Work continues on this story, albeit slowly! Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to suilven for the lightning-fast beta!
Cullen studied the War Table unhappily. Too many soldiers had been sent on scouting missions in what had turned out to be a vain attempt to discover Corypheus's whereabouts. Skyhold was as unprotected as it had ever been, and he felt alarm surging through his blood even as memories of Haven appeared in his mind's eye.
No. This would not be that, he told himself sternly, feeling the by-now-familiar racing heart and sick headache beginning. He would not fall to the fears that gripped him. Not this time.
Across the table, Morrigan was boasting of her skill. She claimed she could match Corypheus's dragon. Perhaps she could. They would not know until they needed her to perform, and Cullen disliked relying on an apostate, particularly one of Morrigan's secretive nature and checkered history, under the best of circumstances … which this hardly was.
Next to her, Thule looked uncharacteristically nervous. He was staring at the War Table with a face as long as Cullen's felt. Well, it was only to be expected. The Inquisitor's face-off against the darkspawn magister was coming, and soon. You could feel it in the air.
Between them, they were rehashing the same fields their discussions usually took these days—the suggestions of how to discover Corypheus's whereabouts, shot down one after another almost as soon as they were spoken. Cullen offered his belief that someone, somewhere, ought to have seen Corypheus's dragon; Josephine brought up the Deep Roads.
But today would not end in futile promises to keep looking, as all the other meetings had done. Because before Josephine could finish her statement, there was a crack, a nightmarish splitting sound, and the light through the windows suddenly turned green, even as across the table the Anchor flared in the Inquisitor's hand, bringing him to his knees with a cry of pain.
Into the silence that followed, as they all stared in horror at the renewed Breach, came Morrigan's voice, calm and cool and composed as always. "It would seem, Inquisitor, that Corypheus has tired of waiting."
Leliana would have given much to be able to reach across the table and slap the smug, self-satisfied look off of Morrigan's face. Just once before this was all over, she promised herself that pleasure. But now was not that time. Now Corypheus was back at Haven, profaning all over again everything that they had all worked toward there. Literally walking on Justinia's grave.
"Well, it looks like this is it," the Inquisitor said, flexing his Anchor-marked hand. "Either I close the Breach again, or it swallows the world."
"The old swallow-the-world ploy. Why do they always go for that?"
No one reacted to Alistair's joke, but he didn't seem to mind. He hadn't made it to be amusing, Leliana knew, but as a defense against his own fears. She wished, for his sake, that the task in front of him were as simple and straightforward as Thule's—close the Breach, defeat the creature. Alistair's task was much more difficult, and much less suited to his particular skill set.
But even Ferelden's fate would have to wait now, in the face of the greater threat.
"But that is madness!" Josephine exclaimed. "When the world was swallowed, would Corypheus not be swallowed with it?"
The rest of them all looked at each other, all certain that Corypheus had some plan—or that he was willing to die to destroy the world and prevent Thule his victory. If Corypheus couldn't have the toy, no one could.
Cullen looked down at the War Table, his face pinched as he counted the pieces. "I have no army to send with you, Inquisitor," he said softly. "I am sorry. I sent too many of them to hunt Corypheus."
"Don't blame yourself, Cullen. It was always going to be me and him." Thule stared out the window, his face bleak, the Breach reflecting off his tattoo.
"You must go now, Inquisitor. Before it is too late," Leliana urged him.
"Yes." Thule blinked, tearing his eyes away from the Breach. "Yes. It's time."
In the bustle of preparation that came after the Breach reopened, Alistair did what he did best—he stayed out of everyone else's way. This was Thule's show. He didn't need the King of Ferelden telling him how to mobilize his people.
But it did leave Alistair feeling more useless than he liked. He wanted a task, something to accomplish. His hands felt large and clumsy hanging at his sides without something to occupy them.
"This is not your battle," observed Morrigan, coming up next to him.
"No," he agreed, warily. There was always a trap where Morrigan was concerned.
"But you will ride with them. With Hawke and the Inquisitor."
"Yes." The word came out a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. He really didn't want to be left behind, and he thought there was a decent chance someone would try to do just that.
"Good," Morrigan said decisively. When he glanced at her, startled, she shrugged. "This is who you are, Alistair. You ride into battle. You plant your feet and fight for what you believe is good, and honorable, and just. You should not let anyone take that task from you, or put you into one that does not suit you as well." She shook her head. "It is a terrible pity that Leyden did not leave you to be a Grey Warden."
"It always has been," he agreed. "I weep for Ferelden."
"Do not weep," she snapped. "Act." She moved away, then turned to look back at him. "Alistair."
"Yes?"
"I will not see you again."
He considered a snarky comment, but that didn't feel right, not for this moment. "May the Maker go with you."
Morrigan hesitated, then inclined her head. "And with you."
When they finally reached the blasted ruins of Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Varric could hear that horrible voice—deep and emotionless and powerful—intoning ahead of them.
"Where is your Maker now?" Corypheus was asking. "Call down His wrath upon me if you dare."
Ahead of Varric, Stones and the Seeker were already spurring their horses on faster, with Hawke and her Royal Majesty not far behind. Varric wished he shared their eagerness, but the last thing he wanted was to speed up. He'd much rather fall back, let someone else take on this nightmare this time. But hadn't he done that enough? Bianca's voice whispered in his head, her jeering words about his stories and about letting life pass him by. Sure, he'd been out in the field with Hawke and the Inquisitor, but was it enough? Had he done anything more than wake a demon and then leave others to deal with it?
With a groan of frustration, Varric spurred his own horse, holding on for dear life as it kept pace with the others around it.
As he came around the corner, pulling on the reins to bring the horse to a stop, Varric saw Corypheus raise a red and glowing orb. "Bow before your new god and be spared."
"You are no god!" Stones cried out, lifting the hand with the Anchor. "It ends here, Corypheus."
The demon darkspawn bowed mockingly. "And so it shall."
The Inquisitor and his companions sent the rest of the Inquisition's people back out of the line of fire, even as Corypheus approached Stones. The dwarf didn't flinch, his hand still in the air sparking green fire.
"You have been most successful in foiling my plans, but let us not forget what you are," Corypheus said. "A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat."
Stones glanced at the Seeker, who returned his gaze with a small nod. He turned back to Corypheus. "I came here to stop you once and for all. That is what I will do."
The two of them held each other's gazes, and Varric clutched Bianca tightly to him. One way or the other, it would end here. He only hoped his would be the stories that made it into history … because that would mean he was alive to write them.
From far above their heads came the scream of a dragon, a red, gnarled, none-too-healthy-looking dragon that barreled down toward them, its mouth belching flame. Lilias balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to roll out of its way, when out of nowhere came another dragon, this one sleek and dark and dangerous-looking. Morrigan, she thought.
Somewhere behind her she heard Alistair mutter, "It's about time," and couldn't help a little smile. After all this time, he couldn't let go of those old bitternesses … although he seemed to be making progress with other emotions.
Corypheus screamed in rage as the two dragons grappled. Morrigan wasn't dominating Corypheus's dragon—in fact, the two seemed well-matched—but she had effectively rendered it powerless as a weapon Corypheus could control. Corypheus retreated into the tumbled stones of the ruin, climbing the crumbling stairs.
The Inquisitor waved an arm. "Come on!"
Demons were appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Cassandra and Alistair and Blackwall raised their weapons and attacked, creating a shield wall that battered the demons back. Sera and Vivienne ranged themselves behind and started raining arrows and spells down on their foes. Cole darted between the front line fighters, his daggers finding all the soft, hidden places.
Lilias looked at Alistair, not wanting to leave him, not knowing if she would be coming back. But Corypheus was her responsibility. He was hers to finish. She tore her gaze away, following Varric, who followed the Inquisitor. The Iron Bull was with them, too, and Dorian, and Merrill. Solas had disappeared. Lilias hoped he was still alive, for Merrill's sake.
Corypheus was far ahead of them, halted on the next level of the ruin, the floor pitted with holes where stones had fallen.
Following Corypheus's gaze, Lilias could see the dragons still grappling … but she could also see that the black one was weakening. With a final stretch of the neck, the red one bit the black dragon hard, so that blood spattered from the wound, falling all around the spectators, all of whom were so lost in the battle in the sky that they had entirely forgotten the battle on the ground.
The black dragon reeled away from its foe, wings flapping helplessly as it tumbled to the ground. At last it landed, becoming Morrigan as it did so. Dorian scrambled toward her, but she waved him off impatiently with what looked like the last of her strength.
The red dragon landed in front of them, screaming its victory, and Corypheus ducked behind it and ran for the next set of stairs.
Lilias caught the Inquisitor's eye. "Go! I've got this."
Merrill raised her staff, calling out words in her own language, and loose stones began to raise themselves from the ground, hurling themselves at the dragon. Lilias paused only a moment to be sure that the Inquisitor and the others could get by the dragon in pursuit of Corypheus before making a run for the dragon, dodging Merrill's stones and the dragon's corrupted flames.
Her daggers wouldn't be much good against the thing unless she could reach the eyes. On the bright side, something seemed wrong with one of its wings, as it wasn't even making an attempt to get off the ground. "Merrill! Get its head down!" she shouted, circling as best she could around toward the dragon's back. She was faster and lighter than it was, which gave her some advantage, but not enough.
But she had Merrill, and Merrill had all the power of the earth at her fingertips. The stones stopped launching themselves at the dragon's head and began to pound at its back and its neck. It couldn't maneuver against them as well to protect those sensitive areas, and slowly, slowly, the neck began to droop under the onslaught.
Lilias took advantage of its distraction and climbed up and over its shoulder, trying not to think about the encrustations of red lyrium that crackled beneath her gloves. The neck was almost in reach, and then the head, and at last, triumphantly, she drove the daggers into the dragon's eyes.
She wasn't prepared for the violent thrashing of its death throes, however, and she was sent flying into the air, landing on the stones with a crack that sent her straight into darkness.
There were only the four of them left—Thule, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Varric. He trusted the others, mostly. As much as he trusted most people, which was as far as he understood them and no further. But ahead of them was Corypheus, and while they had won fight after fight against his minions and his lieutenants, they had yet to best Corypheus himself.
"This is the day, boss. You ready?" The Iron Bull was enjoying himself. There was nothing the Qunari loved more than a fight against beings larger than himself, and they were rare enough to find.
Dorian seemed less pleased, but he was ready, and Varric looked like he was about to be sick, but it was a determined sort of nausea.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Thule said, just as Corypheus appeared on a rocky ledge above their heads. He held the orb in his hand. Thule's palm itched, the Anchor spitting green fire, at the sight of it.
"Let it end here! Let the skies boil, let the world be rent asunder!"
Dorian shot a bolt of dark magic across the distance separating him from Corypheus and the orb, which had begun to glow green. Green light arced back at the mage, sparking from his staff to his hands to his head, and Dorian staggered back, crying out in pain.
There was no time to stop and look out for his well-being. If they were going to get there in time, they had to get—
The thought was cut off as something scooped Thule up around the middle and begin sprinting for the stairs with him slung over its shoulder.
"Bull!" Thule shouted, humiliated and enraged.
"Sorry, boss, I'm faster than you are."
He couldn't argue with that, but this wouldn't have been his remedy. "Never tell anyone about this."
"In the stories, you're twenty feet tall," Bull promised, panting.
"Tell him, not me," Thule said, gesturing toward Varric. Watching his fellow dwarf struggle up the jagged stone steps went a long way toward promoting forgiveness for the Iron Bull, in Thule's mind.
At the top, Bull put him down. Varric was still behind them. Corypheus was ahead of them, babbling curses and promises to Dumat, wherever he might be hiding. The orb had gone from green to red, and spears of red light sparked from it. Thule and the others dodged and weaved. Bull, the largest of them, couldn't quite get out of the way, and he went down like a fallen tree.
"I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages … Dumat, ancient one! I beseech you!" Corypheus cried.
"Yeah, I heard enough of this the first time," Varric muttered. And Bianca spoke, again and again, her sharp arrows spiking through the red light until at last one of them caught Corypheus in the shoulder, and another in the upper chest as he spun around.
Caught off guard, his incantations thrown off, Corypheus fell to his knees.
"Dumat … if you exist, if you ever truly existed, aid me now," Corypheus moaned.
Thule raised his hand, letting the Anchor's power begin to grow. He could feel the orb, the dark sweetness of its red lyrium corruption, and he let the clean light of the Anchor fight it, put all his will behind the Anchor's strength.
And the orb came to him, shooting out of the red miasma that surrounded it and hurtling straight into Thule's outstretched hand.
He and Corypheus and Varric all stared at it for a moment. Then Varric said, softly, "It's all yours now, Stones. Finish it."
Corypheus sagged on the ground, all the energy gone from him. But left like that, he would rebuild his strength. Someday, somehow, he would come back to menace the world all over again. Thule wasn't going to let that happen.
He lifted the orb, pointing its power at the Breach, and the Breach closed, once and for all. The orb fell to the ground, cracking into pieces as it landed, its power spent.
Thule approached the fallen would-be god, feeling the Anchor still sizzling in his hand. It took almost no effort to open the rift, as if the Anchor wanted to all on its own. A disquieting sensation, but not one he had time to worry about.
"You wanted into the Fade?" he asked Corypheus. The rift opened itself in the center of the creature's body, as Corypheus screamed and writhed and twisted. When the rift closed, Corypheus was gone, his body splintered as it went.
And there was silence. It was over.