***** I am super nervous to share this chapter with you all. I can't tell you why, because spoilers. If, at the end, you find yourself reaching for your sword or magic to come slay me, please read my notes before you decide that murder is the best option. *hopeful smile* *****
Part 41
In the Arms of the Maker
As Astlyr's feet met the snow her legs buckled and she fell to her knees with an "oof". She struggled to a kneeling position as Cole fell beside her. She checked herself over. Her armor was in tatters, bent inward here and there, but not bruising or breaking her skin, as long as she didn't try to move too much. There was no deadly pain in her lung and, while her legs felt wobbly and weak, the could feel them, and wiggle all her toes. The cold wind and snow rushed over her and she shivered. And then she laughed. It seemed the only thing to do. That half mad exclamation of emotion that overtook her so rarely, but when it did her voice was loud enough to echo off the mountains.
To her surprise, Cole joined her. His own laughter awkward, unpracticed and strange to hear coming from the somber boy. He managed to half stumble, half crawl over to her and the pair of them sat in the snow, letting go of confusion, fear, elation, too much emotion to hold.
Finally, with tears freezing on her cheeks, Astlyr looked up again, taking in her surroundings. The pair knelt beside a shattered siege engine. Large splinters of wood were scattered everywhere and there was a massive, clawed footprint in the snow beside it. She wondered if it had been hers or Elgar'nan's. She spotted a large group elves who had survived the ordeal, but they were some distance off. They huddled together in the lee of a rocky outcrop, watching her, she guessed. They seemed no more threat than mice cowering in a corner.
Her mind slowly pieced itself back together. "Skyhold," she muttered, turning to face her home. Even from her distance she could see thin tendrils of smoking rising from the courtyard. Hunks of wall were missing, and the worst damage was easily the ugly gap where the main gate should have been. It looked like the mouth of a gaping wound. "Do you think they're still fighting?" she glanced sideways at her Companion.
Cole seemed to consider for a moment. She knew he was searching through all the voices in his mind. There must be so many after such a battle. "Only a few," he answered after a moment. "The elves who saw what happened have stopped fighting. You killed their leaders. They have no one to guide them now and they're afraid."
"I hope my commanders spare anyone who surrenders," Astlyr said, bracing her hands against her knees and willing her muscles to be stronger. She and Cole had a long walk ahead of them back to the fortress. She wished that she had retained the boy's power to teleport.
"It is useful," Cole agreed with her thought, matching her effort to achieve his feet. His legs were visibly shaking. "I'm tired Astlyr," he said, tilting his head, "I've never been tired before. I didn't know what it felt like. I've only heard it in the pain of others."
"You've probably still got little bits of me in you," Astlyr said, accepting that there was no way to say this without sounding insane. "You'll recover in no time," she reassured her friend, though he did not seem overly alarmed to begin with.
"I don't like it. My legs won't listen." the boy grumbled, standing, then almost falling back to the snow as one of his knees quivered violently.
"I don't like it either," Astlyr agreed. She managed to push herself upward and stand, feeling like a newborn horse, all wobbly on its legs. She stripped off what armor she could. This left her more open to the biting cold, but less hindered by the bent hunks of useless metal. She pushed her hair away with annoyance and cast her eyes about again. The lifeless corpse of Elgar'nan lay some feet from her. Slowly, unsteadily, she made her way towards it.
She knelt at the elf's side. He was almost unrecognizable. His face was mutilated, his jaw dislocated and almost sheered off. He was peppered with long, terrible knife wounds which still seeped blood to the ever growing puddle around him. There was not an ounce of life in him. Astlyr, trying to hold in her breakfast, which was threatening to make an appearance, pushed his hip until she saw what she was looking for. A pouch which held shards of a certain orb. Even broken she knew his foci must hold some power. She unbuckled his belt and slid the pouch free. It was slick with rapidly cooling blood. She did her best to wipe it clean on a patch of snow.
She looked towards the other side of the valley. Mythal's body would be there, somewhere. She tried to recall where the god had fallen, still locked in the shape of the elf, Solas. Just the notion of the trek to find Mythal's corpse made Astlyr feel even more drained. She glanced at Cole who stood back from her, watching with his usual, sorrowful expression. "Could you teleport to her and retrieve her foci?"
"The foci bite me when I touch them," the spirit boy pointed out.
"Then you had better not. We don't need any more hostile Fade magic around here. We'll just have to walk over and get it ourselves."
Astlyr slipped Elgar'nan's pouch onto her own belt, her anchor mark flaring a bit. She felt oddly reassured. The anchor was still there, and still active. She marveled that she would ever feel glad of the burden she'd been given so long ago. This power she never wanted, yet now she felt was as much a part of her as her hands or heart. She reached toward Cole, who stumbled to her side. The pair began a painstaking walk in the direction of Mythal's fallen body, and also nearer to Skyhold.
"I found them!"
Astlyr and Cole were perhaps half way to where she felt certain Mythal lay. Astlyr turned, surprised she had not noticed the riders who had set out from the fortress. She supposed her mind still wasn't fully back to its usual sharpness. She saw the flash of gold and knew Cullen's horse had taken the lead, spurred into greater action by its eager rider.
"Hello," was all she could think to say as her man vaulted from the saddle before his horse had even come to a complete stop. He looked ready to rush her. To hold her and check her over to see that she wasn't injured, but he stayed himself, his expression wary.
Behind Cullen rode a guard, a mage she didn't know, and, to her surprise, Titus. The templar dismounted as well, not taking his pale green eyes from her. When she met his gaze he spoke without being bidden, "Dorian said I was to find out if you were alright. If I didn't he said he'd never see me again."
Astlyr barked a laugh that made the group jump, even Cullen, whose hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, but he was clearly unwilling to draw on her or Cole. Astlyr checked her man over with her eyes. He had an ugly bruise on his jaw, which was swollen and dark blue, as well as a few small wounds at the gaps in his armor. His helmet was missing, discarded or knocked off, and some of his arm armor was was absent as well. All in all he looked pretty good for having just been in a large battle, though she had no way to tell if he had cracked any bones.
Cullen finally seemed to collect himself. "Are you...are you alright?"
"We seem to be," she answered, still leaning against Cole, and he against her. They must have made an odd pair. A tall, horned woman and her lanky teenage companion. "We're worn out, but I suppose that is natural after...whatever just happened."
"What did just happen?" Cullen asked, his eyes still wide and worried, like a wild animal snared in a human trap.
"To be honest, I'm not really certain," Astlyr admitted, though she lowered her voice, her words meant for Cullen's ears only. "Cole and I were...transformed. Like the elvhen 'gods' were originally."
"They whu... you...?" Cullen seemed at a complete loss.
"We joined together and transformed into... whatever it was that we were, and then we kicked Elgar'nan's ass. For now I think that is all you need to know. We were always on Skyhold's side and we're not about to do it again any time soon, if we can ever do it again at all." Astlyr summarized hastily.
"It wasn't frightening," Cole added. "It was nice. Like being held. I liked being Astlyr. It's over now," he gave a final sort of nod, his hat flopping.
"And neither of you are injured?" Cullen asked, his posture less tense, though his expression had lost none of its confusion.
"Not that we can tell," Astlyr shrugged. "Just worn out from our little adventure. How are things in Skyhold?" It felt endlessly absurd to be standing there in the snowy valley talking with Cullen as though she hadn't just transformed into a gigantic creature and battled two gods to the death. Her life in Thedas seemed to be a series of bizarre situations she wasn't remotely mentally prepared for.
"They're afraid, Astlyr," Cole spoke to her in a quiet tone, so only she could hear. "They need someone to lead them."
She managed to straighten, giving Cullen her old, firm stare. This simple gesture seemed to relax him, if not his fellows. "All we need to know is that Elgar'nan is dead, as is Mythal. I have what remains of Elgar'nan's foci here," she gestured to the pouch at her belt. "We were on our way to gather Mythal's. It is an amulet she likely has about her neck. Her body should be somewhere over there, in the form of Solas," Astlyr gestured to the spot. "We need to retain all the foci we can. These 'gods' are tricky, and have plenty of ways to bring themselves back from seeming death, but without their foci it is almost impossible."
"Go," Cullen ordered the guard. The man, still mounted, turned his horse and trotted it towards the place Astlyr had indicated.
"June and Falon'din?" she asked.
"Slain, last I saw" Cullen answered, shifting uneasily. "Vivienne dealt with the one called June. It took considerable effort to bring down... Falon'din, was it?"
"Yes," Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. The simple gesture seemed to calm Cullen further. Perhaps he was searching for little indications that she was herself. She remembered her blond tinted hair and wondered if other physical attributes had changed since she and Cole were one being. "When we get to Skyhold we'll have to be certain someone collects their foci."
"What else?" Cullen asked.
"I don't know," Astlyr heaved a sigh. All she wanted to do was fill a tub with hot water, crawl in, and never come out. "I still have no idea where Morrigan is, but perhaps Mythal's hold will be broken or weakened now," she shrugged, the motion nearly toppling her and Cole. "We should return to Skyhold. I have people to check on, and a fortress that needs its Inquisitor."
"Right," Cullen nodded curtly. Clearly happy to fall back on his soldiering skills when things got confusing. "You and Cole take my mount. I'll ride with Lily," he gestured to the mage, who smiled weakly.
"Are you certain Flash can handle my weight?" she gestured to the palomino gelding.
"It's only a short ride," Cullen reassured her with a quick smile, indicating his attempt at a joking tone. He led Flash over to her and turned the stirrup for her.
It took two tries and a push from Cullen to get Astlyr onto the horse, but they managed it. She was able to reach down and pull Cole behind her easily. She wasn't certain Flash would tolerate the boy teleporting onto his back. The horse made a huffing sound as it sensed its new rider. Flash was a gentle enough animal, but had always preferred Cullen. She nudged her heels onto Flash's side and the horse sprang into action, heading towards Skyhold at a good clip.
Hooves clattered satisfyingly against stone as Astlyr and her small company entered the courtyard. She winced at the sight of her beloved fortress. Hunks of stone lay everywhere. Rubble, debris, and death. Bodies were still draped all over the place. The wounded were given priority. The healers had set up triage at the keep entrance closest to the infirmary. She could hear the cries of the injured all around her and it rattled her to her core. She didn't need to have Cole's abilities to feel the force of the pain around her. Her fortress and her people were in shambles. What remained of Elgar'nan's army that was still in the fortress seemed to have surrendered. She suspected that most of the elves outside of Skyhold had fled. The mage's staves were being taken and broken, thrown into a pile in the yard. The non-mages were likewise stripped of their gear. They stood in crowded bunches, guarded by whoever wasn't wounded. Astlyr was pleased to see King Alistair himself overseeing this. Though she could see a wound or two on his royal person, he seemed well enough to stand tall and take command.
No one came forward to take Flash from her, so Astlyr slid from his back and tied up his reins to his saddle so we would not trip on them, before aiming him in the direction of the stable and giving his flank a little swat. The horse strode away with little concern for the scene around him.
"Casualties?" she asked of Cullen as he dismounted. She couldn't help it, her eyes scanned the carnage for her inner circle.
"I'm uncertain. I rode out to find you as soon as the creature you fought was slain," He finally stayed her with his hand on her shoulder. When she turned he gathered her fully into is arms and kissed her. There was the salty taste of sweat and blood on his chapped lips and she didn't care. He pulled away, searching her eyes, "Maker, I thought...I thought maybe I'd lost you, though I didn't understand how. I know you can't promise never to do it again but-"
"I plan to try very hard never to do that again," she gave him a lop-sided smile, which seemed about all her facial muscles could manage before she twined her fingers into his hair and kissed him back.
"M'gel!" of course it would be Dorian who spotted her first. She pulled away from her lover, scanning the wounded for her friend. He was seated on one of the cots which had been brought out for the injured. He waved enthusiastically to her as Titus and Cullen joined her on the ground.
Astlyr moved instinctively to her friend's side. To her surprise, Cole went with her. She had expected him to be off already, helping the healers. Instead he seemed unwilling to leave her side, at least for the moment. Perhaps his senses were dulled by his time with her boring, qunari mind.
Dorian's face was pale, his caramel skin lacking its usual vibrant tone. His lips were thinly drawn with what she knew must be pain, but he gave her his biggest smile none the less. He seemed to be mostly uninjured, save for his knee, which was thickly bandaged, the white cloth already soaked through with his blood. He didn't stand to greet her when she reached him, so she knelt before him instead, taking his hands when they were offered. "Have you seen the others?" she asked, glancing around.
People had started noticing her now, and were staring. "Most of them don't understand. Many of them didn't see," Cole said, his voice like the rasp of dry leaves. "Some know that you transformed, while others have heard it second hand. It's all muddled and twisted together. Words piling on words until the meaning is lost underneath. Are you still their Inquisitor? What happened to you? Was that monster really you?"
Astlyr flinched when he used the word 'monster'. As if she needed to give people more reason to fear her. Still, most had likely not gotten an adequate view of what had happened. She doubted they saw her laying almost dead under the rubble. For all they knew this had been part of the plan. An ability she kept in reserve perhaps. She would work out what to tell everyone later. For the moment she turned back to Dorian, asking him for information again with her eyes.
"Varric is around here somewhere," the mage replied. "He's helping where he can. I am less useful at the moment," he winced, one hand slipping free of hers and resting gingerly on his knee. Before Astlyr could react Titus was sitting beside Dorian, offering him a drink of water and putting an arm around him. Astlyr smiled at the young templar and he blushed, looking away shyly.
"I want to go find the others," she looked up into Dorian's eyes, silently asking if he would be alright.
"Go on," he managed a roguish smile. "An Inquisitor's work is never done. I think I saw them taking Viv over there," he gestured to where the cots were laid out for the more seriously injured.
Astlyr gave him a curt nod, standing to go. She almost fell down as her weak limbs protested. Cullen caught her arm and she felt Cole's slim fingers wrap around her other elbow. The spirit boy's voice was so quiet she almost missed his words. "I can't hear her, Astlyr."
Astlyr pushed her muscles into a fast walk, wending her way around cots and dodging healers. If Cole couldn't hear Vivienne's pain, did that mean she was dead? Panic rose in Astlyr's chest, an icy version of her blood rage, and just as consuming. She hardly noticed the weakness in her body as she moved, Cullen having a hard time keeping up now. "Viv!" she gasped, finding her friend's cot and dropping to her knees.
The mage was breathing. Her elegant features were marred by swelling bruises and bloody cuts, but her color wasn't terrible and her breaths were even. A young assistant healer rushed over, concern on his features, until he saw that the enchantress was still sleeping peacefully. He noticed Astlyr next and bobbed a quick bow. Judging by the way his eyes did not go wide, as those of so many others had, Astlyr guessed that he had not seen, or at least not understood, the god battle she had participated in. Likely he and his fellows had been focused on keeping the wounded alive. "How is she?" Astlyr put her hand gently on Viv's, though it was tucked under a thick, wool blanket.
"She'll live," sighed the healer, swiping a blood encrusted hand over his brow and leaving a streak of reddish brown to match several others there. "A few cracked ribs, her mana is sorely depleted, and she sustained several sword slashes, but we've managed to stitch her back up. I've seldom seen one so resilient.
"Nor will you again," Astlyr smiled fondly at her mage friend. As difficult and opinionated as Vivienne could be, she was stalwart and brave to a fault. Some might call it overconfidence. Astlyr thought it seemed to be just the right amount.
"Easy now! Bring him over here! Dammit, but he's heavy!"
Astlyr turned and her heart was in her throat again. Cole teleported from her side. She was secretly glad to see it, because she had been worried he might have lost that ability somehow. She had no idea what side effects could come of being joined with someone so completely, and then separated.
The person Cole had rushed to was clearly Iron Bull. No one else would take six soldiers to move on a stretcher. She caught sight of Krem limping along beside his leader, concern etched on his bloodied features. With Cullen still on her heels Astllyr made her way to where the men set Iron Bull down.
Her breath caught. "Oh no," she exhaled. Her fellow qunari was a wreck. His skin's usual grey had gone almost white with hints of blue. One of his horns was broken, and his body was a lattice of long cuts. Damn him for not wearing enough armor, Astlyr bit down on her anger. His face was painted, as hers had been, but what good were colorful symbols in the heat of pitched battle? The healers knelt, one removing a bandage from Bull's stomach which was completely saturated with dark red. Astlyr felt sick. The gash on his abdomen was huge. An ugly tear that still oozed what little blood remained in her friend's body. She could see the bottom of a rib, not to mention several internal organs. She'd seen enough wounds like this to know this could not end with a happy report, even for a qunari.
Krem must have known it too. He knelt, with some effort, as Astlyr noticed there was a broken arrow shaft protruding from the young man's thigh. The mercenary ignored this completely. Several healing mages, already looking haggard and drained, rushed to join the group. Astlyr looked up with surprise to see Fen accompanying them. His skin was the color of paper and he looked ready to fall down, but he came. He didn't meet her eyes. Didn't even seem to realize that she was standing there at all, as he bent to try to dredge up what little magical reserve remained to him. There was not enough. Not even from three mages.
Krem made a strangled sound, holding Bull's massive hand in his and pressing his forehead to it. "Come on, Chief. Don't do this! You've lived through worse crap than this. Come on."
Astlyr moved to kneel at Iron Bull's other side, near his head and out of the healer's way. Cole was already there, easing pain with his gift. His hands fluttered, alighting now and again. Iron Bull's eyelids fluttered and his single eye drifted open. His mouth was full of blood, and when he opened it, a fresh trickle ran from the corner of his lips. Krem hastily wiped it away with a sleeve. Bull's gaze drifted to Astlyr for a moment. "Hey Boss," he slurred, his lips barely parted.
"Hey, Bull," Astlyr said, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She'd only had to do this once or twice. It never got easier. She cleared her throat and felt Cullen's hand on her shoulder. "We won," she told her friend. "We got the bastard."
"Good," he said, managing to look pleased, even past all the blood. He turned to Krem, whose eyes were full with tears on the verge of being wept. "Krem, you get a promotion."
"No, Chief," the young man shook his head vigorously, "I refuse it,"
"You can't. You're chief now, Krem. You can't back down, the others need you."
"Fuck it! Fuck this!" Krem snarled. "You're not dying, Chief! You can shut up about it." Tears were now flowing freely down the mercenary's face.
"Krem," Bull managed to reach up a hand, landing it heavily on the back of his lieutenant's neck. He pulled his friend down so they were forehead to forehead. He muttered two more words before his hand fell away and his last breath left him. "Horns...up."
Cole wrapped skinny arms around Cremisius Aclassi as the man turned and wept into the spirit boy's shirt. His forehead was still stained with Iron Bull's blood.
Astlyr drew back, feeling Cullen support her. He embraced her, though no tears escaped her eyes. Instead she felt that dull, hollow feeling she sometimes got when someone died. As though her body was someone else's, her mind free from its tether. Idly her thoughts drifted, wondering how the qun treated their dead. But then, Bull was no longer part of the qun, so he wouldn't want their death rituals anyhow. She couldn't look at him, or Krem, any longer and turned her face into Cullen's shoulder.
When she raised her eyes she found herself meeting Cole's over Krem's shoulder. The boy's pale blue gaze still had flecks of green caught in it, like chips of paint fallen on a different painting. His expression was unreadable, save for its usual sadness which she had long since learned never to take at face value. He seemed to be trying to impart something to her, though she had no idea what.
"Inquisitor!"
Astlyr turned seeing Blackwall, looking by far the healthiest of those in the area. His armor, while dented, was not covered with cracks, or falling off of him. He had a long cut on his brow, but it had not been bleeding for a while. He wove his way around the wounded, stopping when he saw Iron Bull being carefully covered by the somber healers. He bowed his head, making a sign with his hand which Astlyr vaguely recognized as Andrastian. "I'm so sorry, Inquisitor," he said, and he clearly meant it. His tough voice hitched.
Astlyr straightened herself and moved away from Cullen's embrace. She was the commander of Skyhold once more. "What is it, Blackwall?"
"I've two things to report," the grey warden announced, standing to attention, if a bit sloppily. "The one called 'Dirth' wishes to speak with you, and I am also here to report that the fighting at the rear of the fortress has ceased."
Astlyr was taken aback. "You mean, they were still fighting back there until now?"
"Well, for the most part. It was a mopping up of enemy forces, really. The fellows in there didn't get to see their leaders getting killed, so they didn't surrender right away. Our forces handled them." he reassured her. "They've reported that they're bringing the wounded around now for triage."
"Right," Astlyr said, her tone edged with weariness. She had to admire Blackwall. Clearly the man had no idea what had happened to cause the slaughter of the attacking gods, but he did not ask. He rightly assumed he would be told later, if he needed to know at all. "Where's Dirthamen?"
"Over here," Blackwall gestured, leading the way.
The god was stretched out on a cot looking almost as bad as Viv, though he was awake. His fathomless eyes watched as Astlyr approached. Once again she knelt beside a cot, feeling her body ache with the motion. Or was it simply her soul? How many of her people could she see wounded or dying while she was whole? It clawed at her insides and she struggled to ignore the desire to simply stand up and walk back out into the snow.
Astlyr took in the elf on the cot and flinched when she saw the most serious of his wounds. His right leg was severed just below the knee. The bandage over the fresh stump was already deeply saturated with red. She bit down on her lip to keep herself under control.
"You did it!" Dirthamen was beaming. How could someone who had just had their leg chopped off be so jovial? Then she recalled that the body he wore was only a temporary one. As she looked into his eyes she idly wondered if the spirit of Loyalty stared back as well as the man who had become a god.
"I did it?" Astlyr questioned.
"You and Compassion! You did it! I wasn't certain. I didn't know if you could, with no foci..."
"I think this did the trick," Astlyr raised her left hand, her mark dormant and still once again, though she could still feel the veil. It was stretched thin, though not as much as it had been during the battle. She knew they would have to be careful. Too much warfare in a place could cause the veil to tear and spirits, friendly and otherwise, could pay them all an unwanted visit.
"I had no idea it could react that way. Fascinating," Dirthamen said, staring at her hand with a wrapped expression on his face.
"You would say that," Fen came limping over. He still looked ready to fall down, and sat heavily on the edge of his friend's cot as soon as he was given the chance.
Astlyr noted that the wolf god sported welts and bruises on his throat where Elgar'nan had been strangling him. "You should put some snow on those," she gestured to the marks.
Fen blinked at her, not understanding at first, then reaching gingerly to touch his neck and winced. "Perhaps," he conceded, though he did not move from where he sat. Astlyr glanced around for some snow, but it was all trampled into bloody slush. She grimaced and tried not to look down any more.
"But you and Compassion separated again," Dirthamen looked dismayed. "Why? What went wrong?"
"My name is Cole," said Cole, who had left Krem to mourn with his fellow Chargers. When had he appeared at Astlyr's side? He felt so natural there she wasn't certain exactly when he had joined them. "Nothing went wrong. We chose. It wasn't us, that being a god. Both you and Loyalty wanted to be what you are. Astlyr and I didn't. We're separate, but still whole."
"I see," Dirthamen looked slightly disappointed, but when Astlyr glanced at Fen he was smiling faintly. His blue eyes met hers with understanding. He knew she had seen what she might become in him. Her endless life might have been filled with endless regrets.
Cole stiffened, his hand grasping Astlyr's shoulder so hard she flinched, his fingernails digging in to her. She had abandoned her shoulder armor somewhere in the snow outside Skyhold. She turned to her friend, feeling his alarm leech into her. "I still can't hear her," he whispered.
"Cole..." she reached for his hand, in part to steady him and also to pry his death grip from her flesh.
A rousing cheer sounded from nearby and Astlyr turned to see the guard come strutting out from one of the ground floor doors to the keep. They whooped and cavorted, most of them ignoring their wounds. Everyone who was able had turned to take in their unusual good mood. Astlyr saw they carried someone on their shoulders like a champion, and when she saw the flash of a blonde braid she knew who it was. "Jones?" she asked, getting to her feet once again, hearing her joints crackle in protest as though she were suddenly an old woman.
Guardswoman Jones was indeed hoisted onto the shoulders of her men as they cheered and celebrated. For her part she looked pale and baffled, as though uncertain how to feel about the situation. Astlyr and her group drew closer to the excited men and women of the guard. "What's going on?" she asked the nearest. "What happened?"
"Guard Captain Jones saved all our asses!" the man proclaimed, before suddenly realizing who he was speaking to and desperately trying to save face by adding "Ma'am" at the end.
Astlyr almost chuckled at this, but she pressed on, "what happened in the keep?"
"The enemy was getting in," explained another guard. An older woman with a heavy Fereldan accent. "We didn't know how they were doing it, but when the guard got word that our soldiers needed us to reinforce, in we went to see things for ourselves. It was Jones who spotted it. The elves were using some sort of magical door. It had a funny frame around it-"
"Like a mirror," someone else chipped in.
"Yeah, like a mirror, except it were a magical door of some kind," the woman went on, almost talking over her compatriot. "Jones see this thing and she goes, 'we need to take out that door!' So quick as you like she forms us all up into what you'd call 'Hammer' formation, Ma'am," the guard gestured to Jones, who had finally been set down, but looked no more happy about the situation than she had moments before, no matter how many people clapped her on the back in congratulation. She still wore a confused, even saddened expression which Astlyr wished she could place.
The guard went on, eagerly. "Captain Jones yells for the soldiers that are fighting already to just hold on for a bit longer. Then, while the enemy are fighting the soldiers, we follow Jones out from behind 'em in Hammer Formation and drive right towards that door thingy. I think the soldiers had tried for it a few times, but it took us and old Jones to get it done right! Took the enemy by surprise and we smashed that thing to bits!"
A raucous cheer went up from the group, and a few snatches of ill remembered victory songs were sung. Jones finally seemed able to acknowledge Astlyr. Her blue eyes were hollow. Not the eyes of a woman who had just won the day. "I'm so sorry, Inquisitor." she mumbled. Almost inaudible over the sound of her people's cheering. "I was too late."
The wounded began coming out of the doorway now. Helped or even carried by their fellows. And then came their dead. Astlyr's heart clamped down as though an ice spell had been laid over it.
"Set her down. Set set her down here!" Varric, whose arm was clumsily splinted and held in a makeshift sling, and Myfanwy, who seemed to have fared better than her friend, were walking beside two battered looking soldiers who were carrying a limp figure between them. Astlyr knew who it was, though her mind refused to accept this. Somehow there had to be a mistake.
The figure was laid on the mucky ground and Varric dropped to his knees, his good hand a flash of frenzied motion as he checked for a pulse at neck, then wrist. "Come on Cas. Come on girl. Don't do this to me! Cassandra! You don't do this to me now!"
Astlyr almost fell straight down to her knees, but Cole's slim fingers twined with hers and she managed to keep her feet, even as she watched her friend grasp the fallen warrior's face his hand, patting her cheek gently, then not so gently. Myfanwy was standing back, holding herself as tears left trails in the grit on her face.
"Cas, you stop this now! Do you hear me? Stop this! Cassandra, no!" Varric was shaking Cassandra's shoulders now, heedless of his wounds. "I can't do this again, Cas! I can't lose another friend like this!" He pushed back from her, brushing has hand down his face, unknowingly staining it with Cas's blood. He pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, tucking his head down and shaking with silent tears. Around him the soldiers formed a loose circle, hands to their chests, helmets discarded in the slush. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I made fun of you so much! I'm glad you brought me here, Cas! Do you hear me? Glad!" Varric croaked. He looked up at her one last time. "Oh Maker, please no..."
Myfanwy stepped forward, dropping to her knees she wrapped her arms around the dwarf's shoulders, holding him as he wept.
Astlyr looked to Cullen, who was standing like a statue. His eyes had gone grey. She'd never seen him like this. Not even in the throws of a panic attack. Yet she knew this look, and this feeling, because she herself was feeling it. In battle death seemed almost easy, natural. You had no time to think or to mourn. But after, to watched your friends die of their wounds. To allow yourself to feel the guilt of it. Astlyr already sense the prickle in the back of her mind, a thorn jabbing her heart and reminding her that she ordered Cassandra's unit to the back to face the waiting enemy that slew her. Cullen, no doubt, wondered why he had not taken her place. Offered to go in her stead. But no, Cas was a warrior. She would go where she was bidden and she would face whatever waited. Even death.
Astlyr reached out her free hand and caressed Cullen's jaw. He didn't seem to notice. His scarred lip twitched. His cheeks were going crimson, but not his usual blush. Emotion unexpressed was building under the surface and in moments it would boil over. She let Cole's hand fall free of hers and put her arms around her man. For a moment he didn't react. His arms remained stonily at his sides. Then, tentatively, one reached up and grasped her wrist and held it. It was all he did, but it was all that was needed. His lips moved fractionally and she felt his breath against her collar bone. She knew he was speaking a prayer.
"She's with her brother now." A fresh voice spoke over the weeping. Sera. Where had she come from? Had she been with the civilians during the fight, as she had been ordered to do, because of her injuries? By the bow strung across her shoulders, Astlyr guessed she had not. The small woman spoke again, her voice steady as she stood back from the scene and recited, "'Maker, though the darkness comes for me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.' I heard her prayin' that once," Sera shrugged. "I think she's where she wanted to be. She's with the Maker, and her brother."
Long silence followed. More wounded and dead were brought out. Others cried over their fallen loved ones. Women keened and men fell to their knees to sob, and all this had been happening around them since the fighting had stopped, though Astlyr had not noticed it fully until that moment. In this moment of her own, profound pain, and that of her friends. Finally Varric seemed to rally. He lifted his head, stained with Cas's blood on his cheeks and brow. Then in one motion, he shrugged away Myfanwy's hands and fled back into Skyhold. The elf stood, her head low, dark curls having escaped their holder and falling to conceal her expression. She watched Varric go for a moment, then, slowly, she followed.
Alright, please put down the torches and pick up the tissues. If you find yourself uncontrollably mad at me, remember, this isn't cannon. Your favorite characters are still alive and well in Bioware world.
So...I had planned to kill at least two characters from the beginning. I didn't want them to be OCs because I hate when writers create OCs just to kill them. I didn't want any redshirts here (Star Trek reference). I knew that one would be Iron Bull, and I hemmed and hawed over Cas or Viv to die as well. I decided on Cas because she would have the bigger punch, To me as well, I love her, she's the best! But remember what Varric said: (paraphrased) If you like a character you'll give them trials and adventures, and then an honorable death. I love Cas a lot, so I knew it had to be her.
I know Bioware has a reputation for killing characters, which seems unfounded to me (for the most part) I mean, in ME3 they killed everyone you ever loved, but other than that they're pretty tame. One of my problems with the ending of DA:I was that there were no stakes. No one in danger of dying. So I feel like I did what bioware should have done. *Pushes nerd glasses up nose*
But enough about death. What about life? What happens to Skyhold now that the war is over? What of the elves? Is Varric ok? Find out in the next chapter coming out LATER TODAY! Woot woot!
On a final note, has anyone played the latest DLC? I have not yet, and none of my favorite LPers are doing it yet. I only have Xbox 360 so I can't get it myself. Have you played? What did you think?
Next: 9/10/15 (not a typo!)
Keep up to date on me and my work right here: Emily-Luebke-Author-283743888311991/timeline/