When they arrived in Denerim, the city was in flames.
No matter how many times he saw houses and shops engulfed in fire, he would never be able to keep the sight from shaking him to the bones.
As the king, he rode at the very head of the march, flanked on one side by Godfrey and on the other by Isobel and Alistair. His shoulders and back ached from the strain of keeping his posture erect as they rode towards the capital. Beneath the heavy golden armor and the thick purple cloak, he felt as though he was being dragged to the ground instead of held above it, his knuckles grinding up against the unyielding curve of his gauntlets as he tightened his hands into fists around the reins.
The mount's steady trot faltered the slightest bit, both from sensing his rider's unease and smelling the smoke in the air. For days, he'd ridden atop this horse, stopping only to sleep and lead him to water, but they were still not used to each other. The beginnings of trust between man and mount were rocky at best; they'd been forced to forge a partnership in mere hours, leaving both of them uncertain.
Loosening his grip on the reins, Cailan ran a heavy hand along the neck of the beast, jaw working as his eyes scanned over the high walls that surrounded the city. Even at this distance, he could see chunks missing from the stone, torn away as if made of wafer instead.
He'd seen what the darkspawn were capable of. The Blight was proof enough of that. Everything they touched turned to black. Flesh became necrotic. Flowers and grass wilted. Buildings were torn down until they were nothing but piles of ash-covered rocks. They would continue doing this until they were stopped. If they were not defeated here, they would turn his entire country into a Blight-diseased wasteland, and he would not have that. He would stop them. What was once false pride bled surely into rage at the sight of what they were doing to his people.
When they reached the largest hill overlooking the main entrance to the city, Cailan stopped and dismounted. The others followed soon after. They were here. This was the culmination of all they'd been through, their final attempt at crippling the darkspawn army. If they had their way, they would scatter them in such a way that they'd all go scrambling back to the Deep Roads.
Eamon was the first to speak to him. "You intend to give a speech, yes?" his uncle asked, "Your Godfrey shared word of the last speech you gave your men. He claims you have all of your father's eloquence and verve." There was even a hint of a smile in the corner of Eamon's mouth despite his otherwise serious expression. "They will need it on this day, Cailan. We will all need it."
"I have much to say," he admitted, "Though I had hoped to speak to you about a matter beforehand." He paused, glancing towards Isobel. She was standing some distance off, her bare hands wrapped around Alistair's gauntleted ones. No matter how much he tried to smother down the beginnings of jealousy, knowing full well that today may be his brother's last, he couldn't help but feel a distinct burning when he saw her press her forehead to his. He didn't know what she was telling him, nor would he pry later. This was talk between Wardens and between friends, and he had no place to intrude. "I will be taking Isobel with me."
The arl narrowed his eyes at his nephew, unsure what to think of his intentions. "She is one of the last Grey Wardens," Eamon said slowly. "If both Riordan and Alistair should fall before the archdemon is slain?"
"Both of them will not fail."
"Do you know more of the future than I, Cailan? Have you seen what lies ahead?"
This was Eamon in true form. "This was not a request, Eamon. I said that I will be taking Isobel with me. I suggest you not question my choices, and certainly not with that tone of condescension."
His uncle pulled back his shoulders. "Very well. Take Isobel with you, your Majesty. You will need a Warden by your side."
Moving to Isobel's side, Cailan was just able to catch the very end of the conversation between the two Wardens. A fist curled around his heart at the sound of Alistair's voice, but it was what he asked that twisted the organ in his chest. "If... things were different, if something had changed...?" The hopeful lilt in his voice was all he had to hear in order to understand the subject of the question.
While he couldn't see Isobel's face from where he stood, he could only imagine what she looked like at that exact moment. He could imagine her eyes, green as anything, perhaps a little wet. He could practically see the entreating tenderness in them. Her lips would be parted, torn between saying something and staying silent. No matter the fact that she hadn't spoken a word, her answer would be written all over her expression. Yes.
That was enough for him. He knew that there was a chance he wouldn't return. Letting go of a heavy sigh, Alistair nodded, giving Isobel's hand a pat before nodding in Cailan's direction.
Isobel turned around, a small, reassuring smile curling at her mouth. "What did Eamon say?" she asked, letting go of Alistair's hands in favor of turning towards Cailan. "I assume by the look on your face that you're not entirely pleased with it."
"He thought my decision was up for discussion," Cailan replied almost curtly. "It wasn't. You'll be leaving soon with the first contingent of guards. I will be with the second."
She nodded, hands laced in front of her. "Understood."
The first group of guards was gathered, and they departed even sooner than both Alistair and Isobel expected. They repeated their goodbyes. She spent a few lingering moments with her arms wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed to his. "Show that archdemon it shouldn't mess with the Grey Wardens, won't you?" she murmured directly into his ear, blinking back the few tears that gathered in her eyes. "Duncan-" Her voice caught on the name, and she felt him wrap his arms even tighter around her waist. "Duncan would be so proud of you, Al. Remember that."
"Are you?" he asked her. Even through his armor, he could feel her entire body tremble, and he could feel her damp cheek move against his as she nodded over and over again. Smoothing his hand up the length of her back, he smiled. "Your guards are staring at us. D'you think they're jealous?"
"Of me, no doubt," she whispered, though her voice was still strained. "I... should go. Good-"
She felt herself jerked backwards, his heavy hands clutching at her waist. "He-ey, don't say that. Say 'see you later.' That's much more optimistic."
Leaning forward, Isobel bumped her forehead against his, a smile breaking out onto her face. "See you later."
While Alistair could have charged into Denerim with Isobel's words alone, the other men and women gathered were not so easily instilled with confidence. They required the king's thrilling speeches. They needed to know that what they were doing would change history, that they would be remembered. That in itself would put enough steel in their spines to defeat two darkspawn hordes.
They were all standing, waiting and watching as Denerim burned and their king took point at the head of those gathered. Only two people gathered there had seen Cailan before the battle of Ostagar. Only two of them were able to see exactly how much he'd changed. He seemed taller, almost larger than life, a giant in both figure and presence. And when he spoke, every scrap of boyish innocence had faded from his voice, revealing a fierceness that surprised even Eamon.
"Good people of Ferelden!" he began, his hands gripping at the railing separating the low balcony from a single part of his army. Even now, after only four words, they were beginning to shift in their place. A few men knocked their fists on their shields. Some shouted wordless praise. "I have spent most of my life dreaming of victory over impossible odds."
The king's voice bellowed out over those gathered, sending a ripple of response through the crowd. Everyone here knew of the king's near death at Ostagar, of that battle's impossible odds. "When I was informed that a Blight would sweep across my beloved country, I thought I was prepared. I thought I had the mettle to go up against such a force. I knew I would wipe them out in one fell swoop."
"I was wrong!" Another ripple ran through the crowd. There was a shout near the front degrading that "bastard Loghain," which earned the crier a round of positive response. "But at Ostagar," he continued, his voice softening despite the volume remaining the same. "Our numbers were few. We fought hard, but we were overwhelmed. Today, that is not the case."
The moment a proud smile spread across his lips, the soldiers near the front punched their fists into the air. "Human, elven, dwarven. Soldier, archer, mage. We fight together, and we are not outnumbered!"
Passing his tongue over his lips, Cailan leaned forward, grasping the railing until he could feel his knuckles grinding against his gauntlets. "This Blight is not the Blight of centuries past. We do not have the Grey Warden forces to protect us. We do not have the luxury to cower inside of our homes and wait until the Blight is destroyed."
At that, he turned and began making his way down the few stairs leading him to stand directly in front of the first line of soldiers. "But that will not stop us! That will not keep us from glory! This is our Blight, and we will end it!"
Even before the final word left his mouth, the soldiers erupted in a cheer so loud he thought he would go deaf. The ground shook beneath their pounding feet. The sound of their fists pounding on their shields sounded like thunder.
It was fitting, he realized, that they would meet the darkspawn sounding like a storm, for this storm would wipe them from the face of Thedas.
When he returned to Eamon's estate, Isobel was waiting for him. He was breathless by the time he got to their room, but confusion rendered him unable to draw air entirely. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, red head bowed, her eyes focused on the sword in her lap. He'd expected to arrive and tell her to put on her armor in case the darkspawn spread even further than they hoped. He hadn't expected to see her already dressed. Even her helm sat beside her on the bed.
Brows cinching downward, Cailan took a step into the room, shutting the door soundly behind them. "I rode here as fast as I could," he said. The hesitance in his voice was what pulled her stare away from her blade. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and he felt his heart sink in his chest. What was she doing? Why was she dressed? These questions swirled in his mind so quickly he didn't even know where to begin. " What— what are you doing?"
She stood to her full height, reminding him just how intimidating she could look in a full set of armor. Even with her hair still down and her eyes still glassy, she cut an impressive figure. "I wanted to be ready," she murmured, her voice thick.
"So... that's it? You're not going to be joining the battle?"
Her features skewed, and she uttered a quiet huff. "Cailan." She sounded strained, as if her will was close to dissolving altogether. "I told you that I would stay. I... can help fight stragglers, but I'm not stupid enough to run into the horde when I'm not ready."
Somehow, hearing her say that didn't make him feel any better. There was an uncertainty there that told him she would be out there fighting if her confidence hadn't taken such a blow, if she didn't have to worry about slipping or about hesitating. Not only would she have fought, but she'd have struck the final blow, as well. "I just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, "– I want you to stay here."
It was her turn to wrinkle her brows. "I am staying here."
"You can't be out there. You have to stay here."
Reaching out after sheathing her sword, Isobel grabbed him by the shoulders. The glassiness in her eyes had disappeared entirely, leaving behind a fierce light that he didn't remember ever being directed at him. "I am staying here, Cailan," she pressed, a finality to her words. She knew when to play the hero, just as she knew when to sit off to the side and let others take the reins.
It took her a moment to realize who she was staring at. The king in him had given way to a little boy. His blue eyes were full of terrified innocence. She'd never seen him look so unsure. "There were so many of them," he said, letting out a quiet breath as his eyes fell away from hers. "I haven't seen so many darkspawn since Ostagar. And there's fire. Everywhere." The tremble in his voice broke completely, and he was forced to clear his throat. "If we could've gotten here sooner... If we'd never left..."
She couldn't even begin to imagine what seeing this must have felt like for him. Ostagar had been nothing but crumbling ruins. Denerim was the capital city of his country. Seeing this destruction, knowing that he could have stopped it, could not have been easy to swallow.
"We had to leave," she murmured, "We thought the horde was heading to Redcliffe. If we hadn't left and it had gone to Redcliffe, the entire city would've been destroyed."
"Like this one?"
The hard edge to Cailan's voice very nearly cut her. Isobel pursed her lips to stop their trembling, fingers twitching in her gauntlets. Lifting her eyes back up to his, she tilted her head to the side in order to catch them. "Cailan. Stop. Please." She reached out. Her hands grasped at his arms, and she gave him a shake. "This isn't your fault. There was nothing you could do to change what's happened. We can rebuild. We will rebuild. Denerim will be as it was. It'll be like the Blight never touched it."
When he looked at her, she could tell that he believed what she said. The deep lines between his brows smoothed away, and he reached up to rest his hands on her arms just as she did his. "I don't think I would've survived this long without your help, Iso." Wetting his lips, he swallowed thickly, "Thank you."
Just as she opened her mouth to tell him that his thanks weren't necessary, he leaned forward. All of her own fears were smoothed away when she felt his mouth pressed against her forehead.
In a single, simple kiss, a revelation turned within her.
The Blight would soon be over.
A/N: I apologize for the wait! I do have an explanation, however. Or an excuse, if you see fit to call it that. It's very difficult to post up chapter twenty six when you've finished twenty seven before it. Hahah. Oh, muse, you are a fickle you-know-what. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, though! Is it horrible that I'm so shamelessly proud of Cailan's speech? Or should I shut my mouth and go sit in my little writer's corner? ;)
So, with that in mind, you should expect chapter twenty-seven in a few days! You won't have to wait two weeks for this one, I promise.
Also, for those who weren't aware, I posted up a Cailan/Isobel one-shot a few days ago. It's called "A Humble Pilgrim," and should be just below "The Beacon" in my profile. Hurr hurr, /shameless self-promotion.