Content warnings: Violence and gore
Note: The POV has switched to 3rd person for this chapter. As mentioned in the summary, the POV will switch from 1st to 3rd depending on the chapter's content. Hope you enjoy the change for this one!
…...
The Grey Wardens reached the last steel-reinforced door in the main corridor with varying degrees of trepidation and determination. If Howe was anywhere, he'd be here. There was nowhere else for him to go.
A man of average height and build with greying hair and a large nose sneered at the group in blatant anger and menace as they entered the large chamber.
"You. Shemlen," Fala nodded in the direction of the greying man. "You must be Howe... The Creator-cursed shemlen behind all these... crimes. Tell me, how many of my kind have died at your hands?"
"The only criminals are the trespassers on my property," he ground out in a nasally voice with the telltale dialect of Ferelden's elite. "And you elves deserve no less than to be treated like the swine you are." He looked briefly towards his soldiers, "It seems this lot has decided to walk right towards their ends. How convenient."
The Dalish Warden took a step forward, and defiantly crossed her arms across her chest. "If anyone is to be taken by Fen'Harel, it is you Howe. You will feel my blade on your throat!"
"You will know your place knife-ear!" He barked, "How dare you speak to your betters in such a way!"
"My betters?" She snarled, and her hands slowly moved to the shortbow laying securely at her back. The dungeon chamber was large enough for her to use her preferred weapon effectively. It was also large enough for Howe's own archers to use their weapons to their advantage. Her orange-tinted gaze fluttered to each of Howe's men to gage the best course of action. Her eyes strayed to the handful of men with varying swords and shields, the two archers with a recurved longbows, and the mage in dark purple Circle robes and a twisted stave slung across his back – the reason they were traipsing through the dungeons in the first place. The elven Warden seemed to have come to a decision in that instant, and drew her bow and notched and arrow in one smooth and effortless movement. "Ar tu na'din shemlen!"
Howe quickly backed up and two of his soldiers shielded their leader with their bodies, in that instant the rest of the Warden's companions drew their weapons as they followed their leader's silent directive.
The battle between the two forces started instantaneously.
Oghren bellowed his warcry and dashed to meet Howe's soldiers, just as quickly, two feathered shafts thudded into his left shoulder. Oghren stopped and looked down at the arrows, they hadn't managed to penetrate the stolen armor very well, but were still painful. Oghren brandished his axe again and rushed the soldiers once more, as a once proud warrior and berserker of Orzammar, he wasn't about to let a little thing like two arrows to the shoulder slow him down.
"Her' 's the music," he yelled as he came near the first of the soldiers and swung his axe down, "Time ta dance!"
One's of Howe's archers notched and drew another arrow at the raging dwarf, but Fala was faster than he could ever hope to be, and in a flash she had drawn her own shortbow and fired scarcely even bothering to aim, as shooting arrows was as natural to her as pointing her finger. Her arrow flew the short distance across the dungeon chamber and buried itself in the archer's eye. The archer dropped his weapons, but his hands only came half-way up to his face before his body received the message that he was dead, and he dropped in a limp heap on the floor.
"Shemlen'alas!" Fala growled. In a flash she'd reloaded her bow and swung it around at Howe, but despite his age, the man was still light on his feet, and apparently very slippery. He'd been locked in combat with Oghren, but as he saw Fala swing her bow towards him, he spun out of the way and behind one of the room's support pillars. Fala tried to maneuver around the pillar for a shot at Howe, but another of the soldiers came running at her from her weak side, sword raised over his head.
There was no time to think, only to react. Fala twisted her body and fired her arrow into the man's stomach. At the close range she was at, the arrow punched through his armor with ease. The soldier dropped his sword and clutched at the fatal wound. He would probably be dead within a few seconds, but Fala took no chances, and with her right hand drew one of her kris daggers. She had closed the distance in two steps, and thrust her arm out and upward. Her wickedly curved dagger cut through his neck like butter, and she pulled the dagger backwards towards herself, quite needlessly cutting through his neck again and nearly severing his head. The dagger went back into its sheath in the same motion and Fala notched another arrow. She turned look for Howe.
Fala would never see him, but as she flung herself at the swordsman, another of Howe's soldiers had been approaching from behind, trying to be stealthy if not honorable, but then there never had been any true honor in battle. Just as Fala brought her dagger back and forth through his comrade's neck, the soldier raised his own blade. The next thing he knew someone had grabbed his wrist from behind and there was the ice-cold touch of steal as a dagger was drawn across his throat, then the burning sensation as the tender flesh was cut, and his blood poured from the open wound.
"Always be ready, mi amor." Zevran purred, "I would have thought I trained you better than that."
Fala turned, and Zev couldn't help but smile at the look of shock that came over her tattooed face, 'So beautiful… so deadly.' He thought, then said, "Use your bow my dear Warden, I will deal with any foolish enough to come close!"
When battle had first been joined, Alistair had moved forward alongside Oghren to engage the bulk of Howe's soldiers, however, in the seconds that followed, Alistair heard the mage, the same one they had come to kill, begin to chant a spell. Alistair didn't know what the spell was intended to do, although he very much doubted it would make their lives any more comfortable. Alistair pivoted, and pushing with both his sword and shield, threw the soldier he was battling to the side, and the soldier stumbled into the mage. The mage's spellcasting was interrupted by the surprise, but he managed to stay on his feet and pushed the soldier back at Alistair, directly onto Alistair's sword, then began to chant another spell.
Alistair kicked the soldier off of his blade, as he quickly realized he would not able to reach the mage before he finished the spell, and his mind flashed back to his Templar training. Alistair reached out his hand to drain the mage's magic, but again was too slow, and a cloud of poisonous gas formed around him, stinging his eyes, and burning his throat and lungs. Alistair attempted to counter the spell with his own Templar 'magic', when the features around the room began to change. The stones of the walls turned into the faces of shrieking gargoyles, with darkspawn lunging out of every shadow to swing at him with their curved blades. Alistair screamed and raised his shield in defense, but the nearest darkspawn sword passed straight through it, and through his own body before disappearing into thin air and the next darkspawn came in for an attack.
'What is this?' Alistair thought, then quickly realized that in addition the cloud of poison gas, the mage had also cast a horror spell on him, bringing nightmares from the recesses of his mind to life. Alistair retched as he sucked in a breath of air, poison gas coming with it, then he summoned his powers and unleashed them in a cleansing wave, what appeared to be white smoke radiating from his body, clearing the cloud of gas and destroying the illusion that the mage had cast.
"Now it's my turn!" Alistair yelled.
Most of the soldiers who had stood against Oghren now lay dead around him. There were only two left now, and that blasted blighter, Howe himself. Howe moved with surprising grace as Oghren hacked at him with his battleaxe, then struck back with his own single-hand axe at Oghren's face. Oghren barely managed to duck, and could not avoid the dagger Howe held in his left hand as he stepped around the dwarf and drove the dagger into his back. Oghren growled in pain and swung around, seeking Howe with his axe again, but again the man danced out of the way and swung at Oghren his own axe again, this time connecting with Oghren's helmet. The blow would have crippled, or perhaps even killed any of the others, but dwarves are a thick-boned people, and Oghren was no common dwarven soldier. He was a berserker, and the blow to the head barely dazed him. He jumped forward, axe moving in a blur as he swung horizontally at Howe.
Perhaps the older Howe was surprised that the dwarf could recover so quickly from what should have been a crippling blow, but whatever the reason, Howe wasn't fast enough this time, and Oghren's axe bit into his waist. The only thing that saved Howe's life was his armor, thick studded leather with metal plates cleverly concealed within the leather. Howe screamed out in pain and pulled back yet again. Now his back was against the wall, and Oghren moved in for the kill, the battle-rage burning in his blood-shot eyes, and then Howe sprung his trap. He'd been pretending to be hurt worse than he was, and ducked and spun out of the way, letting the heavy axe connect with the wall and briefly paralyzing Oghren's arms. Howe lashed out with his dagger seeking Oghren's relatively unprotected throat. Howe was only vaguely aware of the elven Warden shouting something from across the room, but then he felt a burning pain in his shoulder and realized the wretched elf had just shot him!
"Halam sahlin!" Fala screamed as she reached for another arrow, "Ma halam, shemlen'alas!" This ends now! You are finished, dirt-human! Her second arrow took Howe in the chest, and the older man toppled over backwards to land hard on the floor. Fala looked around to room and located Alistair, still locked in battle with the mage, although from the look of it, that part of the battle wasn't going to last much longer.
Alistair reached out with his will, reaching out with the Templar 'magic'. The mage screamed as he felt his magic being drained from his body and sank to his knees. "Mercy!" The mage screamed as he saw the man who could only have been a Templar advancing towards him with sword at the ready.
"No mercy for the likes of you!" Alistair growled. "I'm doing Ferelden a favor here!" Alistair brought his sword down hard at the mage where his neck and shoulder connected.
With Howe and the mage now dealt with, victory was practically within their grasp. A badly injured Oghren still fought against two soldiers, and although he had so far managed to hold his own, it was obvious that he couldn't hold on for much longer.
Zevran ran forward as fast as his elven legs could take him, coming up behind one of the last two soldiers he swung low with one of his daggers, cutting into back of the soldier's knee, and running on past the soldier even before he hit the ground. The last remaining enemy soldier looked up from Oghren too late, and saw Zevran coming at him with daggers stretched out to opposite sides. Zevran stabbed inwards with both hands, daggers entering either side of the man's neck and exiting the other end. Zev pulled both his blades forwards with such savagery that the soldier's head came off and rolled away on the floor. Without hesitating for even half a second, Zev fell backwards, rolling back and coming up to one knee beside the soldier he'd already crippled and drove a dagger down into his chest. The soldier shuddered once and then lay still.
Alistair's whole body was shaking both with pain and fatigue as he looked around the room that was now more of slaughterhouse than anything else. "Is that all?" He asked in a voice turned to gravel from the poison. "Oh, please tell me that's all of them!"
"Not quite!" Fala said coldly, and she replaced her bow across her back again and strode forward until she was standing over Howe. Howe held one hand over his chest where the arrow protruded, and propped himself up with his other arm. As he looked up at Fala, his eyes held no fear or even pain, only pure, unbridled hatred.
He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and his breath was coming in short, quick gasps. He was dying. His end was near. Everyone knew it, they could see it clearly, and so they didn't draw their arms. Howe was no longer a threat.
"May the Maker spit on you!" He gasped as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and sprayed with each labored word. "I... deserved...more!"
He fell back, too weak to hold his body any longer, and started to breathe quickly and harshly. The wet hiss of his pants started coming in a fast tempo as Fala walked forward to ensure his life's end. She muttered to the man as she pressed her blade to his throat, "I'll show you a trick that'll help you meet the 'Maker'," and ended his life with a thorough swipe of her curved blade Tulan, or Causer in the common-tongue, along the vulnerable tissues of his neck. She stood and sheathed her dagger Tulan to lay safely at her hip like its brother, Harellan, or Trickster, before turning to her companions. Her eyes flickered to each to ensure their health, straying longest on the elven assassin, and her brow furrowing as she gazed at the dwarf.
"Are you well durgen'len?" Fala asked with a semblance of concern.
Oghren grunted and pulled and broke the shafts of the two arrows embedded in his pilfered guard's armor. "Nothin' I can't handle, Warden."
Her brow furrowed further. The dwarf hardly ever referred to her by her title, now that they're on friendly terms. She quickly fished through a large pouch on her belt, and removed a vile filled with a blood-red liquid, that, despite its stopper, stank strongly of elfroot. She handed it wordlessly to Oghren, who quickly pulled the stopper out with his teeth and spat it to the side. Now that his berserker rage had faded, he could better feel the injuries he gained during the skirmish. His head felt as if an anvil was beating against his skull. The elfroot potion served to dull the pain, and aid his body's natural healing.
Once the others had tended to their wounds as well, with Alistair taking liberal drinks of water from both his and Fala's canteens, the elves searched the room quickly for anything they could use to their advantage. Finding nothing of significance, they came to a door at the back of the chamber, plain and unimposing.
"Shall we enter, my Warden?" Zevran gestured at the door as his hand grasped the handle.
She shrugged and turned towards where the two warriors of their group were standing amongst the carnage. "Lethallin," she called towards her fellow Warden, "Come with us, and Oghren stand guard." A smirk graced her lips, "And do not strain yourself, durgen'len." The dwarf scowled and moved his hands in a rude dwarven gesture, and Fala shook her head in amusement at the familiar action.
Zevran opened the door, and none were too surprised to find more cells once they entered. A human man with reddish-blond hair, and facial hair groomed in a shape Alistair would recognize as a goatee, stood in the first occupied cell they came across. His clothes were crinkled and dirty, but obviously of good make. His hands, as they grasped the bars of his holdings upon hearing nearing footsteps, were unblemished and, despite his circumstance, clean, signifying that he probably never had a hard day's labor in his young life.
He harrumphed as the small party drew near. "Who's there?" He smacked his thin lips, "You can stay away." The two Wardens and former assassin continued to approach his cell, and the man yelled out, "You can't do anything to me! I'll have all of you flayed for this! I am Denerim's Arl!"
Alistair raised a brow as they came to a stop in front of the man's cell, "Arl Uriel died at Ostagar, and you're not him. Who are you?"
The man rolled his eyes, and straightened his posture half-heartedly, "I'm Vaughan Kendalls, heir to the Arling of Denerim. You speak the truth. Since so many of our troops were lost at Ostagar, Howe came with soldiers to reinforce the garrison here when those pesky Alienage riots started. Or that's what the bastard claimed. As soon as I let him into the palace, he threw me in here. In this filth. One more victim of the uprising, he said." He grasped the bars more firmly with his pale hands, "Release me. I'll do anything."
Fala tilted her head curiously, the name was distantly familiar to her, "If you are who you claim, the Grey Wardens could use your support at the Landsmeet."
The man wrinkled his nose distastefully at Fala, but swallowed his pride and said, "Of course. Anything. Just let me out of here."
"We will free you," she clarified, "and you will come with us as we gather our companions and complete our business here. Then you will be certain to support the Wardens. And only the Wardens, or the problem of your freedom will be the last thing you worry about."
He rolled his eyes, "Very well, so long as I am rid of this place in the end."
Fala snorted at the nobleman. If they were not so desperate for allies against Loghain, and if she were certain that Alistair would've have thought ill about the decision, she would've left the nobleman in his cell, since she dislikes the noble's personality. The way he chooses to speak. Zevran moved to pick the lock on his cell, and it took much more time as it was far more rusted than the other locks they have encountered. As they waited for the assassin to finish, Fala and Alistair moved down the short hall and encountered a former Templar in the midst of lyrium withdraw. They spoke to the man in those minutes, and attempted to convince him to take his freedom. Being too haunted in his own mind, he would only give Fala a ring with instructions to take it to his sister Alfstanna. She passed the ring to Zevran to inspect, as he was fond of such things, once he finished with the lock on the nobleman's cell. Zevran immediately placed the ring on a suitable finger, then held his hand out before himself to admire it. Fala couldn't contain a chuckle as she rolled her eyes at Zevran's expense. The two Wardens, assassin, and nobleman made their way to the large chamber where Oghren stood on guard waiting for them. Vaughan visibly recoiled and gagged at seeing the strewn bodies in various contortions in death, with blood and matter decorating the floor and walls. Oghren grunted a chuckle at seeing that.
The small party made their way through the main hall of the dungeons to the torturing chamber, where the nobleson and flat-ear await their return.
They pushed through the door, and Fala called out, "Falon! It is us, the Wardens."
The red-haired elf emerged from the back room, supporting the now sparsely clothed blond nobleson with one of the human's hands on his shoulder. The elf's face instantly grew red in anger at seeing the other nobleman, and he shouted, "Vaughan! What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing, you knife-eared scum!" The man barked back in reply. "I thought you were put down like the worthless beast you are!"
Vaughan didn't even notice that the elven Warden had drawn one of her daggers, until he felt the cold metal pushed against the top of his throat. "Explain yourself shemlen," Fala hissed in a dangerous tone. "Explain yourself, or I will kill you."
He glared at the shorter woman, and swallowed. Her blade did not move from against his throat, and the swallowing action only served to push the blade further into his skin. Slight pin-pricks of blood bubbled up against the extraordinarily sharp blade in response. "The knife... elf trespassed on my property and killed my personal guards."
"Only because you kidnapped the women from my wedding party!" The city-elf shouted and took the steps forward necessary to close the gap between them, leaving the blond nobleson to support himself against the wall. "He was in the middle of raping my cousin Shianni when I came into his room!"
"You little..." Vaughan's fist recoiled back with the intention of striking the smaller man, but his fist never made contact, as Fala's blade drew deeply against his throat to spill his life's blood over the front of his expensive shirt. He gurgled in an attempt to draw breath, and quickly fell to the floor in a heap at the elves' feet.
Fala spit a glob of saliva on Vaughan's still warm corpse, and cursed, "Len'alas lath'din!"
The city-elf blinked at the corpse laying on the floor, blood spilling to coat the bottoms of his worn boots, and looked up to meet the luminous gaze of the elven Warden who had removed her too-large helmet just before she spat on the body. "T-thank you," he stuttered. "I... I suppose."
She lowered her head politely, "It is of no consequence, falon. The shemlen'alas deserved death for his actions."
"You... you're Dalish?" He asked as he studied the now completely revealed green tattoos adorning her face, as her dark hair was pulled back into a simple tail. He had suspected before, but seeing her brutal actions made him question. She nodded, and he held out the hand of his uninjured arm. "I don't know if I've said my name, but I'm Soris Tabris." She took his hand awkwardly, and they shook once.
"I don't mean to interrupt," the fair-haired nobleson called out, "but I could use some help."
"Oh, Oswyn!" Soris exclaimed and spun around. "I apologize for leaving you there."
"It's no problem," Alistair said as he stepped forward to aid the nobleson in Soris' stead, "I've got him."
Fala procured two small vials of health potion, and passed one to Alistair for Oswyn as he walked past her. She gave the other to Soris after opening it for him. She looked at the men standing around her with her lips thinned into a tight line. Her gaze traveled to the cooling body laying at her booted feet, and she shook her head. "Lets hurry and gather the shemlen Queen. I'm done with this place."
…...
Note: Extra, extra loooong chapter! I don't know if this one will be unique in that aspect. Also, this chapter was 3rd person to accommodate for the sheer amount of action in it, that would otherwise have suffered in quality if it were 1st. This will also not be the only 3rd person chapter, as the POVs will switch on occasion. Apologies in advance if that's confusing. Anyways! This chapter would not have been possible, nor it's awesomeness would have been possible, if it weren't for FalconHawk. He literally wrote the major fight scene from the line starting "Oghren bellowed his warcry" to the sentence starting, "As he looked up at Fala, his eyes held no fear or even pain". So I suppose this chapter could be considered a co-chapter between myself and my awesomesauce beta FalconHawk. :D Thanks so much again for writing the fight scene! :D Send him kind words people! (and take a look at one of his stories)
Translations:
Ar tu na'din: 'I will kill you'
Shemlen'alas: 'dirt-human'. - an insult
Tulan: 'Causer'
Harellan: 'Trickster'
Len'alas lath'din: 'dirty child no one loves '. - an insult