CHAPTER Three: Into the Cradle

Lysa rubbed her bruised forehead, grimacing at the sting from the fall. She sighed and took another swig from the skin in her fist. Her head throbbed like a hundred shemlens were dancing in it. She swore and took another swig. Draco wrenched it from her grip and drank deeply. "You're not the only one with problems," he growled stiffly. Rutger sneezed at the smell of alchohol.

Duncan gave the three wardens a once-over, his eyes drifting over their gear, making sure that his protégées were all as well protected as possible. Lysa fiddled with the straps of her leather armour while Draco tightened his heavy chainmail and Alistair began loosening and re-tightening his armour, each of them checking and re-checking their weapons, the swords sharp and the arrows keen.

Duncan looked sombrely at his young charges, his mind turning over their stories and pasts. He turned and stared at the fires at the mouth of the valley, throwing their bloody light onto the field, raising a thousand shadows of black across the earth.

Draco sighed and cast his eyes over Alistair, examining his hunched back as he sat on the rock nearby the fire, sharpening his sword on the whetstone, the sharp hiss grating on their ears. Draco quietly watched him, thinking over the words of Cailan. They left him in no doubt of what the monarch wanted, and whatever he thought of Cailan, he would still do it. Draco rolled the alcohol around his mouth, savouring the bitter taste before swallowing and handing the skin back to Lysa, who took an equally large swig. She rubbed her head and grimaced. "I don't know which is worse," she muttered finally, staring at the Oath Pendant around her neck, its dull grey metal glowing in the firelight, "The Joining or the ale."

"The ale," muttered Draco, drawing out a small throwing knife, seemingly from nowhere, and tossing it in his hand. "Where the hell did you draw that from?" asked Alistair in surprise, eyeing Draco's armour suspiciously. "Mhh," shrugged Draco.

Duncan allowed himself a small, sad smile.

"As you heard," he said, drawing their eyes to him. "King Cailan wishes you to go to the top of the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon, signally Teyrn Loghain and his men to charge from cover."

"What?" yelped Alistair, looking like a wounded puppy, "We won't be fighting in the battle?"

"Alistair," Duncan replied, his dark eyes flashing, "This may not be glorious battle but it is necessary to victory."

"Fine, fine," said Alistair, raising his hands in defeat. "But know this; if the King asks me to dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, Darkspawn or no."

Lysa and Draco looked at Alistair out of the corner of their eyes. "Way to make a stand," muttered Lysa, grinning. "Thanks; I pride myself on my self-respect."

Draco and Duncan snorted in unison. Duncan turned away from them, gazing into the fire, and when he spoke, he didn't sound like the kind, grim man they knew and respected; he sounded old, tired and sad. "There is a chance that the Archdemon may appear," he said quietly, raising his head to the moon and listening to the tramp of feet as the army drew itself into position. "It is a slim chance," he murmured, turning back to them, and now there was a fire in his eyes. "But a possibility none the less. Should that happen, do nothing. Leave it to us in the vanguard. Should we fall…" he looked away, gazing at the Wilds, before returning his gaze to them, "It will make me feel happier knowing that you three still live, and that there may still be a chance to kill the Archdemon, should we fail."

Lysa felt tears prick at her eyes and angrily wiped them away. She had only known Duncan for just over a month, but in a strange way, she loved him, like a gruff, but gentle uncle. Alistair and Draco looked just as upset, however Draco looked more calm about it, or maybe just more angry.

"May the Maker watch over us all," murmured Duncan. "Kurgash navataal, Duncan," said Draco, speaking in a deep guttural language, and all three of them whipped about to face him, stunned by the odd tongue. He looked at them and shrugged; "In Highever, we still hold on to a few of our old Alamarri traditions, including the 'Theden'gamote', the 'Language of the Seashore'."

Duncan suddenly burst into a peal of laughter, "And kurgash navataal to you all!"

He smiled at them once more and whispered, "Your Brothers and Sisters will be proud of you." And slowly he walked away, looking for all the world like a king of old, resurrected from the old stories as the lightning flashed.

Reluctantly they turned and moved towards the tower, Rutger leaping ahead, bounding forwards in great strides. "Dareth shiral, Duncan," muttered Lysa.

"Draco," said Alistair as they neared the bridge.

"Hmm?"

"What does kurgash navataal mean?"

"Death or glory."

As they crossed the bridge all four of them were thrown to the ground by a titanic explosion. Draco and Alistair rolled near the side while Lysa found herself hanging over it, remaining on the bridge only by virtue of Rutger grabbing her skirt with his fangs. She could see the soldiers charging forward, milling about like tiny ants as the advanced towards the Darkspawn. Pushing herself from the edge she ruffled Rutgers ears and looked around and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into her stomach.

She could see Draco and Alistair standing nearby, legs braced and arms locked in position as they stared down into the valley, where the two armies met. She had thought their army was vast, but it was like a mabari taking on a dragon. She could see the Darkspawn horde, easily four or five times the size of the Fereldan army spread out across the plain like a swarm of locus, she could count the fires and torches they had, she could hear the cries, she could-

Somewhere deep inside her soul, something stirred, spreading its wings and tensing within her. She could hear a whispering in her ears; a quiet hissing voice, like snakes slithering over each other, and yet it boomed like a thousand roaring lions. She shivered as she heard the…thing…calling to her, drawing her near, and readying itself to eat her out from within.

She felt Draco turn back and grab her arm and haul her to her feet, yelling at her to move. The bridge shook again as rocks fired from ballistae and catapults hidden amongst the trees hit the stone. She shuddered and ran forward, following her friends ignoring the screams of the dying men around her.

The battle of Ostagar had begun.

Draco panted heavily as they ran towards the tower. His head ached with the effort of suppressing the Call of the Darkspawn and his heart burned with the resisted urge to throw himself into the Berserker Rage and hit something. He pushed himself onwards up the ramp that divided the Tower on its hill from the lower levels. However he pulled up short when two haggard and beaten men appeared from beneath the archway. One was a soldier, bearing the arms of Gwaren, and the other a rather shabby looking mage. The mage bore a long thin gash over his abdomen and the soldier nursed a badly damaged arm. However, when he saw the Wardens the soldier raised a hand to stop them. "Warden's," he wheezed, "The Tower…it's been taken!"

Alistair and Lysa stared in shock, but Draco reacted first. "Taken," he barked, "Taken how?"

"Darkspawn swarmed through the lower levels," answered the mage, grimacing and pointing to the tower. "Most of the men are dead, but a few are outside, trying to retake the damned thing."

Draco nodded and grunted. "Go to the King's camp, see if you can round up any support troops," he said to the soldier who ran off with a quick, "Yesser!"

Draco pointed the mage, "Can you help us?"

The mage grunted and nodded, pushing himself upright. "Wulf, at your service."

"Draco, Lysa and Alistair at yours," replied Draco Drawing his sword. "Lets give the spawn a taste of metal."

As they neared the main door to the tower, Draco drew his two swords and pumped up his adrenaline to the maximum, drawing out his rage. As soon as the world shifted into the familiar darkened hues he began to scan the area for the spawn. He saw them, a dozen of them up ahead. Letting out a feral war cry in the Theden'gamote he sped up and was upon them before they knew what hit them. A Hurlock lifted its broad bladed to block his Family Blade, but his left sword caved in its side, before both were wiped around in a quick forward arc decapitating another and disarming a third. Alistair was next into the fray, his shield taking the blow meant to end Draco while his sword shot out and impaled the would be killer, killing the Hurlock. Using the body as a projectile, Alistair kicked it off his sword into a gunlock before quickly stabbing it to finish it. With four already dead the remaining spawn swarmed them, their harsh cries matching their wicked strength. However, Rutger bowled over one of them and ripped its throat out before it could swing its battleaxe. A gunlock managed to slip a dagger into Draco's thigh but he shrugged it off and cut its head in two. Meanwhile Wulf, who had been standing away from the fight, murmuring in the magical language, finally took action. Soundlessly, he mouthed the last syllable of the enchantment and twisted his hands. With a soft whoof the blades of the two warriors were coated in flickering fire. Draco and Alistair took the surprising development in their stride and used the heated blades to cut through their enemies armour, bisecting their enemies in explosions of blood. Lysa, who had hung back with Wulf, dropped to her knees and began firing arrow after arrow towards the Tower, where more Darkspawn were emerging, drawn to the sound of conflict. This was the first time Lysa had seen the creatures, and were it not for the fact that she was a Grey Warden, she would have run away into the night in terror. Their sickly, oily looking skin, their empty eyes, their sharp teeth and screeching voices froze her blood. But she forced herself to take another arrow and carry on shooting.

Draco disembowelled the last of the creatures, and rose from his kill, painted with their dark blood, before turning to meet the group that Lysa held at bay. Three of their kin lay behind them, their bodies riddled with red fletched arrows, and they had responded to the danger with an intelligence that made him pause. The spawn that possessed them had lifted shields before them, while those that hadn't hunkered down behind them, gripping their wicked blades and blunt weapons or notching barbed arrows to string. In the middle he could see a Hurlock Alpha, bearing a crude but lethal looking battle axe, who seemed to be directing the assault. He could see the dead bodies of the soldiers that Wulf and the soldier had mentioned littering the ground outside the tower. He lifted his swords in front of him in an X shape, and began to jog around the flank of the spawn, drawing the notice of the Alpha. It growled a command and two archers turned to him, lifting their bows to aim at his torso. Just then Wulf called out a few words that made no sense to any, and an orb of fire lanced out from the staff he bore smiting the phalanx in a torrent of red and gold. A dozen fell, cooked alive in their armour or incinerated, while the others shrieked and leapt away. Sensing their chance, Draco, Alistair and Rutger pounced on the stunned monsters. Rutger bowled through them, knocking tow to the ground before using his claws to cut another Genlock down. Alistair likewise used his shield to push one back before using two backhanded cuts to take down another. Draco cut one in two before slicing another across the chest. He then spun his swords to meet the alpha head on, but it blocked the blow with the haft of its axe. With a deft twist of its wrists it pulled the swords away from Draco, using the lower curve of the axehead like a fishhook. Draco managed to retain his Family blade however which he used to hack at the creatures helmed head. Before he knew it, he felt the tip of the other axehead slip into his side, piercing through the plate and mail and cutting him. It wasn't so much the cut that hurt, rather the blow had forced some of the armour in, bruising and winding him, forcing him to take a step back. Gritting his teeth, he lithely swerved around the swinging blade, ducking and bobbing like a heron. He managed to pierce the brutes chest with his sword when it over extended itself and with the creature unable to fight he wiped out his sword and decapitated it. He sighed in relief and seeing the last of the creatures slain glanced at his side. He winced as he moved his left arm, tugging at the muscles in his side. He would be unable to use both swords, he would have to use his right hand alone, or a dagger in his left. He knelt and retrieved his lost sword, sheathing the still glowing blade across his back. He knew the enchanted fire only hurt or damaged those classed as 'enemies' by the enchanter. He leant on his sword and looked at the others. Rutger and Alistair were mostly unscathed, only sharing a few cuts and bruises between them; Wulf was looking shaken and drawn and breathing heavily, using so much magic without pause had winded him; and Lysa was unharmed, though her quiver was empty and she was now hurriedly picking through the dead for her arrows as well as any suitable arrows from the spawn. He nodded at Wulf, "Nice trick you pulled there. Thanks."

Wulf nodded and wheezed, before taking a sip from a glass bottle containing a deep blue liquid, the lyrium potion revitalising him. "Sorry," he gasped as they moved towards the gate, "I'm not going to blow us up, but I'm not one of the best."

Alistair grinned as he and Draco hauled at the door. "So long as you can still pull a stunt like that one again, I'm happy."

The first thing that struck them as they entered the tower wasn't the beautiful marble walls or the rich murals, or even the sight of the wonderful mosaics; it was the smell. Rutger retched and recoiled, wrinkling his nose in disgust and whining. The whole place stank of blood and Darkspawn, filling the floor with a foul reek. Draco coughed and covered his mouth with is left hand, lifting his Family Blade and keeping it trained at the room beyond the atrium. As they advanced, more spawn attacked from all sides. However, these spawn were weaker than those outside and they would have dealt with them quickly, were it not for the Emissary who aided them. The stunted Genlock spellcaster hurled ice and lightning at them, which Wulf spent most of his energy countering. Draco, despite only using a single hand brutally killed his opponents, decapitating one, cutting another in half, impaling a third before lifting his sword in both hands and leapt into the air, using a terrific downwards blow to chop the last Hurlock in two in a massive explosion of gore which painted the nearby wall in red. Alistair took down another two while Lysa focused all her attention on the Emissary. Finally an arrow slipped through the creatures wards and hit it in the eye, shooting clean through its skull and out the back of its hell, dragging metal, blood, bone and brain-matter out on its razor harp tip. "Stubborn bitch," muttered Lysa as Draco hurriedly tore her arrows from the corpse before tossing them to her.

The rest of the floor was easily cleared and, for want of a better term, looted, of everything they could find that might help and quickly stowed on their person or in the large pack borne on Alistair's back. However the first floor was more complicated and required Lysa's sharpshooting skills to deal with ambushers and Emissarys. On the second floor they stopped for a moment to catch their breath, Alistair gripping his knees and gasping, "Wait…wh-what's going on? There-There weren't supposed to be any Darkspawn!"

Lysa leant against the nearest wall and gasped out, "Perhaps you want to tell them in the wrong place?"

"Yeah, sure, this is probably an innocent misunderstanding; we'll laugh about it later," grinned Alistair. Draco groaned and gripped his right wrist. He had been stupid enough to hack downwards in between a Hurlocks neck and collarbone, where the sword had lodged and a Genlock had hit his hand with a mace. He had cut the smaller one down an instant later, opening him up from hip to groin and spilling blood, bone and organs everywhere. His hand and wrist ached and he found it hard to perform any of the more complicated movements, instead he was now forced to rely more heavily on the more simple and yet still lethal blows. Wulf now had three more cuts across his chest and Alistair had a broken rib and dislocated thumb. Lysa had gained a broad but shallow cut across her chest and naturally had refused to allow it be tended. Rutger however was the most badly damaged. He had constantly thrown himself in the way of blows to save the others and now bore a pronounced limp, a bloody flank and only a single ear, and through the gashes in his side, the faint white of bone could be seen. He whined piteously whenever he moved and Lysa had taken to rubbing his damaged head to comfort him. Draco's berserker rage had been fuelled by the injuries dealt to his faithful hound and he stood nearby, guarding his dear friend. Alistair shrugged and hafted his sword, wincing as he moved his dislocated thumb across the hilt. "At any rate, we've got to hurry," he said. Wulf raised his staff and they limped onward.

The Top Floor

After many gruelling battles during which their endurance and skill had been tested to the limit, and they had left nothing but bloodied and ruined corpses in their wake the blood spattered and weary companions finally arrived on the top floor. "At last," laughed Alistair, with a hint of hysteria, "The top! Look there! There's the-"

The sound of flesh being sucked off the bone drew their eyes to the centre of the room. There, in the midst of a pile of bones three feet high, surrounded by a lake of blood and offal, knelt a grotesque behemoth. It was at least twelve, thirteen, no fifteen feet high, with sickly purple skin, pulled across giant muscles and huge bones. Its hands where large enough to crush a man's torso in its fist, its fingers ending in long wicked claws, hooked and filthy. Its head was vast and ape-like with two eyes shining like blood deep in its skull above a skull like nose and mouth filled with serrated teeth. Horns twisted from its head and jutted out like swords. Around its waist was a loincloth of skin and hide roughly sewn together. Its gnarled legs were thick as tree trunks, ending in human like feet, bearing talons as dangerous as its claws. It suddenly noticed them, its brow furrowing as it let the broken and mangled limb fall from its grasp. It pushed itself to its feet and let out a bellowing roar.

Draco lifted his sword diagonally and spat out two words, "Fucking ogre."

The creature snarled and hurled itself forward, moving faster than its bulk would suggest. As one they dived aside as it neared them, its hooked and crooked fingers scratching armour and whistling through the air as it passed. It smashed into the wall, where its horns lodged. "WULF! CHARGE A BLAST!" screamed Lysa at the top of her lungs, notching two arrows to the string at once and firing them at the brutes head. The soft murmur of Wulf's voice filled the room, telling her that he was doing his job. She let her arrows fly, and watched them hit the creatures skull, however both were knocked aside by the giants heaving back as it tugged at the wall. Lightning flashed outside the windows, illuminating Draco and Alistair's swords as they rushed forward, each swinging at the brutes sides and midriff, while Rutger busied himself ripping at its leg. With a roar the creature tore itself from the wall, swatting away the two Wardens with its balled fist. To Draco it was like being hit with a maul and he spun through the air crashing into a wall where he fell to the floor, bloodied and wheezing. Alistair meanwhile landed near Wulf. The ogre's break for freedom had demolished the wall it had been lodged in, revealing the stormy sky; lightning flashed and flickered, rain pelted from the heavens and the sound of war and slaughter. The great giant roared again and lifted both its fists to the ceiling, tugging a large rock from the ruined stone. Lysa instantly knew what it would do. Knowing it to be useless, she raised her bow and fired a single arrow, straight at the brutes eye. To her amazement it connected, plunging into the socket and lodging there. She let out a whoop of victory and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Then the creature looked at her. Its lip curled.

"Shit," she muttered as the boulder arced towards her.

But the bone breaking blow never came. Lysa was saved by Alistair. He dove at her and knocked her away, dragging both of them from the stones path, which smashed into the floor and shot down into the floor beneath and out the wall. Lysa nodded her thanks dazedly and they both scrambled to their feet. At a sudden yelp they turned, and Lysa screamed "RUTGER!" The brave mabari had been hanging onto the beasts leg, chewing through the hard flesh and into the muscle beneath. Until then, the ogre had been focused on dealing with them, but now that they seemed to be dealt with it turned its attention to the hound. It grabbed him and squeezed. The sound of breaking bones echoed out and Rutger let out a soft whine. Lysa and Alistair screamed as the hound flew through the air to land by Draco. Wulf groaned and murmured his hands tracing the arcane symbols in midair, leaving glowing after-images of white and grey. The ogre turned to him and rushed towards the mage, reaching out with its left hand, aiming to crush the life from Wulf. Lysa nocked another arrow and sent it into the forearm, causing the muscles to spasm and the creature to howl in pain. Once again distracted it turned to her, skidding to a halt and changing direction. Alistair met it halfway, his sword sinking into its thigh while it gouged his shield nearly cutting it in two. Bellowing, it struck his head and knocked him down and grabbed her. Her useless bow fell to the ground as she was lifted into the air by the massive hand. She struggled to free herself, screaming in rage and pain, kicking at the things wrist and trying to prize its fingers apart in a desperate attempt to free herself, but she might as well as attempted to pull apart steel for all the good it did her. Suddenly the ogre squeezed. Her arms went limp and she gasped as she felt the leather armour give way. The breath was being forced from her as her ribcage bent inwards, crushing her lungs. Blood ran from her lips and slid down her chin in great rivulets, as tears of pain and grief fell from her eyes. She could feel the claws piercing her side, driving through the flesh and towards her stomach and womb. Feeling cold, she closed her eyes.

Immediately she felt a sudden heat. The beast roared and loosened its grip. Shocked, she opened her eyes. From Wulf's hand erupted a steady stream of fire, glowing red and gold, smothering the ogre's back, causing a disgusting stench to rise from the roasting flesh. The ogre screamed, a terrible high-pitched sound which shook the teeth in Lysa's head, and dropped her to the floor. She landed with a soft thump, watching the scene with mild interest, as if at a play in the Alienage. The creature turned and received the fire full in its face. Screaming, it turned about once more and grabbed her again. Then it recoiled. She watched in mild surprise as it cradled a bleeding stump of an arm. Draco stood there, bathed in white light from the crashing lightning and smothered with blood. He gripped his sword tightly in his right hand, all pain seemingly forgotten. His eyes burned with anger.

'Berserker Rage,' though Lysa, the stupor slowly lifting from her mind as the pain lessened somewhat, 'Seeing us hurt must have pissed him off no end.'

Draco roared, spittle flying from his mouth, rushing forward, swinging his sword in both hands. It sunk into the brutes right thigh, cleaving through the limb and into the bone and out again, the flaming blade making short work of the iron hard skin. The creature screamed and toppled to the side. Draco roared again and hurled himself into the air, swinging the sword down in a terrific blow, illuminated by the flashing lightning. For a brief instant all was still as the white lightning blocked out all other light, and shrouding them in darkness. Then the sword fell. The huge horned head spun in the air, riding on a tidal wave of iridescent blood. Draco landed nimbly and turned to watch the creature fall. He sighed and toppled silently to his knees leaning on his sword, breathing heavily. The fires died out and Wulf leant against the wall, blood trickling from his lips. The fires on the corpse sputtered for a few more moments, then faded into smoke, leaving a charred and blackened corpse behind.

"The…(cough) beacon," said Alistair standing and staggering towards the kindling, grabbing a torch from a sconce in the wall. He shoved it into the wood, which burst alight instantly. Draco stood and walked back to Lysa heaving her up. She could see there were tears in his eyes. "Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered, as he guided her over to the hole in the wall. He didn't reply, but gently set her down and walked over to Rutger. He knelt and stroked the hounds head, tears streaking through his grime covered face. The hound woofed in appreciation. Draco laughed happily and embraced the mabari, "He's alive!" he cried joyously.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Wulf and Alistair let out a whoop of victory.

Lysa suddenly shrieked in horror. They all turned to her, the joy replaced by fear.

"Look!" she cried pointing. They hurried over to the damaged wall and looked out.

Duncan cut down another of the spawn and turned around searching for the King. They had been separated by the swarm of foes, and Duncan feared for the brash monarch's safety. He turned and saw him cutting a swathe through the spawn with his greatsword. He sprinted through the melee, decapitating an Emissary quickly before saving the King from a backstab which would have surely ended his life. Cailan nodded his thanks then, sparring an Alpha called out, "Duncan! Can you see the beacon?"

Duncan dispatched his latest foe and looked up at the tower. He saw a huge rent in the side of the top floor, and could glimpse the sheen of armour and a flash of fire. Just then, the pinnacle of the tower erupted in red and orange flames.

"They've done it," he cried and returned to the fray, confidant that the Teyrn would soon rush from cover and deal the final blow to the horde. He could feel the Archdemon nearby, and was quietly confident that perhaps, the King had been right; the Blight would end, here and now.

Ser Cautherin, looked at the Tower of Ishal from the eastern flank, watching the fires erupt. One of the soldiers from the Tower had appeared and told them of it falling to the Darkspawn, but now it was clear that the Wardens had done their duty. She quietly murmured a pray of thanks to the Maker and asked Him to protect those brave warriors until the battle was done. She tilted her head to watch her Teyrn, awaiting his command to attack. He was silent though, and still as if he was a statue. His arms were folded over his chest. She had never seen him like this; he was always so calm, passionate and clever, now he was despondent, dumb and meek. Finally he spoke, and she started at his words. "Sound…the retreat."

She blinked in surprise, her heart beating at twice its normal speed, staring at him in shock. "But, your Grace the King-"

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, his eyes cod and empty as he spoke, "Do as I command."

She wrenched her hand away, feeling shocked at how she responded to his movements. He stared at her oddly, making her scalp prickle and the hairs along her neck rise. She nodded, and turned, bellowing, "Men, move out!"

As they marched away, she looked down at the ground despondently; she knew that the Teyrn had a good reason for the retreat. It was probably part of a plan he had made with the King. But now she took a moment to think, the sound of battle was much quieter now. The King and the army must have fallen or fled; the Wardens, brave though they had been, hadn't been in time, and were probably dead. Loghain knew he had to retreat to hold off the horde later. 'I mean', she thought, looking up at Loghain at the head of the column, 'He wouldn't abandon the King and the army to face certain death. Right?'

Duncan hacked down another Genlock Alpha and looked about him searching for the wyvern banner of Gwarren to advance from the east. But it still hadn't come. It was five minutes since the beacon went up. Surely the Teyrn should have been here by now? Then it hit him. They had been betrayed!

Duncan turned and grabbed the King's shoulder, tugging him away from the fight. "Sound the retreat, Cailan!" he cried over the din of the battle. "The Teyrn isn't coming!"

"What?" yelled Cailan, struggling to break free, "Why wouldn't he come?"

Duncan opened his mouth to speak when a fist the size of a dwarf anvil collided with his chest. He arced through the air before landing painfully on his wounded side. Pushing himself to his hands and knees he felt his blood chill. An ogre was gripping the king in the air, watching the struggling man with a curious expression. Then, roaring, spittle striking the king full in the face, it crushed him.

There was the sound of metal imploding and bones shattering. The King jerked once, then was still.

The ogre threw the King aside and bellowed at the sky. Duncan heard a faraway cry in response- no, he felt it. The Archdemon. Knowing that it was all over gave a macabre strength to him, as if the Maker was giving him one last chance. Gripping his weapons tightly, he sprinted forwards, a blur of movement that was barely perceptible to mortal eyesight. The ogre turned to meet him, but never touched his prey. Sword and dagger sunk into the chest, piercing both lungs. The ogre roared in pain and surprise. Gritting his teeth, Duncan drew the blades out again and stabbed once more, again and again, until the juggernaut fell, crushing two Genlocks beneath it. Duncan knelt on his last kill for a moment, then, feeling the strength leave him, crawled away, and gripping his broken and bleeding side, knelt by the King.

'I'm sorry, Maric', he though dully placing his hands on the Kings body, 'I've failed you, friend'.

He looked up at the Tower of Ishal, where the fire burned away, like a lighthouse, guiding lost ships home. Perhaps it was the Maker, he thought oddly, guiding their souls to Him? He knew that the Wardens atop the Tower would survive. She would see to that. He knew she would. She had promised. Perhaps he could sleep now?

"Yes," he said, a sense of peace filling him as a Hurlock General stalked towards him, axe raised in both hands. "Yes…I think…some sleep…would do me some good now, I think."

Draco stared in horror as the swarm of Darkspawn overran the King and Duncan. "No, no, no, no!" he whispered, gripping his sword tightly. This couldn't be happening! This couldn't be-

He heard them racing up the stairs but didn't turn. 'Why bother? We're all doomed anyway.'

Would Duncan think that?

Snarling, he hefted his sword and spun to meet them, shrieking with rage as he hacked at them, cutting hands, arms, heads off with wild blows venting his rage before a mace hit his head and fell like a stone.

Lysa shot arrow after arrow into the Darkspawn, tears clouding her eyes. She would go down fighting like one possessed, felling a foe with each shot. Then three archers began to fire at her, their arrows slicing through the air. One hit her leg, another her side and the third her shoulder. Buckling down she slammed the wall against her temple, she hit her head on hard rock and knew no more.