Brady has been in near death situations one too many times for him to panic. He was numb, as he had grown to be in the face of death, but this time, here at the Grey Warden outpost, it seemed permanent. Defined. That idea alone made his heart race, but the worry on his face has been long lost and worn down to the passive expression of acceptance. Every time he made eyes with the camp, more wardens had appeared during the night. They were ready for a war, meaning the First Warden has some inclination of what will come for him when he takes Brady's head.
Hawke's eyes were bloodshot with purple rings growing dark underneath her eyes. She too, could not sleep. This time, there were no jokes to cheer herself up, no smile to hide behind, and no ale to numb her nerves. Her own magic was an annoyance in her cell, as the Templar's protection kept her ineffective, and her magic itching the inside of her skin to release from her body. She could hear the small whispers of demons, using a persuasive tongue to coerce her to lose herself to her own desperation and give in. She was skilled enough to shoo them away without a second thought, but the whispers only elevated the stoicism that had rarely grazed her face.
Damon looked wearily to Hawke and Brady. He recognized the loss of light in their eyes. He looked to the ring on his finger and could feel Morrigan was not far from him. She had rarely failed him, and he wasn't expecting her to start now. Morrigan. Damon sighed and rested his head against the bars of his cage. He needed to give up this life... for her, for Kieran. How selfish could one person be? He asked himself. Running off and chasing some Maker-forsaken cure that could turn out to be nothing but a fluke? Constantly putting his son at risk of losing a parent, if not both? He couldn't do it, Kieran will not go through what he has, at least until The Calling begins its ominous ring in Damon's ears.
Brady heard the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned his head, but squinted to keep the kicked up dust out of his eyes. The morning sun's rays were already cracking light into the sky, and reflecting off the armor of the figures approaching.
"I don't suppose you could spare some water...?" Brady asked, his words as dry as the arid air.
They didn't answer, and continued to approach the makeshift cages. When they were close enough, Brady could make out three grey warden warriors, one with a greatsword attached securely on their back while the others had swords sheathed behind their shields. They came up and opened the cages, each one tasked with moving a certain captive. The two handed warrior warden clutched Brady's collar and forced him to his feet.
"Alright inquisitor," the warden had a heavy starkhaven accent. "Do not try anything, please."
"At least he's polite." Hawke scoffed.
Her warden escort gripped her closer by the spaces of her chestpiece. "Shut it, mage."
Hawke narrowed her eyes, "Templar? I hope you choke on your next lyrium fix."
The warden scrunched his face, causing deep wrinkles to manifest from the sides of his nose down to his chin and a frown.
"I'm sorry about this Warden-Commander," The final warden said to Damon with sincerity in his tone. "Orders are orders, you understand."
Damon didn't reply, simply nodding and allowing the warden to lead him out of the cage. The other wardens followed suit with Brady and Hawke in tow. Damon could see the crowd of wardens waiting for them at the camp, all staring at their approaching bodies. He could see the First Warden, standing with a corrupted pride possessing the crowd below him on an elevated platform.
"And here they are!" Larson laughed, clapping his hands together. "Wardens, the time has finally come. Finally, we will reclaim our respect and tenacity that these three 'heroes' continuously take from us."
They stopped below the platform, forced to look up to him.
Larson continued. "They have brought a army of radicals and defectors to our doorstep, begging for our blood." He kneeled down to them, and lowered his voice. "The quickest way to kill a dragon is to chop off it's head, is it not?"
The wardens muscled them up the short staircase and up to the platform. The First Warden watched with joy in his eyes, absorbing the sight of Thedas's finest heroes on their knees at his feet.
"Now Wardens, do we want to see the execution of these traitors of the order?!" He rallied. The crowd of wardens replied with cheers, giving Larson the sick encouragement he longed for.
Brady looked up to the First Warden, then shifting to the bloodthirsty crowd. He sneered, sickened by their reaction. Two years ago, he had saved this order from itself, and now they hungered for his head to roll. If there was any wardens that opposed his execution, they were mum in the crowd of thousands.
"Shall we start with the Warden-Commander of Ferelden? The very one who grew to detest what we stand for as Grey Wardens?" The First Warden's voice was eerily filled with satisfaction and malice.
Damon rose his chin up to make eye contact with Larson, his eyes full of hate for the man who stood above him. "Maker, don't you ever shut up?"
In that instant, Hawke's body burst with force from the fade, knocking everyone in her proximity back, and allowing her to free her bound hands.
The wardens began to storm the platform, only to be distracted by the cry of a high dragon circling above them.
Damon smiled, looking up at the high dragon as Hawke worked him out of his restraints, "That's my girl."
Damon hopped down from the platform and punched out a warden guard, taking his weapon and brandishing it in front of the approaching wardens.
Hawke fiddled with Brady's restraints as their circle of space began to close in on them as wardens attempted to storm the platform.
Brady growled, "Dammit, this is taking too long!" He looked at Damon, who was doing all he could to buy time. "Go help Damon! Run!"
Hawke nodded, and at her leave, he saw the wardens begin to surround him. With an exasperated heave, he opened a rift above him, and watched the life around him being sucked away into the abyss. He could feel the pull of the rift longing to consume him. He struggled to crawl and roll off the platform and join Hawke and Damon on the ground as the rift roared to be fed.
Damon looked at Brady and cut his restraints without hesitation, throwing him his shield. "Do something with it!"
Brady complied, protecting Hawke from blows as they began to cut through wardens in the crowd.
"Honey!" Damon yelled, running and waving at the sky, "A little help here!"
At his word, Brady could hear the high dragon's wings draw closer, swooping in and allowing a huge gust to knock the wardens in their path off their feet. Brady ran through, picking up a discarded sword and rushing into the camp. "We need to find Larson!"
Hawke huffed. "You don't think he was sucked into the rift?"
Damon scoffed, swinging his sword at an attacking warden than pressing on. "If anything, that bastard is resilient."
Brady could see his forces approaching, as the wardens were beginning to direct their attention to the invasion of his soldiers coming over the hills, looking like an invasion of silverite clouding the vista. Brady could feel the trembling of the ground as war horses and their riders rushed into battle with their weapons ready to demolish anything in their way. The wardens put up their fight, slashing at the horses legs and causing the riders to fly into skirmishes they had not been prepared for. Brady rushed through the camp, struggling to follow Damon through the crowd of wardens. He could feel their blades nipping at his skin as he sprinted towards the middle of the camp.
Brady ran towards Damon with all he had, until he was brought down by a brute, tackling him from his flank. Brady couldn't see through the dust that had been kicked up from his fall. Even as he couldn't catch his breath, he wrestled himself up to his feet and stared down the Grey Warden who walked up to him with a large axe in hand.
"Your head, Inquisitor." The Warden said, his voice muffled from his helmet. "Give me your head."
Brady clenched his jaw and braced for the strike the warrior was attempting. He swung his axe above his head and struck down on Brady, who rolled out of the way with only a second to spare. The warden was not discouraged, only stiffening his resolve and marching closer and closer to Brady. The axe came for Brady's neck, only to be blocked by the his longsword. The grey warden applied his weight onto his axe, bringing Brady onto his knees, using every ounce of strength he could muster to deflect the axe.
The pressure subsided suddenly, as the large warden let out a gasp. A blade showed itself through his abdomen and watched as he fell to his knees, his axe rattling against the sand. Brady scrambled back to his feet to see Hawke brushing herself off.
"I don't do that very often." Hawke grinned, grabbing the sword from the unanimated corpse. "You owe me a drink."
Brady came to her side, only after noticing that path she carved for herself with frozen wardens. "Where's Damon?"
Her eyes scanned ahead, where wardens were marching towards them. "Pick up that axe. Now."
He cursed, but did as she said, taking his place ahead of her and formulating a strategy as quick as possible. He looked at Hawke with a scowl. "We need to find him."
She replied through gritted teeth, "Well, Inquisitor, we have our own problems to deal with."
Damon rushed through the camp slaying his warden brothers and sisters as he sped by with tactical precision. None of them had a chance against the Hero of Ferelden, except for one, perhaps. He saw a large tent and ran into it, hoping to find the First Warden hiding like the coward Damon knew he was.
He rushed in and eyed the entire room. Nothing. Damon was only greeted to a bed and a large war table with papers scattered around its entirety. He spat, and ran his hand through his bloodied hair. "Where are you?"
"Here."
Damon jumped to the sound, turning toward it and holding his blade out. The First Warden stood proud, void of a weapon, and stepping towards Damon with a smug grin.
Damon raised his blade to Larson's neck. Larson didn't flinch, only letting out a small chuckle.
"I see. This is the respect I get." Larson snarled. "Always ungrateful."
Damon shook his head, "I can't wait to kill you-"
Larson laughed in his face, leaning against the blade, "You won't kill me, Warden. You're going to let me go. Expunge me from all involvement. Every report you write, ever letter, every word - none of it will have mention of me."
"You're insane if you think that." Damon applied pressure to his blade, drawing a drop of blood from Larson's neck. "I'm going to take great pleasure watching your head roll, First Warden. For every Grey Warden lost because of your guidance, it is for them I will separate your head from your shoulders, you manipulative bastard."
Larson's breath hitched and he spoke quickly, "Kill me and you'll doom the world."
Damon's face scrunched. "You're mad."
"Your pretty wife. Your son. Your unborn daughter..." The first warden watched as Damon's jaw clenched in confusion. "This world is about to find its grotesque destruction. I have one of the many keys to save it."
"Unborn daughter?" Damon's head cocked to the side. "Destruction? Speak sense!"
"You have to let me go, Damon." Larson smiled. "It's the only way."
"Dammit, tell me!" Damon growled.
"Lower your blade." Larson commanded.
Damon shook his head and complied.
"Good boy." Larson exhaled. Heading to his war table, he cringed at the sound of swords bouncing off each other, and the sleek sound of blade cutting flesh and drawing drops of blood onto the sand. "Do you hear the fighting because of you, Damon? If you only knew what we were up against, you would understand why we need the wardens. A cure will relieve them of the abilities they will need for dark times, and these are dark times. The taint is the key, as is the griffons."
"The griffons, where are they?" Damon demanded.
"In good hands, I assure you." The first warden collected his papers and placed them in a satchel. "I'm not a monster, Damon. I'm doing what is necessary."
"Your men are dying. My men are dying. End this madness, call off your wardens!"
Larson shook his head. "This is a small sector of wardens. A little over a thousand. Their deaths at the hands of the Inquisition will only add to the rally to have their order disbanded." Larson looked at Damon. "And with no official orders from me, it only looks as though rogue wardens stood up to the inquisition... or the inquisition picked the fight personally. What people assume won't matter, the inquisition needs to end."
"I can't just let you go, those are my friends. I won't lie to them either." Damon approached the war table with defiance in his steel eyes.
"Then I need you to forget."
Cullen rode into the eye of the storm, his eyes scanning for any sign of Brady. He watched the wardens fall around him, being bludgeoned by his men. The wardens resolve was weak, their morale desperately low. Cullen could feel the strength of the many buckle underneath the Inquisition's force. It didn't feel right. This wasn't a war, this was slaughter, and his troops were the butchers of the innocent. He shook his head, blaming the lack of sleep for his pitied thoughts.
A rider came up on his left riding a brown haired mare. Leliana.
"Have you seen them?" She asked, trying to speak over the galloping.
He shook his head.
Leliana's heart dropped. She looked ahead and sped past Cullen. He had screamed her name, but she ignored him, pressing forward into the battle. Her eyes scanned for any sign of Brady, but the corral of tents made it near impossible to see or maneuver through. She huffed, and jumped off her horse, joining two ferelden soldiers in a losing scuffle. Leliana pulled her daggers out from their sheathes on her hips, twirling them in the faces of the wardens and keeping her stance aggressive.
The warden thrust his blade downward, only to be outmaneuvered by Leliana, who rolled away and stuck two daggers quickly into the warden's leg. He grimaced and buckled, taking another sloppy swipe of his sword at her kneecap. She hopped and finished him off, stabbing into his shoulder with one blade and slitting his throat with the other.
"Brutal, Nightingale." She heard Varric's voice from behind. "Have you seen Hawke?"
She shook her head. "The inquisitor?"
He shot a bolt into the head of an approaching warden. "No. Blondie went to find them. If he starts to glow, back away slowly."
She nodded, and continued pressing into the camp. She could see remnants that pointed to Hawke. Frozen wardens, some shattered and stained with blood. She began to follow the path of ice, only to be distracted by the howl of the dragon circling above.
"Why doesn't she get down here and help?" Leliana mumbled. She clicked her tongue, "Show off."
She dipped and dodged through the brawls enclosing the camp. The close quarters combat was claustrophobic, crowding all corners of the camp with deadly quarrels. The trail of wardens came to an abrupt stop in what she assumed to be the middle of the camp. The tents were larger here than the outer ring, and were still standing, much to her surprise. Her eyes darted all around, still seeing no sign of Brady. She exhaled hard, attempting to expel any nerves that were starting to coil around her chest. She could hear the crunch of rubble under someone's boot, coming from her flank. She drew her bow and aimed it at the warden approaching. The warden approached cautiously, swinging the blade in her hand to intimidate.
"Leliana," the warden acknowledged her through her helmet. "Is that anyway to treat an old friend?"
Leliana kept her guard up, narrowing her eyes at the approaching warden. She could hear the soft orlesian accent hiding behind the helmet. The familiarity, even in the muffled warden helmet, was too much for Leliana to disregard.
The warden began to lower her blade, "I suppose you go by nightingale now, no?"
"I thought you dead." Leliana said, in a tone only bigger than a whisper.
She raised her visor, coming closer to Leliana. "That is what Marjolaine would have wanted."
"She's dead."
"I know." The warden raised her blade again. "This is no time for idle chatter, I must find the Inquisitor."
Leliana kept her bow trained and cocked an eyebrow. "The Inquisitor? State your interest."
The warden shook her head, bringing her green eyes to Leliana's with sincerity. "Even I know he mustn't die in the skirmish."
Leliana lowered her bow and nodded. "Be sure he is safe. That they all are."
"If we should be so lucky."
The warden joined the mix of soldiers and wardens, not raising her sword to either, but skillfully avoiding the fighting just as Leliana remembered she could, and did so well in her time in Orlais.
Desdemona Dawson, a woman that Leliana knew from a life ago, finally found in the ranks of the wardens. Whether she was an enemy or ally was still a debatable position in Leliana's mind. With a sudden haste, Leliana began follow her through the scuffle, hoping she could lead her to Brady.
"Leliana?" She heard from behind, stopping her chase and redirecting her attention.
She turned to see Damon stumble out of a tent, weaponless.
He looked at her with sullen grey eyes, barely able to stand. "Leliana?" He repeated, almost falling to his knees.
She rushed to his side and helped him to stand. "What happened to you?"
"I-" He looked at her, his face scrunched as he tried to find his mind. "I don't know."
"We need to get you to safety." She decided, leading him away from the fighting.
He nodded, and allowed her to support his weight.
Cullen had dismounted and discarded his horse, his eyes scanning the battlefield for any familiar face. He began to feel worry corrupt his stomach, churning it unpleasantly. They were winning this battle, he could deduce that easily, but that does not mean casualties wouldn't be severe. What if Brady had fallen? He knew they were quick to reach them, faster than he even expected, but war does not care about careful planning or luck; it takes, and seldom gives back.
He saw Anders, flicking his wand at approaching wardens. He joined his side, protecting his flank as best as he could.
"Teeth clenched teamwork, huh Cullen?" Anders quipped, keeping his eyes on his targets.
Cullen chuckled darkly, "Oh, you have no idea."
As the last warden fell to a fire blast from Anders's staff, he looked to Cullen. "Have you seen anyone else?"
Cullen shook his head. "I'm still looking for Brady."
"As I am looking for Gwen."
Cullen began to speak, but paused abruptly before words came out. He rushed to a figure in the distance. Anders watched as Cullen sped away, and when his eyes met with what was approaching, his heart froze and dropped into his stomach.
"No." Anders let out, and ran behind Cullen.
Brady was holding Hawke, limp in his arms, and walking towards them. His body was coated in blood, only deepening the cuts Anders could feel deep in his chest. Hawke's blonde hair was colored crimson, caked onto her long locks.
"I tried-" Brady shook his head. "Maker, I tried."
Anders pushed Cullen out of the way, "Give her to me, now."
Brady placed her in his arms without a second of hesitation. Anders looked to her, his eyes wide, and began to examine her body.
"What happened to her? What did you do?" He growled, as his fingers began to descend down her lifeless body to cast healing spells.
Brady did not answer. Cullen looked at him with worry, but Brady did not look back. He stood there with a thousand mile stare into the abyss of his own mind. His hand was glowing a sickly green and illuminating his forearm. Cullen grabbed onto Brady's shoulders, attempting to receive any sort of reaction, but was met with nothing.
Cullen looked at Anders and spoke stoically. "Time to fall back and allow Morrigan to finish the camp off." Anders did not answer, keeping all of his attention on Hawke and his spells.
"Anders!" Cullen called once again for his attention. "Send the beacon, dammit. I'll get her to safety."
Anders looked up to him with scorn. "You must."
Cullen scooped Hawke's body into his arms and led her away from the camp. Anders raised his staff and energy began to flow through him and out of his staff, marking the sky with a bright beacon that could be seen for miles.
Anders began to follow behind Cullen, giving him covering fire as they hustled to the hills.
Brady stood there, his attention catching the retreating soldiers heading away from the camp. He looked down at his hand, the only thing he could feel. The pain was scorching, tearing away at his flesh from the inside and begging for a claim to more of his arm. He made no cry of pain, no plea to the Maker. He found himself wanting it all to end. What had perspired within the hours of the day seemed to have broke him, and he deserved whatever punishment the maker was bound to give him.
A soft voice grazed his ear. He could feel pressure on his shoulder. "Inquisitor, we must go."
He saw Dawson giving him a look of urgency. Without a word, he nodded.
