Chapter Text
3:19 Towers, 23 Drakonis
They arrive, like they too often do, too late.
Aethon lands just outside the remains of what had been a quaint little village, and Hans dismounts, already cataloging the destruction. Most of the buildings are still intact, though by the end of the day many if not all will be put to the torch.
Bodies, both human and darkspawn, litter the ground. Hans knows the Wardens finished the darkspawn off when they arrived, but there are more darkspawn dead not by their hand than he would expect. Interesting.
Warden-Constable Radzig is already standing in the middle of it. There’s no need to give orders; by now, all Wardens are well-versed on what to do in the aftermath, but he watches with a careful eye.
Hans makes his way over. “Ser,” he says formally.
Radzig nods, eyes still on the Wardens moving among the dead.
“They weren’t prepared,” Hans says.
“None of them on this side of the Minanter are,” Radzig replies. “Another incident for my report on moving more resources here.”
It’s more than needed. In the last year the darkspawn have been turning from Tevinter and Orlais to ravage the Free Marches. With the Marchers lack of a strong central leader, and few defenses against such raids, the results have been devastating. They say the darkspawn are mindless, but in moments like this Hans cannot help but wonder.
"Survivors?” Hans asks.
“More than we expected.”
That is something to be thankful for. Some may yet survive if they avoided injuries or didn’t get any blood on or in them. If they did, they can at least have mercy.
“Any suitable for recruitment?”
“Perhaps.” Radzig turns his head and Hans follows his line of sight.
There, standing off to the side and watching the Wardens work, is a man. He wears simple clothes, and the thick leather apron and gloves of a blacksmith. There’s a heavy hammer still held in one hand. And he’s coated in darkspawn blood.
“Maker,” Hans breathes.
“Found him defending a house, nearly a dozen women and children inside who are alive because of him. More than twice that number of dead darkspawn in front of the door.”
“And he did that with a forging hammer?”
“Apparently.” Radzig looks at him. “You should make him the offer. If he accepts, we’ll take him to the compound in Tantervale for the Joining.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Then let him say his goodbyes and make sure it’s quick.”
Hans hates this, having to deal with the walking dead. If they accept the offer to join, they can never return to their old lives, or they die in agony. If they refuse, well, the Wardens won’t allow ghouls to roam free.
He makes his way across to the man, nodding to fellow Wardens he knows who have begun the grim task of gathering the bodies for burning. Others have begun to tear off doors and shutters, break down furniture to use for fuel for the pyres. In the distance, he can hear crying, likely the women and children who’d been defended by their blacksmith.
The man doesn’t look at him as he approaches, just continues to stare with dead eyes at what was once his home. Nearby, laid out neatly next to each other, are three bodies. An older man and woman and a younger woman, almost certainly the man’s parents and wife. For all the lives he’s saved today, none of them were the ones that mattered.
Hans assumes a loose parade rest next to him. This close, he can tell that not all of the blood that covers him is from the darkspawn. His clothing is torn, and bites and cuts bleed sluggishly. If Hans were to guess, he’d bet that if they washed the blood away, black lines of blight would already be creeping from the wounds.
“I’m sorry,” Hans says.
“Tell that to them,” the man spits, jerking his head toward the bodies of his loved ones.
“I tell it to the one who can hear. They rest with the Maker now.” Hans doesn’t add that this fate is a far, far better one for the man’s wife.
“What do you want?” the man asks.
“To make you an offer.” The man looks at him. “To join us. To become a Warden. What you did here today is impressive.”
The man stares for a long moment before laughing bitterly. “What would the point even be?”
“Because there are more towns that will need help, more lives that can be saved. You could be the one who helps to save them, like you saved those in the house.”
“Like you saved Skalitz today?”
“We were too late,” Has admits, keeping his voice even. “But we’re not always. The darkspawn are unpredictable, and every strong fighter we have is one more who can help turn the tide.”
The man’s lip curls. “Nice speech. And if I say no?”
“Then we’ll make sure you join the Maker as peacefully as possible.”
“You’ll kill me,” the man says bluntly, and Hans tips his head. There’s no point in lying.
The silence returns, and Hans waits patiently. Finally, the man speaks. “I want to build their pyre first,” he says, voice thick.
“Of course.”
Hans helps him gather logs from the man’s own woodpile and break down furniture from his house. He hears one ragged half-sob as they take a bed apart, and it’s not hard to wonder why. He even helps the man wrap the bodies in linens from the bed, and it’s more dignity than most of those who died today in Skalitz will get.
Just before they wrap the bodies, though, Henry carefully, reverently stops by each member of his family and tugs the simple bands they wear on their fingers off. He adds them to the leather cord he wears around his own neck, his own ring already hanging there.
Before they set everything alight, Henry strips his clothes off, sluicing away the blood with buckets of water scooped from a trough. Hans winces internally at the thought of the unclean water washing over the man’s wounds, but infection from that will hardly be the thing to do him in. Some clothes are torn to make rough bandages and after that Henry pulls on a clean tunic and breeches, exactly as plain and nondescript as his others had been.
The pyre burns hot, and long, like the others that have been lit. It seems Radzig has given the order to have only the bodies burned, and it makes sense enough. Skalitz was a small village, tucked out of the way. Word of the attack will spread, and other locals will avoid it. It’s unlikely anyone will wander here by chance, and if they do, what's left behind should be enough to warn them off. The decision also means they don’t have to spare men to make sure the flames don’t burn anything else down.
Hans doesn’t want to rush the man, but they cannot stay here until the pyres are down to embers. Even in the light of the fires, Henry’s cheeks are pale.
Once the bodies have lost their shape, becoming just part of the fire, Henry steps back, turns away. He staggers a little and Hans reaches out, steadies him with a hand. “We need to go,” he says quietly.
Henry nods.
Hans escorts him to where Aethon and the rest of the griffons wait. Eyes going wide, Henry looks at them in amazement. Even now, with the unspeakable horror of the day, there’s something in Henry that can still see wonder in the world. Hans reaches out, buries a hand in Aethon’s feathers to give him a scratch, and holds out his other hand to Henry. When he takes it, Hans guides his hand in, letting him touch the beast.
Aethon is magnificently well trained, but he shifts a little, uneasy. Not a good sign. Henry needs the Joining, and quickly, or he’ll be with his family much faster than Hans hopes.
“You’ll ride behind me,” he explains. “Hold tight around my waist. Tantervale isn’t too far, but if you feel unable to hold on, tell me.”
“Aye,” Henry agrees.
Hans mounts quickly, and then leans down to clasp arms with Henry and helps pull him up. Thick arms wind tight around his waist, and after checking that Henry is ready, he taps his heels against Aethon’s flanks.
The griffon tamps his feet a few times, crouches down, and then launches himself into the air. It always makes Hans’s stomach lurch, and from the sound Henry makes he knows he’s not alone. Powerful wings beat, pushing them higher up, until Aethon has cleared the trees, and then he soars. Hans will never tire of this, of the wind in his face, Aethon strong and sturdy beneath him, the world and all its problems below and forgotten for just a little while.
As promised, Tantervale isn’t far, not on griffonback. Aethon knows the way, guides them directly, and sets down smoothly in the middle of the compound. Henry slides off Aethon’s back, falls to his knees, and doesn’t rise. Hans hurriedly dismounts, leaving Aethon to be tended to by another Warden. He’s in good hands; it’s Henry who needs help.
The man is even paler than when they left Skalitz. He doesn’t have long. Hans swallows. If they’d been even half a day later, there’s a good chance Henry would already be a ghoul before anyone found him.
“Come on,” he says, pulling him up, hoping that there’s a chalice full of blood already waiting, praying that he’s not too weak to survive the Joining.
Hans directs him to the chamber they use for the Joining. Initiates don’t know the room with the wide doors leads to a walled off section of yard where they burn the bodies of those who don’t survive. They just see the smooth, dark stone of the walls and floor, the plinth on which the chalice rests, Grey Warden banners hanging on the walls.
Radzig is waiting for them and his lips thin when he sees Henry. “Come forward,” he says and Hans lets go to allow Henry to walk on his own. He manages, if only just. Hans turns to leave.
A hand grabs his arm, and he turns back. Henry’s looking at him in confusion. “You’re not staying?” he asks.
Hans looks at Radzig, but the man doesn’t react. Hans turns his gaze back to Henry. He’s pale, skin clammy, lips colorless. Today, he’s lost everything he’s ever loved. His wife, his parents, his home, his friends, all gone in one horrifying event. And now he’s dying, might be dead in a matter of moments, and he’s asking Hans to stay.
Hans stays.
Radzig recites the words gravely, offers Henry the cup, and they watch as he drinks. Radzig helps hold the chalice for him, holding onto it when Henry chokes on the blood, coughs, goes to his knees clutching his throat.
He convulses on the floor and Hans makes himself watch.