The Death Of A Traitor
The dungeon halls were winding. So many twists and turns that I was certain we would be lost before managing to save Anora. I didn't like the idea, but my duties came before my own personal feelings, and I was to do as instructed by Eamon whether I liked it or not.
I knew that I would run into Howe somewhere in this place, obviously forsaken long ago by the Maker himself. Every door we opened lead me straight into disappointment when we only discovered a few guards, though at the same time I felt a sense of relief knowing that we were still a ways off from the man.
As much as my heart was filled with hatred and the craving of vengeance, the man had been close to my family, and was even considered such. In a way, I felt as though I was killing my own kin. The thought didn't last long, and visions of my father bleeding out on the larder floor flooded my mind. Do not take pity of this wretched fool!
The end of the line. Only one door remained in the cold, dank corridor -- the door leading to a man not worthy of the power he stole. A man whose only purpose now, was to feel the cold steel of my blade; to feel the pain, the agony, the horror that he bestowed upon my beloved mother and father.
"Maker preserve us," I prayed aloud.
Finally, the time had come when I would see him once again, face to face. Only this time under different circumstances. He was just beyond the heavy door, and I knew that at this point there was absolutely no turning back. My heart began pounding heavier than ever before. Droplets of sweat ran from my arm pits down my sides as my nerves began sending my body into frantic attacks, almost convulsions, making it difficult to stand... it didn't help that my legs felt like rubber beneath me.
I reached for the door, and stopped. His voice was so clear, booming through from the other side. Plans to torture prisoners that I had already set free echoed in the room just before my companions and I.
And to believe that a man I once respected... no, admired, had turned into such a vile creature. It was enough to send me flying into a fit of rage, and I glared back at the three with me. Nods of approval were given by all as I weilded my blazing Starfang. My breathing became deep, but not labored, and my palms began to sweat profusely as the berserker in me let itself loose. Alistair, Wynne and Zevran drew their weapons in preparation for the ambush we would inflict on those on the other side of the stone wall.
Throwing my arms into the air, I let out an infuriated cry, feeling every ounce of my rage build up into a burning ball of energy within. Now, before they have the chance. I kicked the heavy door open, nearly throwing it off its hinges.
Turning on his heel, he faced me. The grayed, middle-aged man, raised a hand, signalling for his lackeys to keep their distance, and he moved slyly towards me.
He was so close. Two feet, maybe three from me. Close enough that I could put an end to his treacherous existence once and for all. Do it! Do it now! I couldn't. I was frozen... with fear? No. Sympathy perhaps? No, not that either. My body stiffened, and I could feel Howe's icy stare pierce deep into my soul.
"Well, look here. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man."
I inhaled deeply, giving my all to maintain my dominant stance in front of the snide fool. It took everything I had not to say something in return to his blatant insults to the men standing behind me.
"You know, I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here." The bastard's face was forming a sickening grin, and he laughed. "But then I never thought you'd live, either."
"Why, Howe? How could you betray us?" I had meant to stay quiet. It was all I could do not to slay the man that very moment. "My father... he was your friend!!!"
"Your father was a traitor!" Howe shouted, particles of spit flying through the air in my direction. "He was a traitor to me, and a coward to his nation! Orlais..."
"My father, along with many others made peace with Orlais, you despicable fool! The only traitor here is you!"
Rendon Howe began to laugh in my face.
"Peace! Ah yes, turning his back on the only people true to him, and reveling in the embraces of his former enemies. Your pathetic family squandered glory that was rightfully mine." Again with that infuriating grin. "How suiting that their deaths should raise me to the ear of a king."
"Loghain is no king! The only man in Ferelden that should be king is standing before you!"
"Ah yes," Howe sneered. "Maric's bastard."
He ran his evil eyes over Alistair, who had placed a firm hand on my shoulder to calm me. With all of the anger inside, I was surprised it worked at all, and I refrained from saying anything else... though I'm quite sure my eyes were saying more than my voice could ever carry past my lips.
"Listen to me, girl." The Arl said, piercing me once again with his black eyes. His withered hand moved for the hilt of his sword, and he drew it slowly. "If you think you can take this from me, that I will allow it, you are very much mistaken."
Howe swung with so much force, that had it connected, my innards would have been spilled all over the floor. One by one, the man's guards moved in on us, taking shots where they could, hoping to defend the man that was now trying to add my death to his list of successes.
"Take the guards!" I shouted. "This bastard is mine!"
Our blades connected, the jolt sending painful vibrations through my arm, and sending us both back a step or two. As I moved forward to the monster before me, I drew my dagger, and began swinging violently, much like he had taught me when I was younger.
My eyes, now filled with tears, began to burn, and my sight blurred. My defences were down, and I felt his sword connect with my body.
"Ahh!" I cried out in pain. Rivulets of red flowed from my left arm, and my dagger fell to the floor, blood dripping over the red steel. The pain surged, but before long it faded to the voice of my father echoing in my mind.
"He can not get away with this!"
Only one thing mattered to me now -- vengeance. I swung furiously at the vile fiend. Again, his steel connected with my body. Pain now surged through my nearly lacerated right arm, forcing the grip on my Starfang to loosen. I fell, along with my blade. Was this how it was to end?
I struggled to bring myself to my feet. I fell again, in my own pool of blood. The room started to fade and I became dizzy. The cries of those around me were distant, and their figures fuzzy. I could see them moving, but who and where was something I could not make out.
"I am going to enjoy this." An evil voice boomed above me.
Howe was only inches away from me, seconds away from finishing me off when a large blur flew in front of me, knocking him back several feet, and onto his back. A wave of warmth came over my body, and my energy began to restore itself. On either side of me, a strong hand helped me to my weary feet.
As my vision began to clear, and my pain subside, my own personal Crow gracefully handed me Duncan's dagger, soaked in my own life source. I gripped it tight, the blood trickling from the pommel through my fingers and to the floor once again.
Alistair ran towards the Arl once again knocking him down before returning to my side.
Howe staggered to his feet, his eyes filled with a ferocious fire unlike anything I had ever before seen. Zevran took a step forward, ready to attack the man before us, but I had to stop him.
"He's mine," I growled, as I placed my hand on the back of his arm, pulling him back. "The bastard is mine!"
"Ha! Come on, Spitfire!" Howe beckoned. He taunted me, almost mocked me.
The two of us staggered toward each other, our weakened states making no difference. He wiped blood from his mouth and grinned, his teeth baring a garish orange. As we came closer to one another, he raised his sword in preparation to swing at me.
"Howe's men... found me first. Almost... did me in right there."
With all of the strength I could muster, I cried out, and bounded towards my father's murderer, striking with all of my might as his sword came down.
Quiet. The only sound I could hear was that of a sword hitting the stone floor of the dungeon. I raised my burning, tear filled eyes and looked Rendon Howe in the eye as he looked at me in sudden realization that his time had finally come. Not enough! I twisted the blade now buried deep within his body, and he cried in pain.
"For my mother," I whispered in his ear, twisting the blade once again.
He gasped for air as he fell into a state of shock.
"For my nephew," I said louder, jerking the blade upwards.
He took hold of my free arm, trying to maintain his balance. Stubborn fool!
"And this..." I began as the tears flowed from my gray eyes. "This is for my father!!!"
With the last of my strength, I pulled the dagger as hard as I could, tearing through his flesh, from left to right, his insides falling freely to the floor. His blood spattering on my feet.
Howe fell to the ground, his body framed by a growing pool of his own blood. He wheezed as he tried to speak.
"Maker spit on you... I deserved... more."
The room was now filled with a deafening silence. No one would speak, not even I. This is what I had come here for, and I was satisfied, though my scars were not healed. I fell to my knees and cried to the Maker for comfort. A hand rested on my shoulder, a second on my other. Though I tried to shrug them off, they stayed, stubbornly... insisting on being there.
"Your father would be proud," Zevran said quietly, kneeling next to me, cautiously avoiding the bloody mess.
"Would he?" I asked, still glaring at the dead man before me.
I shrugged my shoulders harshly. I did not want to be coddled by anyone. I dried my eyes, rose to my feet, and gathered my weapons.
"Let's move on, shall we?"
~*~