get up there and light the beacon I want you to take command of the men down here. Get into the tower and clear the Darkspawn out, make your way up to me and hopefully I'll have the top floor cleared and the beacon lit by the time you arrive."

"You are out of your mind!" The Warden admonished, glaring at him. "You don't have any idea what's waiting for you up there. For all you know the Archdemon himself is there waiting for you!"

"I doubt the Archdemon can fit inside the tower." August countered lightly, tightening his belt.

"My point is you can't go up there alone." Alistair ground out.

"And how do you suppose we do that?" August asked, frowning. "I don't know if you noticed but there is only one rope and it can only take so much weight, that's if it even works in the first place. That's why I've taken off my armour!"

"You'll still need someone with you!"

"Who!?"

"Excuse me, but I would like to volunteer." The two men turned from each other to glare at the one who spoke, who just barely managed to stop herself from flinching. It was a Mage, a young woman bedecked in robes with an oaken staff slung across her back. She was tall and willowy, though nearly half a head shorter than August with pale porcelain skin and unnaturally white hair. She steadied herself under their glares, strengthening her resolve as she repeated herself. "I would like to volunteer."

Alistair and August looked at each other for a moment, their argument forgotten. The junior Warden shook himself, and looked back at her. "What is your name?"

"I am Gwyneth Amell, Mage of the Circle." She introduced.

"You understand what I am about to do?"

"I do." She nodded.

"It could be a suicide mission." He continued.

She hesitated, and nodded. "I volunteer anyway."

A long moment passed, broken by footfalls as August closed the distance between them, studying her, and then moving as fast as a python he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her up with little effort. The Mage squeaked in shocked surprise as he set her down, cheeks reddening slightly as August nodded. "You're light."

She blinked at him.

"You're in."

A metallic clank signalled the ballista being fired, the javelin flew into the air, the rope unfurling fast behind it. For a moment August feared it would miss, that they would fail, that his revenge for his family would go unfulfilled. Then the javelin hit it's mark and broke through the stone just below the window and stayed there even when the men reeled in the rope and tied it into place.

"Well then, let's get going." August shouted as he walked towards the ballista, Amell following close behind. He turned to Alistair. "You do your part and we'll do ours."

Alistair hesitated, gulped and then nodded. "Alright, everyone else assemble. We're going to clear those ugly things out room by room. Same as before, swordsmen and shields up front, archers and Mages behind!"

August looked at the rope, now tightened and secured and then back at his volunteer. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, eyes lowered, wringing her hands under his gaze. "Yes Warden."

Was he sure about taking the girl along? No, the answer would be no. She was a Mage, and so was more powerful than appearances suggested, but looking at her August couldn't help but worry. Gwyneth looked thin and fragile, her alabaster skin too pale and what he could glimpse of her under the folds of her robes looked bony and slightly malnourished.

Still, as they began to use the now tout rope to begin their ascent he had to admit that he liked her determination. As they climbed the rope he didn't hear a peep from her, or a single complaint as the two of them climbed up the rope towards the stone wall. It hadn't been easy, and more than once the rope stretched worryingly, making him believe that it was going to snap and they would fall to their death.

It didn't and they made it to the stone towers surface, at least a meter below the window ledge. The surface was rough, with sharp edges and jutting blocks which made perfect footholds for them. August climbed with great ease, his childhood ascending and descending walls and trees with his brother shining through. The girl climbed slower, cautiously and with more than a little fear.

"Don't look down." August warned, and she nodded before doing just that. Her eyes flashed down and then she managed a cut off squeak before keeping her eyes set above her. August sighed. "What did I say?"

"Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed, pale cheeks colouring slightly.

He was the first to reach the window and clambered up and through, glad, and a little worried that the stained glass window had been smashed open. He drew his sword and ran the first of three Hurlocks through, spinning on his heel and drawing his dagger in time to slit the second's throat in midstride before blocking the thirds stab with his sword and imbedded his smaller blade into the creature's throat with a spurt of black blood.

He surveyed the large chamber. Saw a half dozen Human and Darkspawn corpses not including the ones he had just dispatched, weapons and broken pieces of armour strewn across the stone floor. The aftermath of a desperate fight for survival that the defenders had lost.

Then he noticed the Ogre.

It had been at the other end of the chamber, right in front of the huge fire pit where the beacon was to be lit, bent over and feasting on the remains of some poor soul who was little else than ripped apart flesh and body parts, drying blood congealing around his wickedly clawed feet. It rose slowly, ominously to its feet, arms and legs of bulging muscle, an ugly face of beady dark eyes, sharp teeth and long deadly horns. It fist alone could probably crush his skull with relative ease.

August widened his stance, longsword in one hand and ornamental dagger in the other as it turned to face him. Their eyes met and August felt just a small kindling of hope. No intelligence shone in those eyes, just the eyes of a desperate half mad animal. There would be no strategic thinking from this beast, no sentient thought or planning, just a full frontal attack.

It occurred to him that this epiphany may not help him in the grand scheme. Especially when the Ogre roared, a scream which rattled his bones and nearly popped his ears. August suddenly felt naked without his armour, removing it to shed weight for the climb or not it would have been very helpful in the face of a ton's worth of charging Ogre.

"Maker, give me a break!"

It did charge, just as Gwyneth had reached the window, unslung her staff from her back and unleash a torrent of magic which froze the stone floor between him and the approaching Ogre, screaming at him to get out of the way as it slipped and skidded across the floor right past him as he dived to the side and slammed into the far wall.

The girl hopped down from the windowsill and was soon standing beside him, staff gripped tightly in both hands as she watched the Ogre, dazed and pained from its skid and smash, slowly force itself to a knee and then to its feet. She caste another sheet of ice at the creatures feet, again making it stumble to a knee.

"Keep him occupied," August ordered as he turned to the wall, grabbed one of the still lit torches and throwing it into the pile of wood and oil which made up the beacon. For a brief moment he dreaded it wouldn't light before the flames sparked and spread, encompassing the timber and burning with deceptive merriness.

The pyre lit August turned and rushed back to the side of his Mage, noticing that her ice spells were not having as good an effect as last time against the creature, who seemed very angry with their actions. It rose, claws digging into the stone floor for balance as it glared at them and growled with a bestial menace, balling its clawed hands into fists and slamming them repeatedly into the ground with enough force to crack the stone.

"That doesn't look good." August surmised.

"Not helping, Ser Warden." Gwyneth ground out, hands gripping her staff so tightly they were trembling.

"Sorry." August apologised quietly, reversing his grip on his knife so that his hand was holding the blade, ready to throw. "Some lightning or more ice would be nice, Lady Mage."

"Yes Ser Warden," she growled lowly, brow furrowed in concentration as lightning crackled across the length of her oaken staff. "I am working on it."

"Please do," he replied, throwing the dagger at the Ogre as it was about to charge. The blade imbedded itself into the creatures shoulder, making it hesitate but not fall as it righted itself and continued its run right into a lightning bolt caste by his Mage. The bolt slammed into the Ogre's chest, stopping its advance and making it stumble back and exposing it's unprotected chest to the two of them.

August charged, reversing the grip on his longsword and holding it with both hands. He jumped just as the creature was struck with the bolt and stabbed the blade right into its chest. The Ogre screamed in surprised agony, continuing to stagger as August wrenched the dagger from the creatures shoulder and stabbing it into the chest as well. The creature staggered further, then began to spasm as it fell onto it's back, black blood spilled forth from the stab wounds.

The Mage appeared by his side, white light escaping the end of her staff to partially freeze the Ogre in its death throes, stopping it from tossing and crushing him under its weight if it threw him aside. August released a breath he didn't know he was holding, hands on his knees as he gasped for breathe.

"Are you alright, Ser Warden?" Gwyneth asked, herself looking quite winded, pretty face flushed with the exertion of casting her spells.

"Yeah, amazingly I'm still alive." August gasped, rolling off the dead Ogre, leaving his sword and dagger in the creature's chest, adrenaline bleeding away just like the black life fluid of the monster they had just killed. "Thank you."

Her face softened as she fell to her knees, her own adrenaline draining from her. "You're welcome, my Lord."

"You're going to get a recommendation for this." August breathed, taking in huge gulping breaths of air. "I'm serious about this Gwyneth. I wouldn't have survived that Ogre, let alone light the beacon, without you. Thank you."

Finally after what seemed like an eternity on his back August forced himself to roll over, then rose to a knee and finally up to his feet. Gwyneth was still on her knees, gasping for air from the climb and the skirmish, unable to follow him as he staggered towards the smashed stained glass window and looked out into the chilly night air. He watched, waiting to see the flicker of banners, the burning torches, the glinting of armour and columns of men charging to encircle the Darkspawn horde.

He was not disappointed.

He couldn't see the banners in the darkness, but he did see the glows of hundreds of torches as the other half of the King's army charged into the fray, cutting off the horde and crushing the thousands of monsters between the men and women of the King's host under Ostagar and the Teyrn's own army closing in from the forest.

It was a magnificent sight.

Upon seeing the army move August fell to his knees, eyes transfixed on the manoeuvre which the legendary Teyrn of Gwaren was executing with perfection. He heard the flutter of robes and the scuffle of well used sandals as the Mage girl half walked half staggered beside him, her own ice blue eyes watching the battle with rapt attention.

The great oak doors at the other end of the chamber opened with a rusty creak of joints as Alistair and his ragtag band of soldiers burst through and into the chamber, their armour and weapons stained black with the blood of the tainted as they entered.

The Templar initiate half walked half staggered to them, offering both a boyish smile as he watched the battle play out. "So, you did it?"

"Yeah," August agreed, grinning. "We did it."

"We broke through but I don't think we got all of them." Alistair explained as he fell into a sitting position beside the two. "We're going to need to go back and clear the rest of them out."

"Good idea," August replied, using his sword as a crutch and forcing himself back to his feet.

The first arrow struck him as he fully turned, and he idly noticed the almost charred wood which was the shaft before another imbedded itself in his chest. He fell back, seeing Gwyneth watching him fall, eyes wide and face pale. Alistair was shouting, turning to the door and grabbing his sword as the Darkspawn flooded into the chamber.

Darkness was all he knew after that.

I have been planning this story for some time and that is the reason why I've been so quiet as of late. I apologise to anyone who's been left waiting. I have been in a bit of a mess writing wise the last few years, with my interest in Naruto evaporating faster than a pond in the Sahara, so I spent some time seeing if there was anything which could get my attention, get my creative juices flowing again like they did way back when.

I have found the source my Muse needed. It started when I was reading a Star Wars/Harry Potter crossover called The Havoc Side of the Force by a writer called Tsu Doh Nimh, and then I found a Dragon Age story called The Telling Tale and became hooked on it. From there I found another story called Victory at Ostagar by Arsinoe de Blassenville and went from hooked to entranced. I loved the story and how complete it was, and I'm still reading it.

I also remember playing the first Dragon Age game Origins, and thought that the original openings to the story were genius but then they descended into the same story with different leads. If they had placed more individuality into the game then it would have gone from a yearly hit to perhaps the greatest RPG game of all time and more.

So I decided to throw my own Dragon Age story into the mix and see what happened, apologies if it seems a little late considering Origins was released several years ago and we're onto the third game and apologies if you see similarities with the authors mentioned above but that's just to get me going, and it will differentiate from the paths the later we go.

Thanks for your patience.

Darth Malleus.