A/N: The trip to Ostagar is going to be in two parts because the chapter just kept getting longer and longer. The second part should be posted within a day or two and will be from Loghain's POV.
My continued thanks to all of you who read and review and encourage and support this endeavor. I am very appreciative.
War and Remembrance
Part One
The group made good time through the Bannorn as they made their way south. Phillipe was charming and helpful, unfailingly courteous to Loghain in an insolent and playful way, and flirtatious with Leonie. By the third night, a night when snow danced lightly in the air and fell softly to the ground, Loghain ran out of what little patience he had. Leonie was honestly surprised it had taken so long.
Returning from the creek with a pan of water to heat for tea, Leonie stumbled on a root and Phillipe was there immediately to help her, taking the pan and offering his arm. Leonie accepted it and as they entered the encampment, Loghain looked up from his whittling to glare at them.
"You would glare at this lovely creature?" Phillipe asked, tutting in disapproval.
Loghain's eyes narrowed further and he went back to his whittling. That did not sit well with Phillipe and Leonie watched with a horrified fascination as Phillipe went to Loghain, his stance a clear challenge.
"You treat her like she is one of your Mabari war hounds. You must agree that she's a beautiful woman," Phillipe demanded.
Leonie rolled her eyes and moved between the two men. "Phillipe, please. Do not provoke Loghain," she warned softly, her tone iron surrounded by silk.
"I don't provoke him, Lion. I ask a simple question. I have not heard him say one kind thing to you since my arrival. It's unconscionable that he would treat you thusly," Phillipe argued, looking not at Leonie as he spoke, but at Loghain.
Loghain carefully set his whittling aside and slipped his boot knife back into its home before standing. Leonie sensed his anger. Phillipe's thick Orlesian accent did nothing to diminish Loghain's dislike of the man, or of Orlais. She turned to Loghain, her back to Phillipe, an appeal in her eyes.
"Do not let Phillipe provoke you," she began but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, a dismissal that she found both insulting and aggravating.
"Oh, a fight. This could be interesting," Anders muttered, huddling by the fire and shaking his head. "Especially since I'm too tired to heal either of you."
Travis was watching with a curious expression on his face, Leonie noted. He was amused, almost delighted, by the unfolding scene. Leonie was not. They had more important things to worry about than whether Phillipe liked the way Loghain treated her. Or whether Loghain liked the way Phillipe talked.
"You still haven't answered, Loghain. I can't understand what someone as sophisticated as Leonie sees in you. She could have had anyone she chose in Orlais. Why she chose you is a mystery for the ages. You aren't nearly good enough for her," Phillipe taunted.
"Why you little Orlesian fop," Loghain snarled, moving forward, hands clenched, expression furious.
"That is enough!" Leonie cried angrily as both men began edging forward. She felt the heat of anger coming from both of them and felt trapped between them. She shook her head. "Stand down," she hissed angrily as they continued to glare at each other.
"Anders, if they do not stand down, you have my permission to cast a lightning bolt at them," she added.
"Um, Leonie, you aren't in command any longer," Anders reminded her with an apologetic smile. She groaned, once again wondering why she had so easily relinquished her command.
Leonie's head was beginning to ache and she shoved both men back as they stood sizing each other up and with a huff of angry indignation, marched to her tent. That it was also Loghain's tent meant nothing to her. She tossed his bedroll out and tied the flaps shut. Let him sleep with Travis.
She was greeted the next morning by a sullen grey sky and two sullen, sulky men. She ignored them both, going about her morning ablutions as if they didn't exist. Travis and Anders were watching the exchange, and lack thereof, with great amusement.
Loghain came to stand behind her as she pulled on her cloak. He stared at her, his expression cool and wary. She returned his look with one of her own that she hoped conveyed how disappointed she was in his behavior.
"I suppose you wish me to spout flowery compliments and quote love poems," he began harshly.
"Yes, of course I do. You must also throw rose petals at my feet and prostrate yourself at those same feet," she said dryly. Loghain's lips twitched at that.
"Scribble your name on sheets of vellum with little hearts scattered about?" he asked, the lines around his eyes relaxing.
"And declarations of undying love each time you speak," she agreed with a smile.
"He's a fool," Loghain growled.
"Yet knowing that he is a fool you still allow him to provoke you. What does that say about you?" she asked softly, her eyes alight with mischief.
Loghain let out a low sound of disapproval and putting a hand on either side of her face, pulled her close for a lingering kiss. "Yet knowing what it makes me you still love me. What does that say about you?" he returned with a smug smile as he walked away.
That was the last light moment they were to have for days. They arrived in Lothering late in the evening of the fifth day. The town, once a bustling crossroads with more visitors than citizens, was a devastated pile of rubble and burned out buildings with crudely made hovels and tents standing where homes and businesses had once stood. The chantry building was a ruined hulk, stained glass windows gone, walls crumbled, the interior charred. What the Blight had not destroyed the aftermath had. Buildings covered in black corruption were burned to the ground and most of the citizens were just beginning to return to rebuild.
"Dane's Refuge" Loghain muttered darkly, pointing to a pile of half burned timber and an old stone foundation. There were tents lined up in neat rows behind the old, ruined building. A man with silver streaks in his dark hair and a long, perfectly groomed mustache, stood nearby, arms folded, rocking on his feet.
"Don't see many vis – Maker's breath, General Loghain?" the man uttered, hands falling to his sides in surprise.
"Danal," Loghain said mildly, dismounting. "I assume you're rebuilding the inn?" he asked, motioning to the pile of rubble.
"Aye, but it'll take a fair bit o' time, ser."
Loghain nodded and surveyed the town, his frown melancholic. Leonie dismounted and came to stand before the man Loghain had addressed with familiarity. "Good day, ser," she greeted softly.
"Orlesian," he remarked with a neutrality that was as welcome as it was surprising.
"Grey Warden Leonie Caron," she explained with a friendly smile. He returned it and then looked at Loghain.
"About half the town survived. Can't kill a good Fereldan," he told Loghain with a short bark of laughter.
They spent the night in the field north of the town. Danal brought them a fragrant stew that tasted every bit as good as it smelled. The men ate in silence, for which Leonie was grateful. Loghain and Phillipe spent a good deal of the meal ignoring each other and Leonie was steeling herself for the upcoming arrival at Ostagar. That night, long after the camp had settled for the night, Leonie woke with a headache, a pounding at her temples that seemed to beat int time to her heart. Above the pounding was a whisper of voices, unintelligible for the most part, but several words were understandable. Words she had since learned meant sorrow and betrayal. Darkspawn words. She was becoming increasingly able to understand certain words. There were those times when she almost understood a whole sentence. She had also discovered that the closer they got to Ostagar, the more strident the voices. She touched the amulet with the vial of poison, lying beside their bedroll on top of her riding leathers.
After a discussion about what they might find at Ostagar, Travis had instructed his people that the Wardens would meet them at the tribe's latest camp spot, south of the ruins of Ostagar, in the Korcari Wilds. Leonie was worried about the amount of darkspawn and darkspawn corruption she might find in Ostagar. They had brought the necessary ingredients for a Joining, should they need it, but Leonie was hopeful that they wouldn't.
They approached Ostagar along the Imperial Highway on the seventh day; her birthday. They had thought to make an early day of it and rest up before entering Ostagar but Loghain had not wanted to wait, a nervous energy pushing him relentlessly forward. Leonie could feel the tension radiating from Loghain, saw it in the chiseled granite of his profile held still and tense by his gritted teeth. He looked neither left nor right, but straight ahead. If she listened she believed she could hear the war of words playing out in his head.
From a distance Ostagar was beautiful. Wearing a crisp new mantle of snow, the gleaming white walls of the ruins seemed to stretch to the heavens, seemed almost as tall as the craggy, snow capped mountains that surrounded the ruins. Much too beautiful a place to have witnessed such a brutal massacre, Leonie thought. The Tower of Ishal stood as a beacon against the cloud studded skies. The wind, mournful and constant, swept up from the south. Banners whipped under the onslaught.
As they neared the ruins the scene shifted. White walls were splashed with dried ichor and blood, rust and ebony against broken white granite. The banners were faded and tattered, a reminder of what had been lost at Ostagar. The ground was littered with rusted armor and broken weapons, a few skeletal remains, shredded and torn tents and the various decaying and decrepit accoutrements of a once great army. The very air seemed to reek of death.
Somewhere on the battlefield Duncan had met his end and the thought caused an ache, the ever lurking grief, to bloom in her chest. She tried to tamp it down. Now was not the time to reflect on what she had lost that day. Yet it was there, present in every breath she took, a slow steady pain that lingered like a stubborn cough.
Leonie edged Bendis closer to Taranis, her leg brushing against Loghain's, trying to offer an anchor to the present, allowing herself to be anchored as well. Loghain glanced at her, eyes shadowed and distant. "I love you," she whispered on the wind and he gave her a small nod, allowing his lips to curl into a tight, small smile. Leonie almost wished he hadn't made the effort; it was so full of pain it made her heart ache even more. As if he realized that, he reached out a gloved hand, touching her cheek briefly and she leaned into it before Bendis protested the close proximity of Taranis and shied away.
As they neared the main ruins, the tug in her blood grew stronger and she could tell the other Wardens felt it as well. Loghain called a halt and they dismounted and secured their horses. Loghain and Leonie helped each other with the straps and buckles of their armor. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, she reached into her pack and palmed a small vial. She slipped it into her hip kit before quietly unsheathing her sword and dagger.
"Small, separate bands," she said in a hushed voice. "No more than ten or fifteen per group. Mostly genlocks and hurlocks."
Travis looked at her in surprise. "You can tell all that from your blood?" he asked with a cluck of approval.
"Years of taint. You will be able to as well, some day," she reassured and then moved slowly forward, Loghain beside her. Travis had switched from his mace and shield to his bow, a beautifully carved short bow that was slung with loving care onto his shoulder.
"Anders, there is a caster in this first group. Make sure to disable him. Travis, concentrate your arrows on him."
Loghain's smile was a quirk of lips and brows. "It seems you wish your command to be returned to you," he remarked coolly.
Leonie blushed, embarrassed, but there was a fine edge of anger as well. "At your order, Commander Loghain," she replied tensely.
Her nerves were thrumming with the number of darkspawn in the area and the knowledge that each darkspawn they killed was a silent acknowledgement of Duncan's sacrifice. A tribute to the other Wardens who had died. A reminder of what she had lost, what Loghain had lost.
Before anything more could be said the fighting started and she was lost in the clash of steel on steel and the fluid movements of battle. Maker, she had missed battling the darkspawn! She swept in, blades high, decapitating a genlock and bringing her sword and dagger points up to the hurlock beside him. With a quick flick of her wrist, the sword slid effortlessly into the hurlock's neck. Black ichor and blood flowed freely as she stepped away, moving on to her next target with practiced ease.
There was a familiarity and rhythm to their fighting. Loghain's shield and sword were caught gleaming in a shaft of sunlight as he used both effectively on a small group of genlocks determined to shred him. She was beside him, her weapons cutting with swift precision at first one and then another. She could feel Loghain's tension being funneled into his fighting, his battle cries sharp and caustic as he taunted the darkspawn.
Travis was no less accurate with his bow than with his mace and shield. She heard the high whine of arrows flying overhead, saw the more distant genlocks fall. She and Loghain moved forward, side by side.
"Happy Birthday," Loghain remarked wryly as they once again prepared to battle a group of darkspawn. Her laughter caught her by surprise, a joyful sound that seemed out of place as she stood among the corpses of dead darkspawn but Loghain understood and nodded at her before they once again engaged the darkspawn.
As the last genlock of the group fell, she felt the sharp, familiar sting of an arrow piercing the skin of her left shoulder. Her dagger fell to the ground at the impact. A wave of soothing magic flowed into her and she yanked at the shaft of the arrow, breaking it off. They could worry about it later. She grabbed her dagger, adrenaline and battle lust propelling her forward.
Relentless pinpricks in her blood told her another group, larger than the others was approaching from the eastern battlements. She called a warning, swinging around to meet them. Thirty or more, she saw and felt a frisson of fear flicker along her nerves. Three casters, only two of which she recognized as emissaries. The other, a genlock caster with a bluish grey aura around him, seemed able to raise the skeletal remains around him and it caused her, and her companions, to hesitate.
Phillipe gagged, the sound of him retching a pitiful noise amongst the sounds of the battlefield. He was no doubt overcome by the stench of the darkspawn, the brutal killing. She felt sorry for him for a brief moment, wanted to console him, but there wasn't time.
When he didn't move she followed his horrified gaze. A body, held in place by spears, hung on a crudely made shrine of some kind. The darkspawn appeared to have used a rudimentary embalming agent on the body, a male, but it had worn off some time ago. Loghain's growl could have been disgust or dismay, she couldn't tell. His face was paler than normal, the blood from a minor head wound stark in contrast. He had recognized the body and that made her feel a bit sick as well.
"Ewwww, that's disgusting!" Anders cried and Leonie could hear his fear and revulsion limning his words.
There was no time to worry about who it was or why it was there. The darkspawn were moving in and they had to focus on the battle ahead.
"Take that caster down now!" she and Loghain both cried at the same time. Later it would be humorous and the subject of laughter but at the moment they were too busy fighting the darkspawn and corpses of the long dead soldiers who had once been under Loghain's command. A twisted irony, impossible and real.
Taking no time to loot the corpses or look for Cailan's chest that they had come for, they focused solely on clearing out the darkspawn. At the Tower of Ishal, Loghain hesitated, staring up at the top of the tower, his face frozen in a fierce grimace. Bitterness flowed off him in black waves and Leonie edged closer to him and put a hand on his arm.
"Loghain, we must finish this," she urged softly. He looked at her and she saw in that look the grief, the regret, the anger that still held his heart. He nodded and pushed the door of the tower open. It creaked in protest and an acrid, foul wind greeted them. Leonie's head began to ache at the base of her skull.
"Ogre," she muttered, moving forward.
"Ooh, watch Leonie," Anders crowed. Leonie rolled her eyes.
The ogre was surrounded by a group of hurlocks who were hissing and growling like rabid dogs. "Take the hurlocks," she told Loghain as she crouched low and prepared to launch herself at the ogre.
She didn't give him time to argue and she would have to apologize at some point, she knew, but she was already running with deadly intent at the giant creature. Then she was sailing in the air, breathless, as her blades caught and held.
The blades pierced through skin and tissue and muscle and sank into the thick chest wall. She hung suspended, heart racing with adrenaline and triumph as the ogre straightened and tried to shake her loose. Her feet dangled, swinging wildly. She heard Phillipe yelling urgently but she ignored him, focusing on the behemoth she was attached to. She twisted the dagger and held on to the hilt of her sword as he started stumbling. She twisted Lionheart then and felt the slow momentum of his backward fall pulling her along. She jumped off and stumbled back a few steps before putting her foot on his chest and yanking her weapons free.
She hadn't felt this alive in months. This, fighting darkspawn, was what she was born to do and it filled her with a sense of purpose, an affirmation that she was alive and fulfilling her duty, something that had been sorely lacking since the Architect's death. If she wasn't afraid the others would think her mad, she would have cheered. As it was, the darkspawn were skittering down a dark hole and Loghain was ordering them to follow. Even with that affirmation and the excitement it evoked, an undercurrent of grief continued to plague her. It was that, constant and dark, which tempered her joy at fighting her enemy.
Loghain went down into the hole first and she heard a faint thud as he landed and there was a brief flare as a torch was lit. A warm glow emanated from the hole. She heard Phillipe gagging again and felt a moment of compassion for him. She cast him an apologetic smile before beginning the decent into the dark.
Her head began to scream in protest as she climbed down, as if a thousand voices rose up and shouted at once, pummeling her brain. Go away! Her shout never left the confines of her mind, but as quickly as the cacophony started, it faded. She blinked at the flare of a torch, surprised and uneasy by the sudden silence in her head. She felt dampness on her upper lip and swiped at it.
"They are everywhere, but not close. Distant and holding back. It is as if something or someone is telling them to stay away," she whispered with a frown. "I sense only a few stragglers."
Travis looked at her sadly and clucked once. He reached out with a cloth and wiped gently at the blood that was dripping from her nose.
"I must have been hit there," she said as she wiped at the blood. Anders cast a spell and she felt the cloth cool considerably which slowed the flow of blood until it was little more than a trickle and with another swipe that stopped as well.
"That caster, the necromancer I believe, is just ahead. Let us end his reign over the dead," Leonie muttered, stepping forward. Loghain's hand on her arm stopped her, the question plain in his gaze.
"I am fine," she answered and shrugged his hand off, moving forward once again. He moved up beside her as they fought the few remaining darkspawn in the dark underground chambers of the Tower of Ishal before finally finding their way to the site of the original battle.
Ravens, greedy and mocking, called to them as they stepped onto the barren ground. Travis made a strange series of calls and clucks. As one, the ravens rose into the sky and flew off, leaving only the unearthly whine of the winter winds in their place. An ogre, dead and decaying, was the only body on the battlefield. Leonie noticed the hilt of both a sword and a dagger in its chest and knew it had been killed by a Grey Warden but before she could fully comprehend what she was seeing, she felt the angry pull of her blood beating at her veins in hot spikes. A powerful darkspawn was nearby.
"There, to the northeast, do you see him?" she whispered. Loghain nodded and they moved forward slowly.
Halfway to the genlock necromancer, she saw him casting a spell, twisting his stunted hands in the air and smiling with razor sharp teeth in his ruined, desiccated face. To her horror the ogre lumbered to its feet, stomping the ground hard enough to shake it, causing both Leonie and Loghain to stumble.
"Stay on the caster, all of you! If the spell is broken, the ogre will fall again!" Leonie yelled, hoping it was true.
She charged with single minded purpose, heading straight for the genlock, weapons ready. Loghain was beside her, hair whipped into a dark aura around his pale, grim face. The ogre moved with an unsteady gait towards them, knocking both Phillipe and Travis off their feet in the process. Leonie turned back, to occupy the ogre while Loghain kept the caster busy. She hurled herself at the ogre, but her sword and dagger pierced and then slid through the rotted flesh and she found herself sliding down the creature's body and onto the ground. She rolled away quickly and pushed herself up, slamming her sword against the ogre's thigh. He swatted at her and she ducked.
"Hurry!" she cried, bringing her sword and dagger back and burying them into the monster's leg again. She pulled the weapons out, ducking and weaving. She wondered if she could grab hold of the weapons already buried hilt deep into the ogre's chest. She dropped her own weapons and turned as the ogre went past her. It was headed towards Anders. Running, she positioned herself in front of the ogre and crouching low, launched herself once more at his chest and grabbed wildly for the hilt of the sword. Her other hand found the hilt of the dagger and she twisted them again, into a heart long dead, praying to the Maker it would work.
The ogre roared angrily and reached for her but she was already jumping, landing with a bone jarring thud on the hard, frozen ground. He turned, heading directly at her. She took precious seconds to look at the caster, who was losing the battle but stubbornly refusing to just die. She growled, preparing herself for another attempt at bringing the ogre down or at least keeping him off the others.
Just as she launched herself, she finally recognized whose weapons were buried so deeply into the ogre's chest. The thick Antivan leather decorating the plainly carved hilt was of superior craftsmanship and material and it had been Duncan's pride and joy when he had finally been able to afford the dragonbone sword. He had been the one to kill the ogre and her shock at realizing the weapons were his sent her tumbling to the ground.
The ogre began to stagger and stumble as the caster's spell wore off. The necromancer, heart pierced by Loghain's longsword, fell dead at Loghain's feet. Leonie, numb with the shock of her discovery, stared dumbly at the lurching ogre who was seconds away from landing atop her. For a second or two, she contemplated her death and felt a certain peace at the thought.
It was Phillipe who pulled her to safety.