Author's note: This chapter is somewhat short, because I had to cut it in two. I can deal with a chapter that's around 3000 words, but I draw the line at 5000. I've skipped past the events at Redcliff because it wasn't important for the story. Enjoy!
The genlock's mace swung past Erin's face, narrowly missing her chin as she jerked backwards. Two seconds later, the mace made contact with her right hand, its spikes breaking through the drakescales. The sound of crunching bone was inaudible and went unnoticed under the throb of battle.
Unfortunately for Erin, the same could not be said for the pain. She could feel all of her fingers breaking, sending pain shooting up her arm like lightening. She screamed, reeling back as her hand lost the strength to hold her sword. She brought her left hand to her right, momentarily forgetting where she was.
For a moment, she was twelve years old, and Fergus had caught her hand during practise. For a moment, the duelling had stopped and their weapons instructor was running over to take her to Nan, to have her fingers tended to. For a moment, she could hear her brother calling frantically to her, telling her that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant it. For a moment, she could hear Gilmore stating huffily that girls shouldn't fight, that they should be learning how to dance and play an instrument. For a moment, she had a sharp retort for him, saying that she was better at fighting than him, and she was younger than him, and she was a girl.
And then, she was twenty years old. She was a Grey Warden. She was in Fort Drakon. She had broken fingers and a genlock was about to take her head off.
She screamed again, this time with determination. She swiped her left hand before her, her sword singing through the air with her burst of strength. She watched it pass the genlock. Its head rolled away while its newly liberated neck sprayed Erin with black blood as the body collapsed.
She turned to look dazedly at her companions; Loghain had just finished gutting the last hurlock. Wynne was looking at a particular nasty head wound that Sten had received from an ogre no more than a minute ago, and the qunari seemed to be struggling to focus his eyes.
"We'll stop here for a moment," Erin announced, panting heavily.
With no need for further invitation, Loghain cleaned and sheathed his blade before reaching for a poultice. He poured a small amount of the liquid on a gash on his arm before downing the rest. He then moved away from the group and towards the nearest wall. Once he reached it, he leaned against it and slid down to sit on the floor. He absentmindedly wiped his face and brow with the back of his gauntlet, mixing the sweat with darkspawn blood and smearing his face with it. It almost looked like he was applying war paint.
Erin smiled weakly at the thought. She sheathed the blade in her left hand and reached down to pick up her second sword. She yelped in pain and surprise when she tried to move her fingers, but quickly strangled the noise. She fought against the tears that burned in her eyes and threatened to overflow.
She wasn't quick enough to hide her discomfort, however, and caught everyone's attention. Wynne turned to observe her and obviously realised what was wrong. The mage approached her and gently took her hand.
"Broken fingers," Wynne stated. "If I'm going to set this properly, I need to take the glove off."
"It doesn't have to be set properly, Wynne," Erin replied, gritting her teeth. "As long I can hold my sword, I don't care."
The mage looked at her sharply. She could tell that Wynne had been about to reprimand her and tell her that she would need her hand to be in good condition for the future. But then, she obviously remembered that Erin's future was going to end in twenty minutes, if she was lucky. Wynne's face softened into something sad, and she nodded.
"I would rather heal it properly," she continued half-heartedly. "If it's set wrong, then you may not want to hold a sword."
Erin's face fell in surprise. She hadn't thought of that. She knew how painful it was going to be to set her fingers, and realised that if she was distracted for even a moment because of her fingers it would probably be disastrous. She undid the lace that kept the glove from sliding off, and tried not to wince as Wynne tugged the glove off her more than slightly mangled hand.
She tried not to gag at the sight, which seemed to throb more to spite her. She'd seen worse on others, on enemies even, but she had to argue that she couldn't feel the pain from others. She forced herself to look away, and not hinder Wynne with her pained expression.
A leather glove suddenly appeared in front of her nose. She blinked and looked up to see Loghain offering it to her. A quick glance to Wynne handling her fingers with extreme care whilst watching her was enough for Erin to understand.
"Do you remember asking Morrigan how strong human teeth were, Sten?" Erin asked lightly, catching the qunari's attention. "You're about to find out."
She opened her mouth wide enough for Loghain to lay the glove between her teeth before clamping down. She then nodded affirmatively at Wynne and turned away, cringing.
Crack!
All of Erin's fingers screamed in unison and the leather glove groaned in complaint as she bit down with all of her strength. A strangled screech reverberated in her throat as she fought down the bile rising in her throat. Tears leaked from her eyes as her fingers burned hot and cold from the pain, which was slowly receding from Wynne's healing touch. Very slowly.
Soon it was all over. She breathed in jagged breaths through her nose. She wasn't quite willing to loosen her hold on the glove, and she was quite content to ignore Loghain's surprisingly gentle tug of encouragement. Her eyes were closed, but she knew it was him.
"I believe it's dead, my dear," Wynne finally noted, referring to the glove.
Erin reluctantly relaxed her jaw and felt it leave her mouth. Though she had to admit curiosity to what Loghain intended to do with it, and opened her eyes to find out. To her surprise, he merely dropped it onto the floor near the pile of darkspawn. She chuckled slightly, remembering Wynne's attempt at humour.
"I'm not too sure about that, Wynne," she chuckled. "Thing was twitching in my mouth like nobody's business. I wonder if it's like that when Torgan catches rabbits."
Wynne chuckled sadly in reply. She then returned the drakeskin glove to Erin and stood up. She gave Loghain a quick glance, checking that nothing was in desperate need of healing, and then returned to check on Sten.
Erin hissed quietly as she slowly and carefully flexed her fingers. They ached sharply, still protesting the trauma of the last few minutes. She made sure that she could clench her fist, and then finally reached down and picked up her sword. She sheathed it into her back scabbard and was glad to notice that the pain in her hand was fading, albeit slowly.
"Do you really think we're in any condition to fight the archdemon?" Loghain asked her quietly, standing close to her so Wynne and Sten wouldn't overhear.
"It's not like we have much of a choice, Loghain," Erin admitted, equally hushed. "Our allies are focusing on securing the city. We can't call for them here. It's up to us."
"Why doesn't that instil much confidence in me?" he asked rhetorically.
"If you want to go back down, I'm not stopping you," Erin sneered viciously.
Loghain stepped back in surprise. He looked at her with a shocked expression, before realisation dawned on him. He seemed to forget that she was at Ostagar, she'd seen his 'tactical error', and she'd watched the massacre that his actions had entailed. He apparently, finally, realised that she would always see him as a coward, a traitor.
"Everyone ready?" Erin called.
There were murmurs of assertion from Wynne and Sten. They both joined the Grey Wardens and stood ready to climb the last flight of stairs, ready to meet the archdemon, ready for the end.
Erin gave herself a moment to look, really look, at her friends.
Wynne looked fairly undisturbed by the battles, but considering that she had been staying out of the throng, supporting them from afar, perhaps it wasn't so surprising that she looked far better than Erin, Sten or Loghain.
Sten had finally managed to focus his eyes, and was watching her intently. His armour was covered in blood, and the wound on his head was barely healed, but he remained as stoic as ever. She could tell that he was waiting for her to give the order to press forward.
Loghain looked exhausted, she suddenly realised. He was haggard from the constant fighting, and his endurance was wearing thin. Erin had to remind herself that, despite taking his place, he wasn't Alistair. He wasn't a young man who just needed to catch his breath and would then be able to run for ten miles. Loghain was old.
Erin breathed in deeply, steeling herself for the next fight. However this ended, she was going to die. She'd known in many of the fights she'd been in that she could die, but this... there wasn't possibility in this fight, only absolute. It was a sobering thought, indeed.
But, she had to keep going. Dying with archdemon was the only thing she had now, and it had pulled her through the wave of darkspawn in Redcliff. It had made her strike at the ogre alpha that had stormed the castle gates, and refused to let her fall.
"Let's finish this," she whispered, but she knew that they had all heard her.
She turned to the staircase, breathed in, and started to climb. She could hear her companions' feet on the steps behind her. The stairs wound up for what seemed like forever. She hated this part, this waiting as she approached the next obstacle, the next battle.
They finally reached the top and Erin reached out to open the door. She pushed on it, and her little group spilled out into the tower roof, breathing in the open air.
A soldier flew into their view, landing painfully on the floor, and he did not move. Erin skidded to a halt in shock, feeling Loghain land a hand on her shoulder to stop himself from running into her.
And then, they saw it: the archdemon.