A/N: Sorry about the *incredibly* long delay in posting the new chapters, things have been downright crazy on my end. But I haven't forgotten my little Mel, and I will see her journey through (I keep getting bombarded with new ideas to keep the story as interesting and fresh as I can ,too). Also, thank you so much for the reviews, reviews make me very happy! So without further ado, and the promise that I'm already working on chapter 7, here's the end of Ostagar!
Chapter 6 – A New Dawn
The ground was a cold, hard, unforgiving place to lie upon, even in the summer, and as that stark thought occurred to her, Melwiliel realized that she was still alive. And trembling from head to toe as well, she noticed as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the aftershocks of the searing pain to run their course through her.
"I think she's coming around, Duncan."
Walling off the outside world, the mage attempted to center herself while she rode out the waves of agony that struck her, waiting for them to subside. Although she had initially compared the Joining to the Harrowing, the two rituals' differences now stood out in sharp contrast. At least she had had some measure of control in the battle of wills that had been the Harrowing; all she could now do was hold on for dear life as the poison that was darkspawn blood battered her. Time stretched out, endlessly, and she felt trapped in the moment.
When, at long last, the tremors subsided and the pain retreated to a small, dark, throbbing corner next to her heart, she opened her eyes. Duncan and Alistair hovered over her, the older man's expression smooth and unreadable, while the younger man's face was full of concern. Behind them, each star stood out sharply in the night as a deep rumble was heard in the distance.
"It is finished. Welcome to the Grey Wardens." said Duncan as they helped her up. "How do you feel?"
"I'll be alright.", she nodded shakily.
"Very well. Alistair will give you your pendant, and accompany you back to my tent. I'll join you there shortly, once the King's war council is completed." With one last look at the newest Warden, he disappeared into the shadows enveloping the stairs that led from the ruined old temple, leaving the two of them alone.
Oddly enough, one of the first things Melwiliel noticed was that she had been unconscious long enough for Jory and Daveth's bodies to be taken away, the old stones scrubbed clean of the knight's blood, all traces of their passage erased. Just like apprentices vanished into thin air when they failed their Harrowing. And although she lamented it, she now understood the need for secrecy.
Then, suddenly, it struck her. Everything seemed crisp, more immediate, more real. She could see the ridges in each stone as they met and formed the temple floor; blades of grass stood out sharply against the whitened flagstones. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Hey! You awake?" The mage's attention was jerked back to the now, realizing that Alistair had been speaking to her for some time.
"Oh. Yes. I just had this... odd feeling..."
"Well, drinking darkspawn blood can do that to you, you know." He held out his closed fist, opening it to drop a silver pendant into her open palm. "Here you go. The last part of the Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in there. Something to remind us of those who didn't make it this far."
"Oh, a templar is giving jewelry to a mage? How sweet." came the acerbic reply.
Alistair rolled his eyes, sighing. "Do you *have* to do that? You could just say 'thank you', you know. Besides, we're both Grey Wardens now, not mages or templars."
"Old habits die hard, isn't that what Duncan said?" answered the elf with a small smile. "But I will *try* to remember that." As if the Joining and the agonizing pain hadn't driven that home. She fumbled with the clasp as she donned the pendant, slipping it beneath her robes, and followed him out of the ruined old temple.
They hadn't gone far when Alistair glanced at her warily, as if he feared she would explode if prodded too much. "You know... you *could* be a little nicer..."
"I... could." she conceded ungraciously with a smoldering glare. Of course, it was difficult not to unleash years of repressed resentment, especially when it was rather certain that the target would not strike her down for being an impertinent mage on the verge of abomination. Mel resolved to keep her rancor checked and was about to voice her own begrudging apology, when a dark haired man with weathered skin leapt in their path.
"Pardon me, sers, but... are you Grey Wardens?" When the pair nodded simultaneously, he continued. "Forgive me, good sers, I'm the kennel master here in the King's camp, and I was hoping, maybe to ask for your assistance with a few of the dogs that got the taint. Seeing as you're immune to it..." He gazed at them expectantly.
The mage turned to Alistair, waiting for his response, as years of deferring to superiors kicked in. And then the oddest thing happened, startling her into a shocked silence.
"Well, don't look at me!" he told her with a shrug and a sheepish smile. "I'm not much of a dog person."
Huffing an exasperated sigh, the young woman motioned for the kennel master to lead the way to the sickened mabari hounds.
Melwiliel had had precious little experience with animals, growing up in a Tower full of books, dusty scrolls and distillation apparatus. There had been a few cats in the kitchens, to keep the mice away from the grain sacks, but they were nothing next to the massive mabari hounds they had helped care for. She had read and heard quite a lot about these prized dogs, it had been something else entirely to be confronted with the real thing. Hoping at least some of the mabaris would survive the darkspawn taint, however unlikely that was, Melwiliel turned her attention back to her packing.
Although their earlier excursion in the Wilds hadn't depleted their resources, Alistair had insisted on acquiring basic necessities for life out in the open, such as bedrolls, tents, and a few cooking utensils. "You never know what can happen in a battle", he had simply said, adding in an afterthought that one could end up separated from comrades, left to fend for oneself. Melwiliel hadn't dared answer that she had never once cooked in her entire life, and that, if such a thing happened to her, she would probably end up in some wild animal's stomach.
When thoughts of the coming battle and its potential consequences made her insides writhe once more, she firmly shoved aside such musings and got to her feet with the help of her staff. Her first impulse had been to lash the thing to the back of her pack, an impulse ultimately discarded in favor of keeping it close at hand. Especially considering her dismal talent in offensive magics.
As Melwiliel stood, Duncan finally returned from the war council and informed them of the king's battle plans. The Wardens were to fight with King Cailan, engaging the darkspawn head on, while Teyrn Loghain would attack the flank of the enemy horde, charging only when signaled. Then, Duncan added that Alistair and Melwiliel would be tasked with light the beacon at the top of the tower of Ishal.
"What?!" came the resounding, disbelieving cry, simultaneously, from both junior Wardens. "I thought we would be fighting with the rest of you." continued Alistair. "Can't we have a foot soldier take care of this?"
Melwiliel offered up no further protest when Duncan remained adamant: the less combat she saw, the better she fared, in her opinion. And the more food she kept in her stomach. Alistair, however, didn't see things the same way.
"I just thought I'd be fighting with the rest of you, not standing on the top of some crumbling tower, waving a flickering torch." he grumbled. "Fine, then, if it's what you and Cailan want. But I'm warning you, if he ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."
While Duncan only sighed, the same deep sigh of a long-suffering parent, Mel stifled an undignified squawk of surprise at the young man's uncharacteristic, flippant response. Meanwhile, her ever curious mind wondered at his lack of deference when referring to Fereldan's king. The leader of the Grey Wardens remained undeterred and repeated their instructions.
"Just go to the Tower, Alistair, and light the beacon when signaled."
"Can't we at least join you once that's done?"
A muted groan of protest escaped the mage's lips.
"No, the both of you are to guard the beacon." said Duncan as he shook his head. "I want no argument on this."
"But what if the Archdemon shows himself?" pleaded the younger man.
"No heroics out of you", was the sharp answer, the man's eyes dark and piercing. "If it does happen, you leave it to the rest of us. Understood?" He seemed almost angry as he retrieved the gauntlets he had discarded earlier.
"Yes, Duncan." muttered a sobered Alistair.
When the dark-haired man saw the chastened expression as he straightened, he softened, adding: "Just be patient, Alistair. There will be plenty of battles."
"That's the most sensible thing I've heard all day." muttered Melwiliel, and that drew a warm chuckle from Duncan.
"Just remember that you are both Grey Wardens and strive to be worthy of the title. Your teachers taught you well, but from here on, you're on your own." He retrieved his pack. "I must rejoin the others, the battle is about to begin."
As Duncan turned to leave, Alistair grabbed the older man by the arm. "Duncan, I..." he stammered before continuing with a sigh, "May the Maker watch over you."
"May the Maker watch over us all," countered Duncan with a solemn nod. And with that, he dissolved into the darkening shadows of the night.
Alistair stared vacantly until Melwiliel gingerly prodded him, motioning that they should leave. As they gathered their equipment and made their way across the gorge, a deafening hush settled on Ostagar, that muted stillness which preceded the din of battle, broken only by the increasingly loud roar of thunder and lightning. It wasn't long before the sky tore open, large drops of rain falling from the heavens.
"Alistair", ventured the elven girl, nervous with trepidation, "you're a lot taller than I am... Why don't *you* stand up there, waving that 'flickering torch'? They'll see it much better than if I was holding it..."
"Tell you what," he answered with a small, wry smile. "If you hold the torch, I'll let you stand on my shoulders, and then they're *bound* to see the signal..."
Mel grinned.
Perhaps things weren't going so well after all. Just as the young mage started to feel cautiously optimistic about surviving the Joining and being kept away from the bulk of the fighting, violence erupted. And not just on the battle field. When the young Wardens arrived on the grounds of the Tower of Ishal, the darkspawn had been waiting for them. They had barely managed to regroup with the unit of foot soldiers which had been ordered to guard the way to the beacon, and fighting their way to the top had been a grueling business.
It was all she could do to remain standing. Mel had spent so much time worrying about her offensive magic, never a moment doubting her healing skills. Three men had already perished; the first had taken four arrows to the chest, dying before he even hit the floor; the second had been swiftly decapitated by a hurlock's axe; the third's life had ebbed away, out of gaping wounds, faster than she could work. In each and every case, there had been nothing she could do, and that alone tore at Melwiliel's heart. She had been so sure of her healing abilities that she had not been prepared for the sting of failure. And above all, the waste of life made her furious.
The grunts of henlocks and the battle cries of the men brought her back to the task at hand, and she readied her staff. As the magical bolts sped towards the darkspawn, she stole a few glances at Alistair, her fellow Warden, while he deftly deflected a henlock's lunges with his shield. Studying the flurry of blows, Melwiliel decided she was rather glad they fought on the same side, templar or no.
With the last of the darkspawn dispatched, the mage moved through the fighters, healing cuts, bruises and gashes alike as she passed. When she stopped in front of Alistair, however, she couldn't resist.
"I hope you're happy; weren't you complaining that we weren't taking part in the battle?", she offered lightly.
But he didn't have the heart to answer in kind, as he darkly shook his head. "I don't understand... What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here! We're losing precious time, we're going to miss the signal, if we haven't already! I..." He sighed.
That's when Melwiliel *really* started to worry. "Come on, we should keep moving."
Finally, the long climb to the top of the Tower of Ishal was at an end. Their small band had found no survivors, sadly only more genlocks, henlocks, giants spiders and corpses. There were always more corpses. The mage's heart was heavy with fatigue and grief. She was amazed at how Alistair had managed to rally, though, always pressing on, leading the others into the fray.
"Here!" he cried. "There beacon is over here! We've surely missed the signal by now, let us light it quickly, before it's too late..." His hands shook feverishly as he shifted through his pack, seeking his tinder box. Without a word, she knelt beside him as he lit the bonfire. This wasn't the time for barbs or levity.
Before too long, there was a searing blaze in front of them, and they had to stand and back away from the scorching heat.
"There." triumphed Alistair. "Teyrn Loghain had better be ready to charge..."
Melwiliel only nodded in response. Just as she felt ready to sigh in relief herself, a low growl rumbled off the old stones, and and as they turned, a towering ogre emerged from the shadows.