Brady followed Dawson threw a forest of dead trees and cracked shrubs, pushing through the coarse brush and trying his damnedest not to get a foot caught in any of the dead roots that carpeted the area. A light mist of rain made the scene slick enough he felt one wrong move would render him tumbling onto the rough forest floor.
"Wait, Dawson wait!" Brady ordered, panting in exhaustion, "Where are we going?"
She halted, and sighed. She ran towards him and threw an arm over his shoulder, urging him to continue. He pushed her off and shuffled his shoulders, his eyes narrowing into hers.
He huffed, "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?"
"Do you want to end this or not?" She asked of him, her voice sharp and accusing.
He nodded, and with that, Dawson pressed on and he continued to follow. She moved with finesse and ease, vaulting over any obstacles in her way. Brady managed as best as he could, however, he was injured. With every step, his mark pulsated and burned his entire arm. The pain was distracting, but his own determination would not allow him to quit. If Dawson was right, he could end this and finally finish what he had started, here and now.
He could see a clearing ahead of him, and rushed to it at Dawson's urge. The rain had picked up, rolling down his muddy face and created small streams down the creases of his face, allowing for his brow of sweat to cascade down and sting his eyes.
He reached the clearing and saw what he was promised. The First Warden. Though not as he expected. Larson was on horseback facing Brady with a smug smirk. Warden Adler was there as well, accompanied by other wardens whose armor was unscratched by battle and hoisted proudly on chestnut mares. They had been waiting for him for a time. Did Dawson know of this? He was unaware. He brought his speed to a walk and approached the adversaries with a false confidence.
"Inquisitor, finally," Larson said, "I was beginning to worry Dawson would have failed me."
Brady watched as Dawson joined Larson's side, leaving Brady to stand alone. He clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into balls at his side. "Larson, will you not face me? Man to man?"
Larson laughed, "Ah, Inquisitor. Are you proud of what you have wrought?"
Brady stiffened, his lip twitched into a sneer. "Do you see what you have done? What you have caused?"
Larson stood quiet for but a second, then continued, "I am not at fault here. However, I have served a purpose you cannot comprehend… yet, anyway."
Brady walked up to him with quick steps, standing discouraged from the sound of other wardens unsheathing their swords and pointing them towards Brady. He narrowed his eyes and watched the wardens, who were undeterred by the look of disgust on the Inquisitor's face.
"What is the meaning of this, First Warden? I demand answers, dammit!"
"A very good friend of yours urged me not to kill you," Larson dismounted and approached Brady, shoving his chest and pressing him away from the other riders. "However, I have done my duty: Sabotage the cure and have your inquisition disbanded." Larson grabbed the metal collar of Brady's armor and pushed him off of his feet. "You will just so happen to be a casualty of that, so I do not mind."
Brady shuffled away and brought himself to his feet, drawing his sword and baring his teeth, "The inquisition will do no such thing."
The First Warden laughed once again, "Are you truly sure of that? You do not think I know of Ferelden and Orlais breathing down your neck? It is only a matter of time before they find your 'faithful' organization a nuisance that needs to be purged." He approached Brady, drawing his own sword. "Your death will ensure of it."
Dawson raised her voice, "That was not our deal with the elf, First Warden!"
"Dawson, my dear, what did you expect? Be a dear and keep your mouth shut, just this once." Larson snickered.
She drew her sword and stood between them, "I have stood with you through this madness, First Warden. But this… this is wrong." She shook her head, "I would have no have brought him here if I had known of your intent."
"Step aside, Warden," Larson sneered.
"No." She detested.
Larson shrugged, and waved his hand. At his beckon, his wardens joined his sides, blades ready. "Very well."
Brady pressed Dawson back as Larson lunged towards her with a strong strike. Brady deflected the blow, but not without difficulty. He pushed the First Warden off of his blade and put him off balance. Larson shrugged the hit off, and nodded, commanding the wardens at his side to attack both Dawson and Brady.
Brady found a blade demanding to strike on his left. He parried, and struck the warden behind his knee, causing him to collapse and fall to his knees. Brady brought his blade down hard enough to cause a quake onto the warden's exposed neck, and looked away as the warden's head began to roll.
Brady looked up to see the First Warden charge towards him with his shield, knocking Brady off of his feet and launching Brady's sword away. Larson jumped atop of Brady and discarded his weapon, bringing his armor plated fists into Brady's face.
Brady's sight grew blurred from the blood and the rain pooling on his face. With strength grown from desperation, Brady rolled away from Larson and forced himself to his feet.
He shot a quick glance Dawson's way, who was preoccupied with Adler and another nameless warden. His attention was once caught by Larson again when a jab placed itself on Brady's jaw.
Brady stepped back and spat out the blood that was collecting inside of his mouth. He squared up, causing an amused grin to graze Larson's lips.
"You don't quit," Larson quipped, "Must get it from your whore of a mother."
Brady forced a heavy punch at Larson, only for Larson to counter with a quick jab into Brady's gut. Brady winced, and threw another fist aimed towards Larson's exposed chin. It connected, but came at a consequence as Brady growled in pain as his marked hand flared and brought a crippling wave of pain up his left arm. Larson took advantage, laying down a heavy assault of precise strikes onto Brady, brutally mangling his will to continue.
Brady held his marked hand out, and as the power surged, it consumed the entirety of his arm. The bolts of emerald flickered against his exposed skin. Power poured into the mark, and a small explosion erupted from Brady's hand, knocking Larson back.
Larson's eyes grew dark as a starless night. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Very well, Inquisitor," He growled, "I did not want it to come to this."
Brady watched as a bright crimson aura surrounded Larson. He could the bones of his crunch as his body distorted into a ghastly horror, growing exponentially in size.
A pride demon.
Brady scurried towards his sword that laid a few feet away from him. Larson approached, every monstrous step shaking the ground around him.
Brady grabbed his sword and rolled away from the cataclysmic stomp Larson pressed into the Earth.
"Maker," Brady breathed as he watched the abomination turn and make direct eye contact with him.
"He will not help you now," Larson taunted. He stomped towards Brady. Suddenly, Larson growled in pain as Brady heard the sound of a blade slicing through flesh. Larson turned and let out a menacing chuckle, "Ah, Dawson."
He swiped at Dawson, sending her body across the open field. Brady's jaw clenched in anger, and he charged at Larson, swiping his blade at Larson's abdomen and using the slicked, muddied ground to slide between Larson's legs.
Larson swung his arms and roared as Brady parried and stabbed into Larson's thigh. The abomination kneeled and attempted to catch Brady within its elongated claws. Brady pivoted and dodged Larson's attempt at a strike and laid another hit onto Larson's chest.
Blood began to spill onto the ground. With an aggravated grunt, Brady rounded Larson and dug his blade into Larson's back, down to the hilt.
With an agonizing yelp, Larson collapsed and fell prone onto the ground. Brady dug his blade out of Larson's back and slid onto the ground. His breaths were heavy as he attempted to rise to his feet.
Larson still drew breath, though it was shallow and full of pain.
Brady wiped his pain from blood and began to rush to Dawson's aid, only to be stopped by Larson's words.
"Tell….Solas…" Larson spoke, "To…die… in… the void." At his last words, Larson went limp.
Brady stood, frozen. Solas? How would that even be possible? The elven mage, and his dear friend, has been gone for a little over two years, how could his name have any place in the last words of the first warden?
Brady shook his head, and pressed the problem to the back of his head. Dawson laid wounded, and he needed to tend to her.
He trudged through the mud and fell at her side. He was breathing, but barely. He turned her onto her back.
"Dawson? Dawson!" Brady shook her shoulders. "Come on, talk to me!"
She groaned, allowing Brady for a sigh of relief. "Inquisitor…"
He attempted to lift her, "We have healers at the camp, they can-"
"No, Brady." She protested. She looked down at her bloodied hand that was concealing a deep cut in her abdomen. She coughed, "Cut right through my armor."
Brady's eyes were wide on the laceration. He shook his head, "Dawson, I could-"
She closed her eyes and tried to speak, but only let out a short gasp. Her breathing ceased, and she fell limp in Brady's arms. His head fell as he placed her back onto the earth. He stood up slowly and limped towards Larson's mare. He dropped his sword and mounted the horse, staring up at the black sky and closing his eyes as the rain began to wash away to mud and blood that collected on his addled face.
With blind thought, he directed the horse and rode away from the clearing.
"Get her on the table now, Cullen!" Anders demanded, rushing to the end of the tent and collecting every poultice and potion his hands could manage.
Cullen laid Hawke down gently. Her breathing was shallow as her limp body laid lifeless on the table. He uttered a silent prayer, begging the Maker and Andraste for her life. Seeing Hawke like this was new to him. Even in her early days in Kirkwall, he had known her to be indestructible, as though the Maker himself had blessed her with his personal protection. Now, she was before him, unmoving and staring death down with drawn eyes.
Anders rushed to the table, shouldering Cullen out of his way. His hands began to glow a blinding blue as they scaled her body.
"Come on, love, please," Anders pleaded. His frustration and determination surfaced on his face as he began to pulsate more magic through his body. "Don't you leave me," he whispered, "Maker, don't let her leave me."
Cullen watched helplessly. As Anders's attempts began to look futile, he could not sit by idly anymore. He puffed a sigh full of sorrow, "Allow me to grab more healers."
"No," Anders said softly, "I need you to administer the potions."
"Okay," Cullen joined his side, "What would you like me to do?"
Anders paused, then shook his head. "She is unable to swallow them. You're going to have to inject them into her bloodstream, just as addiction addled Templars do when ordinary methods do not suffice. Do you know how to?"
"Unfortunately," Cullen admitted. He pulled out a small dagger from its sheath and tore away the armor and clothing on her arm, exposing veins that were lit with a dim emerald hue. "Anders…"
Anders drew his attention to Cullen, then Hawke's arm. "Maker," He looked to Cullen with haste in his eyes, "You need to inject her with the health potions, now."
Cullen grabbed the potion and the syringe from off the table. He plunged it into the potion, collecting the sluggish liquid and pushing the needle into Hawke's arm.
He watched as her body reacted to the potion. Hawke's veins plumped and protruded. The green tint dulled and disappeared. Anders casted a spell that bathed the room with a blinding light. A small explosion from his hands pushed them back a few steps, and then, a deafening silence.
Anders rushed to her body, caressing her face and swiping wisps of blonde hair from her face. "No, no no no. Please Gwen. Do not give up on me… please." He rested his head on her chest, mumbling apologies and curses to the Maker.
Cullen hung his head and looked away. He may have not liked Anders, but his pity grew too much to bare.
A labored breath escaped Hawke's lips, bringing Cullen's gaze to the table. Anders looked to Hawke's face. She scrunched her nose and groaned. Hawke licked her lips and groaned.
"Did… did we win?" She said, her voice sounding like carriages over gravel.
Anders beamed a smile and pressed rapid kisses on her lips. Green eyes peered through the slits of her clenched eyelids. Her brows furrowed and she let out another groan, "Anders, you're crushing me."
He stood up, still holding a bright smile. He turned to Cullen, whose face bore relief. Anders nodded with appreciation, "Thank you, Cullen."
"None needed." Cullen waved him off and headed towards the exit. "I'll leave you two alone for the time being. I'll inform your friends you live, Hawke. I'm sure they'll want to see you."
"What is your name?"
"Damon William Cousland."
"Where are you?"
"F-Ferelden."
"What is the year, Warden Cousland?"
"9:32."
"Thank you, Damon. I am going to need you to stay in this tent for but a moment. Can you do that for me?" The mage asked.
"What is Leliana doing here?" Damon's face scrunched as he stared down at the floor.
"Damon," The mage stood up from his chair and placed his parchment and quill onto the table. "You need your rest. I will be back shortly."
Damon nodded, and laid down on the bed, shutting his eyes tight. The mage watched and sighed, slightly hanging his head as he exited the tent.
Leliana stood just outside. At the mage's exit, she approached him. "Well?" She prodded, "What is wrong with him?"
"Warden Cousland is showing drastic signs of amnesia. He is unaware of where he is and when he is for that matter."
"Meaning?" Leliana asked impatiently.
"Meaning he believes it to be 32 Dragon," The mage pulled at his sleeves. "He hasn't sustained any type of head injury, so that begs that question: What else can wipe a man's life of eleven years?"
"Magic," Leliana deduced.
"That is my exact suspicion, Lady Nightingale. More tests will be run as soon as Anders is able. He is tending to Serah Hawke as of now."
Leliana began to speak, only to be interrupted by a distant, worried bellow from Morrigan. She turned to the sound, and making eye contact with Morrigan's widened eyes. Morrigan maneuvered through the celebrating soldiers and approached Leliana.
Morrigan paused, her eyes darting between Leliana and the mage outside of the tent. "Where is my husband?" She said with worry soaking each word.
Leliana hesitated, only increasing the tension showing on Morrigan's face. She took a breath. "Morrigan…"
"Where is he?" She said sternly.
"Lady Morrigan," The mage spoke up, "I will explain. You must lower your voice however."
"You will not command me to lower my voice and you will not parry my question any longer." She crossed her arms. "Where is he?"
"He is resting inside the tent," The mage replied.
Morrigan began to barrel into the tent. Leliana stepped in and stopped her. Morrigan's face scrunched. "Leliana, I will strike you down where you stand."
Leliana looked at Morrigan with sorrow, "You cannot see him, Morrigan. Not yet."
"And why not?"
"Morrigan I do not know how to tell you-"
The mage spoke up, "Warden Cousland is suffering from severe amnesia. It seems he's lost some eleven years of his memory."
Morrigan's head snapped to Leliana and she took a step back. Leliana watched as wheels turned in Morrigan's head.
"You are dismissed, mage. Give us a moment," Leliana ordered.
Morrigan watched as the mage turned and departed. She flicked her eyes back to Leliana. "Eleven years ago, that's- "
"A year after we defeated the blight, yes," Leliana confirmed.
"And I was-," Morrigan voice hung with a whisper.
Leliana nodded, unaware of the words to say. Morrigan rested her head in her hand and shut her eyes. Leliana stiffened and finally replied, "Until Anders is ready to evaluate him we do not know what exactly is wrong with him. We suspect magic."
"I wish to see him," Morrigan demanded, her voice wavering.
Leliana's brow scrunched. "It will be too much of a shock, Morrigan. You know this." Morrigan paced backwards. Leliana relaxed and let out a breath, "Go to your tent, Morrigan. I will inform you right when things change."
"I know what you are thinking, Leliana. What I have done to him- what I did to him- matters naught," Her voice hitched, "He- loves me. 'Tis unclear why, but even when we were apart he loved me, and it haunted me every night I was away. I refuse to lose any more time."
"I know, Morrigan," Leliana acknowledged with a nod.
"We will fix this, and soon," Morrigan said, turning away and returning to her tent.
Leliana took a deep breath and entered the makeshift ward. She poked her head and spoke softly, "Damon?"
He rustled and turned to greet her with a smile. "Leliana. Maker it's good to see you again, don't get me wrong, but what in the void are you doing here in Ameranthine?"
She walked toward where he laid and took a seat at the foot at the bed. "You look… well."
He cocked his head, "Why… wouldn't I?"
She shook her head and laughed, "Just paying you a compliment."
He smiled and scrunched his brows. "I must've went on a bender with Oghren last night because my head is pounding. And to wind up at some random warden camp? This has Oghren written all over it. Where is he?"
"He's drinking with the other wardens, last I checked."
"He doesn't stop. Dumb for me to try to keep up with him."
Leliana raised a brow, "Do you remember when we drank at The Pearl after Alistair's coronation?"
Damon laughed, "How could I forget? One of the girls almost broke Oghren's hand after he touched them." He threw his head back on the pillow, "I talked about Morrigan all night. Must've been annoying… ah, I wonder how she is."
Leliana steeled her face and grinned, "Most likely stealing candy from a baby, if I could guess."
Damon sighed and fell deep into thought.
"I didn't mean-"
"I know, I'm sorry. She just- you know what she does." He sat up, "I have scouts on the lookout for her, Maker willing."
Leliana's curiosity piqued. "What would you do if you found her?"
He sighed, "I don't know." He twisted the ring on his finger, "Sometimes I feel like it'd be easier to just… forget about her."
Leliana swallowed hard. "Damon, you don't believe that."
He pulled on a sullen smirk, "Yeah, I know." His attention was pulled by Anders walking in. "Anders? You should be hunting down stragglers with Nate right now."
"Sorry, Commander," Anders caught himself. "Damon."
Leliana stood up. "How is Hawke?"
"Stable."
"Thank the maker," Leliana breathed a sigh of relief.
"Our friends are with her right now, playing Wicked Grace. When I heard about… this… I had to see it for myself."
Leliana headed for the exit, but murmured something into Anders's ear. "Fix this. Or else Morrigan will blow this place up."
Anders looked to Damon and replied, "Noted."
