A/N: This is a response to a Cheeky Monkey Challenge issued by Suilven: Write a story in ten minutes or less. It took me 9 min, 37 seconds. The story takes place in The Lion of Orlais universe, during the Battle of Ostagar.
Thanks to Lisa for her beta and suggestion.
In Death
Rage was all that drove him now. Through the red and black miasma of treachery and death, he pushed himself forward, lungs screaming no louder than the accusations in his head. Around him were the bodies of his men. Good men. Brave men. Men who did not deserve their fates, and yet, were no less dead. His fault. Cailan's fault. A primal scream ripped from his throat as he launched himself at Cailan's killer. The ogre fell, and with it, went his dagger and sword. It didn't matter: his death was already rushing to meet him.
In death, sacrifice.
He had betrayed his men, and those of the king's. He had agreed to a battle plan that relied on perfect timing, and honest intentions. The king had betrayed them the moment he had denied Duncan's request to wait for reinforcements from Redcliffe and Orlais. Loghain had betrayed them when he had decided that Ferelden would perish rather than submit to Orlais.
His fingers, shaking with pain and exhaustion, reached up to touch the amulet. Her amulet. Tears mixed with blood as the extent of his betrayal tore into him.
He had wanted to spare her the horror of war; he had wanted to kill the Archdemon to prevent her from crossing the border and sacrificing herself. So many betrayals. Had Loghain and Cailan only known how an Archdemon was defeated, they would have waited.
His fingers gripped the amulet and he stared at the bodies of his men, spread across the ground, abandoned like broken toy soldiers in the hands of a spoiled child.
Through the red-tinged fog he saw the first flickers of light, bright and welcoming. He raised his head, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the amulet as he waited for the sound of Loghain's soldiers.
One last act of betrayal crushed his hope as he listened to the sound of a retreating army.
He turned from the sound to see a hurlock, axe already swinging in a deadly arc, rushing towards him.
In death, betrayal.
His breath caught as he waited for the killing blow. Hair, as black and shiny as a raven's wing, caught the streamers of light from the beacon. She walked through the newly-minted grass in the meadow, barefoot and smiling, her arms stretched out to him.
"Forgive me, Lion," he gasped, reaching for her. "Forgive me for not being there when Montran took you. Forgive me for putting duty before you too often. Forgive me for leaving this in your hands," he whispered against the sweet silk of her lips.
"I love you, my beloved Rivaini Pirate," she whispered against his burning skin. "Forgiveness is not mine to give, but you have it, as you have my heart. Always."
She kissed him gently and stepped away. Touching his cheek with the back of her hand, she spoke once more before turning to leave.
"In death, peace," she whispered.