Steadily, the column was marching forwards.
It was different than the time the troops had marched through Lothering to reinforce Maric's army. For one, the 'civilian' entourage was far larger in relation to the armed forces. Of the ninety-six in the expedition, Garrett could only label thirty as 'warriors', and that included himself and the mages. It was moving slower too, not capable of marching down the old Imperial road like in Ferelden – and if necessary, to go around any broken part of the road – but forced to climb over rubble and to make detours through narrow paths at odd times while also trying to keep their bearings...something proving surprisingly difficult for anyone but exiled Orzammar dwarves and Anders.
The other 'warriors', just like Garrett's own group, was a motley bunch, but one Garrett now – by virtue of experience in leading such groups – was now in charge of. One was a Rivaini dressed like Isabela – though the man had the sense to wear trousers, at least – carrying four javelins, a short sword and a shield...and might as well be a mute, considering how little he spoke. Isabela could learn from him, that's for sure. Another was a dwarf in full plate burnished black and carrying an axe and a round shield large enough to cover almost his entire body...and who always growled for another serving during meals, something his fat body really didn't need more off, in Garrett's opinion. Then there was a young man in a partly broken suit of plate mail carrying a greatsword with much pomp but little skill, a son of some disinherited Chevalier that had died before he'd taught the boy more than the basics, though that didn't seem to cull the boy's enthusiasm to prove himself. Like Carver... The rest was the expected mix of dwarves and humans in mail and leather, grim soldiers of fortune sporting scars and cheaper weapons but which they were well versed in.
The majority of the expedition was mostly a mix of human and dwarven workers ready with picks, backpacks and shovels. There were also a few engineers and cartographers, not to mention scouts and men knowledgeable of the Deep Roads, experts in various fields essential to handle whatever obstacles were thrown the group's way...most of those were dwarves. The only elf in the group, save Merrill and Fenris, was a female that always stayed on a wagon along with two human women...their role becoming all too obvious after the group's first stop. Garrett had argued that they were a waste of space, but some of Bartrand's companions had nearly rioted at the thought of their employer agreeing...so the women stayed, plying their trade and eating up the expedition's food.
Furthermore, the column was hampered by a full twenty carriages – drawn by ponies so hairy one could think them bears – not only meant to transport all they found, but also to bring all their equipment and food into the Deep Roads. They could have done with less carriages, but Bartrand – being a merchant with experience in such things – had been wise to order more than necessary, with each carriage holding a lighter load, it was easier to put your shoulder onto it to push it over the odd pile of rubble or to help it when it got stuck in a pothole.
Still, they were making good progress if Bartrand's and Anders' judging of the map were correct, and that was enough for Garrett. How long have we been down here now? Nearly half a month? In the darkness of the Deep Roads, it was hard to tell the time, but a time-glass was used by the chefs of the expedition to signal when it was the hour for their meals. Realising this, Garrett was using his notebook to keep track of those meals so he could signal a stop to sleep at the proper moment – whatever Bartrand thought, it would do them no good to continue while fatigued – with the added benefit of counting the days of their journey.
So far, they'd met no resistance on their path to the ancient Thaig that was their destination, nor any wealth...yet the Deep Roads was still a fascinating sight...and a sad one.
First of all, the Deep Roads were dark, the odd glow from a magma-filled pit illuminated some sections, as did a strange moss appearing wherever the damage was heaviest, yet that was the only source of natural light in the endless corridors and caverns. Other than that the group largely relied on a few lanterns at the head of the column that with three shielded sides worked well in lighting up what was ahead of the group...as well as to their own eyes adapting to the gloom. Torches would have been inefficient and costly, only illuminating what was right near the person carrying it, ruining his night-vision while consuming wood that was better used in cooking-fires. At least the Deep Roads aren't cold, quite the opposite.
Merrill had spoken of ancient elves visiting the Durgen'len – the Dalish word for the dwarven people – and describing every great hall in the Deep Roads illuminated with runes that had lit up the roads as if it had been daylight within. Yet now nothing Garrett thought to be a rune was glowing, some covered by rubble, other simply dull rock, yet more seemingly chipped away, as if purposefully sabotaged. Sandal – Bodahn's 'son' and a savant with runes – had many a time been caught eyeing what little remained of these carvings on the walls with sad eyes.
Much of the Deep Roads was in ruins, bridges over great chasms having withered away or being smashed asunder, walls had collapsed and entire tunnels were gone under piles of rubble. Here and there, marks of civilisation could still be found, a chipped pewter cup, a rusted knife, a dwarf's skull still in a cleaved helmet, even the odd wagon, its wood breaking apart at the merest touch as the ash of whatever had been inside it drifted through the still air. Yet there was also the moss growing there, even the odd insect, Nug and Deepstalker... it was like looking on wasteland, but one slowly recovering. Life, it's resilient. Garrett found the thought surprisingly comforting. We Hawkes are resilient, we'll rise anew, from poverty to riches, in mere days...
But what remained of the Deep Roads was still glorious to behold! Even if they were cracked and large sections were nothing but rubble...the walls and columns were amazing. The engineering required to build them...Garrett couldn't imagine the scale of the work that had been put into it. They had passed some chambers taller than the highest tower in Kirkwall and as wide as the city's main harbour! Each wall, each column...it had all been built with the greatest care in terms of support but also artistic skill, speaking of a former wealth even an Orlesian noble would have envied. They had passed a pair of bronze doors – smashed apart by some Darkspawn horde perhaps hundreds of years ago – that had been covered with a complex weave of small figures in great detail from top to bottom, a work that must have taken a decade to complete by some master. However sad the sight of it gathering dust was, it was still a privilege to see such skill and beauty, especially for one as thirsty for new knowledge as Garrett.
Sadly, the only one seemingly fascinated by all these sights – after the initial amazement most had gotten bored with it – was Merrill. The elf clearly shared his love for knowledge, both being curious about how the dwarves had managed to build such impressive chambers and how long it had taken...much to the annoyance of the expedition's chief-engineer who now kept as far from them as possible after a mere four hours of questions. Eh, at least someone is willing to discuss such things with me, even if she's an elf...
The thought made Garrett frown, unsure of how he'd gotten to the situation where he was voluntarily staying near Merrill in what was almost a social setting. He was uncomfortable enough around elves, but a Blood mage...it made his skin crawl just thinking about it.
The answer was simple, there was no one else.
Garrett was not like Carver, he wasn't very social, meaning the idea of trying to make friends with the odd assortment of people on the expedition seemed not only difficult, but judging by what he'd seen so far of them – they were just a step above thugs, some not even that – undesirable. He'd actually tried speaking to the Rivaini guard, but not only was the man as disinterested in their surroundings like the rest, but speaking to him was like speaking to a wall, the man as expressive as a Qunari sentry.
That left Garrett's companions, but precious few were available.
With Bartrand getting more and more testy over their lack of finds on the way to the Thaig, as well as ever more grumpy over having to share the gains from 'his' expedition once they reached it, Varric was more or less constantly with the man, trying to mollify him. You'd think he'd be pleased we're on the road...he's less thankful that Carver. Garrett grimaced slightly, for all his brother's faults...Garrett missed him.
As to Fenris...Garrett liked to think he and the elf had at least a clear relationship and understood one another...but there was little in the way of love between them, and no room for talking about curious walls or history.
Anders was another choice, but the man was not only bothersome to speak with normally – sooner or later he'd turn to the topic of mages and their oppression, and then you'd have to listen to his extreme vitriol for hours – but ever since they had entered the Deep Roads the man had been sporting a haunted look of grief and pain that forbade any conversation but that relating to work. I suppose it's best not to distract him from sensing the Darkspawn anyway. Garrett was glad Anders could sense the creatures, it was better to know the beast was lurking in the darkness than to live in uncertainty.
Bethany was another...curious problem. Normally she loved staying with and talking with him...but with everyone in the expedition knowing – and more importantly, accepting – her being a mage, she'd shied away from his company. For not only was her being a mage apparently not scary while in the Deep Roads – perhaps the distance from normal society and its ideas playing a part in that – but she was even appreciated for what she was...and Garrett knew her well enough to understand that was like wine to Bethany. So she walked up and down the column, speaking to people, laughing with people...and Garrett couldn't make himself pull her aside, to warn her of the future...he just couldn't do that to her. She's too happy...finally allowed to 'be'... Garrett grimaced, glancing back and finding Bethany laugh and blush at something a Dwarf had said while holding up a shovel. Maker willing, she'll be free to be like that when we leave the Deep Roads rich...I'll make her untouchable by the Templars, I swear it. Closing one hand into a fist, Garrett forced himself to look forward before Bethany noticed his scrutiny, there was no point risking ruining her good mood.
There was also Maric, but while the dog trotting next to him was a nice companion, it was a silent one, and while Garrett could hold a conversation with Maric – however much that earned him odd looks – it was a very basic one. Not to mention that while Maric was a loyal companion, he had no appreciation of such things as art, culture or history...Mabari or not, he was still a dog, and such things were unimportant to him.
And that left Merrill..who'd shown herself not too bad at holding an intellectual conversation. Maybe elves from the Dalish are more intelligent than those living in the cities...? Garrett dismissed the thought with a self-conscious shake of his head. That sounded far too much like how the Orlesians assume themselves to be more intelligent than Fereldians...I base it on no facts. With a grimace, Garrett shook the uncomfortable thought aside.
That's when the elf, walking on his right side, spoke up, making him flinch, for a moment afraid she'd read his thoughts. That would have been, after speaking with her for half a month, awkward... "I hope we get to see the statue of a Paragon." Garrett arched an eyebrow, waiting, he'd learnt if you did that, Merrill would usually add something more to explain the words she'd blurted out. The elf, smiling as she looked straight ahead, proved him right. "I've read that the dwarves make them in meticulous detail and really big...would be interesting to see one..." She frowned, then looked up at him. "...you think they make them nicer looking than the dwarf really was? Like a really warty nose not being included?"
Garrett had heard Carver and Bethany speak of Merrill, not to mention that many of the others had volunteered their opinion, and nearly all thought the way she posed such questions with those big eyes of her was 'cute'...Bethany had even gone as far as describing her as 'childish'...but Garrett actually found that unfair. She was an elf, and therefore untrustworthy, and a blood mage...yet the questions she posed – while perhaps sounding silly – were actually ones worth thinking about. "You mean if they glorify those they make Paragons and make them seem more impressive than they really were? I wouldn't be surprised, statues in many places show far too fine features on men and women for it to be real, they can't all have been that good-looking." Garrett shrugged, looking ahead. Maker, is that another intersection ahead? No, more like a collapse into some cave on the side, judging by the rubble. "Not to mention Andraste, she's pictured as some ethereal beauty in a dress, when she was technically a 'barbarian' and spent her entire life fighting and travelling to forests...realistically, she'd wear mail and leather and carry an axe, rather than be in a dress and carry a book."
"Hmm...sounds like it, yes." Merrill tapped a finger against her pointed chin. "It's probably hard to worship something that looks like you but worse." She frowned. "Is it worship though? The Paragons, I mean...they know they were mortal, after all..."
"I think the dwarves would say it is." Garrett cocked his head to the side, pondering the question. "Though perhaps not in the same way...no Paragon can or would claim divine inspiration like Andraste, and that's what makes her divine." He shrugged. "Though I've heard dwarves speak of the Paragons deeds as the important thing...so maybe the worship is akin to seeking inspiration? I'd ask a dwarf, but those that follow the dwarven traditions here don't seem to like such questions..."
Merrill hummed, then nodded, hesitated as Garrett felt her throw him a glance...then finally spoke up again. "So...you believe in Andraste then? And the Maker?" Garrett glanced down at her with an arched brow, making her shirk away, looking at her feet. "It's just...I've heard you speak ill of the Chantry..."
"The Chantry is not the Maker, even their own records show the great gap between Andraste's death and their creation." Garrett scoffed. "I speak ill of the Chantry for the way its Templars have hunted my sister and my family for decades. I speak ill of their wealth that far too often is squandered rather than spent on helping the masses, as they claim they are. I speak ill of it because it seems more and more centred on preserving its power, than being a centre of worship." An image of his time in Denerim flashed before his mind's eye. They left us to starve when we were too filthy to enter their Chantry... "I speak ill of it for their demand that you follow their rules, even if you're a citizen of a nation, or you're a heretic fit for the dungeon...in their own books, Chantry law should not override that of say Ferelden...yet I saw it happen again and again...it's despicable." Merrill, taking a step away from him, looked a little worried at his words, making him shrug as he assumed a less hostile tone. "I'm saying I take exception to their actions, not their worship."
"Ah." Merrill nodded, big eyes narrowing as she thought it through. When she looked up again, it was with a curious light in her eyes. "So...I know you don't do things without a reason...why do you believe in the Maker and Andraste?"
You're trying to convert me to your gods? That's your plan? Garrett shook the silly thought aside, it didn't make sense and...it was hard to attribute Merrill to being manipulative, despite his exceptions to her kin. "By proof and deduction." Garrett replied, triggering a little titter from Merrill before she assumed a more solemn expression under his glare. Expected that, did you? "I know demons and spirits exist, I haven't seen it myself, but Bethany has told me of the dark city in the fade..."
"Oh, I've seen it too!" Merrill chimed in with a smile, though it drained away quickly. "Always makes me a little sad..."
Garrett nodded, Bethany had said something similar. "I know all these things, and I know Andraste's ashes apparently cured the deathly ill Arl Eamon in Ferelden, and even before that...her deeds are at times impossible to believe once you read of them..." Garrett shrugged. "Seems to me, that the existence of spirits and demons is the strongest argument of all. If such things can exist in another dimension, why not the Maker and the souls of the dead? Is it so unbelievable?"
"Not at all, I agree." Merrill nodded, smiling eagerly...and then got a wicked little smile on her lips. "So by that reasoning...you think the Dalish gods exist too?" Eh? "I mean if one god can exist, why not others? Is the reasoning only valid for the Maker, but not Falon'Din?" Oh, clever elf... Garrett didn't know if he should be annoyed or impressed by the woman's argument.
"I...suppose you have a point there." Garrett hesitantly replied, raking his brain for a good counter-argument. The Black city...no, that's a poor argument, could be something explaining it in elven lore too, for all I know...I should ask her about that later. "Yes, you're right." He offered a nod. "Though don't expect me to start worshipping them."
"Oh I won't..." Merrill was grinning. "...I'm just happy a human finally admits that they could exist...people are so defensive about that, you know?" She shook her head, assuming what Garrett assumed to be an angry face as her voice turned a poor version of a male's bass. "'No, there's only one god, and he's the Maker. I will not listen to anything more; get away, knife-ear before I smack you...'"
Garrett felt the corner of his lip tug upwards, then forced his face back into neutrality before the elf would think he was encouraging such preaching to other humans. "The existence of only one god is central to the belief of the Chantry and their worshippers. It's not surprising you get such an answer when I myself, not a follower of them, has trouble with it." He hesitated, then found himself saying what he really shouldn't have to say. "You should be careful with that though, some might react violently if you start speaking of the Dalish gods in Kirkwall...there's no point getting into a fight over it." He shrugged. "Besides, elves and humans should stick to their own."
"I guess I agree with that..." Merrill muttered, suddenly sounding sombre as she looked at the ground before her feet. "...and for some reason I don't like that." She offered him a pale smile. "If we always stuck to our own, we would never have met."
Oh... Garrett nearly stumbled, a little taken aback by the implication. She doesn't like being an elven isolationist when that's all Dalish are? She doesn't like...thinking elves to be better...? Because we work better...together? Garrett found himself looking away from her smile, bothered by a sting of guilt in his chest as his mind futilely tried to come up with a counter-argument while being assailed by a picture of the grinning Athenril atop of him. Why am I instinctively trying find a reason for her not being right...? Bothered by the thought, Garrett found himself unable to come up with a retort.
I'm going to have to give this some thought...
That's when a hand landed on his shoulder.
Turning, Garrett found Anders practically on top of him, the mage's breath – as always – smelling of Lyrium. Is that due to Justice...? Garrett ignored the thought, the worried look on Anders' face being the immediate concern. "We have a problem."
Slowing down, Garrett let the mage interpose himself between Garrett and the worried-looking Merrill. "What is it?" Behind him, he sensed Bartrand and Varric move closer, some of the people along the column exchanging looks as worried whispers trickled along its length.
"Good news and bad news." Anders replied, though the smile he sported was a pale one. "There's only a single band of Darkspawn under the entirety of the Free Marches as far as I can sense, most are still in the south. But you told me to keep an 'eye' on that single group...and, well...they're coming this way, fast." Noticing Garrett's look, Anders pointed ahead and towards the cave having opened up on the right side of the tunnel ahead. "From that direction..."
"Bloody Grey Warden..." Bartrand growled as he came closer. "...you've led them right to us!"
Anders though, shook his head. "They sense me, but they also know these tunnels...they've been shadowing us for a week now..why do you think Orzammar dwarves prefer to stay in Orzammar?" He turned his gaze back to Garrett. "We both know this attack was a long time coming, the Darkspawn have decided to make their move now, we must make ours."
"Agreed." Garrett replied, nodding as he tried to think. "How many are there?"
"A hundred or thereabout."
Bartrand let loose a curse while Varric muttered something under his breath...and one of the nearest workers, having overheard them, loudly whimpered. Garrett, grimacing, eyed Anders. "No way to...lead them away?"
The mage shook his head. "No, as I told you, they know we're here. I'd lead some off, the rest would come after you...I doubt it would make a difference." He gave a grave smile. "Besides, the one competent healer leaving on his own? It would be suicide for the both of us."
"Fine, then we'll have to take them on..." Garrett eyed the wide tunnel with a nervous twitch to his sword-hand. It's too wide, even if we form the wagons like a wall and employ the workers that have already said they are no good in a fight...no, it won't work, they'll break and then it'll be slaughter. The darkspawn chose the spot well...that's...worrying. "...somehow." We can't stay here, not if we're to fight them. "All guards! On me!" He turned to Bartrand, decision made. "Take your workers and form the wagon in a circle here, arm them as best you can, anyone gets past us shouldn't be able to get through such a defence." Unless they overwhelm my group and surge on in strength.
The dwarf, eyes wide, tried to speak, only to cough and nod, his face turning grim as he turned and stalked back towards the rest of the column. "Okay, you lazy sods! Get your arses-"
Garrett ignored the rest of the dwarf's talk as he focused on the group coming to gather around him. His companions as well as the hired guards, all looking worried or grim...and not a little afraid as they sensed the danger they were in. Garrett spoke quickly and to the point, knowing time was of the essence. "There's Darkspawn coming. We need to find a better position to face them from, follow me!" With that, Garrett turned and began to run towards where Anders had indicated, the rattle of arms and armour making a racket as the others followed.
The long road they were in had indeed suffered a breach at the right side, Garrett noticed, as if something massive had once smashed right through the wall, ripping apart much of the floor in the process. Striding down a slight and wide slope, Garrett found the cave they were entering to be a wide tunnel of crudely hewn rock, the ceiling covered in pale and glowing lichen. Too wide, too open. Garrett continued on, the gasps for breath and scramble of armour filling the tunnel, blotting out any sound from the approaching Darkspawn, if there was any.
Then-
Thank the Maker!
"Halt!" Raising a fist, Garrett looked at the ground in front of him as the others scrambled to a stop. The tunnel was narrowing in front of him to the point that it was forty feet wide, the smallest he'd so far seen, and further ahead the ground dipped into a gentle but still usable slope. Not only that, but there was a split in the path just ahead of where the ground sloped, the smaller path leading up to a couple of larger rocks that created something akin to a platform for a few select persons. Perfect... Turning, Garrett gestured as he snapped out his orders. "Bethany, Merrill, Anders, Varric! Up on those rocks, find cover! Fenris! You stand at the base of those rocks at the top of the slope, I'll be at the other side!" His group, used to following his orders, smoothly moved to obey. "You eight, you're up front between the two of us!" Garrett picked out the young boy in plate as well as the fat dwarf, along with six men and women carrying a mix of axes, swords and maces, all dwarves. "The rest of you, up behind the front line, ready to help!" Garrett singled out the Rivaini man and a mix of men and women carrying glaives and spears, although some also carried shorter weapons, with the majority being humans they could perhaps help the dwarves up front. "Maric, stay behind me!"
Moving to take up his position at the far left of the rough battle-line he'd formed, Garrett watched the rest of the warriors reluctantly put themselves in position, licking their lips and nervously touching their weapons as they looked ahead. Following their gaze, Garrett found himself looking down an all too gentle slope – could have done with something steeper – as well as a dark pit where the ceiling dropped low, concealing much of the tunnel ahead and only revealing a large open ground at the base of the slope a mere hundred feet away. Too close to our position for sure, but we can't risk going further... Straining his hearing, Garrett could swear he could make out the slightest sound of running feet, a sound getting closer.
Forcing himself not to swallow the lump in his throat in fear of revealing how close he was to shaking at that growing sound, Garrett forced himself to speak up, to say the words of truth to still his own fear as much as that of the men and women to his right. "If you run, you'll get lost in the tunnels with no food and die, if the darkspawn don't find you first. If you run, there will be no safety to find in the wagons, if you run, you'll die." He turned his head, watching the warriors pale as the sound of running feet grew louder...and then he noticed Varric frowning at him, the dwarf nodding at the warriors with a grim look on his face. Oh, right. "But here, we can hold them. We're fewer, but we have the position and we have the mages, each one capable of killing dozens of them." A few looked up at that, finding the mages and Varric standing over them on a platform of rocks almost resembling a crude tower. Forcing a smile, Garrett turned his gaze to his sibling. "Bethany...no holding back."
In response, the young woman grinned back, palms held upwards at her sides as fire suddenly danced between her fingers, excitement of finally being allowed to use those powers to full effect colouring her features...and a few of the warriors along the battle-line chuckled, knowing that look all too well from previous battles they'd been in.
The chuckles quickly died out though as the sound of stomping feet grew louder, this time mixed with the too familiar squeal of a genlock.
Right. Putting his great-helmet on – suddenly very glad he'd been able to afford it at the thought of a hundred darkspawn trying to cut his head off – Garrett turned to face the ground before him. Checking the grip on his round shield he drew his falchion, its weight steadying his breathing ever so slightly. Behind and to his right, the others drew their weapons as well, a puddle forming further away revealing that someone had just wet themselves, though none dared to comment. We can do this, one warband, and then what we came for...just a little further...
With a hiss, the first genlock appeared from the darkness of the cavern before them, the stunted creature crouching low as it eyed the group ahead, beady eyes narrowing as it reached back for an arrow in its quiver-
Only to drop face first into the dust to the sound of Bianca's loading mechanism cranking, Varric having landed a bolt square into the genlock's skull.
A ragged cheer broke out along the line, though Garrett and Fenris on each end remained silent, watching the ground ahead with worry.
Five more genlocks, all armed with bows, hobbled into the light. "Mages, hold until I give the command!" Garrett shouted even as one genlock jumped to the side, barely dodging another of Varric's bolts. "Troops of the line, stay low and take two steps back!" Following his own advice, Garrett inched backwards and crouched down with his shield up, barely allowing himself to see down the slope and making himself a tiny target.
Ahead, five more genlocks, then another five, ran into the open and spread out along the floor of the slope. One dropped onto its knees with a squeal, clutching at the bolt Varric had put deep into its gut, but the rest sent off an uneven hail of missiles, seemingly at random trying to hit the four on the 'tower' at the right and the main battle-line. Another two darkspawn entered, these a pair of hurlocks, their larger bows already notched and ready...and before they'd even loosed an arrow, a man with a thick black beard gasped and fell, his spear falling from twitching fingers as a genlock's lucky shot struck him in the eye.
The group stared at the man, watching as, without making a sound, he lay there and twitched, dead yet seemingly refusing to accept it.
We've let enough come forth. "Mages! Now!" Garrett straightened, glaring down at the darkspawn beneath.
The first blow was Merrill's, her lightning bolt instantly crossing the distance to the enemy, the shot leaving a burning hole through one of the hurlock's chests before it arced into the next, making the creature go rigid as the energy coursed through it. Energy enough to make smoke rise from the creature's armour as the skin on its face split, peeled and turned to ash.
Blinded by the lightning or staring at their larger kin in surprise, the genlocks surrounding them never saw the fireballs coming. Anders' struck first, hitting dead centre among the darkspawn and immolating two in the blink of an eye as others stumbled back, on fire or even with limbs burnt away in that one moment. Bethany's was far from perfectly aimed in contrast...but the heat of the explosion from hers was felt even by Garrett as every genlock before him squealed and died, skin melting off bones like warm wax as their armour crumpled while glowing as brightly as the sun.
In moments, the darkspawn troop had been annihilated, turned to just some charred bones and blackened armour strewn across the ground.
The cheer rising from the line of warriors was less ragged this time, echoing across the tunnel as they raised their weapons in salute to the mages...the female human's in particular, whose face turned crimson red.
The cheers lasted but a moment though, as a second troop of genlocks with bows rushed towards the bottom of the slope, this time ten in numbers, accompanied by five hurlock archers. Garrett didn't need to give an order, the guards all dropped into a crouch, dodging the first volley of arrows by a large margin. "Again! Hit them again!"
Two fireballs hurtled forward...and harmlessly exploded halfway down the slope, making a bubble of energy shimmer as another hurlock appeared from the darkness, holding aloft a glowing staff looking like nothing but a tree-branch. A moan rose from Garrett's line at the sight...followed by the groan of a woman as she staggered backwards, the spear in her right hand remaining as the buckler in her left fell to the ground, the shoulder pierced by a dark arrow. Growling a curse, the woman ignored the other's stares as she glared down at the Darkspawn...only for a male dwarf to fall a second later, moaning as he tried to pull out the arrow stuck in his neck...and succeeding before anyone could stop him, the barbs of the arrow tearing out much of his throat and making his eyelids flutter as he died in moments, choking on his own blood.
Over by the 'tower', a pained shout made Garrett look up in panic, only to see that it hadn't been Bethany who'd been struck, but Merrill, an arrow stuck between her small breasts. The elf seemed fine though, muttering something in her own tongue as she ignored the arrow stuck in her armour and ducked lower, visibly gasping, no doubt with the air knocked out of her lungs.
Garrett, relieved that he hadn't lost the mage when he needed her the most, called out his next order. "Varric! Get him!" Instantly a crossbow bolt whizzed into the thigh of the hurlock mage. Growling, the creature still held the glowing staff aloft with its left hand as its right pulled backwards, a ball of fire growing within it. Oh no... "Get him now!" The archers around the mage glanced at the injury of their protector, then up at the tower..and as the second bolt shot through the air, slamming into the hurlock's forehead and ending his spell before he could cast it...they scrambled back towards the safety of the darkness. "Mages!"
The creatures were stopped short, green and brown vines shooting out from the ground, catching the creatures by the ankles causing them to roar and squeal in anger. And as the creatures were forced to stop and hack apart Merrill's stalling action another pair of fireballs arched down on the creatures...
Three of them, closest to the cave, managed to run away as they hacked themselves free at the last instant, but the rest became nothing but living torches as they died where they stood.
Again, the defenders cheered out their approval.
Garrett though, remained grim, thinking. What's that...thirty of them? Twice as many left, and I doubt they'll let us continue this skirmishing.
A roar from within the cavern, far louder than anything the darkspawn had given voice to so far, confirmed his thoughts, making the cheer of the other defenders come to an abrupt halt.
In the blink of an eye, the darkness ahead solidified into a thick line of hurlocks. Carrying broad shields, they marched forward slowly, shields raised over their heads while those at the front held them forward. I...this is no frenzied horde... Garrett, completely taken aback by the display of tactics before him, watched in horror as Varric's bolt harmlessly bounced off a shield while Anders' and Bethany's fireballs exploded on the surface of the 'roof' the darkspawn had created, merely making a few hiss in pain as the odd limb got exposed to the heat.
Around him, Garrett found the warriors hesitating.
Then, as Merrill managed to send a hurlock flying with a magically-hurled boulder while Varric too got a kill with a carefully aimed bolt to the neck of a foe, Garrett remembered his escape from Lothering. When we climbed that mountain... He turned, voice betraying his hurry. "Bethany, ice the ground!"
His sister's eyes widened in confusion at first, but then she nodded, sweat pouring from her face as she stretched out her hands, a stream of whiteness striking the slope between Garrett's force and the approaching darkspawn...and then Anders joined in with a spell of his own, turning the slowly hardening frost into a solid sheeth of ice. Dammit, they're getting tired... A glance up showed Anders instructing the other mages into drinking up those all too expensive vials of lyrium he'd managed to get a hold of. That'll have to do.
The darkspawn, hissing in anger, began to slide and slip as they tried to climb the ground, though with their steel boots they were already stomping their way up, kicking out footholds for themselves...and in doing so, exposing themselves.
A javelin from the Rivaini hurtled over Garrett's shoulder, skewering the skull of a hurlock with a sickening crunch as it was busy staring at the ice it was stomping a foothold into, the blow sending it back down the slope, dragging those behind it with it.
One of the rearmost hurlocks fell onto its back, clutching at the crossbow bolt buried in its knee as Varric gave voice to a chuckle.
A couple of the leftmost hurlocks were still holding up their shields to ward off fireballs, but as a massive fist shaped of stones cast by Merrill smashed through one shield and the hurlock behind it like paper, it opened a gap through which Bethany hurled a fireball, annihilating another five hurlocks as their shield-wall was made useless.
Roaring, the remaining Hurlocks surged forward. The ice and casualties sustained having turned their solid formation into a mess of individual beasts.
To Garrett's right, the fat dwarf in heavy plate smashed his shield into a darkspawn's knee as its axe harmlessly skidded off his shoulder before his own hacked off most of the creature's face. Further on, the boy in broken plate staggered back from a blow to his chest, only to then lurch forward and stab his blade into his foe's neck while a man behind him put his spear through another creature's eye before it could slash at the careless boy's neck.
One of the dwarves at the front fell, spitted on a hurlock's sword as the creature landed right on top of her...only for a glaive from the second rank to cleave the creature's head in two. Fenris' sword seemed to shimmer under the light of the lichen growing over the ceiling as it spun over his head...and then sent a cascade of blood flying into the air as two hurlocks lost a head and an arm respectively.
Two hurlocks were coming towards Garret, only for one to stagger into the wall and fall onto its back as a javelin bore itself into its chest. The other hurried on heedlessly, raising its jagged sword high...and Garrett took a swift step forward, his thrusting falchion opening the hurlock's face to the bone as his shield blocked the now blind swing of the creature. Hissing, it brought its sword up for another swing, its other hand clutching at the ruin of its face...and Garrett sent hand and head both tumbling to the ground.
Looking to the right once more, he saw the darkspawn primarily pour into the centre of his battle-line...and failing to make any real headway as they came at the line piecemeal. One hurlock, a broken spear in its gut, managed to grab the wrist of the boy in broken plate armour though, pulling him out of the wall of defenders and throwing him in among the hurlocks behind it before anyone could intervene
His screams of agony were mercifully short even as one of the hurlocks fell onto its knees, clutching at the sword in its chest.
Then, the hurlocks turned and ran, two falling on the way, one frozen to ice by an accurate shot from Bethany, another limping sideways and then tumbling over, trying to drag itself away with feeble legs, Varric's bolt stuck in its spine.
This time, even Garrett joined in the cheer, though it was a ragged call, the short engagement enough to leave every man and woman gasping for air as adrenaline and fear shot through them.
How many was that? Did we...
Again, a roar rose from the darkness ahead, louder.
The hurlocks charging out were sprinting, a mere six in numbers as they hurtled for the battle-line even as what could only be a pair of gaunt shrieks ran with them on the right...and towards the 'tower'! "Varric!" Garrett forgot what he was about to say though, as a moment later, the darkness behind the six sprinting darkspawn turned into a mass of hurlocks, at the centre of which stood a giant of their kind. It was clad in bronzed plate armour and wielding a massive-looking two-headed warhammer that Garrett thought was probably meant to be a heavy ornamental thing made by some dwarf...but which the creature held aloft with ease and vicious intent...and the eyes under the helmet were fixed on him. Garrett's voice turned into a whisper. "...fuck."
The shrieks, coming straight at the mages, were suddenly running on the wall of the cave, easily dodging a pair of fireballs that simply killed a single of the darkspawn vanguard. Merrill leveled her spear at the foremost, a bolt of lightning striking out...and smashing into the wall as the creature leapt at her, driving her to the ground...and itself right into the spear she'd braced against the ground in desperation.
The second shriek let loose an ear-piercing cry and leapt straight at Bethany, claws poised to strike. The woman cried out, her parry sloppy as the cry made her shirk back, making three claws tear three deep cuts across her shoulder. Tumbling onto her back, the woman somehow managed to shoot out a beam of ice at the creature, the blast freezing its left arm to the ground next to her head...and the creature, grinning, leaned over her with its free arm raised as Garrett stared in horror, unable to speak or even breathe...
Then a blade slammed into the creature's flat nose, the bayonet on Varric's crossbow digging in deep and making the creature freeze, looking up. Grunting, Varric loosed a bolt straight into its eye. Another shriek, making Garrett's ears ache as it echoed across the tunnel, and the creature's face exploded into a mess of gore and broken bones, the bolt nearly make its entire skull explode with the force of impact.
Whew.
Garrett's relief was short-lived though as the five remaining hurlocks with axes came rushing up. One fell, its entire body turned to ice by a concentrated stream of alabaster ice from Anders' staff. Another fell onto its knees, a javelin stuck in its crotch, making Garrett remember to pull loose the one the Rivaini had thrown earlier at an hurlock that had charged him. He turned to hand the missile over to the man...only to find the Rivaini gasping and on his knees as three arrows from the remaining genlock archers protruded from his chest.
Then the remaining three hurlocks were there, hacking, slashing, bashing...and dying under a hail of return blows.
Giving the remaining darkspawn plenty of time to close the distance at their choosing.
They came at him, a solid mass of darkspawn flesh and steel...and Garrett barely had time to note how they had formed up in a column against his side of the line, leaving the other side to face a solid line of shields to hold back missiles and charges as the stronger side punched through. How...when did the darkspawn start to think!?
"Secondary lines on me!" Garrett called out, unsure if they'd understand even as he jumped over a hurlock's swing and split its skull with his own. "On me!" Ahead, hurlocks were crowding, pushing...and Garrett found himself taking a step back from their many swings, a step quickly taken by the darkspawn. They'll take the slope, then they'll... "Get in here!"
The fat dwarf, like the shot from a catapult, crashed past Garrett's right and into the wall of hurlocks, sending two flying back down the slope as his axe gutted a third and his shield shattered the jaw of a fourth, the sheer momentum of his charge stopping the darkspawn advance.
A fifth died, arm sheared in two...and then a familiar warhammer rose from the frenzied ranks of darkspawn, hooked into the back of the dwarf, and pulled him down the slope and into the horde. Once more, the hammer rose as the other darkspawn continued on at those still defending...and then it came down with a crunch of breaking plate and flesh, the dwarf dying with nary a sound from his lips.
But his life had not been wasted. The next hurlock came in range...and a glaive lunged past Garrett's side and smashed its left leg off in a fountain of blood. Another found its low thrust parried by Garrett's sword as his shield smashed its head, knocking it onto all fours...where Maric darted forth, biting the creature's face off with one snap of his jaws before dashing back and into cover of the better armoured humans and dwarves.
A dwarf in leather armour was to Garrett's right, his iron mace breaking the hip of a hurlock...and as it dropped onto it, Garrett hacked its skull open. The next hurlock tried to tackle Garrett aside, only for itself to fall to the side as he angled his shield to the side, before it could get up the dwarf broke its ribcage with two quick swings.
Then a hurlock's blade darted in...and Garrett was only dimly aware of the dwarf falling even as the responsible hurlock had a spear enter its mouth in a shower of blood while a woman in chainmail took the dwarf's place, a broken glaive in her right hand as her left hung limply at her side.
To his right, Garrett saw fireballs and lightning once more erupt from their 'tower' as the mages got back into position. And though the attacks now lacked the power of before, and meeting a line of shields mostly, they were at least doing damage. In a blur, Fenris was also charging in, his greatsword sending arms and heads tumbling down the slope as he circled the edge of the darkspawn column.
Next to Garrett, the woman buried her glaive into the back of a hurlock practically lying in her lap, its dagger tearing up her stomach and making her intestines spill over the ground even as she worried the blade in it, making sure they'd both die.
Who's winning?
The gilded warhammer of the darkspawn leader shot out somewhere to Garrett's right, turning a dwarf's skull into pulp despite his closed helmet.
What's going on?
Garrett's sword slid down a crude steel shield, striking the arm holding it and sending both onto the gory ground even as the darkspawn's own blade made a silvery gash across Garrett's armoured chest, a blow he knew he should have felt, yet didn't.
I can't...I can't tell what's happening!
Panic gripped his heart, but all it did was make Garrett throw himself forward, well remembering his own words of what would happen if someone fled. A hurlock's axe tore off a piece of chainmail from his shoulder as Garrett's shield caved its skull in with the rim, another tried to stab him, only for the chainmail to make the strike skim off harmlessly while Garrett's falchion sent the creature reeling back, its right hand now a stump.
Next to him, a darkspawn lay atop a human, the spear between them useless as one clawed hand pressed the shaft into the man's throat while the other again and again buried a short sword into the man's chest.
Before him, a sea of darkspawn surged forth, only for two spears and a halberd to kill the foremost, slowing the charge into a stumble. The halberd then struck down, killing the darkspawn slaying the spearman at his feet...and that was enough time for another hurlock to break past Garrett and into the halberdier, axe swinging and blood flying.
Garrett, knowing turning to fight the creature breaking past meant death, held his ground, deflecting a blow aimed at his head before thrusting his falchion into the teeth of a grinning darkspawn, making it howl and fall backwards, dragging several of its kin with it.
Maker, I need to breath-
Pushing past the tumbling hurlocks, their leader rushed straight at Garrett, the creature, even coming from below, seemingly towering over Garrett as the massive hammer in its hands swung from left to right. Garrett ducked...and was showered with stones and dust as the hammer slammed into the wall of the tunnel.
Stepping forth, Garrett had his shield pin the hammer between it and the wall as his falchion swung a backhanded blow at the hurlock's neck. It twisted its head though, making the blow glance off its bronzed helmet with a clang and a cruel chuckle. What the...? "Knew you'd be here..."
For a fatal moment, Garrett was stunned by the sound of the darkspawn, however guttural the sound was, speaking.
The haft of the warhammer struck before Garrett could react, the wood slamming into his helmet and making him stumble back in surprise...and freeing the head of the warhammer that seemingly without needing any momentum, swung up at the stunned human-
Pain!
Staggering backwards, Garrett dimly noticed his helmet flying through the air, his suddenly bare face feeling warm across the forehead as blood trickled into his eyebrows. "The Mother is gone, but we remain!" The creature, roaring, came at Garrett again, swinging hammer coming from left to right and catching Garrett's falchion with a devastating strike before the dazed man could tighten his grip, sending it flying away. The hurlock reversed the swing-
No! Garrett struck forward, shield catching the strike before darting up slamming into the hurlock's face. Groaning, the beast took a step back...and Garrett stomped down on the haft of its lowered hammer, forcing the weapon out of its hands and onto the ground. Die! He pulled back his shield, intent on slamming through the already dented helmet with the rim of his shield...and the beast darted forward.
Suddenly, Garrett was lifted off the ground, a pair of inhumanly strong arms around his waist and arms, driving all air out of him as the beast's arms seemingly turned into closing vices. "The Warden ruined everything!" The creature's hiss was right in his face, the foul stench of its breath like something rotting. "She took our Mother!"
What...? Garrett, moaning, reached down and drew his dagger, though his arms were caught in the creature's grip, he could still manage a stab...and found the blow skimming off armoured plates. Again. It found a chink..and got but half an inch before being stopped. Do it again! White lights dancing before his eyes, Garrett thrust again, making the hurlock grunt, but it was a sound of annoyance, nothing more. Again, dammit! Garrett pulled back for another strike...and the creature growled as the arms around Garrett tightened even further.
Blackness.
Then light.
Groaning, Garrett was dimly aware of his hand now being empty, the dagger gone. No...I need to...
"But we can have a new one...yes...a new mother..." The words seemed to come from far away, the eyes in the helmet before Garrett like two molten pools of magma, swallowing him whole. "We will take one, make one...give us...give us your females...all of them..."
No! Garrett kicked, squirmed, fresh energy coursing through him...
And all for naught, the creature impossible to budge. It merely grunted as a crossbow bolt suddenly appeared in its left shoulder. It turned, and Garrett found walls of stone behind it, his foggy mind understanding it was using him as a shield as it squeezed the life out of him. "You're strong...yes...but I'm stronger! Die! Die so I can have your females!"
No. No. No. No. No...
Garrett's head lolled back, his mind struggling to order his body into action, but there was no energy left, no strength, no air!
Then, the grip around him stopped tightening...and began to widen.
Air!
Gasping, coughing, Garrett remained immobile in the grip of his foe as the hurlock, eyes wide, began to growl, its head trembling, gritting its teeth until three shattered, making blood pour out from its helmet. Its eyes narrowed, a low howl escaping it as it visibly struggled to tighten its grip...only to fail... "What...what is this...?" The monster gasped as from its eyes blood began to seep, the whole creature shaking as Garrett's feet once more found the ground.
A groan, and Garrett pulled free from the darkspawn and crashed to his knees...and the hurlock did the same, its whole body twitching left and right, a powerful right arm reaching down, twitching and jerking as it did so...and grabbing a hold of Garrett's dagger, lying discarded on the ground.
No... Garrett inched backwards, his lungs and body on fire, making the slightest movement painful.
Yet the creature didn't come at him, instead it howled...and drove the dagger upwards, into its own eye.
Wha...?
A sigh...and the creature fell onto its side, dead.
What just...?
Garrett could mostly hear nothing but the beating of his own heart, but now there were cheers also, cheers and the cries of darkspawn as his blurry vision registered the remaining hurlocks running down the slope, fleeing.
What just happened...?
"Good job, man!" Someone slapped his shoulder, sending a spike of agony down Garrett's spine. "You killed their leader!" A cheer. "After them! Kill the rest!" Another cheer, and a group rushed down the slope, killing any hurlock too slow to escape.
I...did?
Garrett turned his gaze back to the hurlock leader, watching the blood pool around its battered helmet, not able to register even wounding it. I...couldn't have...
Then, green filled his vision, making Garrett look up to find Merrill crouching in front of him, a worried look on her face. "Are you okay? You look a little...poorly...should I call for Anders? He's helping others with Bethany, but I'm sure if I-"
"I'll...I'll be fine..." Garrett coughed...and as he did so, he noticed Merrill's hand, the cut right across her palm...and his eyes widened. "You...you used...blood magic?" The last was but a whisper as he looked up at Merrill in shock.
The elf offered a guilty look. "I know I shouldn't but...but I couldn't help with any other spell! No one could! Varric couldn't get a shot and Maric was trying to reach you but was held back by all the darkspawn!" She looked down at the ground before them. "I'm...I'm not sorry."
Garrett, dizzy, but too disturbed to allow himself to be distracted by it, stared at the elf in confusion. "B-but...the danger...if anyone had seen you...they might have killed you right there, expedition or no, blood magic is where most draw the line..." He coughed again, but too confused to let himself just sit and breath. "And the demons, they could have...you risked having your soul ripped out and your body possessed...you risked...everything by that..."
For me.
"Well...yes." Merrill replied, cocking her head to the side with a smile, unabashedly cheerful and happy, honest. "But I think it was worth it."
Garrett stared at her.
Then he coughed, doubling over in pain even as his mind raced with equally painful thoughts.
Athenril was one elf, and you're another, and I...I thought you...were the same...
Guilt gripped him.
I've treated you as a monster, and you go ahead and prove me completely wrong...and don't even gloat over it when I would have...when I would have felt triumph over you failing...I who would never have taken such a risk for you...
Guilt and shame.
"Garrett? Are you okay?"
He could only whisper a reply, staring at the ground as he remained doubled over, despite the pain having passed.
"Huh?"
"I said...thank you."
"Oh, it's nothing." The cheerful tone only served to jab another blow to Garrett's self-esteem. "Anything for a friend." Friend...the word struck him like a blow. I've only viewed you as a tool...everyone, all who have...Maker... "Do you need help up?"
Looking up, he found the elf on her feet, smiling without the slightest hint of treachery or trickery...and Garrett found himself believing it.
Still, he hesitated.
Merrill, looking unsure, began to lower her hand...and then Garrett took it. Due to their difference in size, her help was minimal as Garrett rose to his feet, yet he still found himself blurt out another. "Thank you."
Without a hint of guile, the elf smiled back. "Anytime."
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson for being as awesome as one can get.