Summary:
The Battle of Ostagar. What if the famous Warden had fought at the King's side in the ill-fated battle? Would it have changed the course of the Blight for better or worse? (RATED M FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)
This is an AU, exploring what could have happened if our Warden and Alistair had fought at King Cailan and Duncan's side in the Battle of Ostagar, instead of going to light the signal fire.
I have the second chapter pretty much complete, so as soon as I get some feedback for this (I would really love some reviews, writing isn't as easy as people think!) I will post it. Any questions will be answered in the coming chapters.
"I'm so glad you're alive!" Jowan speaks, his image somewhat blurred in the mists of the Fade.
"Not for long, Jowan. The Templars…they're close." I swallow, finding tears pooling in my eyes.
"How close?"
"They can't be more than a few hours behind me."
"Is there no way out?"
"Only to fight. But I could hear marching earlier. I think…I think I'm outnumbered."
"You? Outnumbered? You're the strongest mage I know!"
"Jowan, I'm the only mage you know."
"I…we shouldn't have split up."
"They would only have found us faster, Jowan. This was the best way for us both to…survive."
"I still don't know how they're still on our trail!"
"Perhaps it was the mass of Templars you slaughtered near Lothering?" I cross my arms, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
"I-wait-you're fading-WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!"
Startled awake, almost knocking my head on the low cave ceiling, I find a chill running down my spine, as I hear the sound of heavy footsteps getting ever closer, the distinct chink of metal against metal warning me that I am out of time. Normally, I would feel confident about a fight…but this time? The sheer noise of the footsteps told me that dozens upon dozens of heavily armed Templars were almost upon me. Even with all my power, I doubted I would come out of the fight unscathed. Yet…what choice did I have? I could not lay down my arms, and surrender. I'd done enough cowering in the Circle. No. I had to fight. I'd survived a year with the Templars, the Chantry's dogs, clawing at my heels. I'd lived through too many skirmishes and close encounters to simply lay down and die now.
I owed that much to Lily. She hadn't had much of a chance to fight back when the Templars attacked us, so, if nothing else, I could at least fight in her honour.
Gritting my teeth, I reached for my staff, only to remember I lost it in my last fight nigh on a week prior. Shattered after bearing my magic for too long, constantly humming with energy as I anticipated battles…the staff had been threatening to break for many weeks…and it simply hadn't been able to take anymore. It felt…unnatural, to not have the staff at my side. It had been my only possession from the circle, other than the tomes, that I treasured. It reminded me of times past, in the first few months of freedom, when Jowan, Lily and I had been…happy.
Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my simple white robes, encrusted with dried blood. The robes reeked of blood. No matter how many times I washed the dress, the smell of blood would linger upon the fabric. Rolling up the draping sleeves, and pinning them up with rusted earrings, I set to pulling on worn black breeches, with a pair of boots that had not fared too well as of late. As I picked up my large pack, which held the tomes I had managed to take from the Circle in my escape, I forced back tears. I could not break down now.
Jowan was still alive, somewhere. I could feel it.
Whilst one of my friends still lived, I had a shard of hope.
Hearing the sound of voices, seeing the light of fiery torches at the edges of the clearing beyond my cave, I hastily tied my tangled hair into a messy bun, out of the way. Tucking stray strands behind my pointed ears, I winced when my hands brushed what remained of my right ear. In my last fight, a blade had almost sliced my face in two. It left my right eye visionless, with half of my right ear jaggedly cut off. Despite my feeble attempts to heal it, the wound was still painfully raw.
Wincing as my ear throbbed, even once I was done tidying myself, I crouched, and walked to the cave's entrance.
"This is the only shelter for miles around." A templar, wearing the disgustingly garish armour of a Knight-Captain, steps into my line of vision, emerging from the trees at the opposite end of the clearing. "Surround her. Wait for my command."
Dust falls from the cave's ceiling, as Templars clamber on top, no doubt wanting to bury an arrow in my back once I emerge. Counting the steps, I manage to estimate the number of rogues above me. They number at least a dozen. And, no doubt, they will be the finest the Templar Order can find.
"Neria Surana!" The knight captain calls, lanky black hair emphasizing the eerie pallor of his skin. "The time has finally come, for you to be put to judgement. We have you surrounded, by many of the order's finest soldiers. Come out with your hands up, and we may not kill you on sight."
Holding back laughter at the man's cocky tone of voice, I crawl out of the cave, landing lightly on my feet in the clearing. As I rise to my feet, dropping my pack on the ground, I stare the Knight Captain down, my reddened eyes causing his own to widen.
"What took you so long?" I let my hands lie at my sides
As the Knight Captain withdraws his greatsword, I quickly observe my surroundings. To my left, are dozen warriors, a further half dozen rogues scattered in their ranks, standing tall in a tight, uniformed formation. To my right, are the same number of soldiers, all wearing cold, hardened expressions which seem to mask their inner emotions.
Behind the Knight Captain, are a further dozen warriors, each as furious looking as the next. All armed to the teeth with gleaming, polished weapons.
Even with my skills, I know I am dangerously outnumbered.
"Oh? Why the silence? Too afraid to speak?" I keep my expression a mask of calm, turning to face the Knight Captain once more. "Is this really the Order's best?"
"Shut your mouth!" the Knight Captain pulls a greatsword from behind him, the blade gleaming in the moonlight, dappled by the shadows of the torches that many a soldier are holding.
"You do talk!" I clenched my hands into fists. Gradually slowing my quick breaths, I force myself into a state of calm. Bravado and witty quips is only delaying the inevitable. "You really expected I would surrender to you?"
"No. I never believed you would. I will credit you for one thing, elf. You have an admirable fighting spirit. A shame I must…extinguish it." The Knight Captain takes a step forward.
As he takes yet another step closer, I can hear the archers behind me, notching arrows to their bows. It is a sound I have grown accustomed to during my time on the run. If I am to make my stand, I will have to take them out first- otherwise I could find an arrow in me when I engage the brutish soldiers. Taking another deep breath, to steady the last of my lingering nerves, I whip round to face the archers, raising my palms in the same motion. Thrusting my palms forward, I send a whirlwind of ice at them, freezing each and every one of them in an instant.
As I turn back, I am forced to quickly duck as the Knight Captain swings his greatsword at me. Pulling a dagger from my nearby leather pack, I shove it through a gap in his greaves, driving the blade deep into his right knee. Hearing him howl, writhing in pain, I use the metal blade to channel a wave of lightning, through the blade, and into the Knight Captain's veins. The Knight Captain is set alight in crackling, purple flames, screaming all the while.
Scrambling away, I stand, to see every remaining Templar staring at me in shock, the smell of burning flesh carrying around the clearing as the Knight Captain falls dead at my feet, a lump of burnt, mangled flesh, the ruined metal welded to what little is left of his body. Taking advantage of their shock, I pick up my pack, hooking the straps over my shoulders, securing them so it is tied tightly to my back.
"What are you all standing there for?" a dual wielding rogue steps forward. "The Captain would be ashamed of you all!"
With a hood obscuring his face, the dagger wielding rogue vanishes from sight, in a puff of blackened smoke. Turning, my eyes wide, I see every rogue disappearing from my vision.
The boldness of the rogues incites the warriors to finally fight back, causing every warrior to descend upon me, running at me from every possible direction, shouting obscene mockeries of war cries. As they flood towards me, I dodge countless swipes from the unseen blades of the rogues, feeling fear begin to tear at my confident exterior, as I realize yet more Templars were hiding in the shadows.
Cursing myself for underestimating their numbers, I kick the crotch of the next rogue to appear closest to me, seizing a dagger as he collapses to the floor. Parrying a longsword which almost slices my face, I step down hard on the fallen rogue's neck, breaking it in an instant.
Stumbling slightly as a blade pierces the flesh of my right thigh, I draw my borrowed dagger across my right palm, ducking and weaving my way through the dense mass of Templars in a desperate dash for the clearing's edge, almost falling as blades catch on my skin. Clutching the dagger tightly in my left hand, I let the blood of my palm drip to the floor. Concentrating on the red fluid, I force myself to ignore the screams of the soldiers rushing towards me.
The blood begins to rise, forming the shape of a staff, a simple, plain staff with no adornment. With a flick of my injured hand, the staff solidifies. Seizing it tightly, with both hands, I whirl round, and smack the nearest Templar in the face, sending him flying as energy surges through the bloody staff, boiling the blood in his veins as he flies backwards.
Seeing my attack, the encroaching soldiers pause for a moment, turning to see their comrade hurling up his lifeblood, steaming as it boils, burning his veins. The cursed Templar arches his back as he emits an ear piercing shriek of sheer agony. His pathetic comrades watch in a mixture of morbid fascination, and terror.
Taking the opportunity, I turn, and make a run for it, dashing into the slight safety of the dense forest. I am only a few minutes away from them, when I hear the cursed soldier's choking stop…followed by cries of rage as the Templars begin pursuing me once more. With my heart threatening to tear through my chest, pounding hard as I run with all my might, despite the blood steadily leaking from my right thigh, I will myself to keep moving. Dodging outcropping branches and unsteadily jumping over crumbling rocks, I head in the direction of the forest's river. There, in another open space, I can make another stand.
Which, in my exhausted, injured state, may well be my last fight.
Hearing arrows whistling through the air, I bring up a shield around me, using the blood summoned staff as a conduit. The shield is only temporary- as is the staff- the weapon will melt back into a puddle of blood within mere minutes. The only downside of my strongest summon.
Finally emerging on the banks of the river, I freeze, when I see yet more Templar archers lining the bank opposite me.
They're smarter than I thought…I curse internally.
Glancing back as the warriors and rogues from the clearing surround me, I feel my resolve be threatened for the first time since Lily was killed. I know my shield won't last long enough…not nearly long enough. Even I cannot hold such a barrier up forever.
Desperately holding the barrier up as arrows rain down upon me, I feel the staff begin to shake.
I am almost out of time.
I build myself up for the final fight.
The moment the barrier dissipates, an arrow pierces my right shoulder. Ripping it out, I use it to stab the neck of the next rogue to attack me. Hitting back at the strikes sent my way, I manage to put several feet between myself and the Templars, grimacing as blood leaks through the fabric around my right shoulder. Raising my summoned staff as high as I can, both myself and the summoned weapon trembling, I bring it down, slamming it against the ground with all my remaining strength, praying that will be enough.
The staff shatters the moment it hits the ground, with enough power to send forth a shockwave, which blasts every Templar backwards, the force strong enough to instantly disintegrate those nearest to me. The shouting soldiers behind them are sent flying through the air, many colliding with the trees, hard enough to break their very bones, the stomach churning cracks echoing in the night.
As the surviving warriors lie sprawled on the ground, I turn to face the archers, several of whom are currently wading across the water to their few surviving comrades.
With the last of my mana ebbing away, I send one last blast of fire at the archers, before falling to my knees. Looking up, as the archers cross the river towards me, I force myself to look away from them, and up at the stars. I will not let my final memories be of the Templars. I will let it be of the sky which Lily was so fond of….
Lily…I close my eyes as an arrow pierces my chest. I will be seeing you soon.
Feeling another arrow bury itself in my gut, I finally fall onto my back, the harsh contact with the ground forcing me to open my eyes once more.
I fully surrendered myself to the fact that this was my time.
We all have a time when we must leave this world. And on this night, my time had come.
Feeling tears pool in the corner of my eyes, I find a sad smile making its way across my face. Part of me was relieved I would no longer have to run…yet the other part of me…was angry. Angry that my life had been cut short before I had barely seen the world. A single sob threatens to escape my mouth, but I hold it back, even as the archers stand over my dying body, arrows inches from my face.
They draw back their bows…and I close my eyes…
But the killing blow never comes.
Even though I can feel my energy draining, I open my eyes again, albeit with difficulty.
"Stop!" a voice calls, as several sets of footsteps approach from behind me.
"Warden-Commander Duncan!" an archer curses. "Do not interfere!"
"You shouldn't be so quick to kill her." The same voice…a Warden? The archers cant be seeing things, can they?
"Why not?" another archer scoffs. "We've been hunting this one for months. Too many Templars have fallen to this disgusting maleficar."
"I more than understand why you feel the need to kill her." The Warden…Duncan…speaks. "But I have a better use for her."
"Warden…don't do this." The archer pales slightly.
"I will invoke the Right of Conscription, if I must." The Warden speaks.
My body is weakening by the minute, but I can sense the tense atmosphere. Dragging myself up, into a sitting position, I find myself bending over, arms clutching my stomach, as I throw up a mouthful of blood.
Regardless of the cause, hurling up blood is not an experience I would wish to have again.
"She's still awake?" an archer curses.
"Disappointed?" I wheeze.
"I would rather not have to use force." the Warden speaks again.
"The mage is dead…she won't make it until morning." A younger archer reasons.
"But we can't give her up." Another retorts.
"Then I invoke the right of conscription…."
The rest of the angered conversation is lost to me, for I finally succumb to the darkness, clawing at the edges of my vision.
Collapsing back upon the ground, I know no more.