The Grey Tales

A Story Told By: Gene Dark, Icey Cold, & Shakespira

Beta'd By: Enaid Aderyn

Illustrated by: Sinvraal

The Grey Wardens are warriors of legend, an ancient order that is sworn to end the threat of Darkspawn across Thedas. Yet even as every Grey Warden has their origin, so too do the Grey Wardens as a whole. This is the story of the founding of the Grey Wardens, of Brun the First and Freya the Second, and those who were there to pledge themselves at Weisshaupt.

Bioware owns Dragon Age and all associated content. We three just enjoy playing in their sandbox and making sense of the world they've given us.

Chapter 1

Night fell across the grove where the three Grey Wardens were making camp. They had made good time since leaving Montsimmard, and would continue making good time in the morning as they made their way to Jader. The place where they had stopped to make camp was quiet, and a mile's walk north of the road. They would attract no attention in the glen from predators of both the two and four legged kind, though even should bandits or bears befall them as they slept, they would have been hard pressed to take what little the three Grey Wardens carried, for few fight better under pressure than Grey Wardens.

The two senior Wardens were busy walking the perimeter around their camp, while the younger Warden was on his hands and knees in the dirt, digging out a pit for the fire. The excitement and freshness of youth was in his face, and he hummed with a pleasant if not nervous energy. He had been a Grey Warden for less than a week, but he was already as devoted to their cause as one of the older men walking in the shadows around him. The older Grey Wardens had received his questions about the Grey Wardens with some amusement, and felt refreshed by his enthusiasm.

"Alistair," said one of the older Grey Wardens, calling out to the younger man from the darkness of the woods, "make sure the kindling is dry this time."

"Oh, very funny, Riordan," Alistair replied back, his fingers deep in dirt. "It was only the one time. It won't happen again."

"And it was a very cold night!" Riordan replied back. "Duncan's beard nearly froze off."

"As did yours," added Duncan from the other side of the grove, the cool night air having brought the conversation to him. "But if you are so concerned for my beard, Riordan, perhaps you can assist Alistair in finding kindling."

"No, really," Alistair brushed his fingers against his leather pants and stood, "I can do it." Alistair had been teased by the swarthy Riordan all day for finding wet kindling the night before. They had survived a cold, rainy night huddled under their cloaks in the darkness, and Alistair had been thoroughly miserable the next morning. And he had only been more miserable with Riordan's ribbing during the march. Riordan was not as grim a man as Duncan, though when he had first met Riordan at his Joining, he had seemed to be carved from solid stone. But then Alistair was finding that below their cold, grey facades, most Grey Wardens were actually quite warm, if not humorous. Life and circumstance mocked the Grey Wardens, and the Grey Wardens simply laughed.

Alistair darted into the woods quickly, hearing Riordan's good natured laughter follow him through the leaves. Stooping low to the ground, Alistair squinted in the remaining light for twigs and brush suitable for burning. By the time he was done, he had collected an armful of leaves, twigs, and other bracken that looked and felt suitably dry. Riordan and Duncan were standing over his fire pit when he returned, their leather and mail clad arms covering their chests as they peered into the pit critically. Alistair knew it was a ruse – Duncan was not very good at hiding his amusement, and the man's lips were having trouble staying in an even line. Riordan, however, was shaking his head and tsking.

"Alistair," Riordan said gravely, "if we are all set alight tonight, I hold you responsible."

Alistair only grinned in reply and dumped the fruits of his labor at the Orlesian's feet. "Dry! You see?"

Riordan tapped the kindling with his boot. "It will not burn on its own."

"Is this some part of the Joining you didn't tell me about?" Alistair turned his eyes to Duncan.

"No," Duncan shook his head and a lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead. "I simply trust you with a fire more than I do Riordan." His eyes glimmered with mirth.

Riordan clucked in mock-offense and threw his hands in the air. "Maker, I hope your beard really does freeze off, my friend."

Duncan chuckled and clapped his Grey Warden brother on the shoulder. He squeezed the leather pauldron gently before crouching down across from Alistair and helping him set the kindling ablaze. When at last the fire was lit and the shadows pushed back to the edges of the grove, the Grey Wardens let themselves sit together and talk. The wind was chilly and clawed at their cheeks and noses, but their spirits were high and the sky above them was clear and bright with stars. The air smelt like sap and pine, but soon gave way to the smell of roasting rabbit and wine as Riordan skinned, skewered, and cooked the three rabbits he'd shot with his bow earlier that day.

Alistair sat at the edge of his bedroll with his pack between his knees. He rifled around it for some of the hardtack he'd been given by the quartermaster before their march to Jader. This he quickly broke in two and held below the cooking rabbits, capturing the fat and juices that dripped from the meat. He flashed Duncan a cheeky smile before taking a large bite out of the dripping covered biscuit, and then squawked in delight when Duncan handed him two more biscuits.

"Not for you," Duncan smiled, "for us." He looked to Riordan. Both he and Riordan had their hands occupied holding the rabbit skewers into the flames.

Alistair wolfed down the rest of his hardtack and then held first Duncan's, then Riordan's, hardtack under the rabbits. When both men said their tack was sufficiently flavored, Alistair placed the two halves on each of their knees. Duncan had one free hand, and so was able to eat his as he watched the rabbits cook. Riordan, on the other hand, suffered with only the sight and smell of the food, until Alistair claimed one of the skewers, declaring he could wait no longer and needed to eat now. Whoever had said that hunger was the greatest seasoning did not know the truth of their statement, for neither Grey Warden could remember having tasted rabbit so delicious. Though a bit too rare for Alistair's liking, the meat was thick, gamey, and uniquely creamy.

The three replete Grey Wardens settled back around the campfire, Riordan and Alistair lying on their backs and staring at the stars while Duncan sat straight on watch. The silence between them was amiable, and Alistair closed his eyes and smiled in contentment. An owl was hooting in the distance, and a wolf howled in the darkness, but the campfire was warm and so were Alistair's cheeks. Riordan felt the same way, for he let out a pleased sigh.

"The only thing we're missing," the Orlesian said, "is a good story."

"That's right!" Alistair agreed, turning on his side to stare at the other two men. "We're missing a story."

"Duncan," Riordan smirked, "my bearded friend, if you would…?"

"I have no stories worth hearing," Duncan replied evenly, his eyes on the treeline. "And if I did, I would not tell them very well."

"Please, Duncan?" Alistair sent his mentor a wide smile, doing everything short of batting his eyelashes. "Pleeeeeaaassse? Just one story?"

Duncan groaned. "I…oh…very well. But if I bore you in the telling, I don't want to know."

"Great!" Alistair sat up and rested his elbows on his knees facing Duncan. "I won't be bored."

"I might be," Riordan drawled in a teasing voice.

"At least I can please one of you then." Duncan sighed and cleared his throat. "Alistair," he turned to the young Grey Warden, "did you ever learn about the founding of the Grey Wardens?"

Alistair shook his head. "No."

"Would you like to hear about it?"

The shaking turned into bobbing. "Yes."

Duncan chuckled. "Your enthusiasm does you credit." Leaning forward to poke at the fire with a long stick, Duncan stared deeply into the flames. "The Grey Wardens were founded long ago at Weisshaupt in the Anderfels."

Alistair held up a hand to interrupt Duncan. "Wait, wait a minute, I need to know something before you go on any further."

Duncan tilted his head to one side in acknowledgement of Alistair's concern. "And what is that?"

Alistair's eyes shone in the firelight. "Are there griffons in this story?"

Riordan burst out into laughter so hard that he rolled off his bedroll into the dewy grass. He covered his face with his hands to hide his tears. Riordan knew that question would be asked.

"Yes," Duncan said slowly, "there are griffons."

"Do Grey Wardens fly on them?"

"This is the founding of the Grey Wardens," Duncan chided, "not the battle against the Archdemon." He shot a glare at Riordan's shaking frame.

"But do Grey Wardens fly on the griffons?" Alistair asked in earnest. "They must have practiced flying on them."

"If I find," Duncan poked at the fire again, stirring the coals so that a rush of heat came floating towards him, "that is relevant to the tale, I will include it."

"But - "

"Alistair," Duncan shook his head, "do you want to hear the tale or not?"

"I do. I'll be quiet now." Alistair pressed his lips shut.

Giving a final look between Riordan and Alistair, Duncan took a deep breath and began…

"The first Blight had been raging for ninety years. The Darkspawn spread their Blight across the land, tainting land, man, and beast with their pestilence. No one was safe from the encroaching mass of the horde. Villages lived in fear that they would be swallowed up in the night, or worse, would awake to find their farmlands blackened by corruption. And it was in the Anderfels, Alistair, in one such village that the story of the Grey Wardens began.

"Brun the Wolf was a man of forty-five, with broad shoulders and a mass of dark hair that was already beginning to silver. He was built like a farmer, with strong arms, a sturdy back, and large hands that were dirty more than they were clean. And though he came from a noble lineage, he also had the heart of a farmer, for no matter how far duty had him roam, he always yearned for the soil of his home. Brun had experienced this longing many times: he was a knight in the service of the King of the Anderfels, and had waged many long, bloody battles against their conquerors the Tevinter Imperium and the demon plague-bearers in the King's name. Yet, a farmer had no more love for war than he did for a drought, and now as Brun entered his forty-sixth winter, he asked his King for leave to settle down on the southern frontiers where he might still serve, though in a different capacity.

"The southern borders of the kingdom had become a wasteland of dry wind and black, fetid earth. The plague-bearers had sewn their poison into the land, and nothing would grow in the purple filth under the perpetually grey sky. Every year the poison spread closer north, to the lands were the sky was still blue beyond the mountains and towards the sea. Brun would have given his life to stop the day that would soon come, when Hossberg would be smothered by a colorless sky and its walls would be ripped down by tendrils of death itself. Their only hope was to try and take back what land had been stolen from them by the creatures, and try in vain to make that land bear fruit once more. And so Brun the Wolf, with his king's permission, left the King's service to become a farmer again in the southern territories where the grass was high and the wind bitter.

"With him he took two of his sons, leaving his daughters and youngest son in the care of his sisters and their ladies in waiting. His wife, Katrin of the River, with her hair of honeyed wheat and eyes of sky blue had insisted that she join him - "

"Hold a moment, Duncan," interrupted Riordan, "the way I have heard it said in Jader, it is that Katrin of the River had grey hair and a face filled with moles. Her saving grace, her comfort, to Brun the Wolf were her - "

"Riordan," warned Duncan, "if you wish to tell the story, then by all means, you should. Another interruption and you might find yourself doing so."

Riordan fell silent, but shot a sly look at Alistair, whose imagination had run away with him and was now sporting bright red cheeks.

Duncan cleared his throat, " - that she join him, for her mother's folk were farmers. She had grown up planting seeds and husking the black corn of the Anderfels. Despite the dangers that Brun warned her of, she remained steadfast in her belief that she could help him. Unable to dissuade her, Brun mounted her on the wagon beside him, and with supplies and their sons in the back, they made the journey south. With wood and sweat, Brun built them a home atop a hill that overlooked the small patch of land the King had granted him, and that spring they planted all they could."

"Were there griffons around Brun's homestead?" Alistair asked, breathless.

Duncan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "When Brun worked in the fields in the early morning light, he could often hear the calls of griffons in the distance, though he never saw one fly over head."

Alistair gave a groan of disappointment and rested his elbows on his knees. "Did he know any griffon breeders?"

"Yes, Duncan," Riordan smirked, "did he?"

Duncan ignored them both. "It was in the middle of summer that the darkspawn came..."

Brun wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and stared out at the flat rows of earth where his plants were resting. Unable to sleep and plagued with bad dreams, Brun had decided to rise earlier than usual, leaving his bed and the embrace of his wife's smooth thighs behind for the embrace of the earth. Green stems and bright leaves poked out of the soil before him, and stalks and vines sprawled across the tracts of ground he'd allotted for them. It was an unusually warm dawn, and the air was hanging hot and heavy over the land like a sweat soaked shirt. The brief gusts of wind that puffed his way were pungent, and filled with the sweet scent of decay. Full light was still an hour away, and the sky overhead was an oily blue, tinged only with the faintest wisps of soft white. The stars had scattered, and the moon was hiding her face behind the gloaming's thin clouds.

There was an uneasiness riding in Brun's gut, like a hundred of the King's fastest horses all galloping at once inside him. It was at once both a feeling welcomed and dreaded, for this was the feeling that Brun had when battle was upon him. Though he knew wealth from his birth and the soil from his heart, all Brun had truly known in life was war. From the earliest age possible, his father had wrapped his fingers around the hilt of a sword and trained him to be a soldier, a knight of the people.

He had fought in wars and waged campaigns, he had killed men in shallow brooks and lost his boots in the mud, and he had killed men on the open field with the screaming of horses all around him. He had slain barbarians, mages, dogs, and beings of twisted flesh and power. He had also slain creatures that were men-like but were not, who gurgled and bucked and crowed, and sprayed black poison over his friends. He had been forced to slay those friends, for the poison corrupted the skin and the soul, and men brave and strong became creatures with misshapen speech and patches of something foul on their skin that tried to kill him while he slept. He had been forced to slay their dogs too, for the black poison corrupted them and bid them turn on master and friend. Brun had lost four war dogs to the black-blooded creatures and their poison, but he had lost friends uncounted to them.

But the poison had never taken Brun, and Brun could fight against the creatures where other men could not. He had been covered in their blood, inhaled their rotting flesh, and never had the sickness befallen him. And that is why Brun had fought for so long, forced ever to battle when his heart was elsewhere. Whatever could kill other men could not kill Brun, and he had barely convinced the King to let him leave.

"My Wolf," the King had said, "you can smell out the creatures that taint this land, and you can fight them like no other man I know. You are a demon unleashed upon those Tevinter-spawned devils, I will be damned if I see you go."

Brun's only reply had been to say, "If I am in the South, then I can protect the farmers there. Let the reclaimers have me, for the glory of our people cannot be left to linger and die in the North as we wait for the poison to reach us."

It had been enough for the King, for there had been reports of attacks in the South, and chilling tales of women being ripped from their beds by the monsters. He had let Brun go to farm, on the condition that he would protect. "Use whatever powers the Gods have given you, Wolf, to save this land."

Brun the Wolf did as was commanded.

The uneasiness inside him was spreading, and he rushed into his home to find his sword and shield. He woke his sons and roused his wife, bidding them to go below into the pit he had dug below the house for such an occasion. He shut them in tightly and drew over the floor door the rug that his wife had woven. His sons had taken their own weapons down with them, so that if their father should fall, they would be able to protect their mother.

He strapped himself into the leather armor he had brought with him, fastening buckles with the ease of long-practiced experience. His sword belt he strapped around his waist and his shield he slipped onto the length of his broad forearm. He also grabbed his skinning knife, and this he thrust into a pouch in his boot that he had carved out for such an occasion. Beyond his wits, there were very few things other than a weapon and some padding that a man needed in battle. Brun crept quietly out of his house, feet light as they could be in the pale morning's darkness. He rounded one wall and came to where his horses were tethered, including the black charger that had survived many a battle with him.

The charger greeted him with a small grunt and pushed its head into the hand that Brun offered. Brun sensed that the horse was as uneasy as he was, as the creature had seen and smelt the beasts that were prowling out in the twilight many times before. Untethering the horse, Brun mounted swiftly and brought the charger to bear, circling it round to get it accustomed to his weight once more. Brun had not ridden the charger for a week, but the beast was not unruly.

Brun closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to quiet his mind and the tossing in his gut. There was a buzzing in his head, and if he shut his eyes he thought he saw pinpricks of red and yellow in the distance. The drone could drive a man mad if he did not master himself, but Brun only experienced the whining whir of hornets when he faced down one of the black-blooded half-men. Exhaling, Brun's mind was no less clear, but he had pinpointed the direction of the buzzing swarm. He urged his horse in its direction, riding to meet the beasts rather than await their attack.

They were in a scraggly copse of trees a mile's ride to the west of his farm, having emerged from the night air. Brun was lucky he found them, because a farmstead lay in the path ahead of them, and they would have come upon it in shadow and secret and slaughtered everyone within it. After dispatching the five, gangly limbed monsters with his sword and his charger's hooves, Brun rode forward to the farmstead to ensure that its inhabitants were safe. The buzzing had yet to retreat as it so often did when the creatures before him died, and he was thankful that he had not turned and gone back home, for two shadowy shapes were lurking near the front of the house. They retreated across the fields as Brun rode forward to meet them. They slunk through vegetables and corn as the sun began to rise, and Brun waited until they had passed beyond the farmer's crops before he slew them. Where these creatures fell no living thing would grow, and the farmers of the South had a hard enough time eking out their living as it was. There was no need to burden them further with sloppy, inconsiderate killing.

Brun rode to the farmstead and knocked loudly on its door, and a man of about his age and build answered him.

"What have I done to offend the King?" asked the man, but seeing Brun shake his head, he lost his sour expression.

"You were about to be set upon by the plague-bringers," Brun said gruffly. He drew the man out into the field and pointed to the beasts he had slain. "Don't touch them. Tell me, have you wood? Oil? Flint and tinder?"

The farmer nodded. "I...I do. Why?"

"You must burn their corruption quickly," Brun advised, stalking around the dead bodies and eyeing the blood that was slowly pooling out of the wounds in their armor. The hot, viscous substance hissed and bubbled against the earth, leeching it of color and sucking it of life. He snapped his gaze up to the farmer. "Now."

Scuttling away, the farmer retreated to the house and returned several minutes later with arms filled with the requested objects. By the time he had come back, the corruption had burnt almost into the farmer's crops, the blood barely a hand's width away from touching the border of brown soil. Brun quickly dumped the oil along the bodies and then on the ground around them. He threw down the sticks in the areas where the oil didn't reach, and then striking his hunting knife against the tinder, he set the two creatures and their pestilent fluid alight.

He asked the farmer if he could keep the tinder, and the farmer bobbed in agreement. With it in hand, Brun rode back to the first group of beasts he had slain, and he set the small copse of trees ablaze. The fire consumed the blood and the blackness as easily as it did the wood and the needles. With the smoke rising in the distance behind him, Brun rode home to his wife and sons with a grim face and a feeling of unease. Though his home was undamaged, he was unsure for how much longer their fragile peace would last. The time to act would come soon, but Brun was at a loss as to how.

This story was originally written for the Bioware Bang challenge on Livejournal - and now that the fruits of our labor have been picked, we thought we'd share it! All of us had great fun writing this story, and crafting a shared fanon that we can use for reference in our own works. Chapter 2 will follow shortly, so for now, sit back, and enjoy the story!