The Door and the Dragon
Age 18 (continued)
…
El sunk her blade into the dragonling's shoulder, hooking under the scales, slicing deep. Still the creature kept fighting. She leapt aside from a lunge of teeth and found her prey suddenly knocked back by a blast of ice. The beast stumbled against the spell, and El look advantage. Cold seared her arm as she reached past the flare of magic and drove her blade into the dragonling for the killing blow. She stood up, whirling around to survey the battlefield. Her mother and father seemed to be handily dispatching the last dragonling, while the other elves were already easing out of their fighting stances. And Malcolm…
"Give me your arm," he demanded.
With a sigh, she passed her sword to her other hand and obliged.
"You could have waited half a moment and not gotten yourself burned, you know." His hands were aglow with healing magic and El could feel the minor injury already fading.
El rolled her eyes. "A dragonling's teeth are more dangerous than a glancing blow from an ice spell, Malcolm."
He glared at her, unable to deny her statement. "Still, you should be more careful. I won't always be around to heal you."
Those last few words stung, even if she knew he hadn't entirely meant them to.
"I'll do my best, Malcolm," she replied, turning her attention to the door where the others were gathering.
Malcolm pulled his hands away, also focused on the door. "What are they doing?"
El flexed her arm experimentally before pulling out a cloth to wipe the gore from her sword. "I don't know. They're probably waiting for us."
"No," Malcolm whispered, "that door…" He hurried off towards the rest of their party, and El darted after him.
"What, is it locked?" she asked as they drew near.
Malcolm frowned. "If by locked, you mean sealed with magic so powerful I can see it, yes. It's a wonder the spells have stayed so strong after all these years."
They watched as Merrill stood before the door, running her hands along the surface. Suddenly, she stepped back and cast three spells in quick succession. Ice, then lightning, then fire hit the door. The door seemed to absorb the spells, but did not open.
Merrill tried again, casting more quickly. Again, nothing happened.
"Oh dear, it really does have to be simultaneous," Merrill said with a sigh. She seemed downtrodden and began to pace the room, muttering to herself about delayed spells, only to pop up suddenly. "Oh it's so much simpler than that! We have three mages!"
"Malcolm," she asked, whirling to face him, "if I show you a spell, can you cast it just as Marigold and I cast the others? You can even do the ice one."
As amusing as El found her excitement, Malcolm seemed in no mood to laugh. "I can certainly try," he offered.
"Keeper," Marigold warned, "he's not an elf. Will it really work?"
Merrill's face fell in sudden understanding. "Oh… like the first door…"
"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked.
"The door near the entrance only works if an elf is the one casting the spell. I think that's why the looters could never get in. They do know to bring mages to these ruins sometimes, but it's usually a human mage," Merrill explained. She went back to the door, pressing a hand to the carved wood and frowning. "It won't hurt to try… I don't think… Marigold, have a look."
The young woman sighed, but complied. After a moment she took her hand away. "You know I'm no better at this than you are. I can't tell. It will either work just fine or bring this whole place down on us."
"Oh I don't think it would do that," Merrill chided her. "Usually the door just won't unlock, or it will send a monster after us. It doesn't do to bring your house down just because someone you didn't expect knocked on the door."
Hawke frowned. "What sort of monster?"
Merrill tilted her head as she pondered aloud. "Some sort of guardian, but I don't think it would be as bad as a varterral."
"Oh, that's too bad," Hawke grumbled sarcastically. "I was looking forward to another one of those."
"Well at least we have a large party that's good at fighting. We are prepared to fight a dragon, after all," Merrill chirped.
Fenris glared at her. "And you've said a varterral can defeat a dragon…"
"Oh, it's more like they're evenly matched," Merrill mused. "I really don't think it will be a varterral. Besides, if we don't try, we can't move forward anyway."
Hawke sighed. "I suppose not." She turned to Malcolm and shrugged. "If the senior mage of this expedition insists it will probably be okay…"
El watched as Malcolm stared thoughtfully at the door before finally approaching it. He paused as he held out his hand, turning to Merrill for silent permission.
"Go ahead," the Keeper told him. "If the door is really so picky maybe just touching it will send a smaller monster…"
Fenris and Hawke exchanged glances and drew their blades, so El followed suit, standing at the ready. Malcolm approached the door, placed his hand on it, and… nothing. After a moment, he drew his hand away and pulled out his notebook, scribbling something on the page.
"I see what you mean about simultaneous," Malcolm told Merrill as he wrote. He turned the book towards her. "Like this?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, you've almost got it. I think…" She took the book and pen from him, making some small mark on the page. "There… Like this."
Malcolm studied the page for a moment, put the notebook away, and drew his staff. Merrill looked to Marigold, who stood at the ready. "Count of three?" the younger elf asked.
"Count of three," Merrill confirmed, aiming her own staff at the door. "One." The tip of each staff glowed. "Two." Enough magic hummed in the air that even El could feel it. "THREE!" The mages unleashed their spells, a synchronized blast of ice, lightning, and fire.
El watched the flashes of magic hit the door and tensed, waiting for the rumble of some huge beast on its way to attack them. Instead, the room fell quiet.
Merrill approached the door, placed her hand on one side, and pushed. Silently, the door swung open. "Oh. Good. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all," Merrill remarked.
Marigold shook her head. "No, there was something in the spell that differentiated between elves and other kinds, I just couldn't tell what."
"Well, perhaps it was best two out of three? Or it works as long as you're friendly with elves? Also, Fenris is an elf. Maybe the spell is happy as long as you're half…" Merrill trailed off as she walked on through the doorway.
Malcolm followed her, tailed by Hawke and Fenris. Marigold, meanwhile hung back, looking the door up and down. Auriel stood close to her, and El could just make out their hushed conversation.
"You think this door only lets elves in?" Auriel asked.
Marigold looked at her. "The door only cares about spells, but yes, I was concerned it might not accept his."
"I suppose that elf really is their father, then," Auriel hummed.
"As they've always said," Marigold muttered.
Auriel scowled at her. "Well, saying something doesn't make it true."
"Sister," Marigold began with a deep sigh, "surely you don't mean to insinuate that their mother was unfaithful to her husband."
"I… I never meant it like that," Auriel stammered, blushing to the tips of her ears.
Marigold rolled her eyes. "Watch what you say, then. That's how people would assume you meant it." She took Auriel by the arm, leading her though the door. "Come now, let's catch up." The mage glanced back over her shoulder, throwing El a pained and knowing look.
In that moment, El wondered if her quest to see Malcolm paired off had found an ally. She rushed on through the doorway, stepping out into another wide courtyard, overgrown with lush vines and golden in the late afternoon sun. Merrill and her parents were chatting away, rifling through their packs and pulling out the food they had stowed that morning, before dawn. The mere concept of food made El's stomach growl loudly. She was hardly surprised. They had been fighting dragonlings off and on all day, and adrenaline only carried one so far.
The whole party sat amongst the crumbled columns and ate, listening to Hawke and Merrill tell stories from their days in Kirkwall with frequent, grumbled corrections from Fenris anytime something was embellished. Soon, however, Merrill pulled her notebook back out, declaring that she was ready to start checking the room over. Auriel had already been idly sketching as they talked, and quickly rose to join her. When Marigold moved to leave as well, El leapt up, muttered something about seeing if she could help, and followed after her.
"Eleuthera," Marigold greeted her dully, barely pausing between scribbles in her notebook.
"Marigold."
"Can I help you with something?" Her voice was neither cold nor inviting, a truly neutral presence. It gave El pause, and, for a moment, she wondered if she should just leave things be. Malcolm would undoubtedly tell her to leave things be…
"If it's about what Auriel said," Marigold began, "please pay her idle thoughts no mind. She says things carelessly, and only realizes how they might be heard by others long after."
El flashed a grin. "No apology necessary. Malcolm tells me I used to be that way myself."
"Well, then, perhaps imagine you never grew out of such habits, and find forgiveness where you can."
"It's alright, really… Though, I did actually have a question, about Auriel," El explained.
Marigold's silent look told her to continue.
"I know you trained alongside Malcolm a bit when we were younger, magic and things," El began. Marigold nodded and she continued. "But I don't remember Auriel visiting with you. We're strangers, really, and our chance meeting yesterday was… interesting."
Marigold smirked. "Oh, she told me."
"Malcolm may have been a bit… defensive. I don't think he likes when people point arrows at me, honestly. If the encounter upset Auriel at all… well… I want to vouch for Malcolm…"
"No need," Marigold interrupted. "Even Auriel knows Malcolm was in the right yesterday. If anyone needs vouching for, it's her."
El started to realize more and more that there was no need to tiptoe around this woman. She already saw enough, understood enough. "Malcolm…" El sighed. "He may well kill me for saying anything…"
"Then don't," Marigold said. "You don't have to. He's obvious enough on his own. He's sweet on Auriel, isn't he?"
El nodded.
"Good. She could use someone like him."
"Oh?" El wondered how a few weeks training together as children could make Marigold so sure she knew Malcolm well enough.
"You can learn quite a bit about someone from the feel of their magic. For a general sense, you don't even need contact, it's palpable in the air around them while they cast spells. But with direct contact? Like someone healing you? Magic can be more honest than words." Marigold turned to El, crossing her arms. "He's patient, your brother. He's gentle and thoughtful and clever, but he's also terribly patient."
El nodded.
"Auriel, whether she knows it or not, whether she admits it or not, needs someone like that. She needs someone who won't jump to the worst conclusions when she says something strange. She needs someone to hold her back when she gets too impulsive. She needs someone who can be patient without trying, without it draining them."
"Perhaps a lifetime as my brother has prepared him for this, then," El laughed. "I am glad you think well of him. That makes this part easier… See, Malcolm has something on his mind lately besides your sister. He's distracted, and he might need a bit of a nudge in the right direction. There's no point in some grand plot. He's too perceptive. He'll see through it. I'd only like to keep watch for lucky opportunities."
Marigold looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite sure they need any nudging?"
El turned to see Malcolm and Auriel, standing before some artwork carved in relief and set in the wall. Malcolm had conjured a ball of veilfire, moving it back and forth as Auriel requested while she sketched in her notebook.
"What are they doing?" El asked.
"Often carvings like that react differently to veilflame than ordinary light. The Keeper insists on recording the way they appear under both conditions. He's actually doing my job right now," Marigold explained.
"Oh, well, sorry."
Marigold shrugged. "It's not a task I enjoy. He's welcome to it."
"I suppose you're right about not needing the nudging," El said, smirking and shaking her head. "All the same, I'd ask you to keep it in mind."
The elves, and Malcolm, continued their documentation for a while longer before Merrill was happy enough with their progress to move on. She had just slipped her notebook back into her robes when she froze, turning to look up through the open courtyard roof. It took another moment, but soon El's human ears caught the sound as well. It was faint at first, but grew into a thunderous rumble of heavy wingbeats.
Dragon.
The beast wheeled in the sky above them, letting out a shriek that shook the tiles under El's feet. It was massive, a beast that made wyverns look like mere pups. El marveled at it, too stunned to draw her sword until the dragon roared again, and dove.
"Get ready!" Hawke shouted, daggers in hand.
Beside her, Fenris clutched his sword, the lyrium in his skin burning white against the darkening sky. He glanced over his shoulder at El. "Keep to the flanks to stay out of its range of fire. A sword is no good to you melted."
She swallowed hard and nodded, trying to focus on the familiar weight of her blade in her hand.
The force of the dragon landing nearly knocked her off her feet, but she steadied herself, watching as the creature turned its scaled head, green eyes the size of saucers scanning over their party. Three people with blades hardly seemed to faze it.
Then the magic came.
The glowing volley of spells soared across the courtyard into the dragon's side, drawing a shriek along with the beast's attention. Hawke was already gone, seeming to slip out of sight, while Fenris charged towards the dragon's shoulder. El followed. She knew from fighting other draconids that hitting scales would only dull her sword. She needed to angle her blade, force it under the scales, to make any real impact.
So she did.
Over and over El struck the hulking creature, darting away every time the dragon turned towards her, rushing back in when the mages drew its attention. More than once, the force of her blow loosened scales, and when she backed away, she watched an arrow sink in. El smirked the first time. She had wondered how an archer would be any use against a dragon.
They continued their exhausting dance, and at long last it seemed the dragon was flagging. It was less focused and more frenzied, making more mistakes, wasting more time and energy reacting to each affront. El sliced her sword across its haunch and the creature lashed its tail at her, exposing the flank on the other side to Hawke's daggers. Dodging the tail strike, El rushed around to the dragon's left shoulder. She found her father there, and when a pummel of stone made the dragon swing its head to the right, she watched Fenris dart forward.
He aimed to strike the beast in the base of its neck, to slice into a patch of missing scale there. Such an assault could gravely wound the dragon, and El found herself watching Fenris's greatsword arc through the air. She expected it to be smooth and precise, unwavering in its path. Instead she watched as Fenris's grip on his blade suddenly weakened, as it simply slipped from his hands. The sword spun and hit bluntly against the tender span of flesh.
All El could do was watch the blade skitter across the tiles, her father's voice echoing in her mind.
Never drop your sword.