A/N: Here is the finish to the return to Ostagar, made some changes, hope you all like them.
DG
Chapter 87: Faith
The key clicked in the royal arms chest, and the lid sprang up suddenly.
Alim almost jumped back, fearing some trap that Cailan's advisors might have installed. When nothing else materialized he dug into the contents. He pulled out the bundles of papers first, Cailan's missives, if anything here might tell them how to they could summon the Grey Wardens of Orlais, and this trip would be more than worth it.
Alistair stepped in, scooping up several opened letters bearing the royal seal, he read them quickly.
Wynne joined him, reading over his shoulder.
Alim regarded his friend and fellow warden, his brother after a fashion; Alistair had been a demon since their return to Ostagar, attacking the darkspawn here more savagely than he had ever seen the former Templar fight. Not that that was surprisingly, Alistair had known their grey wardens brother, Alim had only ever met Duncan and Alistair, and later Theron…who missed the battle because he had still been recovering from the taint in Denerim.
Alim frowned.
All those deaths, they likely still played on Alistair's mind, not to mention the fact that his brother had died here as well. According to Ali…he had never had any kind of relationship with Cailan, and now… thanks to the darkspawn, he never would…
That…was in itself…a reason to loath the creatures.
Wynne had also seen much suffering here, knowing that the spawn had overrun this place likely played on her mind as well.
Alim did not blame either of them for wanting to kill every last darkspawn crawling around these ruins.
He felt similar desires himself.
Alistair shook his head as he read Cailan's last letter to Celene, his eyes were flinty, even as his mouth widened slightly in surprise.
"It is true," the former Templar gasped, "Cailan had managed to convince the forces of Orlais to stand with us against the darkspawn."
Wynne nodded.
"Empress Celene was merely awaiting his reply."
Alim held out his hand.
"May I?" he asked.
Alistair handed over the papers, which the elf read over quickly.
What he read there made him frown. He only partially heard Alistair growl something about Loghain's treachery, and Wynne's affirmative response. The first two letters were very official, clearly the correspondence of one monarch to another…
The last one…well…that was something else entirely.
Celene's wording became more…intimate, she addressed Cailan as Cailan and not as his royal majesty, the talk of a formal alliance set off a few warning bells in the elf's mind. Then there was the state of the letter, it looked like it had been crumpled up, and then smoothed out as someone thought better of it…
Alim's ears twitched.
Why would the King, crumple up such a letter, the Empress had pretty much agreed to give him what he wanted? It was not like…
He reached into the chest again, this time finding a letter to Cailan from Arl Eamon. It mentioned several interesting things, chief among them that Cailan and Anora had been married for almost five years now, and still had not produced an heir to the throne.
He could still hear the clash of steel as his allies cleared out the remaining darkspawn from what had been the King's Camp.
Yet those sounds of battle did not compare to the thoughts bouncing around inside his head.
These letters put the events that happened here in Ostagar, in an entirely new light. Alistair and Wynne might not have seen it, but Alim certainly did.
You had to know how to read between the lines, to see the little details.
The demon is in the details my young apprentice, remember that.
Irving had always taught his apprentice to pay attention to the little things. The slight clenching of a fist, a cold glare from across the room, an intimate wink between friends, these subtle clues gave you a much clearer picture of someone's true intentions.
A mage had to be clever for many reasons, Irving had said; if he or she was going to navigate the often shifting world of circle politics.
What was said in these letters, and more importantly, what wasn't, painted an entirely new picture of that dark night at Ostagar, and what happened after Alim and Alistair had lit the beacon.
He…he would need to speak with Alistair about what he thought later. Cailan's missives did not give them what they wanted, but they had provided some interesting information.
Alim fished out the last item in the chest; it was long and wrapped in a fine silken cloth.
The elf unwrapped the bundle, revealing a beautiful dwarven made longsword. The dragonbone blade seemed to glint in the cold light, and the runes along its blade pulsed with the beating of Alim's heart.
The sight made the elf shiver.
This had to be King Maric's sword.
Alistair looked over the elf's shoulder, his eyes widening with surprise.
"Lim…Lim that's my…"
The elf held out the sword to his friend.
"It was your father's," he said.
"Now…it is yours."
Alistair stared at the ancient blade, the weapon that had freed their country almost three decades ago.
Finally, he shook his head.
"Lim…I…I can't."
The elf's brow furrowed.
"You don't think that your father would have wanted you to have it?"
IOI
Alistair shook his head, looking at that blade, knowing what it had done, and who had held it.
I…I'm not worthy.
Cailan had never wielded it; he had preferred the great sword, to his father's blade. It…it had sat in Denerim for years, when Maric had left Ferelden for the last time, when he had gone to sea…
His weapon had stayed behind.
Alistair wondered about that. Why would Father not take his weapon with him? Had he meant to leave it for Cailan?
Alistair sighed.
Alas, he would never get the chance to ask. Maric was gone, and so was Cailan. Neither would be able to give him the answers he sought.
He drew his own weapon and walked away.
Alim watched him as he left, a puzzled look on the elf's face.
He…he did not expect Lim to understand.
He heard Alim sigh.
"I'll just hold onto it then," he said, "Until you are ready."
Alistair shook his head.
…Until he was ready…?
He doubted that that day would ever come.
It…it certainly did not feel like it ever would.
IOI
The battle continued, as the wardens and their allies pushed the darkspawn out onto the old bridge, the one leading to the Tower of Ishal.
Alistair, Wynne, and Bandit were close to him, the four of them had been fighting together almost exclusively since they had arrived.
They had all been here, that cold rainy night so many months ago. Alim shivered as he looked at the remains of the camp, the bodies barely visible beneath the snow.
He closed his eyes for a moment trying to will what he knew must have happened here after the horde overran the grey warden lines below.
The servants, Templars and support staff for the army would not have stood a chance.
He tried not to think about what had happened here after that.
A snow bank exploded, an armored figure leapt out of it, snarling with rage, its half rotted face twisted horribly.
Alim was faster.
Spellbinder flashed.
The snarling thing fell in half, its legs went one way, its torso the other.
The group paused.
Alim looked down at the fallen; it wore the armor of a knight, and despite being cut in half it was still struggling to reach him. The gray rotted flesh. not to mention the many arrows sticking out its chest revealed the truth.
The warden mage shivered, not just another ghoul then, but something far worse.
Necromancy.
The resurrection of the dead by magical means was frowned upon by the chantry, and punishable by death. Tevinters were said to use it with impunity but…
Alim heard a phlegmy laugh.
He noticed a Genlock emissary grinning savagely at him. He started to raise his staff but the darkspawn took off over the bridge, gesturing to the fallen corpses half buried in the snow.
The dead rose, drawing their weapons.
A fireball flew from Morrigan's staff, blasting the corpses apart.
Alim sang out, summoning the others to his side.
The necromancer would answer for this…this…abomination.
Alim took a quick glance at Leliana, the bard nodded to him, assuring him that she was well.
He smiled slightly, pleased that his lover had not been hurt.
"Watch the bodies of the dead," he warned them, "we have a necromancer on the field."
"Parshaara," Sten spat, "Magic is never welcomed, but this…this is further proof of its evil."
Alim ignored the Qunari's comment, given what they were facing; he did not blame the Qunari for his opinion.
Alim led the group out over the old bridge. The scars of the battle months ago still visible here, the collapsed statues, the ruined ballistae, and the bodies so many bodies…
…Bodies that began to stir as they passed.
Alim called out to the wind to carry the necromantic puppets off the bridge, they fell silently over the edge, which was far creepier than if they had howled in rage.
As they approached the center of the bridge they noticed that the darkspawn had not left all the dead where they lay, several corpses had been staked up along the bridge, likely as a warning…or a trophy of the darkspawns' victory here.
He heard Wynne gasp.
The tallest pole held a single body; golden armor had been arranged in decorative fashion around it. Armor now covered in blood and tainted grime. The body lashed to the pole writhed and moaned, caught in the thrall of the necromancer's spell…
The body of King Cailan, hissed and tried to free itself, tried to attack the wardens.
Alistair looked like he was going to be ill. Wynne's hand went to her mouth.
Alim's ears lowered in fury. Fury at seeing the king's body so desecrated, and now brought back to try and fight for his murderers.
He…he had not thought much of Cailan, the king had been overeager, overconfident, and a bit of a fool with all his talk of glory and the old tales.
He had never understood how much his people were suffering, what the taint would do to the wounded.
Alistair shook his head, Alim heard him murmur that he was sorry.
The elf shook his head. He turned to Leliana.
"Leli,' he whispered, "Give him peace."
The bard nocked an arrow and let it fly.
It struck the struggling corpse in the eye.
Cailan ceased trying to free himself.
Alistair dropped to one knee before him.
"Forgive us my king," he said, "Once we have forced the darkspawn from their holes and bought ourselves some time…"
He stood looking cold and angry.
"We will be back to see you to the Maker."
From the other side of the bridge, more corpses began to shuffle towards them; several even wore the remains of circle robes.
Alistair smited these, while Alim and Morrigan called down ice and fire on the rest.
The warden's advanced; they caught sight of the genlock necromancer running up the stairs to the north of the bridge.
Alim's ears twitched at the memory.
He knew what was up there.
"The Tower of Ishal," Alistair said with murder in his eyes.
He turned to Alim, holding up his bloodied sword.
"Let's do this."
Alim nodded.
Alistair had taken the words right out of his mouth.
IOI
The second battle of the Tower of Ishal was both quick and brutal. The wardens and their many allies swept the attacking spawn quickly out of their way.
Alim glanced at his companions everyone seemed to be doing fine, Wynne looked a little pale but took a flask of lyrium and assured him that she would be fine.
She wanted to see this through to the end.
Alim nodded, he knew how she felt.
The rogues disabled traps left by the darkspawn, while the warriors covered them. A hurlock emissary tried to block their path at one point, but a combined effort by Shayle, Seri, and Oghren broke the mage's meager defense.
Tainted spiders from the deep roads emerged as the wardens fought their way down into the lower chambers of the tower. It was through here that the darkspawn who had breached the tower during the battle months ago had come.
Alim set the bloated horrors ablaze.
Several darkspawn corpses rose, called back by the genlock necromancer, the wardens cut them down quickly.
Theron, spotting the squat little bastard fired an arrow, but one of the risen corpses spoiled the Dalish's aim. Though he did manage to wound the genlock.
It hissed and fled deeper into the tunnels.
Alim glared.
Where was the sawed off bastard running to?
He had to know he could not escape.
The smell of fresh air, tickled the elf's nose, it seemed they had finally reached the end of the line.
He caught sight of a shadow fleeing up into the light; it was the last place that the necromancer could flee to.
The wardens 'pursued him out into the light.
The genlock stood some distance from them, it waved merrily at them, laughing in that phlegmy voice of his.
"Nowhere left to run," Alim snarled at the beast.
The spawn drew its staff; it leaned on it, appearing more than relaxed.
Then…it spoke.
"Fooooolsssss," it hissed.
The genlock raised its hands.
The ground beneath the wardens quaked.
Hands punched through the snow, swords and axes were recovered.
The genlock laughed loudly.
The rest of the grey wardens, those brave men lost so long ago rose…
…At least a hundred strong.
Alim's eyes widened in horror.
"SHIT!"
An undead horde had them surrounded! Bodies leapt on top of Shayle knocking her over. Morrigan blasted away at the creatures but there were too many.
An ogre with two blades sticking out if chest rose with a lusty roar, it charged Sten and Oghren knocking them both to the ground.
Alim called on the winds, tried to blow the creatures away, tried to give them time to fall back into the tunnel.
Alas there were too many corpses; the warriors could not even form up even if they wanted to.
A corpse in blue and silver slammed a dagger into Alim's thigh, the elf cried out.
Leliana tried to reach him but she was thrown down by a body in the remains of heavy plate.
Behind them the darkspawn necromancer cackled with glee, he danced on his perch like a child on Satinalia morning.
Alim fought, but he knew it was for naught.
Somehow he did not think that Flemeth would be swooping in to save them this time.
The elf cursed, he had let his feeling get in the way of his head, and now…now they were all going to pay for it.
It seemed that they were destined to join their brothers in death here after all. They could not…
The world exploded.
White light filled the battlefield!
Alim squinted, the pain in his thigh abated, the cool sensation of healing magic washed over him like a summer breeze.
The corpses wailed, and shielded their eyes…
Then they began to burn, caught in the light of a star that had fallen from the heavens.
A star named Wynne!
The old woman floated over the battlefield, glowing brighter and brighter. Light that touched the souls of the wardens and their companions.
They all fought with renewed vigor.
Alim brought down lightning on the undead ogre, the blades in its chest acted like conductors, ending the monster's foul second life.
Wynne floated up to the necromancer, he tried to cast a spell, but it might have been a drop of rain against a mountain.
Wynne glared down at him.
"Faithless one," she said in voice that boomed like thunder, "These brave people will not fall to your tricks."
The glowing mage raised her hand.
"Behold…MY POWER!"
Cleansing light washed over the necromancer. The bodies of the dead fell again, returned to the peace of their rest.
The necromancer wailed in agony, the light tearing through his soulless form.
Light that rippled through the taint. Somewhere hidden in its lair, the Archdemon roared in disbelief.
Alim could feel it. The sheer power of it, it…it was staggering!
The Necromancer dissolved right before their eyes, a bit of wax before the sun.
Wynne sighed. The old mage landed, the light only then starting to fade.
She smiled at them.
"Despair not brave ones," she said in two distinct voices, her own and someone else.
"The quest is not yet lost. Have Faith…have…fai…"
The light faded completely.
Wynne sighed, her eyes fluttered.
The elder mage collapsed.
She…she had saved them all…
…but at what cost?