Title: The Clever Warden and Death

Rating: E for Everyone!

Characters: (implied) Alistair, various cameos

Paring: (implied) Alistair/F!Cousland, Fergus/Anora

Notes: This is for the 'Fairy Tale Challenge' to rewrite a classic fairy or folk tale in the realm of DAO. This is an old Russian tale that I fell in love with after seeing it on Jim Henson's 'Storyteller'. I've written this in the style of a verbal tale, so word choices are different than they would be for simple prose.

The Clever Warden and Death (pt 2)

Casks were opened and wine started to flow down a hundred throats as cards danced across the table.

The Warden joined in, but made sure that he only drank from his own tankard and stayed as sober as he had begun. As the night rolled on, the demons started to get louder the drunker they got, and the drunker they got, the angrier they became.

For they were losing.

Coin by coin, chest by chest, the pile of riches shifted to the Warden's side of the room. Sparkling gems, silver cups, and golden bars - he won them all a hand at a time.

"Is he cheating?" snarled a genlock.

"I am and I'm still losing," grumbled the emissary.

Dawn began to creep over the horizon and saw that the Warden had claimed every scrap of treasure in Soldier's Peak.

The demons and darkspawn were in a great fury over their losses. The shrieks screamed, the genlocks tore at their ears and the Ash wraiths fell to dust then reformed again. Even the Ogre threw the empty wine casks across the room to splinter into kindling.

The Warden sat calmly through the display, unafraid as the evil creatures bickered over how to tear him to shreds, deal or no deal.

Finally he raised his hand when a Desire demon wanted to decorate with his entrails.

"I understand why you are angry – nobody likes to lose. However, I do have something for you to consider."

The horde of darkspawn and demons watched the Warden with glittering eyes as he lifted an old piece of cloth from under the table."

"Do you know what this is?"

The emissary said: "It's a sack…"

"That's right. Now, GET IN IT!"

Screaming like the winds of the fiercest storm, the demons, shrieks, genlocks, hurlocks, ghouls, skeletons and even the ogre who towered above them all, were sucked into the magic sack.

Tying the drawstring closed, the Warden dragged the stuffed sack outside into the sun. In the courtyard of Soldier's Peak he kicked and punched, threw and tossed, beat and bullied the trapped creatures until they cried for mercy.

With a stern voice, the Warden said: "If I let you go, you can never return and never bother humans again."

The evil creatures agreed and fled with incredible haste as soon as the Warden opened the sack.

Before the last emissary could get away, the Warden grabbed its hand and snapped it clean off.

"That's my hand!" it screamed.

"Right, and remember where you left it. I'll be calling on you one day."

The emissary snarled but was too afraid to fight back, so it ran after its brothers and into the snow.

-oOo-

Word spread quickly of the Darkspawn's defeat and the whole Bannorn celebrated the Warden's victory. Even the King and Queen themselves came to Soldier's Peak and declared that the old castle would be once again a Warden stronghold and fast friend of Denerim.

The Warden had everything: wealth, friendship, and soon a family – a far cry from the wandering soul he had been at the beginning of our story. But as all things go, tragedy can strike even the best of us.

There came a morning where the Warden's son took ill with a fever that nothing could quench. Mages came with potions and poultices, herbs and healing, but nothing worked. The mages soon gave way to Chantry priests who were grave of face despite their bright sunny robes.

Not willing to give in, the Warden unlocked a steel box he kept hidden in his armor chest. Reaching in, he brought out the hand of the Emissary and called out: "Come to me, I command it!"

In a swirl of dust and decay, the rotted Emissary appeared with a glare. "You called, Master?" it grumbled.

"Heal my son and I will release you from your bond. Let him die and I'll release you from your life."

Growling at our friend the warden, the Emissary shuffled to the bed without further complaint.

Lady Elissa gasped when she saw the twisted creature, but sheathed her blades at her husband's insistence.

The Emissary tore free a crystal lens from its headdress and glared at the sickly boy through the clear stone. "You are in luck, Master. Look through this and tell me what you see," it rasped.

The Warden took the polished lens and peered through. To his surprise, a ghastly figure stood at the foot of his son's bed, looking like a nightmare of stitched flesh and corrupted skin.

"What is that?" the Warden demanded.

"He is the Architect, Father of the Darkspawn."

"Why is he here?"

"He is the builder of all Fates, not just the Darkspawn. He is here to collect your son's soul and return him to the Fade."

"No, you must save him!"

The Emissary scowled. "That the Architect stands at the foot of the bed gives your whelp a chance. Once the Architect stands by the head, nothing can be done."

"Then do it! I hold you to your oath!"

Lifting the lens once more, the Emissary looked through and flicked the disk with a clawed finger. The crystal chimed a soft note that seemed to linger in the quiet room, making everyone hold their breath.

A gasp from the wrinkled bed had the worried parents leaping forward to see their son sit up with a smile, completely cured.

"Thank the Maker!" cried Lady Elissa.

The Emissary hissed, bringing the Warden back to its side.

"Give me the lens and tell me what you did."

"The chime of the struck lens tells the Architect to move on and leave this soul behind. From then on, you will take responsibility for their Fate, for better or worse." The Darkspawn chuckled at the last, an evil sound that crawled up the Warden's spine and set his senses tingling.

"Very well," he said, uncomfortably. "You've completed your task, leave and trouble humans no more."

"My hand?"

"Oh, yes, of course." The Warden retrieved the rotting bit of bone and sinew, trading it quickly for the magical lens.

With a final sneer, the Emissary vanished in a puff of dust and corruption.

-oOo-

The Warden and his family were happy and whole once again!

Wanting to share his good fortune, the Warden began to travel through the villages and towns, in search of the sick and infirm. At the bedside of each wretch, he would draw out his magical lens and gaze through to divine their fates.

If the Architect was at the foot of the mat, a miracle cure at the sweet sound of tinkling crystal!

If the Architect leaned over their heads, the Warden could only offer his condolences and the family would mourn that he had come too late.

The Warden became famous, and everyone from the Free Marches to the Deep Roads of Orzammar knew his name.

But one day, a noble courier came and told the Warden grave news: his brother'n'law, the King of Ferelden, had taken sick with an illness none of the mages could clear.

The Warden travelled quickly to Denerim and crouched by the King's side.

Lady Elissa wept for her brother and clutched his feverish hands.

The Warden held up his magic crystal and felt his heart sink, for the Architect stood looming over the King's head.

The Queen became angry when the Warden said he was helpless. "You saved beggars and thieves, you've saved children and grandmothers. You say now that you cannot save your friend, your brother'n'law, your King?"

Hearing his wife's sorrow and the Queen's rage, the Warden held up his lens again.

"Ser," he said to the Architect. "Please, I beg that you take my life in exchange for his."

The Architect's patchwork and waxy face regarded our friend the Warden and nodded solemnly before disappearing.

The next day, the Warden lay weak and dying in his own bed as his friend, the King, had the morning before.

The mages had long gone, their spells ineffective as they had been on the King. The chantry priests all gave their prayers and left, saying it was in the hands of the Maker.

Lady Elissa watched as her husband called quietly to her, his voice a bare whisper. "Bring me my crystal lens, my Love."

Once the cool glass was in his hand, the Warden used it to gaze up at the Architect who leaned bare inches and moments from his death.

The Warden reached under his pillow and with his last strength, he pulled out an old faded cloth bag.

"Do you know what this is?" he gasped.

The Architect looked down curiously, distracted from his intent for a moment. In a voice as deep as the grave itself, he said: "It's a sack."

"That's right…now get in it!"

With a whoosh and a flurry, the Architect was sucked into the magic sack and the Warden leaped up from his bed as hale as a young mabari!

He danced with his startled wife and sang to his confused son: "I got him! I caught the Architect! No more plans! No more Darkspawn! No more death!"

The Warden threw on his old splint armor and grabbed the magic sack before heading out onto the road. He traveled for days until he found himself in the deepest parts of the Brycellian forest where he searched for the tallest and oldest tree. He climbed up to the top of the ancient oak and tied the magical sack far above the ground.

As he finished tying the knot, the Warden slipped and fell, hitting each branch on the way down. And at the bottom…he was still alive! He had truly done it! He had defeated Death itself!

With a hop and a skip, he was off on his way home again, feeling quite pleased with himself despite his sore bum.

-oOo-

The years that followed were strange indeed!

Battles raged on all day and left combatants exhausted and stumbling their way home at sunset. People fell off of boats and had to walk to shore, picking shells and seaweed from their clothes.

All the while, the Warden enjoyed his fame and family in his great fortress at Storm's Peak.

One morning, he woke up to a racket in the yard and looked out the window to see a gathering of people standing around in the mud. They were old warriors, ancient marms and decrepit farmers, each broken or scarred like rickety buildings that had seen too many storms.

They looked up at the Warden with milky eyes and drooling mouths, silent and pleading.

He realized that they were waiting for the Architect to bring their lives to an end, to complete their part of the patterns of Life. Because of him, the Architect could not come.

The Warden felt ashamed and regretful of what he had done. At once he set out to relieve their misery. Putting on his old armor and boots, he kissed his wife and hugged his son before heading out onto the road.

-oOo-

The Warden traveled for days in the Brycellian forest until he reached the tallest and oldest tree. He climbed up to the top and found where he had tied the magical sack that held the Architect.

Opening the sack enough to see the disturbing patchwork face, the Warden said: "Ser, I realize now that no matter how sad death makes us, it still is a necessary part of the world. I release you to perform your service once again, and I am ready to go with you as I had promised."

With that, the Architect sprang out of the opened sack and vanished like a shadow on a cloudy day, ignoring the Warden's startled protests.

Feeling miserable for having started the whole thing, the Warden climbed down the old tree carefully. When his feet touched the ground, the Warden thought he heard the grand oak sigh, but we all know that trees couldn't talk, it was surely just the wind through the leaves.

The Warden returned home and lived many years in relative peace, far longer than he should have, for the Taint the Wardens carry is a killing curse.

His wife, children and friends all grew old and were claimed by the Architect, but every time the creature shied from the Warden himself.

Finally, the Warden could take his existence no longer, and endeavored to put an end to it at last. He put on his old rusty armor then gathered his whistle, tankard, and cards into his trusty magic sack. He set out on the road on a fine spring morning and before the month was out, he stood before the gates of Orzammar. The Dwarven King was a descendent of a companion the Warden had known during the Blight, and the old hero received a warm welcome. After the feasting and oceans of hearty ale, the Warden said his goodbyes and headed into the darkness of the Deep Roads.

The Deep Roads are a terribly frightful place – dark, crumbling tunnels that run forever through the belly of the earth, full of chittering and scuttling things.

And Darkspawn. Hordes of them.

It is said that the evil of Tevinter unleashed the Darkspawn upon the world and it's from the Deep Roads that they spring up like an evil weed that cannot be killed. For if you stomp out the Darkspawn in one place, they creep up out of another, endless and hungry.

Our friend the Warden could feel the Darkspawn taint all around him, like a foul odor that stuck in his nose. At last he came to the great gates of an old ruined Thaig and could travel no further.

"Hello up there!" he called out, his voice echoing off the crumbling walls.

There was a shifting of rock and a scattering of dust and the shriveled head of a Hurlock Emissary poked up from the shadows.

"Oh look, brothers! Dinner has come to us for a change."

The Warden chuckled. "I think I may be a bit too old and tough for your rotted teeth, wretch."

The Emissary's eyes narrowed angrily. "Who are you, then? What do you want?"

"I've been alive far past my time, I am seeking one last battle to put my soul to rest."

A chorus of evil laughter echoed up from crevices and cracks in the door as the conversation had gathered an audience of other Darkspawn.

"There is just the one of you?" the Emissary asked incredulously.

"Yes," the Warden said calmly.

"Well then, far be it for us to pass up such an easy meal! Have you any valuables with you that we might par take in as well?" the Emissary sneered.

"I have a tin whistle, a tankard, a deck of cards and an old sack—"

"What?" the Emissary was suddenly suspicious. "Did you say 'a sack'?"

"Well…yes," said the Warden.

There was a sudden flurry of dust and screeches as the Darkspawn fled deeper into the Thaig ruin. "Get out of here with your horrible sack!" screamed the Emissary in terror.

"Wait!" yelled the Warden. "I'll leave, but only if you give me any hostages that you've taken! Otherwise…"

"We'll give you…twenty slaves we've taken."

"You'll give them all! Don't you know what this is!" the Warden held up the sack threateningly.

"Alright! Alright! Not sure what you want with all of those scabs, the Taint has already settled in most of them…"

The great Thaig doors creaked open and a line of wretched creatures shuffled out. They were human, dwarf and elf, each of them showing signs of the Darkspawn Taint in feverish bruises and shadows on their skin.

"Andraste will know how to help you and may She grant us all peace in Her mercy. I have already passed through Her temple and I know that it is a place of wondrous healing," said the Warden as he led the moaning parade from the Deep Roads and out the gates of Orzammar.

In the wind and treacherous snow, they traveled through the mountains to the most sacred of places, the Shrine of Andraste's Ashes.

Passing through the vaulted halls, the Warden led his charges up to the gates of the Gauntlet and before the Guardian who judged all who came to see Andraste's final resting place.

The Guardian looked over the shambling souls that were stained with Darkspawn taint, and spoke in a voice that was like the echoing of ages.

"You are all welcome here in this place of peace and sanctuary, but you will need to prove yourself worthy of Andraste's blessing. You must pass through the Gauntlet and stand before Her judgment. If you succeed, you will be cleansed and may join the ranks of acolytes that serve Andraste and the Maker. If you do not, you will be released from your wretched existence."

The Guardian's piercing gaze fell on our friend the Warden as he tried to follow the tainted prisoners. "You, Warden, have already been tested by Andraste and have passed through her Grace. You cannot face the Gauntlet again."

"But," the Warden protested. "I have walked the world for far longer than a man should. I have out-lived my family and friends, I am the oldest Warden in history. I beg that Andraste free me from this wearying life."

"It is not my place to defy the Gauntlet nor dissuade Her will. I am sorry."

Despair filling his chest, the Warden seized upon a last desperate idea.

Taking aside the last tainted prisoner, the Warden emptied out the old magic sack and thrust it into her hands. "This is a special bag, when you get to the end of the Gauntlet, tell me to 'get in it!' and I will be able to get past the Guardian and inside the Shrine."

The wretch nodded her head and followed the others silently through the great doors of the Gauntlet.

The Warden waited, and waited, and waited some more. He paced and wandered about the entry room of the Temple, shuffling the dust from one side to the other. He played his tin whistle and beat himself at cards, but still the summons never came.

He didn't know that when Andraste had touched each of the prisoners to cure their Taint, She cleansed their minds as well. With the memories of all they had endured erased, the former prisoners forgot about calling the Warden into the sack.

The Warden, disheartened and lonely, left Andraste's temple and traveled back down the mountains into the green fields of Ferelden. It's said that he still wanders through the Bannorn, helping people and watching for the next Blight so that he could confront the Architect once more.

Hope you liked this, =)

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Thanks!