Chapter Ten

The Beacon Light

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Have you no honor?

Have you no soul?

What is it they're dying for?

Do you really even know?

~ FFDP

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The scene was set like something out of an old saga, and Cailan was pleased that if it must rain, at least the shocks of lightning and the rolls of thunder in the distance added a sense of drama to the atmosphere. Despite the talk—and he knew full well what some of his generals thought of him—the king was not entirely without common sense. The horde outnumbered them, even without the appearance of the Archdemon, and morale was too important to be overlooked. The men had to believe they were creating history, that they were heroes like the ones in the tales of old, destined to win this battle, or the army would be crushed.

He glanced to his right and saw Loghain's hundreds on the hill, awaiting the signal. The day was dark with rainclouds and mist. It made the waiting army difficult to discern in the solid backdrop of grey, but even in the poor light, he could see the torch lights glint across weapons and armor, shifting and dancing across the gathering with the illusion of water in the sun. He imagined he could see Loghain standing strong in the front line, dour and taciturn as his mind raced again over each little detail, his sheer determination for perfection making his forehead wrinkle into a glower.

The thought was enough to make the young king chuckle quietly to himself.

The darkspawn began to slowly emerge from the mists, the Wilds seeming to give birth to a hideous, snaking line of monsters that made the soul seize in fright and the blood run cold. Cailan observed the men holding firm, grim and resolved in the face of evil. They would follow him to the death, each one of them, necessary causalities in order to see the monsters held at bay.

And after today, Cailan would no longer be King Maric's son, but King Cailan, Savior of the Blight.

He drew his sword, his entire body quivering with anticipation, and his voice was full of all the vigor and expectation for glory he longed for as he led the charge with a cry of: "For Ferelden!"

… …

"Get down!"

Elissa strengthened the warning with a yank on Alistair's arm, dragging him back when a flaming ball of magic slammed into stone and exploded around them in haze of heat strong enough to sear the air, sending a handful of archers tumbling down into the pandemonium below. Just as quickly, she was back up, trying to ignore the sound of their screams as she ran across the bridge, dodging debris and the occasional wayward arrow shot by the darkspawn genlocks on the hill. Aiden ran beside her, a war dog in his element, galloping straight and smooth as a thrown spear through the chaos.

They were already breathless by the time they reached the foot of the tower. They had just broken free of the range of the battle in the valley below when they were immediately greeted by a pair of Loghain's men, a soldier and a man wearing the robes of a Circle mage. "You!" the soldier gasped, running towards them, and the knot in Elissa's stomach twisted painfully when she saw he was streaked with sweat and blood. "Are you Grey Wardens? The tower's been taken!"

"What are you talking about? Taken how?" Alistair was already reaching for his sword.

"The darkspawn! They came up from below. Most of us have been killed."

She had never thought of silence as heavy until that moment, but the lack of anything to say fell between her and Alistair like a blanket, the roar of battle suddenly muffled by the rushing sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Alistair exchanged a startled, frightened look with her, but there was nothing else they could do. No one was coming to their aid and, with a wrench of will, she ordered her hands not to shake as she drew her swords. Aiden took the action as an order and bolted into the yard, making a straight path for a soldier who was desperately outnumbered and fighting for his life. She saw Alistair square his shoulders before rushing into the fray, well aware of how grim their chances had suddenly become, but determined to see his orders through. She had no choice but to follow him.

The darkspawn were swarming, and they had only each other to get through it.

… …

The forest had been smothered in silence, eerie and unnatural to anyone who knew the woods as she did. Morrigan stepped lightly, her senses seeking, trying to determine the cause for the absence of any and all life. She closed her eyes and listened, straining to hear anything other than the creaks of the branches and stirring of leaves in the gentle breeze.

It came slowly, barely a whisper of sound carried on a wind tainted by the sharp, metallic smell of blood being spilled, and she looked towards the ruins in the far distance to see smoke rising into the grey smothered sky. The war had begun, it seemed.

When she reached the hut with her satchel of herbs, her mother was standing stark and still in the shadows, listening to voices only she could hear. Morrigan settled down beside the fire without a word, accustomed to his type of behavior, and dropped her satchel, stretching long fingers stained green from her work towards the fire to ward off the misty chill.

At length, her mother spoke. "We go to Ostagar."

Morrigan glanced up. Of all the things she had expected to hear, that was not it. "What?"

"Now. Something is brewing there. I cannot quite hear…" She fell silent again, lost in thought, before abruptly fixing her yellow gaze on her daughter. "Are you waiting for me to repeat myself?"

With a shrug, Morrigan got to her feet and summoned the magic. She closed her eyes and welcomed the warmth as it filled her, transforming and changing.

Moments later, two owls—one black and one white—took flight into the darkening sky, headed for the battle at Ostagar.

… …

They were so close.

Elissa was sweating and aching all over, and she was no longer sure what blood belonged to the darkspawn and what belonged to her, her flesh torn time and again as they fought through the floors of the tower. She would be useless now, were it not for the healing power of the mage who followed them and Alistair's quick blade.

She would never have considered him ruthless, but in battle, he was nothing else. He was also far more skilled against these kinds of numbers than she was, a fact that she had noted in the Wilds and that became more painfully obvious with every passing second. After the first wave of attacks, they began working together more smoothly—his tactic of charging in and drawing attention worked well to create holes for her quick, sharp blades to slip through.

But there were just so many…

Finally, at the top of the tower, the end was in sight. She could see the kindling soaked in oil in the hearth on the far end of a circular room. Filled with renewed energy at the sight, they broke into a run, almost missing the hulking form that stepped forth from the shadows at their approach. She heard Alistair swear out loud as he saw the truth at the same moment she did, and they both slid to a halt, horrified.

The ogre filled the area between them and their goal, and the putrid stench of the beast combined with the horrors of torn flesh and pools of blood made her vision swim. It was upon them before either could regain their wits, and she swallowed a scream when the monster slammed Alistair against the wall with a single swipe of its massive hand. He struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and crouched into a fighting position.

Suddenly, everything became very clear.

Without allowing herself to think, Elissa turned to the mage, who was backing away slowly, his eyes wide in horror. She grabbed him by his arm before his natural instinct to turn and flee won him over and forced him to look at her. "Stay back. And do whatever you have to do to keep him alive."

Falling back on the discipline taught at the Circle, the mage forced himself to focus and nodded, gripping his staff in both hands. Raising her blades, Elissa paused only long enough to take a deep breath before running in to help.

… …

The sky was blackened with smoke, fires smoldering below despite the heavy downpour of rain. Morrigan followed her mother's lead, circling the ruins where the humans had camped while they made their stand against the darkspawn. She observed the sight of tents and mud and general filth in distaste, but they did not linger there, flapping north towards and army that waited on the edges of battle.

Morrigan alighted on a branch beside her mother, studying the man who waited for the signal that would tell them when to charge. Even with her hermit's upbringing, she was familiar with the legend of Teyrn Loghain. And, truly, he was an imposing sight, but she regarded him with no particular interest, instead lifting a wing to hunt for parasites until her mother's voice caressed her mind.

"There is treachery at work here."

"Indeed? It seems a sound enough strategy."

The older witch did not answer.

… …

Alistair rolled off the beast's chest, landing hard on his hands and knees and gasping for air. Elissa hurried over to help him to his feet. He appeared mostly unharmed, his dry humor reading even through the heaving breaths. "Maker's mercy, I can't believe we didn't just die."

The urge to laugh was overwhelming, but Elissa felt if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. "You're the one who listened to me."

"Yes, well, your crazy is clearly catching." He struggled to his feet before bracing his boot on the ogre's chest to free his sword from it with a vicious yank. He was smiling, though. She could feel it as well—the euphoria of surviving was pulsing within her, making her feel light-headed and giddy. He went to the window while she lit the beacon, trying to determine the progress of the battle below them.

His eyes met hers when he turned back, and in them she could feel, stronger than ever, the ill-warned connection the Joining had created. The power of his longing to be below washed over her—the yearning to help their brothers, to help Duncan. For the first time since Duncan had dragged her from the cellar of her home, she began to feel what it really meant to be a Warden. She met his gaze steadily, silently agreeing to toss their orders to the wind and join the fighting. In that instant, that brief eternity, Elissa felt that they understood each other better than anyone.

… …

The flare of the beacon burst forth from the roof of the tower, lighting the grisly battle scene with a wash of yellow-orange light. Morrigan ruffled her feathers, cold and bored and wondering what was keeping them there. "And so the Warden has come through, as you already knew she would. Might we go now?"

"Patience," the crone said, and it occurred to Morrigan suddenly—her mother knew something she did not.

Loghain looked up at the flaming beacon through narrowed eyes, but made no move to sound the charge. His face was dark and unreadable, lost in gruesome thoughts while the army shifted behind him, waiting for the order that would win the battle.

For a long time, he watched the dancing flames until at last he turned to his second, Ser Cauthrien, but the words were not the ones Morrigan expected. "Sound the retreat."

Cauthrien was completely taken aback, her head jerking around to stare at him as she tried to argue. "But, the king! Should we not—?"

Her objection was short lived. Loghain turned on her fiercely, seizing her wrist in a gauntleted hand. "Do as I command." His voice was low, furious, and even as Cauthrien moved to obey, Morrigan did not miss the way she jerked out his grasp with a twist of her wrist, seething and openly glaring into his angry gaze. She had nerve, that woman. Yet obey she did, and Morrigan watched in disbelief as the relieving forces were withdrawn from the field.

… …

They were losing.

As Cailan battled for his life against the horde, he watched for the beacon, the darkspawn thick and swarming. He could feel Duncan's presence if he couldn't see him, firmly and loyally at the back of his king, fighting off the swarms that threatened to overwhelm them.

The beacon of flame that exploded from the top of the tower was bright and warm against the gloom, and Cailan's soul sighed in relief at the sight, grateful that their salvation was at hand. He looked again towards the forces that waited, men who were fresh and ready instead of staggering with the fatigue of battle. The darkspawn would be routed, sent back down into their dank, dark holes where they belonged.

He could see, only barely, the movement of torches and many men, but they were not charging into the battle to save them. They were headed north.

They were retreating.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and he yanked his sword out of a genlock and kicked it back before spinning around to look again, praying that his eyes were deceiving him. Loghain and he had their differences, but he wouldn't leave him here to die—he couldn't…

A blood-chilling roar split through the night, and against a flash of lightning, Cailan saw an ogre bigger than any creature he had encountered roar and throw its head back, its massive fingers stained thick and red with the blood of the men dangling from its fists.

It saw him almost immediately—the golden armor lit up like a beacon in the lightning. Cailan barely had the wits to yank his shield around to defend himself, despair rising in his throat like bile as he prayed one last time that Loghain had not left him to die.

The ogre lowered its head and charged for the King of Ferelden.

… …

The army was left to its fate.

Loghain's men muttered amongst themselves quietly, as if in fear that the general who was more god than man in their minds might have overheard them. Yet they were obedient, sure that Loghain knew what he was doing, even as the dying screams of their comrades rang in their ears and faded away, lost in the storm as they trudged away from the abandoned army.

Morrigan could only shake her head at such fool-based devotion.

The glint of golden armor once again caught her eye, gleaming like a lure in the chaos that continued to rage around the handful of survivors trying to protect their king. Cailan was surrounded by hopeless numbers, his guards and the Grey Wardens all battling to save him. She saw the ogre charge, running down men like so many insignificant ants, its prey locked in its sight. She knew enough of the darkspawn to realize now that the Grey Wardens had been right all along. Mindless and driven only by instinct, the darkspawn would have to be acting under the orders of the vastly more intelligent Archdemon to suddenly swarm Cailan the way they did.

The king had been marked by powers he could not possibly comprehend.

His men were fighting and dying around him, and though the remains of broken weapons and arrows marred the ogre's flesh, it kept coming. Cailan was fighting as hard as his reserved training allowed, but he hadn't the skill to face such a powerful foe. The ogre reached through his defenses and wrapped an enormous hand around the king, yanking him into the air. For one moment, she could see the look of terror on the handsome face before there was a sickening, wet crunch, and the ogre tossed the limp, bloodied form aside. Blood pooled and spread beneath the remains of the golden armor beneath the lightning-strewn sky.

It took a moment for the reality of it all to sink in, for the implications to fully maximize themselves in her brain.

The king of Ferelden was dead, and the Grey Wardens beside him.

In a breath, in an instant, the war was lost.

"And so the Blight marches unchecked." Her mother's voice caressed her mind, calm and grim. "Come, child—we have work to do."

… …

The doors crashed open, the horde's overrun of the tower complete, and Elissa knew. Even as the darkspawn flooded the room, killing the unfortunate tower mage, her mind snapped the clues together into a frightening and horrible explanation of what was really happening. Then red-hot pain slammed into her, and all she could feel was the stone floor and warmth spreading rapidly beneath her.

Her last thought, before unconsciousness claimed her, was that no one should have to live through this twice.

They had been betrayed.