Whispers to An Elven Mage
Tytannial Surana shivered in the chill of the Frostback Mountains, pulling her dark brown cowl over her flaming red hair. Piercing grey eyes were focused only on the path which lay before her, the entrance into Orzammar. The dwarves at the door tried to question her, but were swiftly silenced with a fearsome glare and the sight of the Warden's Oath hanging from her neck.
Once, next to the symbol of her debt in blood to the Grey Wardens, there had been a golden earring hanging on a chain like a necklace. It had been left behind in Antiva. She had known him for long enough to know that he would understand the gesture for what it was- a farewell she could not bear to say in person.
The dark cold was replaced by an orange ambient light and heat as she entered the City of Orzammar proper. Many passing dwarves gazed curiously at her, but swiftly moved on about their business upon seeing the glint of determination in her eyes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt her heart warming to know that those once casteless were now free to mingle among the rest of the populace, given a new chance on life.
I made the wiser choice to put Bhelen on the throne. she thought. Zevran was right- Harrowmont was too much of a coward. Like Alistair. Too weak to be king.
Harsh though she was in her means, she had always done her best to aid the oppressed and the greater good. Giving Bhelen the throne, that he might free the casteless from a life of crime and poverty. Killing the Tevinter slavers that had infested Denerim. Forcing Zathrian to see the error of his ways and end the curse of the werewolves. Freeing her brother and sister mages from the oppressive clutches of the Templars and the Chantry. Would that she could have requested a second boon, and freed her clansmen of the Dales as well!
But such noble times had long passed. When it had been discovered what forbidden arts she'd used to ensure no sacrifice was made to destroy the archdemon- what lost, dark spellcraft she'd made consistent use of since the day she was freed from the Circle- it had been made perfectly clear that so long as the Chantry and its fear and zealotry controlled Thedas, there would be no welcome place for her. Her status as a Grey Warden only gave her free passage for so long.
So it was to be a life forever on the run for her and her beloved. She smiled wryly. In a way, this is a mercy. It means an end to fleeing. Finally, I can stand and fight, and die an honorable death.
She stood now before the entrance to the Deep Roads. Bhelen had informed the guards of her coming. They gazed up at her, eyes questioning. Wondering if her visit meant what they thought it did. Tytannial nodded as confirmation, then walked brisquely past the guards into the Deep Roads. She listened behind her to the finality of the heavy stone doors being closed, sealing her in to her fate.
So she walked, taking her time, waiting for the darkspawn to sense her. Her bow was drawn and prepared to fire at a moment's notice. Here, miles below Thedas, there was a suffocating stillness- a silence broken to an outsider by only the movements of the darkspawn, and the steps of the elven intruder. A smile played at the corner of Tytannial's mouth as she listened to a sweet music, a soothing lullaby which only she could hear. A song which was both sweet symphony and reqiuem mass to a Warden listener.
Accompanying the music were whispers of a ring on her finger that had long spoken to her. Common sense, common decency, and her beloved had begged her for ages to remove the damned thing, but she could not. For in its vague whisperings she could understand more clearly how to use the power in her blood to its full effectiveness. Curiosity had always been her master- and more than a small part of her had wished to thumb her nose at the Templars that had held her captive for so long by pursuing an art viewed as forbidden.
Application. It has always been application. she mused. The whisperings of the horde grew stronger. Her smile grew wider. They are coming. It is time to give them a taste of one of their own tainted ones.
Her bow and arrows were placed onto her back once more, and she threw her arms out in a gesture of welcome for the changes overcoming her- a spell she credited to a long gone Witch of the Wilds. Eight gnarled, deformed legs now crawled close to the ground, where once two well-formed ones had walked. The Taint within her, once controlled, now ran rampant through her body, mandibles dripping with venom. It was not long before they were upon her.
There were easily twenty darkspawn in this scouting group. When first she came to Orzammar, such a fight frightened her. Truly, it was only because of Wynne they had even survived the first journey down here during the Blight. But now- now she could face this pathetic bunch alone.
They shall have to send more than this to bring an end to me! she thought, spitting venom at the closest Hurlock before turning and launching herself for the Genlock who was trying to stab her vulnerable spot, pinning him to the ground, not ceasing until he was devoured, his taint, his corruption filling her.
Returning abruptly to her original form, she sliced an arrowhead across her palm, slashing her bleeding hand through the air, easily immobilizing the entire force surrounding her. She started to laugh as they fell, one by one, the corrupted blood boiling in their veins, until most all of them were dead. Those few who survived fled back to inform the rest of the horde.
Bloodlust beginning to set in, Tytannial laughed, mirth flowing in her blood. They shall return in greater numbers. I shall go to greet them.
She drew her bow and arrows, charging for the horde which sought her. And find them she did. Many dozens of emissaries and alphas, shrieks filling the air with their ungodly screeching, and at the fore of the group, a massive Ogre, which roared loudly, sending blood and spittle flying in her face.
Suddenly, memory transported her to Ostagar. Then, seeing the hulking creature, she had been consumed by fear. Now, her twisted smile grew wider. Hello, beast.
Blood stained the stone floors of the Deep Roads. Darkspawn corpses lie pierced with arrows, ripped to shreds, exsanguinated. The ogre was frozen solid, its blood pulled from its veins as it stayed immobile. In the midst of the carnage lay an elven woman, cowl cast aside. Robes torn to pieces. Tytannial saw the Oath she had taken so long ago laying next to her head- its chain broken, its container shattered. The blood of the darkspawn and the last archdemon flowed towards her head. Dark, coagulated blood stained the fiery red of her hair. It was spattered on her face, her body, everywhere.
They were all dead. But more would come. More always came. But she could fight no more. She was completely drained of mana, and soon to be drained of blood. She had left all healing items behind, with him, because she knew. She knew how this would end. In the end, all that was left was blood- and the song.
"Mi amor!"
Tytannial sighed at the incredibly familiar, utterly impossible voice which greeted her ears over the beckoning music in her mind. She chuckled. "I am uncertain if this is my mind being most cruel or most kind to me, to send me a vision of you."
Arms wrapping around her, cradling her. The scent of leather, his natural musk. No. This was no dream. The sense images were too strong. Grey eyes grew wider. "How did you find me?"
Zevran's eyes met her own. "Did you honestly believe I would not know, My Warden? I knew where you'd gone as soon as I found the symbol of our bond left on the bedside table."
He is strong... Use... blood... Drain... Live...
She heard the dark whisperings of the ring on her finger urging her to use a spell she'd used only once before, then swore never to use again.
No...
Must... hear song... must live... kill... and live...
The siren call of the lullaby, accompanied by the crooning whispers of the ring which tuned out the voice of her beloved, broke her will. Yes... I will kill...
She smiled seductively at Zevran, effectively disarming him with her smoldering gaze. She palmed a spare arrowhead from her pockets, and leaned upwards into his neck, kissing it softly, and nibbling at his soft flesh as she brought the concealed arrowhead closer and closer to his pounding pulse. Soon, she would have his blood in her veins, and-
The spell was broken when Zevran's dagger entered her chest. Her conscious mind returned, and she felt his tears falling onto her shoulder. She embraced her beloved one last time, whispering to him, "Thank you..."
Zevran felt the weight of his love increase in his arms as life finally left her. He cradled her unconscious body in his arms, giving her forehead a soft kiss. After one last tender moment, he released her, pulling the dragon-covered ring from her finger and clutching it in his hand. He pulled one of the torches from the wall, and set Tytannial's corpse ablaze.
She would've wanted it that way. To be consumed in flame. In something so fleeting, so powerful, but beautiful, just as she was.
His face was grim as he gazed at the ring in his hand, standing on the edges of the Deep Roads nearest the flowing lava. He could hear it whispering to him as well, but would not allow it to consume his thoughts as it had nearly consumed his love's. He flung the ring into the lava, watching it melt and sink back into the earth from which it was forged.
Leaving behind the ashes of a funeral pyre and the memories of the woman he loved, Zevran walked for the surface as he was always made to be- alone.
