Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
A/N: I'm not a hundred percent yet, but I am better and getting more so. Historical note for those who cry foul at the end of this chapter: the concept of the atomic bomb predates knowledge of the existence of the atom by about two thousand years or so. Theoretical thinkers of the ancient Persian empire postulated that the energy released by splitting the smallest particle of matter could destroy a city the size of Baghdad. So even though Loghain doesn't know an atom from Adam, he could still come up with the theory.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Flemeth
Loghain almost choked on it, but he set himself to speak as calmly and without offense as was possible.
"Get out of that chair," was the best he could manage.
Flemeth cackled her harsh, witchy laugh. She was not the stooped, wizened old woman he'd met previously; though her hair was still white and her face was still lined, she was instead a powerful figure clad in exotic dragon leather and steel armor, and in the dim light it was difficult for him to tell whether he was looking at a rather fanciful hairstyle or if she actually had enormous white horns swooping back from her brow. "Attempting the diplomatic approach, are we?" she jeered. "You're not very good at it. Still, I appreciate the effort. You seem to have learned something about good manners since first we met."
She leaned forward on the edge of the throne and peered at him with interest and curiosity in her yellow bird-of-prey eyes. "So tell me, diplomatically, what will happen if I don't get out of this chair?"
Loghain took a deep breath, held it a long time, and let it out very slowly. "If you don't, then I will consider this audience concluded. We have no diplomatic business to discuss."
She cackled again. "Not bad. You may be getting the hang of it, little by little. It will serve for my purposes, in any event. I accede to your request." She stood and stepped slowly down from the dais. "I have come, in the spirit of diplomacy, to give you a warning."
As she approached him, Loghain had to fight the urge to step back. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and fixed his usual stern scowl on his face. "Not to take vengeance?"
"For what?"
"For killing you."
She laughed again. The sound sent a shiver down his spine every time he heard it. "Clearly you failed, and thus revenge is hardly necessary. Particularly since it was all to my plan in the first place."
"I figured as much. I suppose then that your plan, whatever it was, has come to fruition?"
"Let us say that most of the pieces are in place. When you've lived as long as I have, you are very patient about such things."
"I see. And does your business here tonight have any relation to this plan of yours?"
"When you watch the world long enough, you eventually realize that everything relates at least indirectly to everything else. It's quite fascinating…assuming you're easily amused."
"You didn't answer the question."
"I did, actually, although I know you like things spoken plainly and spelled out clear. In the interests of saving time I'll make an effort. No, there is no real relation between my personal business and the business I have with you here tonight."
"Then what is this warning?"
She smiled; a thin, tight smile that did not extend past her lips in the slightest. "Your nation is terrified of enemies massing in the west, and it is true that a threat exists in that direction, but there is a more immediate danger in the south."
Loghain sighed and wondered exactly when dire threats became so commonplace that he could not begin to work up a moment's concern over them. "So what is it this time? Are the Chasind raising an army against us?"
Flemeth's smile widened fractionally. "You will wish that they were. Your soldiers aren't equipped to deal with what is coming, not even with the inventions you've been working out with that lunatic dwarf."
"So what is coming, then?"
"He is coming," Flemeth said.
"He? Is this someone I should know personally?"
"You will. Tell me, when you gazed upon the Archdemon for the first time, did you take a moment to wonder whether there might be something greater and more terrible on this earth than she?"
"A moment was a leisure I didn't have," Loghain said.
"And I suppose I don't have to inquire as to whether your rudimentary imagination might have posed you the question in the days since?"
Loghain shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. Flemeth sighed and shook her head.
"It is astonishing to me how very curious and inventive you can be and yet at times it seems you have no capacity for philosophical thought whatsoever," she said after a moment's pause. "Had you stopped to ask yourself that very simple question, the answer would be: only one thing; an Archdemon's father."
"Its father? Aren't dragon males rather…small, comparatively? I've killed quite a few of them."
"Ordinary drakes, yes. But this isn't an ordinary drake. If you've ever wondered what makes an Old God different from any other dragon, the answer is simply: its sire."
"And this is what's coming, I take it? What makes this particular dragon so much different from its kin?"
"If you're asking how it came to be different, I cannot say for I do not know. I know only that it is ancient beyond comprehension; it has been asleep since before Arlathan fell to ruin. If instead, as I quite suspect, you're asking the more practical-minded question, in what ways does this creature differ from its kin? The answer is: in virtually all ways. All ordinary dragons trace their ancestry to Him, and no dragon, not even an Old God, could ever be so perfect in form or function. He is the epitome of terror."
"He's the first, eh? Then with what, pray tell, did 'He' sire the Old Gods?"
Flemeth's thin smile became a death's-head grin. "I did not say there was not an Archdemon mother, but rest assured, she is not nearly so dreadful a foe, and for the time being, not your enemy. Indeed, there's a chance that, if you succeed in ridding her of the sire, she will choose to ally herself with you - though I will say here and now, the chance is slim. Your concerns are not hers."
"And you say that the Ferelden army won't be enough to stop this creature."
"They can't even dent His scales."
"And yet I, a mere mortal man, am expected to slay this thing?"
"You'll think of something. That's what you do, after all."
"You're powerful and all-knowing: why can't you kill it?"
"It could be that I am unable. It may merely be than I am disinclined. All you need to know is that I want Him dead, and it would amuse me and benefit you if you were the one to kill Him."
"In what way would it 'benefit me?'" Loghain asked.
"Well, for starters, if He is dead, then He won't make a snack of your nation's populace," Flemeth said, with a harsh laugh. "For another, the only reason He has awakened is to sire another Old God-caliber offspring, which would of course become another Archdemon in due time. As long as He lives, the Blights will never end. There is another benefit, but consider it a surprise."
"Tell me more about this…creature," Loghain said. "What can I expect to find when I face it?"
"Most likely, death," Flemeth said, "though Fate may have something else in store for you. His scales are harder than your hardest steel, and impervious to magic. Even the inside of his mouth is armored, and his eyes are covered over with scales, too."
"He is blind, then?"
"Oh, no, indeed not. The scales covering His eyes are no less protective than the ones on the rest of His body, but they are clear. He can see just fine."
"Ah. Wonderful. Well, then, how about his nostrils? Surely they aren't covered over in scales?"
"Sorry, you'll not find a weak spot there. The insides are lined in hard scales; no archer could fire and hit anything vital."
"So how the hell do I kill it? Tell my men to aim for its asshole?"
"You'll think of something," she repeated. "You have time, after all. You may go about your life as you've planned for a time yet: celebrate Satinalia with the family, marry your woman, even put her with child. But don't linger long over the honeymoon. By first thaw, you'll want to mobilize. That's when He'll run out of Chasind to eat." She cackled.
She began to sashay toward the door, but paused on her way out. "A word of advice before I leave you, as a gesture of goodwill. Some of your plans are quite good ones, and some are absolutely ingenious…but that one you have, the one that's crazy enough for Dworkin to think is mad? That one I would suggest you discard, permanently. No peace can come of a weapon like that, for the world or its inventor."
"It's just theoretical," Loghain said uncomfortably. "It couldn't possibly ever be done."
"It could. In other worlds, it has. Thedas doesn't possess the necessary scientific acumen or the technology to do it, but if anyone could overcome an obstacle like that, it's you. I'm just saying don't."
"I'll…consider it."
"Good. There are grave consequences to playing with that kind of power. Eventually someone will let the nuclear cat out of the atomic bag, but it doesn't have to be you, and it doesn't have to be now."
"The what out of the where?" Loghain asked, befuddled. Flemeth smiled her narrow smile.
"Goodbye, Loghain. Perhaps we will not meet again. Perhaps we may. Fate is funny about those kind of things."