#darrian tabris

“Your majesty, beware!” A harsh-looking woman steps forward past the King’s battered entourage, eyeing Anders with so much malice that he takes a step back behind Oghren. “This man is a dangerous criminal…”

“Oh, the dwarf is a bit of an ass,” the King laughs, “but I wouldn’t go that —”

Anders sees the Templar insignia emblazoned on her chestplate, and the relief he’d been starting to let himself feel at having somehow survived the ambush is sucked right out of him by a second wave of adrenaline and a sudden all-too-familiar urge to flee.

“She means me,” he forces himself to mutter instead, realizing there’s no chance for him to slip away from this mess he’s gotten himself into unnoticed now.

“Allow me to explain,” she huffs, directing her explanation to the King, instead of the Warden-Commader who appears to be sneering at her. “I am Ser Rylock, and this is a nefarious apostate who we’ve been in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice before this new wave of —”

“Oh, please,” Anders scoffs. He figures he might as well make this count since he has a bit of an audience, judging by the Warden-Commander’s initial reaction to her and the familiarity he senses between him and the King. He isn’t exactly highborn nobility, being an elf, and he seems to have experienced his own fair share of injustice at the hands of a different, albeit intertwined, establishment. “The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble! I’ll probably just escape again, anyhow.”

“Never!” The Templar turns back to Anders now, her face growing red with fury. “I will see you hanged for what you’ve done here, murderer!”

“Murderer?! But those Templars were — oh, what’s the use? It hardly matters, right? Not like it even counts seeing as we’re not even human to you…”

Anders glances back toward the Warden-Commander to see his reaction, but he seems to be busy having some kind of side conversation with the King using only his eyebrows. Anders sighs in resignation as Ser Rylock takes another step towards him bearing enchanted shackles that will disrupt his connection to the Fade and block any magic he would attempt to use to defend himself.

He takes a deep breath to prepare for the sickening emptiness he’s about to feel, but he knows from experience that submitting to this humiliation is better than resisting and earning himself a full on smite.

The King clears his throat. “Well, it seems there really isn’t much to say.” To Anders’ surprise, he steps between them, causing Ser Rylock to pause and take a step back just as she’s about to shackle him, looking absolutely shocked to be eclipsed by the hulking form of the King. “That is, unless…you have something to add, Warden-Commander?”

The Warden-Commander nods and there’s another sly grin shared quite obviously between the two of them, before he turns to Anders. “How would you feel about joining the Wardens?”

“What?!” Ser Rylock exclaims, her voice sounding weirdly distant and hollow now behind the King and all his armor. “Never!”

“I believe the Grey Wardens still bear the Right of Conscription, no?” King Alistair glances innocently enough between Ser Rylock and the Warden-Commander.

“I believe we do…” The Warden-Commander grins with no attempt to hide his smugness.

“I will allow it, then!” the King declares triumphantly, with a nod so enthusiastic that it nearly jostles the delicate crown off his head.

“If…if your Majesty feels it is best,” Ser Rylock mutters, looking utterly dejected as she turns away and skulks back toward the gates.

“Ha! Way to go, kid!” Oghren slaps Anders on the back and he lurches forward, gasping another hard-earned sigh of relief. “Welcome aboard!”

“Me?” Anders asks. He is still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he’s not currently being led away in magebane-coated shackles. “A Grey Warden? I mean…I guess that will work…”

He glances back up at the King, who is now attempting to straighten the crown on his head self-consciously while also trying to straighten his face and keep from bursting into laughter at the Warden-Commander, who is showing no such restraint himself, snickering at him as he finally lends the man a hand and shoves the ridiculously delicate thing back into his closely-cropped hair, tucking it back behind his barely-pointed ears and grasping his shoulders, before pulling him into an embrace.

“Congratulations, ser mage,” Mhairi says to Anders with so much reverence and conviction that he actually believes her when she adds, “I look forward to fighting at your side.”

Seneschal Varel pulls the Warden-Commander and the King aside and fills them in on the situation after this latest skirmish with the Darkspawn. It seems grim — missing Wardens, no trace of any of the Orlesians, and a whole bunch of repairs to make if the Keep is to withstand another attack. What has Anders just gotten himself into? He starts to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to go back to Kinloch with Ser Rylock and take his chances at another escape. It’s not as though he’s really any closer to Kirkwall serving as a Warden here. He might eventually be able to make his way further north…but when? How long can Karl really be expected to wait for him?

But then Oghren grips his arm and pulls him away. “Come on, kid. We got a Joining to prepare for!”

The King looks up at the two of them from his conversation with the Seneschal and what is soon to be Anders’ very own Warden-Commander, assuming he survives this mysterious ritual. There’s a mix of pity and admiration on his face as he looks him over, and when he realizes Anders is staring back at him, his expression quickly changes, and he offers him an encouraging nod instead. Anders doesn’t even know what he’s doing before he catches himself winking cheekily at the King of Ferelden. Thankfully, the Seneschal says something that brings the King’s attention back to the conversation as Anders’ cheeks redden at his own habitual shamelessness.

“An Arl, then…? Look at you!” Anders hears the King say as he slings an arm around the much smaller elf at his side. It’s not that the Warden-Commander is particularly small for an elf. It’s just that the King is…well, he’s just a very large man. The Warden-Commander shrugs into him and mutters something about “...bloody shem politics,” before the King finally bursts out into laughter. It’s a truly beautiful sound.

Anders asks Oghren, “What’s he like, the King? I mean…you fought with him during the worst of it, right?”

“You think you got a chance with him, kid?”

“Well, he did just help to save my life…”

“Saved mine plenty of times, too. Doesn’t mean he wanted to share a bedroll!” He cackles, wheezing, then coughs. “He’s a good man. Bit idealistic at times. Has a sadness to him, though. But good to have on your side because he can swing a sword, too, and will throw himself in front of pretty much anything for you. Consider yourself lucky he and the Commander seem to have a soft spot for you mages…that Templar sure seemed to have it out for you.”

“Yes, well…” Anders sighs. “That just seems to be a part of the job.”

“You know, the King was almost one.”

“One what?”

“A Templar. Got conscripted to the Wardens right before he took his oaths.”

“Interesting…”

“Don’t go gettin’ any weird ideas about it.”

“I’m…not…”

“Yeah you are…” Oghren snorts. “I can see the filthy gears turnin’ in your head already!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can we just…” Anders huffs. “What exactly are we meant to be doing right now?”

“Gotta collect some Darkspawn blood…think we’re gonna have to drink it!”

“Wait, seriously?”

…

Darrian had asked him to stay. To oversee the new Wardens’ Joinings and to help with repairs to the Keep. And Alistair was thrilled. It’s what he was hoping for, to be honest. That his quick “tour” would turn into more of a “stay.” Much to his guards’ and his uncle’s annoyance. Teagan would be waiting back at Denerim to scold him for leaving so recklessly at the first sign of trouble and abandoning his duties as King, most certainly. But that was a problem for later. He was a Warden, after all. Before he was ever a King. And with an active Darkspawn threat, his loyalty was to the Order.

Little did he know that Darrian had Rendon Howe’s only surviving son chained up in the dungeons, awaiting a decision about his fate after an attempt on his life.

“I think I’m going to give him the option to Join,” Darrian tells him as they tour the armory, taking stock of all the ways they’re ill-prepared for a full assault should the Darkspawn horde target the Keep again in earnest.

“What? This is the son of the Butcher of Denerim…remember him?!”

“Yeah. Of course, I remember him…” Darrian stops and glares at him.

Well, of course he does. Alistair shudders at the memories of what they discovered in the dungeons of the Howe estate and the reparations he continues to try to make for the man’s heinous crimes.

“And he’s sworn to get vengeance…for disgracing his family, yeah?”

“I think he’s begun to realize we’re not the ones responsible for his family’s fall from grace…”

Darrian pulls out his favorite dagger when they reach the sharpening station and wipes it clean on the leather strap hanging from his belt.

“It’s obviously your call,” Alistair sighs. “But honestly…?”

Darrian examines the edge of his favorite blade, squinting at the way it reflects the light, before lowering it onto the whet stone and sliding it carefully over the surface. “We gave that snarky apostate the option…”

“Well, yes, but that’s hardly…”

“And I was right about Zev, wasn’t I?”

“Jury’s still out. He still might show up and try to kill you. Not sure if Crow contracts have an expiration date.”

“You never seemed to mind sharing a tent with him.” Darrian points the knife at Alistair’s chest.

“We weren’t…it was never…ungh!” He shoves the blade away from him. “I don’t even know why you’re asking me my opinion. It’s clear you’ve made up your mind. And you know as well as I that he could just as easily die from it, anyway.”

“Exactly, so let’s give this noble brat a chance to prove himself. If he tries anything, I’ll just kill him.” Darrian stabs the air next to him with the knife as if he needs to illustrate to Alistair that he’s capable.

“Comforting.” Alistair watches for a few minutes while Darrian takes out and cleans and sharpens the rest of his knives. It’s something he always found sort of mesmerizing at camp, the way he always seemed to turn even the most mundane tasks into a form of play. “When, exactly, are you planning on putting them through it?”

“Tonight. I’ve got six, including Howe. There’s your mage…”

“Excuse me, my mage?”

“Yeah, I mean…isn’t that why you had me conscript him? Figured you thought he was cute or something.”

“Darrian, what in the the Maker’s ever-loving bosom could have given you —”

“What was with all the eyebrows and giggling, then? Haven’t seen you like that since we met that duelist at the Pearl in Denerim.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor!” Alistair throws his hands up and then motions around him at the half-empty armory. “You’re not exactly swimming in new recruits or overflowing with resources here!”

“Oh, and the fact that he’s exactly your type had nothing to do with stepping in and sending that Templar bitch home with her tail between her legs?”

“Okay…it was a bit satisfying.”

“Ah ha! See!”

“Fine. He’s cute. But I’m…not in any kind of position to be finding apostates who are about to undertake their Joining cute. And definitely not going to be doing anything about it while I’m here.” Though he will be sure to do something about the lack of resources, if he can.

“Uh-huh…anyway…so in addition to those two, I’ve got Oghren, of course. A young knight who is obsessed with us, a dwarf from the Legion, and a Dalish mage who also wants to murder us all, I think, over something to do with her sister.”

“Sounds about right. What can I do to help?”

“Oghren’s taken them to get the blood…and I’m pretty sure he’s already told them all they’re going to have to drink it, which just seems to be his go-to for everything, so they may or may not believe him. Varel’s got the chalices ready with the other ingredients. If you don’t mind reading from the book…? That part creeps me out.”

“Yeah. I think I can handle that.”

“And then, there’s everything that comes after…”

Alistair nods. “Right.” It’s going to be a long night.

“I think Oghren will be alright.”

“Are you overly attached to any of the others?”

“Trying not to be…haven’t even really bothered to learn their names.”

“Smart.”

“Thank you.” Darrian places his hand on Alistair’s arm and squeezes. “For being here.”