Lyna wanted to scream as she walked along the city walls. She had heard that they were so big and strong, being the reason why so many had flocked here during the blight, and yet they were in shambes, even completely missing in a certain portion. She hadn't been expecting ogre proof, but she had at least wanted them to be able to hold out the bulk of the grunts. This couldn't stop a child who thought there was candy on the other side of the wall, much less an army of hurlocks.
She had big expectations for the guard, but that was slowly being lowered for fear of disappointment. They would be a couple of pigtailed girls if there was any comparisions between the two lines of defense. Something merely there for show and exaggeration.
"Miss Viscount!" she said, charging into the office where Marian was sitting with two nobles no doubt arguing over something much less important that the fact that the city was half defenseless.
"I'm busy right now, Commander." She growled, clearly not sharing the elven woman's point of view on that note.
"Too busy to notice that your walls are falling down around you, apparently. Is who's fucking whose wife really more important to a leader than that?" Lyna spat back, stepping closer, as the two Orlesians looked offended.
"You are here to fight darkspawn, not turn my city into your keep." Marian responded, grabbing her staff from the wall, and Lyna scoffed.
"Do you really think that I can fight them off before they attack? If it's anything like the keep we won't even know where they are until there is at least one major attack. If you want your people to live, fix the walls. Make them taller, and twice as wide. Cover them in spike wire to protect from shrieks, and train some archers to line them. I'll train your guard, and you might stand a chance." Lyna said, staring the mage down, just long enough so that the larger woman knew that she was anything but afraid of her before storming out, ready to take out her anger on the guards on the other side of the keep.
She walked into the barracks, where a dozen or so guards who watched her with a mix of disdain and confusion. It wasn't often that wardens came in, or anyone they didn't know, really. She looked ready to kill, and yet, as usual, they were already underestimating her due to her pointed ears and feminine stature. She was small, and everything they had been raised into told them that elves were not to be respected. She planned to change that.
"Where is the captain. I need to speak with him or her." Lyna said, and sighed when a big guy with no hair and a scar across his eye stepped forward.
"She's not here. She'll be back later. Until then, you can talk to me." He said, his voice gravelly. She pinched the bridge of her nose, not wanting to deal with him right now.
"Fine. I need to see how you guys are going to fight, and train you to be darkspawn killing machines. Tell her that I'm going to need training sessions with you, and a demonstration of your skills as soon as possible." She said, and was about to walk out when she heard the man scoff at her. She really hated that sound.
"Do you think you can boss us around, knife ear?" the bald man said, and the other guard stepped back, and Lyna gritted her teeth.
"I am the commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, and in matters of darkspawn, I hold sway higher than kings. Yes. I think that I can boss you around." She answered, turning around to face the ignorant man.
"Yeah, and I'm real scared. Why don't you show me the wrath of the ancestors, or whatever bullshit you believe in?" He said, laughing, though he was the only one. His comrades just looked nervous, and tried to stay as far from him as they could while still keeping their view of the scene.
"Very well. If it's a fight you want, come at me." She raised a fiery brow, and the man smirked before doing just that, and drawing his blade. Before he even swung, Lyna was in motion, and as the blade flew at her, her small form was underneath it, a foot digging into armored stomach. The man looked shocked, and she grabbed his wrist, flipping him over her shoulder with the rest of his momentum, leaving him dazed and staring at the roof. She pulled her belt knife and held it to his throat, straddling him.
"Now apologize to my people for your ignorance, human." She hissed, like the wildcat she was. His eyes were filled with indignant fear, and he did so, spitting it out like a viper's venom.
"I'll make sure the captain hears your message." A young girl with light brown hair and doe eyes said, her features marking her as having elven heritage. A fourth, perhaps, as they were not pronounced enough to be half.
"Thank you. I really am more agreeable most of the time. Purhaps we'll get along when I am in a better mood." Lyna said, getting up and walking from the room, rubbing her temples as if that would get rid of the gathering headache.
Lyna slammed the door to the manor, sighing. She wanted to puke after all she had seen that day, and it was barely even sunset. Fenris was sitting in the foyer as usual, dust covering his surroundings and a wine bottle in his gauntleted hand. He was buzzed already, and she wondered if he was ever sober, and how an elf living in a ratty place like this afforded to be an alchoholic.
"You seem to be in a bad mood." He said, attempting to make casual conversation, though he wasn't very good at it. With anyone else, he usually just ended up either making the other person storm out, or getting pissed and kicking them out. Either way, he ended up angry and alone. Lyna, however, seemed to do nothing but laugh at his angry words, and he found himself laughing right along side her. But that was only one day. He was quite certain that he would soon be alone in the manor once more, with no flaming elf to grace the halls.
"That damn viscount doesn't have any idea how to run a fucking city, or a country, or anything else." Was her response, growling like a cornered lion. He raised a brow and offered her the wine bottle, which she took a liberal drink from, although she almost never drank. It's hard to run a keep full of wardens when inebriated.
"What did she do? Hawke was always a fair leader when I was around her." He asked, and she set the bottle down.
"You know her? And you think that someone who lets her walls lie in shambles like this is an okay leader? Someone who's guard is full of fools who attack their savior? Who tries to pull a staff on you when you tell her that she isn't fucking perfect on her little perch?" Lyna raged, and the male elf looked mildly shocked.
"I knew she had an ego, but she usually puts others before herself. Though she was never raised to be in a leadership role, I thought that would help the city if nothing else."
"Neither was I, but you should know that defense is more important that two nobles squabbling like children." She said, feeling the small amount of wine she had already effecting her as a warmth started in her stomach.
"If it helps you, there is a dailish clan, not to far from town. I presume you would be more comfortable leading them into battle." He offered, and her heart soared.
"There's a clan? Oh, by the Creators I may be able to do my job after all! Come on, I'll treat you to a good dinner at that orlesian place down the street." She said, grabbing his hand and dragging him out, determined to reward him for giving her this peace of mind.
After a good meal, and a number of stares when they walked in wearing armour rather than the fancy gowns and robes of the other patrons, Lyna lay asleep in her bed. There were clean sheets on it, and a new pillow, though the rest remained unchanged from the old, haunted house look alike it had been when she had moved in the night before. It had been fun to sit with the somber elf, even though he looked ready to kill himself, and was more moody than usual.
He had also offered her advice as she told him of her issue with the viscount, or Hawke, as he liked to call her, seeing as how they had a history. She learned that they were far from friends, with him deeming her another filthy mage likely to cohort with the demons soon enough. This had surprised Lyna, who thought that him defending her earlier meant that he liked her. She was informed that Fenris saw no reason to lie, and that she usually did act in the intrest of others, if only so she could say she had done so. He didn't like her, but everyone, or most everyone at least, had their good qualities.
And yet, the wine she had consumed even more of during the meal did nothing to calm her down, nor did Fenris' advice. She was not only racing against an attack on the city, but also an attack on her very own body. The black blood racing through her tainted veins, burning, and giving her horrid nightmares each night showed her that coming here was a misstep at best. She should have gone to Orzamarr, but had ventured to Kirkwall instead. She could hardly leave in them middle of her duty, and who would replace her after all? Deserved or not, she was the hero of her people, and they looked to her as a shining symbol of hope. If there was soon to be a crisis, she could hardly drag that hope down into the dwarven caves.
She'd have to stay here, and hope that she had more time than she thought, lest she have to train a successor, and quickly. Fenris seemed a good choice, should he be willing to join the cursed order, and there was always Anders in a pinch. She sighed, and closed her eyes, falling into the fitful sleep only those who had unwittingly sold their soul to what many called the Maker's punishment.
She was walking through the forest, Tamlen by her side. His face was laughing, and she heard herself mimicking the gesture. She had her old bow in her hands, and he wore the sword that had always kept her safe. Until they started walking toward that Creator-forsaken cave, and her mind was reeling. She knew what waited for her there, but her legs wouldn't turn around. Her full red lips wouldn't speak the words to tell him to turn around. Her young skin, not yet bearing the scars of her warden future, shone in the waning sun as she walked into the rune-covered cave. They continued, curiosity a powerful thing, while Lyna tried to move her mouth, to scream at him, to beg him not to go into the room with the mirror. But it was as if she were underwater, and the liquid was filling her lungs, keeping out the air that she needed to say the words.
Everything went black, just as it had done a decade before, and she expected to wake up. It was when she always woke up. But instead, her mind decided to be extra sadistic that night. Light came back to her, and she was in the familiar surroundings of her tent back in the blight. She heard Alistair give the call, and ran outside. She knew what awaited her, but it was still like an icecicle to the heart as she saw Tamlen's face on one of them. He was a shriek, and she heard his final words, begging for death. Tears rolled down her face, and she plunged her blade into his chest, not even minding the claws that dug into her back as his animal instincts fought her. Each bloody line was a small compensation for the fact that she had made it out alive, and he hadn't. That she was able to keep going, with her fake smiles, and strong front, while he had to die.
Wynne healed her body, but nothing, not even the miracle working mage woman, could heal her soul. It was scarred long before they had met.
She closed her eyes, as a tear fell from them, and when they opened once more, she was on top of Fort Draco yet again. The beast that had made her famous roared like the dragon it took the shape of, and she looked around. The rubble that had once been Shale was off to the side, and her faithful canine companion was bleeding far to much to survive to the other. Alistair's arm was pouring red, and Wynne was lying on the floor. So many injured, and the army dead around her.
And yet, as she shoved the blade into the head of the beast, and waited for death, but Morrigan had kept her promise, and the sweet bliss of death, though she had yet to covet it, was kept from her. She walked away, when a thousand men with clean hands stayed there, leaving only to go into the mass burial the day following. The witch was gone, and Lyna was a champion. Alistair's eyes as he stood next to Anora looked as if he wished he had died there, but she couldn't stay. They needed her at the keep, and the small spark of romance they had shared was more than put out.
The spark of life that had been a blazing flame in her chest was far from it's former glory. And she stood, and stared as his was extinguished a second time.
She woke, the cold sweat clinging to her paled skin all too familiar by now. The tears were new, but she barely noticed as she tried to catch her breath, and hoped that she hadn't screamed. All she needed was to have to explain the nightmares which plagued her to Fenris. Or anyone, really, seeing as how crying in the middle of the night really interrupted her strong, statuesque façade.
The moon was still high in the sky, but she couldn't go back to sleep. Instead, she got up, and figured she may as well start cleaning the dusty home she would likely die in.
