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As all those who would ride prepared Odin approached Morrigan, who would be going ahead for a bird's eye view.
"Are you certain?" he murmured, extremely careful that they would not be overheard, "About the ritual I mean."
She looked him in the eyes. "I am, strike down the Archdemon and you will live."
"And if I succeed, you will leave?"
The witch looked uncertain for a moment before her eyes narrowed.
"As we agreed, you know you cannot stop me."
Odin smiled sadly at that, "No I can't, but I was hoping to persuade you to stay for a few days."
"That would be most unwise."
"Would it? If we win this you deserve to be honoured for all your help and I also want to say a proper goodbye without being covered in blood and barley conscious."
Morrigan raised an eyebrow at that.
"Your idea of a 'proper goodbye' wouldn't happen to involve a large bed and no clothing, now would it?"
"You make that sound like it's not a good idea."
She laughed at that, a proper laugh, so unlike her usual cackle.
"Alright my silver tongued Warden, I'll stay for a little while. But I will have to go soon and no amount of persuasion will prevent that."
Odin nodded in agreement.
"That's settled then." The dwarf then turned to address all those accompanying him old friends, new allies and former enemies alike.
"You all know what we're about face so I'll keep this brief; we have to kill this so called Old God with all the valour and skill I know each and every one of you is capable of. We Wardens must make the final blow. Other than that... it's been an honour to know all of you and I could not have asked for better. Now then: LET'S GO GET THAT DRAGON!"
"Too sodding right!" said Oghren downing his tankard.
"This shall be spectacular!" exclaimed Zevran.
"The Archdemon shall be squished," proclaimed Shale, "like any other flesh creature."
"Let it be done," pronounced Sten.
"We will fight alongside you, as always my dear," said Wynne.
"For the Grey Wardens!" said Riordan.
"For Feralden," said Loghain. It had been his battlecry for over forty years and he'd be damned if he was changing it now, Grey Warden or not.
"Maker, guide us all," said Leliana. Morrigan rolled her eyes at that.
Poacher let out an encouraging set of barks.
And the Luggage let out a ferocious snarl that nearly sent their horses running straight into the Darkspawn.
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Bethany Hawke was standing at the city gate, throwing healing spells in almost every direction and the counter attack had only just begun. The numerous ironies in this situation were not lost on her.
Her family had fled the country to avoid the Blight only to end up, barely a couple of months later, facing the full fury of the Darkspawn. The only reason that her and her brother were doing this was because they had joined up with the Red Iron Mercenaries...in order to pay off the debts their uncle had amassed getting them into Kirkwall in the first place.
The final irony did not occur until they docked in Denerim. For all her life she had warned about what would happen if she used her magic in public. Conceal it her father had always warned her regardless of how you feel. No sooner had they set foot on land when they were told that all mages had been granted amnesty by orders of Teryn Cousland as long as they fought the Darkspawn.
Bethany had therefore spent most of the morning raining fireballs from the battlements. It felt good to let it go.
Now however under command of Warden Commander Trevelyan a motley collection of wardens, mercenaries, knights and well armed citizens had poured out of the gate and attacked the horde.
She was behind the battle line of course, supporting as best she could and guarded by a determined looking elf girl with bright red hair. A man fell just ahead of her, a deep gash in one of his arms. She focused herself and sent a healing spell that got him back his feet.
"Har, Har! Thanks Love! Crimson Oars, Attack!"
Bethany was fairly certain that that particular group had been found in the Dockside brothels and volunteered out of boredom, or possibly plundering rights. Still whatever their reasons they were playing their part. They all were.
She spotted her brother not far away, next to that pirate captain he'd been flirting with for the entire voyage. Isabella had claimed she was only here for the money the wardens owed her but here she was fighting all the same. That would probably explain the ridiculous grin on her brother's face. Typical Robert, fighting with almost effortless skill and he was still chatting away, or making terrible jokes. And she wouldn't change it for the world.
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The ride was a short one, which was fortunate as many of the group were novice riders and Shale was forced to trudge behind. It was also a quiet one; everyone was lost in their own thoughts, wondering what would happen, and who would survive.
It was not hard to see where the Archdemon had landed. Broken and scorched trees surrounded the crest of the hill. Dull roars of pain could even be heard as they all got closer. Odin almost felt pity, and judging by the looks on some of his comrades he was not alone.
They dismounted as soon as it became clear the horses would go no further. They unsheathed their weapons and moved carefully up the hill, using what cover they could find.
Of course that could only partially work; the Archdemon sensed the Wardens as the Wardens sensed it. But then most of the group were not Wardens and cover would still be useful.
Odin was at the head of the group when they crested the hill and saw the wounded Dragon. It had been licking its' wounds but when it saw Odin it stopped and looked at the Dwarf with its' one remaining eye. For a moment Odin thought he saws only weariness and perhaps even a sense of finality. But the moment passed and an expression of rage and madness replaced it. The battle had begun.
The Archdemon may have been flightless but it was certainly not harmless. Odin could not help but wish that this old god had landed in range of the army's ballista. Sten and Shale attempted to strike the beast from behind only to be swept back by the tail. Sten spat out a mouthful of blood and charged in once more, as did Shale who did not appreciate being overpowered. Leliana fired arrow after arrow, adding to the dozens that were already protruding, but these seemed to only be an irritant to the monster. Zevran's poisons seemed to be equally ineffective, although his agility at least kept him out of reach. Wynne stayed as far back as possible casting continuous healing spells, pausing only to rejuvenate herself. Morrigan was far more aggressive; hexes, curses and ice magic struck repeatedly, though few overcame the Dragon's natural resistance. Poacher and the Luggage worked as a team; both were biting and mauling the Dragon's front legs, piercing the thick scales and muscles beneath. As for the Grey Wardens the three of them focused on the head and neck, each trying to land a fatal blow.
The Archdemon fought with the fury of desperation. With tooth, claw and flame it swatted at these, impudent creatures who dared attack. But as one ducked or ran another would take its' place. All the while injures and blood loss were taking their toll.
The fight went on, all sense of time had gone from the combatants, but it seemed to be a stalemate. The Archdemon could not crush the Wardens but they could not slay the great dragon.
In the end it was Riordan who turned the tide. As the Archdemon's head lowered in an attempt to immolate Loghain the veteran Orlesian plunged his blade into the creature's already wounded eye. The beast lurched, the blade remaining in the socket as its jaw closed around Riordan, only his armour preventing him from being bitten in two. His broken body was flung across the hilltop. He was still alive, just, but he knew it was the end. He smiled and rested his eyes.
Odin saw his chance. So did Loghain but the dwarf was closer. Everyone else could guess what he was planning and redoubled their efforts. His faithful hound and the Luggage now went for the Archdemon's neck trying to pin it down. Odin leapt onto the back of the long neck just behind the skull. Clinging on with his legs he steadied himself and drove his blade deep into the Archdemon's skull.
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The light was stunning, what exactly caused it none could say. Odin was pretty sure he was still alive, even his sight and hearing didn't seem to be working.
Honestly it was rather nice just laying there. Relaxing, such an unusual pastime for him, he should try it more often.
Unfortunately the first sensation to return was pain, lots of it, all over. It was mixed with total exhaustion. The dwarf blinked, he could see colours, shapes...
And something was licking his face.
His mind took a while to process this.
Morrigan? No not her, she wouldn't do this in public... and it doesn't feel like her...unless she's shape shifted...
Then the far simpler and far less disturbing solution became apparent.
"Poacher..."
He heard a happy bark.
Then he realised there were two tongues.
"Luggage..."
He heard the wooden terror make an affectionate sort of growl.
"Yes, I'm still here. Thanks for the help, and the slobbery concern."
Odin very slowly sat up. Very painful, but nothing seemed to be broken as far as he could tell. His sight was almost back to normal apart from the stars.
Everyone else was moving, moaning and groaning as they got up.
Morrigan moved over to Odin. She didn't say anything but there was a soft smile on her face he had never seen before.
The Archdemon was defiantly dead, his sword was still embedded in its' broken skull and a steady stream of blood was leaking everywhere.
The blood...
"We have to collect the..." rasped Odin, his voice horse and throat dry.
The Luggage started making strange gagging noises, its' lid was open as far as it would go.
It coughed up a barrel, then another and another. All were clean, empty and watertight.
Wynne, who thanks to her own healing magic, was back on her feet by now smiled and only said, "Deus ex Luggage" and began siphoning the blood.
One barrel however not empty, when it was opened it turned out to be-
"By my ancestors," Oghren went misty eyed and kissed the Luggage. "Ale, I knew you cared!"
Mugs were filled and passed round in a circle.
"Well," said Odin, at a loss for words, "Here's to us... we did it!"
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Everyone on the battlefield saw the flash that erupted from the hill. There was confusion and wonder among the various armies. For the Darkspawn however there was only one reaction; blind panic. Their single minded disciple was instantly broken and every last one of them was looking for the quickest way back to their underground layers. Only there was nowhere to run; stone, water and swords surrounded them.
One of the first to recover from this sudden chaos was King Alistair. With a grin that in years to come would be known across his kingdom he brandished his father's sword.
"Well what are you all waiting for? We've got some Darkspawn to kill!"
The soldiers of Maric's shield cheered and moved forwards while Mages and Archers unleashed hell upon the disorganised mob. It would be a long and bloody slog but by sunset the once mighty Darkspawn horde would be reduced to a pile of corpses.
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Upon the southern bridge, now covered in broken bodies and dripping with gore, the Darkspawn took only a moment after the Archdemon's death to promptly turn tale and run, much to Cohen's disappointment.
"COME BACK YOU SHMELLY BARSHARDS! I'M NOT DONE YET!"
The Avvar could only marvel at the carnage that surrounded them and the insane old man who caused it. Until one of their said,
"He is the Mountain Father."
"That scruffy Mage said he was called Cohen."
"Gods always take different names when they walk among mortals."
As this theological debate raged Rincewind emerged from behind a tree.
"Huh, that went well."
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Far beyond the world there was uproar. The gods of Thedas breathed a collective sigh of relief. As for the rest the results were in and those deities who had won were looking very pleased with themselves. Those who had not had looks that ranged from casual acceptance to homicidal rage. Most did not bother with monetary bets (apart from those gods responsible for such things of course), after all what use is gold to gods? Instead agreements were reached. Magical and divine items were handed over with varying degree of magnanimity. Others agreed not to attack temples and avoid branding each other's followers as blasphemers, infidels, or heretics.
Almost beyond notice of all the others conducting their trades, arguments and sexual favours two players smiled, nodded and shook hands over the board.
"Good game," said the old man with the eyes of darkest black.
"Good game", said the woman with eyes of brightest green.
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The battle is over, Victory!
First of all thanks for being so patient about this. I know I'm not the fastest writer, even at the best of times, but it's good to know that so many of you have stuck around despite that.
There should be only two chapters left now, a conclusion and an epilogue, both of which are in progress.
Thanks again for the continued interest, we're almost there!
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