Thank you all for reading, and particular thanks to suilven for her thoughtful betaing! No update next week, but then we should be back to a regular Friday update schedule. Also, please note - major character death in this chapter.
When the army left Skyhold, taking Bethany with it, Leliana wasn't watching. They had agreed on that. After all, there was nothing between them, nothing real. What they had shared was a mutual fantasy, a dream. Bethany believed she was going to Adamant to die, and if, by some miracle, as she put it, she did not, the Grey Wardens would need her. She would not be free to return.
They hadn't even said good-bye. Not really. Morning had come, and they had risen from the bed and put their clothes back on and resumed their real lives, leaving Leliana's little cell together and going their separate ways.
Leliana was truly alone now. She had been, since Leyden … since long before Leyden, if she was being honest with herself. Leyden had never been hers in any way that would have lasted.
Dorothea had filled the emptiness in Leliana's heart in her own way, giving her a cause and a purpose and a different way to see the Maker, but she was gone now, too, and all that remained was to decide what to do with herself and her talents. For now there was the Inquisition, but afterward? Corypheus would die—Leliana believed that, believed that Thule would prevail. He was that kind of man. And when Corypheus was dead, would the world need an Inquisition? Or would it need someone else, someone to lead Thedas into a new day?
Kneeling before the Maker's Bride, Leliana found the words flowing from her, and she prayed for guidance, for strength, and for the courage to do what must be done.
Cullen watched the trebuchet as it flung its ammunition toward the wall. It struck, chunks of stone flying up from where it hit. "Just like that," he told the soldier manning the machine, clapping him on the shoulder approvingly. "Again."
The attack on Adamant was going well—the Inquisition was on the verge of breaking through the door, the soldiers had scaled the walls and were fighting along the ramparts, and the Inquisitor's team was poised, ready to head through the door as soon as it was breached.
The tension in his neck had spread; his back was a sheet of pain from top to bottom. But he was standing, and he was clear-headed, and he was commanding the army, and he was doing it all without the need for lyrium. That in itself was a triumph.
The doors shattered with a loud crack, and the soldiers cheered.
Cullen joined Thule and his party just outside the doors. "You have your way in, Inquisitor."
"We'll make good use of it," Thule promised.
"And we will keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."
"Just keep the men safe."
Cullen wasn't certain if that was a reflection on his command or an indication that Thule was less soldier and more independent operator, but it stung just a bit that the Inquisitor thought he wouldn't take the best care possible of their men. Of course, Haven had hardly been his best moment, but today he was rising above Haven, proving himself to the Inquisition. "We will do what must be done, Inquisitor," he snapped. "Maker go with you."
Thule nodded. "And with you."
Varric hefted Bianca. "Well, here we go, sweetheart." He liked to think of himself as a dwarf you could count on, but after all those years in Kirkwall with Hawke, and now the Inquisition, he was beginning to wonder if he was too old for this shit.
A fireball exploded not far from him, and he flinched, reflexively checking the sleeve of his coat for scorch marks. Yep, definitely getting too old for this.
Ahead of him, the King of Ferelden was grim-faced and determined, bashing his way through demons with his shield. Stones was his usual flashing shadow, appearing with his daggers just where you least expected him. The Seeker fought with her usual skill and precision, and Chuckles worked his magic efficiently. He never seemed to get emotional about a fight—just did what needed to be done when it needed to be done. Varric didn't distrust the elf … but he didn't trust him, either.
Daisy, now, on the other side, was less precise but more passionate. She wanted to win, to banish the demons back beyond the Veil where they belonged. Sunshine used her magic like it was almost too heavy to lift, but it was there, and every spell packed a punch. She was a lot more powerful than she'd been in Kirkwall. And Hawke. Dear Hawke, her eyes were shining as she fought, as the days when she was Hawke of Kirkwall, respected and feared, came back to her. Varric liked to see that in her, liked to see the shadows receding from her face. For that, it was almost worth it to be back here in battle getting his boots ruined again.
Sighting a demon carefully, Varric took aim and let Bianca loose a bolt at it. The metal shaft buried itself deeply in the demon's eye.
"Bianca, baby, we've still got it," he told her, patting her stock. If they had to do this, they might as well do it right.
As she followed the others through the fortress, Lilias kept as near her sister as she dared. She couldn't rid herself of the idea that Bethany intended to sacrifice herself in some crazy idea that she owed her fellow Wardens something for having run from the ritual the first time. And Lilias was not about to allow that, not if she had so much as a split second to stop it.
They rounded a corner, the group of them, and found a cadre of Wardens facing them. Bethany's face went white, and Alistair's hardened in a way that said he was holding on to his emotions with both hands.
None of the Wardens were familiar to Lilias, but both Bethany and Alistair were staring at a dwarf with a bristling, heavily braided red beard who stepped out of the formation, brandishing an axe.
"Oghren," Bethany whispered. "Don't do this."
"Back, are you? Where've you been?" Without waiting for an answer, he spat on the ground. "Doesn't matter."
"It's a trick, Oghren," Alistair said desperately. "Corypheus is playing with your mind."
"Why should I trust you, nug-licker?"
"I'm your friend! I've always been your friend!"
"Both of ya should be fightin' on our side. If you're not …" He raised an arm. "Get the traitors, boys!"
"Lay down your weapons and surrender," Thule called. His voice had deepened and there was a tone of authority in it that had some of the Wardens in the back automatically obeying the order.
"No, Oghren, please." Bethany's voice was a moan.
"Not gonna happen." The dwarf looked almost sorrowful, but the axe lifted above his head. "Wardens, attack!"
He didn't get far; a blast of fire caught him in the face, and he screamed, clutching at his burning beard. While he was distracted, Alistair came up to his side. Oghren flailed with the axe, nearly clipping Alistair in the shoulder, but he swayed backward just in time. Before Oghren could swing again, Alistair's sword had buried itself in the dwarf's throat. As he fell, Bethany and Alistair caught him, lowering him gently to the ground. Lilias saw her sister gently reach to close the dwarf's eyes.
"Atrast nal tunsha, old friend," Alistair whispered.
The other Wardens were down as well, the rest of the team having done their work. Everyone stood, catching their breath and taking drinks of water and tending to minor cuts, and let Bethany and Alistair mourn their lost friend.
By the time they reached the center of the fortress, Alistair felt as though his head was going to explode any minute. He was angry; he was filled with anguish at having had to cut down his old friend; he was filled with the adrenaline of battle and really wanted to kill things; he felt utterly lost and empty and alone and wanted to find a corner and cry the kind of tears mature heads of state weren't supposed to shed.
Oghren gone. How many was that, now? Leyden, of course. Wynne had succumbed to old age a few years after the Blight. Sten had gone back to Par Vollen; Maker only knew what had happened to him there. Alistair wanted to ask that Qunari fellow of the Inquisition's when he got a chance. Leyden's mabari, Spike, had died in the kennels in Denerim only a few months after the end of the Blight. Unable to imprint on someone else after the loss of his first two masters, and without any occupation that would have challenged him, war dog that he was, he had simply faded away. Leliana, of course, was back with the Inquisition; Alistair wondered what her reaction would be to what had happened here tonight. Zevran was somewhere in Antiva, no doubt continuing his vendetta against the Crows. Or, possibly, dead. It was hard to say. Lilias had run across him in Kirkwall not long before Alistair had arrived there—her description of him had been vintage Zevran. And of course, Morrigan was long gone and good riddance to her.
And here he was, alone. Last of the companions, he said to himself, the romantic ring of the phrase almost consoling, even if it wasn't strictly true.
He stopped short with the rest of the Inquisitor's team, just shy of a large knot of Grey Wardens surrounding a crackling rift in the Veil. A thin woman was pacing the battlements; Alistair recognized her as Clarel, Warden Commander of Orlais. A glance around showed him Warden mages bound to demons, Warden warriors and archers enthralled, staring up at Clarel as though she held all the answers to the fears that held him captive.
In the pile of bodies of those sacrificed, he recognized the familiar stubby black pigtails of Sigrun, and the grey-streaked brown hair of Caron, Amaranthine's Warden Commander, and bile rose in his throat. He kept himself from being violently sick only with an effort.
Clarel's voice rang above him: "Wardens, we are betrayed by the very world we are sworn to protect."
He recognized Erimond, the Tevinter magister, stopping Clarel as she paced. "The Inquisition is here! We have no time to waste."
Clarel faced off against the magister. "The sacrifice of good men and women may mean little in Tevinter, Magister, but to these Grey Wardens, it is a sacred duty. We will honor their bravery."
"No one else will be sacrificed!" Thule bellowed. "This ends now!"
"These Wardens will do their duty, Inquisitor," Erimond shouted back. "Do it, Clarel!"
"No!" It was Bethany's voice, rising in a hysterical shriek. From the pack of Wardens, Alistair saw a dark head whip around at the sound and he recognized Nathaniel Howe.
"Please, Maker," he muttered under his breath, "help us save him." If they could only salvage one person from this utter mess …
Clarel was facing off against the Inquisitor now. "We make the sacrifices no one else will," she declared. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."
"But they don't have to die!" Alistair protested. "This is all in your heads—this isn't the Calling, it is Corypheus."
"Corypheus?" Clarel staggered back as though someone had struck her. "But he's dead!"
"He is very much alive," Thule said. "I fought him in Haven. There was no mistaking it."
"He's right," Varric chimed in, rather surprisingly to Alistair, since the dwarf had been hanging back through the fighting. "I was in the Vimmarks when we killed him the first time, and I was there at Haven. It's him, no mistake."
Erimond hissed at Clarel, "These people will say anything to shake your confidence."
Clearly confused, Clarel rubbed a hand over her face. "Begin the ritual," she said at last.
Bethany screamed again. "NO!"
This time Nathaniel moved toward her. At the same time, both Solas and Merrill raised their staffs, ready to join battle.
"Please," Lilias cried out, "please, stop this! I have seen more than my share of blood magic—it is never worth the cost!"
"Continue with the ritual, Clarel. This demon is truly worthy of your strength," Erimond urged.
And then Thule's voice split the air. "ATTACK!"
Before anyone could move, Erimond banged his staff against the ground in front of him, and an ear-splitting shriek split the air. Everyone held still, looking up at the massive red dragon that whirled and screamed in the sky above them. Thule's face had drained of all color, leaving his tattoo standing out sharply against his skin.
"Yes, Inquisitor," Erimond said, triumph heavy in his voice. "My master thought you might show up, and he sent me his pet to welcome you."
Clarel watched the dragon wheel above her in shock. "Maker, no. What have I done?"
The dragon landed on a battlement and sat there, staring down at all of them. It was more menacing than an attack would have been. Alistair was reminded of the Archdemon, and Leyden. His heart was pounding.
And then a blast from Clarel's staff struck Erimond in the back, sending him sprawling. The dragon's great head turned toward her, and she took deliberate aim at it, striking it full in the face, and then turned to run.
"Clarel!" Erimond got to his feet and ran after her, and the dragon chased both of them.
The rest of the Wardens turned on the Inquisitor and his team. Nathaniel had come forward, and he and Bethany stood staring at each other. "Nate. Don't. Please," she whispered.
"Bethany." Lilias spoke so quietly her sister didn't appear to hear her. Alistair saw that Lilias was trembling, her eyes fixed on Bethany, and he took a step closer to Bethany, to try to prevent whatever it was that Lilias feared so. And then he remembered that he was the Senior Warden of Ferelden, and he took another step, more firmly this time, and put himself between Bethany and Nathaniel.
"It's over, Nathaniel. It's over. It's not the Calling; you're not dying. You will have to live with what has been done here, but the Wardens must not disgrace themselves further. They must take their place in the fighting, starting with these demons here." They stood looking at one another for a long moment, and then Nathaniel moved, turning to the others.
"Wardens. We owe it to our brothers and sisters to do what they would do for us. Free them!"
And together, they finished off the demons and the Wardens bound to them.
Inquisition forces had come up behind them, and Thule left the clean-up and the care of the surviving Wardens to them while he and his team chased after Clarel, Erimond, and the dragon.
In the far reaches of the fortress, they came on the tableau: Clarel, facing off against Erimond, who lay sprawled on the ground, and the dragon whirling in the sky above them, shrieking its displeasure.
Thule was in time to hear Clarel cry, "You have destroyed the Grey Wardens!"
Erimond was wheezing, but he gasped out, "You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch. A little power dangled before you, a little fear, and you couldn't wait to get your hands bloody!"
Clarel gave a great bellow of anger, her staff lifting to finish Erimond off, but the dragon swooped in and caught her in its mouth.
Behind Thule, Bethany gasped and started forward, but her sister caught her by the arm and held her back.
The dragon shook its head and then twisted it and flung Clarel across the stones. Shockingly, she seemed to still be alive, feebly trying to rise. Merrill moved toward her, but the dragon was there before the elven mage could reach the fallen Warden Commander.
"In war, victory," Clarel gasped.
Bethany and Alistair said the rest with her, their voices giving her strength.
"In peace, vigilance. In death …" Her last word was drowned in the crackle of magic as she struck the dragon full in the mouth with a fist of fire.
The dragon was blasted back from her, falling so heavily onto the cobblestones that they crumbled beneath it, and then the bridge they were standing on was wobbling.
"Run!" Thule shouted, but it was too late. The stones beneath his feet came apart, and they were all tumbling through space, dragon and stones and people.
From the corner of his eye, he was aware of the dragon getting its wings under it and flying off, and then there was nothing between him and the ground but flying bits of stone.
He did the only thing he could think of—he focused the Anchor on the ground below him and put all his effort into opening a rip in the Veil. He fell into the green slash that resulted, and then everything went black.