Chapter 12 – Dying Shadows
He was too late, damn it all, he was just a minute too late.
The blade slashed out and he thought it would for sure rip Aífe's throat open, but she reeled back just in time, a movement born from instinct rather than any conscious act. Off-balance, she threw herself to the side and barely managed to stay on her feet as she drew a second shorter dagger.
He was running, his armour clattering with each step. His shoulder hurt, he felt the blood running down his chest, sticky and hot. Still so far away. His heart was hammering away.
The hound all but erupted from where he had stood, fangs bared as he pushed himself off for a wide jump, paws hammering against chest, jaws clamping shut on a raised arm even as he tumbled down with the man.
Sword and shield perfectly balanced in his hands and gleaming in the moonshine. Blood on his blade, dripping with each step, and he could smell iron and death. There was something he had not felt in a long time, a year – no, longer. Fear. Don't let it be too late, not too late.
Nelaros drew the bow from his shoulder, moving back and already pulling an arrow from the quiver, eyes wide as he nocked the arrow and drew the string back. He let fly and reached for another arrow, bowstring still quivering.
One slipped from the shadows, snake-quick, dagger thrust towards Aífe. She parried with a grunt and then stepped close, hammering her knee into the attacker's groin and as the man doubled over, she buried the short dagger in his exposed neck. When it did not come free immediately, she abandoned it, raising her left arm to block a sword glancing towards her. The dull sound as the blade connected with the bone-plate on her gauntlet and her grunt as she bent her knees to lessen the impact made his skin crawl.
Not too late, he thought, and moved between her and her opponent, bringing up his shield to easily parry the next blow. She turned, drawing another fighting dagger, now standing back to back with him. Another figure appeared out of the shadows and he heard the blades clash behind him. Allowing himself to settle into the familiar rhythm, he parried and attacked, moved with his opponent, Aífe always at his back without so much as a single spoken word.
His heart was hammering, but he found breathing easier now. Grimm snarled menacingly, tearing into an archer that had slipped from the shadows and already drawn back the bowstring. The sound of bones breaking could be heard over the clashing of weapons. His opponent looked away, just a second, and he stepped in – a heavy bash of his shield against the man's chest, robbing him of breath, then the final blow cutting deep into his neck. The blood spurted out, staining shield and sword further.
An arrow whizzed past his ear, so close that he could hear the angry hiss and flinched instinctively. It had not been one of Nelaros' arrows. He turned just in time to see Aífe cut another one out of the air, barely preventing it from hitting her square in the throat. Her eyes flashed over him and without a word, she moved around him, quick as a cat, once again assuming her position against his back. He moved at the same moment she did, bringing up his shield to protect both their bodies. The hail of arrows that followed could not get past it and he waited patiently, well aware of a man's suffocated gurgle behind him.
Aífe had lashed out and rammed the hilt of her dagger against the next attacker's throat, crushing his windpipe and making him collapse, clutching at his neck desperately. She wasted no time, pushing her fighting dagger deep into his chest through the simple leather armour, while she slashed the other one over his throat.
Gritting his teeth Alistair used the moment in which the hail of arrows ceased to sprint forward, shield still in a protective position. A blade glanced off it, then he swept out with his blade, but was parried. In a movement that had long since become a second nature to his attacks, he lashed out with his shields, the sharpened upper edge cutting into skin and muscle alike. He finished off the archer, but when he turned, he almost froze.
Nelaros had drawn a sword and had dropped his bow, but stood now motionless, blinking rapidly. He stared at the dagger buried in his chest, almost as if terribly surprised. His opponent was on one knee, but quickly regaining awareness of his surroundings. Nelaros blinked again, stumbling, and raised his sword above his head with a pained groan, then he brought it down heavily, cutting into the back of the woman in front of him. He stumbled again, letting go off the sword, and dropped to his knees, eyes still wide. His hand went up, feebly grasping at the dagger. Blood was pooling under his knees. The woman in front of him was rising again.
Alistair started running, but had to slide to a stop when he saw yet another archer emerge, drawing his bow and aiming at the elf. He moved between them, engaging the archer, who immediately dropped his bow in favour of two short swords. Able to look at Aífe now, he could see the exact moment she registered what had happened to Nelaros.
He saw the shock register in her eyes, all expression leaving her face. She took one shaky breath – it lasted no longer than a second, then she dropped her dagger and drew a knife, throwing it in a flash-quick move. It hit the woman in side of her face, making her drop forward with a cry. Aífe hesitated for a just a moment, but it was too long. She saw too late that her opponent had regained his footing, even though she had made him drop his two-handed axe and slashed his hands. Her muscles bunched as she tried to move, but too late – the man's fist smashed right into her face. The cut on her brow broke open, blood flooding her face, but she did not even register it anymore.
Her knees gave way and she fell, barely bringing up her arms to brace the impact. She let go off the dagger, her legs completely still as she braced one hand against the floor. There was one vain try to push herself upright, but she slumped down again.
Alistair's heart was in his mouth and he hammered his shield against the archer, ignoring the screeching of the blade against it, and followed with another bash and yet another. The sand-haired warrior brought his sword down in one fell swoop, the blade clashing against the chainmail the man wore. He knew the force was enough to shatter the man's collarbone.
Aífe was shaking, feet slipping out from underneath her as she tried to get up, her fingers buried into the earth. Her face was stained red from the blood and her opponent had leisurely picked up his axe, coming to stand over her.
With a cry Alistair pulled back his sword and hammered his shield against the man one last time, making him fall back, unconscious. He brought his sword down, cutting through vessels and muscle alike. Too late, he thought, just a second too late.
A shadow shot out from besides Alistair, hurtling past him at neck-breaking speed and in a flash of teeth, Grimm hurdled over his mistress, launching himself at the axe-wielder. His jaws clamped shut around the man's right arm and he tore him down, shaking his head savagely and with true rage. Fangs tore into muscle, claws raking over armour and skin alike. The axe lay forgotten on the ground as the attacker fought for his life.
Alistair arrived just in time to see the hound launch forward, tearing into the man's throat – there had never been a chance for him. Aífe was stirring, shaking her head, as she feebly tried to regain her footing. Looking around he grabbed her arm and pulled her up against him, hoping she would be able to keep standing.
She wavered and he pulled her closer, shielding her with his body as he glanced around, willing his eyes to pierce the thick shadows. After but a moment he felt her gloved hand on his, the leather sticky-hot with blood. "Nelaros", she breathed and pushed him forward and towards the elf that was lying on the ground motionless. He hesitated, seeing movements everywhere and nowhere. "Please." Her voice was barely a whisper and with a last glance at her, he started running toward the elf.
Nelaros was motionless, his face deathly pale. He had ripped the dagger from his chest, hilt still in his cramping hand. They needed a healer – and fast. The wound was bleeding heavily and Alistair had no idea what he could do to help the elf. Just as he was about to put down his shield, he saw a shadow looming over him and whirled around, coming face to face with a black clothed woman that had appeared out of thin air. He could barely raise his shield in time to block her nasty-looking dagger, feeling the force behind the blow. He moved back and away from Nelaros, making her move with him. She was tougher than the others and he felt himself settle into the steady rhythm of defence and offence, between giving way and moving in again – like a dance, but just one wrong step could mean the end. She was aiming at his face more often than not.
What she had not seen coming was Grimm, who without uttering any sound closed his jaws around her calf, pulling her leg out from under her. Her armour looked thick and difficult to penetrate, but she had lost her helmet as she wrestled to keep the hound away from her throat and Alistair took the chance, blade cutting into her neck with ease. He felt sweat trickling down his face and the bleeding was stronger now. Blood was tripping over his hip to his knee and down to the floor. Breathe, he reminded himself, just breathe.
Turning, he came face to face with a young elf, barely old enough to be of age. He had not heard the youth advancing and did not have time to bring up his shield. A dagger raked over his chest, glancing off the chainmail, but with bruising force. He jumped back, but before he could do anything, the elf uttered a gurgling sound, blood spurting from his mouth in foamy bubbles. The boy stumbled as Aífe pulled the needle-fine stiletto out from his back, stabbing it back in again with one savage motion. She had slipped the blade in between the metal-plates set in the leather with deadly accuracy, piercing lung twice. Moving back, she let go off him and he fell to the ground. Without a word or another glance at the attackers, Aífe dropped to her knees besides her comrade, tenderly brushing a hand over his hair.
"Nelaros, can you hear me?", she was bracing herself on one arm, bent over him. As Alistair moved closer, he kept a lookout, turning to look around them, his heart still racing. The elf murmured quietly, opening his eyes. The pupils were wide, his look glassy. He was barely able to focus on anything, gaze wandering as he reached out with one hand. Aífe took it into hers, groaning as she shifted her weight to be able to look at him better. Her blood was dripping on Nelaros' chest as she did. "It will be alright, do you hear me?", she whispered and frantically wiped an arm over her brow. His eyes drifted shut and she reached out, a hand on his cheek. "Hey, look at me! Look at me, Nelaros!" Alistair could hear the panic in her voice and gritted his teeth. There was too much blood.
Nelaros opened his eyes again, unseeing, murmuring softly under his breath. "Grimm, the pack! Bring me my pack!", Aífe shouted, squeezing her friend's hand tightly. "Do you hear me, Nelaros? Nel! It will be fine, I promise. Look at me!" She was rubbing his hand between hers now, her eyes scanning over his body. "Nel, it will be fine", she whispered, leaning forward to look at the wound. She brought her hands down on it, putting weight into it, trying to stench the flow of blood. Nelaros uttered a suffocated scream, back arching and almost throwing her off. "So much to do, remember?", she kept babbling, a smile plastered on her face that was so fake that even Alistair could tell. "Nel, just keep listening to my voice. It will be fine, everything will be alright."
Grimm came closer, dropping the pack next to his mistress. His whole chest and his muzzle were tinted red, his fur still bristled as he listened into the now quiet night. As he sniffed the air, he suddenly zeroed in on their fallen friend, drawing closer. His nose almost touched Aífe's hands, before he reeled back as if stung. An angry growl resonated from deep within his chest.
Startled she pulled one hand back, now coated in the elf's blood, and lifted it to her own nose. Her eyes widened as she gazed at her hand and then back at him. Alistair saw her lips move and knew she was cursing, albeit tonelessly. Pressing He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, anxiously looking around. Were more on the way? They did not have much time.
Aífe started to rummage through the pack with one hand, the other still pressed tightly onto the wound, pulling out a flask that contained a health poultice. She moved around Nelaros, lifting his head into her lap and quickly opened the flask and held it to his lips. "This will help, just drink a few sips." Alistair was not sure if the elf was still conscious as most of the liquid ran over his lips and chin, dripping down to the floor uselessly. "Cold", Nelaros muttered and coughed, eyes drifting shut again.
Alistair thought to see a movement in the shadows, already lifting his sword again, but nothing happened. He felt hot, sweat forming above his upper lip. There was no telling when more would come, they could be anywhere. They could be watching them now. Grimm stalked around them in circles, ears perked, a quiet snarl lifting his flews.
"No, do not do this, Nel. Look at me", she murmured and loyal as ever the smith turned his head, forcing his eyes open. "It will be fine", she said and stressed every word, "but I do need you to stay awake. Drink a bit more." She forced most of the poultice down his throat and then, helplessly turned to look up at Alistair. One eye shut, momentarily blinded by her own blood and a beginning swelling, she shifted her weight and spoke, her voice low. "Can you carry him?" Worry was etched into her features, a stark contrast to the controlled and almost neutral face she had worn before.
Alistair looked around one more time, slowly sheathing his sword and strapping his shield to his back. "Yes", he said. He felt strangely faint, much more so than he usually should. He shook his head. Apparently he had lost much more of his strength than he had thought. Sweat was dripping down his neck and he felt the throbbing of the wound in his chest. The blood flow had stopped and he had not lost enough blood to warrant the slight dizziness rising. "The wound, though...", he voiced his doubts, looking at the red pool that had spread around Nelaros.
"There could be more any moment. We need to get to the house", she said quietly, hand brushing through the elf's short hair, murmuring his name quietly.
"It might bleed even more when I carry him", Alistair said again, wiping sweat off his brow. "It might not matter if we stay here too long", she answered, not even looking at him. The warrior gazed at her, seeing her motion towards the pack as Grimm came loping back and picked it up, her eyes on Nelaros.
"You should take your weapons", Alistair murmured and saw her hesitate for a moment, before she moved around the battle-field, collected her daggers and sheathed them bloodied as they were. By the time she returned, he had lifted the elf into his arms and nodded her to lead the way. Already he could feel the strain in his arms, they would have to move quickly.
"One more thing", she said and Alistair looked at her unbelievingly as she kneeled beside the woman that had stabbed Nelaros. Apparently she was in a bad shape, albeit still alive. Aífe's face hardened as she grabbed the woman's arm briskly and heaved her upright with a grunt, their attacker's head lolling against her shoulder. The only reason Aífe could so much as move her was that the woman was an elf and rather light-weighted, but it would slow them down. As she struggled to stand, she also picked up the dagger with which Nelaros had been wounded.
"What are you doing?", he exclaimed, looking around again. She looked up, locking eyes with him. Her face was perfectly expressionless, but the look in her eyes was murderous as she shook the woman until she regained enough consciousness to stand and then Aífe heaved her forward with each step, forcing her to keep walking with the dagger held to her back.
"There was poison on that dagger", Aífe said tonelessly and moved ahead of him. "I do not know which poison and without knowing I can do nothing against it. This one will know, though. If you use poison, you know what it is – and how to cure it. I need her." Her back was tense as she moved and Alistair's gaze drifted to the elf in his arms. Nelaros looked pale and barely kept his eyes open, murmuring something. It sounded like a name.
It seemed ages until they reached the small house in the corner on the docks. Nobody was on the streets and they arrived unnoticed – but Alistair did not wonder. At the first signs of fighting, people left the streets and did not return for some time.
Aífe opened the door for them and pushed the woman to the floor roughly, before she quickly returned to help Alistair set down the elf on the cot. Flitting around, she lighted candles and put them close by, then went to rummage in a cupboard. She produced yet another health poultice and moved closer to make Nelaros drink more of it, but Alistair doubted much actually reached the elf's stomach. There were pearls of perspiration on the man's brow and he closed his eyes every now and again, until Aífe touched a hand to his face or spoke his name warningly.
Grimm was walking with a slight limp and after he had set down the pack, he turned to look at the woman Aífe had brought, now curled up in a corner, holding a hand to her bleeding face. He drew up his flews, exposing his fangs warningly as he drew closer to her and stopped just out of reach, watching her.
Aífe pressed a bandage on top of Nelaros wound and bound it with as much strength as she had left – it took her several minutes and already the white fabric was turning red. The elf had little strength left and his protest was weak as his head lolled from one side to the other. She wiped her brow again. Her bleeding had lessened, but the swelling around one eye had gotten worse and she still held it closed.
A droplet of sweat ran down Alistair's neck. He swallowed. "What happened?", she asked and he resisted the urge to shake his head. It was throbbing. "I returned to my room, they were waiting for me. They asked after you, when I did not answer, they attacked. I tried to warn you", he told her and she nodded. If possible, she turned even paler as she looked at him, suddenly moving forward to grasp his hand and pull him towards the chair, where she made him sit.
"You are bleeding", she said faintly and looked back at Nelaros. She cursed – not loud enough for him to understand a word, but her expression said enough. "I had not noticed, I am so sorry, I should not have made you carry – Oh, I am such an idiot. Sit still!" He tried to catch her by her arm, but she was already out of his reach, opening cupboards and knocking over bottles, before she returned with more flasks, each of them a tell-tale red.
"You are bleeding too", Alistair said as she tried to loosen the buckles holding his armour in place. He finally was able to catch her hands in his. "Nelaros is in a much worse condition, look after him. I am alright." She was worrying her lip again and looked torn, gazing between him and the elf, before she indeed left his side to return to the cot, but not before pressing a poultice into his hands.
He uncorked it and drank deeply, but while he could feel strength seep back into his limbs and his head clear, it did not feel normal. The wound in his chest was still throbbing and he felt hot, much too hot.
When Aífe suddenly stood in front of him, he jerked upright, completely surprised. He hadn't noticed her move. She pressed a hand to his brow, and then put it under his chin to lift it and look into his eyes. Somehow, this felt eerily familiar. Any moment now she'd call him an idiot.
"Do you know who they were?", she asked and put the hand on his neck. He tried to think, but it was difficult. Perhaps if she would stop touching him and looking at him like that, he would be able to. Breathing was the trick. Just breathe. "I don't know. I figured friends of the men from yesterday", he said. Her blood dripped onto his chest and he blinked, following the trail it left on his chainmail with his eyes.
"Probably. How do you feel? Are you hot? Do you have a headache?", she leaned closer and he would have leaned back, but then he would probably have toppled over. What was it with her and the invasion of personal space? "I am fine", he repeated and she glared at him. He really did not know how he had deserved that.
"Alistair, I think you might have been poisoned as well. I cannot deduce the poison like this, there are many with these effects – and I cannot just use a random antidote, it might make matters worse", she said. She had at some point pulled off her gloves, he registered, and somehow she managed to keep her hands completely steady. It puzzled him how she was able to open the buckle securing his chest piece and the shoulder guard so easily, removing them with a grunt as she lifted them off of him. Air touched the wound, where one of the attackers had slipped in a dagger just between the two parts of the armour. Had he not been fighting for his life back then, he might have admired the handiwork of the man. She touched a finger to the wound and he gritted his teeth, then she whistled and let Grimm sniff it. The hound backed off, growling and turning to look at Nelaros, a whine replacing the growl. "I think it is the same poison", she murmured and left his side again, returning to Nelaros. Grimm trotted back towards the woman in the corner, watchful eyes focused on her unmoving form.
Alistair closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Of course they had poisoned him. If he would get a sovereign for every time he got poisoned, he'd have... well... He had no idea, he had not really kept count. But at least two, he was pretty sure. The combination of poison, blood loss and damaged tissue would kill Nelaros, no matter how many health poultices Aífe had left. They could slow the process, give them time. But they didn't work against poison.
"There is a healer in Darktown", he heard himself say. She was probably right, he had been poisoned too. At least that would explain why he could simply not recover and why his heart was not slowing down. On the plus side, he was not as bad in a condition as he had feared. On the negative side, being poisoned was probably not very beneficial. He chuckled at the thought.
"A healer?", Aífe asked an returned to his side, putting another flask in his hands. "An apostate, he is from Ferelden and I have heard that he is very good. Anders is his name", he explained and willed his heart to stop racing. It didn't obey. The taint probably battled the poison, which would explain why Nelaros drifted in and out of consciousness while he could still sit upright. Realistically, a healer was their only chance. Even without the poison, Nelaros' wound was bad.
"I cannot leave you alone here", she whispered and buried her hands in her hair, looking back at her friend and then at Grimm and the woman, who had fallen unconscious again. "You'll have to", he murmured and with some effort heaved himself upright to stand again. She cast him a glance and looked as helpless as he felt. "Can you find the antidote?", he asked and cursed the tickle of the sweat pearls running down his spine. The noble lowered her gaze and shook her head. "Not in time with that wound", she admitted, gaze wandering to Nelaros. "Then there's little choice. I can still fight, I will keep watch", he offered.
"You are poisoned", she interjected and shook her head. "I cannot-" She stopped herself and then pulled a rope from her pack, moving to the woman and binding her arms and hands briskly, pulling them tighter than probably necessary. Straightening, she turned to look at him and Grimm, already moving to the door. "I am so sorry", she muttered and grabbed a few flasks of different colour, putting them in a pocket on her belt. She stopped at the cot, leaning over Nelaros to stroke over his forehead. "I will be back, Nel. Keep awake, do you hear me? This is important, very important. Keep awake, for my sake, Nel."
She reached the door, turning to look at Alistair. "Keep giving him health poultices. I will return as fast as I can." He nodded, wondering if he had been truthful when he said that he could still fight. The air in the little house was suffocating, as was her gaze when she locked eyes with him. She was desperate.
Grimm pushed past him and made as if to follow, but she took his head between her hands and shifted her gaze to him. "Nelaros needs you, Grimm. You need to protect him and Alistair. Kill anybody who enters without me." The hound whined, ears drawn back as he looked at her.
With one last look at him, she slipped through the door and he could hear the pounding of her footsteps as he moved to Nelaros' side, uncorking another poultice. "You heard the lady", he murmured, "Keep your eyes open." It was then that he knew he was truly, absolutely lost. He cared. He really did.
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Author's comment:
... BOOM, BABY!
Yeah. I am sorry, kinda. But only not really, because I like the drama and Alistair and the chapter (which doesn't happen too often). I hope the fight-scene turned out as nice as it sounded in my head and that it all is logical. =) And, of course, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will leave a comment/suggestion/constructive criticism/question/whatever else you feel like saying! I know poor Nelaros took most of the damage, but he is after all not a very good close-range-fighter (as we see in the City Elf Origin ._.) and mostly an awesome smith and archer (at least in this fic). Also, Alistair had a realization. Also, Aífe will get very nasty very soon. Aaaaand you might be able to guess the next cameo (at least one of them. :D)
Anyhow, I think this is one of the few chapters I actually like and I hope you like it as well. :)
As always, big fat thanks to Emma (who is sitting next to me because she is visiting YAAAAAAY) for reading and providing comments and answering my questions about details and details of details. :3