"First order of business as king, I'm getting a pulley system of some sort installed so we can bypass all these stairs," Alistair gasped to Gwyneth as they finally reached the top of Fort Drakon. She nodded in agreement, bent over with hands on knees and heaving in deep breaths of air. Hero flopped at her feet, panting and lolling his tongue out the side of his mouth. Even having adapted to wearing heavy armor and wielding a sword and shield as an Arcane Warrior, Gwyn had done that fighting on mostly even ground, and in short skirmishes. The smoke from the burning buildings down below the Fort blocked the sun and made it impossible to tell how long it had been since they had engaged the darkspawn forces in Denerim's streets. Everything glowed red from the fires, and the sounds of battle were dim now that they were at the top of the Fort.

Gwyn's muscles were trembling with exhaustion from fighting for so long, and she swore Duncan's sword weighed as much as Sten now. Alistair offered her a canteen of water, and she took a swig to wash the taste of ash and darkspawn gore from her mouth. He didn't look much better than she, shoulders drooping forward, and as he adjusted his shield on his arm, she could see the tremor from bearing the weight. A sudden splash of healing energy washed over them, and the shaking stopped. Wynne nodded to both of them, and they turned to the Blighted dragon lurching about and shrieking in rage.

Somewhere far below, Elissa Cousland and Bann Teagan were leading the King's Army against the remaining horde. Sten and Oghren were holding the city gates, Morrigan and Shale the Fort entrance. She and Alistair were accompanied to the top of the tower by a force lead by Arl Eamon, First Enchanter Irving, Kardol, and Leliana as well as Wynne. Zevran was inside the Fort with orders to ensure that Anora stayed put, and to help Elissa keep the throne should Alistair fall. The Archdemon Urthemiel roared at them, torn wing flapping in a useless attempt to lift off from the roof of the fort. Gwyn yelled at Alistair, "Remember, we have to stay back if it gets out of range to make sure one of us survives to kill it."

The untorn wing caused a great puff of air to sweep across the stonework, and all of them had to brace against it, Leliana grabbing Wynne as she was blown back a pace. Irving and Eamon almost flipped over Kardol, who wrapped his arms around the mens' knees and bent into the rush, solid in his armor and dwarven stoutness. With another roar, the Archdemon snapped at Alistair, who dashed forward with a quick bash of his shield against its scaled snout, and he cried "For the Grey Wardens! For Ferelden!"

In Alistair's hand, Maric's sword slashed across the high dragon's nose, parting the scales and splashing the first trace of Blighted blood across the stones. Gwyneth yelled, "If you're not a Warden, don't touch the blood or get any in your mouth!"

The dragon shrieked and Leliana opened fire, peppering its side with arrows. Gwyn stumbled back as a few hit at bad angles and rebounded off, holding her shield above her head to protect herself. Kardol stepped in and slashed at one of the legs, aiming for the tendons at the ankles. One hit managed to damage the protective scales, but the dragon lifted the leg and swatted out with it, and Gwyn took the blow full on her shield, tumbling backwards.

Kardol ran over and helped her up, shouting over the dragon's roars, "Sorry about that, Warden!"

She nodded to him, and rushed back in. The world narrowed to the dance of battle, weaving around kicking legs, swinging tail, flapping wings. The dragon lifted off and out of reach, and she and Alistair scrambled to the old ballistae, wrenching one around and aiming it at the beast. Winching the massive bolt back, Gwyn screamed out, "Mages!"

The battle-ready mages who had survived the streets of the city shot out of the stairwell, flinging whatever spells they could at the Archdemon as the bolt sailed over their heads and struck the dragon. Alistair grabbed another bolt and loaded it in, helping her winch it back and sending it flying as well. Halfway through winching back the third bolt, the mechanism jammed and Alistair called to Leliana, "Leliana, this is jammed, see if you can do something about it!"

The former laysister nodded, slinging her bow back and leaping a fallen mage to look at the ballista. Suddenly, the Archdemon roared and leap-flapped across a deep fissure in the roof, too far for any using swords to reach. Darkspawn poured out of the fissure, and the mages fell back while Alistair boomed out, "Redcliffe, to me!"

"Hero, go!" The mabari was off like an arrow, dodging between mages and tearing into the darkspawn with a snarl that was audible even above the crash of armor and pounding of feet.

Warriors from Redcliffe took the place of the mages, allowing them to rest. Swords clashed and shrieks attempted to swarm the retreating mages. Gwyn dropped her sword and flung a hand out quickly, scribing a paralysis glyph between the mages and shrieks, then turned back to the ballista when Leliana yelled, "Got it!"

She and Alistair fell back into a rhythm of loading ballista bolts and firing them. The Archdemon was starting to resemble a pincushion, and Gwyn boggled at how strong it must be to still be able to spit flame and magic at them from its perch. With a great crash, the corrupted god slammed down from its perch into the fray, knocking men and darkspawn out of its way and crushing them indiscriminately as it heaved around. It was weakening. "Elves, mages, anyone left!"

Dalish archers, a handful of weary-looking mages, and some Redcliffe reinforcements joined in as a fresh wave of darkspawn poured forth. The archers, fresh and alert, were able to take out the darkspawn reinforcements quickly, Hero darting to and fro to finish off injured ones, then all were able to focus on the Archdemon. The dragon started to stumble, splashing wide swathes of blood across the stones. Alistair pointed his sword at Eamon and Irving, "Get everyone back! Do it!"

Archers, mages, and warriors fell back at Eamon's command, amplified with Irving's magic. Gwyneth and Alistair shot forward, renewed by another wave of healing from Wynne. Kardol, stubborn dwarf, was harrying the Archdemon by dodging between its back legs and slicing at the tendons again before dashing away. Gwyn drove her sword into its side with all her strength and used her weight to pull down, slicing a great gouge in its belly as Alistair slammed his shield across its wounded nose.

Finally, the dragon attempted to fly away, only to slam back to the fortress roof mere yards from where it had taken off. Gwyneth dropped her sword and shield, arms numb, and exhausted to the verge of tears. Alistair limped towards the thrashing beast, determined to end the monster, and her heart seized. What if Morrigan's ritual hadn't worked? The surge of fear powered her forward, and she snatched up a sword from one of the fallen men. She shot past Alistair and heard him scream, "Gwyn, no!"

Urthemiel reared his head, screaming in anger and attempted to snap at her. The sword caught under the jaw and her momentum carried her and the blade in a long, sickening slice down its neck, spattering her with burning blood. The head dropped, eye fixed on her, open and glassy in death. In it, she saw Duncan and Cailan, all her friends in the Tower who had died, the destroyed town of Lothering. Loghain and Howe, and the elves sold as slaves to Tevinter. "Gwyn, please! Don't! Let me!"

She swung the sword up with a scream and plunged it into the head. Urthemiel had been the Dragon of Beauty, the legends said, and the light that poured forth was beautiful. And terrible. And painful. It sang along Gwyn's bones and screamed in her ears and burned through her with a wonderful raw power like she'd never known. It pulled on something in her, and for a moment she was terrified that Morrigan's ritual hadn't worked and she was dying. Her head dropped to the side, and she saw Alistair being bathed in the light too, and gritting his teeth like it was pulling on him.

The explosion of Urthemiel's release flung her back, and the world went dark.

"Gwyn! Maker, please, Gwyn! Open your eyes, please!" Alistair was pleading with her as Hero whined and licked at Gwyn's hand. He bent over her prone form, desperately praying for her to be alright. She was breathing, but what good was breathing if she didn't wake? He hunched over, pulling her closer to his chest, "Please, Gwyn. I'm begging you, please."

She let out a groan, eyes fluttering, burned hands clutching and then falling limply at her sides. "Alistair?"

"Gwyn! Oh, thank the Maker!" He gestured for Wynne to come closer so she could check Gwyneth over.

"Alistair?" Gwyn cracked her eyes and licked dry, cracked lips. "I've decided something."

"What's that, my love?"

"You definitely get to kill the next Archdemon. I'm done."