Chapter 4: The Tempest
They saw the fires long before they saw the city. Black plumes seeped over the plains and slithered through the mountain passes across Ferelden, raining ash and heralding ruin. When the armies finally reached Highever, fleeing villagers only confirmed their hopelessness: they were too late. Much, much too late. Denerim was already lost.
Morale was low – almost nonexistent – among the troops. The Blight had already won: the capital was lost. Why should they march to their dooms when Ferelden had fallen? Why not wait for the Orlesians or Anders to arrive? Why not make their escape while there was still a chance?
It was the Wardens that pushed the armies onward; waiting would only lead to the deaths of more innocents. The darker reasons of urgency – human harvests and Broodmothers – the Wardens kept to themselves. The generals of all of the races of Ferelden were bound by ancient contract to follow the Grey Wardens when called. And so they marched to ruin.
Alistair and Riordan made great shows of courage. Together they pushed the armies onward with promises of victory and triumph. Yet, the soldiers could not help but notice the third Warden – a mere ghost of a mage floating among them.
Solona was empty. Denerim was lost. Jowan was lost. Her sister was lost. Her lover was lost. How or why she still marched, she did not know. She had spoken barely a word since Red Cliff; she ate little, but drank much.
"It is weak," Shale commented finally, on their last day of travel.
Solona did not answer. It was too obvious to waste her laboured breaths. Yes, she was weak.
"It is weak," tried Shale again. "It will break before Denerim."
There was nothing to say. She was already broken.
The golem stopped its shuddering tracks, and blocked Solona's way. She turned to look up at Shale with tired eyes questioning.
"I will carry It," Shale announced. "I will carry you," she amended.
Solona's head tipped downwards. Shale's offer was a most startling kindness. "I will be okay," she rasped, words like sand in her throat. "I will manage. Thank you, though. It means a lot to me."
A sturdy smack came to the back of Solona's leg, causing her to teeter unsteadily for a moment. Oghren appeared before her. "Get on the sodding rock," he ordered.
Solona only shook her head and continued onwards. Another thump came to her thigh. "Don't make me break yer legs, girly," the dwarf warned.
Solona gave a faint groan and bent to whisper in Oghren's ear. "For one," she hissed, "a broken leg is hardly an issue for magic. And for two, how does it look when the 'Fearless Grey Warden' has to be carried into battle like a child?" she asked. After delivering a hard glare, she spun away and marched double-time up the highway.
A few paces on, an arm came to rest gently around Solona's waist, as Zevran appeared silently beside her. "An unknowning present from Wynne," he explained, handing her a bottle of lyrium.
Solona nodded gratefully, and made to undo the stopper. With her attention diverted, her foot stumbled into a dip in the road. Both she and the bottle fell. And stopped. Zevran shot forward with his feline reflexes and caught both Solona and her potion. He steadied the mage once more upon her feet, and passed her back the bottle. "Do not worry," he breathed. "I have you. We will make it to Denerim together."
Solona whispered soft thanks to him as Zevran laced an arm around her back once more.
Far behind them, Alistair Theirin, future king of Ferelden, tried very hard not to notice.
It was near midnight when the armies came to a shuttering halt at the final cresting hill before Denerim. It was much worse than they could have imagined. The city was overrun.
The Wardens pushed their way to the front of the crowd. For a moment they were lost in awe of it. Orange flames licked over the ruins of the city. Awful, inhuman sounds were punctuated by the periodic scream. A few of the city's remaining guards were now trying to fight their way out; they would not make it. It was a madmen's vision of hell.
The front line began to falter, taking unsteady steps backwards. The rear guard remained beyond the hill crest, not seeing the firestorm that consumed the city; they pushed forwards. The result was a screech of metal and shouts of panic, as the armies massed into a strangling ball. They would trample themselves within minutes.
Solona turned towards Alistair. His jaw hung loose; his eyes were wide. He looked like a frightened child. She placed a gentle hand upon his cheek, forgiving him for that single moment for all of the pain he had caused her. Now was the time for leadership, and she hadn't the strength to do it.
"Go be king," she breathed.
Alistair blinked and wrenched his gaze away from the blaze. He nodded down to Solona, blindly gluing the pieces of his hope together again. Yes, he would be king.
Solona watched as Alistair spun about for a moment, searching for a stage. Instead, he found the steps of an old windmill; it would do.
With more jaunt than any would have thought possible, Alistair leapt up the steps and looked down upon the frightened armies. Men, Mages, Dwarves and Elves. They had left the security of their homes to fight at the Wardens' call.
"Listen to me," he ordered, a king once more. The soldiers turned silent. Alistair was magnificent. He stood tall and proud despite the long march. His armor gleamed in the smoky night. This was the leader the armies had been waiting for.
"Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde," Alistair shouted. "But we need not fear it, for with us stands this Grey Warden." He gestured towards to Solona and the gaze of the armies followed him.
Solona tried not to grimace as Alistair directed all attention towards her. She was a wreck – hardly a solid source of inspiration. This was Alistair's responsibility. Hers was just to burn things.
"She is proof that Glory is within reach of us all," Alistair continued. "She has survived against all odds. Without her none of us would be here."
A red flush crept up Solona's neck. How do you look triumphant when you are wretched?
"She will lead us to victory," Alistair promised. "Together we will destroy this Blight! We will show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honour their sacrifice."
A great cheer came up from the soldiers. Even Solona felt some of her weariness evaporate away. Inspiration was a powerful weapon.
Alistair thrust his sword towards the burning skies. "For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!"
The armies echoed his fervor with their own roar of valor, and as one, they began to race down the hill and into the city. Riordan sped on at the head of the charge.
Alistair jumped down from the mill's steps, landing next to Solona. "Stay close," he ordered.
She nodded and followed him into the nightmare.
By the time the Wardens reached the city walls, the first line had already broken through the gates. They followed them through into the fray.
Solona spun about. There were darkspawn, soldiers, and blood everywhere. She was not used to such massive battles. Her first instinct at seeing hundreds of darkspawn swarming about was to let loose every mass Primal spell she knew. She could stack layers of tempests and blizzards upon one another, and burn the rest. Solona banished the thought. There were too many soldiers among them.
Solona focused on small localized spells: charms of frost, fire and lighting. They worked well, but too soon she was exhausted. Her hand dove into her pocket, seeking one of her few remaining lyrium potions. She had wanted to save them for the archdemon, but at this rate they would not make it through the city without it. She drank the bottle's contents and sighed at the strength it returned to her.
Just as she ran back to Alistair's side, a knight of Red Cliff was thrown against Solona, sending her tumbling through the blood-flecked dirt. When at last she settled, instinct forced her to the fight the urge to rest for a moment. Her fall had drawn the attention of a mass of darkspawn; sprawled across the ground, she was an easy target.
A dozen or so darkspawn lurched towards Solona, twisted grins surfaced on grizzled teeth. There wasn't time to waste in standing; Solona let forth a shockwave that sent the beasts tumbling backwards. She pulled madly at the Veil as she cast every spell to immobilization she could recall. Arcane prisons shimmered as they closed around the darkspawn. Stone fists rose from the earth to grasp at the creatures' feet. Finally, fire consumed them all.
Solona breathed a sigh of relief as she rolled away from her attackers; none would survive. Gracelessly, she stumbled to her feet and prepared to return to Alistair's side. Solona scanned the square. Alistair was gone. Everyone was gone. Her companions had pushed on without her.
With wild panic, the mage scrambled through dark alleys and in and out of open courts. The fires had entirely changed the landscape. She was lost in the streets she walked only a week ago. She swore at her own incompetence – how did you lose an entire army in mere moments?
Solona rounded another corner, bursting into yet another of the city's squares. And into a swarm of darkspawn. She skittered to a halt, too loud and too late. The beasts spotted her. Their alpha gave a ragged shriek as sixty or so darkspawn charged towards her. Solona frowned: it seemed rather unnecessary.
Tired and disoriented, Solona could not outrun them; she would have to hold off the darkspawn as best she could. She shot small, fast-casting spells as they approached, taking blind steps backwards with each. When her back thumped against a wall, panic overtook Solona once more. She drew her sword, but it would be little use. A hundred darkspawn would be no match for her Primal magic, but she would not have the time to conjure such a large spell. The horde was almost upon her.
A mighty roar pierced the darkspawns' snarls. Solona risked a glance sideways, only to see a mass of darkspawn go flying across her field of view. It was Alistair.
The knight drove his way through the far edge of the horde. Darkspawn were sent tumbling backwards as Alistair thrust his way to Solona. When at last he reached her, Alistair shoved Solona behind him and took over as her guard.
He was magnificent. Solona had never witnessed such strength in a single man.
"Cast something already!" Alistair shouted as his blade and shield flashed through the air, deflecting the blows that would have ended her.
Solona swallowed and remembered herself. With shaking fingers, she conjured a blizzard atop the darkspawn swarm. Within seconds, they were caked in ice and unable to move. Solona took in another gasp of air. With no other humans in the square save herself and Alistair, her next spell would be … somewhat safe.
Solona closed her eyes, trusting Alistair to protect her. With a soft hum she whispered against the Veil, asking the Fade for a dark, dark spell. It was slow to cast, but she had time now. Black, sooty clouds began to form at the feet of the darkspawn. Their armor hissed as it too turned black. The cloud grew higher, seeping into the mail and corroding their flesh. By the time the dark mist swirled over their heads, it was too late; the darkspawn were dead.
Solona pulled Alistair back a few cautionary steps. The mist would hold its position for a few more seconds, and then disperse harmlessly away, leaving only dark puddles in its wake. The Circle mages called it a Cloud of Death. It was an understatement.
"Right," breathed Alistair, turning away from the cloud. "Let's go," he ordered, grabbing Solona's hand.
Solona was drug jogging after Alistair as he led her through a maze of ruins. When at last she was quite certain he was lost, they turned a final corner and entered a clearing where the armies had gathered. The troops milled about, waiting for the Wardens' next command.
Riordan ran over to Solona, "We must make our way to a high point in the city," he said. "I suggest you take Alistair and at most two others and head to Fort Draken. The rest must stay here and hold the gates."
Solona blinked. "You're not coming with us?" she questioned.
"No," he explained. "If we are together, the archdemon will sense our presence. I must go alone." He paused for a moment, as if searching the ether. "I can sense two darkspawn generals within the city. One is in the Market District; the other is in the Alienage. You must stop them before the archdemon calls them to its aid. Be careful," Riordan warned, "there is word that there are still elves trapped in the Alienage." With that, the Warden sped off into the ruins.
Solona turned to her companions. They were silent, waiting for her command. Who did you ask to follow you into the beast's lair? Who did you ask to remain? "Oghren and Zevran," she decided finally, "I need you to come with Alistair and me." She scanned her comrades, "the rest of you need to stay here and defend the gate."
A murmur of disapproval came from the Warden's party.
Alistair scowled. "It would be better if you stayed here, and I went-"
Solona cut him off. "Don't start," she warned.
Leliana stepped forward and placed her hands upon Solona's shoulders. "Surely a bow would be most useful against a dragon, non?" she asked.
"I need you to scout above the walls here," Solona answered. What she did not say was that she needed Leliana to be somewhere she could escape – somewhere she could hide. She would not let her friend become a Broodmother.
Leliana placed a kiss upon each of Solona's cheeks, before pulling her into a tight embrace. "Be careful, ma chère," she whispered. "When this is done, we will walk the Maker's earth together. No towers for you, I promise." She released her friend and stepped back among their companions.
With a sigh, Wynne step forward and handed Solona her satchel. Confused, Solona peered inside; it was stuffed full with lyrium potions. "Thanks," she whispered, as she positioned the bag over her shoulder.
Wynne only nodded. "Just don't binge drink them all as soon as you're out of sight."
Next it was Shale to speak. "Leaving the statue to guard the gate?" she asked. "It is most original…"
Solona shrugged. "There will be lots of things to crush, at least."
As much is possible for stone, Shale's expression softened. "It will be careful, or I will be most upset."
"This is foolishness," Sten admonished finally. "I am the most trained in combat; I should go."
Solona approached the giant Qunari, and tried her best to meet his glare. "I need you here, Sten. I need you to lead them. No one else can," she reasoned. "If this gate falls, we'll be overrun before we even reach the archdemon. Please."
Sten considered her words for a moment before conceding. "Very well," he answered simply.
"Thank you," Solona replied. She looked to all of her companions that would remain. "Thank you," she addressed them all.
Before she lost her will, Solona turned to Alistair. "Let's go," she ordered.
As they turned to make their way further into the city, Daro trotted up next to Solona. She sighed and knelt down to embrace her mabari. "I need you to stay here," she explained.
Daro whined and pawed at her shoulder.
"You have to look after Wynne for me," Solona tried.
The mabari growled. The bath-mage and he were not the best of friends.
"And Leliana too," Solona amended.
Daro considered this for a moment before nodding. Yes, the belly-rub bard would be worth protecting. He gave a soft lick to Solona's cheek, asking one last time to come along.
She shook her head, and pulled him tighter into her embrace. "I'll be back soon," she whispered. It was a lie.
Daro replied with a happy bark. He cantered back to Leliana's side, stopping only to issue a farewell woof. Solona forced a smile back to her hound before continuing on.
"Three dragons in three months? You've done well on me, Warden," remarked Oghren. "In Orzammar you could barely skewer a nug without some sodding Shaper pissing on your parade."
"What's this?" asked Zevran. "Oh yes, big smelly beasts abound." He wrinkled his nose at Oghren, "And dragons too…"
The party barely made it into the alleys before Alistair stopped them. He glanced hesitantly from Solona to Oghren and Zevran.
Solona understood his silent question. "Yes," she agreed. "They should know."
With a pained sigh, Alistair ran his strained fingers through his hair. "Look," he said to the pair, "there are some things you need to know about the archdemon…"
The Wardens sent the Dalish and the dwarves to the Alienage. For all of their bravery, humans might not… understand the importance of saving those trapped within.
They themselves ventured on to the Market District. The ruins were barely recognizable; the only buildings still standing were the Chantry and Arl Eamon's estate. The party treaded past Goldanna's home. It too had collapsed into smoldering ruins.
Alistair stopped to prod the rubble with an armored toe. His sister had hardly welcomed him with open arms, but no one deserved such a fate. He had promised to use his influence to see that her children were properly cared for. It was a promised that he had had already broken.
Solona swallowed. "I'm sure they fled before the darkspawn even arrived," she lied.
Alistair nodded. There wasn't time to dwell on it now. They moved on.
The party weaved their way through the ruins of the Market. There was no sign of the darkspawn General. Alistair paused to rub his forehead.
"Can you sense it?" asked Solona.
"There's too many darkspawn in the city – I can't sense anything clearly," he admitted.
A rumble beneath their feet interrupted Alistair. The Wardens looked up as four ogres burst from the crumbling ruins of the Gnawed Noble. The beasts tilted their heads and charged at the pair. They made only a few steps before Alistair gently pushed Solona behind him.
Solona sighed and cast a charm of sleep. The monsters collapsed instantly, momentum dragging their limp forms forward a few yards.
Another figure appeared from within the tavern ruins. The party watched as the Hurlock lumbered out the debris. It was clad in menacing spiked armor. Dark banners hung from its back. Its purpose was clear: this was the darkspawn General.
With an utter lack of ceremony, Solona cast another charm of sleep. The General shook it off with a growl. Rubbing her tired forehead, the mage conjured a prison of ice around the creature's body; it held perfectly. The beast thrashed about in its bonds to no avail.
Zevran tapped at his chin. "You think they would learn: big hordes at close range only with mages," he said before drawing his blades and sauntering off. He and Oghren went about the bloody business of decapitating the sleeping ogres. It was only a little macabre to watch the elf leaping from body to body and merrily slitting throats.
It was Alistair's task to execute the General. He marched solemnly to the frozen Hurlock. Its black eyes twitched as it hissed at the Warden. Alistair lifted his sword. "May the Maker forgive you," he breathed, and thrust.
The creature's head rolled dully away, as its body remained frozen upright.
Zevran appeared silently at Solona's side. He took the lyrium bottle from her hands and uncorked it for her. "That was a bit, anticlimactic, no?"
Solona only shrugged as she drank her cure.
A few moments later, Alistair and Oghren rejoined the pair.
"It's hardly over," Alistair warned. "Any minute, the arch-"
An awful, piecing screech reigned down from above. The party turned upwards to witness the end. The archdemon flew in careless circles above the city. It had come for them.
Solona squinted to see a small fleck leap from Fort Draken onto the dragon's back. She gasped. It was Riordan.
The dragon tossed him about like a rag puppet. Solona watched in horror as the small speck of a man tried to climb the monster's back. Kill it, she begged. Maker give him the strength to kill it.
But the Maker did not hear her. The archdemon gave one final shriek and twisted with enough force to send Riordan flying. The Warden managed to sink his blades into the beast's wings, but it was not enough. They shredded under his weight, and the Warden tumbled to his death.
Solona turned away. Although Riordan must have landed miles away, in her mind she could still hear the sickening crunch as he hit ground. She curled over and vomited into the streets. When at last her stomach was empty, she remained bent over, gasping for air.
A soothing hand rubbed her back. "We have to get to Fort Draken fast," Alistair said with a gentle tone. The knight sighed. "Sol, I want you to go back to the gates. Out of Denerim, even," he tried. "Please. Take Zevran and go," he begged.
Solona gave a few deep, shuttering breaths before righting herself. With unconscious hands, she sought a bottle of lyrium and drank it back. When at last she calmed, she looked deeply into Alistair's worried expression. The kingly mask was gone. He was just her nervous knight, once more. She shook her head; she would go with them to the tower. "Let's go," she ordered, and headed towards the Market's exit.
Alistair swallowed his defeat and followed. Yet, he froze as they reached the front of the Chantry. It was deserted, but surprisingly intact compared to the other lodgings.
"Move it," Oghren ordered, giving him a slight shove.
"I remember," began Alistair, "there's a rumour that tunnels run from the Chantry to Fort Draken. Maybe if we could find them, we could skip under all the darkspawn."
Solona nodded, it was worth a try. It would take them hours - if not days - to fight their way through the infested city.
With an artful bounce, Zevran scurried to the Chantry doors. The lock was no match for his skill, but the doors remained barred from the inside. He gave them an experimental kick to no avail. With a cautious eye, the elf turned to Solona. "Should I…?" he asked.
Solona waved him on. Nothing he could do would alter the Chantry's view of her.
It was Alistair that screamed in opposition as Zevran threw a rock into the stain glass window. "Stop that!" he bellowed. "You can't just throw bloody rocks at the Chantry."
Zevran shrugged. "You would rather the darkspawn do it?" he asked, as he cleared away the remaining glass.
It was no use; the elf had already hopped through the window and unbarred the door. With a great flourish, Zevran propped the doors open and bowed low as Solona entered. "My lady…" he intoned.
Alistair clenched his teeth and followed.
The Chantry was eerily quiet as they barred the door behind them. The inner sanctum was completely undisturbed by the chaos outside. The party walked carefully, ever vigilant of ambush. None came. The Chantry was empty.
Alistair broke off from the party. He called to his companions, "The stairs are this way, if I recall," he said, and trotted off into the dark threshold.
The lower level of the Chantry was as cryptic as one would hope. The stairwell emptied into a dark circular chamber. Shadowed passageways branched off in every direction. A plethora of dusty statues rimmed the walls. The eyes of Andraste, templars and demons alike glared down at the Wardens. For all the fires that burned above, the room remained cold and forbidding. They were not welcome here.
Oghren sniffed at the stale air. "Smells like home: dirt and dread," he scowled.
Alistair turned to Solona. "There are five doors… I guess we just pick one?"
Solona shrugged, and gestured to one at random. Zevran had the lock picked in mere seconds. With much ceremony, he opened the door to reveal a massive crypt within. A foul air wafted out.
"Oh," frowned Alistair. "The Templars' crypt. Try another."
Zevran's efforts revealed two basic storage rooms. The fourth door opened into a long dark passageway. Solona conjured a pair of lightening orbs to traverse its length. The tunnel went on indefinitely.
"This must be it," Alistair observed. He turned back to see Zevran picking the lock of the final door. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
"I was curious, and I figured, I'm being so very helpful, why not finish the job?" Zevran shrugged.
Before Alistair could further object, Zevran kicked open the last door. A strange fog floated out from within. Solona furled her brow. This was … familiar. The companions peeked inside: it was the Denerim phylactery holding. The blood of every living Circle mage was held in small vials here. They sat in rows upon dusty wooden shelves. For shackles, they looked harmless enough.
Solona swallowed a choke. Somewhere in this vault was her own phylactery. Her freedom was within reach. She frowned, now was not the time to be selfish. She turned to Zevran. "Give me a grease trap," she ordered.
He cocked an eyebrow, but reached into his satchel anyways. "Perhaps this is not the best place to set a trap, my dear?" he suggested.
She ignored him, and carefully took the jar of oil from his hands, leaving the triggers behind. She weighed it for a moment, and examined the room beyond the threshold. No, it would not be enough. "Another," was all she commanded.
Zevran sighed and produced another jar.
Solona nodded, contented now. With all her might, she threw one jar and then another deep into holding chamber. The glass shattered with a musical twinkle, while the oil splattered everywhere. Solona took a deep breath. Something good would come out of this Blight. She cast a sustained inferno within the centre of the room, and then slammed the door shut. Within a few moments, the clinking sounds of bursting glass filtered through.
"Andraste's flaming sword, what are you doing?" shouted Alistair.
Solona turned away and marched into the dark hall. "We're fighting for everyone's freedom," she muttered.
Alistair's grabbed her shoulder and spun Solona around. "What? Are you actually going to burn down a Chantry? Bloody Andraste, Solona, the Maker will smite you where you stand!" he bellowed.
Solona pushed away his hand. "The Maker doesn't care," she argued. "He didn't care when Duncan died. He didn't care when Riordan died. He won't care when we die. And he bloody well won't care if this pile of shit burns."
The pair stared hard at each other, daring the other to argue. How had they come to this? Had it truly been only a few short weeks ago that they had looked at each other with utter adoration?
With a unsteady feet, Solona took two clumsy steps back. Alistair had once promised her freedom, happiness and love eternal. Slowly but surely, each vow was crumbling. No. He could damn well give her this. If nothing else, he could stand back and let her find her own freedom.
Solona spun hard on her heel and marched onwards down the darkened corridor. She tried hard not to let her companions see the tears burning the corner of her eyes.
The party followed in silence.
The passage did indeed lead into Fort Draken. The Wardens found the fortress deserted, and immediately began the long journey to the top of its tower.
They had almost reached the final flight of stairs when a scream echoed down through the tower. Alistair and Solona fell to their knees, gasping.
Zevran rushed to Solona's side and wrapped a steadying arm about her. "What is wrong?" he demanded.
Solona shook her head, still struggling for air, "I don't know," she wheezed.
Next to them, Alistair rose to his feet. "It's the archdemon," he rasped. "It can feel us coming. It's calling for aid." He reached down and pulled Solona roughly to her feet. "We need to hurry," Alistair demanded, and began running up the remaining steps two at a time.
Solona groaned; she had barely made it this far.
"Don't look at me," Oghren warned. "I'm not carrying you."
Solona shook her head, "Yes, I was obviously asking for a ride…"
The dwarf growled, "Oh fine, ya moss-licker. Hop on."
The Warden ignored him and forced herself to follow Alistair as best she could. As they reached the final steps before the tower's top, he stopped her. "I need you to stay back," he said.
Solona sent him a questioning expression.
"I need you to keep back out of the fight. I can't do what I need to do if I have to worry about you getting crushed playing soldier," he continued.
His words tasted of Ostagar. Solona scowled. There was not time to argue. "Fine," she said.
Alistair took in a deep breath before continuing. "And I need you to let me take the final blow." He silenced her before she could reply. "I'm king, Solona, or as good as king, anyways. For all the good and the bad that it entails. This is my job. It's my birthright. It's my duty to the country." He cupped her chin for a moment. "You – all mages – don't owe Ferelden anything."
Another screech reverberated through the tower. The archdemon called.
"Just promise," demanded Alistair.
Time was too short to fight. Solona relented with a nod.
"Good," replied Alistair, relieved. "Let's end this." He kicked opened the tower's final door and together the Wardens and their allies burst onto the platform.
A heavy wind met the tower on its north side, skittered uncertainly across the stones, and came to rest against the beast at the deck's centre. The archdemon was more terrifying than either of the Wardens could remember. They had seen it countless times in dreams and even once before in true life, yet now, only a few steps away, it was a different creature entirely. They could now see the rotted sinews that twisted over its jagged flesh. Dark blood oozed from the gashes Riordan had inflicted. They could see the very Taint upon it.
The archdemon welcomed them with another scream. They were close enough now that Solona could feel the creature's song echoing in her bones. She could feel its words. It recognized her as a Sister of the Taint. It offered her power in exchange for her loyalty. It offered Solona her every desire. It offered her a Thedas free of towers.
Solona rebuffed it and continued forward. The beast was alone for now; its minions had not yet arrived. This would be their best and only chance.
It was Oghren who charged first. The dwarf sped on short legs towards the beast, already harnessing his rage. He slashed wildly at the archdemon's limbs, missing most, but landing enough to further enrage the creature. The archdemon reared up upon its hind feet and struck at Oghren; he went flying across the parapets. The blow only stoked the flames of his fury. Oghren went charging back with a rumbling howl, "Nug Humper!"
Alistair and Zevran joined the fray. The trio weaved around the beast, hacking at any surface they could reach. The archdemon tried to counter them with broad swipes of its claws and searing bursts of green flames. It was useless. The companions moved in synchrony, supporting and guarding the others' attacks.
Solona remained back, madly casting a wide array of spells. She fought to balance healing the gashes of her companions, with hexing the archdemon into confusion, and summoning bolts of Primal lightning.
Progress was slow, but progress was made. At last the archdemon realized that it was outmatched. It opened its wings and flailed wildly to gain lift with the shredded flesh. With unsteady bursts, it rose slowly into the air, and made to fly off the tower.
Oghren gave a roar of rage and shot straight up into the air. On his way down, he chopped down at the beast, severing a wing.
The archdemon crashed back down into the stones of the tower. The companions rushed forward to continue their onslaught, but then stumbled to a halt. A dark ring had formed around the edge of the tower. The darkspawn horde had climbed its way up the side of Fort Draken, and was flowing onto the tower's top.
As one, the trio moved warily to where Solona stood. Backs against each other, they prepared to shield her as she wove her magics.
Solona tore at the Veil summoning every mass spell she could think of. She spun around conjuring ice and fire and lightening and chaos. The tower shone crimson and azure from her efforts. Solona drank back countless potions to keep up her energy, but too soon she ran low. The supply of darkspawn seemed endless.
The front line of the darkspawn closed in upon the companions. The creatures crawled over the corpses of their brethren. The mage could only go on for so much longer.
When at last all seemed lost, a battle cry streamed out from the tower's stairwell. The Wardens turned to see the knights of Red Cliff pour onto the tower. They pushed back against the darkspawn line, sending the howling creatures toppling over the edge of the tower. The soldiers were joined by a dozen Circle mages who took up Solona's position of summoning storms.
Arl Eamon appeared at Alistair's side.
"Get the demon," he shouted. "We'll hold off the darkspawn."
The companions turned once more to the archdemon. It seemed to have regained some strength in its reprieve. Alistair, Zevran and Oghren returned to their task of subduing the beast.
Seeing his chance, Zevran leapt atop Oghren's shoulders and then sprung onto the back of the archdemon. The beast bucked wildly, but Zevran sank his blades deep into its shoulders and clung on. As the archdemon's head swung low, Alistair thrust his sword forward, piecing the creature's eye.
With a piercing shriek, the archdemon spun blindly around. Its tail swiped Alistair and sent him tumbling across the tower.
It was a sufficient distraction; Zevran finally found his goal. He dropped his dagger hastily aside and took his sword into both hands. With pinpoint accuracy he thrust the sword deep into the archdemon's back, severing its spine.
The beast gave a final scream as it collapsed. Its body twitched madly about, as it tried to stand. It was futile: the dragon was paralyzed from the neck down.
Its head lolled about in a growing pool of black blood. The archdemon was dying. A Warden had to strike soon. Solona drew Spellweaver and faced the beast. She did not get far.
Alistair grabbed Solona's arm with bruising fingers. Carefully, he wretched Spellweaver out of her hand, and tossed it carelessly across the tower. It skittered far across the stone surface, and disappeared over the edge of the tower. He released his hold and shook his head. "Did you really think I would let you break that promise?" he asked. He gave her one last sorrowful look, and then turned towards where the archdemon lay. With a deep, shuttering breath, he drew his sword, stepped forward, and froze. The telltale marks of a Glyph of Paralysis glowed blue beneath his feet.
Alistair fought against his bonds with all of his templar training. Solona appeared before him once more. "No," she said. It was useless. His will was strong, but her magic was stronger. She had been saving this spell since they had arrived at Denerim.
Solona raised a gentle hand to brush against Alistair's frozen cheek. "You were right," she whispered, tears building at the edges of her eyes. "We have a duty. We must do what is right for Ferelden," she breathed. "And tomorrow, Ferelden will need a king." She placed her arms around his neck to pull herself into one final embrace. "So today, Ferelden needs this to be me."
"I love you," Solona confessed. "I will always, always love you." Cold tears ran down her cheeks as she pressed a last kiss upon his lips. "Be good," she whispered with a broken smile, as she pried Alistair's sword from his fingers.
With that, Solona wrenched herself away from her one and only love. She ran with clumsy steps to where the archdemon was subdued by her companions. It was an awful, wretched creature, defiled to the core by the Taint. It writhed about on the stone floor in agony. Solona looked at it with compassion; she would free them both.
Solona met the gaze of Oghren and Zevran. "Thank you," she said. They nodded with sad smiles. They both knew the cost of duty.
Slowly, Solona lifted Alistair's sword in both hands. It was heavier than she remembered. She let its tip fall once more. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, as she looked back over her shoulder to Alistair. His eyes flickered madly about, begging her to stop. Begging her to free him. Begging her to live.
"Good bye," she whispered. With a final breath, she struck.
The light that followed blinded them all.
At the city's gates, the Wardens' companions fell to their knees at the force of the quake that followed the flash of lightening. Around them, the darkspawn let out a collective wail; their commander was dead. They dropped their battles and fled out of the city.
The soldiers of the Grey Warden's army cheered as they chased the creatures from Denerim. High above them, the dark clouds let loose a mist of rain. The city was purging itself. The Blight was over.
When the first of the companions made it to the top of Fort Draken, the sight that awaited them would not soon be forgotten. Countless darkspawn corpses littered the tower. Among them was the occasion knight of Red Cliff. The survivors drifted back and forth. Some helped the injured. Some just stared blindly at the fetid corpse of the archdemon, shocked that they still lived.
On the far edge of the tower, Zevran sat cross-legged with his face hidden in his hands. Next to him, Oghren leaned against a turret, his flask already empty. They were soaked with tears and rain.
And in the centre of it all was Alistair. He clutched at the limp form of his lover and screamed up at the Maker, damning the god for forsaking him. He cursed Andraste, Duncan, Riordan, Cailan, Eamon, and anyone else he think to blame.
A/N: The end.
Just kidding! Much more to come...
Hopefully this chapter has a bit more substance than the last.
Thanks to all those that Read and Review.