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He thought he’d died.
The Joining had been unimaginable agony. When he woke, Davrin realized so many recruits hadn’t made it.
That was the dark truth the Grey Wardens kept hidden from the rest of Thedas. After all, would willingly join the order when they’d have to face a Joining if they knew death was a likely outcome?
The young man dedicated his life, every shred of energy, to the order. Learning and failing at times, but always rising holding onto from the strict teachings of his masters. He'd stand after a beating in training, wipe the blood from his mouth, and raise his fists again.
The Darkspawn offered no mercy, and neither did his training. It was adapt or die.
Davrin would even train late into the night while everyone else took their few precious hours of rest. Lifting weights, practicing sword forms, or poring over battle plans in the library. Slaying Darkspawn was his calling, his forte. He thrived in it growing evident the more missions he was sent on becoming renowned in the Order for his prowess, sought out for advice. Yet, his skills didn't make him invincible; the numerous scars etched across his face and body were testament to his mistakes. But he learnt from each one.
It wasn't a life others more saner people would envy, but Davrin craved nothing else. Traveling, helping others— it was more than enough. He was prepared to spend his remaining days serving Thedas as a Grey Warden, until the Calling claimed him or his luck finally ran out.
Returning from Weisshaupt, the very meaning of Davrin's life shattered. He was left grappling with the sheer number of Wardens who had fallen, and the impossible truth of his own survival. He’d lashed out at Lucanis selfishly, he’d apologize later once both their tempers calmed down.
How was he still alive after slaying an Archdemon? He was supposed to die. That was the Grey Warden's ultimate sacrifice, the price paid with their very life. The purpose of his life’s Yet, here he stood. Alive.
How?
It wasn't right. It made no sense.
The elf felt a burning fury, a profound sense of being cheated and utterly lost. What comes next?
What now? How can he call himself a Warden when he failed?
Rook came. Of course their leader did. But she didn’t come as a boss. She came as a…. Friend.
Her eyes, filled with a sorrow and understanding, attempted to soothe him with gentle words. When his anger and frustration lashed out, she stood unflinching, chin raised, even as tears shimmered.
Even Assan, bless the Griffin, had been able to make him feel better.
But Rook? She had just the words. Validated him. Reassured him. She leaned her head against his back and was.… simply there a rock in his storm.
‘I for one am glad you didn't die. That you didn't leave me.’ her voice echoed in his mind long after her quiet footsteps faded from his chambers.
Part of the anger, the sheer inability to process the last few days, was something he couldn't have confided in her. Hell, he could barely comprehend it to himself.
When Davrin was poised to strike down the Archdemon, he'd felt fear, hesitation to never see her again. He didn’t feel ready. And a selfish part of him was glad he hadn’t does even if he couldn’t admit it now.
A new calling had begun to stir within him as he stared at the doors.
One with her and Assan.
Davrin awoke to the sun warming his face, the sounds of Minrathous stirring below as the city awakens. He glances down at the Elven woman nestled in his arms, face tucked into his chest, still fast asleep. Then, to his left, where Assan lays partially draped across his thigh. He smiles at his loves.
Callings, he now accepts, can change. His had shifted from a life of relentless duty and sacrifice with the Grey Wardens to one of love and peace with his Vhenan and son. He wouldn't have it any other way.