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Interlocking
Chapter Thirty Nine: Goodbye
"There are no words. Nothing passes between them but a look." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
It is chaos.
The mountains quake around them, rocks and snow tumbling down the mountainsides. The sky darkens suddenly but for the glowing orb of green high in the sky, the air crackling with energy, the howling of demons ringing through the snow-capped peaks. Shards of red lyrium jut from the soil beneath them. The heavy rock of Skyhold is torn from the earth and dragged into the sky by an unseen force.
Harding watches in horror as several bodies fall, screaming, from the fortress as it rises in pieces. Their terrified cries are sharp and wrenching, and then suddenly blunted with the heavy thuds of their falls. Her mouth opens in trembling fear.
She swallows it down quickly, blinking furiously into the darkened night as she whips her head around to take stock of the situation.
Demons. Cascading rockslides. Dark storms. Her men, panicked and scattered.
She feels that sharp slice of terror light in her gut. She shakes her head. Later. She needs to feel it later. Right now she needs focus. Adrenaline. Rage.
Harding pulls her mouth into a tight line, her brows furrowing. Everything swells in her at once.
The image of her farm, her sister waving from the light-filled threshold.
The image of her scouts, her comrades, those fighting beside her.
And those lying beneath the dirt in wait for the Maker.
The Inquisitor and their advisors. Always ready. Always fearless. Always steadfast.
The Chargers, singing and telling stories around a candle-lit tavern, the warm memory of ale and laughter tingling through her.
And Krem.
All tender eyes and searing touch. Rakish grin. Caressing voice. Constant warmth.
Unabashed devotion.
She feels it all. Gathering inside her, building, heartening her. Until the sky is no longer a dark and haunted thing, but a promise. A light. An anchoring vision of the future. One she is ready for.
One she vows to protect. At all costs.
"First and second regiment, regroup! Back in line! Back in line, you cowards!" Harding's voice rings out in the valley and the Inquisition forces scramble under her orders, milling through their panic and the crashing sounds around them. She grabs for the arm of a captain frantically looking around the pass, trying to get his bearings. He starts at her sharp tug and almost topples over as she pulls him to her level. "Braisely, get your men back in formation," she nearly growls into his face, releasing her hold of him and shoving him back. The man nods empathically, licking his lips and reining his breathing in. His face hardens, his whole posture suddenly rigid as he sweeps his gaze through the valley and rushes to his men, calling orders through the thunderous noise of the valley.
Krem cannot help the brilliant smile that sweeps across his face at Harding, an uncontrollable swell of pride building in him. But it is short-lived. The thunderous roar of Corypheus' winged beast reverberates throughout the mountain pass. Seconds later, the hulking form of the dark dragon swoops low through the valley, the violent rush of wind from its wings ramming into the men, sending them off their feet and into the dirt. Its subsequent stream of fiery breath blazes across the floor of the valley before it shifts its wings and drives up into the sky, toward the broken bits of a floating Skyhold, where its master waits.
Krem releases the reins of Harding's horse in his hands and smacks it quickly along its hide with a whistle, sending it off through the hills back the way they came. He pulls his maul from its carrier along his back.
Harding already has her bow pulled and she sends an arrow into the nearest demon, just between the eyes, its howl of pain shrill and spine-tingling. She whips her head around. "Archers, up the hills. Gain the high ground. First regiment push north, toward Skyhold."
Bull comes up beside Harding just then, his battle-axe already out and eager, his eyes darting around the floating debris of Skyhold for something Harding does not know.
"Inquisitor's up there," he breathes harshly next to her.
Harding quiets knowingly, nodding. "They're on their own then." Her words are tight, clipped.
Bull looks down at her and his eyes harden. There is a brief moment of understanding passed between them. Just a moment. A split-right-down-the-middle second. And then his voice is sure and deep, his hands tightening on the handle of his axe. "Where do you need us?"
Harding's eyes soften somewhat, her face set in certainty. "Clear the way toward Skyhold, or –" she stops, glances to the crumbling rocks of what used to be its base just down the demon-infested path. "Just clear the way. I saw people falling from the keep, which means we've still got men down there. Maybe survivors. Get them out. Cover their retreat back to us. So we can pull our forces out the valley."
Bull nods. "On it." He turns back. "Chargers! Forward!" There is a rallying cry among the Chargers and everyone rushes forward down the path where the first regiment is already engaging the throng of demons.
Harding feels something grab her arm and she is swung around to find Krem's face just before hers. She has only a moment of surprise before his hand is bracing the back of her head and he is kissing her. It is quick. Fervent. Powerful. It is only a moment. It is all they have.
Harding digs her fingers into his arm and they break apart. He is already backing away to follow his commander.
There are no words.
Nothing passes between them but a look. A silent promise. The lingering heat between them that surges with battle and duty and need. The thick, almost tangible pulse of words that will never be said between them. Never be uttered.
The staggering, bone-deep desperation that this isn't it.
This is not goodbye.
Never those words.