Denerim rose up in chorus as humans, elves and dwarves cried out in triumph. The darkspawn were fleeing back to the Korcari Wilds as if they had all been firmly kicked in the nether regions. Several in the fleeing horde would fall as they were hit by arrows from those few who just wanted to add incentive.
Teagan stood at the gates of Denerim, looking over to the smoke that rose from the top of Fort Drakon. He stood silently as he waited to breathe easily, watching all around him rejoice at the victory.
Well, almost everybody.
He recognised five figures as some of Erin's companions, standing as silently as he was, looking up to the tower as he was. They had been essential to their keeping of the main gate, and he decided to congratulate them on their shared victory. But he stopped short when he approached them.
The sole woman of the group, Leliana he believed her name was, had her hands to her face, and her shoulders were shaking. Teagan was almost certain that he could hear sobs hiccupping out of her. When the elf reached a hand over to brush against her back, she turned and clung to him, her grieving sobs now easier to hear.
The dwarf had thrown his sword into the ground, where it stood with its hilt pointing towards the sky. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was pointedly not looking at anything other than the tower.
The golem... Teagan wasn't entirely sure what the golem was doing, but he was fairly certain that it wasn't happy. The Mabari hound was howling like it had lost his master.
And then it hit him. The dog had lost his master. The group had lost their leader, their friend. The Grey Warden, Erin Cousland was dead. He wasn't sure how they knew it, or how he knew, but he knew that there was no question of it, absolutely no doubt.
"Well, come on," the dwarf suddenly ordered. "We're not going to sodding wait for them here. Let's get to the palace."
The bereaved group followed the dwarf silently. The woman was still clinging to the elf, as he was the only thing that was keeping her on her feet. The elf himself seemed to be holding himself together quite well considering, but Teagan couldn't see his face so he couldn't be certain. The golem and dog brought up the rear, both with slow steps and heads hung low, tail too for the dog.
Unable to do anything else, Teagan sheathed his sword and followed them. He didn't speak to them, but simply walked beside the woman and elf. The looks on their faces showed that, beneath their grief, they were grateful to him joining them.
The six of them walked slowly like a procession towards the palace. They did not cheer as others around them did, but merely walked on. When they finally reached the palace, Teagan took the lead and guided them round to the back, where the wide steps lead up to Fort Drakon.
Teagan remembered that Loghain, a mage, Wynne, and a qunari, who he remembered Erin had introduced as Sten, had accompanied the noblewoman to Redcliff. He knew that they had followed her to the confrontation with the archdemon. He wondered absentmindedly which of them would be the one to carry her down.
Despite being twenty years old, Erin was still quite small. She had joked with him one night after she had saved his nephew, Connor, from the clutches of the demon. She had told him that she had worn armour since she was twelve and it had kept her short. She had chuckled, saying that she had noticed that men preferred women they didn't have to look up at, though they found it easier to stare at their cleavage.
Alistair had choked on his drink when she'd said that remark.
He shook away thoughts of his nephew –no thoughts would bring the lad back– and focused on Erin. Due to her size, she was going to look like a child whether it was Sten or Loghain who brought her down, although, the effect would be greater if it was Sten.
Teagan raised his head at the scuffling sound of something approaching. He clapped eyes on a white wolf trotting past him. He saw it purposefully avoided the group behind him, but that could have been due to the Mabari.
He turned back to the stairs to see Loghain descend slowly. The former teyrn was covered in blood, had burn marks over his face and his skin was pale. He looked completely exhausted, and did not have the strength to raise a proper greeting to the bann. His arms were empty.
Teagan looked past him to see the qunari, equally bone-weary, walking down the steps. His face was expressing neither exhaustion nor grief, however, but relief. He nodded to Teagan before joining the group behind him. He was not carrying Erin, as Teagan had expected.
Confused, he turned back to the steps. He couldn't believe that the men would let the mage carry Erin down. Surely she was not that small, surely.
Wynne was next down the steps. She would occasionally pause and look up before continuing her descent. She, too, looked above grief. In fact, she smiled wearily but happily at Teagan as she passed him, and approached Leliana. She whispered something into the woman's ear.
Something good apparently, as Leliana brightened up considerably, her eyes misted up with hope. Intrigued, Teagan looked from them to the steps, back to them, and then rested finally on the steps. Something was going on, and he had no idea what.
Then another pair of silverite armoured boots came slowly down the stairs. The armour was covered in blood and grime. In the arms of the person was Erin, her head resting against the person's chest, rather than hanging limply backwards.
And staring down at her was Alistair's blood covered face.
The young Templar looked as tired as any of the others. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, showing his obvious lack of sleep. He would look down at her face with concern every so often before returning his gaze to where he was putting his next foot.
As they drew close, Teagan saw that a strand of hair was lying across Erin's face and was quivering slightly as she breathed out. He saw Alistair flash a smile at him, and Teagan understood what everyone was smiling about, what everyone was relieved about.
Erin was alive. She had survived.
Loghain was leaning against a doorpost when Anora found him. He hadn't changed from his armour and was covered in drying darkspawn blood. His face was clean, however, and his burns had been addressed. He looked over to his daughter and smiled wearily at her before returning his attention to the occupants of the room he was standing outside of.
When she reached his side, she looked in to see three people, one of whom she had not expected to see again.
Erin was lying unconscious on the bed, a simple cotton sheet covering her. She was out of her drakeskin armour and was wearing simple linen underclothes. She had several cuts, scratches and bruises on her face, Anora couldn't see any other skin, and her hands were extensively bandaged.
Wynne was busy with tending to Erin's many injuries. The mage was exhausted, her movements slow. She was addressing Erin's injuries with physical aids, rather than magical, and was finishing up on smearing a paste on the far side of the woman's face, probably to treat burns like the ones Loghain owned.
Then, apparently finished, she spoke softly to the last occupant of the room, who nodded to her, before turning to leave the room. She showed little surprise at Anora and Loghain's presence at the door, or maybe she was just too tired to be surprised.
Anora and Loghain stepped back to let the mage enter the hallway. Anora allowed her five seconds to compose herself.
"How is she?" Loghain asked concernedly, beating Anora to the question.
"Exhausted," Wynne replied. "I don't think she's slept since before the Landsmeet. I don't think she's eaten since then, either."
"Isn't that impossible?" Anora asked. "Surely she wouldn't have the strength or energy to fight as well as she did."
"It's no small feat, I'll admit," Loghain replied. "But it's not impossible by far. That woman raised an army in a matter of months. I don't doubt that she'd done plenty of it on an empty stomach or without as much as an hour's sleep."
"Nothing could stop her once she'd set herself a goal," Wynne agreed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her right hand tiredly.
"And, what of him?" Anora asked, sneering as she turned to the young man who was in the room with Erin.
Alistair had taken his armour off, laying it by the side of the chair he was sitting on. His linen underclothes were stained with blood, some black from darkspawn and some red from himself, and grime that Anora didn't dare name.
He was hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. His head was bowed and Anora could swear that she could hear soft mumblings coming from him. Though she couldn't see his face, she was almost certain that his eyes were closed as he prayed to the Maker.
"I don't think Alistair has slept much either. When I told him to eat something, he told me that he'd eat later, when Erin woke up. Other than that, he doesn't have many words at the moment that aren't for Erin or the Maker," Wynne replied, her tired eyes narrowing suspiciously at the queen.
"Any ideas on why he hasn't left Ferelden?" Anora pressed.
"You can ask him yourself," Wynne answered tartly. "Don't expect an answer, though. I, on the other hand, am going to change into clean robes... maybe have a hot bath while I'm at it..."
The mage strolled down the hallway, leaving the queen and disgraced teyrn to watch the Grey Warden couple. She muttered under her breath, mentioning words like "idiots", "ungrateful" and others that Anora would never have believed to be present in a mage's vocabulary.
Anora turned round to her father as she heard him sigh. He was watching Alistair with a tired expression, as if he was really seeing the young man for the first time. He looked as if he was beginning to understand something that he'd never understood before.
"You only have to look at him, Anora, to know why he's still here," Loghain stated suddenly, feeling his daughter's eyes on him. "When we were on the top of Fort Drakon, I asked Erin who she was sacrificing herself for. She whispered in my ear that she would die with the name on her lips. As she struck the final blow, and the archdemon's spirit began to crush her, she screamed out Alistair's name."
Anora turned to look at the peaceful expression on the noblewoman's face, and wondered if the peace was only skin deep. She wondered what turmoil lay on the woman's heart, what pain had the archdemon given her, what wound that would never heal.
"And then suddenly, he appeared as if her cry had summoned him out of the very air," Loghain chuckled slightly. "When that shockwave threw us all to the floor, the boy was back on his feet before the rest of us had realised that we'd hit the ground."
Loghain smiled sadly. He turned away from the room and faced Anora. He bent down slightly and kissed her on the cheek before straightening up.
"Those two are driven by a force that neither you nor I could ever hope to match," he murmured quietly to his daughter.
Then, he moved past Anora, removing his gauntlets.
She watched his retreating form until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight. She was still for a moment before turning back to the room. She walked quietly into the room, her attention focused on Alistair and Erin.
She saw that Alistair's longsword lay in reach of her, and out of his field of vision. She could easily pick it up, position it behind him and take his head off with one swipe. That would easily put an end to any chance of rebellion in his name, any chance of him suddenly coming to usurp her from the throne.
Then, she heard Alistair's prayer. His voice was edged with so much emotion, that Anora was surprised that he wasn't crying.
"Mercy be from the Maker and Andraste above," he whispered. "Let her be spared from pain and sorrow. See her heart and judge her pure and worthy your divine love. Heal her body, mind and spirit so that she may light the world with her wholesome embodiment of all that you teach us to be good. In the... In the name of..."
Now he was struggling. Now he was having trouble. The man was struggling to breathe, let alone finish his prayer.
"In the name of the Maker and Andraste above, so let it be," Anora finished calmly for him, kneeling beside him, her hands clasped together and her head bowed.
Alistair opened his eyes and looked over to Anora. She'd been mistaken when she'd thought he hadn't been crying. There were runs of skin that weren't as filthy as the rest of him, which ran from his eyes to his jaw. The look in his moist eyes couldn't be anything less than desolate.
"I doubt she would want to wake to see you like this," Anora observed, her words coming out harsher than she had intended. "Why don't you clean yourself up for her?"
"I don't want to leave her," he whispered a reply, shaking his head as he turned his gaze to the resting woman.
Anora didn't speak for a moment, taking in what he was saying, both consciously and subconsciously. The tension in his body relaxed slightly as he gazed at her. The look in his eyes was utterly devoted to the woman who lay before him, as he checked her expression for anything that may indicate that she was in pain.
He raised a hand to rest it lightly on Erin's cheek, and then her brow. He bit his lip slightly in dissatisfaction. He took a cloth out of the bowl of water that Anora hadn't noticed, wrung it of excess water, and dabbed Erin's face lightly, cooling her. He didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he was ignoring Anora; he'd probably forgotten that she was even kneeling next to him.
Then Anora realised what her father had meant. This was the force that she could never hope to surpass, because such a feat was impossible. Alistair loved Erin, and she loved him. They were willing to put themselves aside for each other, and nothing could quell that.
"I'll send some servant to bring down some warm water for you to wash with," Anora stated, rising to her feet. "I'll also send someone down with clean clothes for you, and some stew."
"I'll eat it later," Alistair replied, his voice was monotone.
Anora could almost guess that he hadn't really heard her, but she decided to let his blatant disregard for her status slide for the moment. He hadn't even turned his head when she'd spoken.
Finding his disinterest more than a little annoying, Anora stalked out of the room. As much as she suddenly didn't want to send servants with water, clothes or food down to him, she knew she had to. Even if he didn't care much at the moment, he would undoubtedly mention it to anyone who asked why he was still in such a state.
Keeping such promises was one of the more distasteful sides of being queen.