Reformation Chapter 4

An Author, a Dreamer and a Weapon

Reformation is a Dragon Age Fanfiction by "Eisen". Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.

They had been at it for just under an hour, trekking along what little was left of the road or cutting across the frozen river and the occasional snow drift, only stopping when one of the burning orbs that the Breach spewed out crashed into their path, spawning demons. Eila was unsure if the missiles were demons themselves, simply carried them, or caused a miniature rift just large enough to spawn them. Regardless of which, she wished they would stop. By the time they reached the foot of a large frozen waterfall both she and the shem'len with her were covered in splatters of the dark liquid that seemed to be the demons' blood. Its sulphuric scent would cause a heady reaction if breathed in too deeply at once. The elf had almost succumbed on two occasions after dispatching shades that attacked her.

The shem'len had not spoken to her since her last comment about whom they were going to meet. If she was honest with herself, Eila could not wait to see another living soul. Since the bridge, all they had come across were demons and corpses. The elf was grateful that all of those they had encountered were mostly covered by the light snow that had started falling, the ash in the air turning it a slight grey.

"We're close," the shem'len said, her accented voice breaking the silence that had fallen during their small break like glass.

"How do you know?" Eila asked, using the sword to push herself to her feet again, stifling a groan as the stiffness that had set in after an indeterminate confinement and sudden exertion caused made itself known.

The warrior was looking up at the steep cliff in front of them. "I can hear them."

Eila tilted her head, testing if there was anything that she could also hear over the constant thrum of the Breach. As the shem'len had said, there was the sound of fighting being carried to them on the wind. Snatches of unnatural screeches that Eila was all too familiar with by then and a mechanical clanking along with the thump and whooshing characteristic to many elemental spells. There was even the occasional shout, the distinct pitch of a male voice, unintelligible from that distance.

The First looked at the shem'len again curiously. The human had managed to pick up what she – an elf – had had to strain to hear. But it was hardly the time for curiosity; the hole above was growing increasingly closer and the prickling sensation at the back of Eila's neck was almost permanent now. It seemed her captor agreed, motioning that the elf follow her as she headed off along the bottom of the cliff until they came to a path that wandered up its side, invisible to the eye unless one were almost standing on it. The shem'len gave a satisfied grunt and started up the steep path. Eila mentally braced herself, knowing that by the time she reached the top her legs would be screaming jelly.

As they drew closer to the top, the sounds of combat grew clearer, along with another noise – a deep thrum that seemed to cause the very rocks to vibrate slightly, from time-to-time interrupted by an oddly familiar spluttering noise. Neither woman noticed that the mark on Eila's hand was glowing brighter and brighter the further they progressed.

~o~

Andraste's incinerated arse, how had he gotten himself into this mess, again? Ever since that idea had taken root, that tiny, brilliant, world-shattering idea, these kinds of things seemed to happen all the bloody time. Some part of him wondered if the events in Kirkwall would have turned out as they had, had he not approached Hawke that fateful day in Hightown. But then again, even without him the insane force of nature that was the Champion seemed to have been chosen by fate. He could still hardly believe what he'd been told of how they had escaped the Blight and he had seen the dragon-witch; all self-respecting storytellers knew her legend. If he was honest with himself he would have it no other way; he did not want to picture the meaningless existence his would be without the world's most infamous apostate as a part of it.

So here he was, in the ass-end of bloody Ferelden, the one place that seemed to attract apocalyptic shit more than the City of Chains. Bianca hummed her battle hymn, shooting bolt after bolt into the seemingly endless waves of demons. Fuck, he thought, wishing not for the first time that Hawke and her crazy posse were here to shove their collective armoured boots up whichever evil maniac had managed to fuck everything up this time as he released another bolt, the quarrel sinking so deep into the monster it hit that it disappeared completely from sight, only to be revealed again as the creature disintegrated, leaving the slime-covered projectile hanging in the air for a moment before it fell into the disgusting remains of the demon.

He had hoped to avoid this kind of shit by coming along quietly when the Seeker demanded he repeat his tale to the Divine; instead it seemed he'd managed to get himself right to the centre of all the madness. At least the egg-head elf fighting next to him seemed half-decent at killing things; he might even have made a good addition to Hawke's crew. Andraste's tits, he seemed to be the perfect combination of Sebastian's stick-up-his-arse, Fenris' brooding and Merril's weird, to fit right in - from the little he'd seen observing him while at the tavern in Haven.

Hawke sure as the Void would have quizzed him about his magic; the green energy that swirled around the man was unlike any Varric had ever seen. In fact, it bore an uncanny resemblance to the energy that was bleeding out of the Breach and the small tear that was spewing out demons at them right now. Not that he was complaining, the way the elf managed to pull the demons off their wispy-feet…whatevers into choke points for Varric and smash them to the ground to give the green soldiers with them a chance to cut them down was damn useful. The barriers he seemed to be able to project over others were also a saving grace; why the fuck had Hawke never bothered to do that? There had been times he had been damn jealous of her little bubble of invincibility, stupid dragon.

His absent-minded musing was cut off when the two men with him and the elf were both cut down at once, the one gurgling as he stared dumbly at the claw protruding from the floor and disappearing into his chest, the other crying out as his leg was crushed, his scream cut short by the same creature swiping him across the face, twisting his head to an unnatural angle. Fuck.

The two demons seemed to savour their kills, they were unlike any creatures Varric had seen from his time in Kirkwall, and there he had seen a lot. Stupid mages. Stupid Templars.

These were tall, but hunched. Long, hard, spindly legs and arms that seemed to be made from the same chitin that armoured Pride demons. Their heads were too small, too twisted, too many eyes and the jaws were just wrong – the bottom half stretched and twisted, seemingly fused to the neck and upper chest like a particularly ugly bib. Their screams pierced the air more so than any other demon he had encountered; it made your blood run cold, muscles freeze up and chest clench. But the worst was how they seemed to treat the damn floor like water; he was a dwarf, and seeing how they jumped into solid rock, just to burst out of it underneath whatever unfortunate victim they had chosen next was just wrong. The way dust, snow and stone rippled as they passed through it made him tense up to the point here he questioned if he had indeed never had a stone-sense. He still didn't like caves though. The demons, seemingly satisfied with their kills, turned to him and the elf. Shit Hawke, why did I go back?

~o~

Solas grimaced as he watched the two humans with them die. His reserves were too low for another barrier, so he used his staff to channel ambient energy at any shades or wisps still heading for them. At least their deaths had been swift, if grisly, a small mercy. The dwarf with him was impressive, he had to admit. The purpose of the bared chest was beyond him, but he supposed so was the wolf's jaw necklace that hang from his neck to others.

He'd seen the dwarf in the tavern, defending one of the bar maids from one of the less savoury patrons, using the contraption that had at the time seemed too extravagant. But the past day had proved it to be anything but that. It was perhaps a bit large, but it did not look like there was any part of it that was not for function. It spewed out quarrels almost as fast as he himself could throw spells. It was purely because of the dwarf and his deadly weapon that they had been able to hold out for so long. Oddly enough, he also knew how to work alongside a mage, something Solas had not seen since the old days, or during his brief forays into Tevinter. It was a pleasant surprise, all things considered.

Despite their currently dire circumstances his mind still drifted to the elf the he had been asked to look at once he had made it known that he was an expert on the Fade. She was fascinating...seemingly unscarred but for a brand on her left hand that poured out a magic entirely too familiar. The humans claimed she had fallen out of one of the Fade-rifts, preceding the silhouette of a woman. He refused to contemplate what that might insinuate. Instead he focused on slowing the growth of the mark, which was consuming her, but it felt like a temporary solution at best. The elf would die, the Breach would keep growing, and the effort he had exerted all those years ago would be put to waste. All because of a stupid mistake.

Perhaps he would live to see it, perhaps he would now die. Here amidst these ruins, beneath a glowing sky, forgotten and reviled. There was nothing he could do to stop the onset of demons, his power too diminished; he could not even close the small rift in reality before them now. The thought of everything finally coming to an end had a strangely peaceful rightness to it as he accepted it, almost content.

Ha'lam'sal, nuvenin'vena'melana ha'mi'in

~o~

He looked to the elf, who looked back with the same determined expression as he stroked Bianca lovingly. This would probably be the end. Neither of them were melee fighters and this fucking land swimming put them at a severe disadvantage. It wasn't a very Varric thing to think, but if they were going to go down, they would take down as many of the bastards with them. Fuck you Hawke, you better stay as far away from this shit as possible...maybe send Blondie.

One of the spindly demons screeched, the sound making Varric grit his teeth as he hefted Bianca. What he would not do to have even one of their former party here. The Fade-shit wouldn't know what hit it, well maybe not Merril, she would maybe try to hug one of them or something, or maybe that would confuse them back to where they came. He chuckled to himself grimly at the thought: Merril hugging demons to death, her face always shifting from sad-puppy to happy-puppy whenever she found new prey, then back to sad as it imploded with confusion at the enthusiastic contact.

What happened next was so close to the brief image that had shot through his mind he had to blink a few times to realise it was actually happening. The snow drift at his and the elf's right flank erupted. He half-turned, expecting it to be more demons. Instead it was two women, crashing into the demons before they had a chance to do their weird ground-water-dive shit.

The one slammed into a demon, knocking it off its long legs; if a demon had had the capacity to look confused as fuck, this one would have. The other left a trail of turquoise as she crashed against the other demon. This one wasn't knocked to the ground, instead it looked as if it was about to do one of its scream things when it just fell apart. The elf next to him recovered first, casting a spell that called lightning from the sky to arc between wisps that had been pulled into this reality by the rift. Shit Varric, he thought to himself, pull yourself together, you've gone soft from things not always going Hawke-shaped the moment you walk down a road.

The elf next to him seemed to have none of the reservations the dwarf did; he marched over to one of the women – an elf, Varric now realised, grabbed her hand and pointed it at the rift and held on as a bright beam of energy arced between the two, not flinching even as the woman let out a short scream of pain. To his astonishment the rift's hum increased to a pitch higher than his hearing could pick up, the kaleidoscopic shapes that jutted out from it and warping, retreated all at once until it imploded, much like the demons did, the wound in the air washed off like cheap paint, leaving no evidence that it had ever existed beyond the devastation and demon offal covering everything in what had once been its vicinity. Shit.