"They've broken through the barricade!"
It never failed to surprise Isobel how a handful of choice words could send ice right into her veins. She was prepared; completely so. Still, that did not stop her heart from clenching in her chest. It didn't stop her stomach from flipping and blood to pound in her ears.
The darkspawn were there. They'd passed this section of the city in favor of Fort Drakon and the marketplace before now. While these may have been only stragglers, spread out to wreak as much havoc as they could manage, they were still there and still incredibly dangerous. A small group of darkspawn could wipe out the entire estate by taking them by surprise, and they were hardly ready to defend against anything larger. They didn't have the numbers. They didn't have the plans.
She could feel a chill slip down her spine the moment she heard the same guard shout again.
"And they have an emissary with them!"
"Gather the men!"
Isobel's hand flew out to grip the pauldron of the head guard. "Send the archers up top to give cover fire," she ordered, tearing her eyes away from his face as she ran over thoughts in her head. They didn't have a mage; Arryn was with Alistair and the others. Two archers, one of which was decently trained, and eight heavily armed guardsmen on her side of the estate – the side they'd broken through. Her eyes narrowed at the wall in front of her as the man waited few precious seconds for her to gather herself. "Four. I need four men. Tell the others to wait until I give the order."
With a solid clang, her gauntlet impacted the man's back and he set off in the direction of his men. She turned towards the room she'd just left to see Anora and the other women staring at her. The queen was in full armor, though she was unarmed, her sword lying off to the side.
"Stay here," Isobel told her, though she tried her best to keep her voice quiet to soften the blow of her giving the queen orders. "Watch the women and children." Turning her eyes onto the others in the room, she could see them shifting under their own apprehension, terror scrawled across their features. "I will make sure the darkspawn do not breach the estate. You will all be safe. I swear it on my life."
"Is it really wise to say such things, Warden?" Anora asked her. "The outcome of this battle is not known."
Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh, Isobel took a step out of the room before looking back to her. There was no acid in her voice nor in her stare. "You are incorrect, your Majesty. I know exactly how this battle will end."
At that, she turned, and she left. The moment the door was shut and latched behind her, the silence in the room burst, voices rising and skirts rustling so loudly Anora nearly wanted to plug her ears.
The Warden's strides were long as she made her way through the winding hallways of Eamon's estate in the direction of the back gates. While she knew the darkspawn were dumb as rocks, they'd made a wonderfully bright mistake by going to the back gates instead of the front ones. There, Cailan and a dozen guards were waiting for a group to pass by. Of course, as luck would have it, the creatures happened upon the poorly guarded side of the estate. Isobel was half sure the Maker was doing this on purpose.
When she reached the double doors leading out into the back, her hand went to the sword at her hip, fingers twisting around the grip and drawing it out of its scabbard. The first clash of metal upon metal rang out not a heartbeat after her boot hit the ground. As she moved forward, shouting to the others to watch for the cover fire, she heard an arrow whiz past, burying itself into the shoulder of a genlock.
The creature staggered backward a step from the strength of the blow only to lash out with his dagger at the guard before him only a moment later.
Her eyes skimmed over the small stretch of land. Nine. There were nine genlocks, not including the genlock emissary standing departed from the crowd. They were only slightly outnumbered, but with the addition of an emissary, they would be forced to deal with healing magic.
Her attention was jerked back to the present when she saw a blur of silver aimed directly at her. Parrying the blow at the last second, she gave the genlock a swift kick to the chest. It was just enough to knock him down, giving her the time she needed to remove the shield from her back. The creature clambered up to his feet again only to pursue her with quicker strikes, most of them deflected by her shield. He landed only a single blow across her forearm, and she gritted her teeth against the burning feeling that spread down into her wrist.
When she saw that it was time to strike her own blow, the genlock's armor split like a block of wood beneath her blade. One cut and then two and the genlock fell to its knees; a short burst of dark blood gushed from its mouth, dripping in thin streams from between his gnarled teeth.
A sneer curled at her mouth as she glanced up from the body. The guards were shouldering the brunt of the attack. Only five of the genlocks remained, clustering around the four guards. Four. Her pulse spiked. Where was the captain?
Her eyes went wide when she heard a shriek in the distance. She looked to the emissary only to see a suit of silverite armor fall to its knees, nearly crumpling in on itself the moment it hit the ground. The genlock's arms were in the air, the end of its staff glowing a deep purple as it finished its incantation. The arrows buried into its armor slowly began to reemerge, sliding out of its flesh only to fall to the ground at its feet. Each time another arrow fell, the captain gave another scream, his gauntlets digging into the dirt in front of his knees.
"Concentrate on the grunts!" Her voice bellowed over the clanging of swords and cries of pain – both human and otherworldly. The shout reached the archers, and they turned their attention towards the others, set on aiding the guards in wiping them out.
She'd fought emissaries before. While his wounds were being healed by each pain he pressed into the captain, his mana would drain. It would drain, and he'd be helpless. But she had to get to him before he sucked the strength right out of him.
Before she was able to reach the emissary, her run kicking up dust with each heavy footfall, she saw a genlock turn around and lash out at her in an attempt to slow her down. His dagger glanced off of her long sword without any more than a dull clang. She skidded to a halt, the weight of her armor pulling her forward until she dug her toes forward to stop herself, and she turned just enough to poise her sword to drive it into his throat when she heard the distinct, grating sound of pain the genlocks often made.
Her eyes fell to the creature's stomach. Just below his collarbone, a slender silver blade protruded from between the creases in his armor. It'd been stuck through so quickly that not the slightest hint of blood coated the sword. Glancing up to the guard, she gave him a curt nod before turning and taking off in a run.
By now, the guard captain was nearly lying face down in the dirt. She could see his shoulders shaking as he dry heaved from the pain of the emissary's magic. Stopping in her tracks some distance off, she palmed her sword into her left hand and reached for the dagger in her belt. Her teeth pressed down onto her tongue as she lifted it up, eyes narrowed as she tried to concentrate. She had horrible aim, but missing the target was worth the possibility of distracting him enough to stop the spell.
The dagger flew through the air after a flick of the wrist. While she'd been aiming for his stomach, the blade of it cut deep into the creature's thigh. The spell was broken; the purple light disappeared immediately.
With the emissary staggering back, Isobel had enough time to rush forward. She gripped her sword and her shield, and she pushed. Running in such heavy armor was almost impossible for a woman of her size. The adrenaline pumping so hard in her veins she could taste it proved otherwise.
Genlocks, she found, did not retreat. Even as they saw their brethren being cut down on all sides, their fight or flight response was cut down to a single option. Fight; even if you have a longsword inches from your neck. When she finally grew closer to the creature, the emissary's hands began to glow blue, and her heart twisted into a knot in her chest. She did not stop running towards him.
She could hear her shield splinter as she pushed forward, the only barrier between her and the tendrils of blue-white that were launched in her direction.
The lightning stopped, and the emissary grabbed for its staff a second time only to hear a disheartening sizzle and pop when nothing left it. No spell, no wisp. Nothing. His mana drained entirely, he settled for lashing out at her with the gnarled end of the staff, impacting her shield hard enough for her ears to be filled with another crack.
Thrusting outward, she watched as the emissary stumbled backwards, watched as his meaty fists clawed at the ground beneath him, trying in vain to climb up onto his feet again. He was struggling, and for a moment, Isobel found herself enjoying the sight. She stood there, precious seconds ticking by as her feet rooted her into the ground. Her sword was gripped at her side, poised to strike yet unmoving. Even if these things were less than dwarven or elven or human or whatever they were made from, they still feared when death was upon them. They knew to be afraid, unsure of what would happen once the blade sunk in.
It did not take long for the genlock's skewed, ugly face to change into something more familiar and even more haunting. She no longer saw a darkspawn lying on the ground before her, but Howe. He stared up at her with black eyes, a smear of red beneath the hook of his nose. He looked scared. Terrified, even. The sight warmed her from the inside.
She was so caught up in watching the fear in those black eyes that she didn't see the emissary lift his hand again. She didn't see the blue glow. She didn't see the lightning, either. She felt it.
Pain shot up her thighs the moment she fell to her knees, but that was nothing compared to the surge of energy that coursed over her armor, spreading and leaving what felt like fire in its wake. Her sight clouded and throat burned. She heard herself screech for help, but she couldn't hear the words. She could barely feel them on her tongue.
A sickening crunch preceded a sudden lack of sound. She barely caught it, her heavy head jerking upwards to see an arrow protruding from between the emissary's eyes only to fall back down a moment later, her eyes slowly regaining focus on the bent, scorched blades of grass that lay in her shadow.
She felt herself being pulled up by four distinct hands what felt like minutes later. It could have been longer; it could have been seconds. Taking a deep breath, she let them steady her before her attention turned to the guard captain. He was still on his hands and knees, his entire body visibly trembling even beneath his bulky armor. "Tend to him," she murmured, her voice little more than a quiet rasp. She groped blindly at her waist once she'd sheathed her sword, handing one of the guard's a strong poultice Arryn had given her that morning. "I'll report to the king."
Not bothering to stay long enough to see after the captain, Isobel wrapped an arm around her shield. It wouldn't do her any good now. Cracks were splintered throughout the Cousland family crest. One swift hit was all it would take and its be nothing but sticks and pieces of scrap metal.
Her footsteps must have been heavier than she intended, as she saw a figure step into her path not long after entering the estate.
"Anora, you should be with the others," she murmured, twisting past the queen. She knew the woman would follow her, if only to preserve her dignity.
"Until the battle was over," Anora reminded her, keeping up without much difficulty despite the difference in the womens' sizes. "Seeing that the battle is over, your orders hold no weight, Warden."
Isobel paused. She didn't turn to look at her. She didn't sneer, scoff, or even so much as blink. When she spoke again, her tone was leaden. "The battle isn't over. The archdemon still lives. As long as the archdemon lives, the battle will continue. Now, please return to the others."
"I will not."
Arguing with the queen wasn't what she wanted, and so Isobel said nothing. She knew better. She'd toed the line between the knowledgeable Warden and insubordination once already. Instead, she continued on her way to the front of the estate, each stride more confident than the last as the hitch in her step faded into nothing.
By the time they reached their destination, she was some distance from Anora, pushing through the front doors only to be greeted by a rush of questions. The loudest inquiries came from Cailan himself, his expression skewed with worry. "Are you alright? The men - how are the men? You're scorched; what happened?"
Isobel clutched an arm tighter around her shield, jaw working as she stood in silence. He took her expression as she meant it, and he immediately turned to shout a string of orders at his men. They didn't seem taken aback by his sudden turn, but they'd seen the impassive look on her face, as well. That was enough to show them something was wrong. They dispersed soon after receiving the orders, leaving the two of them alone.
Cailan set a hand on her shoulder, his eyes falling to the shield. "Is it irreparable?"
"It was an heirloom. I was careless." Isobel shook her head, reaching up to remove her helm. Showing him she was fine was much easier when he could see her face. "But that's not why I came to see you. I came to tell you about what happened-"
Having not been given time to say what he wished, the king gave her a small, reassuring smile and an affectionate stroke on her shoulder. "Until this battle is over, I'd happily be your shield, hm?"
"Perhaps you should listen to her, husband."
Isobel watched as his blue eyes went wide, his flushed cheeks nearly draining of all color. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention again to the Warden, though his tone was one filled with less adoration. There was even a somber note buried deep within his words. Somewhere. "Yes. Of course. What did you have to tell me?"
"The captain has been incapacitated. I came to ask you if you could possibly bear to part with one of your men."
"Incapacitated?" Cailan asked her, brows knitting. "Exactly what were you facing back there? We've only seen genlocks and one or two hurlocks passing this way."
Isobel swallowed back the urge to tell him exactly what happened, choosing instead to give him the slightly altered version. "They had an emissary with them." Her voice hitched, but she cleared her throat and continued before he could even comment on it. "I didn't expect it to know such powerful magic."
"That explains the scorching on your shield, then," he murmured to himself, hand moving to tilt it at a better angle in an attempt to examine it. "Are you okay? Did he get to you?"
"He did, but... I'm fine."
Nodding, the king looked to Anora. Their eyes met, and yet he didn't move to look away. She didn't look angry. She didn't look upset or sad or worried. She looked confident. For once, he could tell that this confidence wasn't born of her own, but of belief in him. He could see in her eyes that she was... proud of all that he'd done, of all that he'd accomplished.
He could feel his heart swell in his chest; not out of love for her, but out of an acceptance of what they would no doubt become. Despite the changes and despite how he felt about Isobel, Anora was still one of his closest friends.
Friends... It would be odd to think of her as such after so long of her being his wife.
All of a sudden, there was a chorus of shouts behind him. "Your Majesty!" "My King!" "King Cailan!"
"Cailan!" He felt Isobel's hand on his arm, pulling at him to gain his attention. When she let go, she pointed in the direction of Fort Drakon. He turned as he was bidden, and his jaw went completely slack at the sight.
A bright white beacon stretched as high into the sky as he could see, standing stark against the scarlet sky. The archdemon had fallen to the topmost point of the tower scarcely an hour before; could this mean...? Had they slain the archdemon? Was the Blight over? Would everything truly be as it once was? Had Riordan struck the final blow, or was that Alistair's sword removing the head of that foul creature?
Cailan looked to Isobel to see her staring at the light, her eyes wide with something he couldn't quite place. Was it awe? Grief?
"It's over," she whispered, her voice trembling as surely as the tears that she was so desperately holding back. Turning to meet his gaze, her chest heaved in her breastplate, a shaking breath leaving her parted lips. There was something akin to a smile on her mouth. There was sadness, but there was also relief – a crashing flood of relief that he knew well. "Cailan, it's done."
Not a moment after the words left her, there was an explosion. The clouds surrounding the fort flew outwards, a ripple of white through the sky; this was followed by a crack and rumble unlike any thunderstorm he'd ever heard. And he knew she was right.