Charlotte woke early on the day the envoy from the Circle of Magi arrived at the palace. She grimaced at her face in the mirror as she twisted her hair up into a simple coil at the top of her head. It was lined, tired, a worried woman's face; not at all the face that had looked out at her from the glass only a fortnight ago. She felt the weight of her troubles press down upon her as she rose and dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. There would be no radiant queen in sweeping gowns today. Paused in front of her wardrobe, she drew out another garment. She stood looking at the old leather vest, running her fingers over its worn front and tarnished brass studs. Without knowing the reason, she pulled it on over her tunic and buttoned it with deft fingers. It fit as well as it always had, hugging her ribs and blousing her sleeves at the shoulders. In another moment she was gone from the room, walking quickly down the hall to meet the mages.
Wind stirred Duncan's hair from the back of his neck. He shivered and looked around quickly. It was never windy in the Fade—in fact, he could never recall the air being anything but heavy and still as if inside a room that had been long closed off from the rest of the house. The sensation made him uneasy. Something was happening.
He felt a crackle on his skin. Looking down at his arms, he saw the dark hairs there were standing on end, like what happened when you pulled off a wool sweater too quickly. There was a metallic tang on his tongue. He turned in a slow circle, surveying the washed-out landscape of the Fade and its wavering borders. The taste he had come to associate with the working of magic. Though he had no affinity for it himself, he was somewhat sensitive to its presence and flow through people and things. Someone was casting a spell and it was a big one.
Charlotte shrank back at first as the magic leapt up between the three mages, connecting them in a triangle around Duncan's bed. When the bolt—bright sizzling blue, the color of nothing natural, she thought—arched toward and then struck Duncan, she took two long strides toward him. Another step brought her to the edge of the magic but she could not pass. After a moment it ceased to matter three things happened all at once: the mages cried out as one and collapsed, breaking the spell; the wide bowl of lyrium that the Fade-walking ritual usually required shattered, sending the deep blue liquid spilling out onto the carpet; Duncan sat up in his bed and immediately locked eyes with her.
His gaze was unfocussed though he stared right at her, almost as if he saw through her. Then he shook himself and said, "Home."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to put a bare foot down on a shard of broken pottery, and Eleanor ran to him.
"Not now, Mother," he said, embracing her quickly but then releasing her and gathering some clothes from the chest at the foot of his bed. He began pulling them on hastily.
Charlotte started to speak, but was cut off by an extremely loud clap of thunder and screams from outside.
Duncan did not look up but quickly retrieved the sword and shield that were leaning against the wall by his bureau. As he buckled the belt around his waist, he cocked his head at his mother. Charlotte had a dozen questions to ask—at least—all at the same time, but none would come loose from her tongue.
"No time," Duncan said, seeing the look in her eyes and reading it correctly. "Quickly, the daggers on the desk there. We must go."
Charlotte pressed her lips together and obeyed, snatching the knives up before following him out the door at a run.
The scene in the large square just inside the palace walls was pandemonium. There had been a few guards on patrol, a few in the guard house waiting for their meals or for their shifts to change, but they had not been prepared for eight tons of angry dragon to instantly appear among them.
Fortunately the guard captain had been among them and, though times were peaceful, the men were well trained. They responded quickly to this threat on the royal family though they did not understand it, and as a result they died quickly.
The men who rushed in with spears were slain first with tooth and claw and sweeping tail. They had no experience with dragons and charged it as if it were a dumb beast. This creature was doubly not so, being not only an intelligent animal but also a shape-changed human and, if you believed her, the embodiment of a dead god.
Her wrath was at first focused on the men before her in the cavern, the Warden King and the elf who defied her over the bleeding body of the girl. Being stuck with spears and arrows made her angrier and she turned from Alistair and Lauthrin for a moment, who were just as surprised by the sudden change of place and had not noticed the brightly glowing pendant that slipped from the bodice of Eleanor's leather armor.
The high dragon had her back to Alistair, Lauthrin, and Eleanor, who had been deposited almost at the palace steps. When Charlotte and Duncan came running from the double doors that lead into the square, they would have tripped on them had they not been stunned into stillness by the sight of the glittering beast thrashing her wings and roaring loudly.
Duncan, somehow considerably less surprised by the events than any of the rest of them, dropped his shield and went immediately to his sister lying still on the cobblestones. While Charlotte stared at the dragon that was suddenly rampaging outside her front door, he knelt beside Eleanor and pressed his hands over the blood-stained bandage on her chest. His hands glowed briefly, and then Eleanor coughed and opened her eyes.
"Duncan? How…?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't understand any of this. Can you get up?"
She sat up with his help, wincing at the pain, but no fresh blood darkened the bandages.
"Alistair."
He turned to look at Charlotte over his shoulder, his face set in grim lines.
"She tried to kill Eleanor and wants to kill us. I don't know what's happening and we haven't time to explain right now. We have to fight," he said flatly.
Charlotte nodded and drew the daggers from her belt. Just like the old days, she thought. Evil from all sides. She stepped up beside Alistair's slightly forward position, ready to defend her home and family. He turned to look at her determined profile as she watched the dragon's back and he loved her more than ever. He embraced her as Duncan and Lauthrin joined their position with weapons drawn.
Charlotte kissed Alistair hard on the mouth, cutting off the words he wanted to say.
"Turn me loose," she said. "There will be plenty of time for explanations after we have dealt with this."
He smiled and did as she said, for even now the dragon had finished with the guardsmen and was turned her attention back to them.
A dragon is not as slow as it may appear for all its size, but it can be faster than a striking snake on occasion. The same may be said of a lightly armored well-trained rogue, even of one past her best years as an adventurer. Charlotte actually outpaced the young Lauthrin as she darted toward the dragon's hind legs, dodging the swinging tail and stamping feet. The two harassed the beast from behind and beside as Alistair maintained its focus, he being the only one in proper armor. Duncan did his best but could not take the brunt of the attacks from tooth and claw on his shield alone.
The battle was a long one, and the fighters were reinforced by guards from other parts of the city. The mages from Duncan's room regained their senses and rushed to help; lending much needed healing and relieving fatigue of all involved.
But the dragon was driven by an eon of anger and resentment, and in the end no one could prevent the blow that crushed Alistair cruelly to the stones under her claws. Charlotte and Duncan redoubled their attacks to drive her attention away from Alistair as she savaged him with her teeth, but the blow that ended it came from Eleanor.
She stood swaying at the edge of the battle and loosed an arrow from Falon'din's Reach, which she had discovered lying near her as she cast about for something to attack with. She did not know or care how it came to be there instead of on the floor of the cavern under the snows south of the Wilds. The arrow flew straight into the dragon's eye, shattering the glowing orb and sending her reeling in pain. The dragon roared, flapped her great wings, sent everyone near her to the ground with the force of the gale, and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared in the first place.
No one noticed as they rushed to Alistair, who did not stir from the cobblestones of the square. Charlotte, Eleanor, and Duncan crowded close, all of them with tears streaming down their cheeks. Alistair was covered in blood, his armor dented and pierced in a dozen places, but he opened his eyes when he heard his family calling to him.
"Everyone's safe?" His voice was faint, hardly more than a whisper.
"Yes, Father. The healers…"
Alistair shook his head painfully from side to side. "Too late for that," he said, and focused on Charlotte. "It was almost time, you know. I'm glad to see you…before." He raised his hand slightly and she clasped it to her breast, biting her lips furiously to keep from bursting into hysterics.
He could not be dying but she could see the strength draining from him as he spoke words that she did not hear to their children. Dark blood continued to puddle beneath him though she barely noticed soaking the legs of her trousers as she knelt at his side. Her eyes were fixed to his face as if trying to memorize what she had seen daily for the past twenty-five years. It had not been enough time; her mind railed against the unfairness of it all.
"Maker…" Alistair grimaced and gasped quickly, "I love you. You have been my joy. This life… I have been thrice blessed." His mouth twisted and then went slack, his eyes sliding closed. He moved no more.
Eleanor and Duncan leaned against each other ashen-faced, weak with fatigue and despair as their mother threw herself across his body and sobbed.