The siege towers fell to greet the ancient walls. The battering ram struck the great gates of Adamant Fortress. Trebuchets hurled their fiery loads over the walls. Soldiers sounded their cries, and they rushed to their deaths.
The heroes, agents, and Inquisitor's companions were separated into groups: Group one included Arya, Dorian, Renan, and Kadram. Their goal was to rally as many Grey Wardens to the Inquisition as possible.
Aaron, Vivienne, Vry, and Sera made up group two, and their job was to disable the enemy's siege weapons. Group three was Sulahn, Solas, Cole, and Blackwall who were to go after the enemy commanders.
Lastly, group four, which was comprised of Hawke, Varric, Cassandra, and Cullen, would deal with any demons, abominations, red lyrium, or other unexpected magic crap that decided to pop up.
Kadram and Cassandra shared a shy kiss before joining their separate groups, each giving the other a final look that said, "Stay alive, or I'll kill you."
Dorian's grip tightened on his staff. "What are we waiting around for? Let's stop these bastards before our soldiers are all killed!"
"We have to wait for our signal," Arya told him. "Our group is going to charge through a hole Kadram blasts in the wall." She turned to peer at him over her shoulder. "Didn't you pay attention in the war room before we left Skyhold?"
"My dear, when do I ever pay attention?"
Arya nodded. "Good point." The end of the conversation ushered the return of anxiously awaiting the signal which was to be an explosion in the eastern wall of Adamant Fortress.
How many Wardens were dying in there? Could she have done anything to stop this madness?
Whatever the case, Corypheus was going to die. Slowly.
Explosion. Marching.
Arya moved without thinking, running into the cloud of dust with her sword drawn and shield raised.
The instincts embedded within her since a decade ago resurfaced as easily as when she had fought for her life in Castle Cousland, her nephew and sister-in-law dead, the cook dead, the servants dead, her father dying, mother choosing death over her daughter, Duncan invoking the Rite of Conscription, blood, so much blood in her childhood home, the screams, the betrayal, the smoke stinging her eyes, seeing red, Howe would die, die at her own hands. At the end, it was only her faithful mabari, Barkspawn, at her side.
She had already stabbed and killed a man without knowing it. He lay at her feet, reaching for her legs with one hand. With the other, he held his guts in.
Arya moved on. She had seen it all before. There was no time to feel sorry, even for killing a fellow Warden. He was already too far gone, she told herself.
Dorian and Renan fought back-to-back, staves crackling with necromantic magic and ice. Kadram was far ahead of all of them; she could tell by the distant booms of his explosives.
Arya felled another three Wardens. A rage demon rose in front of them, its lava-like form gliding over the scorched stones. Air wavered around it, afflicted by the heat of its skin. Renan shot it with an ice spell, weakening it enough to allow Arya to bash her shield into it, shattering the demon and sending it back to the Fade.
That was too easy, Arya thought, working her jaw. She glanced around, but no more came.
Spotting a group of Wardens huddled uneasily by a wall, she ushered her companions after her, hoping to save at least a few lives today.
A/N: I put WAYYY too much time into structuring those groups . . .