#Denerim

[sluttyquarantinetheory]

"I hate the fade." "I hate the deep roads." Well I hate fucking Denerim. Run around getting jumped every four minutes. There's a fucking plague nobody is dealing with. Some blind templar is the only one doing his job. Terrible layout. Ass of a city.

[jjthebunbun]

Denerim hit DIFFERENT when you’re a Cousland.

[ede917]

Remember what I said about how much more opulent Orlais looks compared to Fereldan?

Denerim (Fereldan)

Val Royeaux (Orlais)

And now Minrathous (Tevinter Imperium)

Is it any wonder the Vints always refer to the south as a barbaric place if this is what their capital looks like?

And this is Minrathous after a thousand years of decline. Imagine what the Imperium must have looked like in its prime. Imagine what Arlathan must have looked like!

This is the kind of heavy lore that makes me love Dragon Age.

[sapphodera]

The Battle of Denerim

[beetnik-jay]

The sun will come out again and we will both be here to see it.

Wanted to draw a lil moment of rest after the battle of Denerim

[illusivesoul]

Why Rendon Howe is evil

This is a little theory thats been going around in my head for several days.

Rendon Howe. Evil personified. Probably one of the most despicable and hated characters in the Dragon Age series. One of the characters thats most easily defined as being just plain bad and evil, with good reason. Even in the game itself no one likes him (with 1 exception that I'll mention later in this post)

In the game, we really aren't given many reasons as to why he is the way he is and why he does the thing he does beyond saying he's evil, power hungry, and like he himself says as he dies, "I deserved more!" But recently I started to become curious about him to try to find out what had made him become like this, cause I prefer villains to have some complexity that goes beyond just "He's evil just because".

Rest of the analysis under the cut.

.

My main theory of why I think Rendon became "evil" is cause he may have suffered brain damage due to his injuries while fighting against Orlais with Maric and his rebels. My first thought for this came cause historically, Henry the 8th of England suffered several brain injuries during sporting events, and its believed that his injuries led to him having a severe personality change, which led to him become more radical, tyrannical and murderous.

After the death of his father and the Howe family joining the rebellion, Rendon joined Maric's forces and became close friends with Bryce Cousland, future Teyrn of Highever, and Leonas Bryland, future Arl of South Reach. The 3 of them fought together in the Battle of White River, which was the worse defeat the rebels suffered in the war against Orlais, and only 50 of the initial thousand soldier strong fereldan army survived.

Rendon was very badly injured during the battle, and Bryce and Leonas had to dragged him away to safety as the rebel army was crushed by the orlesians. Bryce was injured in the arm while trying to save Rendon from a chevalier. They got Rendon to Redcliffe and stayed with him for a month while he recovered before leaving to rejoin Maric and the rest of the rebel forces. While Rendon recovered in Redcliffe, he was tended to by Leonas's sister, Eliane, until he eventually recovered months later. He eventually proposed to her and they got married.

And here is the first bit of evidence we get of Rendon's attitude and behaviour completely changing after that battle and his wounds. From the wiki: "Leonas had become concerned by the changes in his friend's behavior since the battle and attempted to prevent the marriage." And some other quotes from Leonas that we get to her in dao: "Rendon Howe was no friend of mine. The boy I knew... died at the Battle of White River" and "That he didn't die years ago is the only thing worth mourning here." Leonas cut all contact with Rendon after he told him that he was only marrying his sister for her dowry and connections.

This goes back to what I mentioned earlier about the one person that seemed to care for Rendon. That person is Bryce Cousland.

Bryce and Eleanor were the only people that attended Rendon and Eliane's wedding, and even though Rendon was treated as a pariah by almost everyone in fereldan nobility, Bryce still maintained a friendly relation with Rendon, and seemed to have an almost protective attitude towards him, which contrasts greatly with how Leonas feels about Rendon. And this is where I came up with another theory about why this is. I believe that Bryce feels personally responsible for the injuries and near death that Rendon suffered during the Battle of White River and feels that he is somehow obligated to look after him. I can only hc why these could be, but maybe Rendon got injured while protecting Bryce, or maybe Bryce's actions during the battle led to Rendon's injuries. Maybe that's why Bryce seems to have keep pushing for the friendship that he once had with him, even though he clearly no longer was the same person. Cause Bryce felt responsible for the way Rendon had turned out.

Its possible that Rendon was just always like this, and those months he spent recovering just made him become super resentful against everything and everyone, but I do believe that the near death injuries he suffered during that battle, including possible head injuries and brain trauma, led to his personality changing and to him becoming the sheer villain we see ingame.

And to finish, a bit of background as to why Rendon would have hated Bryce even despite of this, here's a bit of info about them and about the relation between Highever and Amaranthine.

Rendon's father, Tarleton, supported Orlais during their occupation of Ferelden, and was eventually hanged by the Couslands before the Howes officially joined the rebellion. Adding the fact that Highever was once part of Amaranthine before they rebelled to gain their independence and annexed a good part of southern Amaranthine after winning their independence war, it adds some context to how Rendon could have seen this part of his greater vengeance against the Couslands and Highever for killing his father and taking away land from Amaranthine.

TL,DR: Rendon Howe suffered grieveous injuries during the war against Orlais, including possible brain injuries which may have led to a complete personality shift and to him becoming the person that we see him being in the game.

[inquisitorgaywarden]

Sometimes I like to stroll around Denerim in DAO, and wonder... How in the world are the buildings there still standing??

I bet the walls are crumbling, and their solution is to "slap some wood on it and call it a day"

This one is my personal fave:

there's so much going on here

[blarrghe]

still on my bullshit

[shift-shaping]

why the fuck did we do it like this

[dragonagekeeper]

Disclaimer: This is not recorded in the keep.

Denerim Polls

Dragon Age Origins Polls

See quest and choice descriptions from Dragon Age Wiki/Keep below

After rescuing the queen from Howe, Anora informs the Warden that something is wrong in The Alienage. She believes that her father is behind it and she expects the Warden to find proof in order to erode Loghain's support in the Landsmeet.

After entering the Tevinter Warehouse, you will be met by Devera, a Tevinter elf involved in the slave trade. Regardless of how you deal with her, you will end up meeting with the boss slaver, Caladrius in the northern room who will recognize the Warden's identity as well as Alistair's, if he is in the party. If patient, you can learn something about how the slavers have been operating; in particular, Caladrius will confirm Loghain's tacit involvement in their schemes.

In the slums, the elves are suffering from an apparently blight-related sickness. Those identified as ill are quarantined at a Hospice by members of the Tevinter Imperium. However, it turns out that none of the sick have been seen and many elves, led by Shianni, are questioning the Tevinter healers: Veras and Saritor.

If the slaves are not freed:

Slave trade not stopped

“Amongst the city-born elves of Denerim, things remained as they always had. The rumors of slave traders working secretly in the shadows persisted until riots in the Alienage forced the throne to intervene. The slavers were shut down, but not without the loss of many elven lives.”

Accepted his offer to buy the documents and let him go [slaves are not freed]

Allow him to make an offer wherein the Warden will pay him 100 gold, allow him to leave with his slaves, and get the evidence confirming Loghain's involvement.

2. Fought and spared him, and accepted the blood ritual [slaves are sacrificed]

Allow him to surrender and accept his offer of a constitution +1 boost; this kills all remaining elven slaves.

If the Warden accepts the Blood Ritual

Most companions disapprove.

Alarith will not trade unless the Warden is a city elf. 

If the slaves are freed:

Slave trade stopped:

Alistair is king

“With the slavers shut down in the Alienage, the lot of the city-born elves improved for a time. The new king even named the local elder to his personal court--a scandal amongst the humans, but a sign of new hope to the elves.”

Alistair is not king

“With the slavers shut down in the Alienage, the lot of the city-born elves improved for a time. A food shortage years later forced Queen Anora to come down hard on elven rioters, an act not quickly forgiven and a sign that tensions between the elves and humans were far from resolved.”

3. Fought and spared him, allowing him to flee [slaves are freed]

Accepting his surrender, he will turn over the evidence confirming Loghain's involvement and flee without the slaves.

4. Killed him [slaves are freed]

The Warden refused Caladrius' Blood Ritual

City Elf Wardens can return to their home, where Cyrion will give them the Fang dagger that belonged to their mother.

Other Wardens can speak with Valendrian at his home, who gives them the Gift of the Grey dagger that was wielded by Duncan.

The party can trade with Alarith.

[free-heart-attacks]

I absolutely 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 how your companions can follow you to The Pearl in Denerim and watch you choose what kind of service you want and with who because Zevran is always going to love it and be like:

BUT THEN EVERYONE ELSE IS LIKE:

[sluttyquarantinetheory]

"Kirkwall is the city of hate." No bitch Denerim. Can't go four feet without getting jumped in Denerim. Not a damn person that's happy to be there.

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

After playing Origins on console, I built a computer during the pandermic/lockdown so I can experiment with a few armor mods but I did use one mod that altered the game. I used the "Shut Up Gorim"  mod. I'm sorry if this offends but I just really got tired of hearing him when I went by his area.

[ede917]

It never occurred to me until recently just how different Orlais and Fereldan are.

The left is the market district in Denerim, capital of Fereldan. The right is the market district of Val Royeaux, capital of Orlais. See the difference?

One is made of dirt, wood, and brick while the other is almost entirely marble (I'm guessing). Orlais must be far wealthier than Fereldan as a country which kind of makes it understandable why everyone refers to Fereldans as barbarians.

[lurkerbot9000]

Obsessed with the blood mage base in Denerim, I am truly living for the weird 3-headed snake sculpture

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Part 42/54

"Oh, drunken gods of slaughter, you know I've always been your favourite daughter." - Florence + the Machine

Masterlist

The journey from Denerim to Redcliffe had been marked by a noticeable reduction in tension. But then everything changed - Redcliffe was attacked, the true purpose of the Grey Wardens revealed, and a colossal battle loomed on the horizon like a red-hot sun.

The closer they drew to Denerim, the more Gwen felt herself slipping, the monster inside her clawing its way to the surface. It writhed and snarled, seeking to consume her and turn her into a creature of darkness. Yet she fought against it, clinging desperately to what remained of her humanity. The Calling refused to cease, and as they got closer to the Archdemon, it only grew louder. Her jaw ached from clenching it so tightly, and weariness hung over her like a heavy cloak. All she wanted was to collapse onto the ground and sleep for years, but that was not an option. They still had a day's journey ahead of them until they reached the capital, and after that, nothing would ever be the same again.

The wind whipped around them, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat, their footsteps falling in a steady, determined rhythm as they marched forward, Darcy at the head of the pack with Zevran by his side, a symbol of unspoken support. Gwen had argued that Alistair should have been leading as well, leaving her to trudge at the back. But Alistair had stood his ground, determined as always not to let her withdraw from him.

Like an unrelenting tide, the urge to destroy those she cared about washed over her in powerful, crashing waves. She felt the need to rip and shred apart everything in sight, until there was nothing left but ruin. But through sheer willpower and Alistair’s steady, calming presence by her side, she managed to suppress the dark impulses within her.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked quietly so the others wouldn’t hear, but upon her frosty look, he quickly amended, “Right, stupid question, forget I asked.”

"No," she ground out between gritted teeth, her face turning away from him as she pulled her bandana up higher as if it could shield him from her wrath. She willed herself to calm down, wanting to remove the irritation from her voice. He didn't deserve her ire, but it was difficult to control when she was feeling so overwhelmed. The fabric of the bandana felt rough against her skin, and her eyes dulled as she turned back to face him, apologizing silently for her tone but unable to speak the words out loud. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

He paused, his hand hovering by his side as if wanting to reach out, but then he stopped himself, uncertain if it would be welcomed.

“You don’t look fine,” he settled on saying instead. His tone was gentle, with no judgement, only concern, and these days it took very little to break her resolve. 

She looked away sharply, her eyes wide with fear. Alistair’s gaze darkened, more focused - serious - as he watched her. Inhaling deeply, he spoke again, his voice low and almost a whisper. "How bad is it?"

Gwen’s head shook, her hair falling in front of her face to hide her shame. "I can feel it clawing at me, Alistair. The closer we get, the less control I have—"

“And I’m scared too!” he interrupted, frustration breaking through. “But I can’t let you walk away because of it. We have to face this together."

He wasn't understanding, but she couldn't figure out how to explain it to him. "If it overpowers me... Maybe it’s better if I stay behind and spare you all from what I might unleash. It’s not just about protecting myself; it’s about saving you. Tying myself to a tree sounds insane, but maybe it’s the only solution I can think of before I hurt someone I love.” They’d had this argument before, so she wasn’t surprised as to the firmness of his response. 

“That’s out of the question.” His lips pulled tight in a disapproving frown. 

Gwen bared teeth beneath her bandana, sharp and lethal, her cheeks split. “I can’t do this, Alistair. I’m not strong enough. And if the Archdemon wins or escapes, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out if it… if it tries to find me.” 

His brow furrowed and her stomach sank, the Calling had loosened her tongue and he was too sharp for his own good. 

“Why would it try to… what aren’t you telling me, Gwen?” She opened her mouth to brush him off, but he was already ahead of her, he knew her too well. “And don’t you dare say it’s nothing. You wouldn’t let me keep you out of Warden business, so don’t keep me out of this.”

She glared at him, a growl low in her throat. He’d cornered her, it was entirely unfair of her to demand that of him but refuse to give him an explanation of her own troubles.

“I’ve had dreams where it… spoke to me. Told me to do things I didn’t want to, it said it would find me no matter where I went.” 

His eyes narrowed and his voice cracked with disbelief. "You mean to tell me the Archdemon actually spoke to you, and you didn't think it was important enough to mention?" Hurt laced his words as he stared at her, waiting for an answer.

Gwen winced. “I didn’t want to think about it and I had it under control,” she offered lamely. 

“Gwen,” he grabbed her arm, his grip light but firm, turning her towards him. “This is serious. I’ve only ever heard rumours of Grey Wardens understanding an Archdemon. What in the name of the Maker were you thinking keeping something like that a secret?”

She pulled her arm out of his grip. “It was handled. Nothing happened.”

“Yet clearly you’re worried about it,” he countered, and she hated to admit that he had a point. 

Silence answered him, her fists balled at her sides. 

"I guess it's better to know now than never." He let out a heavy sigh and loosened his grip on her arm, rubbing his hand over his face. "But do you honestly think I’d ever stand by while you tie yourself up to a tree out of fear? We fight this together, or not at all. I won’t lose you to something you can't control."

Her lips twisted into a grimace. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, voice laced with panic. She’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn't let him make the ultimate sacrifice to kill the Archdemon, but as they journeyed closer to the city, it seemed less and less likely that she would even make it there.

Alistair studied her face intently, taking in every detail from the wrinkles of worry on her forehead to the bandana tied tight around her face. As he looked back into her eyes, he could see the glimmer of fear and vulnerability, but also the fierce determination within. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but her posture remained strong.

He gave her a small smile, his tone gentle as he stepped closer to her. "You won’t hurt us. I won’t let it get that far, and neither will anyone else."

“This doesn’t feel like the other times it took over, it’s so much louder, more insistent. I don’t know if there is any stopping it.”

Coaxing her fist to release its tight hold, his thumb rubbing against her blanched skin, he slipped his hand into hers, squeezing in reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, we’ll figure this out.”

She gritted her teeth until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, a familiar sensation that always accompanied moments like this. With a heavy sigh, she steeled herself to ask him the dreaded question, knowing it would only upset him, but still, it needed to be asked.

“If I can’t stop it, if it’s you or one of our friends lives against mine, promise me you won’t choose mine.”

His hand stiffened in hers, his eyes widened as they darted around her face. “Please, don’t ask that of me. I can’t— I won’t choose.”

That was what she had been afraid he would say. “Alistair—“ She tried again, but he was quick to cut her off.

“Hey, Alistair, do you think you could kill the woman you love for something she has no control over?” Alistair spoke in a high, mocking pitch, irritation creasing the corners of his eyes.

“That’s not—” She started, but he was quick to interrupt again.

“No, Gwen, that’s not going to happen.” He fixed her with an incredulous look, his grip on her hand almost painful.

Gwen let out a heavy sigh, feeling defeated as she closed her eyes and hung her head. Her body felt drained and weak, too exhausted to argue with him any longer about this issue. She cursed herself for not bringing it up sooner, but the intensity of the Calling had caught her off guard. The only solace she had was Morrigan's promise, a small glimmer of hope that she could rely on as long as the witch followed through with Gwen's request.

“I hope you’re right.” She truly did, but in her experience, hope was never enough. She’d seen more horrible things - done more - than Alistair, and her hope had died out long ago.

With a gentle but firm grip, his thumb lifted her chin, guiding her gaze up to meet his. His eyes held a fierce determination that filled her with hope and almost made her believe that everything would be alright. But she knew better.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

Gwen's head bobbed up and down, a half-hearted gesture that didn't quite convey the depth of her emotions. It warmed her heart to know that Alistair believed in her, but she knew herself better than anyone else ever could. Ultimately it would be her alone who would have to resist the Calling. No amount of help or support from others could change that fact.

Sensing her lack of belief, he continued, “We don’t give up. Ever. Especially not now, not when we are so close to finally defeating the Archdemon. Then you’ll never have to deal with the Calling again.”

He was wrong about that too. She would have to deal with the Calling again when her tainted blood came to claim her within the next decade.

“I’m not giving up,” she huffed, “I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being cynical is what you are. It’s a good thing I love you, grumpy moods and all,” His voice dripped with sticky sweetness, coating each word with honey, making her want to both gag and throw her arms around his neck to kiss him silly. He had turned her into a complete fool, but strangely enough, she couldn’t be happier about it.

She bumped his side with her hip, shaking her head, “It’s a good thing you’re pretty enough to get away with making comments like that.” 

His laughter echoed through the air, a prideful flutter igniting within her chest. She felt an overwhelming urge to proclaim to the entire world that she had been the one to evoke such a beautiful sound from him. As his grin softened, the mirth dissolving into something more intense, a myriad of emotions danced across his face. Love, longing, hope, worry, all intertwined and reflected in his gaze.

“We’ll make it through this, all of us. I can feel it. Darcy said he had a plan for the Archdemon that would mean no one had to die, but other than that it involves Morrigan, he wouldn’t tell me what it was. Still… I believe him. Can you trust me on this?”

Maker’s breath, did she want nothing more than to believe him, to trust that he was right, that everything would be okay. But even if by some miracle they all survived and she wasn’t driven mad by the Calling, she would still have to leave him - and that would surely kill her. Still, she couldn’t rip his hope away from him. 

She smiled, crinkling the skin around her eyes. “I can,” she lied. And he was none the wiser. 

Alistair stood tall and commanding above the contingent of men, his voice booming and confident as he delivered a rousing speech meant to inspire and rally the troops. The sun glinted off his polished armour, casting a golden glow around him that only added to his regal appearance. Despite his protests of being a mere follower, in that moment he embodied the very essence of a king ready to lead his army into battle.

Gwen watched from the sidelines, her heart swelling with bittersweet pride for the man she loved. He was born for this role, even if he tried to deny it. But with this duty came the inevitable separation from her. The thought brought a pang of sorrow to her chest, but she quickly pushed it away, focusing on Alistair's powerful presence instead.

The sound of the Calling rang loudly in Gwen's ears, drowning out Alistair's words. But the excited cheering and raised fists of the men proved that his message had been received loud and clear. They were ready to fight for their king, to follow him unwaveringly into battle.

Their eyes locked across the bustling crowd, their gazes filled with a fierce determination that seemed to spark between them. In his intense stare, she could see the weight of responsibility he carried for their mission to end the Blight. It made her chest tighten and her heart ache for the burden he held at such a young age. She knew without a doubt that he would do whatever it took to succeed, and she vowed to do everything in her power to ensure his survival. They were two halves of a whole, united by their shared goal and unbreakable bond.

As they stormed the capital, buildings crumbled and smoke rose from the rubble. The once grand structures now lay in ruin, brought about by the devastation wrought by the Darkspawn hordes. In a matter of seconds, they were overrun by the relentless onslaught. The clash of weapons echoed through the streets, intermingled with screams of terror and pain. With each enemy that Gwen tore into, she could feel her control slipping. It was like trying to hold back a pack of snarling wolves with nothing but a fragile thread, fraying and unravelling with each passing second. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, fear and desperation consuming her. She couldn't let herself lose control - not here, not now. The consequences would be catastrophic.

Gwen's entire body went rigid as the shadow of the Archdemon's immense wings swept over the city below. Its twisted and monstrous form blotted out the sun, plunging everything into a foreboding darkness. The sheer size and malevolence emanating from the beast was suffocating. It was as if Gwen could feel its presence in her mind, its insidious will reaching out to consume her sanity.

With trembling hands, she tightened her grip on her dagger, knuckles turning stark white. The frenzy of battle raged around her but she was immobilized, completely transfixed by the sight of the Archdemon as it flew further into the city. A primal fear gripped her heart as it let out an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to reverberate through every inch of her being. The sound alone ignited a fierce fire within her blood, causing the dark whispers and haunting voices of the Calling to rise to a fever pitch. She clutched at her head, feeling as though she were being torn apart as she desperately tried to push back against the overwhelming flood of madness threatening to consume her.

"Gwen!" Alistair's urgent tone rang out, carrying through the madness and reaching her ears. She lifted her head to see him sprinting towards her, his eyes filled with worry, face streaked with blood and sweat. He grasped her shoulders firmly, giving her a light squeeze. "Stay with me. You can fight this."

They were right. All this time, she fought against the dark within, but now it beckoned, seductive and intoxicating. What if I become what I’ve always feared? Will I hurt Alistair? Will I hurt everyone I care for?

Gwen shook herself, her chest heaving as she fought to steady her racing mind. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her muscles trembled with effort as she battled for control. She could feel the pull of the Calling, its cruel whispers and tempting promises luring her towards insanity. But she couldn't give in, not when Alistair's life hung in the balance. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed back against the relentless assault of voices, gripping onto whatever shreds of sanity remained.

Alistair's hands tightened on her shoulders as he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign that she was still with him. "Are you alright?"

Gwen gave him a thin-lipped smile that he could only see in the tightening of her eyes. "I'm fine," she lied again. They both knew it wasn't true, but there was no time to dwell on it now. She couldn't have him distracted worrying for her, it was best to push past it, there were more important things than her fears.

In her mind's eye, she saw the Sisters beating her, the scorn dripping from their lips - You will never be anything more than what your blood decrees; a foul beast. - The words echoed as she tackled another foe, the weight of their judgment a burden she could not shake

The brutal battle raged on, and as the chaos intensified, Gwen lost sight of Alistair amidst the sea of Darkspawn. Panic rose in her chest, but she couldn't afford to lose focus. With each enemy she struck down, she imagined their bones shattering and arteries tearing as the sound of the Calling threatened to consume her.

As a brief lull finally came, Gwen's body was heaving with exertion and she was covered in a splatter of blood, both hers and that of her foes. Her eyes were wide and wild as she stumbled towards her party, all of whom were similarly battered and coated in Darkspawn gore. Wynne frantically tended to wounds while offering words of encouragement, but when she came to check on Gwen, all she could do was shake her head and offer a supportive hand on her arm. There was nothing the healer could do now to help with the Calling. Despite the danger around them, Gwen was startled to find Alistair standing beside her, ready to continue the fight.

She scanned him quickly for any injury, and upon finding none, Wynne turned to face Darcy, and Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. 

Gwen's eyes raced over his form, searching for any sign of injury. The tension in her muscles eased as she found none, and she turned to face Darcy with a sense of relief flooding through her. As she exhaled deeply, Alistair's hand found hers and took it gently in his own, his soft smile seeming so at odds with the carnage of their surroundings. 

Neither had time to say anything to each other, as Darcy wasted no time in furthering their plan. 

“We need to split up,” he started, and Gwen felt a spike of dread in her stomach. “We can’t leave the city undefended, and we need to ensure that the Darkspawn don’t regroup and attack us while we’re vulnerable.” 

Gwen knew what was coming next, and despite the Calling tolling like a bell in her head, she couldn’t block out Darcy’s command.

“Alistair, Zevran, Wynne, you’ll accompany me and Barkspawn. We’ll head towards the castle with Warden Riordan, the Archdemon was headed that way and we must put a stop to it before its horde wipes out our army. Leliana, Sten, Gwen, and Morrigan, you’ll remain here to help our forces push back against the Darkspawn and stop them from entering further into Denerim.”

Darcy's usual aloof and teasing demeanour was nowhere to be seen as he stood before them, his dark eyes now hard and serious. He had taken on the role of protector, standing tall and resolute in front of the city gates that guarded his community and family. Frustration bubbled up inside her like a pot of hot stew left too long over a raging fire. The weight of responsibility lay heavily upon Darcy's shoulders, evident in every tense line of his body. He was fulfilling his role, Gwen only wished his decision didn’t make her want to puke.

He was right, of course. She couldn’t get any closer to the Archdemon, they were risking enough as it was. They may need all the fighters they could get, but she’d only be adding to their multitude of problems if she turned on them now.

“And Morrigan, we better hope that ritual of yours works, I’d rather not die today, if that’s all the same to you.” Darcy continued, attempting to lift their sodden spirits.

As Morrigan gave her reply, Alistair leaned over to speak as privately as possible to her. “Gwen, are you going to be alright out here? I know how strong you are, but... well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried."

Gwen nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground as their party pretended not to listen in. “I'll manage, really,” Gwen insisted, her tone more defiant than convincing. “I’ve faced worse than this.

A smile lit up his face, and Gwen’s shoulders relaxed, relieved that he didn’t call her on it. “If you find yourself facing too many Darkspawn, remember that I'm only a loud yell away. Just call out for me, and I’ll come charging back. Okay?”

Gwen nodded, even though it felt like her heart was being ripped in two. She wanted to beg him to stay, to find some excuse for them to remain together, but she knew it was futile. Duty called them both, even if it meant tearing them apart.

As Alistair fastened his shield to his back, he glanced over at her, his eyes full of unspoken feelings.

“I need you to come back,” Gwen said, her voice barely above a whisper, holding onto him like a lifeline. “I can’t—no, I won’t survive if you don’t.”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Alistair said, his voice light in an attempt to ease the tension. “And even if the skies fall, remember: I’m not so easy to get rid of.”

Her heart ached with the thought of their imminent separation, and she could only imagine that he felt the same agony. They both wondered if this would be the last time they laid eyes upon each other, their uncertain future looming like a dark cloud overhead.

Gwen tried to memorize every detail of his face, from the determined set of his jaw to the flecks of gold in those beautiful brown eyes. She wished she could freeze this moment and live in it forever, safe from the darkness awaiting them both.

Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to feel his skin beneath her touch one last time. But she remained motionless, afraid that if she indulged, she would never be able to let him go.

Alistair seemed to sense her anguish. He started toward her, then hesitated, uncertainty clouding his features. In that pause, Gwen hardened her resolve, donning an impassive mask even as her soul cried out for him.

Gwen forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. She couldn’t let Alistair see how much she was hurting, how much she wanted to throw herself into his arms and refuse to let go. So instead, she straightened her spine and met his gaze head-on.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to be brave. “Honestly, holding down the fort is a stroll in the park compared to what you’re facing. You have the daunting task of slaying the Archdemon.”

Taking a deep breath, Alistair closed the gap between them, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Nothing could be harder than leaving you here,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady.

Gwen’s carefully constructed facade cracked at his heartfelt words, and tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and betray the despair she worked so hard to conceal.

Alistair leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “I love you, Gwen. Always,” Alistair said softly, his voice laced with sincerity. “No matter what happens, no matter where this fight takes us, my heart is yours. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Gwen closed her eyes momentarily, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. She knew that Alistair wasn’t one for grand romantic gestures, but his words spoke volumes and she treasured them with all her heart.

But the reality of their situation was hard to ignore. Their time together was limited and there were no guarantees that they would ever see each other again after this day. The thought made Gwen’s heart ache with sorrow.

“You better come back in one piece,” she instructed, “or I am venturing into the Fade to pull you back, do you understand?”

Alistair chuckled softly at her stubbornness before cupping her face gently in his hands. “That’s the bravest - and most reckless - thing I’ve ever heard, my love. I want you here, living your life, not hunting down my soul. Just… stay alive for me, alright?”

“Only if you promise to do the same,” she said, her voice thick as she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Alistair pulled away and looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’ll do my best,” he promised solemnly. “For you. For us.”

With a surge of desperate need, Gwen couldn't resist the urge to pull down her bandana and press her lips against Alistair's in an urgent kiss. Every fibre of her being poured into that one simple gesture, a declaration of her love for him. And Alistair responded eagerly, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. It was bittersweet, a mingling of intense emotions - love, longing, sorrow - that seemed to encompass their entire relationship. In that embrace, Gwen poured out all of her feelings, knowing that it might be the last time she held Alistair in her arms. The warmth of his body and the taste of his lips were etched into her memory, a bitter reminder of what once was and what may never be again.

Their lips finally parted, the taste of each other still lingering on their tongues. Alistair's hands cupped her face gently, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheeks. The air around them was thick with tension, and Gwen couldn't bring herself to say anything else for fear of breaking down completely.

But Alistair seemed to understand. He pressed another soft kiss against her forehead before reluctantly pulling away and turning toward where his group awaited him. Gwen watched him go, feeling panic rise in her throat like a slippery eel.

“Knock ‘em dead!” Darcy called with a wave, a glimmer of his usual self hidden beneath the mantle of a soldier.

With no more delays, the group began their journey into the heart of the city, leaving Gwen behind with Leliana, Sten, and Morrigan. The remaining soldiers stood tall and resolute, their weapons at the ready as they braced for the next wave of attack. Dark clouds loomed in the sky, casting a foreboding shadow over the landscape below. The air was thick with the pungent scent of death and decay, and soon, more would come.

Leliana placed a comforting hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “He will come back to you,” she said softly.

Gwen forced a small smile, grateful for her friend’s words. “He better,” she replied, though her voice trembled with fear.

A bone-chilling screech pierced through the air, causing Gwen to drop to her knees. She clamped her hands over her ears, desperately trying to block out the agonizing sound. The Archdemon's cry echoed in her mind, the powerful Calling swelling like a tumultuous wave, threatening to engulf her. It felt like a thousand voices were chanting in unison, their dark whispers clawing at the fringes of her sanity, tempting her into madness. She could feel their sinister pull tugging at her thoughts, urging her to succumb to their will.

It had taken no longer than a few seconds of Alistair leaving her side before she’d lost all strength to fight. She truly was a weak, selfish creature.

"It's getting worse," she choked out through gritted teeth. Morrigan was at her side in an instant, gripping her shoulders.

"You must fight it, Gwen. Do not let it take you."

Gwen shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks as desperation clawed at her insides. I can’t let it take me again, her mind screamed, but the Calling's whispers were drowning out her will. "I can't. It's too strong."

She lifted her eyes, heavy with terror, to meet Morrigan's intense gaze. The weight of their shared understanding was almost palpable in the air between them. With trembling lips, she summoned the courage she needed.

"Do it."

Morrigan's face was carved from stone, betraying no emotion. But her eyes were filled with sorrow as she gave a single nod.

"Perhaps we will meet again one day, my friend," she said softly. Morrigan’s hands wove intricate patterns in the air, a pulsating glow igniting at her fingertips. It danced like a living entity, surging with arcane energy, swirling around them as it sought to grasp Gwen’s essence.

Leliana’s eyes widened in horror as Morrigan's magic enveloped Gwen in an eerie, pulsing light.

"Wait, stop! What are you doing?" Leliana cried, rushing forward. Morrigan held up a hand, her eyes flashing with warning, and Leliana found herself paralyzed, unable to move.

"Do not interfere," Morrigan said coldly. "‘Tis what she wants."

Gwen's entire being tingled and shivered as the magic enveloped her. It was a gentle force, the warmth of Morrigan’s power surrounding her, yet within that warmth lay an underlying chill that sent tremors through her soul. Will I lose myself for good this time? she thought helplessly. But she had little time to dwell as it delved deeper, exploring the depths of her mind and soul. She gasped as Morrigan's powerful essence flooded her consciousness, overwhelming her sense of self.

"Be still, it will be over soon," Morrigan murmured, her voice echoing within Gwen's mind.

Gwen's body went rigid, her eyes rolling back as Morrigan's powerful spell took hold. She could feel the familiar threads of her memories and personality being forcefully suppressed, pushed deep within the recesses of her mind. In their place, a foreign presence seeped into every corner, its icy touch spreading like a thick fog. Along with it came the restless bloodlust of the Calling, a primal urge that surged through her veins.

The two forces collided within her, a battle for control raging behind her closed eyes. White hot brands seared across her mind, eliciting a wordless cry from her lips. Though Gwen had willingly agreed to this exchange, a part of her now recoiled in horror at the loss of herself. She fought desperately to cling to herself, but it was like trying to grasp at smoke. Morrigan's dominating presence drowned out her feeble struggles, leaving Gwen feeling helplessly trapped in her own body.

With one last surge of strength, Morrigan slammed down Gwen's consciousness, forcing it into a tiny corner of her own mind. Victorious, she claimed Gwen's body as her own.

At the edge of her fading awareness, Gwen clung desperately to one final thought - a name, and a promise. "Alistair," she whispered, the word kindling a faint spark that persisted beneath the smothering fog overtaking her mind.

But even that last light was extinguished, leaving only an empty vessel behind. The creature that had been Gwen stared ahead with vacant eyes, awaiting direction. It was ready.

"What have you done?" The red-haired woman whispered.

The witch regarded her coldly. "Honoured her wishes. I have given her a chance to defeat the Blight without being consumed by the Archdemon. You should be grateful.”

The red-haired woman shook her head in disbelief as she watched the creature's vacant expression, her friend's essence stripped away by the witch's magic.

"We had no choice," the witch insisted, her voice sharp. "T’would have been a far worse fate to lose her to the Blight."

“The witch is right,” the Qunari spoke up, his voice low and gravely, eyeing the creature with disdain. “If she had attacked, I would not have hesitated to kill her.”

The creature's ears perked up at the sound of their voices, but to its primal instincts, their words held no meaning. All it knew was the blood boiling, relentless compulsion, growing louder with each racing heartbeat. It hungered for the taste of warm, living blood, but lacked the power to attain it.

In the distance, the horde approached. Their thundering footsteps shook the earth as the seething mass of twisted creatures swarmed towards the ruins where the companions and remains of the army stood.

Fear and panic spread through the air like wildfire, and yet the creature felt none of it. Where a woman named Gwen had once stood was now only an empty vessel filled with the Archdemon’s insatiable bloodlust. Only the witch's binding kept it from tearing apart the soft, fleshy beings around it like mere playthings. And as the horde drew closer, its primal instincts grew stronger, ready to unleash its merciless wrath upon any who dared come near

The creature crouched low, every muscle in its body tense and coiled like a tightly wound spring. The hairs on its back stood upright as the first ear-splitting shrieks of the Darkspawn horde echoed through the air. The stench of their corruption filled its nostrils, a putrid mix of decay and evil that sang to the creature’s senses.

With a guttural snarl, the creature unsheathed its daggers. Its eyes burned with an insatiable hunger for bloodshed, its mind consumed by a single thought - to rip through the tainted flesh that it could feel the witch’s control pushing it towards.

Somewhere in the back of its shattered mind, the creature was dimly aware of the others fighting alongside it - the fiery-haired woman who had tamed its savage instincts and the stoic witch who had stripped away its humanity. But they were meaningless now, just obstacles between it and the all-consuming need to slaughter.

The creature's vision narrowed, seeing only the rotting Darkspawn flesh awaiting its fury. It would paint the ground black with their blood, shred their throats, and crack their bones between its jaws. Nothing else existed but the kill.

With a blood-curdling, inhuman scream, the creature tore towards the Darkspawn horde in a frenzy. The witch's binding spell urged it on, daggers slashing, jaws snapping, it ripped through their ranks like paper.

In the corner of its crazed vision, it saw the red-haired woman fighting frantically, her fine clothes soon stained with foul blood. The witch hurled ice and lightning. These companions, these squabbling morsels, meant nothing to it now. Their words were wasted breath, their concerns petty and insignificant. All that mattered was the whispering song in its mind, the promise of violence just ahead. Once it was done with the Darkspawn, it would turn on its captors, it would not stop until all lay dead at its feet.

It tore through the horde, leaving a trail of carnage in its wake. Darkspawn fell before it like wheat before a scythe. But as it fought, something else stirred within the creature - a flicker of awareness, a glimpse of memories that were not its own. It saw flashes of a life that was not consumed by bloodlust and madness. A warm hand caressing its split cheeks, a lopsided grin, and laughter that threatened to bring tears to its eyes.

But those memories were not the only ones to break through the bloodlust. The suffocating darkness of the cellar where the Sisters had confined it burst forth, ravaging its mind with a learned terror.

The smell of its own blood seeped into its consciousness, thick and coppery, and suddenly, it was back there, shackled, curled against the cold stone walls. The echoes of its cries bounced against its memory, the taunts of the Sisters reverberating like a cruel chorus.

The creature faltered mid-strike, the scarred walls of its past seemed to close in, shadows creeping toward it like a suffocating blanket. Was this how they saw it? A monster, forever trapped in the darkness, not just in appearance but in action? Is that what it wanted to be?

In those moments, doubts crept in and the creature's grip on its primal instincts faltered. It stumbled, momentarily confused and disoriented as it tried to make sense of these foreign memories.

But the witch's binding spell was strong, and with a surge of power, she pushed the creature back into a frenzy. It snarled and raged, pushing aside any lingering memories as it continued its onslaught.

Yet even as it fought ruthlessly on, there was a tiny part of the creature that longed for something more - for freedom from this cursed existence, for peace from the constant hunger and rage.

From deep within the city, a bone-chilling cry shattered the air, the cry of the Archdemon reverberating through the streets. The battle came to a standstill as Darkspawn and soldier alike froze, watching as the colossal beast spread its wings, fire erupting from its mouth. It let out another anguished roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. With one broken wing dragging behind it, the Archdemon tumbled from the sky and crashed onto the top of Fort Drakon, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air like a dark storm gathering on the horizon.

At the sound of its rageful cry, the full force of the Archdemon's will battered against the creature's mind, cracking through the reins of the witch’s control. Amidst the smouldering carnage, the creature stood still and unmoving, dripping Darkspawn blood from its gaping jaws.

With little warning, the creature's body convulsed as the Archdemon's psychic scream tore through its mind. For a brief moment, its eyes cleared, and Gwen found herself staring out from the prison of her own mutated form. She saw Leliana's face, contorted in dismay, Morrigan shouting arcane words to regain control.

Then the spell shattered completely, and Gwen threw back her head in a howl as the full force of the Calling crashed over her.

The creature's mind reeled as the Archdemon's song flooded its senses. Every fibre of its being begging to soak itself in blood, desperate to answer the Old God's summons. Yet even as its limbs twitched with the urge to charge into the fray, some small part of Gwen's spirit held it back.

A deafening roar erupted from Gwen's throat as the spell shattered. The full force of the Calling crashed over her, like a tidal wave of power and feral instincts. Her body trembled with the overwhelming urge to answer the Archdemon's song, every piece of its being begging to soak itself in blood, desperate to answer the Old God's summons. Yet even as its limbs twitched with the urge to charge into the fray, a tiny glimmer of Gwen's spirit fought back against the call, holding onto a small shred of control over the creature's mind and body.

"Gwen, no!" The red-haired woman cried, though her words barely registered over the strength of the Calling.

The witch's face twisted in frustration as she wove binding spells around the creature, seeking to force its obedience. But the Archdemon's pull was too strong, overwhelming her magic.

With a tormented cry, the creature wrenched itself free of the witch's constraints. It lumbered backwards as if fighting against some invisible tether, shaking its head violently, its limbs strained and twisting. The powerful energy of The Calling surged through its mind, threatening to completely consume the remaining shreds of Gwen's self.

"You must restrain her!" The witch shouted at the other woman. "Do not let her flee!"

But even as the redhead woman moved to intercept the creature, it lifted its head to the smoke-choked sky and unleashed a terrible, ear-splitting scream, stopping the woman in her tracks. The Archdemon's summons thrummed through its corrupted blood, driving it onwards. Though some small part of Gwen lingered in anguish, her humanity had been crushed. There was only the ravenous beast, racing to answer its master's call.

Next Chapter

A/N: The final battle!!! I hope you all enjoyed Gwen and Alistair's parting scene <3 Lots going on in this chapter with much more to come!