A/N A ficlet that popped into my head, and hopefully the catalyst to get me writing again. Update: it did, it DID! Be ready for the final chapter of Something's Brewing!
Waste Not, Want Not
It was done. Beyond hope, beyond belief, it was done.
Gasping for breath as the miasma of darkspawn blood and darker magic dispersed in the clearing air atop Fort Drakon, Siobhan looked across the serrated spine of the Archdemon at Alistair, who was covered in blood, some of it his own, battered, bruised but blessedly alive. Morrigan told the truth, then.
Siobhan's stomach still knotted in jealousy every time she thought of the emotional price she and Alistair had to pay for their lives, but the Witch of the Wilds had gone, as promised. She'd shifted and blurred to a raven as soon as the final blow had been struck. Croaking derisively, the bird had circled over the Archdemon's corpse, deliberately splattering a large dropping on its snout before flying off. Hopefully, she'd stay gone.
The young man smiled exhaustedly at her, and bowed a little, leaning on his notched sword. "Remind me never, ever to make you angry, my love," he said, still miraculously able to joke. "I've always known you were an incredibly powerful mage, but I doubt even Sten could have lifted that sword." He nodded at the two-handed blade buried in the Archdemon's skull.
She decided not to go into details about the arcane lore the trapped spirit in the Brecilian ruins had given her. Instead, she smiled back. "You've discovered my secret, my lord. But I could never get that angry at you," and started laughing weakly at the fleeting look of relief that crossed his face.
"Indeed, that was a blow worthy of the Arishok, kadan." The white-haired warrior approached, leading the handful of Arl Eamon's soldier's who'd survived the fight. He nodded respectfully, but appeared somewhat shaken. "You may be the only saarebas in Thedas who can be trusted without an Arvaraad to hold your leash." He turned to Alistair. "You bear a greater responsibility than you know, King of Ferelden."
Siobhan stepped away from the still smoking hulk of the dragon, and staggered as her boots slipped in the blood leaking from its skull. She looked down in disgust and lifted one foot to scrape the blood off on the sharp edge of one of its scales, then paused, struck by a sudden thought.
"Alistair, Sten, you men there," she barked, sweeping her gaze across all of them. "I want every helmet, cup or empty potion bottle you can find. Now!" Suiting action to words, she scurried over to where a soldier's broken body lay and tugged the helmet free, trying not to see the ruined face beneath. She raced back to the dragon's corpse and held the helmet under a wound that was still sluggishly leaking blood.
"As you wish, kadan," Sten said, and started looking.
"We'll need to get every drop of blood from it we can," she instructed tersely. Everybody else stared at her, motionless. Exasperated, she shook her head. "Alistair ... remember what Riordan told us?"
He appeared puzzled for a moment "Well, yes. I do. He told us a lot of things ... he, oh, right!" He nodded decisively and grinned at her before turning to the soldiers, who were still looking doubtfully at the two of them. "All right, you lot, let's get going. You heard your Queen."
When the delegation from Weisshaupt arrived in Denerim, they were gifted with a dozen gallons of the Archdemon's blood, enough to supply every Grey Warden outpost the wherewithal for conducting Joining ceremonies for years to come.
