Thanks to Ventisquear (for finally dipping her toe in!), Tsu Doh Nimh, The-Demon-of-Soul-Society (yes, I'm bad about cliffhangers...), Suilven, Mike (x2!), csorciere, none, FellowNrd, Reader, spectre4hire, SgtGinger (x 2!), Sacred Bob (not dead, just resting!), Ronin Kenshin, Nightbrainzz, greggsmk, JordanMathias, karthik9 and lazyguy90 for your kind words since last I updated, and to Rake1810, who wrote multiple reviews for multiple chapters at one go, which is much appreciated!
Finally, we get down to it.
It seemed to fill the world, all purple-blue malevolence. Nerissa had never seen anything so big. The dragon-fire was not fire as such, but rather a spirit-damaging gout of corruption. Nerissa choked back a scream as it hit her, and seemed to reach inside of her to burn her soul. She froze, stunned.
Alistair Theirin saved her, interposing his shield and armored bulk between her and the blast. When it was over, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her with him.
"Big, isn't it?" he remarked conversationally as they ran after Cauthrien towards the ballista on the far side of the courtyard, but she noticed that his face was very pale.
There were some defenders left, little more than a handful. They were up here on the roof, trying to fight the Archdemon and its attendant darkspawn all by themselves. Corin's heart leapt in his chest with pity as the huge creature bit one of them in half while crushing another beneath its foot. Gwaren has paid its honor debt in full! But there was nothing he could do to help them at present, save for killing the monster.
He ran to the ballista platform he'd chosen, his people right on his heels. It appeared to be undamaged, which was encouraging. He'd feared that one or more of the siege engines would have been crushed when the Archdemon crashed upon the roof, but that appeared not to be the case.
There was a smear of blood going up the ramp. Following it, he found the Arl of West Hills under the ballista itself, his left leg red ruin. Gallagher Wulffe was pale with blood loss, but he cracked his eyes open when Corin leaned over him.
"You made good time, Your Highness!" he croaked in surprise. "We weren't expecting you! Just figured Fergus had decided to get off of his ass at last."
"Quiet now," Corin said, uncorking one of his bigger health potions. "You rest. You've done more than enough."
The arl tried to shove the potion away. "Let it be, boy. Save that for someone else. I've nothing left and am happy to go."
"Ferelden has not released you yet, Gallagher Wulffe. She still needs you. Anora and I need you. Drink this-it's not a request."
That actually made the arl grin feebly. "You've got sand, I'll give you that! Didn't take long for the royal manner to catch on with you, did it?" He drank the potion and the lines of pain in his face eased a bit. "There. That's enough to hold me until this is over, one way or the other. Don't waste another."
"All right. I'm going to move you out of the way. We need the ballista."
"By all means. Good idea."
Corin dragged Wulffe carefully to the back edge of the platform, where he would be out of the way. The arl bit back a groan-he was obviously still in pain-but he did not protest. Oghren started cranking the ballista back as soon as he was clear. Sten, Morrigan and Zevran were dealing with any darkspawn who got too close, the Qunari covering the other two while they shot spells and arrows.
There was a click loud enough to sound even over the battle as the ballista's cocking mechanism engaged. Corin levered one of the pile of bolts up and laid it in the groove. He looked over at Oghren who was ready with the aiming cranks, then at the Archdemon, who was in the center of the courtyard. A bit of a long shot, but judging from where Cauthrien was, they could each hit it as it was currently positioned. She'd had a longer way to go than he had and was just cranking her own ballista back.
"Up about two hands' span, Oghren, then about a foot to the left," he directed. The dwarf immediately complied. He was either familiar with siege engines or dwarves just had a natural knack with such things. "Watch yourselves, people!" Sten, Zevran and the mages hastily moved out of the way. Corin hit the firing lever himself.
THWUNG! With a reverberating, bass twang the bolt shot forward, arcing a bit as it left the ballista. It hit the Archdemon right behind the left wing. A gout of black-purple blood exploded from the monster.
"YES!" the Crown Prince of Ferelden cried. We might just be able to do this!
"Take that, you sodding, nug-humping excuse for a lizard!" the dwarf roared. A sense of hopeful cheer suffused the party.
The Archdemon roared in pain and swiveled its head in their direction, its white eyes seeming to recognize Corin. As their gazes crossed, a jolt of recognition came over him as well and just for an instant there was a moment's desire to run forward, to abase himself to his master…
He shook it off just as the huge mouth opened. "Zev, down!" The monster spewed another corruption blast at them. It was not of much concern to the more heavily armored among them-it hurt, but did not incapacitate. But the drakeskin-clad assassin was vulnerable. Fortunately, the Antivan had enough experience with dragons to know this and was already diving down flat on the ground behind the ballista platform parapet.
The blast washed over them, everyone ducking their heads and turning their faces aside. The instant that it was over, Zevran arose from his refuge and began shooting again. For the moment they had no opposition from the darkspawn, so he pulled one of his ice arrows and fired at the Archdemon itself. Morrigan was firing staff blasts and Arcane Bolts non-stop. Oghren began cranking the ballista back again. There was the muted sound of the other ballista firing from across the courtyard, another thudding impact and the Archdemon turned its attention away from them to the other cheering Wardens and their associates. But it didn't move from its position. The latch engaged and Corin lifted and laid another bolt.
"Leave her as she is, Oghren." He threw the lever. Another hit! Sten ran over to help the dwarf crank again. The ballista creaked in protest as it was drawn back once more, more swiftly this time with two sets of strong arms on the crank.
Across the courtyard, Nerissa was doing the same as Morrigan and Leliana's bow was thrumming constantly. Cauthrien, Alistair and Shale were working the other ballista, frantically cranking it back while Pooka stood guard over the mage and the bard.
The Archdemon threw up its head as Corin's third bolt hit it and shrieked, a long, prolonged, horrible noise unlike anything they had heard before from a dragon, a noise that made them wish to clap ears to heads and scream themselves to drive out the unholy racket pounding in their brains. Then it leapt, ungainly with its damaged wing and fell upon Cauthrien's people. Corin swore under his breath in fear for Alistair and the others and also because the Archdemon was now out of optional ballista range and to take aim upon it might mean they could possibly hit their friends as instead.
"Switch positions!" he called, resisting the urge to go to their rescue more directly. The ballista bolts were doing much more damage to the Archdemon then he and his folk would, milling about its feet with their tiny weapons. Why did it go after them, when we had fired more bolts? Was it because there are two Wardens over there to my one?
There was no way of knowing. "Good luck, lad!" Arl Wulffe called as Corin took off diagonally across the courtyard towards a ballista that could be brought to bear. He was followed immediately by the others, who did not question the order though their heads were turning to watch the Archdemon as they ran.
Nerissa saved them. She'd just taken a lyrium potion to counter the drain of the continual spells when the Archdemon was suddenly there, right on top of them, its fore-claw crushing the ballista's prod. Leliana rolled out of the way, Pooka actually had to scramble out from beneath its chest and Nerissa, atavistic terror taking over, let fly a Petrify at point-blank range with all of the strength of the blue fire running through her veins. And it worked! For one moment the huge monster was frozen in the middle of its attack.
"Run!" barked Cauthrien. "That one over there!" and she gestured to another of the ballistas. They peeled out towards the other siege engine, Leliana in the lead, Cauthrien close behind, moving incredibly swiftly for someone in heavy armor. Alistair was to one side of Nerissa, Pooka leaping along at the other. Shale trailed them, but not by much. It was the fastest that anyone had seen the golem ever move.
A small clot of darkspawn moved towards them. Nerissa paused to drop a Fireball and a Cone of Cold on them, which pretty much ended any immediate threat from that quarter.
"Thank you, Nerissa," Cauthrien said between panting breaths, when they'd reached their destination. She and Alistair were already cranking the new ballista together, not waiting for Shale.
"You're welcome, Warden." Nerissa was shaking, that emptiness threatening to overwhelm her again. She popped the cork on another of the smaller potions and tossed it back. The world steadied beneath her once more.
"You need to be careful with that stuff," Alistair panted in concern, moving to the aiming levers. Shale had come up and was loading the bolt onto the carriage. "Hold off a while before you take any more. We're all right for now-none of them are close and we'll do more damage to the Archdemon than you will. You don't need to shoot for a bit."
She nodded, and leaned on her staff for a moment. It would be good beyond words to take a breather, but…He doesn't understand. It was for this day that I must have been born! If we fail, there will be nothing left. So why would I not spend myself to the utmost?
Nerissa was not so self-interested as Morrigan, but having tasted freedom, there was no great desire in her to return to the closed-in, cloistered, regimented world of the Circle.
To go back to running stairs, studying accounts of old battles, honing her magic to no good cause. To have Gregoir watching her ceaselessly, wishing he'd obliterated everything that made Nerissa Nerissa a long time ago. She finally understood what had driven Anders.
Strange though it may seem, this day is the greatest gift I could ever have been given. The chance to do something that matters, of my own free will. And I will not waste it!
Thwung! went their new ballista. The bolt sank into the Archdemon's flank and it roared again. Nerissa raised her staff once more.
The dwarf's shoulder was heavily bandaged and still managing to seep red. He definitely looked in need of the hospital tent. But he was steady enough on his feet as he spoke to Anora and Teyrna Eleanor.
"The General told me to talk to you ladies since I was on my way up here anyway. The Prince is in Drakon. We had a bruising fight at the gates, but he and his people were fine when they went in. Warden Riordan died trying to kill the Archdemon, but we've still got three Wardens left. Or did when I left them."
"Thank you so much for telling us," Anora said. "Please, go get your wounds treated." The dwarf nodded and moved off with more dwarves gimping and groaning behind him.
"He's in Drakon. They've made good time," Eleanor noted. "Maybe…maybe they'll pull it off."
Anora nodded. Just then, a chilling shriek filled the air, echoing across the valley. Distant as it was, it still resonated fear and anger. There was a shift over the battlefield as every darkspawn on the field paused, looked up and then left off fighting to begin pouring back through the gates into Denerim.
It only took an instant for Anora to realize what that meant. "Maker, they're not in Drakon! They're on the roof, fighting it now!"
Eleanor's green eyes met hers bleakly. "And if they don't kill it before all those darkspawn reach them…" She trailed off, but both women knew the answer.
Then they are dead and Ferelden with them.
"Anora," the teyrna said gently. "You might want to have the coach readied. Just in case."
Kardol had his men ranged before the doors of Drakon. They'd heard the Archdemon's scream, but had seen no action since the Prince and his people had gone inside. Now there was the clatter and clank of approaching armor. It did not sound like darkspawn armor, but he readied his troops nonetheless. Pikes were grounded, crossbows cocked and swords drawn.
Arl Eamon and a squad of Redcliffe knights poured into the courtyard. He had some of the Circle mages with him. Spying Kardol, he gestured to the dwarf to join him. The Legionnaire ran down to his level.
"We've got trouble," the arl gasped. "Every darkspawn on the field just left off fighting Fergus' men and is headed up here!"
"The Wardens must have reached the Archdemon," Kardol muttered, thinking furiously. "The scream was to summon them all to defend it."
"We need to keep them from reaching it until it's dead!" the arl said urgently. He cast an eye back at the courtyard gates. "Are those still intact? If they are and we could close and jam them somehow…"
"They are. The Prince jimmied them, he didn't break them. We could close and bar them and jam the mechanisms," Kardol said. "And then we can bar and jam the doors themselves and move back up into Drakon, barricading everything we can to slow them down." He grinned. "It's not like we don't have plenty of axes!" Then his expression sobered. "But you won't be getting out, my lord arl."
Eamon shook his head almost impatiently. "That doesn't matter. I wouldn't be getting out in any event-the darkspawn are all over the lower reaches of the city by now. Let's do this."
"I'll need your tall people to help with the gates and the main doors," Kardol said, his tone absent as he began to calculate the mechanics of what he wanted to do. "After that, the indoor barricades are nothing. We can handle those and at that point you might want to head on up to the roof to help the Wardens."
"That sounds doable," Eamon noted with a nod. "We're not engineers, so you just tell us what you need us to do."
The dwarf nodded, then lifted his head and bellowed. "Get down here, you nug-humping bastards alive and dead! We've got work to do!"
On the field, the Fereldans cheered as the darkspawn turned tail and retreated. Fergus did not, for he knew what it meant. They're all headed into the city to kill Corin!
He raised his sword high. "Press them! Kill all you can! For Ferelden! For the Queen and the Crown Prince!" With a roar his men surged forward. Fergus slashed the top of a darkspawn's head off, then shield-bashed another, stepping over it to join the press. It squished nastily beneath his armored feet.
For you, Pup, he thought even as the Keening Blade's pommel smashed another grinning face to red ruin. I wasn't any help to you at all this last year. Maker grant that I can help you today!
"Arrows!" Alfstanna called and her gleaners ran forward with new sheaves to the shooting line. Waking Sea had come prepared to battle, with whole wagon-loads of arrows. After all, archers, no matter how good, were useless without them.
A Dalish squad of hunters was close by, captained by a gray-haired elf wearing a scarf around his neck, the ends tucked into his armor, Tevinter style. As she watched, they shot their last shafts and gleaners ran forward to gather arrows. Having marched up from Redcliffe, the Dalish hunters were not so well provided with arrows as her archers were. Though most of the darkspawn had retreated, a few were firing shots of opportunity. One of the gleaners fell as she watched, which crystallized her resolve.
"Captain!" she called. The elf looked over at her, puzzled, and she beckoned. Belatedly, as he came towards her, she wondered if he was one of the ones who spoke the human tongue.
"My lady bann?" he inquired, that question answered at least.
"Your people need arrows. We've still got plenty. Shall we share? We're going to have to move the shooting line forward in any event and all of our gleaners can come behind. Safer for them."
"You would share your arrows with us?" the elf asked, his tone incredulous.
"Why would I not?" Alfstanna said simply. "It's not like you'll waste them or anything! Your people shoot like demons! And we're less likely to lose people if we work together."
Athras looked at the fire-haired shem, who shot in truth as well as any of their hunters and remembered another shem who had brought him closure when his own people could not. Remembered bright blue eyes dark with genuine sorrow over the loss of a Dalish.
"I would have saved her if I could, Athras. I am so sorry. But the curse had changed her fully and she was dying in pain. All I could do was put her out of it."
A shem who had taken the time to bring him a token and last words of love. He reached a hesitant hand out to the shemlen bann.
"Ma serannas. Thank you. We are grateful," he added quickly in their tongue. She grinned.
"My pleasure." Clasping his forearm for a moment, Alfstanna then turned to call orders in her clear, carrying voice.
"Gleaners! Supply the Dalish as well. We're joining squads with them! Move, people! We need to move up! We've a lot of darkspawn to kill!"
There was the odd mutter of disapproval from both sides, but most of the archers were looking at each other with curiosity and tentative friendliness.
And despite the greater deeds that had been done elsewhere that day, it was at that moment that the new Ferelden was born.
Both Cauthrien and Corin had shot several bolts from their new positions. The Archdemon, blood striping its sides from multiple wounds, looked to be visibly weakening.
Time to get down to it, Corin was just thinking when the roof door opened and Arl Eamon and some Redcliffe knights and mages poured through.
"Wardens!" he called. The Archdemon was silent at that particular moment, so his voice carried well enough. "You have to finish this! The darkspawn are coming! All of them!"
"Time to close," Corin told his folk. "Maker keep us all!"
"'Bout time!" Oghren declared. They ran forward, but the Archdemon had leapt again, this time to fall upon the Redcliffe men in the center of the courtyard, who were courageously swarming about its feet, endeavoring to hack it down. Using its neck, tail and good wing as bludgeons, it was knocking them down like bowling pins. The mages had wisely withdrawn to fire off staff blasts and area spells. Then it jumped away once more, towards the back of the courtyard, away from Corin and closer to Cauthrien and Alistair. Both of them ran forward and closed immediately, Cauthrien making impossible blows with her great sword, her body arcing bow-taut with each one. Alistair was more workmanlike, his head tucked between his shoulders, apparently trying to take it apart a bit at a time, starting with the toes.
"Maker! Not Alistair!" Corin groaned as his people ran around the Redcliffe men towards the dragon. Morrigan shot him a golden-eyed stare, but said nothing.
Kardol and his dwarves came through the door then. "Spawn are right behind us!" the Legionnaire trumpeted. "Gates didn't hold-too many bodies!" The dwarves immediately turned to block the door.
First Enchanter Irving saw this and knew what his next task must be. The Archdemon was very resistant to magic, as were most dragons and his efforts would be best expended elsewhere. He and his people, most of them Senior Enchanters, prepared to target the area in front of the door as well, moving into position behind Kardol and his dwarves.
Cauthrien had managed a mighty blow upon the Archdemon's neck where it joined the shoulder, but it was not a mortal wound, though it bled freely. Alistair had done serious damage to a leg and actually laid its muzzle open to the bone when it had attempted to bite him. Mortal fear warred with a sense of rightness within him as he dodged and struck.
This is how it should be. Corin got us here, but he was never a Warden in his heart, even as I was never a king in mine. Just this once, I'll take the burden from him. Always providing Cauthrien doesn't get there first!
There was no fear on his fellow Warden's face, only an implacable serenity that approached exaltation. Alistair knew that she would welcome death, even the final obliteration that slaying the Archdemon would bring, as expiation for what she considered was her responsibility for the civil war and all that followed. For a moment, he felt a surge of genuine affection for her, as if she were his sister in truth. So much better a sister than Goldanna…
They both dodged back from a sweeping fore-claw at the same time. Their eyes met for a moment. Cauthrien's face warmed from that cold mask for an instant into the smile that made her pretty. Alistair grinned back, then both Wardens leapt forward again as one.
Remembering what the Prince had told her about cold and spirit, Nerissa fired Arcane Bolts and Petrify and cold spells at the Archdemon. Only about half of it seemed to have any effect, which was frustrating. She was filled with awed admiration for the Wardens and the golem, who were all in there slugging away at close quarters. She threw a glance at Leliana, whose bow was singing non-stop, and who must be feeling similar frustration since some of her arrows were skipping uselessly off the armored skin. The bard smiled at her.
"Every little bit helps!" she lilted, and continued shooting. Pausing to take another potion, Nerissa lifted her darkspawn staff, hot in her hand, and kept firing as well.
We're doing major damage, it's just a matter of time, Alistair thought and wondered which of them would take the killing blow. It looked to go either way.
As if to punish them for over-confidence, the Archdemon reared up suddenly and whirled, its tail lashing out at the two Wardens, sending them both flying, skidding and sparking across the stones. Free of its mortal foes, it flew across the courtyard again.
Leliana cried out when it happened and ran towards Alistair. Nerissa headed for Cauthrien, who was clutching her right thigh and already pushing herself up on an elbow. She was trembling with pain, but her voice was steady enough when Nerissa approached.
"It's broken, but go ahead and heal it, Enchanter," she said through clenched teeth
Nerissa raised an eyebrow. She'd had enough of Wynne's healing classes to know that this was a bad idea. "It needs to be set, Warden. It might heal crooked."
"Doesn't matter. I need back on my feet now. If we get through this I'll have it broken and re-set later." So Nerissa began the spell while Cauthrien took a large healing potion. The tautness in her face relaxed as the healing magic did its work, and after a moment she scooped up her sword and struggled to her feet with Nerissa's help. She took an experimental stamp and winced. "No, it's not quite right, but it's workable."
"You need to rest it, Warden. Broken bones don't really heal all the way right away, you know."
"I know." Cauthrien's voice was almost gentle. "But time enough for rest one way or the other later." She lifted her head and her gaze swept over the rooftop. "Well, shit!" she exclaimed in very unknightly fashion. "That wasn't supposed to happen!" . Nerissa's glance followed hers and saw the unmistakable figure in gold armor leaping onto the Archdemon's neck.
"I'm fine, Leli," Alistair grunted as he forced himself to his feet, shaking his head a little. He suspected he had a couple of cracked ribs, so he indulged in a healing potion once he was standing. It did wonders for the headache and the other aches and pains. Clear-headed once more, he looked about for the Archdemon and found…
"Oh, Maker! Corin, no!" He started running, knowing that he'd never get there in time.
It was right there in front of him, its blank, white gaze seeming to challenge him directly.
It's always been between you and me, all along, hasn't it? Corin thought and didn't know whether to laugh or to weep at the inevitability. It was to his credit, he thought, that he did not hesitate for an instant despite his reluctance. Proper Grey Warden behavior. Duncan would have been proud.
Duncan can spin in his grave for all of me!
"Corin, no!" he heard Morrigan shout. "Let one of the others do it!"
Not so sure of the ritual after all, are we, love? he thought with mordant amusement, already running. Well that makes two of us! There was a more distant echo from Alistair, but there was no time to acknowledge it in any way. The dragon's neck was there before him, and he knew what he must do. He was the dragon-slayer twice over, after all. Third time would be the charm.
Sheer weight of bodies was forcing the dwarves back. Eamon's men came to join them and the mages were firing spells non-stop, but darkspawn were beginning to spill onto the roof, to push through the edges of the containing force, to cut their way through so that they could go to their master.
Cauthrien, seeing this, gestured to Nerissa. "Go. Help your people hold them back. It's all you can do for us, Enchanter."
Nerissa patted her arm. "Maker keep you Warden." Cauthrien grinned.
"And you as well, Enchanter, even if you don't have any use for Him!" She ran gimping towards the Archdemon while Nerissa headed for the door.
She paused, suddenly realizing that her faithful shadow wasn't with her. She looked back to find Pooka frozen, torn between his duty to her and watching his beloved master ride the Archdemon like it was a mere bucking horse.
"Pooka! I'll be all right. Thanks for all your help. Go to him!"
The war dog gave her a grateful look, barked what might have been thanks and shot off in the direction of the huge dragon.
First Enchanter Irving became aware of another magical source, off to the side, away from his people. A magical boosting spell had been thrown, followed by two primals in quick succession. Storm of the Century blasted into being in front of the doors, shriveling darkspawn. Though Eamon's men shouted in surprise, the dwarves did not seem particularly astonished or daunted by the spell combination, which intrigued him. He finally sighted the mage responsible. His last, wayward apprentice was gulping down a big lyrium potion, then freezing one of the straggler darkspawn who was threatening her. He turned to the Senior Enchanter beside him.
"Torrin, did you see who was responsible for that?"
"Seen and witnessed, Irving. Nerissa Surana just threw a Storm of the Century." Torrin was grinning and the First Enchanter felt a smile on his own face, despite the seriousness of their current situation.
"She's young for it," Torrin remarked, then paused to throw a Cone of Cold.
"She was young for her Harrowing too. Fourteen when Gregoir insisted. And there's precedence. Illana of Montsimmard was just her age." Chain Lightning from Irving.
"That wasn't ability. That was political." Torrin's Fireball was cast with casual aplomb.
"Ah, but Surana would be ability." Irving Petrified an Alpha that looked like it might have had him in mind for its next victim.
"Gregoir is going to have an apoplexy." Torrin also threw a Chain Lightning. Irving took a few moments to whip up a Firestorm before he spoke again.
"A little apoplexy every now and then is good for Gregoir. Keeps his blood flowing."
A Blizzard from Torrin, who conceded, "You do know how to pick them, Irving. I'll give you that." Irving leaned on his staff for a moment to take a break and smiled.
"Why yes, Torrin. Yes, I do."
Alistair had seen it once before, the incredible grace and dexterity, the strength it took to cling to a dragon determined to have you off, but it was still as astonishing as the first time he'd witnessed it, something to spin a tale of for the rest of your life. Battle was halting all over the courtyard as humans and darkspawn alike paused to watch Corin Cousland battle the Archdemon.
He was slamming Starfang into its head and the spine just behind it, gouts of blood flying everywhere. All that horseback riding came in handy after all, Alistair thought dazedly, for Corin was using both hands to wield the sword, clinging only with the strength of his legs. But it turned out to be a fatal mistake, for when the Archdemon threw its head skyward suddenly, the Warden Prince was dislodged. He arced through the air like a golden comet and despite his horror, Alistair could not look away. I did not see Riordan die, but I will bear witness to this!
But Corin did not fall broken onto the pavement. He spun in midair, sword still in hand and as if the whole thing were intentional, some sort of acrobatic stunt, came back down on the Archdemon's neck and began hewing it again. A ragged cheer broke out from the onlookers.
And Corin was winning, for the great head was sinking, moving more and more feebly under his savage blows. It dropped suddenly with an abrupt, final thud and he rolled off in a controlled tuck, tossing Starfang a little to one side to avoid being impaled upon his own weapon. More horseback stuff that. He said he'd teach me. Corin's helmet had been lost in that last bit of acrobatics and he pushed his hair impatiently out of his eyes with one hand as he regained his feet and surveyed his fallen foe. Alistair Theirin started running again then, realizing that against all hope he might still have a chance of sparing his friend, for Corin was still alive and apparently hadn't realized that because he was, the Archdemon was too.
Then the great head moved and reared back up a bit and Alistair saw the realization hit Corin, the despair. And now there were suddenly darkspawn in the way and Alistair was cursing and crying, shoving and striking, unable to get close enough and he could see that Cauthrien was similarly impeded, though her great sword was cutting a wide swath through the enemy. Corin ran to scoop his sword up again and closed with his enemy for the last time.
He'd thought for just a moment that Morrigan's ritual had worked, that he was off the hook. Then the Archdemon moved and the white eyes opened again, their malevolence unabated. I guess we've yet to put the ritual to the test! Corin trusted Morrigan, but he honestly didn't think that the ritual would work, or at least that it would not work exactly in the way Flemeth had described. Flemeth had been more than capable of picking up on Morrigan's attraction to Corin (which from her own admission had been almost instantaneous) and using it to insure that her daughter would do as she wished. If Flemeth were indeed not dead as Morrigan claimed, then she would undoubtedly have still wished for her daughter to conceive the child, that she might acquire it later when she was stronger. Corin suspected that the Archdemon would end up in the child, he just didn't think he would necessarily survive, as his survival was in no way vital to Flemeth's plans once he'd done his duty as stud.
He looked around for Morrigan and found her, a little way off, her eyes wide and frightened as he'd never seen them before. She must have been having similar reservations, for her golden glance met his and she shook her head in mute negation. Don't do this!
But he could see the darkspawn running forward, could see that Alistair and Cauthrien wouldn't reach him in time before he was overwhelmed and realized that there was no choice, if indeed there ever had been one.
And as he ran forward to make the final blow, Corin's thoughts were oddly enough not on Anora or Morrigan or Alistair, on his family or friends or even the Ferelden that would live after him because of his deed. What came to him then, etched clear as crystal, was the memory of a rainy day back when he'd been twelve, in the library at Vigil's Keep.
It was raining, so they couldn't go out and shoot, not that that was a good idea at Vigil anyway. It just rubbed Rendon the wrong way. So he and a fourteen-year-old Nate Howe were in the library, looking for books to read. They'd already found a couple of dirty ones and snickered over them; but truth to tell, most of what was described was so far beyond their knowledge level that it was more confusing than racy.
Corin was leafing through an herbal, admiring the pictures, when Nate came over, a very old book with a cracked leather binding in his hands, his hawk-nosed face intent.
"Hey, listen to this that I found," he said. "It's an account of some of the old Avaar tribes. It might even be older than that. It says, 'In days of old, during times of drought or pestilence or other trouble, it was the custom that a noble youth be offered up for sacrifice to appease the gods. Base men were not eligible, for this was a burden fell upon the nobles, as only the very best would please the gods. All noble youths of a certain age would be entered into a lottery and the chosen one would be the sacrifice. Sometimes one would volunteer and this was considered a very good omen and would bring great honor upon his house, for it was widely believed that the consenting sacrifice was far more pleasing to the gods and would make them more likely to aid the people. A sacrifice from the royal house was considered the most pleasing of all.'"
Corin wrinkled his nose. "Yuck. Did it say how they were killed?"
"Not really. That's what makes me think it's really old and was only reported on in this book, because there aren't many details. It's strange to think about, isn't it? If we lived back then, that would be us." Nate had always been a thoughtful sort.
"Yes, it would. What would you do, if you were picked?'
Nate shrugged. "I wouldn't fight it, I guess. It would diminish my family's honor and probably be bad luck with the gods as well."
"'-this was a burden that fell upon the nobles.'," Corin quoted reflectively. "I guess in the end it's not that much different than leading troops into battle and dying that way."
"Maybe not," Nate agreed, then asked, "Would you volunteer, do you think?"
"I don't know for sure, because I'm not that person," Corin replied. "I don't believe in the same things they did after all. But if I were, and I truly believed that my volunteering would make the gods more likely to make it rain so my people would have food to eat or cure the sickness that was afflicting them…it would be the best kind of noble to volunteer then, don't you think?"
"Yes, I do," Nate agreed. There was a mutual moment of shared understanding and amity, then Corin's stomach rumbled. Nate chuckled.
"I'm being a bad host. Let's get you a snack before dinner."
And now he was there and Starfang was arcing up over his head, glittering almost purple in the reddish light from the cloud cover overhead. The Archdemon was glaring at him, as if in satisfaction that he'd be going with it, but it was finally all right. He'd moved past fear and regret to the place he needed to be.
Hear me, Maker! The prince goes consenting! End the Blight! Free Ferelden!
Corin was smiling as he drove Starfang home.