Disclaimer-- As much as I wish otherwise, I do not own DAO. I do not own any of the characters there-in, including the female Cousland origin character, though I would like to think my interpretation of her is my own. I do not own the environment, events, dialogue, etc. I expect and will receive nothing from this story but the joy of paying homage to excellence. (Imitation, after all, is sincere flattery.) Nonetheless, I do work hard on my little stories, and I love them. Please don't repost or reprint them without my knowledge. Further, like all fanfic writers, I am fueled by reviews. If you like and want more, please encourage me by telling me so. If you see something you dislike or think needs to be fixed, I will be happy to learn...but please be gentle!

Note-- This 3-chapter fic is a fragment of what or may not eventually become a longer, more comprehensive fic. If I waited until that fic was in a condition to post, I would never post at all, and I wanted to post. Titles for this fic are vaguely based on Scene IV of Shakespeare's King Lear.

Even as the kindling began to blaze, Elan and Alistair were moving to the nearest vantage.

The night was dark in spite of the various flaming projectiles in the process of being exchanged, and the bottom of the valley was so distant...it seemed little more than a dark, roiling mass...a sea of death and sin. Elan shuddered slightly.

Woofus bumped against her leg, offering comfort.

Elan squinted, trying to make out the flicker of movement that would confirm Loghain's troops had seen the beacon. "I can't really see what's happening," she said fretfully.

Woofus gave a soft, plaintive whine.

"Okay," Elan said grimly "Now I'm convinced something's gone wrong—Woofus can't see the reinforcements coming either."

"They have to be coming," Alistair said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Loghain is—well, he's Loghain, Elan. He knows what he's doing."

They waited for what seemed like an eternity.

"Alistair...." Elan said anxiously. "Where are they? They're not coming..."

"Oh, Maker..." Alistair breathed, "not another one."

In spite of the poor visibility, the looming shape of the ogre was nearly impossible to miss. Elan could see—or imagined she could—the vibrations running through dark mass far below as it lumbered closer. It stooped and straightened, more quickly than it seemed something so large ought to be able to manage, a sudden, bright flash in its hand. Then, slowly, the brightness resolved itself into the shape of a man.

"Alistair," Elan pleaded heavily, "please tell me that isn't—"

Alistair swore, darkly and inventively. Woofus yipped agreement.

Even as they watched, the ogre flung the bright object away. It arched and sparkled across the valley like a shooting star .

"There," Alistair said, sounding tense, "that white flash...is that Duncan?"

"Is he...climbing that Ogre?" Elan's question was his answer.

"Duncan..." Alistair moaned in a sort of plea.

The faint chink of Alistair's armor had Elan moving after him, but a bolt of pain shot through her shoulder, making her falter.

Alistair's dark eyes widened in alarm. He swung his heavy wooden shield to intercept several more arrows even as Elan jerked to the side, dodging one and more-or-less-accidentally deflecting another with her blade.

Several darkspawn rushed toward them, shouting.

Alistair raised his sword and shield, tensing as if he meant to leap in front of her.

Something slammed into her ribs, knocking her off her feet. She wasn't sure if the several smaller thuds were just aftershocks, or actual hits. Her head slammed into the floor, making her see stars. She struggled to regain her feet, but her limbs felt so....heavy and limp.

She wanted to shout at Alistair and Woofus, tell them to get free while they had time...tell them Duncan and the king were far more important than a girl already living on borrowed time—but her lips didn't seem to want to move. She could feel her breath ebbing, carrying her awareness with it...there was nothing she could now. She had already done all she could...and it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Father, forgive me...

Duncan's instructions to protect the raw recruits had been meant to apply to their time in the Wilds, and no further, Alistair knew. He had managed that much...but, somehow, he felt the recruit at his feet was still under his protection. Why else had Duncan sent her with him to complete a task that no one had expected to require the presence of a single Grey Warden, let alone two of them?

And now he didn't even know if she was alive...he couldn't spare time or movement to check...One task, Alistair, he berated himself, Duncan and the king give you one stupid, little, trivial task. A task so small you feel slighted And, in the end, you go and fail. You're failing the King. You're failing her. And you're failing Duncan. Twice over.

Alistair hacked indiscriminately at the crowd of darkspawn. The dog circled the girl on the floor, growling and snapping at anything that ventured too close.

Even if he and the dog managed to drive back this unending horde, even if his charge could be revived...how would he ever accomplish those things in time to aid Duncan and the king? But the very thought of leaving Elan behind—however temporarily—made his stomach writhe with guilt, and wasn't it already too late, anyway? It had been too late by the time they caught sight of their leaders on the field, too late from the instant they realized Loghain hadn't come...But what, oh what, if it wasn't?

The question was nonsensical. Alistair wasn't going to be able to hold out indefinitely, and the surge of darkspawn into the Tower showed no signs of ending. Already he could feel himself tiring, though whether exertion or desperation weighed more heavily upon him would have been hard to determine. Maker, please, I'll count my death a victory, my life well-lived, if only you'll let me save them—

He fell back, yelping in pain as his leg snapped. The dog's snaps and growls seemed to have changed, expanding into a huge, bellowing roar that surged through Alistair like the taint in his blood, making his vision flicker.

Or maybe that was just the darkspawn swarming over him, their swords and their daggers, their jagged teeth and their ragged nails tearing at his flesh...

Then the dragon loomed over them and into his vision and he knew he and Elan and the dog were lost, knew it too conclusively for fear or even for regret.

The dragon cracked its tail like a whip, knocking darkspawn in every direction. Alistair felt a huge, clawed talon close firmly around him, lifting him off the floor...Suddenly, he was soaring through darkness, speeding toward toward death...