Hooray, new chapter! The Tale of the Deus Ex Machina continues :P

Warning about dropping the F-bomb. I realized a certain rogue had yet to have her POV explored, and she's not the most lady-like. Apologies if anyone is offended by it.

Enjoy :)

Isabela bent to adjust the laces of her boots. She needed to give her nervous hands something to do. Andraste's tits, how had she gotten herself into this mess? She'd wanted to help, to make herself look good to the royal Grey Wardens. Never hurt to have a couple monarchs in your pocket, especially with her questionable lifestyle.

But this full scale assault? She'd never been prepared to go this far, do this much. But she couldn't back out now, not without damaging all the good will she'd created by playing ferry.

The Rivaini frowned at her laces. The bare-assed truth wasn't so much that she was bothered by being stuck helping. She loved a good fight; the worse the odds, the better. No, what bothered her more was that it didn't bother her. She should've been finding any way out possible. Just melting away into the jungle. A flat out run for it. Anything. There was no desire to, however.

All she could think about was the Warden – the Queen. Knocked up. Andraste's hairy- Isabela swallowed hard. Right, keep the cursing under a bit more control, even in her head. The baby-faced King Warden would have a stroke if he heard anything more colorful than "Maker's beard".

She straightened up, fussing with her leathers. She could examine her shiny, new conscience later. Now, it was time for some good, old-fashioned bloodshed.

A rolling wave of thunder thudded into her sternum, vibrating the air in her lungs, and she blinked in surprise. She glanced around, and the rest were looking curiously at the sky…which was clear as a virgin's bed sheets. Isabela looked up, too…and horror descended on her.

No. No, it couldn't be spring.

Isabela looked around at the nearby flora desperately, but anything she looked at only brought more evidence to the table. The tall azadirachta was filled with small, white orchids. The dalbergia's boughs drooped with their brown, hard fruit. And the ficus tree's figs looked good enough to eat.

Andraste's tits.

She noticed everyone was looking at her, and then she realized that she'd been cursing out loud the entire time she'd been cataloguing the trees. She also realized she was the only one who could possibly hope to save them right now. Oh, Maker…they were so fucked.

"Back against the wall," she ordered, gestured firmly to the rock face they'd been using as shelter and cover this whole time. As she started marching toward them, they actually followed, despite the bewilderment clear on their faces. Amazing, they were listening. Perhaps there was hope.

Oh, who was she kidding? They were as good as dead.

"Something you want to share with the rest of the class?" Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"That was some language," Sigrun added, eyes a bit wide.

She tensed. How to explain this without sounding like she'd lost her mind? After all, the first time she'd seen them, it had been akin to a religious experience. Well, as close to "religious" as Isabela was ever going to get. Thinking you're about to die will do that do a girl. Another great roll of thunder emanated from the jungle, and she realized she had better start talking. Fast.

"This island is part of a set of five, it's an archipelago," she explained, talking as fast as she could. "During the spring and winter, certain…animals migrate between the islands. It's spring." She reached up, and buried her fingers in her thick hair in despair. "And they're here. We can't fight them-"

"I doubt that," the golem grumbled, as if its feeling were hurt.

"We can't," she countered. "Maybe you'd make it out alive, but the rest of us-"

Sounds of crashing timber reached her ears, and the Rivaini grabbed Alistair's arm reflexively. She hoped Zev hadn't noticed. The bastard would never let her live it down. Though the length of their lives was up for debate at the moment.

"What is that?" Howe asked, narrowing his eyes at the jungle. As if it was its fault.

Shapes were beginning to appear from the depths of the trees. Vast, towering, impossibly large shapes. The sounds of breaking trees grew louder…and louder. "Don't move," Isabela whispered, praying it would be enough. "Don't breathe."

Apparently not.

They broke through the last of the trees and bushes, entering the clearing of the camp like they owned the place. She had to repress a hysterical giggle; they did. Andraste's blood, it was a big group. Juveniles scampered around between the legs' of the adults. And the leader, Maker's greasy palms, she was massive.

They were so fucked. Even the fearless mabari didn't dare growl in the presence of this lot. He pressed his finely-quivered body against Alistair's legs, but remained completely silent.

At their stunning appearance, the Warden King grabbed her and placed her slightly behind him. Bless his heart, what a gentleman. Too bad it wouldn't save her, wouldn't save any of them.

"What…are…those?" Leliana asked in a voice so strained it was barely above a whisper.

At first, Isabela couldn't answer. Her mind had run away with her, dragging her kicking and screaming back to the first time she'd seen these animals.

Isabela picked her way through the thick jungle, pushing sweat-drenched hair out of her face. It wasn't working all that well. Maker damn her useless crew. They couldn't have left her one damn blade for cutting through the jungle? She certainly wasn't about to use her daggers. The shit oozing from the plants would rust them before she could even wipe them on her legs. So she was stuck batting at the leaves with her hands.

Cursing to herself, she slapped a giant frond of the way, and then tripped over an exposed root. She caught herself on her hands and knees with a grunt. Fuck her crew, fuck this foul jungle, fuck-

A strange sound, like a loud snort, came from the bushes in front of her. Isabela raised her eyes in curiosity, and then froze in terror. There was an…animal standing about twenty feet away, and it was a creature she couldn't have thought up in a nightmare.

A big female near the leader reached out and gave the cold fire pit a swat, scattering ash and charred logs in a flurry. Everyone behind her jumped in fright, and Alistair pushed her back a pace further.

It loomed in the trees, staring at her with large, shining eyes. Its head was bigger than her own head and torso combined. White tusks longer than her arms stuck out from under its lip. And what was protruding from its face…?

It took a step forward, crushing the jungle brush that separated them. She swallowed a scream as its legs came into view; they could easily pass for tree trunks, even in this Andraste-damned place. Raising that…thing on its face, it let out such a blast of sound that her heart tried to climb up into her throat.

Scrambling to her feet, she took off running. She didn't stop until she thought her lungs would burst. With the welcome sea air gusting harshly against her face, Isabela noticed her cheeks were damp. Tears brought on by terror.

"Isabela?" Zev prompted quietly.

Right, someone had asked her a question. Someone wanted to know what she had wanted to know. When she found him, she nearly gutted that man who'd given her the island's location. He'd laughed at her desperate questions, but quickly changed his tune at the wild light in her eyes.

"Saw them, did you?" he leered, even though she was holding him by the scruff of his shirt and had dragged him to his knees before her. "Impressive, eh?"

"What are they?" she demanded.

"An animal like any other," he replied, laughing mockingly. "Surely they didn't scare the likes of you?"

"Tell me everything about them, now."

He cackled again, but the sound withered in his throat as she tossed him to the ground and drew her daggers. "Fine, fine! I'll tell you all I know."

She'd avoided them since, meticulously landing on the island only during their off seasons. Sometimes, she'd seen the herds from the ship, wandering the other islands in their endless quest for food. Just once she'd cut it close, leaving just as they were arriving. She'd seen them swimming…swimming…from the adjacent island.

"Isabela," Zev repeated, his tone sterner this time, a poor mask for his anxiety.

"Elephants," she finally whispered. "They are elephants."

The leader raised her trunk and pointed it at them. The appendage swept from side to side slowly, gathering the scent of each of them. Evaluating their threat. Identifying them.

"Is that its…nose?" Sigrun whispered, fear fighting with wonder in her voice.

"Darling, shut up," hissed Howe.

"Yes," Isabela answered the dwarf numbly. She wanted to add that silence didn't matter at this point. They weren't exactly hidden, and their judgment was sure to be handed out any moment. Maybe the elephants would just leave. They'd seen humans before. It wouldn't be too farfetched to hope they would simply go off in search of food.

The leader tossed her head and dust flew off in a cloud. She started toward them, the rest of the herd remaining at the edges of the camp. Her gigantic feet raised plumes of dirt with every step, muscles and tendons rippling all the way up each leg. Isabela almost let out hysterical laughter again; she'd always thought their footsteps should sound like the Qunari's gattlok going off, but they were silent as ghosts when they walked. When they weren't knocking down trees, of course.

Oh, Maker. They were dead. Deader than dead.

The leader stopped a few feet in front of their huddled group, towering over them. Practically blotting out the sun. The wind from her flapping ears pushed Isabela's hair back in erratic gusts. Large, brown eyes stared at them with severe intensity. Her lack of tusks did not make her any less menacing.

Isabela knew now that the first elephant she'd seen had been male…and she was doubly lucky not to be dead because of it.

The golem came forward, standing on the other side of Alistair. "Shale, don't. Go back," he whispered firmly, not talking his eyes away from the elephant.

"I don't recall taking orders from it," it replied, but it didn't go any further forward. It didn't retreat, either.

Isabela felt her knees shaking. If the golem antagonized the leader, they'd all die. The golem would be sitting pretty, but the rest of them would be slaughtered. Then again, maybe not. Could they crush stone? The Rivaini didn't want to find out.

Raising her trunk slowly, she held the end mere inches from Alistair's face. To his credit, he didn't flinch. Isabela could see the sheen of sweat across his skin, but he held his ground, and kept his arm in front of her. He stared right back into those bottomless brown eyes.

Inhaling in a great intake of air, the leader then blew it back out in a rush. The Warden winced as the exhale plowed into his face, gritting his teeth. The leader snorted and dropped her trunk. Turning her head to the side, she looked down at Alistair with the full force of one of her enormous eyes.

Isabela held her breath. If the elephant even chose to shift her weight, they'd all be crushed into paste. End of story. No bards would sing of their daring rescue of the Queen when they were all smashed like a bad batch of strawberries.

The mabari stepped forward…then curled one of his front paws underneath him and lowered his head. Isabela's jaw fell open. He was bowing. The leader glanced at him, and bobbed her head in what the pirate would swear was acknowledgment. She'd clearly lost her mind, of course, but if she made it out of this alive, she'd vow for the rest of her days that that's what it was.

The leader tensed suddenly, her whole body going rigid. Her gaze shifted, staring off at something else, something outside of the clearing. Her mouth dropped open and an earth-shaking, brain-bursting bellow erupted.

Everyone clapped their hands to their ears and dropped to the ground, except the golem. There was no other course of action in the face of such eardrum-shattering sound. Isabela had never heard rage so perfectly…until now.

The elephant spun in a rush, and managed not to kill any of them. The herd joined in, filling the air with bellows and trumpets. Andraste's ass, her ears would be ringing for days. With that curious, lumbering walk/run they had, the leader dashed off. The entire herd followed, raising enough dust to make it seem like they'd simply vanished. The evidence of their presence was in the storm of flying dirt, and the din of bellows and trumpets wavering as the herd moved quickly.

Isabela burst into hysterical, relieved laughter as she collapsed against Alistair. She figured the Cousland Queen would forgive her under these circumstances. Behind her, the dazed murmuring of the rest of their companions was a buzz of inarticulate sound.

"Maker's breath!" the Warden King gasped next to her. "Was that…normal?" he asked.

"How should I know?" she managed around the last, frenzied giggles. "I normally avoid them."

The mabari scrambled to his feet, grabbed Alistair's gauntlet in his teeth, and started pulling. High-pitched whines pushed out from between his tightly clenched jaws.

"What is it, boy?" Isabela teased. "Want to go after your friends? Count me out."

Howe stood up so fast he kneed the King in the back. The archer ignored the other Warden's half-hearted whine. "Those…elephants, they were Called. The Commander, she-"

The cacophony of noise still coming from the herd, dimmed by their distance but still impressive, was suddenly interspersed with the sound of stone impacting stone. Over and over again.

"They're attacking the fortress," the bard whispered. Speechlessness greeted this statement, except for the mabari's insistent whining.

Zevran pushed himself up, and bent to lend a hand to the two gorgeous lady elves that seemed glued to his sides. "How shameful it would be! To let the elephants take all the credit for rescuing our fair Queen. Come, come!" he gestured briskly. "You wanted a distraction, yes? No offense, my bountiful bird-hating beauty, but even you must admit they will accomplish the goal better than you."

The golem grunted in reply, before reaching down and hauling Alistair up like he weighed nothing.

Isabela got to her feet in a haze. Yes, she imagined being inside a fortress under attack by a herd of elephants would be the most distracting thing in all of Thedas. Second only to a High Dragon, perhaps.

The door burst open, and Lorelai tore her eyes away from Gilmore to watch splinters of wood fly slowly through the air, as if time had reduced its pace to a crawl. The former knight of Highever, however, so gone in the labyrinth of bile and cruelty that had replaced his mind, didn't even turn at the new development.

Time sprinted ahead, blowing passed its normal rate, causing the newcomer to become a blur at they charged across the room. The sound of impact was enormous as they crashed into Gilmore, sending him sprawling to the floor in a bewildered tangle of arms and legs.

Standing with his back to Lorelai, the second man towered over Gilmore's flailing form. His chest heaved with every breath, and his entire body shook. In a familiar voice, he snarled, "Stay away from her."

"Grady?" she gasped.

He ventured a quick glance back at her, green eyes filled with anger and regret. "Forgive me, my lady, that I have put you in this position, and left you at the mercy of this viper."

Gilmore cackled, his struggles ceasing. "Viper? A harsh word, coming from a traitor to the crown."

"My wrongs are my own, but I would never have turned against a member of the household I swore to protect!" Grady countered, fist clenching at his sides. "Nor would I have sought to kill an unarmed woman, especially one in her," he swallowed audibly, "condition." He flicked his eyes back to her again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

In spite of everything, Lorelai had to laugh bitterly. "And what would you have done? Let me go?"

Grady's jaw tightened quickly, and he turned away. "Are you all right?" he asked without looking at her.

"Yes."

"Then let's get you away from this Maker-damned excuse of a man." Taking a few steps backwards, he held a hand out for her without turning his back to Gilmore.

Lorelai stared at it for a few moments. The fragile reality she'd built around herself these past months had just shattered around her…and now it had shattered again. To find rescue from certain death at the hands of this man left her feeling damaged herself.

Could she find joy in killing him now? Could she stand by and let Alistair execute him? She knew the punishment for what he'd done, for treason, and yet could she find any resolution in that now?

Or had she just been so alone, for so long, that this one act of kindness threatened to make her forgive all that he'd done? All that he may still plan to do?

"My lady," he urged, wiggling his fingers. "He is certainly not incapacitated."

"Certainly not," Gilmore mockingly agree, though he remained sprawled on his back as if lounged in his bed.

"We need to leave," Grady snapped, though his anger was directed at Gilmore. "I do not relish the idea of trying to defend you from him in these close quarters."

Consequences could be saved for later. Right now, the choice to take was obvious. Lorelai reached up and took Grady's hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Placing her behind him, he began side-stepping his way to the door, keeping himself between her and Gilmore.

"How touching," Gilmore sneered, bringing his legs closer to his body. "Such devotion to a woman you sought to exile."

"Shut up!" Grady barked.

They hugged the edge of the room as much as possible, but soon the walls were their enemy, as they had to pass perilously close to where Gilmore had fallen to make it to the door.

"How far do you think you'll get, old man?" taunted Gilmore, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "The men follow me. They crave blood, and know that you won't give it to them."

"Stay down like the snake you are," Grady warned, "or I-"

"You'll what?" he demanded. "You didn't even bother to grab a weapon before you came dashing to the rescue! Your self-righteousness will be your downfall." Gilmore's body tensed, and his legs curled up like springs. It would only take a single fluid movement for him to get them under his body and surge to his feet.

And Lorelai realized with sharp fear that Grady was indeed completely weaponless.

"When I push you toward the door, run," Grady whispered to her. "Don't look back, don't-"

The eerie light filled Gilmore's eyes. "You'll not take the pretty Queen from me. Her heart's blood is my prize."

Her breath caught in her throat, and Grady shoved her forcefully toward the doorway. She stumbled slightly but kept her feet as she heard a rush of struggle. The familiar sounds of armor shifting rapidly as its wearer moved, muffled screeches of metal against metal. Followed by a surprised grunt of pain.

She couldn't help it. Instead of running, she turned around.

Grady was half-turned towards her, like he'd meant to follow her. He weaved on his feet, clutched against Gilmore with a shoulder in the younger man's chest. His head hung low, like it wasn't up to him to control it anymore, and a rattling sigh left his lips, accompanied by a fine mist of blood.

Gilmore gave her a twisted grin behind Grady's head. Spinning the other man's body roughly, he yanked his dagger out of Grady's armpit with a dull sucking noise. Loghain's former guard captain dropped to his knees, blood pouring from beneath his left arm in a flood. When he collapsed to his side, he didn't catch himself.

Lorelai stood immobile, her breaths sounding harsh in her ears. Tears pricked her eyes for Andraste-only-knew what reason. To her stunned surprise, instead of leaping after her, her father's former knight looked down at the fallen man in the ever-widening pool of blood.

"Think to deprive me of my reward?" Gilmore shouted at the body of his former partner, spit flying from his lips. "You will not judge me! I have earned this!"

She braced herself against the door frame. Think! Move! Do something! She liked that last suggestion best. The Warden had little desire to be chased through this fortress like a game of cat and mouse. A very sad game, for she'd be pathetically easy prey with her heavy belly.

No. That would not do.

"This has been years in the making! Years! And you, you self-serving bastard, you want to take it away from me! To deem me unworthy!" Gilmore continued screaming.

Her gaze pulled to the right, and settled on a particularly large piece of the door that had snapped off on impact with Grady. As if in a dream, she crouched and picked it up, assuming she'd be noticed at any moment.

But she wasn't. Gilmore kept ranting, though no one was arguing with him.

She straightened, holding the wooden piece the size of her arm. It had a sharp end, sure, but she didn't want to risk trying to get past his armor with what amounted to an overlarge wooden stake. But it was heavy enough for something else entirely.

And if this was a trap? If he was baiting her into an attack so he could get her easily within reach? Then Alistair and her son forgive her, for she could not turn her back on this room, this man, and run like a coward.

"She's mine! To do with as I see fit! These scars, and the blood of innocents, are her responsibility!" Gilmore was practically frothing at the mouth now, veins standing out like cords in his neck. "She will answer for it!"

Lorelai left the doorway, and her feet were nimble and sure despite her captivity, despite her body heavy with child. She drew back for the swing before she reached her destination, so when she came within range, the arc had already begun.

Her makeshift club crashed into Gilmore's temple, dropping him to the ground like a stone. The dagger, covered with Grady's blood, clattered to the ground. Andraste favored the bold, apparently.

Bending swiftly, she scooped up the weapon and descended on the dazed Gilmore with all the mercy of a hungry griffon. Pushing back his chin, she flashed the blade across his throat with enough forced to split it wide up, leaving his windpipe gaping into the open air.

She wanted to be sure she never had to hear that awful, hissing voice again. Even in his death throes.

His eyes went wide and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a landed fish. His blood lunged out, coating her chest, running between her breasts and down her arms. She stood up, and contented herself by watching the life pulse from his body in ever-weakening gouts.

It was like this when she'd killed Howe, too. The deepest recesses of her mind happily bathing in the blood she was spilling. The more civilized pieces of her cringed in horror, but her hidden soul reveled in it. Being an archer, she so rarely got to indulge this part of her bloodlust.

When all movement was gone, when there was no more blood to flow, she inhaled shakily. Now she just had to-

Something snatched at her ankle, and she swallowed a scream as she jumped away. "Grady," she blurted out in disbelief when she saw the bloody hand and its owner. How was he still alive? She dropped gracelessly to her knees beside him. Grabbing a handful of her dress's skirt, she bunched it against the fearful wound under his arm and applied as much pressure as she could manage.

"You killed him," he whispered.

"Shut up," she snapped. "You'll wear yourself out. It'd be a shame for your stubborn streak to fail you now."

He laughed, and blood misted out again. "No amount of," he swallowed roughly, "bullheadedness will save me from this."

"Oh, no, you don't," Lorelai protested. Batting her eyelashes in mock-innocence, she added, "You can't die, Grady. If you do, how can I have you drawn and quartered in Denerim's square?"

He laughed again, and more blood flecked his lips. "My lady, such bloodthirsty-" His next breath rattled and caught in his throat. He fought grimly to take another, a fight he seemed to be losing.

Lorelai's vision blurred and she blinked rapidly, cursing. She reached down and grabbed his hand tightly. "Grady-"

"Anora had no part in this, I swear," he coughed out. "Please, spare her, I beg you."

"And if I don't believe you?" she bit out between gritted teeth, desperately trying not to feel sadness at his dying…and failing. "What wouldn't you say to spare her?"

"Please, she is innocent," he rasped, face pale with effort. "Swear not to hurt her. Swear-"

She was not falling for this. She was not soft like her husband. She was not going to give this man her word, not for all the gold in Thedas. She was not falling for this. "Fine," she whispered in defeat. "I swear."

All the fight went out of his body. "Thank you," he breathed, and Lorelai had to bend her head to hear his next words. "I'm sorry…for everything." There were no more words, and no more breath.

Tears flashed down Lorelai's cheeks. Damn it! Why was she crying for this traitor? He didn't deserve it, not after the tortuous journey she had endured because of him. And yet they wouldn't stop.

A sound of pounding feet came from the door way, and her head snapped up. Her luck, it would be mercenaries. Instead, Keep came tumbling around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks at the scene before him. Lorelai imagined it was quite a sight: two dead men and herself covered in blood.

He slumped against the doorframe, all color draining from his face.

Oh, Andraste. She didn't see any blood or wounds, but she didn't like the look on his face, the way that all that was holding him up with the wall. "Keep," she demanded, concern making her voice sharp, "are you hurt?"

Without answering, he stared fixedly at Grady's body.

She cursed quietly to herself. "Keep, I know he was your friend, despite this mess. I'm sorry. He died because-"

"My name is Liam, Your Majesty," he interrupted, "and he was my father."