I've had portions of this chapter written for ages, which is why you're getting it so fast. Thanks to Ygrain33 for multiple chapter reviews, Jordan Mathias, MrPowell, spectre4hire, LiveWithHonour, Darkly Tranquil, Rake1810, Guest, GenericRandom, lazyguy90, Suilven, karthik9, Mike3207, Ronin Kenshin, hub.1, Nightbrainzz, and Zikarn Krais for reviews on the last chapter. Also, anyone who might review it later, and all of you lovely people who have alerted or put my story on your favorites list. I really, really appreciate it!
Alistair remembered the first time he'd ever seen Corin smile, in the Tower of Ishal. Up to that point he'd thought the only surviving recruit a singularly humorless individual, knowing nothing of the recent events at Highever.
"What are all these darkspawn doing here?" he'd griped. "They weren't supposed to be anywhere near this place!"
Something about the complaint apparently had a dark humor to it, for Corin had turned to him and grinned suddenly and it was like a dawn sun breaking over dark mountains, it changed his face so much. "You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," he'd suggested wryly. "Besides, weren't you complaining earlier that you wanted in on the fight?"
Alistair couldn't help but respond to that grin with one of his own. "You've got me there! I guess I can't complain at that!" They'd drawn their weapons and charged down upon the latest clutch of darkspawn together.
Now Alistair caught the briefest glimpse of Corin just before the sword drove home and he was smiling again, a gentler smile this time, the one that usually accompanied pronouncements like "Don't ever change, brother. I mean it.". But he couldn't reach him, and didn't think he would hear a call.
Then Starfang slammed down and light erupted from the Archdemon, enveloping both it and Corin. Alistair hadn't expected that. If he'd thought about it at all, he might have expected some sort of oozing, corrupted miasma, or a foul, dark mist, like that which the rogues stepped out of. But not this coruscating flood of brilliance.
He only got one more brief glimpse of Corin before the light obscured him completely. The smile was gone, his expression the grim, determined, driven one of his darker moods. He seemed to be fighting against some force trying to push the sword out of the Archdemon, exerting the full force of his powerful body to keep Starfang in the wound, grinding it deeper, till the tip of the sword must have been grating against the stone itself
Then the light exploded, a detonation of such force that everything on the roof was knocked down by the blast, save for the golem, who simply leaned into it and kept her feet. Being reasonably close, Alistair found himself being knocked down and blown across the stone for the second time in ten minutes. The light washed over him and brought darkness with it.
From where she was, Morrigan watched her beloved striving against the impossible forces arrayed against him. She was dimly aware of Pooka howling in enraged frustration, faced with a foe he couldn't fight or approach.
The light was growing brighter and suddenly, a luminous tendril of it arced out and touched her belly, not unlike an umbilical cord at first. But it thickened and strengthened quickly, pulsing; not painful exactly, more like being on the wrong end of a continuous lightning spell. She felt suffused with power as she'd never been before, felt as if her very soul were having to stretch to contain it.
The sensation drove her to her knees, so she was better off than most when the explosion came. She did not lose consciousness, and scrambled back to her feet to look for Corin as soon as it was over.
He was in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall of one of the ballista platforms, the explosion having apparently thrown him into it. Pooka was standing over him, licking his face and whining urgently as Morrigan approached, and she somehow knew without even touching him that her beloved was broken inside and dying, knew as well that she could fix it, that she could fix anything short of death itself, and maybe even that. There was a sun burning in her belly, the magic promised that it would be as easy as breathing and she suddenly understood why the Tevinter mages had worshipped these beings.
She knelt and got to work.
Alistair woke to clouds scudding overhead, breaking up, and rolled onto his side with a groan. There were no darkspawn near him and after a moment he forced himself to his knees and then his feet, staggering a bit as he regained them, a entirely new set of aches and bruises making themselves known. He stooped to collect his sword, then looked about him. The Archdemon was still where it had fallen, but Corin was not beside it. Alistair could not find him anywhere close to the body. Finally, he saw Pooka standing over dimly gleaming golden armor in a huddled heap near the wall of the nearest ballista platform. Morrigan was there as well, and Alistair could see the green light of a healing spell from where he was standing.
He walked slowly towards his Warden brother's still form, picking his way through the heaps of bodies, unashamedly weeping. All the precautions he took, making Cauthrien a Warden…all of it come to naught. It should have been me. It should have been me!
Spell completed, Morrigan was snarling under her breath. Alistair could hear her as he approached.
"Don't you dare, Corin Cousland! Not now!" She immediately began another spell, which surprised him, for he knew that mages ordinarily needed to wait for their mana to recharge between like spells, though they could throw one from another school immediately. Morrigan was not Wynne, but right now she was casting as if she were.
Remembering that last, passionate embrace and the surprising public avowal of love, the scene before him was the most pitiful thing he'd ever seen. The desperation under the anger in her voice was plain to him now. I knew he loved her, but I never thought she loved him back, until just a little while ago. And she doesn't know. She thinks she can heal him. "Morrigan," he croaked; then sniffling and clearing his throat, tried again. "Morrigan. Give it up. I'm sorry, but he's dead."
The green light under her hands sank into Corin's recumbent form, to Alistair's great surprise and she promptly began a third spell, which amazed him further. When it was over her head swiveled, hawk-like, to nail Alistair with a golden glare.
"He's not dead, you lackwit! The healing spells worked!" Pooka, watching his master's still face, whined plaintively.
"There's no soul there, Morrigan. The Warden who kills the Archdemon dies."
Alistair found himself being ignored in favor of yet another healing spell with no wait time, which also worked. He began to feel the faintest glimmer of hope.
"And how do you know that, Alistair Theirin?" Morrigan asked when the spell was done.
"Riordan told us. A Warden has to sacrifice him- or herself to end the Blight. The Archdemon's soul is drawn into the Warden's body by the Taint and both souls are destroyed."
"Are you absolutely sure about that?"
"A Warden has always had to die to kill the Archdemon."
"But perhaps their souls weren't destroyed. Garahel was blown clear across the battlefield by the explosion. Don't you think that might have killed him rather than his soul colliding with the Archdemon's?"
"I can see where you might think so, Morrigan, but other people have tried to kill Archdemons, non-Wardens and it never works. The Archdemon just moves into another body and keeps going."
"I have news for you. That is not necessarily true. My mother knew another way."
Alistair began to get a very bad feeling about things, even though the last spell had improved Corin's color enormously.
"She gave me a ritual, a ritual that would protect the Warden who killed the Archdemon."
"You've known about the Warden-dying-thing all along?"
The witch snorted. "Of course."
Worse and worse. Alistair could almost feel the horror and disapproval of Weisshaupt beating down upon him. Maker! We're foresworn! It's all to do again!
"But if the Warden didn't die…does that mean the Blight is not over?"
"You are such an idiot! Look around you! Doesn't it look like the Blight is over?" Alistair scanned the roof quickly. What few remaining darkspawn were left were now being mopped up by his companions, the remnant of Drakon's defenders, Eamon's men and the Legion. They seemed confused, disoriented, unwilling to fight, trying to get off the roof and head down, down out of the late afternoon sun to the comfort of the depths of the earth.
"What did you do, Morrigan?"
"It is more a question of what we did, Corin and I. Though I had an extremely difficult time convincing him. In the end, I think it was to save you more than anything else, no matter that he said it was to help me." She began yet another healing spell and this time, when it went through, Corin actually stirred and groaned a little.
"Morrigan…"
The wilder witch looked up impatiently. "There was a ritual. My mother gave it to me before she sent me with you. I was to lay with one of you Wardens and make a child bearing the Taint. The Archdemon's soul would be drawn into the new-made child instead of the Warden, and cleansed of the Taint as well in the process." Her hand went down to her silverite-clad stomach. "I am carrying a child with the soul of an Old God."
"Maker!" Alistair exclaimed, his gorge rising at the thought. Morrigan smiled nastily.
"Trust me; the babe is better off in my hands than my mother's."
"And what are you going to do with a source of power like that?"
The smile went away. "Survive. With a powerful ally such as this, I might be able to fight Flemeth off when she comes for me."
Alistair spoke slowly and softly. She's come unhinged. "Morrigan, Flemeth is dead. Corin killed her. I watched him do it."
"You are even more the fool than usual if you think that, Alistair. She has been killed before. She always comes back. It may take a while, you damaged her power greatly when you killed her, but she will be back. Hopefully it will take long enough that I can raise the child until it is old enough to come into its power."
"And then what? Are you going to pull your mother's trick and possess it?"
Her eyes intent upon Corin's face, Morrigan said, "I would never do that. The babe is all that I have of him. Ferelden may have the rest, but this I will take."
Oddly enough, Alistair believed her. It was almost…comforting. She looked back up at him. "You haven't thanked me yet for saving your life and the life of your Warden brother and sister. Not to mention sparing you the throne. Corin will live, Alistair, live and rule. You will still be together." For once, there was no mockery in her voice.
"I…thank you, Morrigan." She nodded.
"And I suppose that it is time that I thanked you." His jaw dropped, and she chuckled. "There were plenty of times that shield of yours protected me in battle, Alistair, even though you liked me little. It must be said. I am…not ungrateful."
"Uh…you're welcome." She snorted again, then her expression softened. Her hand reached out and brushed Corin's cheek and she bent to kiss his lips softly.
"Look after him for me, please," she said when she had straightened from the kiss. The words were almost inaudible and the expression on her face…Alistair had never thought to see Morrigan look vulnerable or sad, but there it was.
"Always." He made his tone brisk intentionally, knowing that she would not have wanted him to notice. Morrigan got to her feet, her usual cool expression back in place.
"And so it ends as it began, with just the three of us," she said musingly. "Tell him…no, don't tell him anything. He already knows. Fare you well, Alistair Theirin. I doubt very much that we will meet again." The familiar shimmer gathered around her, brighter than usual, obscuring her. When it faded, a hawk hovered there, beating its wings. It gave a mournful cry and shot off over the battlements into the west.
A single feather drifted down to the stone where Morrigan had stood. Alistair stooped and gathered it up, knowing that Corin would want to keep it, then knelt by his Warden brother.
Corin had settled back into deep sleep or unconsciousness. But his breathing was deep and regular and his color was good. Alistair could see no obvious injuries-Morrigan had apparently done her work well. Although he was not going to be totally reassured until they'd gotten Corin somewhere where they could get the armor off and have an experienced healer take a look at him.
The others approached, gathering around him from the different points they'd been blown to by the explosion. Cauthrien, Shale, Sten, Zevran, Leliana and Oghren. All present and accounted for, all seemingly hale. It was amazing, when one thought upon it, that they'd all survived the perils and battles of the last year to stand here now.
Something else that was amazing, or rather daunting, occurred to Alistair then. I'm second in command, which means that currently I'm it!
"Is anyone hurt?" he asked aloud.
"We're fine, Alistair," Leliana said. "We had potions enough."
"Will the kadan live?" Sten inquired.
"It seems that he will. Morrigan healed him before she left."
Cauthrien was good, Alistair had to give her that. Only the faintest hint of surprise gleamed in her brown eyes for a moment, but the look she gave him said that she definitely had questions she wanted answered. And he wanted to talk to her, use her as a sounding board, but that was going to have to wait for a better time.
"People, we need to get Corin back to the healers. I really don't want to bed him down here in Drakon or in the Palace until we know it's been cleared of darkspawn. And that means getting him across the valley somehow and back to the camp."
"I will carry him as far as he needs," Shale rumbled. "To Amaranthine, if necessary."
"You've had quite the fight today, Shale. Are you sure you're up to it?"
"Of course. I do not feel weariness as you flesh creatures do."
Alistair wasn't so sure of that, he'd seen times when Shale seemed tired or drained, but it was pointless to bring that up. And besides, he knew she'd carried Wilhelm for days at a time. She could probably well manage the heavier, armored Corin for a shorter distance.
"All right then, you've got him. The rest of us will go down with you."
Shale stooped and scooped Corin up gently as if he'd been a sleeping child, his head rolling lax against her stony shoulder and started for the door, the others falling in around her. Alistair, spying the glint of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, turned and realized that Starfang was still sticking out of the Archdemon's head. He started over in that direction.
"Go on, all of you. I'll catch up."
The eerie white light was gone out of the Archdemon's eyes, which were now a cloudy purple-black. Close up, the damage was savage and extensive, the repeated blows through the neck doing the next best thing to severing it. What was astonishing was that the Archdemon had lasted as long as it had under Corin's assault. But then, it wasn't exactly a regular dragon…
Starfang was buried to the hilt between the Archdemon's eyes. Alistair laid hand to hilt a bit hesitantly, but no corruptive energy shot up the blade. There was nothing at all but a small sucking sound, as he wriggled it in the wound to loosen it. It took all the considerable might of his arms, back and shoulders to pull the blade free, so firmly had Corin driven it in.
He half expected it to be corroded, eaten away by the corruption of this most Tainted creature. But the blade shone as pristinely silver-blue as ever when he drew it forth. Mikhail Dryden's words echoed in his head as he looked upon it.
"Star-metal! Give this to me and I will forge for you a sword of legend!"
Mission accomplished, Mikhail, Alistair thought. The cloak of a nearby fallen Redcliffe knight served to wipe the blade clean, and he shoved it through his belt. The smear of blood on fabric reminded him that he had another essential Grey Warden task to do, very soon. I'll have to get a bunch of potion bottles and get back up here to collect some Archdemon blood. Get Wynne to preserve it for me.
Casting a last, cursory look around before he hastened after the others, he found that the darkspawn were all gone and the wounded were already beginning to be tended to. Then he spied a small, green-clad figure seated between the merlons of one of the ballista turrets and realized that all of his party were not actually accounted for just yet.
As he drew nearer he could see that it was indeed Nerissa Surana, swinging her feet idly as they dangled over the void. He approached, stepping a little heavily as he came so as to avoid startling her. She turned her head and smiled wearily up at him. Her robes were slashed, burned, stained, her hair straggling from its bun, her face caked with soot and grime. But he couldn't see any obvious injuries, which was a relief.
"Hi there, Hardbody. Thought you'd be down below by now. How's the Prince?"
He sketched her a weary bow. "Mistress Death From Above. Are you all right?"
She shrugged. "Not hurt. Just really, really tired. And zinged from all the magic and the lyrium. I feel like I got zapped with one of my own lightning spells. And I do a really vicious lightning spell."
"So I've noticed. Would you mind very much if I pulled you away from that edge? We're a long way up. You're making me nervous."
She smiled her bright, engaging smile. "After the first twenty feet, another hundred or so doesn't matter, Hardbody. Dead is dead. But all right." Nerissa scooted back from the edge by herself and got to her feet, stumbling a bit from weariness as she did so. Alistair caught her elbow and steadied her. He could feel a regular tremor running through her, probably indicative of extreme magical over-extension and too much lyrium, as were her somewhat drunken behavior and speech patterns. She had performed magnificently throughout the long battle, but having spent her entire life cloistered in the Tower, had not had the chance to get the experience in pacing herself in combat that both Morrigan and Wynne possessed.
The templar/mage relationship did not always have to be an antagonistic one. He sent a cleansing wave through the little mage and her shudders subsided. She peered up at him in surprise.
"You never said you were a templar, Hardbody."
"I'm not, officially. Never took final vows-got conscripted into the Wardens first. But I had all the training and I've kept it up."
"Were you Juiced when you did that?"
"No."
Though her gaze was still owlish with exhaustion, she was obviously impressed. "Because that was one of the strongest Cleanses I've ever felt and that includes the Juicy ones. You're quite something, aren't you?"
Oddly enough, Alistair was suddenly feeling like he was quite something, despite battle fatigue and worry about Corin and all the rest of it. Looking down at her sash of pockets he found only three lyrium potions left. Remembering how many she'd begun with at least twenty, he was appalled. "Maker! Can someone as small as you drink that much lyrium and live?"
She giggled. "I guess we'll find out!" Her slight frame leaned suddenly for support against his heavier, armored one. She gazed out upon the setting sun with a satisfied air.
"It's been a good day, Hardbody. I helped kill an Archdemon, and a whole bunch of darkspawn."
"That you did."
"And the Prince of Ferelden said very complimentary things to me and let me go into battle with him."
"That he did."
"Is he going to be all right? I asked you once already and you never told me." Her brows drew down and she gave Alistair an annoyed frown.
"I hope that Corin will be. Though it may be a while before he's up and around."
"That's good to know. He's very nice. Anyway, back to the day. I used every sort of magic I've ever learned, several times over."
"You were mighty," Alistair acknowledged. "To the point of being absolutely scary." The smile came back.
"I was, wasn't I?" She looked up at him. "And I got to kiss a really cute fellow."
Alistair cleared his throat, blushing a little. "Yes, you did." Nerissa narrowed her eyes at him, her expression a little embarrassed.
"You didn't really mind, did you? I'll apologize if you did. But I was overcome with battle lust."
"Really? I thought at the time that what you were overcome with was annoyance. But no, I didn't mind. It was a very nice kiss." It actually had been, when he thought back upon it, clumsy and unpracticed, but with a sweet sincerity he could bring to mind even now.
Another owlish stare and nod. "Thanks for being understanding." She sighed and slipped her arm about his waist. "And now all those ugly clouds have gone away and we have this beautiful sunset. Look at all those colors!." She gestured broadly with her free hand. "All those reds and blues and purples! And the moon is coming up, just over there. It couldn't get any better." The hand around his waist slipped down and patted his ass gently. Alistair wondered if she even knew she was doing it.
"It's going to get cold soon, Hardbody. You probably should be going down."
"Why don't you come down off the roof with me, Enchanter Surana?"
"Nerissa," she corrected him. "We are comrades in arms, after all."
"Nerissa, then. You look like you could use a couple days' sleep and a good meal or three."
The little elf nodded. "I could. And I'll get some sleep soon, I promise. But I want to watch the sunset." A thoughtful expression came over her face. "And maybe go kick the Archdemon just once. You don't get a chance to do that every day." She smiled up at him. "You go ahead. I'll be along in a bit." The thin shoulders shrugged. "Where am I going to go, after all?" she said wryly. "I can't fly off the roof like your friend Morrigan did. Neat trick, that."
"She's not my friend. And I think I'd better stay. You're none too steady on your feet."
"If you insist, Hardbody." Releasing him, she spun about, overbalanced for a moment, then caught herself. He followed close behind as she wended her way unsteadily over the rooftop to where the Archdemon's body lay. Then watched, amused, as she actually drew back her tiny, booted foot, wobbled for a moment, then kicked it right on the snout.
Needless to say, the Archdemon's head did not so much as shift the tiniest bit. Enchanter Surana yelped in pain, hopped once awkwardly, put her foot back down and glared at the dead, draconic body.
"HA! YOU LOSE!" she cried, fists raised, her victorious declaration echoing over the roof.
People nearby startled. After a moment, a couple of them cheered raggedly in response. Alistair Theirin, weary from the stresses of the long day and caught by the absurdity of it all, threw back his head and howled. Nerissa turned her head to grin at him, overbalanced once more and fell on her rump. She tried to get up, but her legs didn't seem to be working correctly any more. A scowl of frustration was upon her face as he hurried over.
"That's it. I need to get you off of this roof," he declared, and scooped Nerissa up. She weighed next to nothing, which made it easy enough even though he was tired. The elf surrendered to the inevitable, let her head loll against his chest and giggled. Her arm raised and gestured vaguely.
"Onward, Hardbody!"
"You are so going to be embarrassed once you've had some rest and food and think back on this," Alistair muttered to her, but he was grinning. He found that he rather enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and the way her mahogany hair tickled his chin as he walked.