A/N: Thanks for all your encouraging reviews with the last chapter. I'm relieved that the fight scenes weren't too terribly disappointing. The same warnings will apply for this chapter too and the next about war violence and poor fight scenes.

War of the Laurels

By Spectre4hire

Ch. 63: Denerim IV

Valda:

Magnificent.

They stood in rows, gleaming in the sunlight. Tall and proud, stone and steel, they were their future.

The first legion of selfless dwarfs who'd serve Orzammar and rebuild our empire.

She honored their sacrifices by offering yearly stipends to the families of the dwarves who chose to become golems. As their queen she would not allow their selfless choice to be forgotten or in vain. We have the gold. Their dealings with the human Chantry alone kept a good flow of gold between her city and the surface. Which is where I currently find myself.

Valda Aeducan, Queen of Orzammar was on the surface, in Ferelden to be exact. She weathered the outrage when she announced to the shock of all that she would be personally leading her troops into battle. Two deshyrs had fainted. The memory nearly made her smile. It helped to soften the edges of the other memories that would surface when reflecting on the decision she made. It had been her closest ally who had become her harshest critic for her choice.

You'd risk everything, Your Majesty. Lord Pyral Harrowmont had tried his best to dismiss it as a deluded fancy that would eventually crumble like a weak clot of dirt.

We built an empire out of risks, she had told her advisor.

Special dispensation was offered to any dwarf who fought on the surface during the Blight. It was the law and enforced by the Shaperate not to punish any who chose to do so. It was an honor, which was to be celebrated not criticized. Valda was just the first Queen to ask for the dispensation in many Ages. The Shaperate had been hesitant to give it, but they knew it had to be given if properly requested and they did after some consternation amidst the more powerful Shapers.

Her volunteering led to a flurry of whispers and jeering from many behind polite smiles and the stone walls of their estates. She'd stand her ground, show them her strength, like the Stone itself she couldn't be undone by their words. Their glances and gossiping were nothing but little chisels and hammers trying and failing to chip away at her.

They were happy in the old Orzammar. The one where the privilege and wealth and power all rested in their hands, but she was determined to build a new Orzammar. Sometimes to make a better world you have to destroy the old world, and Valda was ready to get her hands dirty. She was prepared not just for the darkspawn on the surface, but to those who were staying behind in the city. Valda kept track of all the names of those who could cause trouble for her when she was away. It was this information network that had allowed her to enact her own coup before Bhelen's could get off the ground. I'll do what is necessary to protect my vision.

Balance. That's what ruling was. It was about finding the proper balance.

Her army's camp was loud and messy and brimming with noise and activity as they prepared for another long march. They had made her proud at Redcliffe where the darkspawn had attacked them, before the vile creatures were pushed back, saving the town and castle. They didn't celebrate because they were certain more would come, but those concerns were for naught because the archdemon never arrived.

Redcliffe was never its destination, but simply a deception.

It would take two days before they realized that it was Denerim that would face the brunt of the horde not Redcliffe. What started as them preparing for a darkspawn siege turned into a race for their forces to arrive in the city as soon as they could.

Valda understood very little of Ferelden's geography. It's all so new and confusing, she read her maps and studied them too, but she didn't have the Stone to guide her like she did when they were in the Deep Roads. They placed their trust in outsiders to help navigate their forces not just those in Lord Eamon's armies, but in surface dwarves who had begun flocking to her army since the very beginning.

We draw in all sorts, she didn't begrudge them their ambition or their hope in seeking her out. She granted an audience to those who asked. They are still my people. Some had just come to bootlick, but others came with bold new proposals and ventures which had intrigued her.

The light from the sky shone bright and warm against her skin. It was an odd sensation that she had trouble getting used to. The air was clean and this wind could be refreshing against her face with its cool breeze. It could also be very frustrating with its billowing gusts that went through to dishevel her hair or pricking her skin with what felt like cold needles.

This sun was also a difficult notion to try to wrap her head around. It was so bright and sent so much warmth, but it was so far away. It was like a large ball of lava had been scooped from below the surface and got stuck in the skies. As long as it and the rest of this sky doesn't come crashing down onto our heads. She made a furtive glance upwards and didn't notice any falling pieces coming down on them.

"Your Majesty?"

She turned to see a pair of her guards were holding back a dwarf, who had called to her. She recognized him and waved men to let him approach.

"Your Majesty," he greeted her again, bowing his head.

"Lord Denek."

He was the youngest Deshyr in the Assembly and according to her spies, had been the first noble to request a dispensation after the news of hers getting one had been announced. He would not be the last who asked for it seeing it as a way to curry favor with her, but to many it was nothing but a ploy. Valda knew his reputation enough to know there was sincerity in his request to go to the surface.

That same reputation did him no favors in the Assembly. Slumming, that was how his detractors and rivals would paint it. How Deshyr Denek enjoyed discussing politics with lower castes and had no problems voicing his radical dreams which included a better government that represented all the castes and included them in various roles they were currently shut out in.

"Don't fret, Your Majesty," He held out his hands and then wiggled his fingers. "I carry no betrothal."

She smiled. His mother had wanted one between us even before I was a Queen and now… She settled that thought by just admitting that Lady Helmi could be very insistent. It would not be the worst match, she admitted, since House Delmi was very powerful and influential. With that thought, she took the heartbeat of silence between them to look him over.

He stood before her in his red steel armor. It glinted when it caught the light. His skin looked a little sun touched too, a little darker. His hair was blonde and messy, he had decided to cut it over styling it. He had a handsome enough face despite the new fuzz on his cheeks and chin were courtesy of the vow he made his last day in the Assembly before they marched to the surface: No razor shall touch my face until the darkspawn are defeated and the Blight has ended.

The idea of marrying a man who shared some of her more radical ideas was appealing . It would be a blessing to know I won't have to fight my husband as well as the Assembly when trying to implement some of my changes. She filed the observations and thoughts away for later not wanting the beat of silence to grow into an awkward one.

"If it isn't my hand you wish to discuss then what is it, Lord Helmi?"

"I hope I didn't insult you, Your Majesty or your royal hands and queenly fingers,"

She nearly snorted, but he still was able to see her amusement and took it as a victory judging by the smile, he flashed her.

"My mother would have me be seen with you more times than your own shadow," He fell into pace with her when they continued their walking after receiving an approving nod from her.

"Your mother does tend to jump at shadows."

He chuckled, unoffended at the potential barb at his mother's expense. "She'd jump for joy if she found out I stopped drinking with the commoners. " He said the last words in a haughty tone that perfectly mimicked his mother's disdain. "Lord Denek Helmi, honoured deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly, and terrible disappointment to his esteemed mother," He finished with his mock reciting, "She loathed me sullying myself in the taverns, I thought she'd spew lava when she found out I got my dispensation to go to the surface."

"Your Majesty!" It was one of her messengers. He nearly stumbled so eager to bow in greeting, having to throw up his hands to try to keep his balance. "Your Majesty," red had colored his cheeks.

"Yes?" Valda greeted him cordially, pretending not to see him nearly fall to his face at her feet.

"Fereldan scouts," He said eagerly, "Another day from Denerim, but we have to hurry!" he sucked in a breath, before continuing, "Darkspawn have the city surrounded and they've already breached the walls."

My people will be leading the charge. She had been adamant and none of the humans were foolish enough to argue especially with what she was bringing to the siege of the Denerim. Let all witness the power of my people.

Valda was the first to reach the rise, looking out ahead of her she saw Denerim surrounded by darkspawn. It was a black rot that had wrapped itself around the city while trying to infect it with its sickly dark tendrils. Above the city, she saw the archdemon flying through the sky, shrieking and swooping to terrify and assault whatever it could reach with its flames and its dragon claws. They hadn't noticed us yet. Good.

She steadied herself on Sunny, her bronto before turning to face her men. She could see or hear their disbelief and doubt as they took in the Blighted storm waiting for them. She moved quickly to banish it before it could root. Sunny moved at her urging to allow her to trot before her men.

"The darkspawn have chased us from our homes, from our thaigs," Her voice boomed inside her helmet. "They wish to destroy us, but we are stronger than them! We are Stone!" She pulled her helmet off, knowing she'd need to speak louder, but she was undeterred. They must see me. Let them focus on me. "These Blighted bastards are about to feel our wrath!" Valda held up her sword, an heirloom from her grandmother, it shone in the sunlight.

A ripple of cheers and shouts rippled through the ranks.

"We cannot fail. We will not break!" She roared to them, "WE ARE DWARVA!" Their reaction was louder. Deep, low chants from her men ready to do battle. Valda didn't try to say more, she couldn't waste anymore time. Our swords will do our talking. She turned to one of her lieutenants and gave them the signal. Ancestors guide me.

A great horn blew, announcing their presence to the darkspawn, the noise rolled across the battlefield like a wave. As soon as her helmet was on, she let out a wordless shout and charged. Behind her she heard the rumbling of hundreds of mounted bronto riders who were charging with her. Through the slits of her helm she watched the darkspawn horde get closer and closer, the pounding of her heart was engulfed by the thundering brontos.

Her focus shrank to the enemy line ahead and the distance between them, with only the dimmest awareness of the hundreds of her men, spurring their mounts beside and behind them. But the noise, the pounding hooves and clattering armor, thundered through the ground, and up into her bones even as her panting breath echoed inside her helm.

The Stone's Blessing, she was sure of it, hearing the ground heave and lurch beneath their feet. It was the Stone! She settled into Sunny's rhythm, feeling the bronto's lumbering strides beneath her, she saw the distance of the enemy's line as it diminished with each blink. The Queen settled for her target and prepared for the moment of impact just as Sunny trampled through the darkspawn ranks. Her bronto toppled them like they were wooden toys. Her sword slicing through those that her bronto's charge couldn't reach.

All around her, she heard the collisions of her heavy bronto mounts slam into the darkspawn forces, hammering them in a cacophony of noises and penetrating deeper and deeper into the horde.

Denerim will be free! She spurred Sunny forward, intent on saving the city.

Alfstanna:

She watched the arrow sail before smiling when it hit the nasty little genlock right in its ugly squat face. A minor victory since more darkspawn streamed over the corpse, uncaring of its fate. She retrieved another arrow, repeated her process and let it loose, this one hit a hurlock in the shoulder. It stumbled, but lived. Its eyes scanned upwards trying to find its assailant. It never saw her or the other arrow that took it in the chest, punching right through its rusty, patchy armor.

"I can't keep covering for ya, Alfie."

She scoffed, deciding that was the only dignified response his words deserved.

Nathaniel chuckled, but his attention was already tracking his next target.

They were standing on the roof of the Gnawed Noble Tavern. She and him were trying their best to thin out the darkspawn or redirect them down other streets into ambushes or traps. Alfstanna couldn't even guess how many arrows she had loosed since the darkspawn breached the city. It all seemed to play like one long continuous nightmare.

Across from them on another rooftop were crossbowmen, the clangs and locks and snaps and thrums were a constant as they loosened their bolts into the darkspawn. Other rooftops throughout the city had archers and other fighters including other buildings in the Market District. These buildings became little islands floating in waves of darkspawn, small safe spots where the darkspawn and corruption were below them. Not too safe, she had already helplessly watched more than a few buildings overwhelmed by the darkspawn, swarming over them like lashing waves in a storm.

The darkspawn as ugly as they were were not without their own intelligence. They had understood where the arrows were coming from, but their attacks couldn't reach them. The alley leading to the Gnawed Noble and the street it was on was heavily barricaded, and all attempts thus far had been repelled.

We're not beyond their reach. She thought bitterly of the darkspawn and their own crude archers who tipped their arrows in their own blood to poison them. Vile, malicious bastards. She had to watch good men and women succumb to a terrible death after minor hits in an arm or a leg because of those damn arrows.

Thankfully, the majority of the darkspawn ended up getting killed before realizing what was happening. They were too distracted by this frenzied state that their precious archdemon had put them in. It made them terrible to face in combat, but they were easily consumed or distracted which allowed them to pick them off with relative success.

Our location also helps. They couldn't discount it. The Market District wasn't a stop to most darkspawn, but on the path to other parts of the city that the darkspawn wanted to destroy. That allowed them to turn the Market District into a bloody intersection of death and destruction.

My world is here. The Denerim Market District. Her focus had shrunk to this sliver of land. It had to in order to survive. She couldn't allow despair to set in at the sight of the burning Chantry that blazed not too far from her. She blocked out the distant shrieks and screams of the fighting and the dying to keep her aim true. Alfstanna put herself on a narrow strip, where it was her and Nathaniel and the next darkspawn she was going to kill.

It was a rhythm she fell into. A dance she knew the moves to and performed again and again and again. Knock, draw, breathe, loose, again, knock, draw, breathe, loose, and on she went until when she went to grab an arrow, her fingers found nothing, but air. She frowned. We're down another quiver.

She pushed the worry that tried to creep into her heart. They had only so many arrows. They had sent runners to try to retrieve some during the lulls in the fighting, but it was becoming more and more dangerous. I can't even recall the last break. She tried to think of it before stopping realizing it wasn't important. This battle was a haze that played with her senses and thoughts and time.

Alfstanna went to the next quiver. Her fingers found an arrow and she smiled, these belonged to one of the special quivers. Edmund had given the majority of them to his best archers when they had to reposition themselves and regroup once the darkspawn had entered the city. We received the most. She was proud of that honor.

She recognized this arrow without having to look down at it. She drew back her bow and lined up her shot. They were Elf-Flight arrows, very effective and very strong. Perfectly balanced, Alfstanna saw a genlock swivel its head to turn in their direction and that choice sealed its fate. The Elf-Flight arrow whistled through the air crunching the genlock's face with such force it tumbled backwards while the back of its head blossomed into a spray of black ichor and flesh. I love these arrows.

"Are you using my elf arrows?" Nathaniel called over to her.

"Your elf arrows?" She snorted.

Nathaniel didn't turn to her until he loosed his arrow. He shook his head, "They gave them to the best archer which is-"

"Me," Alfstanna finished, flashing a smile. It seemed so absurd that here on a rooftop in the middle of the battle, fighting darkspawn, they could still tease and smile, laugh and jape. She was thankful for them since the distractions alleviated the fear she felt knotting in her belly and loosened the tension she felt tightening like an icy cord along her back.

"Hardly," Nathaniel went to another quiver while she covered for him, raining down elf-flight arrows on any darkspawn that caught her attention. Several were peppered before Nathaniel finally picked a quiver he liked.

Shit. She heard it before she saw it. It was tall, mean, muscled, and ugly. And it was coming their way. "OGRE!"

Ogres and emissaries were the two most feared darkspawn because of the amount of damage they could do. Instead of hurting it, their attack only seemed to enrage it. The ogre roared a challenge when it spotted them on their rooftop and charged.

"Take it down!" Nathaniel shouted, "TAKE IT DOWN!" He let loose arrow after arrow, but the ogre had reached the barricade was tearing it apart like it was built out of twigs and leaves.

"OGRE!"

The cry went up somewhere to their right. She didn't have to look long to spot it. Another ogre spotting the ogre and the barricade, lowered its head and charged. The first ogre leapt aside seconds before the second one collided with the barricade, smashing and shattering it.

Pleased, the two ogres went to work with their large hands to quickly finish in their destruction of the wooden fortifications, moving the broken pieces to allow them to pass. One was cradling a chunk of stone as large as its head, its lips twisting into a malicious smile before it hurled the stone at the rooftop where the crossbowmen were gathered. They shouted and were forced to scatter.

The first ogre not to be outdone, grabbed a broken wagon wheel and threw it at their position. "Duck!"

Alfstanna did, seeing Nathaniel lie flat on his stomach, a heartbeat later the crude object soared past them before crashing out of sight. A second stone flew towards them, but this didn't have the same strength tossed into it, and collided with an edge of their building, breaking stone and cracking wood before hitting the ground with a thud.

She looked to see Nathaniel had returned to his feet, loosing his arrows down onto the alley where the ogres were. A part of her wanted to reprimand him because it wasn't safe. "Nath-" His name died on her throat when saw him stumble. It played out in front of her with terrible slowness. He reared back, his body twisting, as if he was hit by something. A heartbeat passed of uncertainty until she heard it. The crushing of stones, the groaning of wood and loose rubble scattering and falling.

The ogre was climbing up their building! Her chest constricted painfully at the revelation. She felt cold despair settling in the pit of her stomach.

In one long beat of silent dread she watched it rear into view. Long, curved horns that crowned its large head. It's black eyes glittering with malice. Its ugly face split into a feral grin when it spotted the reeling Nathaniel.

"Nathaniel!" She cried watching him sway on his feet before crumpling to the ground just as the ogre had reached out to grab him with one of its large clawed hands. "NATHANIEL! Her shout pulled the ogre's attention away from the limp Nathaniel and onto her. It steadied itself on its grip and with one swift, fluid motion, launched itself up onto the roof. It missed landing on Nathaniel, but when it hit the roof, the ground beneath their feet groaned.

Please fall, please fall, please fall. She prayed quietly, but the beams and stone held the ogre's massive size. Alfstanna hadn't just been relying on prayers, she had grabbed an arrow and lit it with one swift motion. The tip blazed an angry orange and she let it loose, the arrow left a blistering path of sparks in its wake before it hit the ogre.

The sparks and the impact of the arrow when it hit its shoulder, made the ogre turn in pain and hiss, but it didn't kill it or immobilize it. The ogre roared, displaying sharp, yellow fangs, spit and flecks of flesh flew from its mouth. It ripped the arrow where it was lodged and snapped it without breaking its angry stare at her. The ogre snarled, but before it could take a step towards her, it seemed to remember Nathaniel and turned to where he was laying. He groaned in pain, but to Alfstanna it was a welcomed sound because she feared he may have been dead from the way he was lying so still.

The ogre reached down to grab him.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU FILTH!" She let loose another arrow, drawing its attention away from the injured Nathaniel. This one missed the throat by an inch, embedding itself in the flesh just below the collarbone. The ogre didn't even grumble in either annoyance or pain even as thick, black blood began trickling down from the wound in dark rivulets.

Their silent staredown was broken by a loud scream. She and the ogre both turned to see something was streaking across the sky. It took her a long second to realize what it was she was seeing.

It was the archdemon! Another observation followed that one. It wasn't streaking. It was spiraling! It looked like it was going to crash! While she rejoiced at what she was seeing, the ogre let out a low, keening sound that could've been a wail. It then leapt off the building while keeping its eyes on the sky, it moved in the direction of where the archdemon was falling.

Alfstanna's eyes followed it just in time to see it smash onto the tallest tower of Fort Drakon before falling out of her sight. Could it be? She hoped, Could it be over? She wanted to believe, but despite the ogre's panicked reaction, the darkspawn didn't appear defeated. They were not fleeing, but instead directing their attacks in the direction of Fort Drakon.

She didn't let the disappointment settle in her stomach. She pushed it away, her attention jolting back to what was important with a single thought- Nathaniel. She rushed over to him. "Nate?" She knelt beside him.

He stirred, and then groaned.

"Don't die," She warned him harshly before gently putting his head on her lap. She had removed one of her pouches and was sifting through it trying to find what she was looking for, her eyes darting between his face and her bag.

His eyelashes were fluttering while his mouth was twisting in pain. He groaned again, and this time he brought a hand to his side.

She brushed his hand away in order to see the wound herself. She carefully removed his armor letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when she saw there were no open wounds or black infection. It was just a large, and ugly bruise. He must've been hit by the debris, she realized, thankful that the injury wasn't more severe. "It's going to be okay," She made him swallow a tonic that would numb the pain.

"Alfie?" He stirred, dark eyes blinking up at her.

She hushed him with a gentle finger, brushing away some of his sweaty hair that had fallen over his forehead. "I'm here."

He sighed, and a slow smile came to his mouth. "Good," He breathed the word out before wincing. "Good."

Solona:

They had all seen it.

Only a Warden can kill an archdemon.

Commander Fontaine's warning whispered in the back corners of her mind. In death, sacrifice.

Her staff hummed with energy, calling upon the Fade she summoned several bolts in quick order that cut the darkspawn in front of her to shreds. Solona didn't spare any of them another look. It burned in her blood but she knew these were dead. This fuzz that seemed to encapsulate her mind, itching against her senses and her thoughts.

Fort Drakon towered over the rest of the city. A large, long pale finger reaching out towards the sky. That was where they saw the archdemon crash and that was where they needed to go. Her companions didn't argue, each of them nodding to her plan and following her and Alistair's lead.

The darkspawn were running in that direction too. Many were distracted, too frazzled by the archdemon's agony to observe their surroundings or scan for threats, which allowed them to slay many, thinning their ranks, but like weeds more always seemed to sprout.

Two hurlocks stopped in their fleeing, turning in her direction sensing her presence. Their grotesque, corrupted faces twisting in snarls before they charged her.

She hefted her staff to the left while imagining the spell she wanted, conjuring it from her will to direct it at the hurlock. Flames sputtered into existence from the tip of her staff, igniting the darkspawn who tried to turn, but the enchanted fire couldn't be so easily duped. It consumed the shrieking darkspawn in seconds.

The second hurlock didn't balk or mourn its other darkspawn, but kept its malicious attention solely on her. Solona shifted her staff. The fire turned to forks of lightning, gripping the darkspawn like fingers before punching it forward with enough force for it to fly backwards dead before it hit the ground.

She let out a small huff at the power needed, but its strain wasn't noticeable. Solona's magic remained strong despite all their fighting. When she finished her target, she expanded her awareness carefully to encompass their immediate surroundings and her companions. She wasn't too familiar with Denerim, but judging by Fort Drakon looming in the distance, they looked to be getting closer.

Her fellow Warden and friend, Alistair was gleaming in his Grey Warden silverite armor. His sword and shield, dripping with black ichor as he dispatched a genlock with a swift decapitation before finishing off a pair of hurlock archers at a distance with what looked to be a single look, but Solona felt the air ripple around them to know that he was dipping into his templar tricks to summon the energy needed to kill them. The strike left a crater while scattering pieces of the dead darkspawn within a small radius.

Zevran's daggers winked in the light, steel blurs that the darkspawn didn't see until it was too late. He cut several to bloody ribbons, some still gaping with expressions of surprise permanently etched into their faces at their deaths from the shadows. Leliana had positioned herself atop a pile of rubble. Her arrows flying all around them, turning and spinning with lithe twists and maneuvers that allowed her to shoot swiftly and in different directions.

Sten stood tall amidst a group of darkspawn. His large sword cutting and clipping his way through their corrupted ranks with relative ease. He grunted and shouted Qunlat war cries, his towering frame nearly overshadowed his fighting companion, but Oghren couldn't be ignored. He spun and cursed, his axe splintering a pair of genlocks who got too close.

Shale stomped and pummeled her enemies. Darkspawn swords and arrows clattered against her stone and steel armor. Her eyes glowed with single purpose, crushing genlocks with single blows or ripping up pieces of the earth to take out groups who foolishly drifted together to try to reach her. Wynne's staff conducted its own needed magic, weaving and twisting her mana to assuage their aches and pains. Her magic poured into them like water, refreshing and soothing them, boosting their bodies and their spirits to keep fighting. When she wasn't using her magic to support them she'd display her own array of power by putting down injured or stray darkspawn with powerful arcane bolts that punched through the darkspawn armor and flesh with ease.

Lady stayed close to Solona's side. Her mabari kept her safe and insured no darkspawn got too close to disrupt her spellcasting or flank her. She relied on her mabari's steady presence and support.

She watched her companions proudly in a few flickering heartbeats of time. Thankful for each of them, for their support and their skill and their trust in her. Solona never would have done what she had done without them. They called me the hero, but I call it to them, all of them. Looking them over, it made her absence all the more hurtful. Morrigan's offer hung in her mind even days after she had made it at Redcliffe, but Solona had declined. With that decision I lost a friend, but she didn't regret her choice.

"We're close," Alistair appeared by her side. "We need to keep moving." His eyes scanned their surroundings. "We can't be sure if the others we'll be there."

Grey Wardens. She gave him a nod, having thought the same. Having feared the same. She stamped out that thought, not wanting to let it root itself in her. She didn't have the luxury to look ahead and be afraid since just the path between here and there was just as dangerous with a bunch of darkspawn still between them.

"Solona," His voice was surprisingly gentle in the simmering aftermath of battle. "If they're not-"

"Alistair, no," She didn't want to discuss it.

He frowned, and then surprised her when he ignored her and pressed forward. "I'm the senior Grey Warden between us." His shoulders were taut despite the fatigue, and his eyes were fixed on her, hardened with resolve. "I'll deliver the killing blow."

Solona's tongue felt heavy and useless in her mouth. There were times when I hated you. The memories flickered before her like flames in a hearth. I cursed you. Furious at how he dropped the burdens of being the leader on her. The strains had been overwhelming at times. The fears and the rage threatened to consume her when she perceived him as simply being lazy and indifferent to their plights. My plights since it was all dropped on me. Their relationship had shifted as they traveled especially after he apologized for his actions and she accepted it.

Here we are now. She thought numbly with the Warden who she now saw as a younger brother, an annoying one, she amended with an inward smile, but one she still didn't want to lose.

"Thank you, Alistair," she lay a hand on his arm. She prayed it would not come down to them. There were more than a dozen Grey Wardens in the city including some of its most experienced veterans as well as the Orlesian Commander Fontaine, but they still had to keep going. To the tower, to the darkspawn, to their destiny...

A/N:

Was is the Stone? OR was it just Valda's hundreds of brontos charging the ground…

My poor attempt/homage to the very famous Rohirrim Charge. Sadly, I couldn't do a better justice in capturing a scene that I see clearly in my head of all those brontos charging into the darkspawn ranks. One of the more frustrating parts of writing when you can't scratch that itch despite how much you've tried. Just like I'm not good with battle scenes, I'm also not good at battle speeches, so please feel free to mentally plug in any better ones that come to mind.

Also I'm no general so logics and strategy aren't really going to be impressive.

Thanks for the support,

-Spectre4hire

In regards to future projects:

There will be no "sequel" sequels to this story. I may write a few one shots or short slice of life stories, but no long stories are planned. I'm trying to trim down on such commitments. I hope you understand. That being said, I've always liked this fandom. I have a few Dragon Age crossover ideas that have been in my head for years. I've even begun experimenting writing smut, but who knows if that'll ever see the light of day.