Chapter 22: At the End of All Things
"I'm going in there," Cailan said after a moment of silence. Fergus did not try to dissuade him; the Teyrn of Highever's face was pale and smudged with ash and shadows, and twisted into a mask of pain. "Come with me," he said to his friend. "We can't stand beside them, but we can cover them and protect them from anything else that tries to enter this prison."
Fergus turned to face Cailan. "Do you think they can do it?" he asked.
Cailan closed his eyes. He remembered the battlefield of Ostagar: slashing rain, the rumble of thunder, the thud of iron boots on the earth, the flash of lightning illuminating impossible odds. The odds were not much better now: three Grey Wardens against one huge, draconic archdemon. If anyone walked away alive, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
"I have to believe they have a chance," he finally told Fergus. "For Ferelden."
"For Ferelden," Fergus agreed.
They reorganized the regiment of soldiers, dwarves from Orzammar armed with heavy mattocks and battle axes. They were stout, but hearty, and would hold the door. "No one goes in after us," Cailan said, "unless they are one of our companions."
He entered the darkness, Fergus following close behind as he had done ever since the start of their strange journey. As he hacked his way through a few lingering darkspawn, Cailan wondered what his friend would do when this was over. Go back to Highever? Try to remarry and keep the Cousland line alive?
They climbed higher in the tower, weapons at the ready, but it turned out that there were far more darkspawn corpses than live ones. Several heaps of dead bodies bore the mark of Jowan's flames, while most had been hacked and slashed to death by Fianna and Alistair's blades. Those bodies that still twitched or jerked, Cailan dispatched with a stroke of his greatsword.
"They must be on the roof," Fergus said, looking around at the piles of darkspawn corpses. "They were quite efficient on their way up, too."
"I hope they saved some energy for what was to come," Cailan said. Much as he was glad to see the dead darkspawn, the sheer number made him nervous. Did they have enough lyrium to replenish Jowan? Was Alistair fatigued in his heavy plate armor? And Fianna had gone into this fight already nursing heavy injuries. But Cailan had to hope. That was the only thing he could cling to. They'd always been outnumbered, and this had always been a fool's errand. Hope was the only thread holding this together, and it was a slender one at that.
Cailan had never been up in the tallest parts of Fort Drakon, and had certainly never been on the roof. He stood before the solid wooden door that led to the rooftop, resting his palm on it. Even through the solid, thick wood the sounds of a terrible battle could be heard. He closed his eyes. This was the Grey Wardens' fight. This battle was not his. He could not stand beside his brother in this effort.
When he opened his eyes and saw Fergus, it was clear that Fergus had been thinking something similar. His hand clutched his sword, knuckles white; his jaw was clenched and his helplessness at being stuck down here, while the battle raged just on the other side of the door, was visible.
"Maker send it all to the Black City," Fergus swore. "I'm going in." He pushed through the door, running headlong into a battle Cailan could not yet see.
He stood, dumbfounded at his friend's recklessness. The noise of battle was much louder now with no thick wooden door to muffle it. He heard it all: the clang of metal on metal; the shrieks of pain from the archdemon; Fianna calling commands to whomever else was up there with her; Fianna screaming at Fergus to leave; Fergus swearing at her and refusing.
I am the King of Ferelden, he told himself. I should fight for my country; but my country will need me alive. Going up there I seal my fate; I die, and the country with me. I squander my second chance.
The sounds of fighting were so loud they almost seemed to settle inside of him, and he waged a war with himself over whether he should stay or go. But then he recalled that, just because Fianna and Alistair were Grey Wardens, did not ensure their success. They were two against a massive dragon. This could be the end of them, of Ferelden, of everything.
Cailan would not stand idly by here at the end of all things.
He burst onto the rooftop.
Some soldiers had made it up before Riordan had, and were still manning the ballistae that were mounted on each corner of the rooftop. Rather than turning it out toward attackers from the city, they'd spun the huge war weapons to point inward and were firing at the massive, rusty iron-colored dragon that flapped its useless wings and swiped murderous claws at anyone who tried to get near. Fianna was able to duck, roll, and come up to slash at the beast, but her double daggers were hardly effective on the tough dragon hide. The runes on Alistair's sword glowed and pulsed and the blade seemed to do more damage, but all of those efforts combined still weren't quite enough.
The only thing that did seem to work was for Jowan to fire a cone of cold spell at the archdemon; when it was stunned with the cold, it was still enough for the ballistae bolts to hit it in critical areas, and for Alistair and Fianna to get in and do damage with their blades; they must have had some enchantment against darkspawn, because even when Fergus managed to get in and get a hit or two, his sword hardly pierced the scaly, rusty skin.
Cailan did what he could, directing whomever was available and would listen; he managed to get to Jowan and give him a vial of lyrium he had in the small pack on his belt. The mage drank it gratefully, and when he put it to his lips, his sleeve fell back and showed bleeding cuts on his arms. "I've been a dead man walking," he told Cailan, and it occurred to him that, no matter how many chances Jowan was given to redeem himself, he would always see himself that way. "It's just a matter of time, and if using my blood helps Fianna and Alistair... and you, too, then I'll give it all." He dropped the vial to the stone and it shattered. He turned his attentions back to the beast.
A final blast of an ice spell from Jowan brought the beast to its knees, and Jowan swayed back and forth in his exhaustion. It looked nearly over; but the dragon still had a tail that it used as lethally as a flail. It swung back and slapped into Alistair, who, in spite of his armor, was little more than a doll when compared with the dragon. He went flying across the roof, slammed into a parapet, and crumpled.
Across the roof, Cailan and Fianna's eyes met. Cailan reached to his back to draw his massive greatsword, but Fianna had grabbed Alistair's glowing long sword. She ran, her light leather armor making her quicker than Cailan could be in his mail and plate. "Fianna! Stop!" Fergus yelled, lunging for his sister.
But Fianna was smaller and more dexterous than either of them, even with the heavier sword. She rushed the archdemon, her eyes fixed on it as if it was the only thing in the world. But for her, it was; this was what she had been made to do. Cailan stopped; he was made to rule Ferelden, not kill an archdemon. He grabbed Fergus's arm, jerking him back. "Let her do this," he said quietly. "This is her moment. Let her live it."
"She'll die!" Fergus shouted, tears in his eyes.
Not far away, Alistair stirred and sat up, rubbing his head. His eyes came into focus and he saw Fianna, who was now closing in on the archdemon. He didn't say anything, just watched her. Cailan dropped Fergus's arm, and Fergus remained, watching his sister with an anguished expression on his face.
The dragon stared Fianna down. It roared and she bore the sword overhead, a vicious war cry emanating from her. At the last moment it bit down, catching one of her arms between its dagger-like teeth. She shrieked in pain and her arm dangled at her side, blood shining in the fire-lit sky. The sword clanged to the ground. She stood with their back to them, shoulders slumped and arm dangling. She and the dragon regarded one another for a moment, then she turned to face Cailan, Fergus, and Alistair. Blood poured down her side and she swayed before falling to the roof, unconscious.
Alistair cried out and scrambled toward her. The archdemon roared, and sent a blast of fiery breath in their direction. It turned, staring over her body, daring them to come closer.
And then there was a last desperate cry; they'd all forgotten Jowan as soon as his mana had run dry. The mage ran toward the dragon, then leaped on its spiny neck and plunged the sword into the base of its skull, leaning all his weight on it.
The dragon screamed and reared back, flinging Jowan off of it. He fell to the roof and lay still, eyes wide open and something akin to a smile on his face. The sword remained lodged in the back of the skull as a huge light exploded. A wave of power, thunder, and lightning shot out, knocking Cailan and Fergus to the ground. The light was so bright Cailan had to squeeze his eyes closed and shield them with his hand. The wave of sound and light dissipated, and there was silence but for the crackling flames that still wracked the city.
A cheer erupted from below, and Cailan dared to open his eyes. The massive dragon carcass was unmoving; a faint ray of morning sun pierced the clouds. Had they really fought all through the night?
Next to him, Fergus groaned as he sat up. Alistair had gotten to his feet and made his way over to Fianna. He gathered her limp body in his arms, and Cailan could see the desperately hopeful expression on his face. Fergus saw too, and scrambled to his feet to rush over to them. Cailan, however, made his way to another prone form.
The firelight and wan sunlight reflected in Jowan's wide open, glassy eyes. His mouth was open in a small 'o' of surprise. He had died fighting to redeem himself and make things right, and without his aid the others would never have stood a chance. "In death, sacrifice," Cailan murmured, and closed Jowan's eyes. He looked to the massive dead hulk of a corpse on the roof, already starting to decay. "In war, victory."
He joined Fergus at Alistair's side. Fianna was breathing, though she was losing a great deal of blood very quickly. She managed to look up and smile at Alistair; her eyelids dropped over her eyes. She flicked her gaze to Fergus. "Told you we could do it," she said. She let her head fall against Alistair's shoulder.
Alistair got to his feet, carrying Fianna easily. "We need a mage, and quickly," he said, trying to keep his voice even, but there was no missing the way his voice trembled. He headed for the door of the fort, his step unsteady; he too was hurt and shaken.
"I'll take her," Cailan said, a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Fergus, I'll see that she gets the best emergency attention," he promised. "Could you… see to it that Jowan's body is taken care of as well?" he asked.
It took a moment of Fergus looking longingly at his bleeding sister before he nodded. "Yes, your Majesty," he said, but there was no sarcasm or anger in it. Instead of sending for assistance, Fergus bent down and slung Jowan's limp body over his shoulder.
Cailan took Fianna from Alistair's arms, careful of her mangled arm. "Hi, your Majesty," she whispered, managing a half smile. "I think this turned out way better than Ostagar."
"I believe you're right, Lady Cousland," Cailan said with a smile of his own.
"Call me that again and I'll break your nose," Fianna warned. "Even if you are the king, and even if I do only have one decent arm."
