#be the one to light the tower of ishal with her. she's starting to see the resemblance and alistair's weird relationship with arl eamon is

[qunaricatnip]

maeve and alistair were never going to be friends this playthrough but doing the "duncan talk" really solidifies the gap between them. duncan is the direct cause of everything that's gone wrong in maeve's life and alistair expects her to share some of his grief after never once acknowledging that maeve had her whole family murdered a couple months ago at most

[zaeyos]

I’m gonna try to post to Tumblr more often lmao we’ll see how well that goes. While I’ve been away I’ve been streaming! It’s so much fun, I honestly love it, and I’d love for you to join me! I started a Dragon Age: Origins play through on Wednesdays, and I’ll be making some catch up art for each one. Here’s what you missed from the first episode:

Harper Surana, a newly appointed mage from the Circle of Magi, forced to join Duncan and the Grey Wardens after the escape of a blood mage from the tower, fought her way through the Korcari Wilds to find herself and her fellow recruits Darkspawn blood for the Joining. After a harrowing ritual, and losing her two fellow recruits, Harper finally became a Grey Warden. Armed with her new senses, she and her fellow Warden Alistair, were tasked with lighting the beacon at the Tower of Ishal at the battle of Ostagar. However, betrayed by Loghain and left to die, Harper and Alistair were overrun by Darkspawn in the tower and their fellow warriors and wardens were slaughtered below on the battlefield. Rescued by the Witch of the Wilds, Flemmeth and her daughter Morrigan, Harper awoke in the Korcari Wilds once more to a distraught Alistair, and blood-soaked ground. The Grey Wardens are gone...

Join me on Wednesday nights for more Dragon Age: Origins!

[milesmentis]

Wip Wednesday

This hasn’t been a very productive week, word count wise, but here is a small bit of the Fade Visions that I’ve been working on. Hopefully I can make enough progress to post it as a standalone fic, and if not, maybe it will inspire me to go back and write more at the real Ostagar, not just Alistair’s memories of it -

~*~

Farther and farther down the Wardens climbed. It was impossible to tell how long they had been walking or whether they were any closer to the end: concepts like time and space were rather fluid in the Fade. At some point, the stairs had started to curve into a sharp spiral but still Heulwen refused to let go of Daren’s hand. She glanced over her shoulder to check on him; her friend’s face seemed gaunt and spectral, lit from below by the steady magelight, but it was still reassuring. Whatever they had to face next, at least they wouldn’t be alone. 

Suddenly, light streamed in through an archway, blinding them as they stepped out onto a wide stone platform. The wardens squinted, letting go of each other at last to shield their eyes from the glare. The sun blazed down on them, but it was not nearly as hot as Heulwen had expected. She peered around, surprised to see small patches of snow here and there. As her eyes finally adjusted, she saw tall coniferous trees surrounding them, pressing close to reclaim the ancient ruins in the valley where they stood. With a start, she realized she knew exactly where they were.

Ostagar.

Her eyes flicked to Daren, his face mirroring the tension she felt inside herself. This demon preyed on regret and complacency, but always using it’s victim’s memories: there was only one other person who would have any strong memories of this place.

“We have to find Alistair,” he said, half to himself. “Get him out of here before -” he trailed off, glancing up at the tower looming above them before he continued “- while there is still time.”

They descended the steps from the Tower of Ishal, watching carefully for any sign of darkspawn. The distant clamor of the army grew louder until they could see the pitched tents and flapping pennants spread out in the valley below. But as they reached the central camp, they heard a different sound: loud cheering. There was a group of thirty or more warriors gathered in the open space near the quartermaster, slapping each other’s backs and all wearing the same blue and silver uniforms. The Grey Wardens of Ferelden. 

Heulwen swallowed: of course. Where else would they have found Alistair except for the one place he believed he truly belonged. He had kept up his humor since Lothering - quick retorts and one liners always at the ready - but Heulwen hadn’t forgotten the way he had cried when he woke up in Flemeth’s hut. He had clung to her, inconsolable for days following the battle, as they waited anxiously to see whether their company would number three, or only two.

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Alright guys, after the longest spell of writer’s block I’ve had in a while, here it is: chapter 29 of A Thread of Fate is finally up on AO3. It’s shorter than usual and far from my best work, but after next week, the developments in my life chipping away at my focus should hopefully be stabilizing. Here’s to the promise of a much better chapter 30 - and, Maker willing, a much shorter wait for it, as well!

Chapter 29: Signet

Aside from morning drills, the rest of Nalissa’s days are free, and except for a couple of short missions that thankfully don’t keep me away overnight again, so are mine. It’s a strange thing, both to feel safe here and not to be burdened by all the responsibilities of being a king. I could almost fall into the routine, embrace a life as a Grey Warden again, and forget the weight of the crown.

Almost. The longer time stretches on without any word from the Crows or Zevran, the more restless I become. It’s a fine thing, being a Warden during a Blight when there are real threats and important things needing doing, but this? I feel useless just putting on the armor and not acting the part. It reminds me of being sent away to the Tower of Ishal when any actual, critical missions are immediately handed off to others. Just another virtue of my father’s blood, I suppose.

I eventually find myself thinking more than once that if assassins can’t find us here, maybe Rial and his masked mage compatriot have given up. Surely it would be just as safe in Denerim. Surely by now, Eamon’s spies have had time to rout out any Crow sympathizers, and it would be nice to feel like I’m making an actual difference again.

What exactly happened to me and when, I wonder, that I find myself actually missing duties I once despised?

If it was just me, I would probably even take the risk and return to the palace. It’s only the fact that it’s Nalissa’s life I would be endangering if I’m wrong that keeps me from doing anything rash in my discontent. So I try my best to keep busy, doing whatever I can to feel useful. I help one of the merchants with a stall in the courtyard resolve an issue with one of her distributors not delivering. I patch a roof for a Warden’s widow, even though I never knew the man. I take Nalissa to see Wade and Herren, and commission a new set of drakeskin armor for her so she doesn’t have to keep wearing Warden blue.

We’ve just returned from collecting the finished set, which is a deeper violet than her last one and custom designed with plenty of hidden pockets for her knives and a light hood that sheds water. It suits her, I think—graceful but subtle, and more than it appears. And more importantly, it will afford some anonymity and keep her safe on the journey back to Denerim, as soon as we’re able to make it.

Then I open the door to our quarters and find myself staring in surprise. As if my train of thought has manifested into reality and summoned him, Zevran Arainai leans against the writing desk, crossing his arms and grinning at us.

“Well, it is about time!” he says haughtily, as if he’s been waiting for us for some time, which I suppose he may have been. I’m still trying to unstick my tongue and find a retort to throw at him when Nalissa moves, and it takes the flash of white steel before I realize with a start that she has never actually seen Zevran’s face before.

“Duck!” I order, because I’m far too late to stop her this time. I hurtle myself between them anyway just as the knife sails past me, and catch her wrist before she can ready another blade. She shoots me a look of startled confusion, and I can hear a thud behind me that I sincerely hope is Zevran hitting the floor in a dodge and not a collapse.

Thankfully, the next thing I hear is a laugh that I take to mean he actually listened to something I said, for once. “My, my! I can see why you like this one, my friend! Beautiful and deadly.”

“Zevran,” I explain quickly before Nalissa can assume I’ve gone suddenly mad and try to attack again anyway. Understanding erases the alarm from her eyes, and as her shoulders un-tense if not quite relax, I slide my hand down to hers and turn. The throwing knife is solidly embedded in the wall just behind where Zevran was standing, and the assassin himself is leaping back to his feet to approach, still grinning.

“You can only be the infamous Nalissa,” he says in what I would probably classify as a flirtatious tone if the same couldn’t be applied to every single word out of Zevran’s mouth. “Zevran Arainai, my lovely lady. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry about that,” she says, gesturing toward the wall and still seeming a little uncertain. “I wasn’t aware you would be… dropping in.”

“Zev doesn’t exactly send a card ahead of his visits,” I mutter, and the elf in question laughs again.

“What fun is life without a little mystery, yes?”

Nalissa raises an eyebrow and mutters, “The mystery might be what’s behind the Veil if you make a habit of surprise visits to people expecting Antivan assassins.”

“That it might, if everyone had aim like yours,” Zevran compliments her. “I can see why you’ve given Rial and his team such trouble.”

I can’t quite tell whether that’s meant to say the trouble is over or not, so not being one to beat around the bush, I ask. “Does that mean we’re done dealing with them, then?”

It comes out hopeful, but Zevran crushes it with a downturn of his lips and a shake of his head. “Unfortunately not. Between the three of us, we managed to dispatch all of Rial’s original group except the man himself him and that lovely but deadly mage. But it seems whoever paid for your life has a great deal of coin at their disposal. The Crows have sent reinforcements.”

Nalissa swears a streak that would make a sailor blush, and Zevran manages to look both surprised and oddly impressed. I glance between them for a moment, waiting for someone to say something, because I don’t have a plan for continued reinforcements from the Crows but surely one of them does. When none seems to be forthcoming, I settle my frown on Zevran and ask, “Then what do we do?”

“Run,” Nalissa decides at once, and though her eyes focus somewhere far away, she speaks too certainly for me to believe she’s only thinking of this plan now. “Slip out in disguise, with a merchant caravan. Or stow away on a trade ship. If we can find one willing to risk the Storm Coast, my uncle will help us. I look more Mac Eanraig than Cousland; it should work, if we can make it there.”

I suppose I should be comforted that she at least says “we,” this time. The idea of her trying to slip away as I slept again would have made me too afraid to sleep again. It was bad enough before, but now—now that she knows that I love her, that I would sooner walk unarmed into the Deep Roads than return to Denerim without her, the thought would drive me mad.

But still it isn’t comforting that her first thought is to run. If there’s anywhere in Thedas that’s safe from assassins, it would have to be here. I look to Zevran as I say so aloud, hoping he will laugh and tell her her plan is unnecessary, but the frown lines creasing his face don’t fade.

“This new batch is not so dim as to spread themselves thin enough to give me a clean opening,” Zevran says in a tone that's almost bitter. “Rial has learned, it would seem. It is only a matter of time before one of them finds a way inside.”

“Impossible,” I assure him. “Nalissa is the only one one inside this keep that hasn’t taken the Joining. The only merchants allowed through the portcullis are well known and impossible to impersonate. We would know if anyone tried to sneak in.”

“Ah, but did you know I had sneaked in?” Zevran counters, and I open my mouth to speak but close it again immediately. He has a point. The weakness of Grey Warden senses is that we can only pick out each other, only identify outsiders by sight and the process of elimination.

“How did you get in?” Nalissa asks suspiciously, and Zevran gives a sheepish grin.

“Normally I would say it is a trade secret, but I could not allow you to worry your pretty head about gaps in security. Oghren… escorted me in.”

“Escorted? What, he marched you through the front door?” she asks doubtfully, and Zevran gives a little cough that I’m sure he means to be discreet.

“Yes, in fact. Though it may have been inside an empty wine cask.”

Nalissa snickers, but though yes, it does make for a hilarious mental picture, it also proves my point. “Aha! See, even you needed help to get in. From a Warden. None of the other Wardens are going to help an assassin—er, no offense. So clearly we’re still safe here.”

“Clearly, you are not,” Zevran says, waving a sealed envelope in my face with a frown. “Just because they cannot get inside does not mean they have no way to reach you. Here, have a look at what I found on your desk when I arrived.”

I take the missive and frown at it, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “Yes? It’s addressed to Nalissa, so that means someone knows where she is, right?”

“Not quite incorrect, but also not quite the problem,” Zev says, shaking his head. “It is a trap, and a rather devious one. A Crow specialty, if you will. Upon breaking the seal, a tiny blade hidden within will cut the hand of its victim, administering an extremely potent poison—”

“Let me see that,” Nalissa says sharply, making a sudden lunge for the envelope. Much to my surprise, Zevran snatches it away before she can.

“Do you wish to die? I just told you—”

“I heard your warning, now let me see the seal!” Nalissa is positively snarling, and I realize with a start that she looks angrier than I’ve ever seen her.

“It is a trap,” Zev emphasizes again, but under her threatening gaze, he flips the envelope around so she can view the wax insignia.

“That fucking bastard,” she whispers, but the anger in her voice is suddenly overshadowed by something else. It’s a shade of fear, I realize, and a moment spent examining the letter more closely is all I need to tell me why.

The seal meant to entice her into opening it without question is the crest of Highever. I know of only two people alive bearing rings with that seal, and Nalissa still wears hers on a chain around her neck.

“They want a fight, I’ll give them one,” she snaps, and before I can do more than reach for her hand again, she’s spun on her heel and marched out the door like she means to hunt down a troupe of assassins all on her own.

Right now, I think with alarm, she probably does.

“Lady Cousland!” a Warden greets me at the head of the stairs, right before he visibly recoils when I come close. Probably at the look on my face, but I don’t have the time or the will to spend arranging my expression to a more pleasing one.

“I need to see the Warden-Commander. Now.”

“Er—what do you—”

“Don’t play dumb, Aldin; it doesn’t suit you” I warn, putting as much restraint as I can into not sounding like a potentially murderous lunatic, even if right now, I might just be on the edge of that. “I spent an entire summer here once when Vigil’s Keep still belonged to the Howes. I know where the arl’s chambers are, and I need to see the arl.”

Aldin hesitates, thumbing the pommel of his sword thoughtfully. “Is the Warden-Commander expecting you?”

“I have an open invitation,” I lie, but of course the poor boy isn’t expecting me to lie to him, so he sighs in relief.

“Of course, my lady, of course. Silly of me not to—yes, go on in.”

He opens the door and gives a full Fereldan salute as I pass, but I barely notice. Walking into what had once been Rendon Howe’s study is… disconcerting, to say the least. Most of the furnishings have changed, including the desk itself, but the drapery is still the same plush velvet that I remember.

I shut the door behind me quickly, before I can change my mind and try to leave. And also before Aldin can lock eyes with the Warden-Commander and realize I don’t have permission to be here at all.

Caron has his back turned, working with something on a low table near the fireplace, and when he looks up it’s with an expression of surprise and a tumbler of what’s likely some fancy Orlesian liqueur in one hand.

“Wh—Lady Cousland, what in the Void are you doing in my office?”

His shock is quickly turning toward the self-important puffing of his chest that I suddenly realize might be as much a defense mechanism as anything else. Curious—or it would be, if I had time to think on exactly why that might be.

“I need an escort,” I tell him firmly, crossing my arms and squaring my stance. I present myself as the teyrn’s daughter he likely expects me to have been, like a woman unused to being told no. Not that my mother in particular ever had difficulty denying me anything outlandish or unnecessary or even especially unladylike, but there’s no way for him to know that.

“A what?” he asks, blinking quickly. It seems the brashness of my request has stunned him. Good.

“An escort. A trustworthy unit to help me make it to Highever in one piece. And to fight a dispatchment of Antivan Crows, if necessary.”

I expect nothing of the kind, of course; I know well how negotiating works. Ask first for the moons, my father used to say, and they will think a single star a bargain.

Caron snorts at me, then raises his glass in my direction. “Just how many of these have you had already this evening?”

“I’m not drunk, and I’m quite serious. Don’t pretend Wynne or Oghren or someone hasn’t told you by now why I was unconscious when Alistair first brought me here. No lord is so short on knowledge in his own keep.”

This time, his dark eyebrows rise but his expression spells something close to amusement. “A lord now, am I? My, but you want something important to call me that. Want to tell me what it really is?”

I can feel my teeth clenching, and have to work to soften the expression. Apparently it isn’t only in a sparring arena that he can read me much more clearly than I’m used to, and that’s a very frustrating thing to have to deal with right now.

“I received a letter today marked with the seal of Highever.”

“Interesting, seeing as we’ve received no runners from the west, but do go on.”

“It was another attempt on my life. A trap set to poison me if I opened it. Obviously, my brother doesn’t want me dead—”

“Felicitations; he sounds like a much friendlier fellow than mine.”

I try to pin him down with a glare, but he only laughs at my attempt. “My lady, I was a half Fereldan bastard in the Orlesian court. You shall have to work harder than that to force me into silence.”

“Then perhaps I should inform you that this—” I fish the chain and attached ring from the neck of my shirt to accentuate my point, “is one of only two Cousland crest rings still in existence. Meaning the Crows sealed a letter to me with the signet ring of the teyrn of Highever.”

Caron takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes wandering up to the vaulted ceiling. When he looks back to me with a sigh, his expression has at least turned more serious. “That is… problematic. But a concern your betrothed should be better suited to address, is it not? A Grey Warden army could not be sent to storm castle Cousland, but a Fereldan one certainly could.”

“No,” I object, firmly and instantly. “If they have Fergus hostage, they would kill him if they were cornered. So they can’t know they’re cornered.”

“So you’re asking, not for a party to escort you as requested, but a… routine dispatch of a caravan to Highever. A place for you to hide along the way.”

I hesitate, certain from the tone of his voice that the answer will be no, but what choice do I have but to play along? “That would suffice.”

Caron puts down his half-empty glass on the desk and crosses his arms to look across it at me. “Have you any other proof, besides the seal on this letter, that your brother is compromised?”

That gives me pause. “I… suppose not.”

“And you say it was meant to kill you, yes? So why would they go to the trouble of keeping your brother hostage at all, if they expected you dead already?”

“A back-up plan, obviously. They’ve failed to kill me at least twice already. They won’t be surprised by a third.”

Caron strokes his goatee in what seems to be a habit when he’s considering something. I take some heart in the fact that he’s at least considering it.

“And you’re quite certain the teyrn isn’t simply the one that hired these assassins?”

I stiffen, and a scoff passes my lips before I can stop it. “Very. Whoever paid the Crows did it when I was promised to the king. Fergus was one of the parties arranging that. Besides which, he’s my brother.”

“That must mean something different in Ferelden,” Caron says dryly. “I have three brothers, and not a one wouldn’t trade my life for political advancement.”

“Then I pity you what family means in Orlais.”

Caron hums something noncommittal, then picks up the glass again to swirl the liquid within and stare into it as he does. Finally, he decides, “I will not authorize any deployment to Highever.”

Internally, I curse this stubborn and self-centered Orlesian to the depths of the Void. Externally, I bite my tongue and dig my nails into my forearms. Fine, then. I will find another way.

“I will, however, send a dispatch,” Caron says suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. “A single runner to the teyrn with a request for recruitment. One who you will not accompany, but who is trained in espionage. He will determine whether the teyrn is actually in danger, or if this is only a ploy to drive you out into the open.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t even considered that but Caron has a point. Maybe the seal wasn’t chosen just to get me to open the letter. Maybe it was a different kind of back-up plan, to ensure I rushed to my brother’s aid if the letter trap failed.

A cold chill creeps down my spine though as I wonder, but what if it wasn’t?

“A fast runner,” I emphasize, but it’s an acquiescence and we both know it. At this point, I will take whatever I can get, and pray that it means news of my brother’s safety. At least Alistair will be happy to hear that we’re waiting it out in the keep.

For now.

[askchanceoffates]

A Chance of Fates - ch 9

Sorry about the ridiculously long wait - somebody *side eyes @nightzilla333 * kept working on her novel instead

“Let's get to the Tower of Ishal!” Alistair yelled over the roar of the battle down below. The three Wardens and the Mabari ran across the bridge, narrowly avoiding the ballista fire.

Markov wondered briefly if Nym had joined the fray yet. He voiced his question quietly, not expecting a response.

Revas ran frantically passed Markov, panting, “No talkie. Only runnie.”

Markov shook his head bemusedly, muttering, “Cause that’s a word,” under his breath.

Alistair, Markov, and Furgus watched as Revas barrelled headlong into a tower guard. They went down with much flailing of their limbs and an unsightly shrill squawk from one of the two. Perhaps both.

“That didn't happen,” Revas said as she bounced back to her feet. “Shut up! That never happened!”

“What didn't happen? You running into a soldier and falling down squealing?” Alistair laughed.

“It wasn't a squeal, it was a shriek!” Revas glared. “And shut up!”

The tower guard slowly stood. “There's darkspawn in the tower!” He said in a panicky voice, uncertain if these were the Wardens or not. He hoped they weren't.

The three Wardens blinked at the tower guard. “How did darkspawn get into the tower?”

“They came up through the tunnels ser!”

“Tunnels?”

“Yes, the tunnels under the tower!” The guard was bemused by their confusion. “I told a different Warden about the tunnels earlier…”

The three Wardens shared a glance with each other, Revas’ eyebrows high on her face. “We were never told. Why weren’t the tunnels guarded better?”

“We don’t have time for this!” The tower guard shouted. “Follow me!”

The Wardens raced after the tower guard into the Tower of Ishal. At one point a mage had helped them with a battle, but a stray arrow from a dying darkspawn caught the poor man in the throat, spilling his life on the stone floor. The party worked their way through the throngs of darkspawn as they made their way up the floors of the tower. Not a word was spoken to each other unless it was a call of warning or a request of help.

Finally, finally, the small group had a chance to breath near the top of the tower in front of giant oak doors. Revas shook her curly red hair and then tossed her hair back, chest heaving. Markov frowned at the remaining arrows and fingered the quiver attached to his belt. The few arrows he had rattled around. Alistair wiped the blood off of his blade and looked around. “I really hope that Nym has better luck on the field.”

“I really hope that we aren’t too late,” Revas muttered, and winced at the glares that were shot her way.

“Let’s just go light the fire.” Alistair shoved past Revas and pushed the giant doors open.

The group stared in horror at the giant horned abomination that was chowing down on a body. Blood smeared the floors and the walls. Bodies were littered everywhere, more so than the Wardens had seen before. The stench of death was thick in the air.

“Andraste’s bountiful bosom, what is that?” Revas swore.

“An ogre.”

The body the ogre was eating was tossed at the group causing them the scatter. The disgusting beast roared, spittle flying from its mouth. Revas landed in a roll, quickly getting to her feet, and Markov had three arrows flying through the air, firing off the arrows lightning fast.

“How do we kill this thing?” Markov shouted, firing off another arrow. “This thing doesn’t seem to be getting hurt!”

“Just keep hitting it!” Alistair shouted back as he charged the monster and bashed it with his shield. The tower guard joined Alistair in a frontal assault as Revas circled behind and stabbed at the back of its legs. Furgus bit and clawed at the ogre’s ankles, narrowly avoiding being squished.

Revas yelped as she dodged a kick, her off-hand dagger slashing up wildly and nicking the monster in the ankle. Her yelp was covered, however, Markov shouting. “I’m out of arrows!”

Markov slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his family’s sword and shield. He looked for an opening against the ogre but could not get close enough to strike. Markov snarled, picked a loose stone off of the floor, and whipped the stone at the beast. Luck was on his side: as the stone spun through the air, the ogre turned its head. The stone struck right in its eye and the ogre roared.

The furious beast swung its arms around and grasped the nearest fleshy being it could. The tower guard screamed as he was lifted into the air, his legs kicking uselessly. He continued to scream as a giant fist hit him once, twice. By the third hit the soldier was silent, any and all movement stopped. The ogre hit the limp body twice more before dropping the corpse onto the ground.

Revas didn’t make a noise as she leapt onto the monster’s back, managing to stab it once before she was tossed off. Revas hit the stone wall hard. Her body landed in a limp pile on the floor.

“REVAS!” yelled Markov. He managed to get close enough to see that she was still breathing, then returned his attention to the ogre. Furgus stood guard over Revas’ prone form.

The ogre roared and charged at Alistair, who shrieked (in a very manly fashion) and jumped out of the way.

Markov ran up behind the ogre and slashed at the back of its knees; his blade went deep, blood spurting from the wound. Howling, the ogre spun around. Markov, putting all of his weight into it, rammed the monster with his shield. The ogre staggered back. Before the beast could regain its footing, Markov jumped. Planting his feet (as best he could) on the ogre’s ribcage, Markov plunged his sword deep into its chest. The ogre fell back and Markov finished it off by driving his sword home in the ogre’s face.

Exhausted, Markov awkwardly rolled off the corpse and collapsed spread-eagle on the floor. Alistair gave a breathy giggle and yanked the sword out of the ogre’s face before offering Markov a hand up. After a slight struggle to stand, Markov shuffled over to the signal fire while Alistair picked up Revas.

“You better light it. We’ve surely missed the signal!” Markov nodded sharply at Alistair’s words. He snatched a torch off the wall and tossed it onto the kindling. The signal fire roared to life, and Markov joined Alistair by the window.

Together they watched with mounting dread as Loghain’s troops made no move towards the battlefield. The two men looked at each in sheer horror as Loghain’s troops retreated, leaving those on the field to be slaughtered. Before anything could be done, the door leading down to the rest of the tower shuddered once, twice, and shattered. Darkspawn poured in and the last thing the Wardens saw were arrows flying towards them.

Run.

Nym swore under her breath as her shin smacked against a log in an attempt to jump over it. Twigs snagged at her robes as she fell. Her knee hit the ground hard and her staff tumbled out of her grip. In the distance she could hear the sounds of fighting. The screams. The slaughter.

Nym laid on the ground, catching her breath. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep. One, two, three. Breathe out. Her eyes opened and her hand crawled along the forest floor until it the smooth wood of her staff. Her fingers curled around it and drew it close. Bracing it on the floor Nym used it to pull herself up off of the ground. Her knee throbbed.

Run.

Nym rolled her eyes, and if she weren’t so dainty, the noise she emitted could have been described as a growl. She started to walk, one of her feet lagging behind the other. As she walked the limp became less noticeable, and soon she was able to walk as if she hadn’t had a hard fall.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking for, unable to keep track of time in the Wilds. She stopped abruptly, ears twitching. The air was suddenly thick with growls and snarls emanating from the bushes. The darkspawn erupted from the thick underbrush, surrounding Nym.

The first one went down in a flurry of ice and a whack on the head with her staff. She mind blasted the others close to her and darted to the side to give herself some room. Two more came after her at the same time. A twirl of her staff tripped the feet out from one of the monsters. She blocked the blow from the second in a continuing motion from the trip and struck the beast across the skull. Blood sprayed out from the wound on its head.

The one she had tripped started to get up, and two genlocks joined it. With a deep breath she wiggled her fingers and thrust her arm out. A fireball flew through the air and knocked the three darkspawn back. Their dying screams were nearly swallowed up by the sounds of the flames licking across them.

Vision blurring Nym steadied herself and spread her legs slightly, bracing. The scream of a hurlock signaled the rush, and her staff blocked another blow. The axe hooked onto the staff and yanked it out of her grip. Nym yelled and pulled a dagger into her hand from the confines of her outfit. She buried the blade to the hilt in an eye socket before yanking it out. She launched off of the falling body and into the fray of the darkspawn, a wild look in her eye.

Nym didn’t know how long she was able to block and twirl her way through her deadly dance, but she knew it was coming to an end when a sword hilt smacked her temple and forced her to her knees. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, daring the hurlock to finish her off.

A blade carved through the hurlocks shoulder, only coming to a stop midway down the torso. Nym rolled to the side as the body fell forward. She was on her feet in an instant, helping the new comer take care of the remaining darkspawn.

Finally, with the last three dead in a circle around her and the new comer, Nym turned. “Who’re you?”

“Carver. Andraste's ashes, I was not expecting to come across another person this deep into the thick - are…Carver Hawke! Where were you on the battlefield? Wait, no, sorry, shouldn't have asked that. You don’t have to answer that, you’re probably another deserter. Did you know you're really pretty? Why did I say that please forget I said that not that you aren't pretty oh Maker why am I still talking…” Nym watched with exhausted amusement as Carver babbled.

“I’m a Grey Warden. And, yes, I know I'm pretty. But thank you.”

“Ah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We should probably keep moving. I’m heading to Lothering. I got family there. They’ll help keep us safe.”

Nym nodded and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s where I was heading, anyway.” Nym swayed on her feet before pitching forward. She felt strong arms catching her, and then nothing at all.

Markov woke with a jolt and sat up in the strange bed.

“Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.” The woman from the Wilds strode over to the bed Markov was sitting on. Looking around, Markov realized he was probably in the hut she had brought them to earlier.

“I remember you. Morrigan, right?”

“Indeed. We are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way,” Morrigan smirked as Markov noticed his state of undress and hurriedly pulled the blankets over his lap more. “How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother’s rescue?”

“I...remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn…” He trailed off, rubbing at his headache.

“Mother managed to save you and your friends, though ‘twas a close call. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friends...they are not taking it well.”

“What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?” Markov choked out.

“All dead. Your friend has veered between denial and grief since he awoke. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke.”

Markov nodded and looked around for his armour. “Thank you for helping me, Morrigan.” He started attempting to pull his armour on underneath the blanket; Morrigan rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“I...you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

Markov smiled slightly at her back. “I guess I’ll go see your Mother then.”

“I will stay and make something to eat.”

Markov walked out of the hut, adjusting the last buckle on his armour. He saw Alistair and Revas standing near Morrigan’s mother while awkwardly avoiding all eye contact. Furgus bounded over to Markov, barking happily. The two Wardens looked up sharply at Furgus’ excitement, mixed emotions warring in their expressions.

“You…you’re alive! I thought you were dead for sure,” Alistair said, relief plain in his voice; Revas said nothing.

“I’m not, thanks to Morrigan’s mother.” He bowed his head to the older woman.

“This doesn't seem real. If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.” Alistair breathed out. He seemed almost scared to speak with any force behind it. When Markov studied Alistair’s face he could see the unshed tears in his eyes.

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad,” Morrigan’s mother said sharply.

Alistair seemed flustered. “I, I didn’t mean… but what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do.”

“The Flemeth, from legend?” Alistair gaped at her.

“Daveth was right, you are the Witch of the Wilds!” blurted out Revas. Like the first time they met Morrigan, she froze after realizing that she said something and promptly hid behind Alistair.

“And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you three well, has it not?” Flemeth crossed her arms and stuck out her chin.

“Why did you save us?” Markov raised one of his eyebrows. Even Revas seemed interested at Markov’s inquiry – she peeked out from behind Alistair.

Flemeth gave a dark chuckle. “Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

“The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain.” Markov sneered around Loghain’s name, his hands shaking with rage. He noticed that Revas was in a similar state, her left eye twitching.

Alistair spoke breathlessly, pain evident in his speech. “Why would he do it?”

“Now that is a good question. Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the true evil behind it.” Markov noticed that Flemeth really enjoyed speaking in pointed riddles.

Alistair gave a sharp nod as he spoke. “The archdemon.”

“Then we need to find this archdemon,” said Markov with more confidence than he felt.

“By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at their back. Not to mention, I don’t know how.” Apparently, Alistair was not as good at Markov at faking confidence.

“How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?” Again with the pointed questions.

“I…I don’t know. Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely.” Alistair looked back and forth between Markov and Flemeth, uncertainty on his face.

“You think Eamon would believe us over Loghain?” After what happened in Highever, Markov did not trust any of the Landsmeet.

Alistair spoke hesitantly, “I suppose…Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan’s uncle. I know him. He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet,” he gained conviction as he went on, “Of course! We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

“Keep in mind that Loghain was also an honourable man.” Howe’s face flashed in Markov’s mind.

“The arl would never do what Loghain did. I know him too well.” Revas snorted at that, but the others ignored her. “I still don’t know if Arl Eamon’s help would be enough. He can’t defeat the darkspawn horde by himself!”

“We’ll find a way. It’s up to us, after all.” Furgus nudged Markov’s leg in encouragement.

“You have more at your disposal than you think.” Markov wondered if Flemeth was getting tired of spoon-feeding them.

“Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand help from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!” Alistair’s puppy-like energy was back in full force.

“I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me.”

“So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?” Revas emerged as Alistair talked, ears perked up.

Markov sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I doubt it’ll be as easy as that.”

Flemeth laughed. “And when is it ever?”

“It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to stand against the Blight. And right now, we’re the Grey Wardens.” Alistair gestured to at them, making sure to include Furgus.

“So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?”

“Yes. Thank you for everything, Flemeth.” Markov bowed his head to her again.

“No, no, thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. Now…before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”

“The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have guests for the eve, or none?” Morrigan strolled up to the group.

Flemeth smirked at her daughter. “The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you shall be joining them.”

“Such a shame – what?” Morrigan’s double-take made Revas giggle, which she quickly covered up with an obviously fake cough.

“You heard me, girl. Last time I looked, you had ears!” chided Flemeth.

“Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us…”

Flemeth waved aside Markov’s concern. “Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

“Have I no say in this?” Morrigan indignantly crossed her arms.

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

Markov nodded. “Very well.”

Alistair, unsurprisingly, appeared less sure of this development. “Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth, but won’t this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she’s an apostate.” Revas bobbed her head in agreement.

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.”

“Mother…this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready –”

Flemeth grabbed her daughter’s chin. “You must be ready. Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I.”

Morrigan’s defiance deflated with Flemeth’s words. “I…understand.”

Releasing her daughter, Flemeth turned back to the others. “And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed.” She fixed the three Wardens with a serious stare.

“She won’t come to harm with us,” swore Markov, with his hand on his heart.

“Allow me to get my things, if you please.” Morrigan walked back into the hut. A few minutes later, she returned to the group with a pack slung over her shoulders. “I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a small village north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I will simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

“No, I prefer you to speak your mind.” Revas rolled her eyes at Markov.

Flemeth laughed, “You will regret saying that.”

“Dear, sweet Mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment.”

“Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards.” With that, Flemeth seemed to lose interest in the conversation and ambled away from the group.

Alistair grabbed Markov’s shoulder. “I just…do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?”

Markov groaned. “We need all the help we can get. Without Nym, we definitely need a badass mage.”

“I guess you’re right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them.”

Morrian rolled her eyes. “I am so pleased to have your approval.” The sarcasm was strong with this one.

Markov cleared his throat before any argument could start. “Well, I guess we should be going.” He was pleasantly surprised when everyone – even Revas – made noises of agreement and shouldered their packs. The party gave one last look at the hut and headed off towards Lothering.

[captainderyn]

How were Baraneth and Runiel recruited by the wardens? Who was recruited first? Did they have the same joining?

This one got a little complicated as I tried to balance not only one, not two, but three wardens and how they ended up together, but I figured it out.@ofmistandrain  thank you for the ask!

Lil reminder that Laurel isn’t mine–she comes up a few times here. 

Right, so I think Baraneth, Ruinel, and Laurel are all recruited by the wardens through their in-game origins. Baraneth is still recruited in the aftermath of Howe’s attack on her family, Ruinel is saved from the Templars’ accusations that she’s in cahoots with a blood mage with Jowan (oh the irony.) Laurel still goes through the Dalish origin.

I wish I had some grand canon-divergent story for how their recruited but unfortunately I don’t have enough beef with the origins to replace it (and I love the Cousland one too much) haha. So it’s a little boring. 

A small little tidbit–Ruinel didn’t support Jowan’s excursions. She got pulled into the mess because Irving asked her to see what was going on since she and Jowan were known, friends. And Ruinel, being a small little mage who’s been sheltered in a Circle her whole life and trusts the people around her completely thinks that it’ll all be fine and its just concern. She was wrong. Instead, she got the blame alongside Jowan and it was Duncan that kept her from being made Tranquil or exiled. 

Maybe she was threatened to be made Tranquil instead of exiled–I’ve mentioned before she’s a powerful mage and probably makes the Templars nervous (…and the fact she’s a Dalish elf and I’ve gone through those issues and prejudice it brings when discussing Tucdela. Same mood.)

(A side note: Ruinel is the youngest of the three. She’s just turned 18 when the events of the game begin. I’m not sure how old Laurel is but she’s a year+ older and Baraneth is 19/almost 20)

That’s all pretty standard, except they aren’t all recruited at the same time. That doesn’t really change from in game except Ruinel’s history is Dalish instead of her coming from an alienage. 

Laurel is the one recruited into the Wardens first, mostly because the Brecilian Forest looks closest map-wise and makes the most sense to me. 

Then Ruinel is recruited very soon after–probably only the amount of time it takes to get to and from Ostagar to the Circle Tower, and the plan would have been to take whatever recruit he may have found there to Highever to pick up the recruit there… I don’t see that happening. I think Ruinel would have been ushered off to Ostagar instead of traveling further–she’s shaken, to say the least, quite scared and untrusting and I don’t think Duncan would have thought it was a good idea to drag along a terrified young mage whose just had her entire world turned upside down all the way to the coast and back.

Baraneth is recruited last, as Highever is the furthest journey north and the most out of the way. So now there are three new recruits–yay! Laurel’s had a few days+ to acclimate, she’s been reunited with her sister and Baraneth’s arrived thoroughly traumatized and spends the remainder of the day of her arrival and the night in a shocked numbness before she’s forcibly snapped out of it… because now they’ve got to go find some darkspawn blood and a cache of important things. It’s pretty chaotic and squished once all three are there, everything starts to happen in quick succession and especially for Baraneth she doesn’t get a moment to breath since what happened to her family. And it works that way. 

I think Laurel and Ruinel go through the Joining just before Baraneth if the journey to and from Highever would take more than a few days. Which is probably does. So I think they end up going through it prior to Baraneth. 

The sisters and Baraneth don’t actually end up interacting until the battle. Baraneth and Alistair are given the job of lighting the Beacon, Laurel and Ruinel are basically in place of the two random npcs you meet at the base of the Tower of Ishal, too new to be thrown into the thick of the fighting at the gates to instead their tasked with basically standing guard in case stuff goes wrong. And hoooooo boy does stuff go wrong. 

 The sisters get pushed back with Baraneth and Alistair and they end up joining together to get to the Beacon, wading through darkspawn just to be overwhelmed after lighting the beacon. They’re all saved by Flemeth, they’re given their task as the last three (four, counting Alistair) Grey Wardens, meant to defeat the Blight. 

And so the most kickass trio of future Heroes fo Fereldan you’ll ever see come into existence.

[queen-of-the-crows]

Survivors of Ostagar

Mina Cousland, Clea Mahariel, Alistair, and Morrigan

word count: 2912

It was early afternoon before the remaining two Ferelden Grey Wardens along with Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds, left Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds after she rescued them from the Darkspawn at the Tower of Ishal. The battle at Ostagar was two days lost by this point after Teyrn Logain’s men abandoned the king’s army and the Grey Wardens and leaving them at the mercy of the Darkspawn who laid siege to Ostagar and took out everyone, extinguishing all hopes of ending the Blight then and there. The only two Wardens to survive only did so because they were sent to light the signal fire instead of joining the battle on the ground, it was there in the tower that Flemeth rescued them after the Darkspawn broke through stating that the Darkspawn threatened everyone including her and only the Wardens could stop them and that is why she saved them and sent her daughter Morrigan along with them to aid them in their quest to recruit an army, slay the archdemon, and save all of Ferelden.

               Of the two Wardens left alive, one was a new recruit who knew hardly anything of the order and the other was still only a junior member. Alistair was the more senior member of the order. He was a young man of 20 who was raised in the Chantry and was formerly a Templar before Duncan recruited him into the Grey Wardens. He was still reeling over Duncan’s death as he was like a father to him and felt like he abandoned him but not being on the battlefield. He had been silent most of the walk causing the other Warden to watch him carefully as he had not been this silent the whole time that she had known him which admitted wasn’t more than a couple weeks.

The new recruit, the now junior member of the order was a young woman also of 20 by the name of Mina Cousland. She was the youngest child of Teryn Bryce Cousland and was recruited into the Warden’s once Arl Howe murdered her entire family and she alone escaped with Duncan. Duncan had come to her home hoping for more recruits for the coming war and was taken by Lady Mina who had been trained from a young age by her father and brother to be a warrior and that she was, outdoing many of the men in her father’s army. Mina’s father had originally forbidden Mina from joining the order since he didn’t want her to join her brother Fergus in the war to come. His mind was only changed once Duncan promised to take Mina to safety and her father promised his daughter aid in fighting the Darkspawn, Mina’s joy was only overwhelmed by her sadness at the loss of her parents and possibly her brother. Duncan made good on his promise and took Mina to safety and then on to Ostagar while Arl Howe destroyed her family’s home. There at Ostagar was where she met Alistair who oversaw her joining much as he had done for the weeks before with all the new recruits. Everyone at Ostagar seemed to take notice of Mina as she was just as beautiful as she was powerful. Mina had short thick hair that hung down to her shoulders and was the deep rich dark brown of chocolate. Her eyes were a deep piercing ocean blue that seemed to suck in all who caught her gaze and appeared all the brighter for her dark hair and her light skin that seemed to hardly ever seen the sun despite the time she spent outside training. The only thing people seemed to find more shocking than her beauty was her skill with a blade, or two blades as the case was for her. Mina’s weapons of choice were a longsword and a dagger with a twisted blade. She was fast and she was deadly and she struck hard. In the short time she had been at Ostagar, she had bested many soldiers while sparring and caused many others to refuse to engage her. Many people looked to her to eventually take a general’s position once everything was settled but the chance was never given. Everyone fell leaving only her and Alistair to recruit an army and defeat the Blight as well as outing Logain for the traitor that was he and keeping him from the throne that was left vacate by King Cailian Theirin’s death at the hands of the Darkspawn.

“Alistair, you can’t brood forever. It’s getting rather dull.” Morrigan quipped soon getting bored of hearing nothing but their footfalls and the sounds of the Wilds as they made their way towards a small town on the outskirts of the Wilds called Lothering at Morrigan’s suggestion.

Alistair chose to ignore her instead of fighting with her as he would have under other circumstances. Mina glanced to him and saw the sadness in his hazel eyes and decided to leave him to his grief for the time being. Morrigan was about to open her mouth to say something else when Mina reached her hand out and shushed her. “Did you hear that?” She reached behind her back and withdrew her sword and dagger. She heard Alistair do the same as she looked around for the source of the noise that she had determined was a human voice.

“It sounds human to me.” Morrigan commented as she raised her staff.

Mina nodded. “I agree.” She scanned the treeline looking for any signs of life.

Alistair began walking towards what appeared to be the source of the noise. “Over here!” He yelled, the first words he had spoken since leaving Flemeth’s hut. He sheathed his sword as Mina approached him and also sheathed her dagger but still held her sword as she followed Alistair’s gaze to what appeared to a woman hunched over on the ground at the base of a tree partially hidden by some bushes. They would not have noticed her if she hadn’t moved.  Mina lightly kick the woman’s leg and she twitched and groaned in pain. Mina sheathed her sword and instead crouched down to look over the woman.

The woman wasn’t human at all but was actually an elf, most likely Dalish due to the gold tattooing that framed her delicate face. She was also most likely a rogue due the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back and the dagger that Mina noticed on her back at the waist. She had long black hair that had originally been tied into a tight bun but was now falling loose and tumbling down her back. Her eyes were barely open but Mina could see that they were a vibrant green and her pale skin contrasted greatly with her black as night hair. She was wearing what Mina guessed was traditional Dalish armor because she had never seen anything like it before.

“Help me.” She coughed. She had a very light voice with a somewhat mystical quality to it that many elves seemed to hold, light and airy.

Mina followed the elf’s arm to where her hand rested on her bare stomach covered in blood no doubt from the wound that she was protecting in her side. “What happened to you?” Mina asked her as Alistair crouched down beside her and pulled bandages from his pack to bandage her wound and stop the bleeding. Mina also noticed some more much smaller holes in the woman’s shoulders and upper chest and one in her thigh, no doubt left from arrows that she had pulled free herself.  

“Darkspawn. I was at Ostagar. I’m a Grey Warden”

Mina looked shocked as she looked into the young woman’s face. She couldn’t be much older than Mina herself was and she knew that she didn’t recall seeing a beautiful raven haired elf at Ostagar, let alone even a single Dalish elf. Alistair’s hands stilled at her words and he looked up from his bandaging and caught her eyes instead.

“I remember you. Duncan recruited you from a Dalish clan to the north, said that you had the sickness and brought you to us to save your life and also cause you were the best hunter in your clan according to your keeper. She’s telling the truth. I oversaw her Joining weeks ago, back when Duncan and Cailan first started to amass their army at Ostager.”

“She was there for weeks? How come I never met her then? I was there long enough to see many people but never her. I think I would have remembered seeing one of the Dalish.” Mina still seemed skeptical despite Alistair’s insistence she was telling the truth.

“I stayed with the soldiers and never ventured out into the main camp after my joining. I stayed and trained and engaged no one. Even being one of the Wardens, the soldiers would give me looks like I didn’t belong. I kept to myself.” The woman spoke up.

“You were new to the Wardens and wouldn’t have been allowed to make camp with the rest of our soldiers because Duncan still had much to teach you and much to tell you. Same with all new recruits. The difference was that Darkspawn came, the battle started, and there was never a chance.” Alistair finished her bandages and helped her to her feet.

Mina nodded. It all made sense. So her and Alistair weren’t the only remaining Wardens after all, not that she thought one more of them would make much of a difference anyway, they were hardly an army. “I’m Mina, Mina Cousland. This is Alistair in case you never caught his name and this is Morrigan.” She gestured to where Morrigan stood outside their little circle just watching but saying nothing.

“My name is Clea Mahariel, adarin atishan.” Clea greeted them in elven, showing that they were friends, welcoming them.

“Hopefully this one shows more promise than Alistair.” Morrigan told her in greeting earning her a glare from Alistair and a look that told her to be nice from Mina.

“You were in the battle then?” Mina asked, slowly coming to the realization of exactly what that meant.

Clea’s bright green eyes grew dark and sad, her face shadowed. “Yes I was there.” She stated simply, not volunteering anything else.

Alistair perked up this, his eyes gaining a light they hadn’t had since waking up in Flemeth’s hut. “You were in the battle and you survived! Did you see what happened to Duncan?! Did he survive?!” Alistair probably would have grabbed her shoulders in his desperation if Mina hadn’t reached a hand out and lightly touched his forearm.

The elf’s face told him all he needed to know and just as quickly as the light returned his eyes, it vanished.

“Tell me what happened, please I have to know.” He almost begged her.

“Trust me Alistair, the battle was a bloodbath, you don’t what to know the details of what happened out there.”

“I do! Duncan was family to me, I have to know.”

“If you’re sure, if you’re both sure, I’ll tell you what happened.” Clea said sounding resigned. Ostagar wasn’t something she wanted to relive and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to talk about to someone who had cared so deeply for someone who died there. The horror of the battlefield of Ostagar was something that would haunt her dreams for as long as she lived.

Clea Mahariel signed and pulled her long hair loose letting it fall down her back and around her face, almost as a curtain against the story she was about to tell. “It started out just as we all knew it would, King Cailan sent out the hounds and gave the order to loose the arrows. Darkspawn started to fall but it seemed that just as quickly more came from the wilds. It was then he called for the attack, his army and the Wardens to charge the darkspawn ranks and that we did. Intially we appeared to have the advantage, each one of us took out a slew of those monsters but every one we killed, there were two more who would appear. We all waited anxiously for the signal fire that seemed to take ages to light, everyone covered in sweat and blood, most of us thinking the next parrying would kill us.”

By now the small band had stopped walking and even Morrigan seemed focused on the tale being told. Mina’s mabari, Lucifer, also sat attentively at her feet watching the elven woman with his large dark eyes. Clea lifted her eyes from Lucifer and instead raised them to meet Alistair’s for the first time since starting her tale. The anticipation she found there brought a small lump to her throat knowing that what she knew would break his heart all over again and Clea didn’t take joy in being cruel.

It was with a heavy heart that continued her story. “When the signal fire finally went up, the relief was evident on everyone’s face; some people were even smiling. Loghain’s army was joining the fight, we stood a chance again. Except they never came. As the fire continued to burn and the army didn’t show themselves, the hope slowly died on everyone’s face and was replaced with despair and a sense that we all knew we were doomed.”

Clea paused and drew a deep breath to steady herself for what she needed to tell next, the hard part of the story. “That was when the ogre grabbed the king from the field. He roared in his face, like an act of defiance and then crushed his body in his fist. Your king was already dead by the time his body hit the ground; even his heavy gilded armor held the imprint of the creature’s fist. Duncan saw it all go down and moved his attack in the ogre’s direction. He leaped at the creature and buried both of his blades into its heart and twisted. The creature in its dying rage threw him aside. When he hit the ground he didn’t get back up, he was too badly wounded from injuries he had already taken. I ran to him, even called for a healer, but there was nothing anyone could do, he was already gone. He died avenging his king and killing darkspawn, I don’t think he would have had it any other way. When I looked around I saw much the same every where else on the field, soldiers dying, fewer and fewer still able to fight. Then I took a darkspawn arrow to my shoulder and another to my chest. One pierced my thigh as I was attempting to pull the others free and I just missed one shooting through my hand before my shoulder. It was only feeling the slice of a darkspawn sword against my side that took my mind from the arrows. It burned red hot for only a second before it was too much and I passed out. When I finally came to, the battle was done and we had lost. The darkspawn had quit the field but I could hear them not far off. The majority of the horde had moved off together but I still heard others back at the ruins of the camp. I wrapped my side as best I could and stumbled into the wilds just trying to put as much distance between myself and that place as I could and I made it here to where you found me.”

Alistair was trying his best not to cry but his efforts were in vain as the tears fell silently. Mina’s eyes were misted over as well as she placed a comforting hand on the young warden’s arm.

“I’m so sorry Alistair, I told you that you didn’t want to hear it.” Clea told him softly finding it hard to look at the pain in his face and turned her gaze to Mina instead.

“You were right, I didn’t but I think I needed to. Can we just move on now? I don’t want to think on it in this dreadful place any longer.” Alistair was already continuing on their intended path as he spoke, not waiting for any of the others to join him.

“I’ll go to him.” Mina said shaking the sadness from her face. Her admission wasn’t necessary as neither Morrigan nor Clea were going to volunteer. Instead the two of them continued further back and out of earshot.

“Tis remarkable that you survived at all without a healers aid.” Morrigan remarked once Mina was gone.

“The Dalish know quite a lot about bandaging and healing wounds, especially hunters. You don’t want to be stranded in the forest after taking a wound from a wolf or bear and not know how to bandage it enough to keep you alive for a couple days. I wouldn’t have lasted much longer had you not come along though. I had accepted my fate.”

“It seems that fate had not accepted your death.”

“So it does. I’m sure there will be many more things to come that will give fate a chance to change its mind.” Clea said, feeling lighter now that Mina and Alistair had moved on ahead and a dark cloud no longer hung over her.

Morrigan chuckled at that, thinking that she actually liked their new companion. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  ?

[talesfromthefade]

Marina Amell x Alistair Theirin || NSFW || 3357 words

The words burn at the tip of his tongue, until finally he can’t hold them back any more no matter how much they might threaten to shatter the moment as the mage’s gentle hand in his tugs him in behind her into her tent. “Marina- are you sure?”

“Yes,” she nods with a patient smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his blushing cheeks. “I am, if you are.”

“Yes! I mean- did that sound too eager? I- I must sound like a fool,” he admits softly shaking his head and deflating a little. “You know that I’ve never done anything like this, with anyone. I was quite sheltered, after all. I care for you so much, whenever I think of this I feel like a bumbling idiot. All… hands,” he continues with a regretful and frustrated look twisting his mouth and brow as he finally pulls his gaze up to meet hers once more. “I wish I could be better at this. I want it to be right.”

Marina has held her tongue, held back even from touching him while he spoke, not wishing to unfairly distract from saying what is clearly bothering him, but now he’s got it out, she can no longer ignore her desire to comfort and reassure him as best and in any way she can. “Alistair,” the young mage offers softly, as a gentle hand presses to his cheek. He shudders a little under her touch, but doesn’t turn or move to pull away, so she continues to keep it there, thumb gently  sweeping back and forth in gentle caress.

“It will be right,” she replies softly with certainty. She’s never taken a lover before either. The Circle, not unlike the Chantry upbringing he has had, frowned upon such things. They happened anyway, of course, but such things were usually trysts, and little else. It didn’t seem very likely or possible, but Marina had always hoped- had been waiting for something more. “Because it’s with you,” she promises, smiling. “We can go as fast, or as slow as you would like, or stop whenever you want,” she assures him. “But I’m not going to change my mind, Alistair,” Marina says , clasping one of his hands and slowly guiding it up along her side, stopping it over her breast. Not encouraging him to grope yet, but making it clear she’s not about to stop him should he get it in his head to try. “I love you. And when you’re ready, I want to make love to you,” Marina offers, fighting with everything she has not to blush, or give him any reason to think she has any second thoughts about this.

“Maker,” Alistair whispers in breathless awe, pupils blown wide and feeling his cheeks heat even more under her hungry gaze as deft fingers untuck his tunic from his breeches and slip beneath to run over warm skin and strong muscles, stomach muscles trembling and going taut under her featherlight touch. His own fingers hesitate a moment before slowly loosing several of the clasps of her robes to reveal more of the creamy unblemished skin of her neck and collarbone, the slightest hint of her modest breasts beneath her band.

He darts forward before he can overthink it or second-guess himself, kissing and tasting at her jaw, nibbling a little at her neck. Alistair stops just short of marking it, starting to pull back again before one of her hands is tangling and fisting through his short hair with a soft moan of approval, anchoring him to the spot and urging him to continue.

The warrior sucks and worries at the juncture where her neck meets shoulder until he’s left a small, red mark that’s sure to linger there awhile and surprises himself with the thrill of possessiveness it brings. Whatever limited experience or knowledge she may or may not have over his own, she will never have been marked like this before. Living in the Circle it would have been too dangerous to do so. That she might want this. Might not care if her companions should see, should know that she’s chosen him to share a space in her tent, perhaps even in her heart with- it nearly threatens to stop his own heart where it now hammers loudly against his ribs.

“You are so beautiful,” Alistair marvels appreciatively, even now falling a little more for the young woman as she blushes under his gaze and the weight of his words. “I- I…” he stammers, suddenly overcome with nerves.  Sweet Andraste, he wants to do this right, to do right by her, but he’s out of his depth here, hand still frozen where she placed it over her breast, unsure. “Tell me what to do,” the warrior finally manages softly, words almost a plea, but too desperate now by half to care or bother with feeling embarrassed by them. “How and where to touch you,” he asks.

She smiles then, patient, warm as ever she has always been, and nods, gently pushing his hand out of the way, and leaning back to gather and tug her robes up over her head, as he watches transfixed by each new inch of skin as it’s exposed to him, before nodding to him, reaching out to help divest him of his own.

It’s not the first time he’s ever been shirtless around her, but it’s never been quite like this. The world still and seemingly little bigger than the two of them, neither of them needing to hide or steal their appreciative glances at one another. The intensity with which those bright blue eyes openly stare and ogle him now, as if trying to burn the image of it firmly into her mind, makes Alistair’s whole body-including the newly exposed chest she’s openly studying-flush anew, as he awkwardly clears his throat. “Like what you see,” he teases, falling back on his usual deflective humor to  mask his nerves.

“Very much so,” Marina nods with a tender smile. And Maker, that’s surely meant to reassure him, but he can barely focus as her tongue quickly darts out to wet her lips.

She chases his hand that has nervously reached up to rub the hair at the back of his neck with her own, gently guiding him into a kiss before his nerves can overwhelm him again. The kiss is easy, slow and tender, familiar and comforting. He allows himself to dive into it, to get lost in it as she gently tips them both back to lie into the blanket and bedrolls, her own smaller body atop his. One long, lithe leg slides between his own, earning a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low moan as her thigh grounds against his burgeoning arousal. Fingers delve between them a few moments later to wrestle with the lacings of his breeches and he temporarily forgets how to breathe.

“Alistair,” Marina whispers softly against his skin, fingers pausing where they are as she presses a fleeting kiss to his brow, making his name into a question. Are you alright, her blue eyes asks as they stare into his full of patience and concern. “Still with me,” she inquires gently, and Alistair snorts softly, he can’t really help but to.

“Always,” he promises with a nod. Yes, he would follow this woman to the ends of the Earth, he thinks, feeling his heart where it hammers hard against his ribs once more. He will happily follow her lead in this too. Her answering smile is so warm, the warrior almost thinks he’s unwittingly been speaking all his thoughts aloud, though it probably wouldn’t matter if he had. Alistair isn’t sure whether it’s yet another instance of the young woman’s brilliance, or further evidence he’s a simple, even predictable, sort of man, but Marina’s always seemed to see right through him. By all rights it ought to be frightening, but with her? It’s thrilling.

And she’s right. This is right. Because it’s with her. And already she, this evening, all of it- are so much more than he’s come to expect out of life. So much better than a young boy sleeping in the stables with the dogs ever dared dream of.

Marina slowly shimmies until she’s no longer lying on top of Alistair, but gives him no time to mourn the loss as she trails kisses- warm and a little wet down his chest in her wake, stopping just below his navel where a light trail of hair begins and disappears beneath the waist of his trousers and smalls. Deft fingers slide underneath him, gently coaxing him to lift his hips before tugging down pants and his smallclothes in one swift movement and stealing away his breath once more.

The warrior does his level best to steel himself, maintain his composure under the scrutiny of her gaze, but his nerves get the better of him as even in the face of such beauty, and he slowly begins to wilt despite his best efforts. Alistair has rarely-perhaps never- been enough on his own merits for anyone. Even Duncan, much as he had in such a short time become a kind of father to him, had likely on some level taken him under his wing because of his royal bastard blood.

But laid completely bare before Marina Amell? He’s more vulnerable and scared now than he’s been since fighting their way through the Tower of Ishal at the Battle of Ostagar, no, since he saw Darkspawn fill her chest with arrows after they’d lit the signal fire. Terrified he might lose her, and he’s helpless to do anything to prevent. He swallows hard on the lump that he suddenly formed in his throat, unsure whether he should break the silence between them, or if doing so might only further seal his fate. He knows he’s not particularly… eloquent most of the time. But Maker knows for her he tries, does his best to convey his heart is hers, corny as he often comes off sounding. It can only have been a moment or two at most, but anxiety and self-doubt make it seem an eternity since she divested him of the last of his clothes. So he waits.

Slowly her hands drift away from where they stopped, eventually resting on his hips, Alistair braces himself for her inevitable rejection. She reaches out and takes his hands in hers instead, guiding them behind her to the catch of her breastband, guiding his fingers where they falter until the cloth covering falls away to reveal her torso in its entirety. She stays still, upright, where she sits between his legs, and makes no moves to cover or shield herself from his gaze, but she trembles slightly, giving herself away. She’s nervous too, he realizes eyes widening in surprise, quickly sitting up to haul her into his arms.

“Maker’s breath, but I am a lucky man,” he exhales softly with a slight chuckle, resting his forehead against hers after stealing from her a passionate kiss. She blushes. For all that she started this, inviting him into her tent, into her bed, she still blushes when he tells her she’s beautiful, still doubts that he might want her even when she’s the vision of perfection in his lap, and he loves her still more for it. Andraste preserve them, if they somehow make it out of all of this, he’ll happily spend the rest of his life reminding endeavoring to deserve her, this gift she’s offering him, and convincing her of just how stunning she is. “I love you too,” he adds realizing he’s not returned her declaration yet or at least not in so many words, ducking in for a kiss- and this kind of swooping, he thinks, might not be quite so bad.

She pulls back from him when they come up for air, and for a second Alistair worries he’s made some kind of unspoken error, because life has rarely given him anything like this good, and what few times it has, he’s certainly never been allowed to keep it.  But then she’s leaning over him, warm hands gently caressing up the inside of his thighs, making him tremble once more under her touch. For all that he’s a hardened warrior when he needs to be, for her, here and now, he happily melts. Her fingers reach his arousal and Alistair’s eyes roll backwards behind his eyelids with a low moan as she closes her hands around him. The overwhelming wet heat of her mouth as it closes over the head of his length a moment later very nearly makes him dizzy, crying out far too loudly even for her tent being a little farther away from the rest of their companions, but he cannot help it, one hand drifting on instinct to fist through her long blonde tresses, though careful not to pull too hard and hurt her.

For all his jokes about lampposts, when the discussion of the possibility of sex had first come up between them, his Chantry upbringing really has sheltered him from even most secondhand knowledge about this kind of thing. Alistair doesn’t know what he’s allowed to hope or to ask for, what is normal between lovers and what is deviant only to be done by paid whores. He wouldn’t even know what to call most of it, he suspects. But what she’s doing right now? It’s better than every inappropriate fantasy that’s kept him awake at nights since he first realized- quite early on- his attraction to his fellow Gray Warden. “Marina,” he gasps breathlessly, fingers clenching and digging ever so slightly into her scalp, thighs flexing as her tongue swirls around him.

They have all night. That much he does know. Even as brief as his seniority with the Wardens is over her own, he recalls the many bawdy jokes from his fellows about a Gray Warden’s stamina being one of the nicer perks of the job. He could let her finish what she’s started, but he’d rather their first time be more equally shared, something that brings her as much pleasure too.

“Wait,” Alistair manages to gasp softly between heavy breaths, and true to her earlier promise she stops and draws back immediately without complaint. Maker whatever he’s done to deserve this, to deserve her- provided this isn’t all some sort of mix up- he hopes he never stops doing it. “I want-” he begins, struggling to find the right words, shaking his head a little with a frustrated huff. “I want the first time to be together,” he admits finally, biting his bottom lip a little as he forces himself to meet her deep blue gaze, praying he doesn’t sound too stupid with his request. “If that’s- is that something you might want too,” he asks cautiously. And maybe, just this once, Morrigan is right (not that he’ll ever tell her, lest it go straight to her head) and he is a weak and foolish man, but he’ll take whatever this young woman is willing to give him, whatever that may be.

His candor is rewarded with a warm and tender smile, as she gently sweeps her hair back over her shoulders and leans down for another kiss in answer. “Yes, Ali,” she whispers softly against his ear, rolling herself off of him and onto the bedroll beside him before tugging him back over to her, encouraging him to switch their previous positions. Alistair hesitates a moment, bracing himself on his palms to hover above her.

She laughs, a gentle tinkling laugh that reminds him of the wind chimes he’d admired back in Lothering’s Chantry gardens. And he never knew it could be like this, that even now in such a tender and important moment of intimacy between them that there could also be room for laughter, but it’s wonderful. “I’m not made of glass, Love,” she reminds him with a patient smile, tugging him down to lie on top of her for more kisses, and caresses from wandering hands eager to touch and to study their lover. His own hands are no better, quickly losing themselves in her arms, her breasts, her ribs, her hips… fingers dip cautiously between her legs, searching, until her breath catches, body arching up from beneath and bucking into him, his length now wet with pearly beads of pre-cum sliding and pressing against her belly. “Alistair.”

“Marina,” the warrior moans softly in reply, his name has never sounded so good, Alistair thinks, pressing in for another kiss. His arousal slips between her thighs, bumping gently against her entrance.

“Yes,” the mage gasps breathlessly, legs lifting up to wrap around his hips, pulling him forward, temporarily locking him in place as he bottoms out inside her with a gasp. It burns a little, the unfamiliar stretch, but she knows from listening to the gossip about elicit trysts in the Tower it will pass soon enough, ignoring the tear or two that escapes from watering eyes. Alistair, still a little breathless from the sensation of her body wrapped so entirely around his, catches a tear with his thumb frowning, attempting to pull back, but Marina’s legs lock behind him keeping him there.

“I’m hurting you,” he whispers, wide-eyed.

“No,” she promises, shaking her head. “It will pass, it’s already getting better,” Marina replies, one hand drifting up to cup his jaw. “Just… give me a moment.”

“All the time you need,” Alistair nods, still looking a little worried, though some part of him grateful for the brief pause, lest it all be over embarrassingly early. That something that could make him feel so wonderful could bring her pain, however briefly, seems rather unfair, but he’s scarcely opened his mouth before the young woman is leaning up and pushing her tongue in to caress his own. Legs unlock as her hands drift down his back with the slightest bite from her fingernails before giving his bottom an appreciative squeeze with a small giggle against his mouth.

“Alistair?”

“Yes?”

“Move, sweetheart,” she encourages with a smile.

“Right,” Alistair chuckles nervously, slowly pulling back before slowly thrusting back in. “Maker’s breath.” If all the sisters at the Monastery are right and these are his final moments before lightning reigns down on him, this- the way she feels around him, his name a breathless whisper on her lips, even the way her nails leave tracks down his back, it’s perfect. Better than.

He manages to hold on just long enough to feel her body begin clenching with ripples of pleasure around him, before losing himself to his own release moments later.

“I love you,” he blurts out as the pair of them lie wrapped up in each other and their blankets coming down from their respective highs, because it’s the only- well, mostly intelligent thing he can think to say. “I,” he stammers quickly, trying to recover himself and figure out exactly what it is he’s supposed to say right now. “Not because of that. I mean, I- not that that wasn’t-because that was incredible-” he chuckles still a little awestruck, “But I loved you well before and I’d still- even if we hadn’t… done that,” he concludes a bit lamely.

“I love you too,” Marina smiles softly, shaking her head at his nervous antics. “But I’m glad we did that,” she adds, smiling a bit wider.

“Yeah,” Alistair nods, relaxing a little. He should have known, she’s never made fun of him before, not when it really mattered or might hurt him. She’s always been able to tell the difference between his being playful, and genuine fumbling attempts to express something that matters to him. “Me too.”

“Maybe, we could do that again,” she offers, positively smirking now as one leg lifts up to drape suggestively across his.

“Minx,” Alistair laughs, drawing her into another passionate kiss.

“That’s not a no,” she points out with a giggle.

“Hmm, it isn’t, is it,” he laughs as wraps her body in his arms and drags her over to lie on top of him.

[jadednightwing]

Into Thedas - Travel

Title : Into Thedas

Chapter 4 : Travel

[Ao3 Link]

Merrill and I both traveled extremely light, carrying only thin sleeping rolls, water skins, and each a small satchel of food that should last us until we reached Ostagar. She and I talked little in the beginning, but she soon got over her hesitation and peppered me with questions about what I knew of Thedas and possible outcomes.

“Honestly, Merrill,” I panted as I struggled to keep walking, “Everything I’m telling you could very well never happen now.”

At the top of the hill we’d been climbing for the past twenty minutes, she waited with all the patience of a saint, yet gave me a perplexed frown, “Why is that?”

Finally reaching the top of the hill, I collapsed onto my side and panted a moment, before answering; “There’s a theory, where I come from, where the very fact that I am here and have changed certain events will have a cascading ripple effect from here on out. But I have to believe that all this isn’t random. Fate, the Maker, your creators - who knows, but I just can’t shake the feeling that someone is pulling the strings.”

She stared at me in obvious confusion and I couldn’t help but laugh, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a puppet show, have you?”

“Only from a distance,” she stated simply as she knelt down and took a sip from her water skin, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s a saying from my world, ‘to pull the strings’”, I replied with a grin, “Puppets act out little scenes for the audience, but they are all controlled by their puppeteer - who is quite literally pulling their strings. So the phrase means that there is someone who is manipulating people and/or circumstances to suit their preferred outcomes.”

She chuckled and stood, offering a hand, “Come on, spirit, if we are to get to Ostagar in time, we need to keep moving.”

I grumbled but dragged myself to my feet. I’d thought myself athletic, but this pace was grueling. Arching my back and feeling the satisfying pops of my spine, I studied our surroundings, “How much farther is it?”

“A few days, depending on how fast we travel,” she said then pointed at a break in the tree line a few miles into the valley below, “We’ll camp at the river tonight, and start moving again at daybreak.” Eying me speculatively, she continued, “I don’t suppose you know how to hunt, do you?”

I shook my head, but the river had given me an idea, “No, but I know how to fish if you know how to prepare it.”

The trip to Ostagar took longer than Merrill had predicted, mostly because of me and my lack of stamina. The majority of the second and third days we traveled in silence; I’d made the thoughtless mistake of letting what happened to Tamlen slip out, which she pounced on and would not let up until I told her all of it. The story hit her harder than I’d thought it would have, and I tried to apologize, to attempt to instill hope that maybe because of my arrival, he’d hit his head and gotten lost, but nothing helped. So I kept my distance and allowed her to grieve.

It was dusk on the sixth day when we crested the ridge overlooking the basin with Ostagar castle looming above. Already I could smell the bonfires that dotted the bridges and sections at the base of Ishal tower, and a shiver of fear raced down my spine. There were already soldiers on the field and the roar of battle was beginning to rise. My chest felt tight and I was running before I had a chance to really take in everything before me. I stumbled and fell, nearly skidding off the edge of the cliff if not for Merrill, and I just laid there a moment staring out at the chaos below.

“We’re too late,” I whispered and Merrill gripped my shoulder.

The storm clouds that had been brewing overhead began to swell and arcs of lightning began to crackle and spider out along the underbelly of the storm.  I shakily got to my feet, my heart growing heavier with every step. Moving along the edge of the cliff, I first briefly looked up to see that the beacon of Ishal was lit, knowing that there would be no help from Logain now, then down to the battle and searched for the glint of golden armor.

The bellowing roar of an ogre instead caught my attention, and I saw it charge forwards, and knew where it was headed. Everything below seemed to unfold before me as if in slow-motion and all the anxiety, fear, and now impotent rage I felt boiled up.

“If all this isn’t an accident,” I whispered, staring up at the sky and with the absurd notion that there really was someone there just waiting for me to ask, “if there’s truly a purpose for my being here, please…just let me help them.”

With that one request, I felt all the fine hair on my arms and neck stand up, and felt something akin to a water balloon bursting over my head.  Lifting a hand, I had an image of a bolt of lightning striking the ogre before it had a chance to lay one grimy finger on Cailan or Duncan form before my minds’ eye, and as if all the emotions I had been bottling up suddenly drained out of me at the same moment the wind began to howl.  A loose funnel cloud touched down well behind the darkspawn line and the clouds above lit up with bright purple electricity, randomly striking down upon the battlefield. There were several lucky strikes against genlock mages and hurlock commanders, but the largest bolt centered solely on the ogre.

The crack of thunder was ear-shattering, yet I couldn’t help the laugh that rose in my chest. I could clearly see Cailan standing not two feet away from the now smoking husk of what was an ogre, now very black and very crispy, and he looked around him as if he wouldn’t believe what had just happened.

The edges of my vision began to gray, but I waited until Duncan arrived to back up the king, then turned to look at a very stunned Merrill. The world kept spinning and my knees buckled, but I managed a garbled, “So, that’s what Storm of the Century looks like,” before sinking into the darkness.

[theramblingscribe]

Warden Reborn

Chapter 6: Lost Cause

Nyx had to tear her eyes away from the dead bodies of Daveth and Jory. Now she knew without a doubt that neither of them had ever had a chance of survival. At least this time, both of them had died with dignity and honor. It was the least she could offer.

Now her attention was fully on Duncan, in every respect. Nyx kept her eyes fixed on him as he told her to meet with King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain as soon as she was ready. She could not change the Teyrn’s plan, nor the King’s. Neither was something one of her standing could hope to achieve. Duncan, however, could yet be convinced. If he stayed on, stayed with Nyx and Alistair instead of fighting in the battle directly, he had a chance to live.

This much she had to believe. Looking at Alistair, she wouldn’t allow herself not to try.

“Two dead,” Alistair said. He was having a similar problem, unable to draw his eyes from the bodies. Looking at Nyx, the sole survivor, helped him a little. “For mine it was just one death, but we were a larger group. I suppose the odds are never exact.”

“Will they be buried?” Nyx asked.

“In the morning, yeah. Everyone’s a bit busy with the battle right now,” Alistair said. “I’m sorry, you’ve got somewhere to be. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be back at the camp.”

“Make sure to tell Perseus I’m alright,” Nyx said. Alistair gave her a funny look, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Mabari are incredibly smart, you know. He’s probably worried sick.”

“Alright, I will inform your dog that you will be back shortly. But if this is just your idea of a prank, I will find a way to get back at you,” Alistair said.

“I promise it isn’t,” Nyx said, starting to walk away. But then she stopped, turning to add, “My pranks are far more clever than that.”

He didn’t need to know that by her pranks, she meant Tamlen’s. They were never that clever, either, and mostly involved tormenting poor Merrill. Still, watching the grin start up on Alistair’s face was completely worth it. It distracted from the gray that surrounded Nyx’s head most of the time.

Loghain’s plan was the same; Cailan would lead an initial charge, then with a signal fire, a second charge lead by Loghain would strike when needed. Nyx felt her fingers curl into her palms. The teyrn lied so easily and yet she could say nothing. When Cailan informed Nyx that she would be going into the tower to light the signal flare, she was ready for it.

“Would I be expected to go alone? I may be a Warden, but I have only just gone through the Joining,” Nyx said, forcing herself not to steal any glances at Duncan.

“It is my understanding that there is another junior Warden present in Ostagar. The two of you should be enough to light the signal. The Tower of Ishal will be empty and far from the fight, safe from any danger,” Cailan said. “I know that doesn’t sound very exciting, but it is a vital task. I want my best men on it.”

“I simply wonder if it wouldn’t be best to give us as much guidance as possible. Send Duncan with us,” Nyx said. This time she did look to the older Warden. He appeared somewhat alarmed, though he was clearly trying not to show it. It was hard to hide those kinds of things from Nyx.

“I am needed in the field. I trust that you and Alistair will handle yourselves just fine without me,” Duncan said. “Your majesty, please allow me to speak with my recruit in private. I will see to it that the task you require is done.”

“Thank you, Duncan. Meet us with the rest of the troops, when the time comes,” Cailan said.

Duncan placed a hand on Nyx’s back, pushing her gently away from the rest of the advisors. She swallowed. Would he be angry with her for this? Duncan spoke to her as they walked towards the campsite.

“What is it you are so concerned about?” he asked. He’d removed his hand at this point, knowing Nyx would follow.

“What do you mean?” Nyx said.

“You have proven yourself capable. You have not been afraid of any task given you today, until now,” Duncan said. He stared straight ahead. “There was something in your eyes...in the way you reacted when you found out about going to the tower. Before that, to the wilds. To find Alistair. Nothing caught you off guard. Almost as if...you already knew.”

Duncan chuckled as if there were a chance yet that he was joking.

Nyx’s shoulders tensed. “That’s…” Nyx started. Crazy? Perceptive? What can I say? “What if I did?”

Duncan didn’t say anything, but he stopped walking. Nyx was relieved. She didn’t want to have this conversation too close to where Alistair might overhear. She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be, but told herself that he had the right to know. Someday, anyway.

“Duncan I...I can’t say exactly how or why I know what I do, but I need you to know this. If you go out into battle with Cailan tonight, you will die. Loghain will betray the King and will retreat when the fire goes up in the tower. We won’t be able to signal it on time because the darkspawn will invade through a tunnel at the bottom of the tower and infest it before we get there. They will outnumber you. Alistair and I...we will only survive because we are rescued. By someone who needs the Wardens. Were you with us there could be a chance they would save you, too,” Nyx explained.

Duncan stared for a long moment before he spoke again. “You aren’t lying,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Or you don’t believe you are.” He breathed heavily, looking in the direction of the camp before turning back to Nyx. “You are certain of all of this?”

Nyx nodded. She wasn’t sure what else could be said. She was having a little trouble breathing, now that she’d revealed all of this to Duncan. It was better him than anyone else. Nyx was certain most of the other people she’d grown close to would have been much less calm at this point. Though it was something of an accident that things ended up this way, perhaps it was for the better.

“What of the king?” Duncan asked.

Nyx gaped, trying to form the words. “He...won’t survive.”

“Knowing that, would you expect me to flee the field?”

“No. I don’t mean for you to abandon Ca- the king, but there is no way to convince him to leave. No one can tell a king what to do but himself. Even advisors can just...advise. There’s nothing I can do about him but you-!”

“I am a Grey Warden,” Duncan interrupted, “and I am loyal to my king. Even if you believe there is no chance, I must use what you have told me to try and keep him from harm. You know that I must.”

Nyx felt her eyes burn with the threat of tears. She would not cry in front of Duncan. She couldn’t. Duncan would never think her weak, not like other men might, but it would be to her shame if she was left so vulnerable now. Her eyes would become red and puffy, the signs of her tears inescapable if she let herself cry like she very much wanted to. Nyx knew Alistair would notice that, at the very least. Nyx was also uncertain that she would be able to stop herself if she started. There was too much going on to allow this.

“I understand,” Nyx said, steeling herself. “I suppose I would do the same in your position.”

“What else do you know?” Duncan asked, voice quieter.

“Everything,” she said. “Well, almost everything. The Blight is real, but the Archdemon remains underground for now. It will show itself, months from now, when it has amassed a real army. I know a Warden must die to kill it. I know Alistair’s father is…”

“I see,” Duncan said. “Then you understand that if King Cailan is truly in danger, Alistair must not come to harm.”

Nyx nodded. As if she’d allow him to be hurt, no matter whose son he was.

“I must admit I’m curious as to how you know all of this, but understand if you are unwilling to tell me,” Duncan said.

“I’ve lived this before,” Nyx said, “in a sense.” She could not meet his eyes.

“I hope that has prepared you for all that must be done,” Duncan said. “We should hurry. The battle will soon begin, and all of us Grey Wardens are needed. You must promise me one last thing. You will not tell Alistair what you know of tonight. He would insist on joining me in the battle.”

“He will insist on it regardless,” Nyx said. “But I have no plans of telling him.”

Duncan nodded, and started to walk away from her. She inhaled, then followed.

Alistair argued, as Nyx knew he would, that a Warden belonged in the fight, not on a glorified errand. Nyx said she agreed, only to show some solidarity. Duncan scolded the both of them, but the way he looked at Nyx, he must have understood what she was doing.

“I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no,” Alistair said.

Nyx couldn’t help but chuckle at the image. It was a welcome break to the somber mood. It was what Alistair did best.

“I think I’d like to see that,” Nyx said.

“For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress,” Alistair said.

Duncan groaned, then left them to join King Cailan and his soldiers in the front lines. Nyx could barely stand to watch him go. Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, which nearly made her jump.

“Don’t worry,” he said. He must have noticed the slight furrow in her brows. “Duncan is one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Alistair didn’t look like he believed it, but it was comforting to hear nevertheless.

“Let’s hurry to the tower then,” Nyx said. “Duncan will be counting on us.”

It was a lost cause, but Nyx pressed onward. She directed the mage and soldier that joined them to clear the Tower of Ishal with the experience of a skilled leader. It was not unfamiliar to her, after all.

The ogre at the top even seemed easier, now. She had fought a number of the beasts by then and could see the way they signaled each charge and attack of theirs. The mage kept far from the fight and took care to move if ever the ogre grew too close. When the soldier was grabbed, Alistair was ready with his shield, bashing into the enemy and forcing it to stumble and release his hold on the man. Nyx made the finishing blow herself.

“They’ve probably given the signal by now,” Alistair said, wiping sweat from his face. “We should light the fire, just there.”

Nyx nodded, instructing the mage to set the thing aflame with magic. It was quicker that way, easier than trying to strike flint until it sparked.

Nyx was prepared when the room flooded with darkspawn, but knew they were outnumbered. She just had to make sure they could last. It wasn’t about powerful swings, this time, but about maintaining her stamina to keep Alistair alive. Nyx instructed him to stay close.

Her eyes searched the sky for signs of Flemeth. She had been unconscious last time they were rescued, and didn’t know what form the old witch took. It had to be something large and with the ability to fly. Nothing else would do.

But a Hurlock came out from behind and struck Nyx hard. She collapsed, hearing someone scream her name. She was sure it was Alistair, but the way her ears rung she could have been wrong. He fell beside her moments later.

Nyx reached a hand towards him, then cried out when something came in contact with her stomach, kicking her. She felt a shadow overhead, then watched it grow impossibly large. Nyx thought she heard a roar. The only things she’d ever heard make a sound quite like that were dragons.

Her eyes were closing, darkness creeping into her vision and stealing her sight. There was fire spreading around them. Nyx fell unconscious with heat on her face and great pains in her entire body.

Nyx awoke in her smallclothes under heavy blankets. She sat up, and in the haze it took her a moment to recognize the old house. Morrigan stood over her.

“Finally awake, I see. Good. Perhaps the other one will calm down once he sees that you are fine, despite the fact that I already informed him you would be many times,” Morrigan said. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Yes,” Nyx said. “The tower was overrun with darkspawn. I blacked out.”

“Do you remember mother’s daring rescue?” Morrigan said, with a hint of sarcasm.

“No,” Nyx said. “She saved us? Both of us?”

“Yes. Your fellow Warden is outside, still blubbering about the loss, no doubt. You wouldn’t remember this, but your king was betrayed. The man who was meant to lead the second charge...quit the field. Everyone on the battlefield was dead by morning. Your friend has been inconsolable,” Morrigan said.

“It’s alright, I can talk to him,” Nyx said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Well, good. Mother wanted to speak to you as well, once you were awake. ‘Tis something of great importance, she said. If you’ve any questions, for the moment, I could answer them for you while you dress,” Morrigan offered.

“I have no questions,” Nyx said. “I just wish to thank you for your aid.”

“Thank… There is no need, for I have done nothing. ‘Twas mother who healed your wounds and saved your life, not I. I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose,” Morrigan said.

She had this way of becoming flustered when kindness was shown to her. How unused to such gestures was she? Nyx regretted not becoming closer to Morrigan before and wanted to make up for all that lost time.

Nyx put her armor back on and joined Alistair outside. Morrigan went to finish the meal she’d been cooking, leaving the two Wardens alone.

This time Nyx could see every detail on Alistair’s face. The red of his eyes outlined by tired circles. His stubble on his chin that had grown from a day without shaving. The way his hair was mussed more so than usual, like he’d run his hands through it many times. Alistair’s whole body was weaker, taking the weight of gravity and not bothering to resist it. He smiled when he noticed Nyx beside him, but even the corners of his mouth could barely lift themselves. There was effort behind the look he gave her.

“You’re awake, thank the Maker. I thought for sure you were dead,” Alistair said. “I assume she told you everything that happened, already.”

“She did,” Nyx said.

She nearly reacted naturally to the sight of Alistair, so broken from the previous night. Nyx would have stroked his cheek, held him close and kissed him gently. She would have told him that she was there for him, in whatever way he needed. Instead, she didn’t touch him at all. Nyx wasn’t sure she was allowed to.

“Then you know,” Alistair said. “Duncan is gone. King Cailan, too. And Loghain betrayed them.”

Nyx could only nod. Flemeth approached, which spared Nyx the trouble of finding words.

“He is hardly your biggest concern, young man,” she said, then looked to Nyx. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“Thank you for your help,” Nyx said.

“Oh, ah, yes. Thank yooou… What should we be calling you?” Alistair asked.

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do,” Flemeth said.

Nyx had actually forgotten that they had not yet learned her name officially. She had to start keeping better track of what she should and shouldn’t know, regardless of all she was already aware of.

“Wait, you mean the Flemeth? Of legend?” Alistair asked. “You really are the Witch of the Wilds.”

“What does that matter? I know a bit of magic and it has served the both of you quite well, has it not?” Flemeth said.

“And we are grateful to you for that, but there is work yet to be done,” Nyx said.

“All work and no play, I see. No, that is a good thing. There is a long road lying ahead for the both of you. The world needs the Grey Wardens before this Blight takes it from us all,” Flemeth said.

“We cannot do this alone,” Nyx said carefully. “Just two Wardens could not defeat the Blight.”

“The treaties!” Alistair said. He checked quickly to see that he still had them. Duncan had entrusted them to Alistair for safe-keeping, just in case of the worst possible scenario occurring. “These promise aid to the Wardens in time of need. If we seek out the dwarves, elves, and mages, we might just stand a chance against the darkspawn.”

“Is there any other help we could seek?” Nyx said. She already knew he would suggest going to Redcliffe, but she had to coax each answer out of him. It was so hard not to simply show that she already had all the answers. Nyx could feel Flemeth’s eyes studying her.

“Perhaps we could go to Arl Eamon in Redcliffe. He may be able to help us with Loghain, as well as the darkspawn,” Alistair said, jaw clenching at the mention of the teyrn.

“Dwarves, elves...this Arl of yours. It sounds to me as if you’re building an army,” Flemeth said.

“We’ll need one if we’re going to face the horde,” Nyx said.

“Not to mention the Archdemon,” Alistair added.

“Then you’ve got a plan. Good, you will need to be ready to face this threat,” Flemeth said.

“The stew is ready, mother. Shall we be having two guests, or none?” Morrigan said, walking up to join them.

“They are leaving, girl. And so are you,” Flemeth said.

“I...what?!” Morrigan shouted.

“You heard me girl. Last time I checked, you had ears,” Flemeth said. She turned to Nyx, adding, “Her magic should prove of use to you. Consider it repayment for your lives.”

“That’s not necessary, we’ll really be fine on our own. We’ve even got the dog, so we’re definitely fine,” Alistair said, pointing out Perseus, who napped lazily on the ground.

“Nonsense. Unless the mabari can cast spells, he will not serve as much use,” Flemeth said, laughing at her joke. “Though that would be quite the sight to see.”

“Mother, how kind of you to cast me off at a moment’s notice,” Morrigan said through grit teeth.

“You always said you wanted to see more of the world, and now you can,” Flemeth said.

“We could certainly use the help,” Nyx said. “And I promise we will be certain that she does not come to harm with us.”

“Really? We’re taking her just because her mother said so?” Alistair said, looking nervously between the three women. “Plus, she’s an apostate. That could add to our problems.”

“If you did not wish help from us illegal mages, perhaps I should have left you in that tower,” Flemeth said.

“We’re not really in the position to turn down help, Alistair,” Nyx argued. “No matter the form.”

“True,” he said. “I’m still not really thrilled by the idea.”

“Well, neither am I,” Morrigan said. “This isn’t how I wanted this. I don’t even think I’m ready to-”

“They need you, Morrigan. If they do not succeed, all of us will fall to the Blight. Even I,” Flemeth said. Nyx wondered if that was actually true. She knew Flemeth was more than a simple apostate, just as the Changeling had been.

“I...understand,” Morrigan said.

They started away once Morrigan was ready. Nyx shook Perseus awake as gently as she could, and the loyal pup followed, his tail wagging. Morrigan suggested they first stop in Lothering, as Nyx had already planned on doing. She hoped Leliana would join them again.

Nyx also remembered another, whose life she’d failed to save before. A caged Qunari whom the Revered Mother had refused to see released. Nyx hoped she would find a way this time to be certain that he lived, or at the very least, that he did not perish to the threat of the darkspawn while locked up and defenseless in a cage.

“...or if you wish, I can be naught but your silent guide,” Morrigan said when Nyx had not responded to a comment she’d made.

“I’m sorry, I was simply making plans in my head. You should speak your mind. Your input is appreciated,” Nyx said.

“I’d bet ten silvers that you regret saying that by the time we get to Lothering,” Alistair said.

Morrigan, to her credit, managed to ignore him this time. Instead she simply smiled slightly at Nyx, and gestured for her to lead the way.

The first leg of their journey north was wrapped in silence. Nyx was going through what needed to be done yet in her head, thinking of ways to urge the townspeople to head towards Denerim, or out of Ferelden entirely if they could. Clan Sabrae had gone north by this time, to the Free Marches. It was far enough, Nyx supposed, to escape the immediate danger. Darkspawn could crawl out of any hole leading to the Deep Roads, but they would only follow the commands of the Archdemon.

Alistair, on the other hand, was silent out of misery. Nyx knew he would be uncharacteristically quiet for quite a while. She offered space, for the time being.

Morrigan, on the other hand, simply saw no reason to speak. With the Grey Wardens lost in their own thoughts, she happily retreated to her own.

The dreams came quicker than Nyx had remembered them doing last time. Perhaps it was awareness, or perhaps it was the magic still lingering on her, but it was just as terrifying as the first time she’d seen it. She sat up quick, a scream choked in her throat. Alistair was already up, looking over to Nyx in her bedroll.

“I saw it too,” Alistair said. “I’m sorry, with everything that’s been going on I should have remembered to tell you about the dreams. It’s part of what the Joining does to us, connecting us to the darkspawn. It’s why we can sense them. Duncan had dreams of the Archdemon, before. It’s how he knew it was really a Blight. I’ve not seen it yet, myself.”

“It gets easier?” Nyx said, putting a slight lift in her voice to make it sound like a question. In her heart, it was more of a reminder to herself. Her new body needed to adjust to the Warden blood.

“Over time, yeah. Some of the older Wardens even claimed they could understand the Archdemon, but I don’t think I could. Also, I’ll be glad if I never do,” Alistair admitted.

“Since we’re up, do you mind if we talk? I’m not sure I’ll be able to go back to sleep, yet,” Nyx said.

“Sure, if it helps. Something specific you wanted to know?” Alistair asked.

“I’d like to know about you, actually,” Nyx said.

“Me? I’m not that interesting,” Alistair said.

“I will be the judge of that,” she insisted. “Where were you before you were with the Grey Wardens?”

Alistair told her about his history as a templar in training. She remembered the story well, but her reactions were no less genuine for knowing it. Nyx genuinely laughed and smiled when he mentioned Duncan’s conscription driving the Revered Mother crazy. She asked more questions, trying to think of things she didn’t already know the answer to, but it proved to be difficult. Nyx had known him so well, given all the nights like this they’d stayed up talking.

“So now you know a lot about me,” Alistair said, “but I still don’t know too much about you. Duncan mentioned a bit but it would be nice to hear it from you.”

“Well, I met Duncan back in Highever. He was going to recruit a friend of mine, Ser Gilmore. I wanted to go with them as well but my father wouldn’t allow it,” Nyx said. “This actually just occurred to me but, did Duncan mention my family?”

“He said that they had been killed, just before you left. I’m sorry you lost them,” Alistair said.

“I appreciate it. But he didn’t tell you who they were?” Nyx asked. Alistair shook his head, and she took a deep breath. “My father was the teyrn of Highever. I’m a Cousland. A noble.”

Alistair’s eyes widened, his brows raised. Nyx felt a warmth in her cheeks. She didn’t feel right using that name, but it was hers, now, stolen or not. Still, she didn’t want Alistair to treat her any differently than he had before.

He reassured her that he wouldn’t when he grinned and said, “So I should have been calling you ‘my lady’ this whole time?”

“Maker’s breath, no. I’m not even sure I’m still considered nobility, considering that Howe’s men killed most of us. The only hope I have is if my brother, Fergus, made it out of Ostagar alive, but that’s doubtful,” Nyx said.

“Howe’s men killed your family?” Alistair said.

“And betrayed my father’s trust in him,” Nyx said. Since her memories had taken too long to return, in a way, Howe betrayed her trust as well, but she still didn’t feel like it. Nyx knew her true self, not the Cousland counterpart the Changeling’s magic created in her mind, would never have trusted Howe. She’d been a different person before she woke up and started to remember Nyx Mahariel.

“Maybe Arl Eamon can help you get justice for that, as well,” Alistair offered.

“I suppose we’ll see,” Nyx said, hugging her knees.

Eamon was likely already sick, poisoned by a blood mage puppeted by Loghain. Which meant the town was soon to be plagued by undead hordes. Perhaps it was best to go there, first.

There was so much she knew would happen, but would the timing be the same? Or was everything thrown into chaos all at once, no matter where she went first? Which direction would be the best to take to ensure that the most lives were saved possible? Nyx’s head was starting to hurt as she debated over this.

“You’re starting to look a little pale,” Alistair said. “Well, paler. Maybe you should try to sleep more. We’ve a long way to go before Lothering.”

Nyx nodded, lying back. She had to force her mind into silence before she could even attempt to sleep again, but once she did, her exhaustion overtook her. No matter where she went, Nyx would go there with Alistair. That alone made her feel like there was some certainty to it all.

[captainderyn]

“We finish it the same way we started—together.”

**Spoilers for Ostagar in Dragon Age Origins**

Laurel belongs to @delavairesslegacy and is the sister to Ruinel

The night was dark, the stench of darkspawn and ash threatening to choke Ruinel. The stone walls around her were cast in deep shadow aside from the bright highlighter of the flames and the shadows of her sister and two soldiers with them were dark figures stalking their every move. Already they were bruised and bleeding, she and Laurel had been caught on the bridge when it had been hit and the groups of darkspawn they had faced since had not been kind to them. But still, they fought on. 

Two floors into the Tower of Ishal and they had already suffered a loss. The Tower Guard that had been with them had been caught by an unlucky darkpawn arrow to the chest. Ruinel’s hands still shook, even clamped around her staff. For nearly fifteen years she had lived in the shelter of the Circle, separated from the world at large. So much death in less than a day hit her like a ton of bricks, pulling at her mind in the rests between the mental barriers of spell casting. 

“You still alright?” She started, glancing over at Laurel. Fifteen years was a long time to have been separated, but already they were treating each other like sisters. The tentative concern was not something shared among soldiers just met. But, they had already gone through more than any just reunited sisters. Darkspawn, the Wilds, the Joining. None of it able to be endured alone. 

“Fine. You?” She managed between gasping breaths, catching against the wall as they paused at yet another door. The floor behind them was littered with corpses and she swallowed hard, closing her eyes to try and clear it from her mind. 

“I think this door leads to the top of the tower.” The guard– they didn’t even know the fallen guard’s name, nor the one of the man who spoke. “Let’s go.” 

“We’ve taken too long with the darkspawn here, we need to hurry.” Laurel took the lead, pushing open the door. She froze only steps in and Ruinel lost what little breath she had regained when she stepped up beside her. The massive grey beast, horned and rippling with coiled muscles, crouched in the middle of the tower room. With mounting horror Ruinel took in the bodies littering the floor, and the blood gathering at the feet of the creature. Laurel had her arm thrown out in front of Ruinel, keeping her from going any further and they shared a wide eyed glance. 

The beast noticed them seconds after they entered, turning slowly at first and then whipping around, its great maw opening in a bone-shaking roar. Spit flew from its mouth and the small group raised their weapons. 

“Ruinel, get to the side it’ll be easier for you to attack!” Laurel shouted over the beast’s roar, already scrambling to get behind it. Without question Ruinel dove to the side, putting her back to the wall and calling on all her remaining strength and concentration. At first her attacks seemed to do nothing, the arcane bolts she shot from her staff seeming to merely bouncing off the creature’s hide. The freezing ice she called on to halt it’s attacks only lasted seconds before it was broken, and the same cold sent flying at it had only served to anger it. But soon the soldier and Laurel’s attacks began to weaken it and her magic could more easily damage the creature. It was a final bolt of arcane energy along with the stab of a dagger that brought the creature to the ground, shaking the tower to its very roots.

“Light the beacon! Loghain needs the signal to aid the king.” 

The beacon exploded upwards in a pillar of flame and Ruinel stumbled back, lifting her arm to shield her eyes. She turned her back on the bright flame, moving to look over the edge of the Tower to the battle below. Trees and the stone ruins blocked some of it from view, but they could see the fighting that went on closest to the woods. Glowing embers sparked in the sky from flames burning all around the battle and the dark sillouetes of darkspawn could be seen rippling among the shadows. 

“They’re outnumbered! Where are Loghain’s men?” Ruinel looked over to Laurel, seeing her mouth set in a thin line. Her sister lifted her hand, pointing towards a dark mass moving away from the battle. 

“That coward.” Laurel spat. “That bastard is-” 

“What happened?” Ruinel followed her horror filled look, settling on the massive form that had just broken the lines of darkspawn and soldiers alike. Horned and bulky, just as the beast they had faced but much, much larger. “There has to be something we can do!”

“We’d never reach them fast enough. Oh Ruinel don’t look.” It was too late though, both elves saw the golden glint of the king’s armor seized up by the creature, heard it’s roar. They saw the golden glint get tossed aside like a rag doll and saw the dark spawn swarm and rally.

“There’re too many, what do we do now?” In the breath after her words they heard the thundering of many feet bearing towards them. Laurel’s mouth moved silently-darkspawn. 

“We finish it the same way we started this Ruinel–together.” Laurel’s voice was strong, her hand finding Ruinel’s and squeezing it quickly before she drew her weapons and squared up to the door. It flew open with a crack, the wood shattering against the stone of the tower’s walls. The soldier had already fallen when Ruinel threw out the most powerful spell she could muster. It only brought down a few of the tide that broke against the door. The next incantation she called on broke off in a scream, her staff falling to the ground with a clatter as an arrow embedded itself in her shoulder. Her back hit one of the pillars, her hand coming away from her shoulder slick with blood. 

“Ru!” Laurel dove in front of her, shield less and weaponless except for her two daggers. Two darkpawn fell by her blades, two more falling with terrible screeches when she threw her daggers. 

Then suddenly she went still, freezing in time for a moment before her knees buckled and she collapsed onto her back. “Laurel!” Ruinel cried, lunging for her staff again despite the pain flaring through her shoulder. Stumbling to her feet she took the few halting steps it took for her to stand beside her sister, staff leveled. She couldn’t tell if her sister was still alive, the three arrows she had seen hit her flashing in front of her eyes. 

With a shout she raised her weapon, pulling the last of her reserve to send out a wave of energy. It sent the hoard back several feet, some hitting the walls and not getting back up. But for every one that fell two more took it’s place and archers raised their bows again. Another, weaker energy burst was her last defense, a cyclone of frigid energy spiraling out from her. Her own cry was muted in her ears as pain hit her and in a daze she looked down, seeing three arrows. She hit the ground like a stone, inches away from her sister as darkness overtook Ostagar.