Alistair stood on the stairs of the barracks, the wood smoldering behind him, the city aflame around them all. He knew they were looking to him for inspiration before committing themselves to either defeat or victory. He had no doubt it would be his words now that set the tone for the battle. But he couldn't think of anything to say. He wasn't king yet, didn't see why Emma had urged him up here to make a fool of himself. If he survived today he'd have plenty of opportunities later.

Two hundred faces stared up at him. He looked at them then cast a nervous glance to the Warden. He drew a steadying breath in, prayed he would know what to say, and began.

"Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde." He hoped his voice was loud enough to carry to the back of the crowd over the distant din of fighting. "Gaze upon them now but fear them not! They are but flesh and blood. They can be felled by the sword and by the arrow and by the magic that we wield against them. They are terrifying and their numbers are far greater than ours. But what have they to fight for? These are our lands. This is our home. And we will vanquish this threat and take back Denerim!"

He paused as a roar went up, fists raised defiantly to the sky, armor beating against shields and the ground. He would have smiled but his nerves were still raw. He motioned for Emma to come up. She shook her head, was nudged forward by Leliana and reluctantly climbed the steps. Alistair waved his hand and the army quieted.

"This woman you see beside me is a Dalish elf," he continued, "raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens, and never a more glorious Grey Warden has there ever been." He smiled as her cheeks flushed, yet she remained as stone-faced as she had during the Landsmeet. "She has survived despite the odds, despite the naysayers, despite the impossibility of it all. Without her, none of us would be here."

There was a murmering of agreement as he took her hand and led her back down the stairs, the tail end of a braid flicking behind her. They passed through the waiting men and women without obstruction until they were standing at the head of the mass, between the soldiers and mages and archers and the darkspawn infestation that had taken hold of Denerim. He hesitated only for a passing second as he thought that perhaps he should have stayed where everyone could see him. He couldn't ask them, he realized, to march into Denerim if he wasn't willing to do the same.

"Today, we save Denerim! Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan! But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice."

He drew his sword and the air filled with the comforting slither of metal on leather. Emma ran her fingers over her bowstring and he could imagine every archer making the same slight movement, flexing their fingers and shoulders, testing the resistance of their weapons. Their companions stood ready on either side of them. Alistair raised his sword above his head.

"For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!"

It was a shout that echoed from every throat as the horde of elves, dwarves and men raced further into the city streets, their weapons clearing a path by creating death wherever they went.

The ruins of the marketplace had turned into a hub of activity. The uncrowned king had spread maps on the ground, rubble holding the corners in place, fingers directing troop movements. As the small army he'd brought with him continued further into the city, they came across pockets of survivors and soldiers alike and directed them all back to the western gate where they had entered. One group of city guards arrived now, a bloodied Dalish elf in the lead, her unique recurve bow held loosely in hand. She walked up to the crouched man unstopped. He glanced up.

"Riordan," she whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the commotion. He stood suddenly. They walked away from the group he'd taken on as advisors. "He's dead."

"No."

She nodded. He rubbed his hands through his hair as his heart sped.

"That means one of us has to -"

"I'll go."

"Emma …"

"You promised me you'd be king."

"Yeah, well you promised you'd be my advisor."

"Did I," she chuckled. "I remember promising to stay, not to play politics. I hate politics. I've no head for them."

"You had me fooled." He smiled at her, then raked through his hair again and turned serious. "You can't go. You'll die, and dying would break your promise."

"Banal'halam."

"What? I feel like I've heard that before. It's not the Blight is it?"

"That's 'banalhan'. Banal'halam means nothing truly ends, no one is ever truly gone. Even if I should defeat the archdemon - and all that that means - I'd still be with you. Here," she said, placing her hand on his chest where his heart was still beating rapidly. "You wouldn't forget me, and because of that I would always be with you, with Leliana and Zevran and Oghren and Shale and Wynne and Sten and Morrigan and with Allen. If there is someone to remember the dead and the way things were and all that has been done, then nothing's really lost.

"Besides," she shrugged. "There's a chance I could fail and then you would be the last Warden, the only one able to stop the archdemon."

"You won't fail. You never have."

"I've done things wrong in my life."

"Not in the time I've known you."

"One year?"

He nodded. "It doesn't seem so long when you say it like that. Emma," he said as she turned away. "Take some men with you - the archer unit we came with."

"I'll take the half, haraj." She saluted, crossing her arms over her chest and bowing from the hips. It was the only time he'd ever seen her do it. "Oghren! Sten!"

"Wynne," Alistair added. "Take Wynne. I'd rather you take the full unit."

"I'm cutting straight to Fort Drakon. You're clearing out the city. You need more men than I do. Half. Or none at all."

"Half is good."

Word spread that the Wardens were looking for the Qunari, the mage and the dwarf, and the five were gathered together shortly as Alistair sent a sergeant major to find thirteen volunteers willing to accompany the Dalish Warden on an urgent assignment. Emma explained in short terms the point of their separating from the others. Alistair didn't add the very likely death that awaited her. They agreed, without a word between them, to keep that knowledge limited to the Order. The three companions agreed, Sten offering no more than a grunt and nod, Oghren shouting his approval and eagerness to see more action, Wynne simply agreeing. They met the sar'major's mix of archers and mages and Emma stopped them from going further than the marketplace edge. "We've more chancing of dying on this task than any who remain here."

"Warden Mahariel," a Dalish archer spoke, his vallaslin smeared with blackened blood, a split in his forehead from where he had met with a hurlock's shield, his dark hair tied in knots and beaded to match the tattooing. "If we feared death, we would not have come."

She looked to each of them, nodded sharply, and set off into the streets leading to the alienage at a steady jog.

"Get that gate barricaded!"

"Children and injured come this way!"

"Any man or woman willing to fight, stand here!"

Alistair sighed. Leliana glanced up from the map to watch him push his hands through his hair again. She offered a half smile and placed her hand atop his as it came back down to the parchment.

"You're not alone, Alistair," she said reassuringly.

"I know," he nodded. "I just wish there wasn't so much shouting. It's starting to give me a headache and … Well, it may not make sense but I'd rather not draw the darkspawn here with so much noise. There's a lot of people looking to us for protection and if we fail …"

"We won't." He turned a questioning gaze toward her and her smile widened. "The Maker is with us."

"You really believe that?"

"How could I not? Against everything we have faced, we have never failed. Why would the Maker bring us this far only to abandon us now? He is here. He stands with us, I'm sure of it, and because of that we will not fail."

"Thanks, Leli. That makes me feel … better."

"You're lying, yes? You hesitat-"

"No. Darkspawn."

He palmed his shield from where he'd set it on the ground, adjusted the grip slightly, shoved a helmet onto his head and drew his sword. Golden armor suited him, Leliana mused as he ran forward, more men following as he drew closer to the cracked gate, damaged in a previous wave of attack. It had been King Cailan's armor, the same suit he'd worn in Ostagar, the same suit the Wardens and Wynne had returned to Redcliffe with. Even without the sun fully exposed as it should have been, the armor seemed to collect the light and reflect it brighter, becoming a beacon through the gloom. So long as that beacon stood, she knew, the fight would go on. She shouldered a longbow and chased after him.

The ruined bridge continued to rain rubble into the swirling river below as those left regained their feet. The ogre roared as it tumbled in the dark waves, gurgling as much water as it did air, still battering at the limp bodies around it that moved effortlessly downstream. Emma counted quickly: four dead, three of them mages and one a human archer. The shrieks that had been following the ogre let out piercing howls of their own from the gateway that stood useless, leading into the rest of the city. There would be no reinforcements to the alienage. "We'll have to do," she muttered to herself.

She spun on her heel and ran into the alienage, throwing off a dented and cracked bracer that was cutting into her forearm. The others followed. Wynne treated injuries as soon as they stopped moving again, tending to the frightened survivors of the city before the warriors.

"Shianni! Is Shianni st-"

"I'm here, Warden," the redhead answered, pushing between a pair of elves, Soris trailing behind her and gentler in his movements.

"It's good to see you," he said with a tense smile.

"I need you to clear these people out. Get them into the houses closest to the bridge."

"It's useless. The bridge is broken - there's no escape that way!"

"I know there isn't, Shianni, that's why I need these people moved. Get them into the buildings, keep them quiet. We're putting them farthest from harm," she continued as the elf drew breath to protest again. "With the bridge gone, attacks can only come from this direction. Get the civilians out of my way and behind my defenders. Now!"

She stumbled slightly at the sharp tone. She had never heard the Warden speak in such a manner, her voice always light even when asking serious questions about the slavers that had been stealing the alienage elves, smiling and asking incessantly about the way they lived and the religion they followed and the stories they told. Soris was surprised too. His rescue had been a serious matter. The Warden's arrest had been a serious matter. But she had smiled through all of it and given orders as though discussing weather, never once barking them out or shouting or seeming as though things were dire. This definitely is, he told himself. He nodded and turned, directing the elves to the bridge and the still standing homes, galvanizing them into action with a thump on the head here, a smack on the shoulder there.

The Warden stared at the distant barred gate, the platforms on either side that looked down on the street below. They had been hastily built but well constructed. An elf or dwarf could easily crouch behind the alienage's wall and remain fully covered. A human might have a harder time of it, being the tallest of the three races. She doubted Sten could hide at all unless he laid.

"Archers, mages, take to the platforms," she ordered, pointing to make sure they understood. "Focus your attacks on the foot soldiers: hurlock, genlock, shrieks, emissaries. Wynne, I'd like you with them. Oghren, Sten, you're with me."

"What do we get, little general," Oghren asked in excitement, twisting his battle axe in his hands, stomping his feet as he stood before the gate.

The shaking earth was answer enough for all of them. Still, she grinned, nocked two arrows to her bow and took a spot next to the bloodthirsty dwarf.

"An ogre."

"You're getting better at detecting them," Wynne said later, breathless and leaning against the fence to stare at the three melee fighters, hands shaking slightly as she recovered from using so much mana. The elf nodded and searched the corpses for her bow, discarded after slamming a pair of arrows into the massive creature's eye sockets. Oghren continued pounding his axe into flinching corpses until Sten yanked the weapon away from him. The soldiers made their way slowly from the platforms, all of them tired, all of them glad to be alive, all of them amazed at the efficiency in which the three warriors could defeat such a beast and go on fighting against the rest of the swarm. A handful of darkspawn had managed to pass them by and Wynne held them in place with paralysis wards until an arrow or blade cut them down. It was among these bodies that the Warden found her bow and slung it onto her shoulder as a tentative Shianni stepped further into the streets.

"What now," she asked quietly though no less fierce than what the others were used to.

"Now, we go on," Emma shrugged. "Hopefully without further delays since we've still the head of the snake to hack at."

She rubbed at the black blood on her cheek, smearing the drops into a thin cover as her eyes scanned the elves beginning to make their way out. Most gawked at the death surrounding their small part of the city. Few thanked the soldiers and fewer still thanked the Warden, the dwarf or the Qunari. They had known, certainly, that the Dalish elf wasn't a character to cross but now she was downright intimidating.

"Do you know if …" She swallowed hard. "Are … Are Dornian and Annine and …" She didn't go on as Shianni cast her eyes down. That was answer enough. The words didn't need to be voiced.

"Riel," Soris began quietly, paused to clear his throat. "Riel is alive. He's cried himself to sleep, but he's alive."

"Vherlin?"

"There's a mother that took him in. She's three children of her own and they've been … Well, hiding I suppose. I'm not sure exactly where, but I know that he's alive."

"You can take him with you when you come back, Warden," a young girl chirped. She hid behind Soris's leg and it was only her deep brown eyes and freckled forehead that was visible. "If you want. I'll tell my mother."

Emma nodded and smiled. She shook hands with Shianni and Soris, knowing she wouldn't be coming back, and then the party of warriors disappeared deeper into the city.

The group of soldiers was smaller than when it had begun. Those that remained smiled to be alive and leaned against one another for support, their own limbs weak from the effort of war. Some amended the thought - this was an act of survival more than an act of war. They turned back to the trembling of a city's occupants.

Of course they would be afraid, Zevran scoffed as he wiped a streak of blood from his lip. His hand came away red and he chuckled darkly as he realized it was his own blood rather than his enemy's. These people were watching the number of defenders shrink with each attack. Of course, the number of darkspawn was shrinking as well, and the citizens seemed to overlook that fact and continue to cower.

Shale stomped once more on the emissary that had caused so much trouble in this latest wave, stone face set in a scowl that matched the fierceness of their Qunari friend.

The elf laughed. Leliana grimaced as she approached, Alistair sparkling black and gold beside her.

"That was exciting, no?"

"No," she grumbled.

"How do they think it is doing," Shale asked suddenly, eyes cast at the distant tower of Fort Drakon.

They looked to Alistair for an answer. He was a Grey Warden. He could sense darkspawn and the archdemon and other members of his Order. He would be the one to know better than any of them how Emma fared. Only he didn't. He didn't know enough about the Order and the way the Joining changed a person to be able to say whether or not he would feel something if the elf died, if she succeeded in slaying the archdemon, if she lost her conviction and left the city to stay in the Brecilian Forest until it decayed around her.

She wouldn't do that, he scolded, angry that such a thought could cross his mind. He had no doubt the young woman would die before taking one step back the way she had come. She'd said as much before the small army left Redcliffe, its destination a smoldering city and near certain death.

All he could offer was a shake of his head and an uncommitted shrug. "I'm half tempted to go after he-"

"Go."

Three voices spoke in unison, three pairs of eyes urging him to leave, three people that had become good friends with him despite all their differences. "But I need to -"

"Go," Leliana interrupted.

"We can handle things here, your Majesty," Zevran added with a wink. "Didn't you mention something about the Wardens needing to stay together?"

"I did …"

"Then go," he shrugged and turned away.

"It may need to be rescued."

"Don't we all," Leliana laughed, and the two left the man standing alone.

He hesitated, glancing around the bustling marketplace - bustling with activities to safeguard life itself. He looked over his shoulder to the direction Emma had gone. If he went alone he was sure to die; the city was still swarming with darkspawn of all sorts and in numbers that he couldn't face alone. Yet he couldn't take anyone from here. This small section of the army had to hold out until the rest arrived with Eamon. He had a duty to them as their new king. Yet he had a duty to them as a Grey Warden and, he told himself, the title of a Grey Warden was higher than that of a king. He nodded, stuffed the helmet onto his head once more and set off after the foolishly brave elf that he had come to look up to.

"Sandal?" Wynne checked him quickly for injury as Emma toed the corpses in the room. It was not what they had expected to find upon entering the tower's base. Darkspawn, certainly, the worst defending the injured archdemon stop the fort. Emma was certain now that it was injured, unable to fly, and so had remained where it had fallen; she'd been watching the skies for it since getting the news that Riordan was dead. She had no doubt that he was to thank for that.

"Where's your father," she asked. "Is he here? Why - how - are you here? What happened?"

He smiled at her with pale blue eyes set in a blood splattered face, blonde hair thick with the stuff. "Enchantment?"

She choked the laugh in her throat, tried to keep the smile from her face. And then the room was echoing with bubbly laughter, her arms wrapped around her stomach as her shoulders shook. It was such an innocent question, the same one he asked every time she ventured to the small fire and covered wagon that trailed after the Wardens' encampment. She hadn't seen the pair since they decided to continue hawking their wares rather than stay at Redcliffe.

"Yes, I'll take an enchantment," she smiled. "What have you got?"

"Boom."

It wasn't the first time he had said it but this time he didn't wait for an answer, instead taking the bow from her hands and sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He took a flat, carved stone from inside his boot, opened a bag of lyrium dust that was his constant companion and set to work. The tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth in concentration. He glanced at her once, just before tugging the knife from her boot carefully. He carved out an oval on the side of the bow's grip, testing it every few seconds to check the size of it against the rune. When it was large enough he sprinkled lyrium dust into the shape, gently placed the rune, and poured more dust over the top of it, spreading it with his fingers. His lips moved soundlessly as he worked. The only sign that anything changed was a small flash and a puff of smoke that wound its way slowly upward in thin tendrils. He stood, handed it back and clapped his delight.

"Boom," he said again.

"Uh …"

He mimicked her firing an arrow. She hesitated momentarily then took one from her emptying quiver, nocked it to the string and drew the fletching to the corner of her mouth. She swung around until she faced an empty wall. She glanced over her shoulder at the happy dwarf. He nodded and clapped his hands again. She shook her head, let the string slip from her fingers and watched the projectile soar through the air. It struck the wall, the point digging into the mortar between two of the stones, and a crack of lightning spread along the surface, flashing wildly, ending with a sharp crack that rolled through the hall.

"Boom," she chuckled.

The dwarf was still happily clapping and repeating the word as she led the way up to the waiting archdemon.

The enchantment only infused arrows with magic if they passed by the rune. Those Emma used as stabbing weapons before firing were no more special than ones she'd made as a youth. The bow itself was enchanted as well, sending out a jolt of electricity when she was made to use it defensively against swinging swords and axes. The magic sent her opponent flying back but it was numbing her hands and she worried that she'd fumble for what little arrows remained at her disposal, wondered if maybe it wasn't time to switch over to her twin blades again. She stood as the only barrier between her volunteers and the darkspawn surging over the roof of the tower. Sten and Oghren were occupied cutting down the enemy opposite her. The archers and mages kept a steady hail of arrows and spells trained on the archdemon, shifting direction when it did, dropping to the rough stone when it swung it's barbed tail at them. She would need to change from bow to blade soon enough; she had four arrows left.

"Four arrows," she whispered.

No one could hear her over the roar - the roar of a burning Denerim below, the roar of clashing armies in the streets and buildings, the roar of the seemingly endless darkspawn that assaulted them, the roar of the dwarf drunk on blood and rage that cut down a dozen monsters for every blow they landed on him, the roar of the mixture of spells, the roar of the archdemon as it weakened - but she hadn't expected them to.

"One archdemon."

She ducked, slapping her recurve bow to the ground as a hurlock swung a two-handed battle axe at her head. It stepped inside the curving limbs and she wrenched at the bow, praying the string would hold long enough for those four arrows to fly. The hurlock stumbled, regained its footing and turned too late to counter the swift knife that punctured its skull. The elf tucked the bloody blade, shining an iridescent black in the smoky sunlight, into the bracer on her left arm and threw her dagger into the chest of the next darkspawn.

"Two eyes."

She dodged to the left and came back quickly to the right, an arrow in each hand that she forced into the necks of two approaching hurlock. She wrenched one free, spun and watched the archdemon's bobbing head, the weaving motion that had become pattern.

"Three arrows," she muttered, allowed for the light wind, and released. She didn't see if it struck her target as she fell, the wind rushing from her lungs as her ribs gave way. She lay still for only a moment, rolling away from the pounding feet that seemed to have no order, no coordination. She was up again, breathing heavily with a hammering heart that made her chest ache with each beat, eyes casting about the mayhem for some sense of what had happened. The answer was soon lying at her feet, a growling Sten behind it, still fending off the horde. The maul the darkspawn had wielded was little more than a hunk of rock attached crudely to an iron handle. But, Emma noted, even the crudest weapon could finish the job.

"Serannas," she said breathlessly, a familiar motion of lips-brow coming from her hand as she looked to the archdemon.

"Kadan," he grunted.

The archdemon flailed at its head, scraping claws against the side of its face where the arrow had struck and continued to shoot out lightning. It had broken the shaft, effectively digging the broadhead further into its flesh until it could no longer be reached. She had missed. Blood gaped from the soft skin surrounding the eye but not the eye itself and she frowned, reaching over her shoulder to feel the slick feathers still in her quiver. The motion cut her breath off and she eased her hand back down.

"Two arrows, two eyes." She would have to find her bow if she wanted to try again. "Sten, get Oghren. Hunker down with the others. I'm sure they're out of arrows by now. Would you hate me if you died today?"

"No," he answered at the end of a shout. There was a break in the onslaught and he turned to her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips, red eyes alive in a way she'd never seen. "It would be an honor, kadan."

She nodded and they moved off.

There was a grumble from the stairwell as another group of darkspawn clambered their way up. Emma waited for the first one to step through the door, held her breath as she reached for an arrow, drew and released. She shook her head as it hit, the lightning arcing from the piece-mail armor to the next conductible source until it was trailing through all of them. Her ribs weren't cracked; they were broken and it seemed that each movement irked them into greater levels of pain. She could barely breathe without her torso hurting. She smiled ruefully as a memory of Redcliffe Village flashed into her mind; a coneflower crushed in her teeth, dripping down her throat. She wished she had one now. She wished she had one for every ache in her body. Yet wishful thinking did nothing, she knew, and nocked her last arrow to the taut bowstring.

Wynne had the small group surrounded by layers of paralysis wards. The archers had tucked their bows on their backs beside empty quivers and slipped the round targe shields onto their arms, bunched together in a semicircle as they waited for the darkspawn. They were flimsy things compared to what was normally used, but archers weren't accustomed to heavy armor and Emma hadn't wanted to tire them too soon. The white-haired mage stood in the center of the line, the others still casting spells at the Old God though they had lost their strength and came slowly. Oghren was tense to the left, Sten to the right, both men standing between the shields and the wards, weapons ready, clenched in white knuckles.

Emma waved for the mages to stop. They had done enough. Everyone had. She stood away from them, watched in silence as the archdemon flung itself to the far side of the roof, raised her bow and pulled back on the string. The arrow rested easily in her fingers, the feathers smooth against her chin and cheek, her shoulders steady as she waited. All she needed was the right move - the wrong one for the archdemon. One small turn of its head to expose the other eye. This time she wouldn't miss.

She released before she even fully realized the timing was right. The arrow flew straight, a streak of brown and grey barely visible in the shifting light, and pierced deep into the sensitive organ. She didn't see it hit, thrown from her feet for a second time.

"General," Oghren shouted, shifting his weight forward to run to her.

"No!" He paused and threw a withering glare at the mage. "Take one step and the wards will activate."

"But she -"

The Warden didn't hear anything else, her focus on the massive sword trying to rend its way into her body. Her armor wouldn't hold against the jagged ridges so she rolled once, twice, a third time. Too close to the edge. She looked back at the advancing hurlock with its horned helmet, it's toothy grin wide in a lipless mouth, grey skin somehow dry and clammy at once. Even if she made it to her feet and drew her dagger, the damned creature would have a longer reach.

She rolled to her stomach and pushed herself up to a kneeling position, trying to breathe as the hurlock sauntered forward. It grew in her vision, swimming back and forth, the archdemon still screaming like the maddened, wounded and trapped animal it was.

"Creators," she whispered. She couldn't have said whether the sound left her lips or remained trapped behind them. She folded her arm around her chest, around the tender ribs that would never have a chance to heal, and her fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger. She waited, forcing her eyes open each time they closed, watching the bleary creature. It raised the two-handed sword over its head, shrieked its victory over the pesky Warden - enemy of its master, bane to all of its kind - and brought the jagged blade down. The metal jolted up in a flash of sparks, the darkspawn stumbling backward from the force of the shield pushing against it. It had been so focused on the small elf before it, it hadn't noticed the golden man slashing through the thralls at its back. Now it stood alone to face a fresh warrior, a living ray of sunlight. It shrunk back before the archdemon commanded it forward again, where it met a swift death.

Alistair tore the helm from his head and knelt in front of the elf, worry clear on his face.

"No," she whispered. He smiled sadly. No sound had left her lips but he knew what she'd said. This would be the first agreement he went back on but not the last, as he wouldn't be king. He had never wanted to be anyway.

"You passed the torch to me," he said quietly. "As leader of our band of merry misfits, this is my first and final decision. You've done enough. For everyone. Except maybe yourself." She drew a breath to convince him against it. He leaned closer before she had a chance and whispered. "Eighteen is too young to die."

He planted a tender kiss on her cheek, stood, took up the darkspawn's blade, his own still stuck in the rent armor and flesh of the dead monster, and turned toward the archdemon. He didn't look back as he went. He couldn't.

He'd never decided a thing in his life, had never had responsibilities that he chose for himself, had never committed to anything. Someone else had always told him what to do and where to go and how to behave and what he could and couldn't say. Even as a Grey Warden he'd left the decision making up to Duncan, and later Emma and Allen. They had all sacrificed for him. Now he would do the same for them. This was, finally, a choice he was determined to see through because he had made it all on his own.

The Old God lifted its head as he approached, weakened as much as the Dalish Warden that had been the cause of its pain and defeat. The taint in its blood gave it further strength and it wrenched itself to its feet, raising its head up and roaring to the sky in one last defiant stand against the unconquered world. Alistair roared back at it. The head snaked down and struck where he had been standing only a moment before. He clambered atop the long neck, guarded hands digging in between loosened scales, knees squeezing tight to hold himself in place as it jerked from side to side in an attempt to throw him off. He raised the sword in both hands over his head as the darkspawn had, standing over Emma, and stabbed it down just behind the skull. The blade caught and held in the muscles bunched there. The man held onto the blade, unfaltering even as the Old God's soul was released in a brilliant glare of light and dark that spread outward and shot up in a beam to the smoke-filled sky overhead. A low hum emanated from the center of the energy, rising in pitch until it was an unbearable screech that made the onlookers cover their ears. Someone was screaming - a roll of voices that cascaded over one another and mixed together almost as a chorus would. Then the light and sound was sucked up in itself and everything was still for a moment before it burst outward again in a blinding flash. The force of it knocked everyone to their feet. When it had passed, they lay still for a moment, wary to believe it was finally over, thinking perhaps it might be the archdemon's final throes of life and perhaps it might be just another breath before it continued its onslaught.

Yet the archdemon lay unmoving as Wynne carefully raised her head to survey the scene. The two Grey Wardens lay just as still.

The event was seen throughout the city, drawing the attention of darkspawn, men, elves and dwarves alike, all of them standing still in fear and apprehension and timid hope. When the darkspawn began to run, the soldiers cheered wildly. Some continued to chase the tainted creatures, shouting to prove their defiance, until they were lost to the deep shadows between buildings. There were friendly handshakes among all the races. In the marketplace, Leliana laughed and hugged Zevran. He was shocked for a moment but recovered quickly and swooped her down into a low dip and kissed her. Shale harrumphed in her rocky throat at the display but anyone that looked would have said she was beaming. There was indeed cause to celebrate. They had won against the darkspawn horde and the archdemon. Denerim was theirs again just as their new king had said it would be, and they wouldn't soon forget it was only possible because of the Grey Wardens.

The city was still celebrating when the Arl of Redcliffe arrived with the rest of the army early the next morning.

Author's Note:

vherlin: kitten