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illusivesoul · 7 months

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Loghain: "So you didn't rush to your king's rescue? I see. Then both of us left the boy to die"

Wynne: "I was no general at the head of an army! I could never have reached him!"

Loghain: "And I had no magic that could break those darkspawn ranks. But perhaps you think I ought to have tried, regardless. No doubt, the lives of mere soldiers are cheap in the eyes of the Circle"

Wynne: "And what of all the soldiers who died with their king? Their lives were worth nothing to you"

Loghain: "You think so, do you? I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families. I do not know how you mages determine the value of things, but they were my men. I know exactly how much I lost that day"

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vigilskeep · 1 year

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curious on your ostagar opinions as a player—i’m personally on the side of “ostagar wasn’t anyone’s fault, including loghain’s, though some people cailin couldve minimized the loss better than they did”, (though i still hold loghain very accountable for the way he handles the ferelden civil war and the slavery), but i know you spared him in your main playthrough

ostagar’s an interesting one and it’s taken me a while to develop my thoughts on it. battles are by nature complicated and chaotic and hard to pin down to one factor—there’s a reason real medieval war leaders tended to avoid them if possible—but here’s some thoughts

1. the push to confront the darkspawn as quickly as possible, even when troops from amaranthine, redcliffe, orlais, etc. had not yet arrived. both cailan and loghain seem responsible for this. cailan is reckless and confident, unconcerned with the idea of facing the darkspawn without reinforcements, and loghain actively vetoes the idea of waiting for orlesian reinforcements. as i recall it’s primarily duncan who wants to wait but the grey wardens are on shaky footing and he doesn’t have the influence to press that. if it hadn’t been for loghain’s insistence, cailan might well have waited for the orlesians, but if cailan hadn’t called for the orlesians, maybe loghain would be the one counselling to wait for redcliffe and amaranthine. neither should loghain’s fears of the orlesians be written off as unreasonable imo like yes his choice here went badly but it wasn’t based on unfounded prejudice and there’s no way to know what might have happened

2. the beacon was delayed and mistimed. this isn’t anyone’s fault except the darkspawn. alistair and the warden were supposed to light the beacon at a particular time, but instead of that being an easy job, the tower has been suddenly overrun by the time they get there. alistair comments as you fight through the tower that you’ve probably missed the signal and should light the beacon just, like, as soon as you get up there. this chaos must have affected decisions taken on the ground and, as the main change from the original battle plan, was possibly why the beacon was delayed enough that loghain considered there no longer to be any chance of saving cailan

3. alistair says at flemeth’s hut that he has no idea why loghain would turn away, and that the king’s forces “had nearly defeated” the darkspawn. i’ll make allowances for his perspective being somewhat affected by the losses he’s just suffered, but his judgements are generally very good on this kind of thing and i trust them. i don’t see any reason to write this off, especially combined with other witness accounts. i do believe him that there was a real possibility to win here

4. at flemeth’s hut, all anyone can guess is that loghain wanted the throne—men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature, and all that—but there’s no sign of this in loghain later in the game, although supporters of his like howe may have wanted that as an end goal. there’s nothing ambitious in loghain, there’s no intent to betray. loghain claims he remembers “a fool’s death and a hard choice” and that “the darkspawn would either have had him or have had us all”. it seems odd that he consistently blames cailan’s foolishness when it was a battle plan he had agreed to and nothing really changes on cailan’s part, but cailan’s recklessness and lack of care for battle plans is thoroughly set up in the ostagar prologue and i imagine it affected how he was handling things during the battle and also the aforementioned failures to get all of ferelden’s forces there in time. nonetheless my point is that this was purely a tactical decision on loghain’s part, and he regretted cailan’s loss (even if he blamed cailan for it). so either he genuinely thought the battle could not be won, or that it would mean enough losses that it would not be worth winning. and i trust his judgements too—battle leadership and strategy is his whole skillset

SO where does all that leave us. i think ultimately my perspective on the battle, which i think gives it a reasonable balance and a reasonable way to argue both sides, is that if loghain had followed the plan they would have won and cailan and duncan might have lived. thus, loghain can be considered responsible. however it would have left ferelden with significantly higher casualties. loghain’s men would have been lost as well as the king’s. ferelden would have been in an even worse state than it already was, and that with a) a blight still ongoing, since the archdemon was not present at ostagar, and b) a whole orlesian army of reinforcements on the way, with no-one to stop them at the border, and who with ferelden’s defences completely crippled might well fight the darkspawn just like the grey wardens wanted... and then find reason to stick around. celene was obviously trying to regain orlesian influence in ferelden with her letters to cailan, and there are several pieces of minor dialogue in da2 which openly threaten the possibility of orlais retaking ferelden in the aftermath of the blight’s destruction. could they really resist the temptation if their armies had the excuse to already be there? ferelden hasn’t even been free for as long as it was under orlesian rule

(as a side note, me sparing loghain in my main playthrough isn’t me being a Loghain Was Right truther and certainly doesn’t mean i or my warden absolve him of his actions during the blight, especially towards the alienage. ‘is loghain right/morally salvageable?’ isn’t really the decision my warden makes at the landsmeet; it’s ‘is it more important to kill a man for doing evil or to let him live to do good?’. it’s ‘is it more important to publicly make a peaceful compromise or to make a strong statement against my enemies and in favour of my allies?’ more personally to my warden, it’s ‘i have fought so hard all this time so that everyone will know someone like me can save ferelden, but how will the history books remember me if i become the elven mage who killed the hero of river dane?’ those are all far more interesting and relevant considerations to explore for me narratively than assigning blame)

#loghain mac tir #battle of ostagar #all open to discussion as usual #its a fun one. i love ostagar as an opening to the series and an introduction to the world #such a good tone setter

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tales-from-the-fade · 2 years

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I present to you this absolutely absurd screenshot that I forgot I took

As a whole it doesn’t look like much beyond a poorly timed screenshot, but lets take a closer look shall we?

First up we have Cylese, the first elf to apparently ever grow facial hair...

This guy who is either seriously considering a career change or is about to keel over from running up all those stairs

Discount Arl Eamon who is probably wondering how tf an Orge managed to get to the top floor in the first place? Like did it use the doors or??

And last but not least, Alistair, who is either about to sneeze is about to be used for a visual reference for my next smut fic

#dao #dragon age origins #tower of ishal #alistair theirin #warden surana #battle of ostagar #grey warden

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mysterious-cuchulainn-x · 11 months

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We Will Hold the... Charge?

I've spent a fairly, perhaps unreasonably, long time being deeply perplexed by the Battle of Ostagar. The human forces are both on the defensive and defensively positioned, while the darkspawn are obviously on the attack, yet dialogue consistently treats preparation for the battle as preparation for an attack on the darkspawn—even though it is the human forces who are camped in a clear location, and the darkspawn who can emerge from the wilds to battle at will.

Stating the obvious, maybe, but I'm also excited to have finally figured myself back around where things make sense:

The Battle of Ostagar is not the first battle of the Blight.

Duncan and Cailan both refer to previous "skirmishes" against the darkspawn. It appears at first that these may be fights against scouting bands in the Wilds, but Cailan specifically mentions participating in several victories—the teams in the Wilds have had a much harder time. Rather, the darkspawn must have emerged from the Wilds previously, lacking the numbers they have built up by the final engagement, and failed to break through the human defenses.

(This adds additional flavor to the fearful soldier in the cutscene—it's not the sight of darkspawn at a great distance that's so intimidating, but how damned many there were.)

2. Duncan's return changes Cailan's calculations.

The king is in high spirits when Duncan returns with The Warden, eagerly anticipating a heroic charge against the darkspawn. Part of this is immature hero worship and glory-seeking, but there are also widespread indications of fatigue, mounting casualties, and growing morale problems; "holding the line" with no end in sight isn't going to work for much longer.

So: the royal army may have been positioned defensively during his absence, but with Warden-Commander Duncan at the king's side, it is time to seize the day (and his army's flagging morale) and cast down the darkspawn once and for all!

(Loghain, as Rendon Howe's patron, etc., etc., has his own reasons to abide by this reversal; Cailan explicitly refers to the battle plan as Loghain's strategy.)

3. Duncan urges patience and asks after the archdemon.

Duncan questions Loghain's plan twice: urging Cailan to wait for Arl Eamon—not knowing he has, most likely, already been poisoned—or for more Grey Wardens, and then asking what contingencies exist if the archdemon appears. Both approaches aim, unsuccessfully, to alter the strategy's implementation to make it effective: delaying a decisive engagement is bad strategy against the horde, but the only way to ensure the army's survival until the archdemon actually appears.

But neither Cailan nor Loghain knows (nor would Loghain likely believe Duncan) about the archdemon, so from the non-Warden/generally ignorant viewpoint the best option—with morale declining and the horde growing every day—is to counterattack and force a decisive battle. They can choose this battle because the darkspawn attack the human defensive positions semi-regularly; it is merely a question of picking the attack to counter.

TLDR: No, CuChu, the army did take advantage of their positioning. They just stopped doing that, for reasons unique to each decision-maker, right on time for it to be the worst possible decision.

Of course, Cailan's charge is still a foolhardy and unnecessary risk, but it's something he could coherently insist on in contrast to the previous battle plan, and which Loghain has every reason to agree to.

#dragon age origins #the battle of ostagar #cuchulainn thinks

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flashhwing · 1 year

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i am NOT hatching a hof!Hawke au, i am jsut saying ...... if a Cousland died in the tower of ishal, could a warden Hawke perhaps take on his identity to lend some Legitimacy to his and Alistair's attempts to fulfill the grey warden treaties?

#very important note: the fake identity thing is TOTALLY UNNECESSARY for multiple reasons #that doesn't stop him from doing it anyway #something something duncan recruits cousland and they stop in lothering on their way to ostagar #hawke sees carver at ostagar and goes 'hey lil bro what the FUCK are you doing here?'#hawke and carver both thinking the other died in the battle #dragon age #this has been a post

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ndostairlyrium · 2 months

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15, 17, and 20 for the fandom asks!

Ayy thanks!! *u*

15 - the character that always makes you smile

17 - the thing in canon that everyone loves and that you also love

I'm going for a character: the Grand Oak I remember we both agreed on a post about the whimsical aspect of Origins, some time ago, that resonated with a lot of people as well. They're a symbol of that and I'm looking forward to seeing if things will return to that level of lovely absurdity in the next game ;;

20 - your very first fandom!

Ummm I would say Tolkien/Lord of the Rings because it was the first one in which I actively participated. I was obsessed with other things before but I just kept them for myself because I couldn't connect with other people (literally. we didn't have internet in my house until I was 18), plus my rl friends weren't into the same things :'D my tendency was to obsess over some media but it was always labeled as weird

The meme

#ask game #love your fandom asks #alistair is like #fav character fav romance fav everything #I see him in ostagar and just fangirl #in my head there's a battle between him and vetra nyx for the number one spot in the fav romances royal rumble #they're different yea but in this fandom he's invinci--- oh no sorry cassandra I didn't mean to--#*connection lost*

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heniareth · 1 year

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The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 3: The Battle Begins

(Full chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 4046

WARNINGS:

general darkspawn hivemind weirdness

some body horror (screaming blood)

death, description of death

the horrors of war (anxiety-inducing)

canon-typical violence

Sulri returned a while after, walking straight towards them. She looked solemn and somber, as if bearing bad news. Astala saw her expression with a twinge of worry. Were they in big trouble?

Sulri tapped Khêd on the shoulder. Khêd didn’t look up and flipped her off. Sulri let out an exasperated huff, crouched down in front of him and started signing away. Khêd avoided looking at her, but Sulri was insistent Finally, something she said made Khêd pay attention. Sulri said something more. Khêd’s mouth was a tight line, but then he relaxed. Forcefully. Astala had no idea someone could be relaxed in such a tense way.

“Fine,” Khêd said, shrug casual and not. “Let’s hear it.”

Sulri gave him a sweet smile and positioned herself so that all three of them could see her. As she started talking, Khêd translated:

“The battle is looking bad. The strategy they will use is solid, but the king’s armies are severely outnumbered, and he refuses to retreat and wait for reinforcements from his uncle in Redcliffe. I tried to help him see reason, but it didn’t work. Tonight will likely end in a defeat for the king’s army.”

Astala felt the palms of her hands starting to sweat. She exchanged a glance with Ilanlas. Maybe they could still leave?

“Fortunately,” Khêd continued his translation, “we will be away from the battlefield- we will!?”

Sulri threw Khêd a scolding look, which he didn’t even acknowledge.

“I’ll throw my beard into the Ancestors’ graves, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in years. Hah!”

He jumped up and pumped his fist in the air. Sulri crossed her arms, evidently not impressed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, salroka,” Khêd said in a mocking tone. “I’ve seen enough 'locks up close for a lifetime and a half.”

“You are a Grey Warden,” Ilanlas said. “You will see many more.”

“Do you all have to dim the lights?” Khêd said and sighed. “I’m happy about this, okay? Let me have that!”

Ilanlas raised his eyebrows, but shrugged and said nothing more. Khêd shook his head as he sat down.

“I am glad to see the Warden-Captain didn’t catch you,” Sulri continued and turned to Khêd. “Although he will probably suspect it was you.”

Khêd sighed. “Of course he would.”

“Who is the Warden-Captain?” Astala asked.

“Duncan’s right hand,” Khêd said. “Pale. Bald. Tall, but all of you sods are tall.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd didn’t bother to or didn’t want to translate.

“He was with us down in the Deep Roads and was the one to take over when Duncan left,” Khêd continued.

“You don’t like him?” Astala asked.

Khêd’s only answer was a shrug.

“Alright...” Astala turned to Sulri. “How do you know Teyrn Loghain?”

Surli made a shooing motion with her hand and shook her head.

Now that was forthcoming.

Astala leaned back on her hands to look up at the sky. Despite the strong wind, the dark, oily clouds above were progressing slowly. They crawled along like slugs, blocking out the sun and casting the world into an ever growing shadow. She didn’t like this weather. She’d seen a lot of clouds and storms—living next to the Waking Sea did that—but nothing like this. It felt off. The wind had a thinness to it that made her shiver.

“Aren’t they weird?” she asked Ilanlas, pointing upwards.

Ilanlas looked up and stared at the dark mass above them for a while.

“They look like darkspawn blood feels,” he said.

“Oh, great,” Khêd said with a wary glance upwards. “Now the void above our heads is acting weird.”

Shortly afterwards all wardens started to gather around the tent with the large map. Khêd suggested they keep to the back of the group, so they would be as far away as possible from the Warden-Captain. They sat down, mercifully overshadowed by a few wardens standing slightly in front and to their left. Alistair was in the middle of the group, being wrangled around by a huge blond warden saying something about ale and celebrating. The other wardens around him laughed. The air was filled with the dull roaring of mutliple conversations happening all over the group. When Duncan stepped up to the map, which had been hung up so everybody could see it, silence immediately fell over the whole fifty wardens.

She could feel it clearly now. The blood in every body answered to Duncan’s presence and the Blight in his veins. Behind Duncan stood the Warden-Captain, and the other warden with the brown skin and the grey eyes.

Duncan explained tonight’s strategy in quick, precise terms. King Cailan, along with all Grey Wardens, would meet the darkspawn horde at the front of his armies in the gulf that cut the hill in two. The king’s armies would feign weakness—and hopefully they’d have to put effort into their feigning—and gradually retreat up the gulf. Once the darkspawn had been drawn in far enough, Teyrn Loghain would join the battle with the rest of the men, attacking the darkspawn from behind. So far, so good.

Duncan then went into detail explaining where specialized taskforces would be; the warden archers, for examples, of which there were twelve, and their mages, of which there was… one.

“If the Archdemon appears, I want everybody to focus on it,” Duncan said. “We are the only ones who can slay the beast. Even if the king himself is about to be overrun, or I am about to die, I do not care. You will focus on the Archdemon. Understood?”

A murmur of assent washed over the crowd.

“How will we get the Archdemon to land?” somebody asked.

Duncan nodded at the brown-skinned, silver-eyed warden next to him. “I leave this to Palla.”

The warden stepped forward and let their gaze sweep over the crowd. When they spoke, their voice was quiet, but carried far.

“In my time as a dragon hunter, we tried many things. Chains, big nets, magic. Best method? Cut their wings. Beasts can’t fly on broken wings.”

They looked over the crowd again, eyes wandering from face to face. When they landed on Astala, it felt as if someone was running the serrated edge of a rusty blade along her teeth.

“You’ve all seen the beast,” Palla continued. “You know what it looks like. As soon as it appears, Herán and his archers will scatter and aim at its wings. Mahieu, you and the Circle mages will also engage as long as it is within range. As will the soldiers manning the ballistae. We have some hope that the ombined efforts will injure it badly enough that it will be forced to land. From there, approach until you are within range and fire at will. Do not worry about the horde; they will want us others dead first.”

“With all due respect, if I may.” Onastas clambered to his feet from the middle of the crowd. “This is not a dragon hunt. This is a battle. Our placement on the field will see us surrounded and overrun within minutes.”

As soon as Khêd finished translating that bit, Sulri nodded emphatically.

“It’s also the position closest to the archdemon,” Palla answered with a shrug.

“You are correct, Onastas,” Duncan said. “Unfortunately, the king commands this army, and we are under orders to be front and center in this assault.”

“Well,” Onastas replied, “did the king ever say if all of us had to be at the front? Couldn’t we-?”

“I suspect I know where this is going, and your idea is appreciated,” Duncan said. “But I’m afraid we can’t loophole our way out of this. The teyrn already thinks us little better than Orlesian chevaliers. We cannot afford to even appear insubordinate.”

Onastas seemed to want to insist. In the end, however, he shrugged and sat back down.

“Remember,” Palla continued, “dragons are weakest along the throat and the belly. Once the Archdemon has been forced down, aim for those spots.”

“What about the neck?” another warden asked. “I once heard a chevalier tell he chopped a dragon’s head off with an axe.”

“That chevalier was lying,” Palla said flatly. “Regardless, do not climb onto the Archdemon unless it is no longer moving. And if anybody somehow manages to stab it in the neck, they better make peace with the fact that they just dealt the killing blow.”

Silence hushed over the group. Duncan stepped up again.

“Our newest recruits will not be with us on the battlefield,” he said. “They have been given the task of lighting the signal that will tell teyrn Loghain when to march. Alistair, you will go with them.”

“What!?” Alistair jumped up. “I won’t be in the battle?”

“It is an important task,” Duncan replied. “If the beacon is not lit, teyrn Loghain will not know when to charge.”

“So he needs, what, five Grey Wardens standing there holding the torch, just in case?” Alistair said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If that is the only thing you can think of doing while you wait to light the signal, then yes,” Duncan said.

“But why can’t we be in the battle and just leave early?” Alistair pressed.

“No,” Duncan answered. “Once the darkspawn and the king’s armies have made contact, you will have one hour to enter the tower of Ishal and get to the top. Once we give you the signal, you will light the beacon. After that, you will stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower. If we need you, we will send word. This is by the king’s orders. Understood?”

“I…” Alistair hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped. “Yes, Duncan.”

“Good.”

“But,” Alistair added, lifting his head once more, “if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I’m drawing the line.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Khêd mumbled.

Astala set out to say something when the sunlight, choked as it already was by the clouds, became pale and sharp. A shadow fell over the camp—no. Not a shadow. It was more like a scream, or a call, vibrating through her bones. Her head snapped left, as did the heads of all the other Wardens. Something was humming in her blood, words that were none, an order: and her blood pulled.

Then it was gone again.

Astala let out a shaky breath. Khêd had gone pale, Sulri had grown still. Ilanlas had his hand on the pommel of his dagger, knuckles white as fresh ash. The other wardens exchanged uneasy and, in a few cases, knowing glances.

“Well, we have all heard that,” Duncan said. “Let us prepare for battle. The darkspawn are marching.”

Everything went very fast after that. People finished putting on armor and checked their weapons one last time. Somebody helped her with the chain mail after she’d pulled the fear-soaked gambeson, to which she'd add her own fear now, over her head. The metal rings dragged on her shoulders, heavier than any crate she’d ever carried, and Astala needed a moment to find her footing. Immediately, the breastplate was fastened to her. Her heart was beating a harsh thump-thump-thump in its new metal case.

People were saying goodbye: an embrace, a pat on the shoulder. Promises to stay safe and meet for drinks after the battle. Forehead pressed against forehead, eyes closed. Somebody was kneeling in a corner, praying quietly. A tear-streaked face; a tightly gripped shield; a dog scratched behind the ears as if it were the last time; shouts and screams and steps, marching, running, thousands of footfalls. The mass of people would’ve swept her away if it hadn’t been for Sulri grabbing her belt before she wandered off.

Astala took a deep breath. She had a sword, stolen as it may be. She had a dagger, taken from a corpse killed with the stolen sword. Maker preserve her family; she wished she could say goodbye to them again.

“Are you ready?” Ilanlas asked.

Astala took another breath and let it go. Shaky. It didn’t stop shaking. She shook her head.

Ilanlas gave her back a tentative pat. “It will be alright.”

“We don’t know that,” Astala choked out.

“Who’s the old ball of cheer now,” Khêd said. He knocked his shoulder into her back and sent her stumbling forward a few steps. “Shake yourself out of it, duster. Not the time to lose your head.”

Astala swallowed and nodded and rubbed her thumb over the pommel of her sword. Up and down, up and down, up and down.

The Grey Wardens left. Helmets on, so that their faces were obscured, they marched. The mage was passing his staff from one hand to the other, but his face was grim. Alistair stood at the edge of the wardens’ encampment. He got his hair ruffled once or twice, a squeeze on the shoulder, a nod, a few words. Duncan handed him something, which he tucked away. When Duncan turned around, Alistair looked like he wanted to run after him. He stayed. The wardens left. Alistair’s shoulders looked heavy. The expression on his face was downright miserable.

The blue and grey and the proud griffon banner disappeared into the gorge that split the hill in two. The rest of the army, grey and golden, or red, or green, each after their leader’s color, followed behind.

She hadn’t sent money back to Denerim.

Alistair turned around, and looked at the four of them in the middle of this now deserted camp. Astala rubbed the pommel of her sword. Should she do something? Say something?

“Right.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Well. We might be able to find a good spot from which to watch so we know when to start moving.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd translated: “Will you be leading us?”

“Yes.” Alistair stood up straighter. “You all know me by now, and I know the way you fight. Not that we’ll encounter much to fight anyways, but…” He trailed off, looking down towards the bend around which the Grey Wardens had disappeared. He sighed, shook his head and continued. “Anyways, let’s go round once and see if we can get everybody’s skillset down. Astala, sword and dagger.”

Astala nodded.

“You’ll be with me at the front, then.” Alistair said.

“Me too.” Khêd heaved a big sigh and strapped his shield to his arm. “Should’ve learned how to handle a crossbow. My eyesight isn’t even that bad.”

“I will stay back,” Ilanlas said while he strung his bow. “But, should you have need of knives, I will step up.”

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” Alsitairs said with a small smile. “Surli has us covered, right?”

Sulri nodded and demonstratively held up a dagger and an earthen jar with a tight lid on it.

“Right,” Alistair said again, much more firmly. “Let’s move.”

They positioned themselves as close to the bridge as they could. One of the giant ballistae was about twenty steps to their right. Three soldiers were manning it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite all of the soldiers leaving, the camp was by no means empty. Servants, elven and human, were still running around. The sad-looking mage with the Andrastian sunburst on his forehead stood there. The infirmary was still up and running. It would probably be filled to bursting once the battle here was done.

Below them, the king’s half of the army, the Circle mages and the Grey Wardens were taking up position. The clouds had closed above them. The sky and the gorge both were dark; only the glow of thousands of torches and the slight sheen they left on metal armor told them were the army was situated. The wind shifted slightly. Astala caught a whiff of incense. From the darkness below rose the Chant of Light. The Revered Mother and her Chantry sisters were down with the soldiers.

Was this how the Maker saw the world? Terrified people, singing up to him from the darkness.

A slightly sour smell was the only warning they got. Shortly after, rain started falling down on them.

“Your void is crying,” Khêd said, almost accusingly so, and lifted his shield over his head.

The rain fell heavier, splattering against the stone, their armor, and onto the battlefield below. Fighting in the mud had to be exhausting. Astala was glad she didn’t have to wear anything in front of her mouth and nose though.

“Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor,” Ilanlas muttered quietly.

As if answering him, a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the sky and the gorge below them, flashing over the armor of the king’s army. The roll of thunder that followed was deep, but still far off. The wind kicked up and blew the rain into their faces. Astala sought refuge behind a stone pillar.

Ilanlas, face turned up towards the churning sky, quietly sang to himself.

Another strike of lightning, this one much closer. The thunder crashed into her ears with a loud bang followed by a rolling as if of tons of stone. Shouts rang out behind them. A couple of elves were running to the nearest shelter, ducking and shielding themselves from the rain. At the infirmary, somebody was tying down the tents’ canvases.

Why were these people still here?

“Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”

A third strike of lightning left her seeing nothing but white for a moment, and the following thunder roared with vengeance above them. Then Alistair peered over the crumbling balustrade, and Ilanlas did too. A heartbeat later, Astala could feel it: itching, creeping through her veins like a hum, her blood was singing.

Torches, small pinpricks of light, appeared in the darkness of the Korcari Wilds.

The darkspawn approached silently dragging some sort of mist with them out of the swamp. The torches tinted it a flaming red. The howling wind carried their stench all the way up to them. In the gorge, a dog started barking, then another. Then the whole pack joined in. King Cailan’s army greeted the darkspawn with a fierce war cry. Swords banged against shields and thousands of voices rose towards the sky: defiant, challenging, ready for battle.

The voices thinned as more and more torches rolled in, like a slow-spreading wildfire.

Her blood screamed.

For a moment, both armies stood still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Astala felt it before she heard it: from within the darkspawn ranks came a deep, hoarse bellow of an order. Shrieks picked up, growls and howls pierced the air. Underlying it all was that faint, whispered gibberish she kept hearing in the back of her head. The deep, throaty laugh hummed through her bones. She pressed closer to the stone pillar, made herself small. Like a black wave, the darkspawn army surged forward.

A faint call from below. Something pulled, made her stand up straight again. Duncan. Another call, followed by sharp whistling as arrows rose into the sky like snakes and plunged down into the black mass of the darkspawn. Astala felt the impact. More arrows followed. A fireball drew a smoking arc through the sky and exploded in a cacophony of shrieks, sending darkspawn flying. More followed.

The darkspawn pressed forward.

Another fireball—but this one flew wrong. It detonated in the middle of the king’s army. Those people were dead. She could hear their screams, saw their bodies being flung up into the air.

Alistair cursed loudly. “Void take those emissaries!”

Hounds were let loose against the ranks of the darkspawn. At another barked order, the king’s army pulled itself together. Among fire and arrows, another battle cry rose into the air. The army moved. They followed their hounds into the ranks of the darkspawn army. The dark tip of their spear were the Grey Wardens. Her heart thundered in her chest as if she was holding the beating hearts of all fifty of them. Another strike of lightning, thunder, a fireball struck a nearby ruin.

More and more, the screams of the wounded and dying mixed with the clash of metal and the tearing of flesh.

“They’ve clashed,” Alistair shouted over battle, wind and thunder. “Let’s move! Across the bridge and to the tower, go!”

They ran. The wind hit them like a wave in the storm. Her hands started to tingle; she wanted to draw her weapons. Not now. Not while running. The bridge was lined with archers, trebuchets, ballistae. They ran past them. Something zipped past her and she only recognized it as an arrow when the soldier in front of her fell backwards, feathered shaft sticking out of her face. Astala’s feet carried her over the corpse before she realized it was a corpse, and then she ran for her life. The chain mail dragged her down.

She only stopped when she was safe in the shadow of the crumbling archway on the other side of the bridge, panting and gasping and tasting blood at the back of her tongue. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Astala leaned against the column. In front of her lay the long road by which they’d arrived at Ostagar only yesterday. It was covered in mist, beaten by wind and rain. Screams and the sound of carnage echoed up behind her.

She left the column, stumbled further away from the bridge, braced herself against her tree and fought to keep her lunch down.

At first she thought the two people running towards her through mist and wind and rain were her companions. Then she realized they were coming from the wrong direction; the bridge was behind her, the people in front. Astala drew her blades, backed away from the tree. The first was upon her. With a scream, Astala lunged towards the dark figure.

The man yelped and threw himself to the ground. Astala blinked and recognized the robes of a mage. The man hastily crawled away from her.

“Sorry!” Astala stepped away. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Maker preserve us!” the man whimpered, but stopped crawling.

Astala got a better look at his face. He looked like he was about a decade older than her, was soaked with rain, and deadly pale. His weird, pointy cloth hat was hanging askew, covering one of his ears while leaving the other along with the whole side of his head exposed to the elements.

Behind him, another figure approached—another soldier. Judging by the armor, he wasn’t part of the king’s army, or of any noble’s house. He roughly yanked the mage up, then fixed Astala with slightly wild eyes.

“You’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Astala said and lowered her blades.

A slight hum in her blood, steps behind her, and then a rain-drenched Ilanlas appeared next to her. Alistair and the dwarves followed quickly after. Ilanlas looked past the two men towards the rampart that led to the tower of Ishal.

“Captain Walton,” the soldier said, pointing at himself. “The tower’s been taken.”

“What’re you talking about, man? Taken how?” Alistair yelled over the wind.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They’re everywhere!” Captain Walton threw a fearful glance back. “Most of my men are dead!”

“Well, we have to get in,” Alistair said and set in motion. “Come with us, we might be able to save some of yours.”

That seemed enough for the captain and the mage. The seven of them made their way up the ramparts.

“Three close by,” Ilanlas said as they ran. He began to drift away from the group, pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it on his bowstring. “Some others further in.”

“Hurlocks and genlocks, and one alpha at the door,” Alistair added.

Astala felt it now too: one pull, faint, towards the battlefield. The other, sickening, towards the tower.

Alistair drew his sword and readied his shield. “Astala and Khêd, keep close. Let’s show these bastards.”

They rounded a corner. Screams greeted them. There were two soldiers, about to be overwhelmed by several darkspawn. Alistair roared and charged, Khêd hot on his heels, teeth bared, shield high. Astala followed closely. Silver streaked around her. She didn’t know if it was rain or more arrows.

---

TRANSLATIONS:

- “Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor”: "Elgar'nan, wrath and thunder, strike our foes down." - “Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”: "Elgar'nan, All-Father, Sun-Slayer, here I am. Let me have vengeance.

All bits and bobs of elvhen constructed with the help of Dalicious’ Elvhen Dictionary

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lavellander · 10 months

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my ideal platonic aliwarden dynamic for alistair and sarenan is like. what if I was unwillingly forced into being in an order I never wanted to join and you were way more into it and also kind of pissed I wasn’t into it, but over the course of our time together I became equally protective of you and kind of dependent on you as someone I trust who is going through what I’m going through, and without realizing it one day I realize you’re one of my best friends and in a strange way I’m grateful for the shitty events that brought us together. and we were both grey wardens. 🥺👉👈

#I rly love ranae but i realize her existence in my canon worldstate kind of destabilizes this specific type of bond bw sarenan & alistair #bc sarenan would absolutely go to ranae before alistair. as a fellow elf who is Really Not Interested in being a grey warden.#I have a shaky hc for my worldstate that sarenan joins several months prior to the battle of ostagar & ranae only joins right before #but sarenan would be hanging w the mages there whenever she could rather than bonding w alistair lol #so!!#idk. makes me sad bc in game they WERE besties but it’s just hard to see it playing out as such w ranae in the mix. and I rly don’t want to #take her OUT of the mix

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woohooincoffin · 10 months

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Actually I’m going to restart DA:O, reading the Calling is making me gain respect for the Wardens and long to die a heroic death in a great battle to safeguard humanity

#also do nothing during the battle of Ostagar w the bestie Alistair

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afraidofchange · 11 months

Note

01. hand kiss for Shepard!

@pentaghest | smooches.

"Now, Seeker, to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

A grin splits the Warden's scarred face, from ear to ear; coming to Skyhold seemed like the right choice for the Inquisitor, though it was the Right Hand of the Divine who garnered Alice's attention these past few weeks, a leader in her own right and certainly one who holds her own in the sparring ring.

The way the other woman has sat herself down at this corner of the inn suggests one of two things - exhaustion (which is likely), or frustration (which is also a possibility). Even before Cassandra can respond, Shepard gives a wave to the innkeeper to bring two steins of ale this time around. Her own resurgence from beyond the grave, hearing the calling has brought a confidence unmatched, and so, as a greeting - and perhaps, as influenced by the nearly empty ale in her other hand - she reaches for Cassandra's hand, lifting it by the heft of her calloused palm to press a kiss against her knuckles, gentle as the flittering of a butterfly, but lingering close with such an earnest look from bright, brilliant blue eyes.

"Thank you for joining me. I wasn't sure if you found my note."

#pentaghest #ALICE JOAN SHEPARD: IC #v: DRAGON AGE #[ tldr she was a warden at the battle of ostagar but almost died ]#[ and was revived by a mage woman by the name of Miranda and lived in hiding for years ]#[ until the sky tear and the false calling etc ]#[ anyway the thought of her being like wow this seeker is impressive im gonna ask her out to a drink by hand written note ]#[ left it open if you wanna continue it! ]

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