Chapter 11
Trial By Fire

The grass swished as Lyra's boots cut a swath down to the reedy edge of Lake Calenhad. Breathing hard, she scooped a handful of pebbles from the earth and poured them from hand to hand as she watched the late afternoon sun glitter on the water. Muscles bunching, Lyra gritted her teeth as she launched first one pebble, then another, then another. Each one shot over the lake's surface, skipping along to the tune of her frustration until they caught too much water and sank down to their murky graves.

"You care for him."

Somehow Leliana had crept up behind her. Lyra shook her head, refusing to meet Leliana's gaze. "No, I don't." Reaching down once more, she found another handful of rock, planning on repeating her previous performance. A soft touch on the arm stopped her.

"Deny it all you like," Leliana chided. "But love has touched your life. I can see it. It's in the way you move, the expression in your eyes whenever you look at him. Alistair has become a large part of your world, hasn't he?"

Lyra jerked her arm away and began to cast another stone, then changed her mind and hurled all of them at once. They hit the water with a series of resounding plops, and Lyra dropped to the ground, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands as she stared out over the water. The setting sun threw sparkles on the lake, changing the placid water to a shining sheet of silver and white. Battle preparations had taken up most of the day, but the ambiance of Redcliffe had changed. Whereas this morning the very air had been glazed with fear, now there was... hope. It was good. If Redcliffe believed they could triumph, their chances of survival were much greater.

The chantry sister folded herself into a ball at Lyra's side. Lyra had expected questions, demands - but none came. The silence stretched, but its soothing touch was relaxing. Leliana asked for nothing, simply offered her company. Such friendship was rare... it put Lyra in a mood for confessions.

Before she quite realized she'd begun, Lyra was recounting her last few days at Highever. She told of the breakfast where she'd held Oren's hand, how she'd sparred with Rory and Fergus to the sound of her nephew's cheers. The awful moment when she'd awakened and realized her ancestral home was under attack. The way her mother had looked at her before she'd escaped into the tunnel with Duncan. The pain that had filmed her father's eyes, the horror of discovering her darling nephew dead in a congealing puddle of his own blood. She told of the long trip to Ostagar, how she'd put her fears and sadness aside in the interest of duty.

Then came the Joining, the battle, their rescue by Morrigan and Flemeth. Somewhere in all of this, she began to speak of Alistair; how they'd met, how they'd become friends, how he'd begun to pull her out of the black abyss she'd been mired in since that fateful night when she'd lost everyone she'd ever loved. Her fingers wove themselves in the grass at her side as she spoke. "Both of us have lost our families. It's only natural that we should reach out to each other," Lyra concluded. "He's become a good friend, a reliable companion. His sword can be counted on."

"And that is all?"

"Purely professional." Feeling ill, Lyra gave Leliana a half smile. "Feel free. I know he's very good looking, and he'd probably love to get to know you better." Standing, she brushed dirt from her seat and began to walk away, finished with their conversation. The last thing she wanted was to giggle with Leliana over Alistair.

"Lyra, wait-"

Clamping her eyes shut, Lyra turned on her heel, nearly colliding with the redhead who'd leapt to her feet to chase after her. "I saw you, Leliana, okay? I saw you looking at him in Lothering. I won't stand in your way. Now please, let's not talk about it?"

"My dear, I have less than no interest in Alistair."

Lyra blinked. "...what?"

The chantry sister slipped the fingers of one hand into Lyra's, while with the other she reached up to smooth a lock of hair that had loosed itself from the Warden's braids. "My tastes are not in men, you see."

Oh. Oh. Heat flooded Lyra's cheeks. This gorgeous woman who could have had any man she wanted - was interested in women?

Leliana gave a wry chuckle. "You seem surprised." She slipped her dagger from her hip and began to attend her fingernails.

Lyra fidgeted, at a loss for words. "I... I'm sorry. I thought that was one of the reasons you had joined our party. Alistair, I mean. Morrigan told me you were looking at him, and when I looked, you were, and... I jumped to a conclusion." Maker help me. Had she offended the Chantry sister?

Leliana didn't answer right away, but continued her trim her nails. She held out one hand to inspect it, then began work on the other one. "Alistair is a dear," Leliana said. "He always says the wrong thing, and he's got dimples, which makes him more adorable than he has any right to be. But he isn't for me. No, I told you the truth. I joined you because the Maker sent me a dream."

Lyra's gaze dropped to her own fingers, finding a hangnail that required attention. She began to pick at it. "Can you tell me about it?"

Leliana glanced over and clucked her tongue at Lyra. "Don't do that. A woman should have pretty hands, and that will ruin your nails." Taking Lyra's hand in her own, she began to clean and pare Lyra's fingernails with the edge of her dagger.

Lyra had never had such attention paid to her hands. It felt almost fussy, but Leliana's movements were so deft and gentle. After a moment, Leliana released her hand. Gone were the ragged edges, the bits of grime that accumulated with being outside all day. "It does look nicer," she admitted.

Leliana smiled and reached for her other hand, then tugged Lyra to the ground. "It's easier if we're sitting," Leliana said. "I used to do this for... a friend. In Orlais."

Lyra said nothing as Leliana skimmed the blade beneath each nail. Wherever she'd picked up the skill, she was good at it.

"My dream... it was terrible," the sister began. "I stood on the edge of an abyss, and there was darkness, such darkness. I don't know how long I stood there, but..." She stopped, considering. "...it was like there was nothing down there but despair, misery, wretchedness. And in the middle of the pit was a creature who… needed me. Needed to feed. I fell." She shuddered. "I woke up, covered with perspiration, frightened out of my mind, and I went out to the gardens as was my custom each morning. There was a rosebush in the corner which had not flowered for years – it was a tangle of thorns and briars, all grey and dead. But when I got there, the most beautiful rose had bloomed, right in the middle of the bush! Now how could that be, if not by the Maker's own hand? I knew, He was responding to my dream. There was good to be done, and I needed to be the one to do it. I packed, said my goodbyes to the other sisters, and went to the tavern to plan my strategy... and then you arrived." She smiled, her blue eyes filled with warmth. "Coincidence? Or providence? It doesn't matter." Giving Lyra's hand a final squeeze, she let go and tucked her blade back into its sheath. "I have made my choice. Your quest is the one thing that can stop all of Ferelden and Thedas from falling into the abyss of which I dreamed. How could I not help you?"

Lyra shook her head in wonder. "You have so much faith."

"I do – because it is deserved. In the few days I have been with you, I've seen great compassion, wonderful promise, incredible dedication. You and Alistair - you're the only things standing between all of us and certain destruction. I will do anything to help you. Both of you," she affirmed. "We are going to be great friends, you and I," Leliana confided with a smile.

"Did you dream of that, too?" Lyra teased.

"Of course. And in my dream you told me as much yourself." Leliana's eyes sparkled with fun. Standing, she pulled Lyra to her feet, linking their arms and leading them in a stroll along the water's edge. "Now, tell me why you keep running from our ex-templar."

.oOo.

The sword sliced the air as Alistair pivoted, disarming first one man and then another. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his skin flush with exertion. The world had narrowed to the sword and shield and the volunteers ranged against him. Knocking the last adversary to the ground, he dug his toes into the turf and bulled forward, slamming his shield into a practice dummy. It burst open, raining sawdust and grass everywhere.

Murdock shouted approval, and the others watching cheered as well. Alistair grinned, stretching as he came down from the high of battle. His body ached with pleasant fatigue, though now he wondered if he should have saved his stamina for nightfall.

Murdock looked at the lads who surrounded the paddock, leaning on the fence or on their own bows. "That's what I'm talking about. A shield can be just as deadly as a sword in the right hands!" He turned to Alistair. "If you weren't a Warden, I would try to talk you into staying on as my second. These lads need training, and I think they could learn a thing or three from a fighter like yourself."

Alistair laughed, his breathing still heavy. It had been a way to release tension; the last thing on his mind had been impressing those who watched. Even so, admiration shone on every face, and even the surly dwarf, Dwyn, looked impressed. The group began to break up, heading off to eat dinner and armor up before the night's battle.

Alistair set down his sword and shield and unbuckled his outer armor. "Master Murdock," he called. "Is there a common bathing area around here? A piece of the lake used to cool off? I could use it before tonight." Murdock beckoned, and Alistair dropped his chestpiece near the fence beside his weapons. Wearing a homespun shirt and the bottom half of his splintmail, he followed Murdock toward the lake.

The sight of Lyra and Leliana strolling up from the lake's edge sped his heart. The two were arm in arm, looking as close as sisters. Leliana offered him a friendly smile as they approached.

"Just going to cool off," Alistair said.

"Enjoy!" Leliana said brightly.

Lyra didn't respond, her eyes trained on her boots.

Alistair's heart sank. Damn it all, he thought. She's furious. She should be – I crossed the line. I never should have touched her.

Murdock escorted him the rest of the way to the lake, warning him of the undertow before leaving him to his bath. Though it was the furthest thing from Alistair's intention, his mind kept returning to the feel of his companion as she'd huddled in his arms. In that small moment, she'd needed him.

And Maker save him, but being needed had felt incredible.

.oOo.

Lyra crimsoned as Alistair passed them by, the sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his muscled form. As if it wasn't enough that the man was sweet, and had a fantastic sense of humor. He also had to be as chiseled as a stone statue, yet alive and warm and his arms so tender...

Leliana giggled.

"Shut up," Lyra muttered, her eyes on her boots. "He's just a friend."

"You do not see it, ma chère. But the way he looks at you is so much more."

"You're imagining things," Lyra insisted. "Besides, even if he were interested, I'm not. It's better for us to keep things... professional."

"Mm," Leliana said, noncommittal.

"It is!"

"Uh-huh."

Lyra sighed, the beginnings of a headache creeping over her forehead. "Thanks for talking with me."

Leliana squeezed her hand. The look in the woman's eye told Lyra that she probably hadn't covered as well as she'd hoped.

In truth, Alistair was constantly on her mind. She was always aware of him, her eyes canted sideways to watch what he was doing, her ears tuned for the sound of his voice. And unless she was much mistaken, he was just as aware of her. But her life had so recently been a waking nightmare that the dream of falling for him scared Lyra senseless. Fear of losing someone else had pressed the sharp edge of reality against her throat, and Lyra was terrified of being bled dry.

.oOo.

"These Grey Wardens arrived just in time to help us prepare for tonight's attack. We have every reason to believe it will be the fiercest one yet. But when we win through, I will be able to find out exactly what has happened to the arl and arlessa. People of Redcliffe, we will triumph!" Bann Teagan's voice rang like a trumpet through the yard, and the assembled fighters hollered in response.

Lyra cheered as well, but privately she worried. Six knights, a dozen village men who were no more than farmers pretending to be soldiers, the elf Berwick, the dwarf Dwyn and his guards, and their own small party made up the entire group of fighters. Women and children had barricaded themselves in the basement of the Chantry. It seemed not many women took up swordwork in Redcliffe, so Lyra, Leliana and Morrigan would be the sole females fighting.

Everything that needed doing had been done in preparation for the onslaught. All that was left to do now was wait.

Ser Perth led them up the mountain path to the castle proper. Dwyn and his cronies, the six knights, and Lyra, Alistair and Morrigan composed this first group. Kestrel, Leliana and Sten remained below with the rest to guard the entrance to the chantry and also as a backup contingent, should the mountaintop fighters need them. A barricade and barrels of lamp oil had been placed near the edge of the path where it naturally widened to lead to the windmill. The theory was that the monsters would have to rush through the flames before attacking, and perhaps be slowed or even stopped completely. The archers could easily pick them off if that happened.

A slow hour crept by as the moon ascended and the night deepened. The knights shuffled around, attempting to keep muscles warm and limber. Alistair stretched, and from time to time Lyra hopped up and down, shaking her hands and her feet in her boots. Morrigan looked on with puzzled amusement. She had perched upon a small rock by the edge of the clearing, still as a cat content to wait by a mouse hole.

"Lyra."

No. Gritting her teeth, Lyra kept her back to him as she tried to compose her face. Alistair hadn't strayed more than four feet from her since they'd climbed the hill, and there was something serious in his tone now. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with. "Yes, Alistair?"

He said nothing, so she chanced turning around. Damn it, his heart was in his eyes, though the silence held for another long moment. Lyra swallowed, the power of his gaze sweeping through her.

Alistair drew a breath, chancing a step closer. "I-"

"There!" The heralding cry snapped their attention to the path. Relief - and a touch of regret - flooded Lyra; whatever Alistair had been about to say was stalled for the moment. A faint green mist swirled at the top of the hill, and Lyra's heart skipped when a shadowy, stumbling figure emerged to begin its halting descent toward them.

"Maker's breath," Alistair murmured, his eyes wide. Lyra hadn't been quite sure what to expect when Teagan had told them of the undead that attacked night after night. But this... here was the proof, shambling toward them. Cadaverous skin had melted from its frame, exposing bone that reflected the moon's eerie light. Rusted armor and tatters of age-old cloth draped the skeleton, more rotted than whole. A walking nightmare, come to steal the breath from their bodies and leave them bleeding on the ground. And perhaps, once the living had been defeated, they would rise again, new additions to the undead ranks.

Cold sweat slicked Lyra's palms, daggers shifting in her determined grip.

"Archers, prepare!" Ser Perth commanded. Each knight stood behind a row of arrows stuck into the ground, ready to be nocked at a moment's notice. A young recruit ran in front of the knights, lighting piles of tinder.

Three more figures detached themselves from the writhing mist, and began that same stumbling jog down the mountain path.

"Lady Morrigan!" Ser Perth called, and Morrigan stood and planted her staff before her. She raised one hand, and a spark whirled to life above her cupped fingers.

The corpses drew close to the barrels. Lyra held her breath.

"Now!" Ser Perth shouted, and a fireball flew from the witch's fingers. A mighty explosion rocked the earth, blowing the four walking corpses to smithereens. The barricade caught, raising a cheer and a wall of merry flame between the living troops and the dead.

"Here we go," Lyra muttered.

In twos and threes, the skeletons ran down the mountain, but never at such a great rate that the knights couldn't handle them easily. The monsters were picked off, and the recruit ran back and forth, sticking arrows in the ground for the knights to retrieve, nock, and release. With the barrels burning as well as they were, the tinder piles went unused – everything was already burning when it got close enough to be threatening.

Lyra was almost bored. They'd made this sound so fierce. Where's the challenge? she wondered. A moment later, she cursed herself for tempting fate to laugh at her.

The young man who had met them at the bridge that morning came skidding up the path from the town square. "They're in the town! They're down there!" he shrieked.

Lyra ran to the edge of the path to peer over the cliff. The dozen farmers had been surrounded by the fiends! They were hemmed in – and more monsters were spewing from the path that emerged from the woods.

A distraction, Lyra thought with horror. The bulk of them are attacking the town below!

"Maker's tits, they came around the lake!" Ser Perth cried, echoing Lyra's thoughts.

Morrigan stepped from the shadows, her voice confident. "I can handle the ones coming down the mountain here."

"Ser Perth, choose two men to stay and help Morrigan," Lyra commanded. "Everyone else, come on!" She didn't wait to see if her orders were followed – just took off in a dash down the path. The familiar clink of Alistair's splintmail was close behind her, followed by the sound of multiple pairs of boots.

The path leveled, and Lyra never looked back. Blind rage filled her as she fell into the trance of battle. Slash with her daggers, kick to the knee. A twirl, roll into a crouch and double slash. Come up swinging. Duck an enemy blade, taunt another to come for her. She'd heard tell of this hypnotism warriors sometimes experienced, but never before had she felt it herself. There were so many enemies... there was nothing to do but fight on, fight until they were all on the ground, until nothing was left standing but herself and the ones she fought for.

Quick kills were impossible. The corpses hissed at her, but otherwise they seemed to feel no pain. Each one needed a certain amount of battering before it stayed down. She heard Alistair's battle cry somewhere to her right, and saw Sten's mighty bastard sword crushing two and three skeletons at a time. Kestrel was at her heels, at her back, jumping, growling, using his body to protect and aid her. Her world was the daggers in her hands, the enemies before her. Killing. Stopping them from hurting the ones who were helpless, the ones she had sworn to protect.

Time slowed, and yet it seemed only a few minutes had passed when Lyra looked around to find the living outnumbered the dead. A ragged breath rattled in her throat, a sharp ache making its presence felt in her side. Lyra pressed her hand to the spot and it came away bloody, her eyes widening as she realized she'd been wounded. The moon was at its apex as Murdock swung an axe at the last standing corpse, toppling it to the ground with a puff of dust.

Heavy breathing and the sound of scraping armor was all that remained. Then a cheer began, and slowly got louder. Lyra heard her own alto crescendo with the deeper basses and baritones around her. Leliana's lilting soprano whooped over all of them, and Alistair's hearty laughter rang out like a Chantry bell. Lyra's heart rejoiced. Victory tasted sweeter than any wine.

Bann Teagan leapt to the top of the Chantry steps to shout over the noise. "Friends, Redcliffe is triumphant! We-"

"Has anyone seen Bevin? My brother!" The Chantry doors creaked open, a slim teenage girl shoving against the piled crates and debris that had blockaded the entrance. Hands pulled at her, but she wrenched away to stumble outside. Seeing Teagan, she dashed over to him and clutched his tunic. "Please – my younger brother is missing! I thought he was with us in the Chantry, but no one has seen him in hours, and I'm so terribly afraid!"

Teagan had only begun to respond when a stinging in Lyra's nose drew her attention in another direction. From the shanty-town that stretched over the lake, the choking smell of smoke clogged her nostrils. Cold chills raced over her skin when she realized what was happening, and she turned to sprint toward the water. Her flight stirred interest, and the cry was raised only seconds later. "Fire! The fishing village is on fire!"

Lyra raced toward the buildings, followed by most of the town. It occurred to her that Bevin might have remained hidden at home instead of going to the Chantry, and a toppled candle would explain the sudden flare up. If she was right, Bevin was trapped. Alistair's voice implored her to stop, wait for him, but she paid him no mind. There was no time. An image of Oren flashed through her mind - if she couldn't save the girl's brother, she would die trying.

Skidding to a halt at the edge of the burning buildings, she began to call out. "Bevin! Bevin, are you in there?" Her agitated feet paced back and forth in front of the weathered shacks, searching for signs of life. Murmurs of horror grew behind her as the flames crept over the curtains of one house, brightening the blackness with a deathly yellow light.

"Bevin!" she shouted again.

"I'm up here!" a child's frightened voice called back, and she looked up to see a small silhouette in a second-story window. The townsfolk gasped, and the girl screamed her little brother's name.

The fire raged, the lower story engulfed in flames. Already the heat could be felt even from this distance; there wasn't much time, and no way through.

There was nothing else for it. Lyra unlaced her boots and greaves. If she was going to climb, she needed freedom of movement and to be able to grip with her toes. Her gloves came off as well, her helmet joining the growing pile. Last went her daggers, and then she ran toward the building, searching for footholds. A short railing on the side of the porch invited her to climb, allowing her to find purchase on the roof's edge with her bare fingers. After getting her grip, she swung one leg up onto the overhang, arms straining to support the weight of her armor. Whenever she'd climbed trees, it was usually in plain linen.

"Don't worry Bevin, I'm coming," she called, heaving herself onto the shingles. The roof was pitched, and Lyra was gratified that she'd thought to go barefoot. In seconds she stood before the window, helping the small boy climb through. His face was smudged with soot and tears, and he shook as he came into her arms for a frightened hug.

"Do you think you can cling to me, very tightly?" she whispered to him. He nodded, eyes wide as saucers. She slung him onto her back and pulled his legs around her waist, locking his ankles around each other. "Feel those straps on my back? Put your arms through and grab onto your own wists, like you're hugging someone very tightly. Hold onto them so you don't choke me," she instructed, and she felt Bevin slide his arms through the straps that held her dagger sheaths. When she was certain he was secure, she got down on her hands and knees and backed up the few feet toward the porch overhang. Easing over the edge, she made certain of her hold, then told Bevin to hang on. Desperate gasps came from behind them as Lyra swung them over the edge, her fingertips the only thing preventing their fall. Lyra had planned to drop the last few feet, but strong hands pulled her from the roof and guided her gently to the ground. Bevin was lifted from her back, and someone else led her away from the house; she was never sure who.

.oOo.

Alistair watched as a matronly woman steered Lyra toward the Chantry, away from the hullabaloo surrounding the burning homes. He'd been the first to rush to her assistance, reaching up to help her down from the roof. As soon as she was safely on the ground, the women of the town had taken charge of her, clucking and worrying like a flock of hens. Though in retrospect she'd had the situation well in hand, Alistair's heart had climbed into his throat to see her climb the roof of a burning building. Even now his pulse raced, anxiety speeding adrenaline through his veins. It was one of the riskiest things he'd ever witnessed The roof could have collapsed, she could have slipped, Bevin might have panicked and sent them both tumbling from the shingles...

Alistair raked a hand through his hair, uncertain of what to think. Lyra had made herself extremely clear - she wanted nothing but friendship from him. He knew he would be wise to respect those wishes. Yet, his rebellious heart knew what it wanted, and didn't seem interested in listening to logic.


updated 7/6/13, with the help of wintryone. :-)