Men and Gods
"Then we'll just have to do it! There's no other way!" Alistair exclaimed.
Lena's eyes were red-rimmed and sunken. Her hands trembled on the wall she leaned against.
"Don't you understand? If we do what she says, there's no point in any of this! The archdemon's soul will survive! And Maker knows what Morrigan will do with some sort of...tainted god!"
"Lena!" He said, abruptly weeping. He wiped his eyes before she saw. "Even if you're right, I won't let you do this! I'm the senior Warden! It falls on me!"
She grabbed his wrists with shocking strength.
"You have to be king! You have to rebuild Ferelden! I'm...just some dirty knife-ears from the Alienage." She said ferociously, then turned, resting her forehead on the cool stone of the wall. She sighed.
"I've seen this coming, Alistair. They say the Dalish can feel the death gods coming for them. Maybe I've got some Dalish in me after all." Her voice was quiet again. Hoarse.
"What will you tell Zevran?"
She wheeled around, pointing a finger at his chest.
"I'm not telling Zevran, and you won't either! He'll...he'll try to talk me out of what needs to be done."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You have to tell him!"
"If I can keep silent so can you, Alistair Theirin! No one will know!" Tears cut tracks down the dirt on her cheeks. "No one."
Alistair pulled her into him abruptly. She felt so small and insubstantial.
"You're my best friend." He said, his tears falling down and landing on the top of her head.
"And you are mine."
"I'll...I'll make sure he has safe passage wherever he wants to go. And you'll have a national hero's funeral."
"Good. You'll be a good king, Alistair." Her voice was muffled against his chest. He released her finally.
She wiped hurriedly at her tears, backing toward the door.
"I...Goodnight, Alistair. Sleep well. Tomorrow we save the world." She laughed, but it sounded hollow.
-
It was late when she returned from talking to Alistair. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face flushed.
"Maker, Lena! What is it?" Zevran had been pacing. There could be no sleep on a night like this.
She practically dove on him. She was shaking all over.
"Tell me you love me. You do, don't you?" Lena's voice was low, rough.
"You know I do. I have for some time, I think." He said very quietly, holding her gaze. Now he was shaking. It hadn't been so long ago that he was trying his best to slit this woman's throat. Then, rapidly, her life became more important to him than anything else. He knew abruptly that he did love her. And, to his surprise, it felt...good. No pit opened up in his stomach. No dread gnawed at him.
Her mouth met his, her hand coming up to tangle in his hair. He responded with equal urgency.
They made love like they never would again, which, given the circumstances, seemed likely.
"I love you too, Zevran." She said very quietly, laying in his arms. He just stared up at the ceiling, and beyond it, to the stars.
-
-
Denerim was in ruins. There were fires everywhere. The stench of rank darkspawn blood and burnt flesh was inescapable, and it made him wretch incessantly. Lena, Zevran, and himself fought their way back to Fort Drakon, wading through a tide of darkspawn and corpses. Somewhere, on the other side of the city, the rest of their companions were struggling to hold back wave after wave of creatures.
Lena was unhinged. Howling, she cut a bloody swath through the tower and into the staircase that led to the battlements of the compound, the dark blood pulling her forward towards the old god just as it called to him. Somewhere to his left in the cramped staircase, he heard a wet crunch as Zevran's blade impacted with something, and a howl as it clattered down the stairs.
"Maker! Where is she?" Zevran said, wild-eyed, his chest heaving under armor. His eyes not finding her, he bolted up the stairs. Darkspawn appeared in front of him as more surged up from below.
They fought their way to the top, and Alistair's breath came out of him in a rush when he saw it.
The archdemon. At last. Not just a dream-monster anymore, but here. It was huge, and the acrid odor of dragon urine and death were overwhelming. Its enormous head snapped around when they appeared and it roared at them, its hot breath driving them back, spittle splattering them.
They dove for cover as its enormous claws struck at them, then kept moving. More darkspawn were pouring from the entrance to the battlements, defending their god. Zevran hurtled past him, nearly a blur, his swords flashing in the wane dawn.
Finally, behind him, he heard her voice. She was shrieking at the enormous beast, and its attention went from them to her.
"Lena!" He screamed, charging toward her while Zevran waded into the army of darkspawn that were coming up behind them.
The point of exhaustion was long behind him. His muscles screamed every time he swung his sword. He didn't care. Lena was ahead of him, always moving, never allowing him to get too close. She struck at the archdemon when she could get close enough, her blades sinking into its flesh but seemingly never wounding it. It went on and on, snapping at them, spitting fire.
Seeing an opening, he leapt onto its side, driving his blade into its ribs with all the strength he could muster.
Shrieking, it threw him off. Time seemed to slow. He flew through the smoky air. He had wounded it. Its fiery breath spluttered then went out. He landed with a distant crunch that he didn't feel.
Then he saw her again.
Lena hurtled out from somewhere, her mouth open in a roar, sword raised high. The archdemon turned, seeing her. The sound of her armor crunching under its teeth was horrific. It picked her up in its enormous maw, but her arms were free. Howling like a banshee, she plunged her blade through its soft eyeball and into the tissue beneath.
It threw her, and her body moved through the air like a doll that had been tossed.
Something in the air shimmered, changed. Alistair had never felt the call of magic before, but around him, for the first time he felt the Veil shudder. The enormous beast thrashed spasmodically, its wings beating uselessly, its tail flailing. Then the huge head hit the stones of the battlement with a sharp crack, and it was done.
He was on his feet, but the left side of his body wasn't responding properly. His heartbeat was overwhelming in his ears, so much so that he could hear nothing else.
He didn't hear Zevran as he scrambled across the debris and corpses, himself covered from head to toe in slick black blood.
He limped across the battlement to his side, and abruptly, time began to move normally again.
Zevran had both hands on the enormous wounds that went nearly the whole way through her abdomen, where the archdemon's huge teeth had penetrated her armor. Blood had stopped pouring out around his hands when her heart stopped pumping it. Lena's eyes were open, huge and wondering to the sky, and her chest was still.
Zevran's sobs coalesced into something meaningful.
"...Wynne's potions! Now! Now!"
"Zevran, she's..."
"NOW!" He roared, thrusting out hands that were dripping with her blood.
Alistair emptied all of the potions into the assassin's hands. He poured them into her open abdomen, and the wounds began to crawl closed. He tore off her breastplate and brought a closed fist down hard on her chest.
"Alimina vivare, Lena!" He screamed brokenly, and brought his bloody fist down again on her chest.
Alistair was just moving to drag him away when something happened.
She breathed.
