Chapter 13

A dim light illuminated the end of the cavern. They had been walking through the cave for what seemed like hours. There had been no forks in the path, requiring no decisions to be made about which way to turn. It was a straight path, a convenient passage under the forest. Tristan had to wonder if it had been dug out by somebody and not by nature. Finally, they had come to its end.

Ronan pushed forward past Tristan, nearly knocking him down in his fervor to get to the end of the cave. "Hold your horses, whelp."

Ronan disappeared into the outside.

"Patience is not his virtue." Melisende remarked as she paused by Tristan, and then followed Ronan.

"What are his virtues?" Tristan wondered aloud to himself as he caught up to the two. It was dawn outside, the rising sun casting a bright light straight into his face as he walked out. He had to close his eyes and then squint in pain before his eyes adjusted to the new light.

When he could see again, Tristan noticed that they had emerged onto the coast. The forest lay behind them, overgrown and wild. The coast, in contrast, lay before them, serene and calm in the rising sun. But appearances were deceiving. A large ship lay motionless in the distance, anchored far off shore. On the shore were row boats being loaded up with elves by slavers.

Ronan turned to Tristan. "We have to go, now!"

Without waiting for Tristan to agree or disagree, Ronan broke into a sprint, heading for the slavers, making no effort to conceal himself. Tristan cursed, and then exchanging shrugs with Melisende, they set off after Ronan.

The fool rushes in again, Tristan thought as he watched as Ronan held out his sword menacingly toward the slavers and cried out in Dalish. Strange, the only time he ever set up an ambush was when he caught me in the ruins… this could be so much easier if he had just took the time to do that here.

The elves looked up from their chains. Some of them arose, glad to see Ronan. The slavers also noticed, but made no move other than to draw their swords and axes. They clearly were not worried about such an odd trio. However, the captive elves, hunters, Tristan noticed, took it upon themselves to fight back at that moment. A few of them rose up and using their chains, knocked down the surprised slavers. A few others kicked sand into the faces of the slavers.

Ronan reached them and in a mad fury attacked the slavers, knocking over one with his shield and stabbing at the other that came charging at him. Tristan cut the chains off of the captive elves as quickly as he could. They could use all the help. The elves gathered what weapons they could find and joined the battle.

Tristan thought it would be easy. He saw the slavers fall, one by one, to the blades of Ronan, Melisende, and the Dalish hunters. But in the middle of it all stood a calm, petite figure. She seemed nonplussed at the carnage around her. She held a staff above her head. She was a Tevinter mage. Tristan fought off a mercenary, wanting to get to the mage quickly before she did any damage. He was too late; she slammed her staff on the ground, rumbling the earth so that all combatants, slavers included, were knocked back to the ground. The mage grew bigger, transforming into one mean and ugly looking giant spider.

The spider lifted its legs, bringing them quickly down onto the ground, stabbing anything that didn't get out of its way. The Dalish scrambled away quickly, losing heart. The few slavers that were left tried to run away as well, but were cut down by Ronan.

The spider chased down the Dalish, knocking them over, attempting to stab them or grab them with its hairy legs.

Melisende came to Tristan's side. "Maker, I hate spiders. What are you going to do about it?" she asked him, shuddering in disgust.

"I'll burn it." Tristan replied. He released a tempest of flame in the spider's direction. The spider stopped in agony, and then changed the direction of its wrath. It stared at Tristan and began crawling over to him. The sight of a burning, giant spider, crawling toward him in fury, nearly made Tristan turn tail and run. But this wasn't really a spider; it was a shape-shifting mage. All he needed to do was stab it in a vital place and it would be finished.

"I hope you know what you're doing…" Melisende said beside him. He knew how much she hated spiders. But she hadn't run. Good, now he had two extra blades to stop the spider.

He grinned at her. "Aim for its legs, I'll go for the heart."

"Easier said than done." Melisende replied as the spider leaped toward them in a ball of flames. Melisende rolled away, directing her swords at the nearest legs. The spider managed to change direction in midair and landed harmlessly away from the swords pointed at it.

Tristan ran toward the spider. He thought of freezing it, but it was burning, and the flames didn't seem to be affecting it at all. He doubted a cold spell would do anything to it. So he aimed for its heart with his sword. The spider attempted to crawl away, but lurched forward at an odd angle. Tristan saw that two of its back legs had been severed.

"Mel?" he called out.

"Wasn't me," she replied as he caught sight of her to the left. She charged at the spider and hacked at its front legs. The spider attempted to get up, but couldn't. Instead, it swiped at Melisende, sending her flying into the sand.

"Are you going to let the creature get away with that?" Ronan asked, breathless, and stabbing at the spider's underbelly.

Shaking his head, Tristan ran to join Ronan. They ferociously stabbed at the spider until the spider reared backwards. They ran forwards then, not wanting to get squished by the dying creature. They threw themselves onto the sand just in time. The spider twitched and then fell quiet at their feet, its head and back still flaming.

Tristan sat up and caught his breath. Besides him Ronan was doing the same. He stood up and wiped the sand off of his clothes and then extended a hand to Ronan. Ronan brushed it aside and then heaved himself up. He looked worriedly to where Melisende had landed. Tristan saw the relief on Ronan's face when Melisende rose from the sand with no problem.

"It would take more than a giant spider to take her down." Tristan remarked as he felt the same relief wash over him.

Ronan made no reply. Instead, he turned his attention to the Dalish captives. He swaggered over to them and focusing on one powerful looking elf in particular, began to question the elf. "Merrion! What have they done with my mother and father?"

Tristan slowly made his way over to the small gathering, pausing for Melisende to catch up. Merrion, an angry scowl on his face, pointed to the ship. "They have taken them to the ship already. They have my wife, too. All of our women and children are onboard already."

Ronan looked at the ship with disgust. He returned his attention to the Dalish hunters in front of him. "Come fight with me, brothers." With those words he rushed off toward the rowboats, not looking back to see who followed. He didn't need to. Tristan watched in amazement as the Dalish hunters followed Ronan without hesitation. No doubt, they were eager to save their people, but still, he was surprised that they would follow Ronan, inexperienced as he was.

In any case, Tristan and Melisende rushed into the waters as well, hopping into a crowded rowboat. He hoped it wouldn't tip over, because he wasn't a good swimmer at all.

…

Climbing up the side of the ship was the easy task. The harder part was keeping his concentration. All Ronan could think of was how much he was going to savor tearing the Tevinter slavers into pieces. He would show them no mercy. They would get what they deserved, and more if he had it his way.

As he landed on deck he was confronted by the slavers. They had been waiting for him. Good, they had seen the carnage they had wreaked on the shore. The hunters followed behind him and for a moment all the two groups could do was stare at each other, hatred and anger boiling up and threatening to tip.

Ronan noticed, though, that they had several elves tied up and gagged to the side. He nearly exploded into a violent rage as he spotted his father, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and kneeling helplessly in front of a mercenary. Silas, their Keeper, his father, was being treated like an animal, a leash across his neck. The mercenary caught Ronan's gaze and pulled on Silas's leash with a sadistic smirk. Ronan marked the man in his mind and then moved forward to the center of the deck.

The leader of the slavers, a Tevinter mage, came to the center as well, carrying a staff and dressed in luxuriant robes. Purchased through slavery… Ronan thought in disgust. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it straight at the mage. The slavers shuffled, ready to come to their leader's defense, but the mage lifted a hand in reassurance.

"I am Magnus," the mage began.

"I don't care who you are. You will soon be dead." Ronan interrupted him.

Magnus shook his head. "It is a shame, how you think you can come onto my ship and dictate to me what will happen. With a snap of my fingers, I can have all these captives killed. It would be no great loss to me. There is an endless supply of useless elves. Humans, even. Nobody can stop me. Certainly not a whelp like you."

Ronan growled. He would show Magnus what a whelp could do. With a malicious scowl, he continued to point his sword at the mage. "Ma emma harel. Ar tu na'din."

"Enough gibberish, whelp. I have let this charade go on long enough…" the mage replied.

"It means, you should fear me, for I will kill you. I will kill you and all your cronies." Ronan threatened. Magnus laughed in disbelief. With a whooping call, Ronan surged forward, intending to strike down Magnus. But the mage brought his staff down onto the deck and he was knocked back by a burst of intense cold. Magnus chuckled in glee.

Angry, Ronan picked himself up, and glancing back at the hunters and the Grey Wardens, he gave a slight nod of his head. With that they all shuffled forward, engaging the slavers into a fierce battle, chaos erupting all over the ship's deck. He looked to Tristan, who acknowledged him with a slight nod of his own. Assured that Tristan would battle Magnus for the moment, he made his way to the captives, to his father, and attacked the man holding his father on a leash. The man no longer had a sadistic smirk. He tried to parry Ronan's furious swings, but backed into a corner, he could do nothing but watch and pray as Ronan cut him down, taking his life away from him.

Ronan grabbed the man's sword and walked over to his father. He cut Silas free of his bounds, removing the gag and the blindfold. Wincing at the bright sun, Silas did not recognize his son at first glance.

"Father, take this." Ronan placed the sword into Silas's hand. Silas looked at his son and with a slight smile, slapped him on the back.

"Let us take vengeance, my son." Silas said, moving toward Magnus, who was still in the center of the deck, sending a field of chaotic swirling energy that hit several elves, causing them to shriek in pain. He was interrupted, however, by a shockwave of arcane energy, sent over to him by Tristan, who had grabbed a staff from a lesser, now dead Tevinter mage.

Seeing an opportunity to get at Magnus, Ronan rushed forward and swung at the mage. Magnus brought his staff up to block the swing, looking around for help. But it would not come; all his mercenaries were otherwise engaged in the battle. With a grunt, he pushed Ronan back. Ronan smiled at the mage's efforts. He stepped aside and let Silas have a go at Magnus. It was only fair that his father got a crack at the mage who had so humiliated him, who had tried to enslave his clan.

Magnus sent magic shooting out of his staff, but Ronan was able to absorb it with his shield. Silas, however, didn't have a shield and so had to duck out of the way, but the magic still hit him. Furious, Ronan erupted into a violent rage. This had gone on long enough. Magnus would die. He struck out at the mage, cutting him, stabbing him in several places. Magnus cried out, tried to use his staff, but Ronan knocked it away. The mage was losing energy. With satisfaction, Ronan landed the final blow. Magnus was finished. So much for being powerful. Without his cronies to protect him, he was as good as dead.

Ronan helped his father up. He glanced around him. The mercenaries were still fighting, even though Magnus was dead. Ronan rejoined the fray, battling it out against the mercenaries. A Qunari singled him out, pushing him backwards, away from the pack. Ronan was getting quite sick of fighting these giants. They were very tiresome. Right now, he could feel his energy waning. The Qunari swung at him mercilessly. He blocked each blow with his shield, but could not get in a good counter swing. They were fighting in the shadows of the ship's sails. But the Qunari pushed him back and the sun's bright glare caught in his vision. Ronan was blinded for a second. The Qunari knocked away his shield.

The gods give me strength to kill this giant. Ronan found himself praying as the Qunari relentlessly hacked at him. Without his shield, it was getting harder to defend himself. And no one was close enough to help. The Qunari had trapped him, and Ronan knew it.

…

Siofra's chest hurt, her throat burned, she had trouble breathing, and coughed up blood every now and then. She was so weak. She had wanted to give up so many times, had wanted to just pass out and die, but Silas had selfishly kept her going.

She had been angry with Silas when she found out that he had sent Ronan away. Whatever did he do that for? She had brushed him away and given him the silent treatment in retaliation. Now, however, now she was grateful that Ronan had been sent away. She didn't think she could bear seeing her son sold into slavery. Herself, she didn't care very much for. She would be dead soon enough anyway. She could feel it in her bones. There was nothing that could save her. But Silas, she had begged Silas to just let her die, to save himself, to save the clan. He was stubborn; he shielded her from the slavers, he caressed her lovingly with hope in his eyes. His clan was falling apart around him, his wife – who did not love him as much as he loved her – was dying, he would soon be a slave, and yet he still had hope.

And then, they had separated them. They had thrown Siofra into a cabin on the ship with a few other women. They had locked the door. The women had surrounded her, encouraging her to stay awake. But she wanted to give up so badly.

There had been a time when she was young when life, being alive, was all that had mattered. To live another day, to hope to see her love again – Rory, she thought with fondness – was all she needed to keep her going. And then, when he had died, her son, Alim – Tristan – was all that drove her forward. Hope that she would see him again after she foolishly gave him up. She had seen him again, alive and well. She could die now.

Siani, Silas's older sister, clutched at her furiously, begging her to stay awake. They needed her, Siani cried, they needed her strength. There was shuffling on the deck. Siofra stared at the door with detachment, her eyes glazing over. Shouting could be heard outside.

"We are saved!" Siani cried out, propping Siofra up. Siofra ignored her. She couldn't grasp what was happening. The door burst open, the women rushed out. Siani dragged Siofra with her and then stopped and gasped loudly in shock.

Siofra blinked back to reality. She saw the slavers scrambling for cover as a mage sent bolts of lightning towards them. For a moment, she thought she had shifted back in time to twenty five years ago. She saw Rory casting lightning at a group of Templars as she drifted away in a river current. The mage turned around. She saw his face. It was not Rory, but their son, Alim…Tristan. Tristan looked to the far side where a fierce swordfight was going on. She followed his worried gaze… Ronan.

A giant and powerful Qunari had him cornered. Ronan blocked the giant's strikes, but the Qunari had knocked Ronan's sword and shield away. And then she fainted in Siani's arms as she saw the blade rip through the air and slice through Ronan's hand, her son's blood squirting everywhere, and his hand rolling with a thud onto the deck of the ship.