95. Here There be Dragons
When Alistair had signed on to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, he wasn't sure what that might entail. Demonic opposition, perhaps. Traveling to remote corners of the world, sure.
Fighting dragonlings and an ancient cult? Hadn't really come to mind.
His sword was getting a good workout, at least, though he worried about how badly his blade was getting dulled against the toughened scales of all the drakes. The weapon was holding, for now, but he would need to take a whetstone to the whole thing, once they were done here.
Alistair was in the lead as they wove through the icy tunnels, the chilled creaking of his companions' leather armor a comforting presence behind him.
Genitivi was exactly the sort of brilliant half-madman Alistair had come to expect in scholars like this. The man had insisted on climbing a mountain despite a leg so shattered that not even Wynne could heal it—all so he could finish his research.
Felicity would have loved him.
Alistair led them out into a broad cavern, pausing as he realized that they weren't alone. A trio of armored men stood in their path, and a survey of the wide room revealed more behind them—at least two mages—and more to the side. All looked ready to attack. They were really not alone.
"Stop!" the central figure commanded. "You will go no further!"
Well, at least these guys felt like talking. That was better than the stab-first ask-questions-never policy everyone else in the old temple had been adopting.
Finian stepped forward, his daggers disappearing smoothly into their sheaths. "Finally, someone reasonable. I'm afraid there's been something of a misunderstanding here."
"The only misunderstanding is that you dare to walk these hallowed grounds at all. You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young! Who are you, that you desecrate the sacred home of the Living Andraste?"
Finian bowed smoothly. "My name is Finian, and we are but humble pilgrims. We had heard of the Urn of Sacred Ashes resting in the region, but when we sought it, your people attacked ours."
Alistair eyed the mages in the back of the room, wondering if he had enough Templar in him to smite both at once. He'd never tried a double smite before, and didn't really want to. He really, really hoped Fin knew what he was doing.
"All this for a relic?" The man stepped forward, and Alistair raised his shield. "Know this, pilgrims… the prophet Andraste has overcome death itself, and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now!"
Alistair may not have paid all that much attention to his Chantry teachings growing up… but he was pretty sure this was several kinds of blasphemy. How could the most sacred relic in Thedas be in the hands of these people?
The man stepped forward swiftly to tower threateningly over Finian. "What hope do you have?"
To his credit, Finian didn't even flinch."To slay Andraste?" His big brown eyes widened, looking utterly guileless when anyone who knew him knew he was very guile… full. "We would never do such a thing! What do you mean, She has overcome death? This must be a miracle far greater than any old relic!"
The man glared down at the elf, some of the fury smoothing out. "That it is, stranger. We faithful can only tend to Her until it is time for Her to rise to Her full glory. You have slain many of us, but you can be forgiven if you leave now." The man spun and started stalking away.
"Wait! Can we not see this miracle?" Again, the elf didn't flinch as the large man spun back on him. "We have come far… will you not let us at least give our respects to the prophet Andraste?"
The man loomed over the elf, his voice going soft. "None but the Disciples may approach Andraste. She is not ready yet, but when the time is right, She will descend upon the nations in fiery splendor, and all will know Her." He paused, looking the rest of them over. "But… perhaps there is a way to make up for your recent transgressions."
Finian nodded. "We had no wish to harm you or your fellows. Tell us how we may serve."
It was all Alistair could do not to shift nervously. This was an act… right?
"Perhaps, through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion." The man straightened, addressing all of them now. "The Ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady. Now the Ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. They are a remnant of Her past incarnation, and She cannot move on as long as they exist. The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes to make them Her own again. All it will take is a drop of Her blood."
Alistair shuddered. This sounded like blood magic.
"Blood carries power! Strength! Knowledge! Through it, all the power that is held in the Ashes will be returned to our Lady!" Okay, now, this really sounded like blood magic.
Meila's voice spoke from the back of the party. "Then why have you not done so already?"
"The Guardian has foiled all our attempts to reach the Urn. He keeps what power remains from the true Andraste! He knows the Disciples and we cannot touch him, for he draws his strength from the Ashes themselves. But you could deliver our Lady what is rightfully Hers, at great personal reward, I assure you."
Blasphemy and blood magic, all bound together with a bit of hereticism to boot. Alistair was caught between being horrified and laughing really, really hard. "I could just imagine the Grand Cleric, if she were here. Her head would explode, I kid you not."
"Finian," Leliana said uncertainly, "he thinks Andraste is reborn. It is preposterous; I do not like this."
"He is a fanatic," Wynne agreed. "And a dangerous one."
Finian turned a calm smile back at them. "Guys, this is the risen Andraste. So much more important than some old relic, don't you think?"
Alistair exchanged a nervous glance with Leliana. The sister was chewing her lip, but she nodded.
The Disciple turned his attention to Fin. "Many have been led here, but only you had the fortitude and skill to survive the temple. You were led here by Andraste's hand to do Her work."
Finian bowed. "Tell us what must be done, Father."
"The task is simple: I give you a vial of the holy Andraste's blood, and you empty the vial into the Ashes."
Behind him, Leliana gasped, and Alistair didn't blame her. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.
"Whatever magic was held in the Ashes will be undone… and our great Lady will be freed from the shackles of Her past life."
"Fin, I don't like the idea of helping these people," Alistair said softly.
"There is a great power contained in blood," the man forged on. "Through Andraste's guidance, we have learned to harness it. It can be yours, in exchange for a trivial task—a vial of blood, emptied into the Urn. That is all I ask."
The elf nodded a bit too eagerly, and Alistair once again wondered just how much of this was an act. "Consider it done."
The priest reached into his pocket and pressed a vial into the elf's hand. "Take this… You know what you must do. Come, let us beseech the holy Andraste to let you pass." With that, the man beckoned them to follow, and then the Disciples started out toward the back of the chamber, where a sliver of light seeped through.
The Wardens fell into step behind the cultists.
"Very clever, my Warden," the Crow said, too softly for the cultists to hear. "We just may get through this with our necks intact."
"You aren't really going to defile the Ashes, are you?" Leliana said. Fin didn't answer, his eyes faced forward.
Alistair agreed, falling into step beside the elf. "I'm just going to assume you have something amazing and tricky up your sleeve."
A fleeting smile crossed the elf's face, and that was enough to ease Alistair's concerns for now.
They ducked through a tunnel and came out into the sunlight, overlooking a snowy valley. As they stepped out onto the ramp leading down to the valley floor, a huge shadow passed overhead. Alistair ducked back on reflex, and was glad he did when a roar echoed off the valley walls.
The Warden companions huddled at the top of the ramp, watching in the shadow of the doorway as a dragon swooped overhead. Their platform was a good two hundred feet off the valley floor, diving down in a steep slope toward the ground ahead of them.
A high dragon. These madmen thought Andraste was a high dragon. That was crazy, terrifying… and a little awesome.
The cultists had reached the bottom of the valley, and their leader was speaking with the dragon. She roared, but his placating gestures seemed to be keeping her from attacking. Apparently, she didn't want to attack the ones who had been taking care of her young.
"Zev," Finian whispered. "You've got confusion poison on hand, right?"
"Mm, that I do." The assassin chuckled. "After all, one of the most effective ways for an assassin to escape suspicion is to have the victim attack the guards himself. Mind, it is excessively expensive and hard to find."
"I'll pay you back."
"Wait wait wait…" Alistair broke in. "You want to get a dragon to attack? This is your brilliant tricky thing?"
Zevran paused, considering. "Alas, the agent would probably not work on a victim of that size. But you know what might provoke a dragon to attack? Its own minions attacking it first."
"Good idea," Fin said. "Do it."
Zevran reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a vial, and Meila handed him one of her arrows. Leliana followed suit.
"I do not like attacking from the shadows like this," the sister whispered, as both she and Meila took aim. "But they cannot be forgiven for what they would do to the Sacred Ashes."
Both archers let fly, their arrows soaring across the valley. Both struck true, one punching into the back of an armed fighter's neck, and another lodging into the shoulder of a mage.
Both yelped and spun, but the poison worked fast. When the dragon roared in agitation over the sudden movement, they spun back. The warrior waved his weapon threatening, and the mage began casting. The other Disciples tried to stop them, but then the affected warrior surged forward and attacked the dragon.
Alistair winced as fire blasted out of the dragon's mouth, roasting most of the cultists alive. Whatever weak peace had existed between the Disciples and the dragon had been spectacularly shattered, and the dragon commenced raining fiery death on every creature in reach.
The leader of the cultists scurried around, still trying to placate the furious beast, but it silenced him rather effectively. Being grabbed in a dragon's jaws, thrown fifty feet in the air, and swallowed in a single bite tended to do that.
"Maker's breath," someone whispered while they watched the slaughter from the cavern exit.
"Has it occurred to anyone to wonder," Zevran said, "how we will now get past an angry dragon?"
"Hey, you're sneaky," Alistair said. "I'm doomed."
The remaining cultists were scattering now, and the dragon took to the air with a couple flaps of its massive wings. It swooped upon its prey, spraying fire over them and snapping them up with angry abandon.
"She truly is a magnificent creature," Meila whispered, looking mesmerized.
"Yes, one who magnificently wants to eat us," Alistair said.
"Perhaps we can wait her out," Wynne said. "Remain here until the beast finishes and flies away."
As she was speaking, the dragon snapped up the last of the cultists and took to the air. For a moment, Alistair thought the mage might be right, as the shadow swooped over the valley, circling.
Then, the flap of wings got abruptly louder, and the dragon landed on the ramp in front of them, shaking the stone under their feet. It roared right at them, close enough for them to smell its breath.
"We run now, yes?" Zevran laughed weakly.
"No," Fin said. The elf surged forward, sliding down the ramp, right underneath the dragon. It roared, snapping at him as he dove past. Alistair didn't let it follow, though.
Alistair charged, screaming something along the lines of "By Andraste, we're going to die!" He bashed the dragon in the nose, and it spun its attention to him.
Yep. Definitely going to die.
Its jaws were massive, and probably strong enough to cut right through Alistair's armor. It coiled its neck back, and he ran to the side, slashing its neck with his sword. When the head lunged forward to snap at him, it missed his torso by inches.
The others were doing their best to hurt the thing, but without much success. Arrows whizzed through the air, and magic bolts pounded into the dragon's hide, but the attacks didn't seem to be making any sort of impact. He could see Zevran and Finian darting around behind the creature, but they kept having to dodge its sweeping tail and flapping wings.
The dragon reared its head back again, this time to give Alistair a taste of its fire, and Alistair could only raise his shield and hold his ground as flames poured over him. To his surprise, it was hot, but not burning. Magic, he realized, noting a defensive magical shield blocking him from the worst of the blast. He tossed a smile back at Wynne, who motioned for him to turn around and pay attention, like a schoolteacher.
The dragon bit at him, and he raised his shield, catching the dragon's jaws on the steel. Maker, its head was big enough to fit a full shield standing up in its mouth. It chewed at the shield, and Alistair could feel it creaking and warping under the force, but the metal held strong. He shoved inward, making the dragon choke. The dragon growled and, gripping his shield, yanked it backward. Alistair stumbled forward, off balance.
The dragon picked him up off he ground by his shield, straining the warrior's shield arm something awful, but then dropped him before he was too far in the air. It shrieked, flapping its wings and blasting fire in the direction of Wynne and the archers.
Alistair picked himself up, wondering what had happened. A moment later, he spotted it: an arrow in the muscle of its right wing. That had to hurt.
The dragon leapt into the air, wheeling above them with a roar. Its injured wing flapped twice as hard as the other, apparently having trouble finding strength. Meila and Leliana stepped out to shoot at the beast while Wynne washed everyone in a quick burst of healing magic. The ache in Alistair's shoulder faded.
The dragon swooped down and over the ramp, blasting fire as it did, before lifting off for another circle of the valley. Wynne's shielding magic kept the damage minimal, at least. When the dragon rounded close again, Alistair noted another arrow in its wing.
The dragon swooped in and hovered off the side of the ramp, just out of sword range. It beat its wings powerfully, sending a pounding series of gusts over them, knocking the lighter members of their party (in other words, everyone but Alistair) off their feet.
Alistair stood against the wind, glaring up at the dragon. It stopped gusting with its wings and craned its head forward to snap at him. He bashed its nose with his shield, and it wavered in the air, dipping briefly in its hover, then fluttered back.
"Blast it! We need to bring it down!" Alistair growled.
It roared and wheeled to swoop away again. Then, there was a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Fin leapt from the ramp to the creature's thigh, his daggers digging into its scales.
"FINIAN!" The assassin's scream jarred something in Alistair as Zevran sprinted to the edge of the ramp, but the dragon was already swooping away, determined elven Warden now in tow. "Loco maldito!" The Antivan spun on the rest of them. "Take that dragon down, now!"
For a moment, Alistair froze, everything he'd thought about the assassin roughly shoved aside. Then he shook his head to clear it. "Ladies, take out the wings. Me and the Crow are going to give her a nice greeting when she comes down."
The archers nodded, and Zevran and Alistair took off down the ramp. The dragon roared overhead, its shadow wheeling unsteadily around the cavern. At one point, it could be heard slamming into a wall, and Zevran's head snapped up in concern.
"Keep moving," Alistair snapped, and the elf gritted his teeth and followed.
They set up in the middle of the valley, finally looking up to see the dragon. Finian had somehow managed to climb up onto the thing's back, and was tucked safely behind its shoulderblades, twin daggers digging hard in the base of the wings. Between that and the steady volley of arrows punching through the membrane, the dragon careened into another wall. Alistair held his breath, but Finian held on after the impact.
Alistair put his fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp, high pitched whistle, and the dragon roared in response. "Come down and get the tasty morsels, you great unwieldy beast!" Zevran clanged his dagger and sword together in agreement.
The dragon was losing altitude, now. It lurched sideways across the valley, roaring as it crashed into an old stone arch. The structure tumbled, and the monster fell with it, crashing to the ground in a rain of stone that had Alistair silently praying that the fragile little elf riding the dragon was all right.
Zevran and Alistair sprinted toward the fallen beast as it rolled over back onto its stomach. There was no elf on its back, much to Alistair's horror. It flapped lopsidedly, only getting a couple feet off the ground before crashing on its side again.
The dragon roared, turning ponderously toward Alistair and Zevran. Alistair spotted the slender form dangling under its right wing, clinging to the limb even while his legs hung loose. Still alive. That was something.
Alistair stepped up to the dragon, banging his shield with his sword to draw its attention. He felt Wynne's protective wards wrap around him a moment before the dragon's fire washed over him.
A grounded dragon proved to be an angry dragon. It rolled back to its feet and lunged at him, pinning him under one huge talon. He sprawled, pinned and helpless, and very aware of the fact that its teeth could probably saw his bones in half.
The beast twitched, whirling its head around to growl at the assassin harrying its rear. The smirk on the Antivan's face was taking entirely too much pleasure in stabbing a dragon in the hindquarters. The dragon kicked out, but the wily elf dodged around it.
Alistair struggled against the monster's talons, but he remained pinned. He was thus afforded a spectacular view as Finian swung himself up to the dragon's neck and started shimmying his way up the serpentine appendage.
The dragon noticed, though. It gave off trying to bat Zevran away in order to shake its head, trying to dislodge the climbing elf. Finian yelped, clinging to its spines with arms and legs alike.
Alistair managed to get his sword arm free. Even better… his sword was still in it! He brought the sword up and stabbed it right into the monster's wrist, and the beast reared back with a shriek. Alistair scrambled away, ducking a string of arrows aimed at the creature's heart.
Once out of immediate stomping distance, Alistair turned and raised his shield, goggling as he had to look up and up and up. Up on its hind legs, Alistair wondered how anyone had ever slain one of these gigantic things, much less hunted them to near extinction.
The dragon roared, still strong and dangerous, not seeming to mind the scattered arrow shafts and cuts around its body at all. It swung its head high, despite the elf now clinging to the back of its skull.
Alistair dove in, slashing at its knee and moving to the side in time to avoid being crushed. The dragon roared again, this time about two feet from Alistair's face, and he could feel the heat of another blast of fire. Wynne's magic or not, his skin was starting to feel like he'd sat out in the sun too long.
Finian ended it before Alistair became dessert. Gripping the back of the monster's head with his knees, the elf lunged forward and stabbed his daggers simultaneously into both eyes.
The dragon threw its head back and shrieked, spasming violently as Fin twisted the blades. Zevran and Alistair had to scurry back, just to keep from being crushed by the thrashing beast. It released a puff of fire from its snout that sailed right over Fin, though somehow the elf clung on.
It rolled over twice in its throes, running into another ruined arch. The structure held for a moment, until the dragon's sweeping tail knocked out a column, and the structure tumbled down on top of both dragon and elf, throwing dust up in a white cloud. Then, stillness.
"No no no no…" Zevran chanted, dropping his weapons and sprinting for the rubble. Alistair was at his heels, trying to sheathe his sword on the run.
The dragon's snout was visible near one edge of the pile, the rest of its head crushed behind a particularly large piece of stone. The assassin threw himself into the mess, trying to push the stone away, but it was too large. Alistair joined him, and the stone piece budged. A bit. Only when the Dalish elf and her freakish strength joined them were they able to roll it away.
Alistair stepped back and panted to catch his breath, barely catching Meila's cry of "Lethallin!" He looked, fearing he'd see little bits of elf smeared all around the scene. Nothing so dramatic, though the form curled in a hollow made by the dragon's skull meeting its throat did not seem to be moving much. Meila shoved the dragon's neck further out of the way, while Zevran carefully drew Finian out and away from the dragon.
Finian was still and pale, and Alistair shivered, remembering that he'd been in a similar state after Ostagar. And now, no Witch of the Wilds was on hand to perform a convenient miracle. His skin was too severely burned to even see what sort of trouble he was in.
"Wynne!"
"I am coming, Alistair! Patience!" Wynne huffed up to meet them, leaning heavily on Leliana. She looked exhausted and had just run across a rather wide valley, so Alistair obligingly shut up.
Zevran knelt with Fin's head in his lap, whispering to him. "You are not allowed to die, you crazy bastard. I need to kill you myself for even thinking about doing that, and that means you need to live long enough for me to get properly prepared. And you know us Crows… it takes us time to prepare. That means you need to hold on and not die. Do you hear me? You are not allowed to die!" There was a tremor in Zevran's voice, and Alistair could only watch as Wynne knelt down and placed a brief, comforting hand on the Crow's shoulder before getting to work on Fin.
He saw, now, that he'd been wrong about the assassin. Ex-assassin, technically. Whatever was going on there, it wasn't any trick on Zevran's part.
Wynne's hands glowed blue as she ran them over the elf. Meila stood over them, watching the hands as avidly as Zev was. How was it she described Fin… like kin? Alistair felt a bit of that himself. They were fellow Grey Wardens, the three of them. That was a bond that nothing could break, and seeing one of his fellow Wardens circling death wrenched his gut something awful.
Leliana put a hand on his arm. "He'll be all right," she whispered. "He is stronger than he looks, no?"
Alistair nodded, but was nonetheless relieved when Fin stirred. Wynne sat back with a tired sigh, and Meila was quick to swoop in with a potion for the woman. Meanwhile, Zevran coaxed Fin back into the world of the waking with gentle words, and Fin's eyes cracked open.
Despite everything, Finian grinned weakly and whispered, "So how badass was that, on a scale of one to ten?" His voice was wheezy and cracked, but Zevran laughed anyway.
Alistair chuckled a bit himself, though it was mostly relief. "I'd give it a six."
"What? Alistair, I rode a dragon. That's at least an eight." Zevran helped him sit up; he seemed to be regaining some strength, though he was still way too pale, and his voice remained scratchy.
"Yeah, but you forgot the part where you were supposed to jump off before it crushed you with its death throes."
"Do not listen to him, my Warden," Zevran said smoothly, all evidence of his earlier break-down gone behind his customary smile. "He is an idiot."
"Hey!"
"Rest assured it was all quite badass. A nine, at least." Zevran paused. "Now, if you are feeling better, kindly remain still so that I may kill you for even attempting something so insanely dangerous."
Fin wriggled his brows, and Alistair rolled his eyes. This was where the pair started getting all… flirty. "Worried about me, Zev?" Then, he coughed.
"I have invested a great deal of time in keeping you alive, my Warden. I hate to see my hard work go up in a blast of dragon fire."
The two continued speaking, but Alistair turned his attention to where the women stood. They watched the elves too, but turned away at the same time Alistair did.
"We will need to make camp here," Meila announced
"Aw, but we are so close!" Leliana said, peering at the doorway at the far end of the valley.
"This relic has waited for a thousand years, satusulahn. It can wait one more day."
As worried as Alistair was for Eamon, he only had to take one look at Wynne and Fin to agree. Wynne was barely keeping her feet, and Finian was still far too pale. Even if they tried to continue, they wouldn't get very far before one of them collapsed.
"I'm all for a break," Alistair said. "Between dragon babies and evil blood cults, I think we could all use some time to get cleaned up before meeting this immortal guardian of the holiest relic in Thedas. Or maybe that's just me."
Wynne smiled. "Why Alistair, I do believe that is one of the best ideas I have heard all day. Come, let us move away from this corpse before the scavengers arrive."
At that, the Wardens picked up Finian—using Alistair's cloak to sling him between himself and Meila—and headed off to one edge of the valley. They set up camp there, in the shadow of Andraste's sanctum.
All in all, it wasn't an altogether bad place to be.