Year 85, the Storm age

William Stoneshield was a man of duty.

His father had taught him from an early age that blood can be washed away and words forgiven, but a shirked duty to kin and friend would leave a shame that would never wash away. As such, when his father had been wounded by a boar, his wound festering, he had asked the Chantry for help. The old woman that had come had the means to heal his father. However the cost was too great for their small family, but a price must be paid if the man was to be saved, for the work of a sacred priest does not come cheap.

So William had forsaken his birthright, his life, his friends. All had had been left behind in Ferelden as he went back to the Chantry with the Priestess, an initiate of the order.

He didn't know if his father was alive now, twelve years later, nor what had happened to his mother or sisters.

He was too busy doing his duty.

As an initiate, and then a sworn brother, of the Templar order, he had caught the eyes of his superiors for his diligent service, his care for his fellow warriors and his respect for those above his station.

He had swiftly risen in the ranks and was now, much to the chagrin of his Orlesian second in command, Knight-Captain of the expedition behind him.

One thing his father had never taught him of duty, something which he'd learned himself – first when he'd left with the priest so many years ago, and then many times more in his service of the order – was that duty might be important, but it was not always pretty, nor always right.

As such, it was with a certain sense of dread that he watched the solitary rider approach.

Next to him, Ser Farhan sat on his own charger, his brown eyes coldly watching their opponent draw near, though noticing his commander's stare, he offered the curtest of nods. The two Templars couldn't be less alike. Where Farhan was short and had his black hair cropped short, William had long blond hair and rose high atop his destrier. Where Farhan's dark eyes conveyed his every emotion, William's blue eyes were dim and sealed to the world. Where Farhan came from a prestigious line of Orlesian chevaliers, William had been the miller's son in a small village of Ferelden. Where Farhan was devoutly dedicated to the Chantry, William viewed the required prayers as his duty and little else.

William knew the man despised his superior, and knew his next order would be ill-received, but he also knew it would look bad for him to meet the man ahead with another sword next to him. "Ser Farhan, please return to the van, I will meet this man alone."

Farhan's eyes instantly lit up in anger as he shot his commander a glare. "Why? It's clear we have nothing to say to him, our orders are clear."

"They are." William agreed with a solemn nod, not taking his eyes of the other rider. "However, we do not have to be disrespectful, go back."

"There is nothing he can say that will stop us from doing this..." Farhan hissed the words, making his horse move closer to William's, eyes full of suspicion. So suspicious of a Ferelden, are we? We are supposed to forget our old ties when we enter the Chantry's service, so we swear. William was more than aware that that was just a dream though. The idea of some priest thinking men and women entering the service weren't flesh and blood any more, something that was far from the truth.

William, finally tearing his gaze off his approaching foe, looked over to Farhan, meeting anger and suspicion with a cold wall of indifference. "I'm aware, or do you question my ability to lead, Knight-Lieutenant."

Jealousy glowed in Farhan's eyes... and then he turned his head away with a snort. "Of course not, Captain, I'll go back." A final resentful glance, and he rode back towards the waiting army.

That man will be the death of me. No wonder the Knight-Commander sent him with me. Sighing, William looked back to what he was facing.

Rivain was a dreary country. Recently freed from the Qunari, it had barely begun to heal the wounds of the war liberating it... and the land itself had been poor even before that anyway. The one thing it had was forests, lots of forests, not to mention swamps and bogs that stunk when it got warm, and in Rivain it was always warm.

Personally, William would have been happy leaving the country to the Rivaini.

Yet duty wouldn't listen, wouldn't heed him... or perhaps that was the Divine herself.

So now he sat there, between his own host of Templars and what looked like a small army of Rivaini, wondering where things had gone wrong.

It wasn't surprising that many Rivaini had come to worship the Qun, they had been the Qunari's subjects for nearly a full age, and even before then they had been too flexible when it came to religion. The Divine did not accept people of the Chantry living side by side with people worshipping spirits and trees, nor those hiding apostates and even viewing them as some kind of holy people... that stunk too much of the Tevinters for her taste.

So when the normal process of converting people had failed or moved too slow for the Divine's liking, conversion now happened at the point of a sword.

I'm sure those converts are diligent at their prayers. William glumly thought. Praying for our deaths, most likely. He had already led several converting forces, though it struck him more like raids on an already beaten people. How many houses could you set aflame, how many people could you force to forswear their gods and how many that refused could you kill before the work of the Maker rather seemed like the command of some cruel bitch with a chip on her shoulder?

Yet William had sworn an oath, his duty was to the Chantry, and he would die for it if need be.

Two hundred feet to each side of him, the forest lay thick, large trees that had probably seen ages come and go growing tall, though their leaves were thin and long, allowing light to come down to a thick under-brush, making the forests seem like solid walls of green, rather than a living thing. William felt uneasy around so much forest, but there was nothing there according to his scouts, and even if there was, his men still had enough space to manoeuvre to face any threat. In fact, William figured the many mounted Rivaini would have more of a problem, given that the forest was essentially funnelling them towards two thousand heavily armoured Templars.

The man approaching did not look worried however.

He was a thin man with his dark Rivaini skin weathered from an unrelenting sun and age, a shortly cropped beard of brown with streaks of grey concealing most of his mouth. Unlike William's destrier, the man rode an unbarded horse. His armour was a simple suit of chainmail that could have belonged to a soldier in most nations, dull under the sun compared to William's shining suit of partial plate. William held his great helm under his arm, his opponent wore a sharply pointed piece of metal with a nasal guard and some chain protecting his neck. William's sword was a simple thing, his opponents' shone of golden inlays and held a crimson ruby at the pommel...yet he also carried a small quiver of javelins strapped to the right side of his saddle. William's shield bore the simple device of Andraste's flaming sword, his opposite a smaller shield painted to depict several black flowers in bloom.

The man reined in his horse, stopping his approach a few feet away from William, his body still as he eyed the younger man before him with eyes black as pitch under his nasal helm.

Silence.

Shifting in his saddle, William made the first move. "In the name of Andraste, why do you and your people bar my path, Ser?"

"You do not wish to introduce yourself first?" The older man replied, his voice dry in the air around them; in his black eyes, there was seemingly no life. "It is customary for the leaders of two rival armies to introduce themselves, is it not?"

"Are we enemies then?" William tried, offering a pale smile. "I have no quarrel with you Ser, have your men move aside, and my own will not trouble you."

"So you can ride to the village ahead and burn it? Put those still remaining there to the sword if they do not swear their lives to your Andraste?" The man sharply retorted, though his eyes remained cool and unblinking. "Never."

"That village has denied the existence of the Maker and his bride, follow heretical creeds and harbour apostates." William returned, smile fading. "And now, so have you, Ser." He paused, letting the words sink in even as he reluctantly accepted what would have to happen. "I am Ser William Stoneshield, and you?"

"Dusken of the Lilies." The Rivaini grunted. "I have heard of you. You're good at killing unarmed peasants."

"I'm good at following my duty, Ser Dusken. As for you, I've never heard of you." William snorted, annoyed. Duty wasn't pretty, it wasn't always right, but it was all he had. "Now, have your forces put down their arms, you are outnumbered." In Dusken's black eyes, there was a twinkle of amusement at William's words. "If you surrender now, they will be spared, do what's right for them."

"I think... not." The dark-skinned man growled, amusement fading. "You have not heard of me because I was fighting the Qunari while you were still at your mother's teat, deep in areas you Templars never reached, or did you think you single-handedly liberated Rivain?" A snort escaped the older man. "Turn back now, boy, or the blood of your Templars will be on your hands, I'm here defending my people, any battle that happens here will be your doing."

"You think to scare me." William coldly replied, sweat running down his back from the heat of the blazing sun. He held his foe's gaze though, as unblinking as the old man. "Unfortunately for you, I don't shirk from my duty." Grabbing his helmet with both hands, he raised it and put it down over his head, watching his foe through its slits. "We're done here."

Without another word, he turned his horse and let his horse slowly walk back to his own lines, his spine itching as his mind conjured up the image of one of that noble's javelins punching into his back.

Yet no javelin came, and soon he was back among his troops, turning to join Ser Farhan and his mounted Templars. "It'll be a battle."

Around him, men and women stiffened in their saddles at the four words, horses snorting as they sensed their masters' anxiety. Farhan sounded smug, however. "Knew it, let them come, we'll break them in the first charge."

"Possibly." William admitted, though the confidence of his foe had somewhat rattled him, and he found himself starring across the field as he held out his hand. "Spyglass, please."

The tube of copper with finely polished lenses was a surface dwarf's invention and had gained in popularity. Though only generals of more wealthy nations could afford them, and of course the Chantry, that gladly took one instead of the annual tribute of a dwarven artist capable of making one. Through it, William could now see how Farhan rejoined his troops, as well as their disposition.

Though numerous, his riders were not close to the numbers of his Templars, barely outnumbering the three hundred mounted ones as it was. And though the warriors closest to Dusken wore chainmail like him, the rest wore simple leather armour, if even that. Mostly it was a patchwork of men and women of various ages in simple clothes and riding horses that looked like they hadn't had a decent meal in years. What's your game...? Worried, William tried to spot any foes in the woods, but as far as he could see, his scouts were correct, no foe was to be seen.

There was no answer to William's question. Only silence, the odd cough and clatter of equipment.

The Rivaini, loosely formed from one forest to the other, simply waited.

Any battle that happens here will be my doing, eh? William sighed. "Keep the archers up front, spearmen behind, sound the advance."

His standard bearer waved the flaming sword of Andraste over his head, his horn-blower gave a long wailing note.

With the sound of armoured feet marching across the ground, the Chantry force advanced.

As he urged his horse on, Farhan and his cavalry following him, William watched the enemy ahead... and frowned at the lack of movement from the Rivaini riders as the steel fist of the Chantry descended upon them.

Then, when they were nearly in bow-shot, there was a mighty cry from the Rivaini, and they set off in a gallop.

"Halt advance! Spearmen ready to receive the charge! Archers, loose at will!" William reined in his horse even as his horn-blower called the halt, the rest of his orders being transmitted through a series of waves of his banner, though given what was happening, he hardly thought it would be necessary, his officers were no fools.

Still, it took time to halt an army, and by the time his archers were readying their arrows, the Rivaini riders were closing the distance with alarming speed. Behind the Templar archers, William's spearmen were ready to let the archers through while denying any Rivaini passage, no charge like the one facing them would break them.

But it didn't come.

Instead the Rivaini let loose a fusillade of javelins as they came within range, then another as they wheeled about to retreat. The Templar archers were heavily armoured compared to most nation's, yet the javelins were fearsome projectiles that punched through plate and chain far too easily, felling an alarming number of soldiers in a single volley.

Shaken by their sudden losses, the Templar archers were late to reply, and only got away a single volley before the Rivaini were once more out of range. Though even so, several horses tumbled to the ground or rode on riderless, the poorly armoured riders easily felled by any arrow that might catch their target.

Wheeling about, the Rivaini once more turned to face the Templars... and stopped.

First blood had been drawn.

Next to him, Farhan was muttering some curse, but William ignored the blasphemy, his eyes narrowing at his foe as he recalled the man's words. Put those still remaining to the sword... He blinked. Dusken is intending to empty the village. For a moment, William was conflicted, he did not enjoy killing simple people for their beliefs, no matter how strange or wrong they might seem... but as always, duty won out. "They intend to stall us, that's why they're here."

"Then let's charge them!" Farhan growled, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'll break them!"

"And have them draw you into Maker knows where? No." William had not been made Knight-Captain without proper studies in the art of war. Though I still don't know how to make proper flour... "Spearmen up front, shields up, archers behind them to support. Form a column with the rest of the troops, we'll push them as hard as we can."

A few of his men rode out to give the orders, and ten minutes later the force was formed up, a giant lance aimed at the soft-looking mass opposing them.

Again, they advanced.

Again, the Rivaini came at them... only to halt just out of range of the Templar's bows as the Chantry forces came to a halt.

"We continue the advance, do not let their threat stop you! Archers only to shoot when they have a shot!" William ordered.

And the Templars advanced, simply pushing their foes forward with the threat of their presence.

Then, the battlefield widened, the distance between the two forests' growing... and the Rivaini took advantage. Like water, they flowed along the flanks of the Templars, slowing their advance to a crawl as they had to turn to and fro to ready shields and to guard their bowmen, bowmen that hardly got a shot off as the Rivaini remained aloof to engage.

Then, the Rivaini struck the rearguard.

Tired and somewhat bored where he rode, William's first warning of the sudden attack was when his Standard bearer pushed his horse to the right, making a javelin whirl through their air where his head had been a moment before. Turning in his saddle, William's eyes widened at the sight of the Rivaini horde coming in from behind, wild-eyed riders galloping forward with lathered horses, javelins flying from their hands.

Several dozen Templar knights fell, tumbling from their saddles as they were pierced by the large missiles. Yet more fell of dying horses, their shields raised to deflect additional strikes. Then the Rivaini were breaking off, a few over-zealous fools moving close to swing with crude hatchets, only to be cut down by enraged Templars while the rest hurried away.

"Commander, we must act now!" Farhan's eyes were alight with anger, but also worry, the need to do something.

And this time, William judged him to be right. "Right, you lead the horses, drive these Rivaini away from the column!" He saw the eager glint in Farhan's eyes and grimaced, glad for his helmet. "Don't pursue heedlessly, just keep them from using those javelins."

"Of course." A bow, and Farhan was off, the sound of the knights following him like rolling thunder.

Across rolling plains they continued, the Templar riders at the front keeping the Rivaini on the back foot by faking charges and making it impossible for the Rivaini to properly face them and loose unless they wished to risk close combat.

Which they, half an hour later, did.

With a great cry, the Rivaini riders surged forward, javelins arching through the air.

Yet this time the Templar riders had their shields raised and flanks secured and barely received a casualty as they themselves roared in defiance and charged.

Good! Clenching his fist tight, William watched Farhan's riders smash aside dozens of enemy riders as if they were barely there, hatchets nothing but scrapping plate as flashing swords cut into flesh and bone. Within moments, Dusken's riders were routing. Now hold back, we don't need to... hold back! Gritting his teeth, William stared at Farhan waving his horses into pursuit, killing a few more Rivaini while the rest easily outpaced the heavier cavalry of the Templars. "Signal them to hold!" William called out to his horn-blower, the two short notes ringing out before he'd even finished the sentence.

Yet Farhan continued.

Further ahead, William could just about spot how the Rivaini routers were splitting in two, leaving the ground in the centre be... and no wonder, since – as if out of thin air – hundreds of lightly armoured men and women appeared in the tall grass, bows notched and drawn. Stop now! The arrows took flight, raining down among the knights from high as others came flying nearly horizontally... yet for all that, there were few casualties among the heavily armoured knights that simply charged on, ready to plough aside the poor fools trying to harm them with their pinpricks.

Then the fools raised their spears.

"Double pace! Get us over there!" William gave the order, though he was unsure if it would be in time.

As the main body of Templars surged forward, their mounted men crashed into the archers ahead that had picked up their spears, and though their skill and armour meant these Templars slaughtered five archers for every one of them that fell, their advance faltered, the steel fist of their charge surrounded on three sides by a horde of men and women in leather thrusting at them with crude spears.

And then the Rivaini riders turned back, their horses surrounding the combat, javelins thrown from close range pitching rider after rider off his saddle as the knights, unable to get out of the horde of infantry, were killed at leisure.

They're dead. Growling, angry, William gave the order. "Archers, loose arrows into that mob."

A moment of hesitation, and arrows began to rain over the heads of the still advancing Templar infantry, arrows striking down upon the frenzied combat before them.

Men and women died, horses fell... and then the Rivaini were fleeing, leaving the tired Templars to come to a stop as their archers continued to rain death on the fleeing Rivaini.

Behind the routers, a carpet of dead Rivaini and horses lay. Yet among them, every single remaining Templar rider also lay, a brutal exchange of blood from which the Rivaini probably thought they'd come out on top from. And they're probably right...

With the opposition now melted away and every eye on him, William grimly gave his next order. "Reform ranks, we press on." Watching a torn banner depicting the holy flame of Andraste flutter in the wind among the piles of bodies, he gripped the reins of his horse tighter, voice a low growl. "Today, this Dusken dies."

Two hours later, they reached the village.

Anger churning in his gut, William watched his enemy's ranks through the spyglass. They had come out of their village, only a few token men upon the palisade while a brown mass stood at the base of the hill the village stood upon.

At the forefront, a disorganized mob of men and women in dirty clothing or leather armour stood, small shields in their left hand as their right held Javelins. Behind them, the line was more orderly, lines of warriors in leather carrying spears and shields or even spears in both hands that closely resembled those the Qunari favoured. A single spot of grey was in that line, men in chainmail wearing great helms, though seemingly knights given the devices on their shields, these men too carried spears. Near them, three women in black cloaks stood, staves raised. Apostates.

At the back, what remained of the Rivaini cavalry remained, and there too, William spotted a spot of grey. Focusing his spyglass, he saw Dusken, the black eyes under his helmet glowing with grim amusement as he raised his sword to his lips, seemingly saluting William.

Right, at least today I'll enjoy my duty.

"Swords at front! Greatswords close behind! Archers to skirmish ahead! Spears advance along the flanks!" William roared the order, tired of this pointless battle, tired of the death that had been inflicted and the death that would come. Let's end this!

To the low rumbling beat of drums, the Templars slowly moved forward.

With a slight advantage in elevation, the first arrows loosed came from the spent Rivaini archers from before. But the Templars simply brushed those shots aside as they closed within range before grinding to a halt, daring their foe to advance as they began loosing arrows at them.

The Rivaini stayed still though, Dusken glaring down at William as his men stirred in fear.

And then began to die.

"Focus on the javeliners! I want them swept away!" William had had enough of those armour-piercing weapons, though not the Qunari's they were still too dangerous to be allowed to stay on the battlefield against his Templars. Should have brought some of those pilgrims that wanted to come, though I'm still against the idea of using what Farhan called 'fodder' in battle... arrows will make do.

And they did. For every Rivaini that managed to block an arrow with their small shield, another fell. Though ducking and dodging as best they could, many of the Templars' targets fell with half a dozen arrows in them, and those arrows not striking them flew on towards the main Rivaini lines, knocking the odd lightly armoured soldier to the ground with a blood-curdling scream.

The Rivaini witches returned arrows with fire. Though there were only three of them, their fireballs looked impressive as they hurtled forward... and failed miserably to make an impact as the trained Templars shrugged off the strikes of mages not near as good as those of the circle assailed them.

Then two died, arrows quavering in their chests as the last shrieked and gave flight.

Driving his horse and his small bodyguard up until they reached the back of his main line, William glared at the Rivaini forces ahead as he gave his order. "Archers to the rear, swords forward, kill them all!"

The remaining Rivaini carrying javelins let loose, but with raised shields, William's Templars advanced, weathering the storm as they closed in. The Rivaini skirmishers began to fall back... and the Templars carrying the terrifying greatswords usually used on Circle mages failing their trials gave voice to a booming roar and surged past their shield-armed brothers before the later could charge in to join them.

With a great crash, spear met greatsword and shield locked with shield as steel slashed aside thrusting spears to get to those hiding behind them.

The Templars gained a foot, and then another, blood pooling in the ground as steel hacked into flimsily armoured flesh, driving the defenders towards the palisade.

It was slowly turning into a slaughter.

Sighing, his lust for blood gone the moment the implication of his own order began to sink in, William eyed Dusken, watching the impassive warrior just sit there, though his bodyguards were now glancing left and right, at the flanks. Sighing, William made the order duty demanded. He can't be allowed to escape, none of them are. "Spears to the flank, link up with the palisade and charge, close them in."

Like pieces on a chessboard, the Templar spearmen moved into position, sealing the Rivaini fate as William with a singular focus closed the trap on Dusken and his troops.

A singular focus that was blindsided.

The moment the spearmen began to press in at their cornered foes, a great horn cried out from deep within the Rivaini ranks. William raised his spyglass to his eye, and saw Dusken himself blowing into the horn. Is he calling for surrender? Then why are his soldiers still fightin-

Darkness.

Then light, pain.

Groaning, William found himself face first in the mud, his helmet gone and body strangely heavy as a tingling sensation centered between his shoulder blades kept him as firmly to the ground as a horse sitting on him would have.

He looked up.

And blinked in horror.

Around him, his bodyguards lay slaughtered, horses and men alike riddled with javelins, all having struck them in the back. So that's what it is...

Further off, his archers had scattered, men and women dressed in little but straps of leather hunting after them with slashing axes and small shields, mercilessly killing any they caught. Where did they...come from? The... forest? But I... Maker, I didn't scout that far ahead... I didn't... I was angry and... Maker, forgive me...

Arrows were thumping into the back of his troops still engaged with the Rivaini soldiers. Arrows, javelins and even stones hurled by men carrying slings were slaying his soldiers by the score as they were unable to turn to face the new menace. Then, roaring, the men and women with their cruel axes came running back, smashing into the Templars from behind as William duly noticed how they had tattooed their bodies until they looked like nothing but moving trees. Why would you... do that? He saw his men break.

Then darkness took him.

Before light once more entered his eyes, his whole body aflame with agony as he found himself on his back, his blood pooling around him. Dusken was looking down at him, his fine sword in hand, unbloodied. His voice, as if from a great distance, reached William's ears as his black eyes held the Templar's dimming gaze. "I told you to turn back." His voice was almost... sad. "Now more blood will be shed before there can be peace. Pointless boy, absolutely pointless..."

"I..." William coughed, the taste of metal in his mouth. "...I had to do...my..." He gasped, his body going rigid with pain. "...duty."

"So did I boy." Dusken raised his blade with a sigh. "So did I."

The blade fell.

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Thanks to Abydos Jackson for putting up with my silly ideas.