Chapter Ten: By the Fireside II

"Death is a friend of ours; and he that is not ready to entertain him is not at home."

~Francis Bacon Sr.

Lana Aeducan was dying.

It was Alistair's fault.

The party had set up camp on the mountain top, not far from the corpse of slain High Dragon. Leliana straddled the neck of the dragon, deftly slicing off the slick black scales with a small knife. Why she felt the need to do this, Alistair didn't know. Nor did he particularly care. He sat by the dying camp fire, just staring at the pup tent Morrigan had erected.

For the first time since Duncan conscripted him from the Chantry, Alistair found himself whispering what he remembered from the Chant of Light:

"…Maker, my enemies are abundant…many are those who rise up against me…but my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion…should they set themselves against me…"

Before the Gauntlet, he'd warned Lana—he had warned her—about engaging a High Dragon. They were dangerous, nasty, exceedingly foul-tempered and all sorts of other scary words that meant their party Should Not Engage the Beast. But then there had been the Guardian and the faith tests (and Lana was a kinslayer?-no, no, that was wrong, that was all wrong, that wasn't Lana, not his Lana, there was another explanation, there just had to be), and of course, finding the sodding Urn of Sacred Ashes and smugly telling off that Kolgrim lunatic…really, what was battling a dragon compared to all that?

"...Maker, though the darkness comes upon me…I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm…I shall endure…what you have created, no one can tear asunder..."

And Maker curse that pretty dwarf, she'd agreed with him. What if Genitivi revealed the location of the Urn? Being eaten by a dragon would be a foul end to a holy pilgrimage, now wouldn't it? The Arch Demon took the form of a dragon—this could be practice! What a swell idea, attacking a large grumpy beast with only four moderately armed party members! What. Could. Possibly. Go. Wrong?

Alistair's side ached from where Lana's shield had connected. He remembered ducking from the jet of flame and when he looked back up, he'd been greeted by an approaching maw of hungry dragon teeth—

-and then something collided with his side, sending him sprawling. Lana had bashed him away from death with her shield. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt, he'd started to pull himself to his feet, ready to thank her—

-and found himself incoherently screaming as he realized that the maw of hungry dragon teeth had found and latched on to Lana instead. Said-maw had clamped on and was violently shaking the dwarf from side to side, like Chopper would do with his favorite mushy-yarn ball-

"…though all before me is shadow…yet shall the Maker be my guide…I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond…for there is no darkness in the Maker's Light…and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…"

-and still screaming and definitely not thinking, Alistair had seized his sword hilt with both hands and charged the dragon. He leapt onto the beast's neck and just started stabbing, each stab punctuated by a, "-let-her-go-let-her-go-let-her-GO-let-her-go-!"

"…draw your last breath, my friends…cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky…rest at the Maker's right hand…and be Forgiven…"

Lana fell from the dragon's mouth, her new chainmail armor bloodied, mauled and ultimately ruined. The dragon fell shortly afterwards, Alistair's long sword embedded in its skull-

-and Alistair had scrambled off of the dragon to Lana, screaming for Morrigan, screaming for her to get over here now and please and help her you apostate-bitch and so on and so on.

And now here they were.

…Leliana harvesting dragon scales…

…Morrigan trying to piece Lana back together…

…Alistair praying…

The flap on the pup tent rustled and Morrigan emerged, looking drained. Alistair and Leliana immediately stopped what they were doing and stared, waiting for her to say something.

Morrigan just shook her head, "I am no healer," she said quietly. And, much to Alistair's surprise, the witch sank to her knees with a…well, not quite a sob, but definitely a small noise of frustration, regret and…sorrow? Yes. Just this once, he'd pretend the Bitch was human enough to feel sorrow.

Just this once.

"By Andraste," Leliana whispered as she made the sign of the Maker.

Alistair turned away and stared back into the fire (more embers now than actual flame…he'd been lax in tending to it). Underneath the layers of armor and cloth, he could feel the amulet—his mother's sacred amulet—practically burning against his chest. He resisted the urge to tear it off and smash it (again).

Your fault, Warden…your fault, your fault, your fault…a small voice chided him.

"…I'll do anything…" he whispered to the embers, "…forget the Blight, forget the arl…just please…please give her back to me…"

He didn't know who he pled with—the Arch Demon, the Maker, Andraste, even—but he received no answer.

A/N: Chant of Light verses stolen from Canticle of Trials, 1:1, 1:10, 1:14, 1:16. Bless you, Dragon Age wiki. Bless you like Bann Teagan.