Battle at the Marketplace

CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: yes
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

...busy... working... (where the hell are all the characters?)

special thanks to ShebasDawn for beta review!

Battle at the Marketplace

==#==

The ogre charged the Wardens, who spun aside, then cut at its legs as it sped past. It stumbled and fell, and Zevran leapt upon its unprotected back, stabbing down with gusto.

Alistair approached Bannon as they caught their breath. "I have to check on Goldana."

"Alistair..."

"I know, I know. She doesn't want anything to do with me, she's not really family, I should forget about her and let it go, and it's stupid. But that dream." He saw the same haunted look in the elf's eyes. "I at least have to see if her children are all right - they're innocent."

"All right. Take a squad of dwarves with you."

"Thanks!"

==#==

Bannon waited for the giant slayers with growing anger and unease churning in his stomach. Visions of the nightmare they'd had on the road haunted him; his father, his cousin, in the clutches of the vile darkspawn.

No sooner had Sten and Shale shown up, with Oghren and Wynne tagging along, than Bannon was calling for Zevran and his own squad of dwarves.

Leliana appeared out of the chaos with two Dalish Hunters as escorts. "Where are you going?"

"I have to check on my family. Alistair's already gone to see about his sister."

The nun frowned. "It is not wise for you to split up."

Bannon shook his head, not seeing how that made much difference. "Things are handled here. I'm moving south into the Alienage."

"I will gather archers to accompany you."

He didn't want to argue, so he led a mixed group of dwarves and elves to the gate.

==#==

There were shrieks in the streets. Nevermind great hulking ogres; those were impossible to miss, but the swift and agile - not to mention sneaky - shrieks could leap out from anywhere, even attack from above.

Unfortunately for the shrieks, they couldn't sneak up on Alistair. As soon as he yelled and pointed, the dwarves had their shields up in an interlocking wall while their blades pointed into the attack.

They made it to the laundry. It appeared intact. Alistair pushed the door open with his shield. "Goldana? Kids?" It was deathly quiet, and he feared the worst.

There were piles of clothes in disarrayed heaps, and one jug incongruously left on the kitchen floor. Signs of a struggle? Or simply haste? There was no blood, thank the Maker, but there was the smell of the Taint.

Had the darkspawn been here and kidnapped Goldana and the children? For some nefarious purpose? And if so, then what? Was he to try to track them down through the embattled city? Forsake his duty to the Grey Wardens?

He set the jug down on the table. No. He had to believe they fled with the others. He had a job to do.

"Let's get back to the fight."

==#==

The Alienage gate was manned, only this time by elves. Bannon recognized some of his old cohorts, and those beggars with 'half-foot.' They opened the gate with a ragged cheer.

"Are you drinking!?" Bannon goggled at them.

"Bolstering our courage," Garret declared.

"Save it for the victory celebration!"

"Hear, hear! To victory!" The rogues raised a toast.

"Great," Bannon muttered. "Our fate lies in the hands of drunken idiots."

"'Tis a good way to die," Zevran offered.

Their fate was in the Maker's hands. Bannon hurried to the vhenedahl, to the makeshift command center. Dozens of elves were perched high in the sacred tree, bows at the ready, and eyes looking out for attack.

"Shianni!" Bannon found his cousin in the thick of things, a cracked leather cuirass over her tunic, and one of Alarith's old swords at her belt. "Is everything all right?"

She turned. "Yes! We haven't been attacked yet."

"Then how the hell did those ogres get into...?" He frowned and shook his head. All that mattered was that they were there now and needed to be slaughtered. "Nevermind. You-" He was about to tell her how to deploy her troops, but she beat him to it.

"We have the lookouts above, and guards on each gate. We have archers on the rooftops overlooking the streets from the back gate and the bridge.

Bannon heard a smooth voice behind him. "A fine strategy." He turned and saw Dakorian coming through the crowd - he hadn't known that guy was going to tag along. "I have my Hunters similarly deployed in your market clearing."

"Shouldn't you be with them?" Bannon grumbled to himself. Zevran elbowed him hard with a snicker.

Shianni gaped at the dark-haired wild elf, his forehead crowned with tattoos.

"I am Dakorien," he said, "First Hunter of the Teirhylle Clan."

"I-I-I-I'm, um, Shianni." She blushed.

Bannon rolled his eyes. "If you're here to help," he pointedly ordered the Dalish, "you should get your people to the front lines, where they can fight with bow and blade."

"Of course, Warden." He turned to deploy his Hunters.

"Wow, cousin," Shianni said, leaning close and lowering her voice. "You really have gone places!"

Zevran quipped, "You have no idea."

Bannon kicked him, and nearly blurted out that Dakorian probably fancied the Antivan more than he did her, but realized it was best not to let Zevran know that. He changed the subject. "Now, what about traps?"

==#==

Back in the market, the ogres had all been dealt with. Various warriors milled around, catching their breath. Alistair let his dwarves regroup with their comrades. He followed his senses and found the Orlesian Warden scanning the smoky skies.

"Riordan? Hey...? Where's Bannon?"

"Head south, mes ami. The horde moves against us here."

"We can head to the alien-"

"Non. They have locked the gate. Go there-" He turned and pointed towards an avenue on the southwest side. "To the estate where the mages are. Defend them."

"All right," Alistair said, frowning at the other man in concern. "But what about you?"

Riordan's eyes drifted back to the sky. "I do not need a gate..."

"Uhm... all right." The man was about to die; Alistair had to leave him to it. He trotted back towards the center of the marketplace. "Hey, Wynne! Shale! We're moving to the Denerim Estate. Everybody! Move out!"

The tapestry of various soldiers flowed towards the estate grounds. Wynne came by, leaning heavily on her staff. She paused a moment by Alistair.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes. I've been protecting and healing Shale, Sten, and Oghren."

He nodded. "Riordan says we should fall back and defend the mages."

"And Bannon?"

"Already defending the alienage."

Wynne nodded. "Let's go, Shale."

"As you wish." The golem clomped over, following Wynne.

"Sten," Alistair called. "Come on!"

"No!"

"Argh, why didn't I tell him to do the opposite of what I meant?" the former Templar grumbled to himself. "Sten, the horde is coming. We'll be safer inside the gates."

"I do not need to be safer," the horned giant said calmly.

"Are you trying to die?"

"No. Only serving my sentence for murder."

Alistair frowned. 'Murderers and thieves,' the dwarves had called them. He shrugged. He'd never known a finer company of loyal adventurers. "All right. Good luck!"

He turned to follow the rest of the fighters. A skinny young elf darted against the tide. "Ser Alistair!" It was that elf kid that had been following Bannon around. Anselm, that was his name. "Where is Ser Bannon?"

"He's in the alienage. Stick with me, kid," he said before Anselm could run off. "And we'll find him. I hear there's a back gate." He looked speculatively in that general direction. Then he caught a glimpse of red hair. "Leliana! We're expecting a push!" he called to the Chantry Sister. "Falling back to the estate!"

"I will relay that, Alistair," she called back. "But the Dalish have secured their high ground. They may wish to stay."

"As long as they're ready! Keep an eye out for Sten, too!" Alistair waved the last warriors through the gate, then more people raced down the avenue from the west. Some of the refugees, citizens of Denerim, and some of the city guard.

"The darkspawn are coming!"

"Get inside the gate!" Alistair roared.

"Close the gates!"

"They're attacking the wounded!"

"Help us!"

Alistair saw a wagon behind the stragglers. Four men were struggling to pull it - no horse would be reliable near the horde. A handful of darkspawn bore down on them, screaming and slathering. A shriek leapt ahead of its brethren, gained the tailgate. It let out its ear-piercing cry of victory.

Alistair turned towards the estate. "Hold that gate!" he commanded, already running towards the wagon, sword out. He caught Anselm out of the corner of his eye; he'd meant for the lad to go to safety, but the elf grabbed the wagon traces alongside the men and pulled.

Alistair drew abreast of the cart and yelled at the shriek, "Come on, Fangy! Try a Grey Warden!"

The beast glared at him, confused for a moment, then its eyes filled with baleful hatred. With another scream, it launched itself straight at his face.

Alistair caught it on his shield and lifted, launching the creature across the avenue, into a trio of refuse barrels. It crashed in a tangle of long limbs, splintered barrel staves, hoops, and rubbish.

He didn't bother to look. He strode to the back of the wagon and pushed. His Grey Warden strength leant it new speed towards the estate. No sooner had it outstripped him than he turned, lashing out with his sword, cleaving two genlocks across the face. A hurlock came in ahead of its companions, axe raised.

Alistair didn't feel like waiting. The shriek was still down, but surely not dead. It was probably waiting to leap on his unprotected back. He charged the hurlock, caught it off balance. He rammed his shield into its teeth, knocking it onto its back. His sword thrust down, punching through leather and ribs.

The other darkspawn of the vanguard swarmed him, and the damned shriek jumped him from behind. Alistair broke left, charging right over a genlock. The shriek crashed into two hurlocks, and Alistair stabbed it through the spine.

He raised a boot to its backside to free his sword while shoving the hurlocks to the ground. He whipped left again to handle the genlock. Their blades clashed, again and again.

Now Alistair jumped back, throwing the genlock off balance. His sword found its neck, and its blood spattered his shield. Then he was on the two remaining hurlocks, making every sword cut count. He could feel the tide nearing. He could feel the Archdemon circling overhead.

He left the hurlocks crippled, bleeding out. He ran to the Denerim Estate, where four of the city guard were holding the gates half open. "Now secure the gate," Alistair told them as he jogged in.

"Yes, ser!"

==#==

Wynne looked around at the six healing circles. All the mages, young and old, looked so tired. They couldn't stop. Lives depended upon them. They had a few to spare who could sit out a few minutes, then spell those who needed rest most. But they could use more.

Wynne marched to the foyer. "Morrigan!"

The witch stood near the front windows, looking out. She didn't bother to turn.

"We need you in the healing circles."

"I am not a Circle mage."

"You're a mage, and there are wounded. Soldiers fighting for our very survival."

"They are not my concern."

Wynne frowned and walked right up to her. "You've clung to your self-serving attitude long enough. Whatever scheme you're up to, you're here now, and standing idle. There's no reason not to help."

"My reasons are my o-"

"Don't give me that crap! Honestly, you'd think you're afraid of a little altruism. It won't kill you, you know."

"I..."

"I've seen your power." Wynne narrowed her eyes. "And you've seen mine."

"And what would your vaunted Templars say if they knew?" the witch threatened.

"In the middle of a battle to save the very world?" Wynne scoffed. "No one has a chance to be that picky right now. And they don't have time to hunt apostates, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Hardly."

"Good. Then come on." She didn't give Morrigan any choice in the matter.

==#==

"Help! Help! The darkspawn are coming! The darkspawn are coming!" Half-Foot led the rogue gate brigade running across the bridge.

"He moves fast for a lame guy," Zevran noted.

Bannon ran over to head off their retreat. "How many? What kind?"

"The whole flaming horde!"

"Is the gate closed?"

"Yes!"

"Locked?"

"Yes!"

Bannon grabbed the elf by the shoulders, then snaked out a hand to grab one of his cohorts trying to slip past. "Get out your traps! Line the bridge!"

"What!?"

"We're not going back there!"

"They'll break through!"

"We have time," Bannon snapped. "Get out there!" He shoved at the rogues. "Left! Right! Left!" he directed them. "Gimme some traps, I'll go to the other end! Zev, help them 'organize'!" He shot the assassin a meaningful look, then grabbed the bag handed to him and jogged to the far end of the bridge.

The darkspawn saw him and renewed their fury against the Alienage gate, gnashing and breaking their teeth on the iron bars. Luckily, there wasn't an ogre among them, and hopefully all the ogres were dead.

He turned his back on them, not that they couldn't see what he was doing, but he hoped they were too stupid - or too obsessed - to bother trying to avoid the traps.

He could still hear them, though. Howling for his blood. He could smell them, feel them, the dank tide of Taint threatening to drown his home.

Just one more. Just one more. Every trap set could save dozens of lives.

The gate rang with repeated attempts to knock it out of its tracks with brute force. Random crashes began to come into synch, slamming louder and louder. The metal whined with stress.

Just one more. Just -! His bag was empty.

Bannon jumped up and sprinted for the other side of the bridge, a collective scream of fury chasing him. Did the rogues plant the traps right? Left, right? Which way? Where?

He saw Zevran at the end of the bridge, waving his arms? No - signalling. Bannon followed his directions and made it to safety.

With no breath for thanks, he drew his blades and turned in time to see the results of his handiwork.

In the distant sky, the Archdemon roared. Its minions trebled their attack and smashed the gate. Like diseased sewage, the darkspawn flooded the alienage. The front line hit the arc of traps Bannon had laid. Hurlocks and genlocks fell under the tide that barely slowed down.

The Warden took a deep breath and gripped his sword hilts. Behind him, elves were screaming, but only wails of fear; high, thin cries. Not the raw-throated screams of the dying. And it wouldn't come to that, not if he could help it.

He felt a surge of power in his heart, his core. He stepped forward onto the bridge, the narrow choke point.

The traps closer to the middle broke up the horde's charge, threw it into disarray, slowed the flood to more of a trickle.

Bannon waded in, swords whirling.

==X==

End Notes:

That last scene is actually in one of my first Dragon Age music videos. Wow. Such history! :)