Chapter 3: The Stand

"Come on, Kitten!" Isabela called behind her. Merrill struggled to keep the pace. Her feet were sore again, and Hawke's anguished cry kept replaying through her mind. She kept telling herself that he would be alright, that he would be fine. But every minute that passed saw her hope dwindle ever so slowly. Now, two hours after they first encountered the darkspawn, her hope had become despair. She wanted to stop, to turn around and go find him, living or dead, but Morrigan and Isabela wouldn't let her. She had begged them to let her leave to find him, but Morrigan's icy words echoed in her mind, "I will not stop. If you leave us, you will die alone."

Morrigan was right about that. Since Isabela and Merrill had met her, they had killed dozens of darkspawn. There was no room for respite, for Morrigan pushed them to keep going, despite how tired both of them were. Isabela, being the stronger of the two, was able to keep pace with the witch. However, Merrill found herself lagging behind, despite her efforts to keep up. All the while, Merrill could hear the snarls of darkspawn that were scaling the mountain around them, scouring the passes in search of their prey. It was no longer hope that motivated her to keep moving, but fear. Still, she was exhausted and needed rest. They were inside a long, narrow passage through the mountain when it happened.

Merrill's foot caught on a stone. The ground rushed up to meet her. She placed her hands out to break her fall, but it was too late. The hard earth met her face with a sickening crunch. Merrill, dazed, got on her hands and knees and felt her broken nose. Blood ran down her face and the back of her throat. She gagged on it and wretched loudly. The bile in her gut spattered the blood-stained ground. She began to sob uncontrollably. Isabela turned around at the commotion and returned to her friend. She slid Merrill's arm over her shoulder and picked the elf up. She half walked, half drug Merrill, whose tears ran down her cheek.

"I'm so clumsy. I'll just slow you down. Just leave me. I'll find Hawke." Merrill whispered.

"Nonsense, Kitten. We just have to push a little further. We're in this together, you know that. Chin up. It could be worse," Isabela reassured her.

Merrill smiled a little. Isabela wiped the tears and blood from her face as they moved. Merrill was about to try to walk on her own when they bumped into Morrigan's back.

"Maker's breath, witch! We -. Oh, no."

Merrill looked up to see a sheer cliff. All around them, the stone was smooth granite, as if someone had been carving a tunnel and decided to stop. Morrigan began to stare at the wall. The child sat down, eyes looking this way and that. Isabela swore loudly, her voice echoing off the stone walls, and she kicked a loose stone, which clattered loudly against the granite. Merrill felt the tears welling up again. This was it. This was where she would die. No tree planted in her memory by the one she loved. Her body would lie abandoned, torn and ravaged by scavenger birds, and her bones would never be buried. She would die listening to the savage shrieks of darkspawn. She fell to her knees, all the despair and hopelessness descending on her like the birds that would soon be feasting on her corpse. It was too useless to wail. The tears ran silently down her cheeks, washing the blood away drop by drop.

She sat against the wall, her mind a blur. At this moment, all of her life began to force its way through her mind, specifically all her failures. All of the Dalish friends she had once had were now dead, by her own hand. The Pride demon had played her like a flute, but that didn't give her an excuse. She had murdered her clan. She had betrayed them first. It didn't matter that others had actually performed the killing blows, their blood was on her hands. A voice broke her thoughts.

"Why are you crying?" It was the child. His eyes were filled with concern.

"It's nothing," Merrill lied, quickly wiping away her tears.

"Don't be afraid. Father will rescue us. Don't you agree, Mother?"

Morrigan raised a hand, indicating that she didn't want to be bothered. The witch continued to stare at the wall, her hand stroking her chin in thought.

The child turned back to Merrill, "She agrees, but she always likes to do things her own way. Father and Mother get into fights sometimes about it, but she told me that is the way of the world. Father loves her and he loves me. He's the strongest man in the world. I want to be like him, someday. Do you have any children?"

Merrill chuckled a little. This child was quite absurd and brought a little levity to their dire situation, "No, little one, I don't have children."

His next question sobered her a little, "Do you have any family?"

She almost choked on her response, "I had a family. But then...something happened. I don't...talk to them anymore."

"Why not?"

Merrill turned toward the boy and began to tear up again, "I did something... terrible to them."

"What did you do?"

Morrigan's voice cracked like a whip, "Stop pestering the poor girl." Merrill was thankful, but when she opened her mouth to say something, Morrigan spoke again, "I have a solution. If we score the stone with ice, we may be able to make handholds and climb out of this abyss."

Isabela looked up and frowned, "I bet if we use ice, it will make the stone wet and slick."

"What about rock?"

Merrill had blurted it out without thinking. Morrigan turned to her, "Foolish girl. This is granite, one of the hardest stones known. Throwing rock against it, be them magical or otherwise, is a fruitless waste of energy. We need something hard and sharp. Ice is the only magic that fulfills both requirements and is at our disposal and I'm not even sure if that will work. It will take time, surely."

She turned away and her hands glowed white before spikes of cold shot from them. The hurtled toward the monolith in front of the party and shattered when they made contact. Morrigan strode forward and touched where the spikes had found their targets. There were faint scratches, but they did not leave enough room for even their fingertips to gain purchase. Morrigan cursed under her breath, backed away, and fired more ice spikes at the monolith. She turned her head toward Merrill.

"This will go faster if you help."

Merrill stood up, took her place beside Morrigan, and called on her magic.

Hawke held Tristan steady as Varric guarded the rear. After the respite from the darkspawn swarm, they had tried to relocate the others without success. At one point, they were ambushed by darkspawn archers. The fight had been short and bloody, but Tristan took some more arrows. The Warden's numerous wounds were oozing a considerable amount of blood, a lot of which was mingling with the darkspawn blood on Hawke's armor. He was growing weaker, both physically and mentally. Hawke carried Tristan's sword on his own back, while Tristan wore the shield on his own back to protect him.

"Maker's breath, Hawke," muttered Varric, "We have to leave him. He's not going to last much longer, the way he is."

"Your friend's right, Champion," Tristan coughed, blood spattering onto the hand he used to cover his mouth, "Death has come for me."

Hawke shook his head, "No. We can find the others soon, I know it. We're close."

Varric exchanged a sad look with Tristan. It was impossible to reason with Hawke once he had made a decision. They ran into a pair of darkspawn which Varric dispatched easily.

"Could we have lost them? We haven't seen many in a while," Hawke hoped.

Tristan shook his head, "We may have lost them, but they will keep searching until they find us again. Then, they will kill us. Cut our bodies to pieces and feast on our entrails."

Varric scoffed, "Great! Now we have 'appetizer' on the list of things darkspawn like about us."

Tristan began to laugh, which quickly turned into a hacking cough. He spat some more blood into his hand, "I'm going to die, Champion," he said, "It is best if you leave me here. I'll keep them busy while you find the others."

"No," came Hawke's reply, "We're in this together to the very end. You will find your companions and I will find mine."

Tristan's face showed an expression of weary anger, but he remained silent. Varric, however, stepped in front of Hawke and forced the group to stop.

"Hawke, this is pointless. We're going to be carrying a corpse in a minute!"

"Dammit, Varric! I'm not leaving him!"

"Why?"

"He's not just some Grey Warden. He's the Hero of Ferelden, the only Grey Warden to ever live past killing the Arch Demon."

"I don't care if he's the Maker incarnate, we have to leave him or he's going to get us killed!"

"Varric, this isn't up for debate. I'm taking him with me. If you don't like it, get out of the way."

"Hawke!" Varric pulled Bianca and pointed it at the Warden, "If you don't drop him right now, I'm going to shoot him right between the eyes."

Hawke exploded, "He's the only one who can tell us why these mountains are swarming with darkspawn! If you kill him now, we'll never know the truth about why these things are trying so hard to kill us!"

"Sod the truth! I'm more concerned with our lives! If we don't leave him, we won't save the others because we're being chewed on by monsters!" Varric put his finger on the trigger of his crossbow, "You've got five seconds before I put a bolt through his skull, Hawke! What's it going to be?"

Suddenly, Tristan spoke up, "What do you think you're doing, dwarf?" Varric puzzled over the question for a moment before Tristan spoke again, "Would killing me really help your cause?"

Varric pondered for a moment, but before he could give an answer, Tristan answered for him, "If the Champion wants to know the truth, depriving him of it forever would only fracture what's left of your alliance even more. You are forcing him to leave the facts behind. Your ultimate goal, regardless of what happens, will not come to fruition solely because you refuse to help your companion," He turned his attention toward Hawke, "And you, if your desire for knowledge surpasses your need for survival, you are truly one of the most foolish people I have ever met. It seems to me that both of you need some sort of leadership to survive long enough to find the others. Now, help me up. I've found a reason to live."

Varric and Hawke exchanged a strange look before helping Tristan to his feet as best they could. They marched on in silence for a time. Soon, they found the entrance to a mountain pass that looked as if a giant sword had cut into the mountain. The sides were smooth granite, and it looked as if it might cut all the way through the mountain. It was then that they heard the sounds of a cold, unnatural wind. Tristan smiled.

"There's only one source for that kind of sound at this time of year," said the Warden, "Magic! We're close! Let's push on!"

Suddenly, Tristan's eyes began to glow a pale silvery blue. Smoke of the same color seemed to emanate from his pupils. He blinked, and it was gone, but his face changed from happiness to fear, "Darkspawn…Morrigan! We must hurry!"

He took two steps forward and fell on the shoulders of Varric and Hawke. Soon, screeches and unholy howls echoed around the whole mountain range. The trio began to enter the pass, but their pace was slow.

Hawke growled in frustration, "If we're going to have a chance at reaching the others, one of us has to hold them off."

"I'll do it," said Tristan, "I'm the weakest, yet I can still kill a few before they take me down."

"No!"

"Aw, sod it!" Varric muttered before unholstering Bianca, "Get out of here, Hawke! Go!"

Hawke turned, shocked, "Varric –!"

"JUST GO! NOW!"

"Let's go, Champion!"

With that, Hawke and Tristan turned and rushed down the pass as fast as they could.

Morrigan was running out of energy. She'd been shooting ice at the monolith with as much power as she could muster, yet no matter how much energy and weight she put behind the ice spikes, they failed to make much more than scratches against the hard granite. Merrill's efforts were equally fruitless, and the combination of failure, Merrill's moping, and the speed with which this task needed to be accomplished was putting her on edge. She briefly wondered whether or not she should just transform into a bird, take her son, and fly away, but she put that thought away temporarily. However, when Merrill collapsed from exhaustion, Morrigan lost it and the thought became a viable option.

"Dammit! Get up! We can't stop or we will become trapped in here! Do you understand, elf?!"

Merrill nodded slowly and mumbled an apology. Her pirate companion, however, was much more defensive, "Can't you see she's tired, witch? If you keep pushing her like that, you'll kill her!"

Morrigan's anger flared, "If you wish to die here, so be it! I, however, will not stand idly by while darkspawn are clinging to my heels! Come!" she gestured to her son, "We're leaving."

The child looked up at his mother, and uttered a single word, "No."

Morrigan almost laughed from the absurdity of it, but then the child began to speak again, "We can't leave them! They'll die!"

"And if we don't go, we'll die with them! We must go now!"

The child crossed his arms, defiant, "I won't go. It's wrong."

"And how are you going to leave anyway?" came Isabela's sharp tongue.

Morrigan ignored her and continued to talk with her son, "Right and wrong don't matter in this kind of struggle."

"No."

They all turned. Tristan stood leaned against the wall, armor soaked in blood. Hawke stood tall beside him. Merrill rushed to Hawke, tears streaming. He embraced her and both laughed and stroked each other's faces. Morrigan grinned at Tristan, who had spoken. He continued.

"If we don't think about right and wrong in all situations, how can we be any better than the darkspawn?" he smiled weakly.

"Tristan," she breathed. She rushed forward and embraced him. Had it been years ago, she would have considered it weak to do so, but her time with him had softened her a bit. When he touched her, his hand was limp and weak. A moment later, he collapsed against the wall.

"Father!" the child ran to his father's side.

"It's okay, little one. I just slipped."

Morrigan was incredulous, "You just slipped? You're bleeding heavily. Maker, how much of that is yours?"

Tristan looked at the bloody palm of his gauntlet, "Too much."

Merrill wrapped her arms around Hawke's neck tightly, tears of happiness streaming as she smiled. She whispered in his ear, "Thank you, ma'vhenan, for coming back to me safe!"

The joyousness was interrupted when Isabela spoke, "Where's Varric?"

They were all suddenly aware of the absence of the dwarf.

Tristan moved to stand up, muttering, "No rest for the weary," but he collapsed again.

"Where's Varric?" Isabela asked again.

Hawke put a hand on Isabela's shoulder, "He stayed behind to hold them off to give us a chance. There was nothing we could do," he said as reassuringly as he could. Isabela looked away, her face beginning to tremble in anger.

"No," Merrill covered her mouth in shock. Everyone remained silent, and for a moment, the world was silent with them. The silence was broken by the scream of a hurlock.

Tristan growled in pain as Morrigan's hands glowed over his wounds, "It sounds as if they've finished with him and are on the way. We need a plan."

Darkspawn screeches echoed all around them, "What should we do? We tried to make a ladder out of here, but it didn't work. That stone is solid," Morrigan confessed.

"We must make a stand."

Everyone turned toward Hawke, who had said it, "I know it will be hard fought, but we might be able to kill enough so that we could buy some time for a respite and an escape."

Tristan began laughing, a cruel laugh that had all the humor drained from it. His laughter morphed into a sickening cough. When he was done, he snorted and spat bloody phlegm on the ground. His voice was grave as he spoke, "An excellent plan, if we weren't fighting darkspawn. A respite and escape would come with a retreat of our enemy. Darkspawn have no fear, and as such, there will be no escape and no retreat."

He shifted himself in a position to stand. Morrigan moved to help him up, but he held up a hand. He stood slowly, his limbs quaking. His face was drained and his expression wild. Yet, he grinned, "This would be a finer place as any," he was strangely jovial, "Champion, my sword."

Hawke handed Tristan the blade. Tristan drew it from its scabbard and held it aloft, examining it, his face still in that grin, "The sword of Maric Therin," he muttered, "Used to free Ferelden, once from Orlais, and twice from darkspawn. It seems fitting that this famed blade should become a lost artifact of legend," suddenly, he looked toward the child, and his expression changed, this time to something that resembled anger, but detached, like he wasn't feeling it. His eyes began to emanate the silvery pale blue smoke from before, "They shall not have him," He growled. The darkspawn screams became louder.

Hawke found this to be unnerving, to say the least, but he began to sense that something was wrong when the Warden began to say, "They shall not have him," over and over, like some bizarre chant. Tristan moved slowly in an uncoordinated manner, taking a position in front of the group. He held his shield up with his wounded arm, a feat that would normally be excruciating at best. Yet he didn't call out pain, or give any indication that he was aware of the people around him, only repeating, "They shall not have him."

Morrigan reached out and slowly inched her hand toward his shoulder. Suddenly, Tristan turned around, his eyes burning gold orbs of light, and snarled in a deep, savage voice not his own, "Would you profane that which is holy with the taint of the children of magisters?!" he turned back to his original position, sword and shield at the ready, and called out, "The magisters were fools! They did not know the truth! Now, their children seek to consume him! They shall not have him!" his voice echoed off the walls and mingled with the snarling of darkspawn.

Hawke exchanged a fearful look with Isabela, Morrigan's face was pale with terror, and Merrill's eyes shone with dread, but the child seemed too calm. His eyes were closed and his hands twitched slowly by his sides. Though they all noticed this, a bigger concern was looming. The darkspawn were close. Hawke moved first. He took a position next to the possessed Warden and drew his daggers. Isabela took position on the other side and drew hers. She looked at Hawke.

"For Varric."

Merrill and Morrigan stood behind the three fighters and pointed their staves down the pass over the shoulders of their companions. The tips glowed with energy, both fire and ice. They caught sight of the first darkspawn, a few genlocks armed with axes. The creatures screamed and stormed toward the group. Morrigan and Merrill began chanting, and fire and ice pelted the monsters, killing some. A spike of ice sheered the arm off of the closest genlock, but it didn't even slow down, reaching its remaining hand out toward the party, an unholy shriek emanating from its maw.

"THEY SHALL NOT HAVE HIM!" Tristan roared in the deep voice of his possessor and brought his sword down to bear against the skull of the genlock. He split its head in two, gore spattering his face. He pulled the weapon free and swung again at the next genlock, which was burning alive. He split the monster in half from its shoulder to the opposite hip. Hawke spun around and thrust his dagger through the eye of one of the creatures, and Isabela stabbed forward both of her daggers into the throat of another.

"THEY SHALL NOT HAVE HIM!" the voice was terrible and deafening. Tristan raised his shield and crushed a genlock's skull. More darkspawn approached, barely slowed by the rising pile of bodies and magical debris. Fire and ice consumed some, and what was left came screaming out of the maelstrom, mutilated and burned, reaching their hands toward the group, even more twisted than what they once were. Tristan's sword cut through flesh, muscle, and bone wherever he swung. Hawke and Isabela's daggers found target after target, and the screeches of dying monsters echoed across the mountains.

"THEY SHALL NOT HAVE HIM!" boomed against the walls, getting louder and louder, shaking the earth with its very sound. The tide of darkspawn grew even larger. Stone and lightning rained from above, cones of fire and ice shot from the staves of the mages, and the creatures that emerged from that onslaught were barely recognizable husks, flesh stripped from bones, eyes or ears gone, limbs missing, and entrails spilling out of their guts. Yet, they still kept pushing, and soon, Hawke found himself in a shoving match with the horde.

The party was forced to back up. Isabela and Hawke pushed with what was left of their strength. Merrill and Morrigan were running out of lyrium and were tiring. Tristan, through whatever power was controlling him, held fast, holding back much of the horde with his shield. He continued to shout over the scrabbling of the multitude of beasts. It was all Hawke could do not to cover his ears.

Then, it happened.

A hurlock Alpha pushed its shield against Tristan's with enough force to shove him off his feet. It threw its weapons aside as more darkspawn streamed through the hole it had made. The two mages swung at it with their staves, but it ducked and pushed them aside. It reached out toward the child, who had not made a single movement during the battle.

The child's eyes and mouth opened, glowing a burning gold, and the terrible voice reverberated in the minds of the world as a golden shockwave of pure energy pulsed from the child's body.

"Cease your pitiful struggle, children of the magisters!"