Chapter Text
“Oi!” the barked voice startles all three of them - already jumpy because this false version of Weisshaupt with its twisted, blight-ridden dungeon isn’t the most relaxing place one could find oneself. “You’re late , Warden!”
The scowling owner of the voice is a dwarf…or, more appropriately was one. A Warden, the Blight thick in his veins. Red hair striped silver with age decorates both his head and beard. His armor is well-made, better than what the others they’ve fought have had on.
“Sorry,” Davrin starts to say.
“Who the hell are you, kid? I was talking to the Warden . ‘The’! As in the Archdemon slayer - why you just standing there staring, Warden, get on with your fuckery with the locks.” His blackened eyes are locked on Rook.
“That’s not him, Oghren,” a shadow moves in the darkness of the cell. This Warden isn’t so far gone as to be on his Calling yet. His steely gaze catches curiously on Rook all the same.
“What - ye blind? Of course it’s him,” the dwarf grouses.
“I’m not a Warden,” Rook tries as he focuses an ice spell on the lock before stepping away so Davrin can simply smash it open.
The Tevene accent catches them both off guard. A frown but also something like realization passing across the human’s face. The dwarf huffs still cross and grumbles about ‘fade shit’.
Davrin hesitates, watching the dwarf, “He’s not with Isseya?”
“The monster?” the human guesses and at the nod he shakes his head. “Oghren left for his calling some time ago. He found my patrol in the Roads talking about griffons and needing to tell our Commander. I sent the others to Vigil’s Keep to report.”
“You’re Fereldan Wardens,” Davrin’s eyes widen before he laughs wryly. “Well, that explains why I’ve never seen you around Weisshaupt.”
“We are,” the man nods, sliding past them to collect their weapons - a set of knives and a bow so dark it had blended into the shadows for him, and the axe for his counterpart. “I’m Nathaniel Howe, this is Oghren. What brought you down here with non-Wardens?”
“The griffons,” Davrin frowns. “Do you know where they are?”
Nathaniel studies him before looking to Oghren.
“Aye - follow me, but you keep that creepy Fade-double or whatever it is away from me,” he glowers at Rook before stomping down the stone hall.
Nathaniel sighs, “Forgive him - you have an uncanny resemblance to a dear friend but now isn’t the time or place to explain. You didn’t mention a name?”
“It’s Rook,” he eyes the man warily.
“I’m Davrin - Assan’s waiting for us up above. Wait - Darkspawn. Up ahead.”
The skirmish is brutally quick with two additional Wardens joining them. The pair clearly know what they’re about - and given that they’re old Wardens that probably isn’t much of a surprise. The ones that don’t know how to fight don’t make it to old age, let alone their Callings.
“You can call me Harding,” Harding pipes up as she falls in step with the other archer, “You’re really the ‘Good Howe’?”
“Better than being a ‘bad why’,” he snorts, with the deadpan tone of someone quoting another.
Rook smirks, “Or a forgettable ‘who’?”
Nathaniel barks a laugh.
Oghren stops to glower at him before groaning, and chuckling, “Ah! Shit! It’s genetic . This that lost pup, ain’t he?”
“The lack of furious god-touched witches hurtling down upon us suggests otherwise, Oghren,” Nathaniel notes dryly.
“What was the boy’s name?” Oghren mutters to himself, ignoring his comrade. “Key? Kyle? Kori?”
“ Kieran . This isn’t him, he takes after his mother, remember?”
“The Warden been stepping out on you? That’s messed up, Natey - can’t let him get away with that.”
“He hasn’t, Oghren.”
“Ya don’t need to lie - the brat’s right there for all he's lookin’ about as smart as a piece of cheese.”
Nathaniel sighs, “Let’s save the griffons first , and then we’ll discuss my husband’s non-existent extramarital habits?”
Oghren - though distractible in his ramblings and utterly incapable of stealth - leads them through the twisted mirror of Weisshaupt and straight to Isseya without complications and avoiding most of the Darkspawn in the fortress as well.
At the end the two old Wardens stand aside to watch them get the griffons free and checked over, murmuring to one another.
Rook can't help watching them closely - their reactions to him have caused nothing but confusion. He’s not sure what to make of it or of them.
Oghren stomps over to him, glares him over, and then nods as if to himself. “Yer alright for a mage - don’t let these idiots lose them birds again, you got it? I’m counting on you to make sure Nugget sees some - they’ll be right proud of their old man when they hear about this, so don’t ya go screwing it up.”
He stomps off into the fortress after, doing no more but grunting a cross farewell to his comrade.
“There’s more Wardens here,” Nathaniel says in explanation. “And the Vigil has, uh, allies of unusual circumstances that may be able to help the rest of the inhabitants here as well.”
“The rest are Darkspawn,” Davrin scowls. “You’re supposed to just hunt them.”
There’s a shrug, “The Warden-Commander can explain when you meet him if you wish to ask him.”
“...well, that sounds ominous,” Rook grimaces.
The archer laughs before looking at the griffons, “They’ll want to see the sky soon, I suppose?”
The extra hand was definitely appreciated in herding the flock of newly freed griffons back to safety.
Once in Lavendal, Nathaniel splits off to speak with Augustin while they take their new charges to Antoine and the healers to check everyone was in good health and figure out how to keep a town full of Wardens from gawking at living legends.
“You found him down there?” Evka asks - brows furrowed as she watches the Fereldan speaking with a Warden who stands back, their hand resting on their mabari’s head. “Alone?”
“No - there was another, a dwarven warrior named Oghren. He helped too but he stayed down there?”
Evka hums, “Hopefully they don’t send any help without warning us. The Fereldan Order gets a bit…strange.”
“ Oui ,” Antoine agrees cheerily, “But they think differently than most Wardens: Always trying new things. If anyone else has made progress against this new form of Blight it’s them.”
“But that’s assuming they’ll play nicely with everyone else,” Evka sighs.
“There’s a Blight,” Rook frowns. “Won’t they care about that, at least?”
“The Fereldan Order was abandoned during the Fifth Blight, and has accused the last First Warden of sabotage multiple times. They’ve refused to listen to Weisshaupt since 9:34, or so?”
“9:32,” Nathaniel corrects, coming over to them directly. “Van declared our Order independent the same night that Anders and Justice fled to Kirkwall. Weisshaupt had some difficulty accepting that it was no bluff.”
“Yeah, not a mistake I'm eager to repeat,” Evka’s smile is wry.
“His reputation makes his bite sound worse than it truly is,” Nathaniel shrugs a little. “He'll likely be quite cordial with you, Warden-Commander Ivo. Or is it ‘First Warden'?”
“ Just Evka is fine. You’re sticking around here? I won't say we couldn't use the help.”
Nathaniel raises a dubious brow, “I doubt I could be of any great assistance but I'll do what I can. First though, I should speak with Rook about what happened down there.”
“Rook’s a good ally - I trust him with Warden secrets,” Evka crosses her arms.
There's a moment of hesitation before Nathaniel speaks again: “It isn’t that. Rook, your mother is Fereldan, isn't she?”
“No - she's from Seheron. An artist,” Rook frowns - honestly confused by the question, his parents are well known in the Imperium. Still what the warrior had said down there - “I'm adopted, Father found me when I was an infant. I don't know anything about my birth parents.”
Nathaniel’s stare is flat before he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Your mother's name was probably Illana. She was taken from the Denerim alienage by Tevinter slavers during the Blight, in 31. You look uncannily similar to the man she was married to.”
“The one Oghren called ‘the Warden’?”
“Maker,” Antoine mutters softly. “There is a resemblance there.” “Hush. We don't know anything for sure,” Evka murmurs back.
“I'm not sure that I wouldn't have made the same mistake when confused by the Calling,” Nathaniel’s smile is wry, gesturing toward his own eyes. “Your eyes are different - his are hazel but yours match the portrait of Illana he has.”
“You're avoiding his name,” Rook scowls.
“Evander Tabris.”
“Warden-Commander Tabris,” Evka adds quietly.
Antoine shakes his head: “Hah - as if that is the title anyone remembers. Tabris is the Hero of Ferelden.”
“He does hate that title the most though.”
“The Fereldans sold by Loghain mac Tir. My mother was one of them?”
“One of his friends tracked her to her grave after the Blight ended. Not far from Ventus. I can write to see if he remembers more details, that was all that Zevran would tell Van at the time.”
“I…don't know what to say,” he admits quietly.
“Would you like to meet him? I will not keep you a secret from him but he'll respect your wish if you've no desire to see him.”
“I…will think about it?”