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Weight of the World

Summary:

Scarlett Amaryllis Cousland never asked for this. She didn't want to become a Grey Warden. She wasn't looking to play hero. She's just some shy bookworm who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and now it's up to her to save the world. Armed with a wicked brand of sarcasm and a really, REALLY big sword, she and her companions set off to fix the unholy mess we affectionately call The Blight. Despite her initial reluctance to lead, she soon comes to learn she has an inexplicable knack for it. Just one problem: Love. complicates. everything.

This story is a DA:O retelling and yes, dare I say, a love story. But that's not to suggest it'll just be the same ol' tale you've played through a dozen times. I've thrown in lots of extras and taken several liberties with this otherwise familiar plot, and I promise this is one story that will definitely keep you guessing. So buckle up, reader. You're in for one wild ride! :)

Notes:

Special thanks to PookatheCat for providing her own awesome series and inspiring me to begin my own! If you haven't read her stuff, hop to it! http://archiveofourown.org/series/353288

Chapter 1: Those Left Behind

Chapter Text

Ah yes, the beginning. I’ve been avoiding coming back here. Although, I suppose you can’t tell a proper tale without the proper background, eh? It still hurts. A lot. So let’s dispense with the dreary details and opt for the lite version, shall we? I’m of noble birth. Sister to a missing brother, daughter to a murdered mother and father. I left them, albeit unwillingly. I left that entire life in Highever behind in what would become the pursuit of a cause greater than myself. But what I wouldn’t give for the briefest of moments back in their embrace, to feel their kisses on my brow, hear their honey-toned ‘I love you’s. Maker, I miss them so much sometimes I can barely breathe.

To this day I'm not sure if I made the right decision, but in retrospect, that decision was really made for me—or so I try and console myself. I can still remember the moment he dragged me away from them like it was yesterday. Duncan. A member of the famed Grey Warden order paying Highever a visit to add to his ranks. Talk about shitty timing. Thinking back on it now, I know he was a good man—something we’re in dire need of these days. But oh how I resented him then. How I kicked and screamed and beat my fists against his back as he hauled me away from the only people who mattered to me in this Maker-forsaken world. Perhaps I could have fought harder. I could have shouted louder. Run faster. I don't know. I've gone through that fateful night so many times in my memory, reassessed how else I could have handled it—desperate to discover if there was any minuscule action I could have taken that would have spared their lives instead of mine. Not that any of that matters. Not anymore. They wanted me to escape. I know that now. I’ve accepted it. But Maker preserve me—all I could see at the time was that knowing look in their eyes that this was their end. The heartbreak in each quiet tear as it slid down their drained, pallid cheeks. That was the moment I felt the weight of a thousand worlds on my shoulders. Each step that took me farther away from them added another brick on to my burden. I was their last hope. Their shiny beacon in a realm gone dark. 

Duncan hauled me off to some fortress called Ostagar to meet up with the Ferelden King, Cailan, and some other soldiers to prepare for some great battle. I didn't really know what I was in for. I was barely paying attention to anything he said on the way there. He honestly seemed perfectly fine with me not being the world's greatest conversationalist—thank the Maker for small miracles. Day in and day out, we walked, we camped, we walked, we camped, we walked ... you get the picture. When we finally reached our destination, I can only describe myself as a shell. Any life I had in me died when I lost my family. I was empty, through and through. To escape the pain, I resorted to thinking and feeling nothing at all. I couldn’t eat (much to the delight of my faithful Mabari, Meatball, who gobbled up my food happily). I couldn’t sleep. I can only imagine the impression my ghoulish appearance had left on King Cailan when he came to greet us at the entrance to the fortress. Some promising new recruit. Pft.

Welp, I suppose this is the part where I tell you what I look like—or at least, what I looked like before I became the shambling mess darkening the gates at Ostagar. Let's see... my entire family was tall; I was no exception. I hovered around six feet give or take an inch, which might bother some women—we're meant to be all pretty and petite after all, aren't we?—but I've always rather liked it. Being "vertically gifted" always came in handy when I was in one of my especially stubborn and defiant moods—men tend to cower a lot easier when a woman can face them eye-to-eye. I have long, wavy, chestnut-colored hair with golden tones throughout that hits just below my shoulder blades, which I typically keep in a braid over my shoulder so it doesn’t get in my way. My eyes resemble a firestorm on a green sea—dark emerald hues on my outer iris fading to rusty orange around my pupil (my mother used to say I had so much fire inside that it was coming out my eyeballs). My nose is round and my lips are full and pouty. My skin maintains its winter paleness year round and my build, well, my build could best be described as… curvy. I had kept up with my swordplay and days spent running after my nephew—Maker rest him—had kept me active, but the excesses of life as a noble were definitely apparent around my chest, stomach, and thighs. I looked more like an hourglass than a stone-carved warrior. Regardless, the many suitors mother introduced me to seemed quite interested, despite my aforementioned imperfections and my utter lack of reciprocation. Now, whether they were interested in my looks or my title remains to be seen…

After Cailan was done exchanging pleasantries and making empty promises about avenging my family, Duncan left me to explore the camp and meet up with another warden named Alistair. Oh, did I not mention that? Those recruits Duncan was looking for? I was it. That was the price for him saving me from the siege. And honestly, other than the tales of grandeur that had survived throughout the years, I had no idea what I was about to step into. I didn't know what to do with myself. I began surveying the area, looking for nothing in particular, just trying to keep my mind occupied. Anything, anything to keep me distracted. Anything to dull the heartache.

Really, priority one should have been to find Fergus, my brother who had been MIA since the incident at Highever. Why didn't I seek him out, you ask? Well, two reasons: 1) I was so busy wallowing in my own grief I couldn't think straight and 2) I was certain my heart would not recover if I found out the worse had come to pass and he, too, was no longer among the living. Call me a coward. Call me a bad sister. But at that moment I would have rather dwelled in blissful ignorance than face yet another tragedy. And, Maker, what if I did find him alive? How exactly does one explain that in the blink of an eye, everything you know and love is now ash and dust? I could barely stand to think of it...

With Meatball in tow, I made my way through camp. I introduced him to the many other Mabari preparing for battle. I met with Teyrn Loghain, Ferelden's "greatest" general—a tall, dark brute of a man with eyes so cold his steely gaze all but made you shiver. I had seen him and his daughter, Anora, a few times when I was little, when the Teyrns met to discuss the affairs of their lands. He didn't remember me, but he was obviously the brains behind this whole operation—a supposition I came to after speaking with him for a mere five minutes or so. At the time, I even felt a little admiration for the famed Hero of River Dane.

Ha, how wrong I was! Oh well, hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

In my exploration I came across an elderly mage named Wynne who explained a thing or two about the Fade for no reason other than I asked and was desperate for some distraction. I met the other potential recruits—Daveth, the womanizer and thief, and Jory, the family man and, for lack of a nicer term, coward. I was clearly in great company. After milling about for awhile longer, I found this other warden I was seeking arguing with a mage. He was slightly taller than me, broad shoulders with strawberry-blond hair, a strong jaw, and er, how do I say this politely, a very prominent nose. And young! Maker, he couldn’t have been more than 20. Not what I was expecting when I pictured a full-fledged Grey Warden. Duncan fit the bill—wizened, full beard, skin stained by the sun, experience exuding from his very presence. This Alistair, he was something different altogether. Not a legendary hero; just some kid like me. I somehow felt relieved and more worried at the same time.

After the mage left, he spoke to me.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” He asserted jokingly.
“...Sorry, what?” He had caught me off guard, and honestly I’d been in a daze for the past several hours… or was it days at this point?
“Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”
“Do I look like a mage to you?” I asked as I wrapped my fingers around the pommel of my sword. 
“You must be Duncan’s new recruit. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.”
“That’s all right. No offense taken. I’m sure I don’t exactly look like your typical new recruit.” I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as my eyes fell to the ground.
“As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.” He sounded almost regal in his direction, though I had no idea what this "Joining" was. “Do you have a name or...”
“Scarlett.” I left it at that.
“Scarlett…” he smiled slowly. “Pretty name. You know… it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is…”

I’m sure it was innocent enough, but I couldn't help but notice he took the time to slowly look me up and down immediately after he said it. He was, after all, a young man and… “curiosity” was only natural. I’d give him a pass. This time.

“Oh give me a little credit." I defended as I unsheathed my sword and swung it—not to show off, mind you, just to illustrate that I knew damn well how to wield it.

I trained for several hours a day since I was a young girl—one of the many battles I fought against my father and won. He wanted a little lady, all prim and proper and primped and polished. I had other plans. I craved knowledge. I craved adventure. And more than anything, I craved independence. That meant learning how to hold my own in a fight, should the occasion arise. We met somewhere in the middle. At father's behest, I learned how to play the part of a highborn young lady—how to dress, how to speak, how to sit, how to bat my eyelashes, how to feign interest in even the most mundane drivel, blah blah blah. But I wanted to be so much more than that. I wanted to be my own person, not some faceless maiden to be flaunted in front of any slobbering suitor who came to court. I wanted to forge my own path someday, on my own terms. I refused to conform to the narrative my parents had planned for me since birth; I was more than some baby-making machine whose sole purpose was to sit back, look pretty, and keep her mouth shut. So, my father also gave his blessing for me to receive training from the very best swordsmen Highever had to offer. I was absolutely insistent. I stuck with it as though my life depended on it. My story was going to be entirely of my own making. And I think my father admired that. Deep down, he liked that I had a little fight in me. Maker's breath but I do miss him...

What was I saying? Oh. Right. Combat training. My point is, I was pretty decent at it. Granted, I had never actually seen battle before the siege at Highever, but you don’t devote that kind of time to honing talent and come away with nothing.

“I can handle myself better than most.” I put the sword back in its scabbard effortlessly as Alistair's impossibly wide eyes slowly settled back into his skull. 

“I'm getting that impression." The junior warden cracked a nervous, crooked smile. "So, I’m curious. Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”

Ah, right. That's what the Grey Wardens are known for. Darkspawn, my studies had told me, were basically a race of soulless monsters who reared their ugly heads every now and again to wreak havoc on poor, unsuspecting Thedas. And for some reason, Grey Wardens were especially adept at putting them in the ground. It was rumored that a Blight was upon us, meaning a whole lot more darkspawn than usual would need to be dealt with, in addition to the head honcho giving them orders—the infamous Archdemon. OoOoOoh. Spooky. 

“Have you?” ‘Atta girl. Keep him talking. Keep the focus off of you. Keep yourself distracted from the pain emanating from the gaping hole in your chest. 
“I asked you first,” he smirked.
“No, I haven’t. Sounds like a blast, though.” I offered sardonically.
He paused for a beat, seemingly unsure of how to keep this conversation going or whether it was even worth the effort. “I confess, you seem... less than thrilled to be here. Did you even want to become a Grey Warden?”

Damnit. I so did not want to talk about myself. I could’ve lied and said yes, this was my life’s dream. I could’ve said I wanted nothing more than to pledge myself to the service of such a noble and worthy cause. None of it was true. I was here because I no longer had a home. No longer had people who cared about me. My presence at Ostagar was a product of circumstance, nothing more. I chose to not lie, but not exactly tell the truth, either.

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Was all I offered as I broke eye contact. 

Alistair furrowed his brow and decided not to press me. Maker, was I thankful for that.

“You don't really talk much, do you?" 

I met the question with a stare accompanied by more silence.

"Well, you're in luck. My mouth more or less never stops running. What a pair we will make!” He tried to joke, clearly unbeknownst to him that I lost all my mirth the moment I left my parents' side. I continued staring at him blankly. I myself had no problem with silences or perceived lulls in conversation. I was a fan of quiet, truth be told. Alistair, true to his claim, was all too happy to fill the void as quickly as possible. “I was training as a Templar for the Chantry before Duncan recruited me. That was about six months ago.”
“A Templar? You were a mage hunter?”
“Not that that's all Templars do, but, yes. Duncan saw I wasn’t happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I stand—a proud Grey Warden.”
“You speak fondly of Duncan,” I noticed.
“He risked a lot of trouble with the Grand Cleric to help me,” he paused. “What about you? What do you think of him?”

I thought about it for a moment. Although I did greatly resent him at the time for doing what he did back in Highever, after some reflection I came to realize he only did what he thought was best. And I owed him my life. I settled on, “He seems a kind man, if a little firm.” Then I decided to change the subject again. “What can you tell me about this Joining?”
“I…” the joy that was once in his hazel eyes slowly began to drain. Remember before when I said I was both worried and relieved? Worry was definitely winning now. “I really wish I could tell you more but, these lips are sealed.”
“Ah, so you choose now to stop being chatty? Convenient.” I rolled my eyes before turning around and walking back toward the heart of the encampment. Alistair followed.

We reached Duncan and met up with the other recruits. He sent us, Alistair included, into the Korcari Wilds to collect darkspawn blood and find some ancient warden contracts that were supposed to help us defeat the Blight. I’m certain there were more details, but I was only half paying attention. I'd heard precious little about what to expect in that part of the forest—and none of it was good. Words like "deadly" and "ferocious" and "labyrinthine" sprung to mind. I didn't care. What did I have to lose at this point? Despite my rather lackadaisical approach to this whole thing, I admit I was looking forward to getting some blood on my sword and working out some of my issues on the battlefield. It was the only reprieve I could think of from my unending grief. 

When we encountered our first darkspawn, I was actually a lot less phased by the whole thing than I’d anticipated. Of course, they were monstrous. The stuff of nightmares. Their black, leathery skin, their milky white eyes, their yellowed teeth and tattered armor and shoddy but wicked-looking weapons... it wasn't a pretty picture. They snarled and screeched and clawed and were most definitely just as much out for our blood as we were for theirs. But something inside me simply switched on, and I took care of business, running them through with my father’s sword, pretending each one was Rendon Howe, the bastard who robbed me of parents and burned my home to the ground. As I felt my blade connect with their—I suppose you could call it flesh, but I honestly don’t know—as I saw their black blood spew from their soon-to-be lifeless bodies, I almost felt like my old self again—fiery, determined, powerful. For the first time in days, I almost felt… alive. Maybe this Grey Warden thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

“Maker have mercy! Aren’t young ladies supposed to learn things like how to embroider and play the lute? ...Right. Remind me to stay on your good side.” Alistair exclaimed as I wiped the blood from my sword.
“Who said you’re on my good side to begin with?” I flashed him a brief smile. I couldn’t help it. I’d felt better than I had in days.
“Surely I couldn't have earned your ire already... We only just met.”
“Oh, I don't know. Something tells me you have an exceptional knack for that sort of thing.” My smile widened despite myself. He smiled back.

Darkspawn blood: Check. The contracts, however, were proving to be a bit more of a challenge. When we went to obtain them at the tower as Duncan had instructed, we were stopped by a striking young woman with hair as black as an inkwell and yellow eyes that literally glowed when the sun caught them at the right angle; yes, you read that right: yellow. She was rather scantily clad in black and purple rags, and her smooth contralto voice was asking me a question.

“What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”
“I am neither. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower.” I explained plainly. 
“I see. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.” Seemed like a fair deal.
“I am Scarlett. A pleasure to meet you.” Just because I was covered in blood and obviously dealing with a wild apostate didn’t mean I couldn’t be civil.
“Manners? Well well. Today is just full of surprises. You may call me Morrigan.”

I could hear the boys whispering behind me, claiming she was a witch and she’d turn them into frogs or gobble them up or some such nonsense. Fine. If I had to act like the only real “man” here, so be it. Yes, I'll grant, she looked a bit odd and mysterious. But she was a woman. Just a woman. If she wanted to intimidate me, she would have to do better than stand there and talk at me. 

“Morrigan, if you would be so kind as to return the contracts that could once be found here, we’ll be on our way.” I offered. 
“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them.”
“Then who did remove them?”
“’Twas my mother, in fact.” She admitted dispassionately. 
“Can you take us to her?” I asked. 

Alistair grabbed my arm from behind and whispered in my ear. “We should get those treaties, but I dislike this… Morrigan’s sudden appearance. It’s too convenient.” His breath tickled my ear as he whispered and it sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Hey, don't look at me like that. My ears always were especially sensitive, and I may have been devastated but I wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.

“I say we go with her.” I whispered back, and much to my surprise, he didn't even try to argue. He just reluctantly gave me a nod of acknowledgment and we were on our way, just like that. An interesting turn of events, considering he was the so-called leader of this little expedition. Anyway, we acquired the contracts from Morrigan’s mother, Flemeth (more on her later), and we headed back to Duncan.

As night began to fall, it was time to begin the ritual.

Ah, the Joining. How can I truly describe it? It didn't seem like there was much to it, really. At least not outwardly. Alistair said a few words, and Duncan instructed us to drink some darkspawn blood. Gross, I'll grant you, but seemingly pretty straightforward. I soon came to realize, however, that it was anything but simple. It was more like... imagine you’re being chased by a rabid wolf. You run and you run and you run and just when you think you’re about to escape, you come to a cliff. Your choices are to either be eaten by the wolf, or jump off the edge. That’s what it means to take part in the Joining: You either die for certain, or take your chances with the cliff.

Dareth went first—and lost his life almost as soon as the goblet left his lips. Apparently it was a common scenario—a lot of people didn't survive this lovely little ritual. Funny how Duncan left that little detail out isn't it? I didn’t think much of him, but I was sorry to see him go. Jory didn’t even bother with the cliff and opted for certain death instead, in his way. He wanted out, and after seeing Daveth choke to death on tainted blood, I couldn't entirely blame him. But as I would soon learn, Grey Wardens were big on secrets. Jory had seen too much. There was no turning back. Duncan bade him to drink, and Jory pulled out his blade. And thus, Jory sealed his fate. I didn’t envy Duncan or his duty to do what needed to be done for the sake of the order. I could tell he took no pleasure in taking Jory’s life, and I respected him all the more for it.

Then came my turn, and let me tell you, the wolf was mighty tempting. Maybe I could be reunited with my parents. Maybe they were waiting for me at the Maker’s side. But then I remembered their final wish: for me to go on; to be that shining light in the darkness. So I stood at that imaginary precipice, closed my eyes, and drank.