The Battle
I was not allowed to fight. My jaw was clenched as I watched the battle from a safe distance, channeling orders through messengers to the generals on the front lines. I ached to be a part of it; not because I hungered for battle, but because I did not want my people fighting this fight without me. They battled for my wife, and I sat at the rear, impotent. Intellectually, I understood it—Cailan had died on the front lines at Ostagar and his death had thrown the country into chaos, so naturally Fergus and Oghren wanted to ensure I did not meet the same fate. My heart, though, was rarely one to listen to reason.
Picking up on my agitation, my horse danced a few steps to the side. I glanced at Fergus on his own mount to my right. Oghren and the other Wardens had waded deep into the battle, and I had no doubt they would play a significant role in our victory. If we won.
We will. I wasn't sure if the whisper in my mind was mine or Kiann's.
"Your counsel?" My eyes lingered on the Teyrn for a moment as he watched the field.
Crow's feet had etched themselves into the skin at the corners of his eyes, I noticed. He wasn't that much older than I was, but he seemed to carry the weight of centuries on his shoulders. His losses had changed him, aged him. I supposed the same could be said for me, to some extent. I already knew I wasn't the same man I'd been a month ago.
"Give the cavalry leave to attack as they please, your Majesty," Fergus suggested. "It might help to compensate for our fewer numbers of knights."
I nodded to the messenger standing at the ready. "Pass that order to the generals, lad."
"Yes, your Majesty!" The messenger-Maker, he couldn't be more than twelve-dashed off, and another lass took his place at my elbow.
My eyes swept over the battlefield, taking in the fallen forms. At this distance, they were faceless. I'd never know what they all looked like, but I would do my damnedest to ensure they were remembered.
"What do you think?" I asked, my voice low.
"It's too soon to say," Fergus said softly. I looked at him to see his brow furrowed intently. "We're too evenly matched."
"Well, at least the Maker isn't giving them any advantage over us, despite this being an Exalted March, eh? You'd think he'd be a little more involved in a war fought in His name." A crooked grin stretched my lips, one Fergus readily returned.
Until the ground shook beneath us.
"What the bloody-" I turned back to the battlefield in time to see another projectile explode into my army's ranks, well past the front lines. Mages? No, we'd all but taken out their mages in the first attack, with the remainder being brought down by Dalish arrows. A whistling sound sliced through the air, and I looked up, stunned for an instant to see a giant sphere of…something hurtling at us.
"Scatter!" Fergus leaned over and slapped my horse's rump. My mount darted away, out of the path of the missile. It thundered to the ground behind me, shrapnel pinging against my armor.
"Sweet Maker have mercy," the Teyrn breathed as I rejoined him. "They've got trebuchets! They're will to risk their own men to use them?"
"I guess they figure the benefit outweighs the risks." I tensed my jaw as I searched the horizon for evidence of the siege machines. There-nearly at the wall of the city of Jader. Blast it. We'd never get men that deep before they managed to decimate the army.
We can do it. Kiann's voice was quiet, but determined.
"If we had mages, maybe. Something to attack at medium range that would destroy them." My words were vague enough that Fergus could rightfully think they were meant for him.
We have a mage. I could feel Kiann's mischievous smile as her presence flared within me. My heels pressed against the horse's flanks without my consent, and suddenly we were racing toward the battle.
"Kiann." I nearly bit my tongue as I bounced in the saddle, out of rhythm, so I focused for a moment on aligning myself with the horse's movements. My name was shouted behind us, but I didn't turn to look for fear I'd lose my balance. "This is insane!"
Do you have any better ideas?
"Well…no," I had to admit. "But we don't even know if you can use your magic through me. We never tried it."
It'll work.
"How do you know?"
Because it has to.
There was no more time for words. I drew my sword, hacking at soldiers as we barreled past, kicking at others, doing whatever I needed to do to keep from being overwhelmed. Another projectile slammed into the ground behind me, a horrendously loud crash chased by the screams of the injured and dying. I dared not look.
"Are we close enough?" I ground out through gritted teeth.
Just a little more…
I roared as a dagger snuck between the plates of my greaves and deep into my calf muscle. Rage flowed through me, and I kicked the soldier who bore the blade in the face, taking an unholy satisfaction in watching his face crumple beneath my boot.
"Bloody damn," I whispered.
You all right?
"I'll live." I reached down and pulled the knife from my armor, grunting as a fresh flow of blood stained the gold and silver plate.
You'd better. There, on that rise. That should be good.
My eyes immediately picked out the rise Kiann had spotted. A grimace twisted my lips as I clasped my heels to the horse's sides again, urging him forward. "What do you have in mind?"
A few fireballs should do the trick, I imagine.
"And how exactly do you think we're going to be able to do this?" I slashed out with my sword as another enemy soldier approached. "Do you think they'll all just stand of to the side and wait while you summon the strength to use your magic through me?"
Fireball is not a tough spell, Alistair. Kiann's mental voice held a tinge of exasperation. Clear a path. I'll work quickly.
"You're insane," I muttered, running through another opponent. "We both are. You for proposing it, me for considering it."
Are you done?
I glanced around. "For the moment."
Good.
Her presence flared within me, along with something else, something that felt familiar and yet…alien. Her magic? I remembered explaining to her once how templar abilities worked, and she had immediately responded with the analogy that my mana-dampening skills were a type of magic. I hadn't thought so at the time, but feeling her magic and comparing it to what I could do…it was, wasn't it?
It rushed through me, close to the feeling of physical release, but not quite. Almost before it started, it was gone, and I heard an explosion in the distance. Shouting. The soldiers heading toward me stopped and looked behind them, unsure.
One down, Kiann said. Her voice sounded a little tired, but nothing extreme. Best do another before they regroup.
She flared again, and again, firing off balls of flame quickly and accurately. In between her little takeovers, I surveyed the field, evaluating the danger. Confusion seemed to have gripped the ranks of the Orlesian army. They knew we had no mages and they scrambled to determine from whence the magical attacks had come.
Their ranks were about to break. I could see it in the panicked looks of the soldiers as their eyes cast about the field, searching for the source of the magic. "One more, Kiann," I said, a smile beginning to stretch my lips. We were going to do this. We were going to win.
Brilliant white light flashed before my eyes and I flew off my mount, landing heavily on the ground. My lungs refused to work for a moment, the wind knocked out of me, and I struggled to suck in air. I felt Kiann fade, further than she'd been even after she'd tried to take me over physically, as something sapped my energy.
Blast it all. Templars.
I lay on the ground, helpless, as the Orlesian templars approached, their weapons drawn. Bugger it, bugger it…finally my lungs unclenched and I could breathe again, but it was far too late.
"Bind him," one of the helmed men said, his voice tinny. "The Divine wants to speak with him before he's executed."
"Will she be offering tea?" My voice was light, even though I felt nothing of the sort. Kiann—I couldn't feel her anymore. My sword had flown from my fingers, and I couldn't see it. "I mean, that's only the civilized thing to do, right? I'm afraid if she's not offering tea, I must decline."
My foolish words earned me a sword pommel to the temple, and everything went black.
###
My head jerked up before I was even totally aware that I was awake. Tingles of magic coursed through me, fading quickly, and I looked into the face of the person standing next to me. Her long robes identified her as a mage, one with a healing bent, it seemed. My head ached, but it was nothing like the pain I should be experiencing, not after being knocked out by a pommel to the head.
"Thank you." The words were raspy, little more than a grunt, but they would do.
I looked around the tent. I was laying on a sleeping mat, unbound, my armor removed. Whoever had stripped me had left my dignity intact with my leather breeches and linen undershirt. The wound in my leg had been bandaged, and, judging but its itchiness, mostly healed.
Candlelight flicked over me and I sucked in a breath. Had night fallen, then? My gut clenched. Had Ferelden lost? Surely the Orlesian army had pressed their advantage after capturing me and pushed my armies back? Please, Maker, no.
And where was Kiann? I still couldn't feel her. Sweet Andraste, had the templars' holy smites exorcised her from me?
Before I had a chance to ask the mage any questions, the door of the tent was pushed back and a wizened, bent, crone of a woman strode in, flanked by a pair of templars. I pushed myself up to a sitting position. Though her figure looked frail, her movements gave the impression she was anything but. Her steps were sure, for all that she used a cane, and I suspected the cane was more there for show than actual support. Her blue eyes were surrounded by heavy wrinkles, but the orbs themselves were intense and clear, as if they belonged to a much younger woman. Her hair was completely white, but instead of being drawn back into a bun as most older women were wont to do, she'd cut hers short and braided some strands, presumably to help control the unruly mess. I recognized the robes she wore from my Chantry upbringing. Standing before me was the Divine herself.
"The Bastard King awakens," she said. Her voice was at odds with her appearance, much like her eyes and her gait. It was strong and decisive, with a thick Orlesian accent.
"I prefer Warden King, myself," I said, keeping my voice unconcerned. Let her think me a fool. I bent one knee an hitched an arm over it, casually.
"Interesting tactic, hiding your mages," the Divine continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "Smarter than I thought you'd be, that's for certain. But not smart enough to stay protected behind your front lines." She tsked and stopped directly in front of me, just out of reach. Not that I could do much right now, anyway. My hands were free, but I had no weapon. And foolish as she might think me, I wasn't crazy enough to take on two templars and a mage unarmed.
I would bide my time.
"So do you wish to save the remainder of your army, Bastard King?" Those intense eyes narrowed as she regarded me.
I resisted the urge to shout in her face, keeping my expression bland and bored instead. "And how would I do that?"
"By surrendering. By pledging your allegiance to Orlais and the Chantry." She cocked her head, a slight smile curving one corner of her lips. "How did you think this was going to end, lad? Did you really think Ferelden was strong enough to stand against us?"
I clenched my teeth, but just shrugged noncommittally. Damn it. Think, Alistair. There had to be some way to save Ferelden. Some way to get me out of this…
Wait. No, that was the answer, wasn't it? In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. Killing the Divine would, at the very least, make the Orlesians scramble a little to replace her. Maybe enough that they gave up on this attack. Here I had the perfect opportunity to land such a blow against the enemy. I wouldn't survive…two templars and a mage would make short work of one unarmored King. But it would be a meaningful death. If I managed to pull it off.
"Kiann," I whispered, low enough that the others in the tent couldn't hear me. I closed my eyes and sought her out. She was my secret weapon in this. If she was still with me. If not…I'd rush one of the templars and grab his sword, and pray the other didn't run me through before I completed my task.
The tiniest flicker ignited beneath my breastbone. I allowed myself a quick image of me kissing her—a goodbye kiss. Maker, I love you. Perhaps we'd journey to the His side together, as connected as we were. Maybe, with me beside her, she wouldn't get lost in the Fade again, and we could live out eternity together. That wasn't such a bad thought.
I waited for the flicker to strengthen, but it remained at the same low intensity.
"Your Majesty?" the Divine prompted, her voice laced with condescension.
I opened my eyes and stared at her, putting all of the strength I'd discovered within myself in my gaze. Damn their ambitions. Damn their actions. I was the King, and I would save my country.
"Ferelden," I growled, "will not bow."
I launched myself off the bedroll, calling down a smite on the mage across from me before she could call forth any offensive magic. She flew backward, jerking to a stop against the wall of the tent. The entire flimsy structure wavered but remained standing. I rolled and jumped to my feet, intending to kick the nearest templar and grab his sword from his back while he was distracted. But he was too quick. He'd already equipped his sword and slashed out at me. I darted back, almost far enough—the tip of his blade caught on my shirt and tore it.
My eyes flicked around the room, looking for a weapon, an advantage, anything. The Divine. Could I…kill her with my bare hands? I met her blue, blue eyes for a moment, saw the hatred twisted there, and decided that I could.
I ran forward, ducking beneath the templars' blades, until I reached the hag. The templars wouldn't smite me, not so close to the Divine; she'd be caught in it, too, and at her age it could be a devastating result. I wrapped one arm around her chest, across her collarbone, and pressed her back to me, my right hand gripping the left side of her head. One quick twist would be all it took. Just one quick—
Brilliant light slammed into me once more and I released my grip, staggering back. I didn't fall this time. Somehow, even without my armor, I'd managed to withstand most of the effects of the smite. I shook my head, then looked up, ready to charge the Divine again. So much for my supposition that her templars wouldn't smite me so close to her—
I grunted as cold steel slid through me, unimpeded. The templar's eyes glittered at me through the slit in his helm. He withdrew his sword and I clutched at my stomach instinctively, even as my knees gave way. Warm, sticky blood welled up beneath my fingers.
Damn it. Damn it, no. I couldn't fail at this. Ferelden needed me to succeed. Without me, my country would fall.
Kiann's presence flared under my breastbone, finally, and I felt my lips curve in a self-deprecating smile. Always just a little too late—the story of our lives, it seemed.
Alistair! No…don't you…don't you dare, Alistair!
Oh, I wished I could hold her, offer her some kind of comfort instead of empty words. My throat worked, trying to give those meaningless words anyway, but fluid burbled up and stole them away. I fell back, onto my behind, and stared up at the templar advancing on me.
No. No. NO!
Kiann flared forth then, stronger than I'd ever felt her presence before. Weakened, I couldn't resist it. I let her come, let her fill me with the light and heat of her spirit. Lightning flickered out from me, cascading over the metal of the templars' armor. They twitched and crashed to the ground, stunned. I fell back a little more, bracing myself on one elbow. My vision had narrowed, darkening at the edges.
Damn it, Alistair… A cooling wave of magic rushed through me, pushing the darkness back. Thank the Maker Wynne made me learn that one healing spell, Kiann said, her mental voice a little breathless.
"How…how did you…" The Divine looked down at me, her ancient eyes wide and disbelieving. "You're no mage."
I spit out the blood that had gathered in my mouth and lifted up my shirt to look at my wound. My skin was smeared with crimson, but it was obvious that the wound itself had closed. There was still internal healing to be done, and I 'd need more magic to be whole again, but I smiled all the same. This…could work for me.
I met the Divine's eyes, my own narrowed. "You're right, I'm no mage. The Maker works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?"
"But…no." She shook her head. "He's left us. He has no hand in the world anymore."
"Then how do you explain this?" I pushed to my feet, my will alone keeping me from swaying. "How was I healed? How could magic come to my defense?" I arched an eyebrow at the Divine. "Perhaps you've got it all wrong. Perhaps Ferelden has somehow managed to gain the Maker's eye. We defeated the Blight alone, after all. And now the Warden King stands before you, unscathed, even when I should be dead." My eyes flicked to a shadow that had entered the tent behind the wizened woman. I gave her a quick nod. "You sleep on it."
A second later, she crumpled to the ground. The shadow moved to the templars and the mage laying motionless. "Don't kill them, Zev," I instructed.
"Your Majesty, you have no sense of fun," the Crow scolded. He shot me a quick, tight smile, then dosed each of the fallen figures with the same poison he'd used on the Divine, I assumed.
"They need to be witnesses," I said. I shook my head slightly as my vision wavered. The strength I'd managed to cobble together from Kiann's healing and my own reserves was quickly dissipating. "I need them to spread the news of what happened here."
"And what, exactly, did happen?" Zev asked, eying the blood soaking my shirt as he approached me.
"As far as they're concerned? A miracle." I smirked at the assassin, then leaned heavily on his shoulder before I fell over. I blinked again, trying to focus on the tent flap leading out into the darkness. "I hope you've got a couple of people with you, Zev, because I'm thinking you're going to have to carry me."
"Alistair, don't you—"
The tent dissolved as I slipped into blackness.