Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 55: Death in the Afternoon
Kolgrim was indeed waiting, and he was very, very angry. Bronwyn saw no point in listening to his insufferable ranting, and she owed him no explanations, anyway.
The moment his black-bearded mouth opened to denounce them, Bronwyn shouted, "Now!" and charged.
Tara threw her all into her freezing and paralysis spells, and Leliana began loosing arrows with incredible speed and precision. The two Reaver henchmen at Kolgrim's side were down, thrashing and screaming, before Bronwyn, Cullen, and Zevran could cross blades with them. Scout was on one of them already, ripping at his face.
More rushed up to support their leader, and a rat-faced mage cast spells from behind. Bronwyn shuddered as a bolt of lightning crackled down her arm, almost making her lose her sword. Kolgrim was quickly shaking off Tara's spells, and Bronwyn had to duck to avoid the first whistling blow of his huge axe. Cullen slammed him from the side with the pommel of Yusaris, staggering the big man. Zevran peeled off to engage the other dragon cultists.
Bronwyn darted at Kolgrim and swung up, hand on his shoulder for leverage. She came down, slashing the side of his neck open. Blood bloomed over his chest. The big man roared and lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. Eyes filled with madness, immeasurably strong, he threw himself on her like a beast. Cullen wrenched at Kolgrim's axe handle and went down himself, wrestling for the weapon. The axe dropped to the ground, missing Bronwyn's face by inches.
She flinched, hissing in pain as Kolgrim's weight pressed down her. She tried to roll away, but his huge hands were groping for her throat. The big white teeth were bared in a rictus of bloodlust: even the whites of the man's eyes were suffused with blood. More blood, sticky and copper-smelling, dripped onto Bronwyn's face, and slickened her gauntlets as she tried to pry the irresistible, questing hands away. Above her, Cullen slammed the hilt of his sword into Kolgrim's head, again and again. Scout barked and growled, leaping at Kolgrim, teeth buried in his shoulder, worrying at him.
The meaty thumbs had slipped under her armor. Bronwyn pressed her chin to her chest to thwart them. Slowly, she was choking, choking: bright lights popped behind her eyes. A sudden blast of bitter cold took her breath away entirely.
It stopped Kolgrim for the moment, but did not kill him. Bronwyn, bespelled frozen, knew everything that was happening to her, though she was unable to move. Kolgrim was frozen to her, in a bizarre parody of love. Her friends hauled at the leader of the Disciples, struggling to budge him. Bronwyn felt the spell dissipating, and tried to slide out from under, but the massive man was simply too heavy. Cullen crouched low, and managed to lift Kolgrim's left side.
It was all she needed. Bronwyn groped in the man's belt for his dagger, and when he grabbed at her throat again, she whipped her right arm out and stabbed him in the ear. He jerked back enough that Zevran could get his forearm around the bull-like neck. The moment it was exposed. Bronwyn stabbed again into the pulsing throat. Blood exploded into her face, blinding her . Kolgrim screamed, a horrible wet bellow.
"Get him off me!" Bronwyn sputtered, her mouth full of the man's blood. Grunts and shouts answered her, as the bulk was dragged away. She wiped frantically at her stinging eyes, until Leliana ran up with her canteen and splashed water into them.
"It's over," Cullen said. Bronwyn blinked, and looked about her. Bodies littered the landscape, including a drake that Bronwyn had been too occupied to notice.
"Your throat's a mess," Tara told her. "Here, Leliana! I can't tell how bad it is with all that blood. Wash her off a bit more."
"'M'all right," Bronwyn croaked, and then spat out a mouthful of blood. "Just let me breathe." A healing spell made that a lot easier. Her heart was pounding as if she had a high fever.. She felt curiously light-headed...oddly invigorated. There was no time to puzzle over it. Zevran had a burn from the drake, and Cullen a bloody lip. It was harder to tell how hurt Tara and Leliana were: they were black with soot.
She found her own canteen and took a long, long drink. She would have some pretty impressive bruises, Tara's useful spells notwithstanding.
A deep, rasping groan startled her. Kolgrim was moving, fingers inching toward her, muscles knotting and flexing as he picked himself up from the ground. Blood bubbled from the ruined neck, but he was unbelievably up and rushing them again, mouth open in a thick, wordless howl. Without his axe, he had only his Reaver strength, but that was still formidable.
"Andraste's nightgown!" Bronwyn rasped. "Just die already!"
Leliana nimbly avoided the rush and plunged her daggers into his back. Kolgrim, crazed eyes blind to everything but Bronwyn, did not appear to feel them. Scout leaped on him, powerful jaws clamping onto his left arm. The Reaver dragged the dog along, not even bothering to give him a kick. Tara's spells slowed him only a little.
But he was not immune to swords. Bronwyn pulled back and Zevran dropped to the ground as Cullen swung Yusaris down in a mighty blow, biting into Kolgrim's collar bone. Zevran sliced through the back of the man's boots, hamstringing his right leg and damaging the other. Kolgrim staggered, and toppled to the ground. Bronwyn thrust her sword up through the red, open mouth.
Tara remembered she had a sword, too. There was no time to summon up her arcane warrior skills, but she drew Spellweaver, and rather tentatively stabbed Kolgrim in his bloody throat. A shocking thrill ran up the grateful, responsive blade all the way to Tara's hand.
"Whoa!" she gasped. "That's...interesting."
Everyone else was too busy to see the look on her face. Bronwyn was twisting her blade, stabbing into the brain. Incredibly, Kolgrim was still alive, jerking spasmodically.
"Stand back!" Cullen roared. He dropped Yusaris, and grabbed up Kolgrim's huge axe. "I'm going to cut his bloody head off. That should make an impression on him!"
Zevran yanked Tara away.
"Cullen!" She giggled madly. "You said 'bloody!'"
Bronwyn laughed, too, and withdrew her sword with a bit of effort.
"He's all yours! Scout! Drop it! Heel!"
She grabbed the dog's collar and they stood aside. Kolgrim raised his head from the ground just as the axe swung down. Blood fountained once, twice...three times, and the spurts grew weaker, dying away into a pool spreading out from the body. The head rolled away, an unrecognizable ball of blood and dust.
"Well done!" Zevran nodded gravely. "That will indeed teach him a lesson!"
"Good axe," Cullen muttered. "Maybe I'll keep it." Nonetheless, he staggered back from the body and found Yusaris. wiping the blade conscientiously on the clothing of one of the dead Reavers.
Bronwyn stared down at the mutilated corpse, and automatically cleaned and sheathed her own sword with a emphatic clank of silverite. "Nobody should be that hard to kill..."
"Dragon blood," Tara said instantly, feeling like the head of the class back at the Circle. "He said it made them strong, just like in that book. I bet he's been drinking it for years!" She gathered her magic and cast another general healing spell on all of them.
Dragon blood. Still weary and a bit confused, Bronwyn laid a hand on her breastplate, thinking of the gold vial of blood the man had given her, put aside in her clothes. His words came to her, delivered in a ghost of that awful bellow.
"Blood carries power, strength, knowledge..."
Yes. It was still there, sealed for preservation. Perhaps someday...
"Blood magic!" Cullen burst out, scattering her thoughts. "Just another form of it! Disgusting."
Tara made a face and carefully wiped Spellweaver too, copying Cullen, trying not to cut off her thumb.
"Perhaps," Zevran suggested, his weapons already clean and sheathed, "we should move on soon, yes?"
"Yes," Bronwyn agreed. They had not been very quiet, though Kolgrim had not had a chance to sound his horn. They had to get back through the Temple and to the defiled chantry: back to their horses and back down the path and away from this place with their precious Ashes.
Kolgrim's horn was still slung over the man's shoulder. It was quite a trophy. She tugged it free and took another look at it. The gold on it was pure and wonderfully fashioned, the dragon horn polished and gleaming, a rich opalescent lavender. The belt itself was studded with gold and jewels and spotted with blood. She wiped the blood away, and said, "You struck the final blow, Cullen. Do you want this?"
"Certainly not!" Cullen sheathed Yusaris. "I might keep the axe, though it's quite heavy. I want no part of dragons!"
"Well, for that matter," Zevran said pragmatically, rifling through the bodies, "neither do I. Of live dragons, certainly."
"Fine." Bronwyn ran her fingertips lightly over the horn, entranced by the play of light deep within it. Flashes of green and blue, gold and purple luminesced as she turned it slowly in her hands. Once, long ago, in her other life at Castle Highever, she had had a hunting horn of her own. It had been nothing as splendid as this. "I'll keep it," she said, slinging it across her own shoulders. "One day I might need to rally the Wardens."
"Well, don't sound it now!" urged Leliana, slipping coins into her pouch. "Oh! What a pretty chain! I think—"
"Zevran's right," Tara interrupted her, very softly. "We need to go now."
Something in her tone caught Bronwyn's attention. She glanced at Tara, whose eyes were turned up, looking into the distance. Scout growled, backing slowly away.
"Go now," Tara whispered.
The dragon had evidently been watching them for some time.
Its massive head hung over the bluff. Eyes like vast, burning jewels stared into Bronwyn's, studying her as a scholar might study a bug— if he had absolutely nothing more interesting to do.
There was certainly an intelligence in those eyes, but it was an intelligence alien to human nature. It was ancient, arrogant, and cruel. It was an intelligence that saw no profit in diplomacy or compromise. This was not a being who would bother ask her riddles. It understood power, and put no limits on its own.
She thought all this in an instant, frozen with horror. Did the dragon care that they had slain its worshipers? Did it know they were strangers? They had, after all, been properly introduced. Or did all humans look alike to it? Kolgrim had not sounded the horn to summon it. Would it bother with them?
There was almost no cover to be had. About them was a flat landscape between the mountains, dotted with rocks and the odd heap of dragon dung. The entrance to the shrine was under the dragon's own bluffs. The arched door seemed a thousand miles away. No use to make the attempt. Behind them beckoned the caverns. The path was marked with broken pillars, rising out of the earth like rotten teeth. Beyond those, the arches and low side walls of the little bridge would not shield them long. To her right was the ruined circular colonnade. It was roofless, and offered little protection, either. Besides, once there, they might well be trapped.
The caverns, then. They were not far. How fast could a dragon fly? So far the creature had not moved, and was merely content to watch them. Uneasily, Bronwyn recalled something else that Kolgrim had said:
"I warn you: kill us, and you will face Her. She will smell our blood upon you and Her wrath will be great."
She licked her lips, afraid to break eye contact with the dragon. Hoarsely, she whispered, "Everyone start walking toward the caverns. Now. Walk like you belong here. The thing is still lounging up on the heights. Scout, that means you, too. Just trot along back the way we came. Go." No one was moving. "Go!"
Bronwyn did not turn, but walked backwards, her eyes still on the dragon. Her companions walked slowly and stiffly away, as if their legs had grown unaccountably heavy.
Maker, what to do? What to do? What to do? They had no ballistae, no ranks of archers, none of Master Wade's fine new dragon-hunting spears. They had their swords and daggers. Leliana had a bow and some heavy arrows. They had poisons. They had a few bombs.
They had Tara.
Leliana whispered. "If it flies after us, we should run."
"We don't know how fast it is," Cullen ground out. "We might have to stand and fight."
"All right," Bronwyn said. "If we can't make it to the caverns, then Cullen's right. We'll have to fight. We mustn't bunch up. It just gives the thing a single target. Leliana, poison your heaviest arrows with the nastiest stuff you've got. Everybody else: poison your weapons. Get your bombs ready."
Zevran was already slicking his sword down with a nasty greenish- brown paste. "It would be useless to throw bombs at the dragon's feet. Remember Flemeth? They are well armored. Its eyes are better. If it opens it mouth, then there. Perhaps its nostrils. They are big."
"Its brain is vulnerable, too; just behind the skull," Bronwyn added. "If someone can get there." She stumbled a little, still watching the motionless dragon. No, not motionless. The tail was waving idly, back and forth. It reminded her horribly of a cat waiting to pounce.
"And we can try to damage the wings," Leliana whispered. "Maybe we can immobilize it, or even make it fall."
Bronwyn grunted agreement. She rubbed poison on her sword with a rag, as if she were only cleaning the blade. Her hand shook a little. Some of the poison in the flask spilled, hissing on the cold stones. "But don't bother with fire bombs. It's well armored against that."
"Bronwyn?" Tara asked urgently, trying to look over her shoulder. "Is it moving?"
Abruptly, the wind shifted. The breeze from the south stilled, and warmer air blew in from the east, to where the dragon lay, sprawled in the sun. Bronwyn, her back to the wind, did not feel it at first, but she could see it ruffle the ends of Leliana's hair...could see the bard's face tense in fear...
Up on the bluff, the dragon's nostrils twitched. Vast muscles flexed, and the bulk shifted quickly, ominously...
"Run!" Bronwyn shouted. She turned and ran herself, sprinting for the black hole of the caverns. Behind her, the light changed; the air was shattered by the first mighty downstroke of the dragon's wings. Bronwyn's boots pounded the stones underfoot in what seemed like baby steps. And then a shadow fell over them, and was past, and the dragon dropped...
...Squarely in front of the the bridge to the caverns. Bronwyn could swear it was smirking. It inhaled langorously through its nostrils, in no hurry whatever.
"Scatter!" Brownyn shouted. Scout, of course, stayed right at her side, and her heart bled for him. How could any dog, however brave, challenge a dragon?
Tara ran left and forced herself to concentrate like never before. She summoned every memory, every bit of power in herself and in the sword Spellweaver, and pushed.
The dragon froze. Literally. In the space of one breath and another, it glittered with a light frost. Tara swayed and staggered, and then groped for a vial of lyrium.
It gave the rest of them a chance to attack. The wings were extended up and behind, far beyond their reach, but Leliana shot an arrow into one open, staring eye. The swordswielders dashed forward, forcing sharp points in between the interlocking scales, breaking the skin. Zevran hissed with effort, prying scales apart, and smashed a vial of poison into the exposed flesh.
Cullen stabbed all the way to Yusaris' hilt, seeking the monster's heart. Where was a dragon's heart, anyway? Pulling it out was yet another trial. He put his boot up on the dragon to brace himself, pushing against it to free his blade.
Bronwyn tried to climb up on the creature, but the frost-slick scales offered her boots no purchase. She slid back to the ground, swearing in frustration.
And then the dragon shook off the spell and all its attackers at once. The furious tail lashed at them, scattering stones like trebuchet shot. The companions scrambled away from the stamping, taloned feet. The dragon choked and then roared, interrupted in the middle of inhaling before engaging its second stomach. The serpentine neck twisted here and there, as the dragon searched for the annoyances that had dared to set blade to its flesh.
Yusaris was still stuck in the dragon's breast, infuriating the creature. Dagger-like teeth snapped futilely at the hilt, seeking to withdraw the splinter of pain. The dragon bit into its own flesh, raging, doing itself more harm than the sword had. Its right eye was bleeding, blinded.
Disarmed, Cullen ran in front of the creature, shouting to distract it. Leliana cursed as her arrows bounced off dragon scale.
Tara, crouched low to the ground, summoned up power for another spell. She felt Spellweaver twitch in her hands, eager for battle. She cast again, sucking life from the dragon. Only a fraction of the vast whole, but it filled her with renewed strength.
Attack and counterattack. Again and again, they closed in on the dragon:wounding it, irritating it; and the dragon fought back with talon and fang and the power of its deadly tail. A section of the bridge and its soaring arches was reduced to rubble, partially blocking the way to the caverns. Scout was knocked flying. He fell with a meaty thud into a little hollow beside the bridge. Tara hastily shot a healing spell his way, but the dog did not move. Bronwyn looked at him despairingly, but he was on the other side of the dragon.
They were simply not doing enough damage. Bronwyn groped for a shock bomb. "Freeze the wings down!" she screamed over the unearthly clamor of a roaring dragon.
Tara succeeded, just long enough. While Leliana loosed arrow after arrow and Zevran stabbed at it, Cullen ducked under the long neck and fought to free Yusaris, twisting the blade, cursing.
The left wing was down just far enough. Bronwyn made a wild dash, nailed the shock bomb to the wing joint with her eating knife, and hammered at the hilt with her fist.
Tara thought she understood what Bronwyn was doing. "You want me to set it off with a fireball?"
"Not now!" Bronwyn shouted back. "When it's in the air. Preferably over something that will hurt to fall on. The higher the better!"
She rolled away just in time. The dragon shook off the spell and bellowed its fury, snapping at its puny attackers, raging at the pain in its eye, its breast, its wing. Cullen fell back, Yusaris clutched to his heart. Zevran gave a shout to distract it, but the dragon had chosen its victim. The monstrous head struck, and the jaws closed over Cullen with a hideous crunch.
Every one of them screamed in horror. Tara dropped Spellweaver, clutching at her ears. Cullen's muffled, dying cries seemed more than she could hear and live. One of his leg twitched, and the other hung by a bloody sinew. Then he went limp. The dragon tossed the dead man aside, exulting. There would be leisure for feasting laster. Now it was time to reveal its true power. It launched itself skyward: up, up, into the burning blue sky of a Frostback autumn. The surviving companions stood there, shocked stupid. Bronwyn ran to Cullen, but he was gone, beyond help, beyond even the Ashes' power to heal. His eyes were open, staring in pain and disbelief. Leliana ran up behind her, her face anguished.
"You bitch!" Tara screamed at the triumphant dragon. "Come back here! I'm going to kill you!"
"Come! Come!" Zevran urged her, pulling her away. He looked desperately at the piles of rubble blocking their way. "Perhaps we can..." But they could not, not fast enough.
Bronwyn blinked away tears, forcing down her horror. She clutched Zevran's arm, eyes on the dragon. It had reached the top of its climb and was falling away gracefully into a swift and smooth descent, bearing down on them.
"Stop!" she shouted to them all. "We're going to finish this. Stay here where the wall is crumbling. At the last minute, get down behind whichever side of the bridge looks good for giving cover from the flames. Tara, hit that left wing joint with whatever will set off the bomb. Make sure Andraste lands hard."
She waved her sword at the dragon. It glared at her, its mouth gaping to flame them. A stream of yellow hell issued forth, crackling and roaring up the bridge.
Tara shrieked out a word of power, loosing a burst of raw energy. Zevran grabbed her, diving off the bridge and wrapping his arms around her. Leliana screamed and followed. Bronwyn looked only long enough to see the curse slam into the dragon's wing.
The spell alone would have staggering the dragon, but the detonation of the shock bomb tore the wing joint apart. With an unholy screech, the dragon lost control, the damaged wing flapping uselessly. It came in too fast and too low. With a shriek, it crashed into a broken pillar, and then plowed into the bridge's stone foundations. Bronwyn threw herself down, dragonfire sweeping just above her.
Earth and stone flew to heaven. The ground shook, toppling pillars and arches. The companions, battered by debris, huddled under their precarious shelter. Rocks banged out harsh music on their helmets and backplates.
An awful silence followed. Bronwyn gritted her teeth against the pain of her bruises, and got her legs under her. She forced herself into a staggering run, and took a look at the dragon.
It was stunned, but still breathing. The pillar it had hit had caved in its chest. The ruined wing drooped awkwardly to the ground. Bronwyn guessed it might die in time. But why give it another moment?
"Come on!" she shouted. "It's down!"
The others ran after her: angry, vengeful, drawing their swords. They scrambled up on the heaving, comatose hulk and devoted themselves to the painstaking, complicated task of killing it. Leliana stabbed at its eyes. Zevran ran for Kolgrim's axe and devoted himself to chopping through the spine. Tara was about to stab it with Spellweaver, when Bronwyn pushed her away.
"No! Find Scout! See if you can do anything for him!"
Tara ran to where the dog had fallen. He was half-buried in dirt, but alive and whimpering. Tara choked back a sob. At least one of their number could be saved.
Bronwyn hacked away at the scales protecting the back of the dragon's skull. She slathered her sword with Adaia's vilest toxin, and then pressed the point downwards, carefully, lovingly; at the precise, necessary angle.
The dragon shifted under her feet. The tip of the tail twitched. A rumbling, agonized groan issued from deep in the bloody throat.
Bronwyn searched for something to say: something witty and contemptuous, something memorable. Useless. Misery and grief swelled painfully in her throat. She pressed down hard, and shortly thereafter all twitchings and groans stopped forever.
Scout was a battered, sore, and tired dog, but he was in good enough shape to be a presence at Cullen's funeral.
A Grey Warden's possessions were the property of his surviving brothers and sisters. That had been nearly the first lesson Bronwyn had learned about this secretive order. Cullen was laid out under the sky as decently as possible, his linen garments drenched crimson with his blood. His armor and other gear were removed to prepare for his burning. The armor was damaged beyond repair. Bronwyn did not like the idea of simply throwing it aside like trash, and decided to put it away behind the wall of the little round shrine. Someday they might be able to come back for it, and display it at the Wardens' compound. Cullen must not be forgotten.
Behind the little circular wall, she discovered the dragon's hoard. She sighed, too weary and sad to feel pleasure in it. She walked away without taking another look.
Her other companions sat in a circle, solemnly dividing Cullen's earthly goods. Tara scrubbed at her eyes, weeping silently in a kind of dull wretchedness, wishing she had been nicer to Cullen, who had always been nice to her—who, in fact, had been in love with her.
"We should take Yusaris with us," she said. "It's an important sword. Somebody can use it, I'd think."
"You're right," Bronwyn said, joining them. "It's certainly too big for me, but it's a splendid weapon. Maybe Carver..." Her voice trailed off. How was she going to tell the others that they had lost Cullen?
Coin and trinkets were shared out: the coin for practical use, the trinkets for keepsakes. They discovered that Cullen had an amulet exactly like the one they all wore.
"We'll never know, now, who he spoke to or what he saw," Leliana mourned. "May I keep his Templar medallion? It would mean so much to me. That one. Yes, thank you..."
"Noble one," Zevran said seriously to Bronwyn, a little pouch in his hand. "Here is his share of the Ashes. I think you should have it. We all know that you intend your own for the Queen. Why not take this for yourself?"
"I think that's a very good idea," Tara agreed thickly. "Cullen thought a lot of you, Bronwyn. He'd want you to have it."
"It's too bad there was no way to help him with it," Leliana said softly.
Bronwyn agreed entirely. She felt rather sick at profiting in any way from the death of a friend and comrade, but it would be idiocy to leave it behind—disrespectful, too. Cullen had given his life for it.
They stood back to set the body afire. Bronwyn steeled herself to watch the strong young body withering in flame; trying to take comfort in the words Leliana recited:
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written.
Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
Scout laid back his ears and howled. It was too much. Bronwyn began to cry in earnest.
"Let's take him home with us," Tara said, when the fire had utterly consumed their friend. "I've got this."
She held out a little silver trinket box. The ashes were cooled, and amongst them they packed the silver box with what it would hold. The breeze rose, and the rest began drifiting away. Tara put the silver box in her pack, and Zevran helped her heft it onto her shoulders.
Bronwyn knew she must tell them about the treasure, and said, "The dragon's hoard is over there in that ruined colonnade. We must get back to the village, but if we can be quick about it, you can have a look."
They went and looked, because not to do so would be stupid. It was quite the impressive hoard, but no one was in the mood, and they already had all they could manage. There was treasure enough back at the chantry, where they could pack it onto the horses.
Bronwyn closed the chests and said, "If we come back some day, we can claim this for the Wardens."
"And look... over there," Leliana said, pointing. Attached to the marble wall was a rusted chain and a set of manacles. "Perhaps that is where..."
Bronwyn winced, thinking of poor Genetivi. "Very likely."
They hardly spared a look at the other bodies: Kolgrim and his minions.
"Let them rot," Bronwyn said bitterly. "Let the ravens pick their bones. Crazy bastards."
There were the bones of the High Dragon and the drake to consider, too; but there was no way they could tan the hide or take the massive bones with them. Every part of a dragon was priceless these days, but the bones and horn, at least, would be going nowhere. Like the dragon's hoard, they could await other, happier pilgrims.
They marched away, and agreed to try the more distant door. This one, they soon discovered, led not through the caverns, but directly into the Temple itself. It had been hidden behind a large bookcase, and gave them a much quicker route out to the mountain path.
The great entry hall of the Temple surrounded them with glory, but they had no eyes for it. The Temple door was closed and locked in silence. It was growing dark by the time they limped back to the chantry, weary with battle and grief.
"Scout!" Bronwyn murmured. "Any strangers up here?"
The dog, still not fully recovered, sniffed about, favoring his right side. Sometime that day, the big trap at the top of the path had been set off, leaving a gaping hole in the ground and various debris scattered about. It had apparently scared off any more prying guests.
"Good boy! Go inside and lie down," Bronwyn ordered. She muttered to herself, " I'd better take care of the horses."
"I will help you, Noble One," Zevran volunteered. "There is no need for you to do everything yourself."
Tara spoke up. "I'll stand here where I can look down the hill, so I can watch for the crazies."
"And I shall make us something good for dinner," promised Leliana. "Even Brona ate when Andraste was taken."
Bronwyn only sighed deeply, wishing that Andraste had stirred herself a little when they were doing battle with the dragon. Zevran smiled at her, guessing her thoughts.
"But it was ever thus," he agreed. "Come, the horses need water."
The horses had made a hash of the neat little garden, and Bronwyn felt meanly glad of it. After seeing to Posy, she took extra time with Dax, Cullen's big Destrier/Traveler mix. She ran her hand over the smooth grey flank. Dax was too big for Tara to manage. Bronwyn would ride Dax herself and put Tara on Posy, whose smooth gait would be easy on the elf girl.
Zevran chirruped in a pleasant way to his horse, and remarked, "We should not leave the gold and silver in the chantry."
"Some of it should go into the Wardens' treasury, but I agree. We will talk it over after we eat. We cannot take everything of value, but we certainly won't leave the best for these lunatics."
They went into the chantry, promising to bring some dinner out to Tara. She waved them off, shivering a little in the chilly air, wanting to be alone in her thoughts. Involuntarily, her hand slipped down into her pocket and briefly touched the little pouch of Sacred Ashes, reminding her that this day had really happened. Cullen was gone, and with him a piece of her past.
The dinner was wonderful. The chantry's larder was full of good things, and Leliana had put together a delicious stew, rich with sausage, squash, onions, turnips, and greens. In the corner of the hearth, she had baked little round bannocks of barley. On the table she set out honey and cheese and butter, cider and perry: all served in the gold and silver sacramental bowls and cups of the chantry. Wax candles burned brightly in big gold candlesticks.
Leliana tilted her chin proudly. "It is no sin to use the regalia of this mockery of Andraste. 'They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods.' They do not deserve our consideration. This is Cullen's funeral feast. It is he I care about!" She added, "I washed all the dragon blood away first. It was so sticky!" She filled a silver bowl with water and another with the stew, and set them on the floor for Scout. The dog blinked an eye and rose lazily, shaking himself, and then began devouring his meal with gusto.
"It's wonderful, Leliana," Bronwyn said softly. "Zevran, go get Tara. I want her to see this. She can eat a bite, and then go back to standing watch." She changed her mind. "Or maybe we all need our sleep. Let's set another damned trap for the Havenites. If it explodes in the night, we'll know they're trying to visit!"
Tara came in and exclaimed over the beauty of it all. She pulled the silver trinket box from her pack and plumped it on the middle of the table. "So he can be with us," she said softly.
Silver chalices were filled. Bronwyn lifted her goblet in salute. "Hail the victorious dead!" She smiled into her cup ruefully, and did not add the rest of the saying.
Tara held her cup high. "Our brother, Cullen!"
"'Someday we will Join you.'" Leliana said, tears in her eyes.
"—but not today," murmured Zevran. "Not today."
Then they fell to.
Zevran and Tara shared the priest's bed; and after stripping it down and covering it with clean blankets, Bronwyn and Leliana shared the bed in the secret room. Another blanket was spread on the floorfor Scout; and the night fell dark and silent. Leliana cried a little in her sleep. Bronwyn curled up at her back, and held her.
The bard stirred. and laid a hand over Bronwyn's. She whispered, "Just think! Our Cullen is with the Maker now! He was cleansed and purified by the fire of Andraste, and he never sinned after, so he would have gone straight to the Maker's side. What a welcome he must have had! That is something at which we can rejoice, yes?"
"Yes," Bronwyn sighed. She could hope, but she was not sure she could believe. "But he did say the word 'bloody' when he was fighting."
"Andraste would not care about that," Leliana assured her sleepily. "I think she would laugh!"
Just before dawn, Bronwyn awakened and went to the front door, looking out warily at the pale glow in the east. She made up the fire, poured water and oats into a pot for porridge, and then while it simmered, began packing for their journey.
"Bronwyn?" Leliana asked, pale and sleepy in the doorway. "You are up already? Oh! The porridge must not boil!" She moved it away from the fire a little. "There are some common bowls we can use this morning. And I shall leave them dirty for the heretics, too!" she declared.
When the porridge looked close to being ready. Bronwyn knocked quietly on the door to the priest's quarters. Unintelligible noises answered, but she was fairly sure they were awake.
They all ate quickly and quietly, and then arranged the heavy packs. Anything they could not take, Bronwyn put in the secret room and locked away. They took enough. The Wardens would be eating off silver and gold in their quarters at Ostagar. Deliberately, they left the door to the ransacked chantry open.
It seemed a good idea to do a bit of scouting and see if the Havenites had rigged traps in their turn. Quietly, clinging to cover, the five of them walked down the hill and found a line tied across the path, at just the height of a rider's neck. Zevran sliced it deftly. "They might have more, lower down," he whispered.
Bronwyn nodded, rubbing her neck. It still hurt where Kolgrim had tried to strangle her. "Then we'll have to go down slowly. Anyway, I have something to say to them before we leave."
Scout, much recovered, nosed around, but sensed no lurking enemies. They went back to saddle and load the horses. Their packs were heavy with hard-won treasure. Bronwyn felt they deserved every silver cup and every piece of gold. She tied Yusaris to the saddle and slung Kolgrim's horn across her chest.
"Let's go."
At the base of the hill, Bronwyn sounded the horn. The powerful music woke the sunrise and the sleepers in their beds. The survivors of Haven crept outside to find their invaders mounted, armed, and ready for any threat. Some of the villagers ducked back inside instantly and peered out of their windows.
"Now listen to me!" Bronwyn shouted. "Your disciples are dead and your false god is slain!"
A moan of horror surged from the terrified people. Bronwyn shouted over it ruthlessly. "There won't be any more killing of travelers here! There won't be any more worshiping of dragons! I won't have it! If you try any more of your murdering ways, I'll come back. If you threaten me or anyone else, I'll kill every one of you, and all your friends, and I'll burn the village to the ground!"
She kicked Dax into motion, and went her way. Behind her, Leliana helpfully added, "You should beg forgiveness of the Maker and the true Andraste! Even yet she might forgive…"
"Oh, come on, Leliana," Tara called.
Scout sniffed out a leg trap on the lower hill, and Zevran quickly dismounted to disarm it. The lower cottages were shuttered tight. Bronwyn sneered, and put Haven behind her.
A group of terrified children, hiding in the woods from the monsters that had killed their parents, saw them last. When the hoofbeats faded, they made their way slowly back to the village, feeling that their world had come to an end.
It was a nasty journey back to Sulcher. They caught the stink of decay long before they saw the ravaged corpse of Tara's lovely Antivan barb. A black cloud of impudent crows rose up from their feast, cawing scornfully.
Tara sighed. "She was so beautiful..."
The bodies of the men who had attacked them were gone, presumably dragged off by beasts of prey. Bronwyn scowled briefly, and then dismissed the memory of them. They could rot too, for all she cared.
After an hour of thickening clouds, the rain came, cold and penetrating as needles. If there were bandits or wolves in the forest, they were even more demoralized by the rain than Bronwyn and her friends. The path was turning to mud, but they were anxious to move on. There was no decent place to camp here, and the rain and cold could make a lethal combination if they risked them overnight.
Instead, they pushed ahead, and at length were rewarded by the dull silver line in the distance that was Lake Calenhad. Sometime later, drenched to the skin, they descended the low hill below which Sulcher was spread out before them: grubby, impoverished, and unlovely.
But there was one beautiful sight. The Lady of the Lake was still docked there.
"Just got in the cargo of wool we was waitin' for," the skipper told Bronwyn. "We'll be headin' north in the mornin'."
"No," Bronwyn disagreed gently. "We are leaving for Redcliffe today." Before the man could protest, she thumped a thin ingot of gold, long as her hand, onto the ship's rail. The boatman stared at it, mouth open.
He licked his lips. "—to Redcliffe. Right you are."
"Is that gold?" asked his mate, eyes bugging in awe. "Never saw a piece of gold that big."
"We'll just be getting our horses aboard right now, shall we?" Bronwyn hinted.
The crude canvas shelters were erected on deck, and in a short time, the boat set out, sails heavy with rain. The horses were carefully unsaddled and unburdened, bestowed in the poor stalls the ship afforded, and curried thoroughly. The horses had been faithful friends and needed the very best care. At least there was hay in plenty, and no end of water.
Afterwards, the companions huddled dismally around a little fire on a tripod, wolfing down thin oat gruel. Cullen's death seemed more real than before, somehow: more a settled, inescapable fact. Scout crowded close between Bronwyn and Leliana, and the two women were grateful for the warmth.
The rain eased off at nightfall. The skies cleared, and Lake Calenhad reflected a dome of stars. Bronwyn lay out on deck, staring up at darkness, not looking forward to much of anything. She had lost a Warden and a friend. She had led him into a danger that had little to do with the immediate, pressing threat of darkspawn, and he had suffered a horrible death in consequence. Their friends at Ostagar would take it hard. And what of the Templars? Ought Bronwyn to write a letter to the Knight-Commander at Kinloch Hold? That courtesy would probably be appropriate. Cullen had once told her he was a child of the Chantry, and as such, he had no known family to contact. That was a sad thing to contemplate.
But he would be mourned. Bronwyn missed him keenly. Tara missed him too: and was quieter than usual, perhaps weighed upon by grief mixed with guilt at being free of an unwanted suitor. Carver and Alistair had liked Cullen very much, and Brosca had been mad for him. And of late, it had crossed her mind that Leliana might have begun to fancy him. Was she imagining things?
Bronwyn's mind drifted to others she cared for. What was happening to Fergus? Was Highever pacified yet? Were Howe's henchmen still causing trouble? Had Carver's brother found his way to Fergus, and delivered her letters? Was Fergus going to hold fast to his rights to the succession?
And Loghain. Bronwyn felt exhausted just thinking of him. Yes, she had the Ashes for Anora. They must see if they did any good. Perhaps she would have to go to Denerim again. Maker help her! Perhaps Loghain could take them, and go himself, but Bronwyn doubted he would. He thought no one as cunning as himself, and probably could not bear to relinquish control of the army for that long, And then too, once she was back, would come the soul-sucking weariness of preparing for the Landsmeet, of smiling and campaigning for votes and approval. At the moment it seemed easier just to let the darkspawn have bloody Ferelden.
Leliana strummed her lute idly, a sweet accompaniment to the sounds of water rushing past the bow and the gently soughing of the wind. Then she began humming, and then singing a melancholy song Bronwyn had never heard.
My young love said to me,
"My mother won't mind
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kine."
And she laid her hand on me
And this she did say:
"It will not be long, Love,
Till our wedding day."
—
As she stepped away from me
And she moved through the fair
And fondly I watched her
Move here and move there.
And then she made her way homeward,
With one star awake,
As the swan in the evening
Moved over the lake.
—
Last night she came to me,
My dead love came in.
So softly she came
That her feet made no din.
As she laid her hand on me,
And this she did say:
"It will not be long, love,
'Til our wedding day."
"It's sad," Tara murmured sleepily. "Why do people make such sad songs?"
"It's beautiful," Bronwyn thought she said, as she fell into the beckoning Fade.
Thanks to my reviewers: demonicnargles, BandGeekNinja, Blinded in a bolthole, tgcgoddess, Herebedragons66, RakeeshJ4, Nemrut, Tsu Doh Nimh, kirbster676, vertigomunchkin, Jyggilag, Aoi24, Shaekspira, MsBarrows, KnightOfHolyLight, Josie Lange, SnowHelm, Verpine, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Girl-chama, almostinsane, Halm Vendrella, Costin, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, Have Socks. Will Travel, Judy, EpitomyofShyness, Jenna53, Angurvddel, Chandagnac, mille libri, Zute, Kira Kyuu, and SkaterGirl246.
If you don't know the song, I really suggest you listen to a version of "She Moves Through the Fair." It's a haunting piece of music. I like Celtic Woman's.