Thanks to Arsinoe de Blassenville for always reading and reviewing. A few of us authors have noticed reviewing has gone down as of late, but the story & author alerts/favorites seem to be going up. Plus, I see that this story is approaching 300 readers a day. Not too shabby. And, shameless plug here: I've started a new full length story, Beyond the Sylvan Paths. It's a twist to the Dalish origin story line.
As always, I own nothing, save for my little elven lass here, Adela. BioWare has the privilege of owning this incredible universe.
As always, read, review, crit, alert…always nice.
The Hall Reborn
Chapter 25
He blinked the grit from his eyes, rubbing the back of a large hand across his forehead. Eyes opened, he turned slowly, taking in the now familiar scene before him. Soft, gray light enhanced the room he was in, a small, round table set off to the side, platters of food set upon it, their silvered lids gleaming in the cool light. Two chairs were tucked neatly under. Behind him stood a large, comfortable bed, the bedding neatly arranged and tucked in tightly at the corners. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace, but the warmth of the flames did not reach out into the gray room. He glanced down at himself and found that he was wearing the same comfortable trousers and linen shirt he always wore when in this place.
A scowl formed across his rugged features, icy blue eyes narrowing. Damn it! He cursed silently, pacing to the table. Lifting the cover from one platter, he noted it was roast duck. The scowl deepened. Had he not known otherwise, he would think this a fruitless endeavor. Yet, even here, he knew that taking in the sustenance would benefit him out there. And so, rather than standing there scowling at the food, he settled into a chair, and began eating of the spread.
Chewing, he noted that, as always, the food had taste, calling upon his memories of what the repast would truly taste of had it been in the waking world. His scowl deepened as his gaze swept over the room yet again.
He was well aware of his prison, knew that he could open the door and be anywhere within the Palace, anywhere within Denerim, or anywhere within Fereldan. It apparently made no difference to his captor; the Fade was an expansive prison, one which was easy to recall the prisoner from at any time.
This was the Fade.
And his jailer had proven, time and again, how adept he was at manipulating the Fade to torture the man.
Loghain had decided some time ago to stop playing at Arawn's games. He no longer left the confines of the room, but remained herein, eating, reading, or thinking. There had been times he had tried manipulating his surroundings, and he was learning how to do so. The book that now sat upon the bookshelf - the lone book - was one he had conjured from memory. A book from his childhood he had enjoyed. The only book he could recall verbatim, and it was one filled with stories of knights and villains, heroes and princesses. A silly childhood fairy tale, but one that now gave the older version of that boy some peace and serenity, a place for his mind to relax as he tried to ponder and work out how to thwart the mechanisms of Maric's bastard.
"Well, this is new," came a soft voice from the doorway. He cursed himself for not having heard it open, and closed his eyes as recognition of the voice settled in. He placed his food onto his plate, wiping his fingers before rising and slowly turning to face his visitor.
She always seemed to show up during his sojourns into the Fade. He wondered if the bastard knew of her or if she was just a conjuration of his own mind. He doubted he could have thought her up, not as she currently appeared.
Wearing that pretty pink dress Anora had made for her, Adela stood in the open doorway, her bluest of eyes focused upon his face, a frown creasing the corners of her mouth and eyes. The dress was familiar, as were those eyes. But nothing else was recognizable as the delicate elven artist he had known since she was a child.
For, beneath the dress he could see the outline of musculature of her arms, the lean grace of her slender body beneath the silken fabric. Upon her hands small criss-crossed scars, blaringly white, shone against her now tanned skin. But, most telling were the small lines that formed across her brow.
Those overwhelming eyes fixed upon his own, a blond brow quirking up as she awaited his response. Whether conjured by the bastard who now commanded him or of his own imaginings, she was company, and he found himself despairing in his isolation.
"To you, perhaps," he said in that cold, calm way he always did. He did not fail to notice that the corners of Adela's pretty mouth tilted upwards in a slight smile.
"I take it you have found yourself here often?' She asked as she stepped into the room, studying the near bookless shelves, the too neatly made bed and the food laden table. Loghain scoffed at that, settling back into his chair as the dream-Adela pulled the second from the table and perched herself down upon it, almost absentmindedly lifting the platter covers and inspecting the food.
She actually grinned as she surveyed the platter filled with sweets and pastries.
"I never knew you for such a sweet tooth," she smirked at him as she lifted a chocolate petites four, nibbling at it. He watched as she lifted the treat to her lips, taking tiny bits with her small, white teeth, her pink tongue licking up stray crumbs.
"Hmmm…" he said, "I try not to indulge, as you know." She smiled at him, placing the pastry back onto the platter.
Her eyes again did a scan of the room, resting upon the bookshelf. "I would have expected more books," she said pointedly, frowning.
He shrugged. "So would I," he replied, frowning. "However, trying to remember books verbatim is not a task I have committed myself to."
If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead, her eyes were settled back upon his face, that thoughtful frown - one he knew well from watching her at her work or listening as Cailan and Anora sought her advice on things dealing with the Alienage - back in place as she studied him. It felt so much like her that it almost - almost - unnerved him. However, he knew that she was dead, and that this was merely his own pathetic need for companionship. That he choose her instead of any of the others only proved how pathetically lonely and distraught he was over the current situation.
"What are you watching for?" he asked, impatient, now only wanting her to just leave.
That brow rose again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm just trying to see the Loghain that would leave his king and the wardens behind to die to darkspawn hands," she seemed to ignore the anger that rose in his eyes and the clenching of his hands upon the table. Her eyes continued their scrutiny of his face. "However, all I see is you," she frowned again, shaking her head.
"Tell me, Loghain," she asked her voice strong, yet soft. "was it always in you to allow the murder of so many?" Her head tilted to the side slightly as she watched his reaction. "For no greater good, for no gain, save for perhaps something that was never yours?" Her frown deepened. "Is that why I can only see you as I have always seen you? Instead of as a monster responsible for regicide and the possible death of his nation?"
Fury ignited within him, and he launched himself to his feet, his eyes blazing with cold anger. He reached over to grasp the small elf woman, but she had gracefully leapt to her feet, and now danced away from him, her entire demeanor changed.
"I did not leave Cailan and the Wardens to perish!" he raged, stepping nearer to the withdrawing elf.
"And yet they are dead!" she scoffed back, and he watched as her attire changed. No longer was she clad in the pretty dress he knew to be her favorite. But neither was she dressed in her mother's leather armor, but wore instead a short robe that came to her knees, a deep 'V' neckline showing much of her cleavage, leaving her arms bared. He almost absentmindedly to note of how very tan her flesh had become. Her daggers - Adaia's daggers - were now naked in her hands, and her bow was slung along one shoulder, her quiver slung low and tilted to her back. Her long blond hair, loose just moments before, was now bound tightly in a plait down her back, wispy curls framing her fierce face. She reminded him so much of Adaia. Yet, she had something that Adaia, in all the time he had known her and fought beside her: compassion. Despite their current confrontation, despite that this was merely a pale reflection of Adela, the compassion he knew so well in her was there, reflected in those impossibly blue eyes.
Loghain stilled, watching the elf before him. He could almost feel her anger, her displeasure. This was not how she had visited him before during his stay in the Fade. Always, they had talked of other things, never of the current situation. And now she pushed, trying to get answers from him. Was it his way of trying to get answers? After all, these were questions he had asked himself, during his more lucid moments in the waking world. Had Arawn been able to control his actions even then? Or had he always had the capability to cause such atrocities? In the name of fealty to his nation? Regardless of cost to king and country? He doubted it, strongly.
"I did not abandon Cailan," he repeated, quietly, his eyes fixed upon her beautiful face. "We have all been betrayed, and I am powerless to stop it."
With that admission, Adela's battle stance eased, and she stared at the man before her in confusion. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but then tipped her head to the side, as though listening. Still frowning, she stepped forward, her blades still in hand, but held loosely at her sides. Those deep, thoughtful eyes scoured his features, piercing into his very soul. And, then, without another word, she vanished from his sight.
Releasing the breath he had held, the Teyrn stared at the space she had occupied before settling back down into his chair.
DA:O
A firm hand, gentle, rested upon her shoulder, giving it a soft shake. "Adela?" Roland's voice called to her, quietly. The elf opened her eyes, smiling up into the greens of the knight.
"Did I oversleep?" she asked as she pushed herself from her bedroll, taking quick note that Zevran and Niall slumbered not too far from where she lay. The small fire they had set up still burned, offering some warmth to the bedrolls set nearby.
A broad smile crossed Roland's handsome face as he reached down to help her to her feet. "No. But, you weren't sleeping very soundly, so I thought I should wake you."
Her smile matched his as she settled before the fire, reaching over to inspect the stew pot. Finding it empty, she then reached for the kettle and set it upon the fire to heat the water.
"Thanks," she replied, pulling out a cup and some tea. "Since we've gotten to this part of the Forest, I've been having very strange and…vivid dreams." She sat, frowning into the flames. She felt Roland take a seat beside her and looked up.
"I have noticed that your sleep has been restless," he said with sympathy, recalling how two nights prior she had sat up, screaming in her sleep, and how it had taken all three of her companions to settle her down, Hafter laying atop her legs to help keep her still.
Niall had explained that Adela had developed a strong sensitivity to the Fade, most likely brought about by her prolonged exposure to the Fade during their trip through the Circle. When Roland had pointed out that the others - including the mage himself - had been in the Fade as long or longer, Niall quickly pointed to the fact that Adela had been aware - awake - which was almost unheard of for someone with no magical ability whatsoever. Everyone else, except for himself, had succumbed to their dreams, and it was Adela who had awakened them. Niall, as a mage, was more comfortable in the Fade.
Adela had also learned how to shape shift within the Fade, effectively manipulating the dream realm to suit her own needs. That, too, had been only something only a mage - and a powerful one - would be able to do during the aware state. Although a dreamer may be able to manipulate dreams while in their dream state, to do so while awake and aware within the confines of the Fade was extraordinary.
Now that they traversed the Brecilian Forest, an area known to have pockets of thinning Veil. He predicted that Adela's own sensitivity would be more pronounced.
The kettle started whistling, and Roland bent forward, picking it up and pouring some of the steaming water into Adela's cup. He noticed that the elven woman was watching him from the corner of her eyes. Arching a brow, he grinned over at her.
"Something on your mind?" he asked as he settled back down.
Blowing across the top of her cup, she nodded. "I was wondering how you were doing?" she asked as she took a cautious sip, grimacing at the heat of the beverage.
"I'm well," the knight replied, a little confused by her concern. "Why? Have I given any indication I am unwell?"
Smiling, she reached over and patted the knight on his arm. "No," she replied, taking another small sip of her tea. "Actually, you seem to have recovered from your ordeal very well." She raised her face, her eyes searching Roland's face.
He was tired, but they all were. They had been traveling within the Forest for several days, and battled many packs of werewolves, blight wolves, darkspawn and other creatures. Not only were their days spent battling such creatures, but, as Adela and Leliana had warned, the forest itself seemed intent on keeping them from its center, always turning them around, backtracking, returning to previously explored areas. It was wearing on the four companions, and Adela found herself worrying over Alistair and his group.
She was not worried about Roland's well being; she could tell that he had recovered nicely and seemed strong and hale. What worried her was that he had yet to truly talk about his ordeal. Always one for full disclosure, Adela had found talking to be the best medicine. She had found solace in speaking with Alistair about her ordeal at the hands of Vaughan, and credited that talk toward her healing. She could only wonder at the scars Roland carried upon his heart and soul.
Roland watched as she studied his face, and she noticed a slight blush form on his pale skin. She had always wondered about that - he spent as much time in the sun as any of them, and yet his skin always had an almost alabaster quality to it. It never tanned, but had burned, only to give way, yet again, to the very pale skin. Realizing the direction her thoughts had gone, she felt a slight blush of her own.
They sat in silence with one another for several moments. Adela spoke. "You had mentioned the possibility of one of the Couslands having survived," she reminded him, recalling when he explained his torturers had asked about the Cousland girl, Elissa. Roland nodded, frowning slightly.
"If anyone escaped it would be Elissa," he confirmed softly, a hesitant quality in his voice.
Picking up on his uncertainly, Adela asked quietly, "Did you know her well?" She watched as his face fell slightly, and she thought she had her answer.
"No," the knight replied, frowning as he looked over at the elf. "Elissa was…is a brave, skillful young woman. One of the most resourceful people I know. However," his eyes took on a slight faraway look before settling back on her face. "Elissa was very aware of the differences in station." He reached out and gently eased a stray lock of Adela's hair behind her ear. "We had known each other since we were children, since before my father brought me to squire for the Couslands. Yet, there was no familiarity, no friendship. Only titles and duty, a great understanding that she was the daughter of a Teyrn, and I the squired son of a minor Bann."
Adela listened, watching as his hand went back to his lap. "Did you love her?" she asked quietly, trying to figure out the pensiveness behind Roland's behavior.
He shook his head. "No," he replied. "As wonderful as many thought of Elissa - Cailan included - those of us who lived with her knew the truth behind her genteel nature." He noticed she frowned. "Elissa wasn't a bad person, just always, always aware and alert to the fact that her family was the second most powerful in all of Fereldan." He shrugged. "I also recall her being very upset that Cailan choose Anora over her when the prospect of marriage came up."
A small laugh escaped Adela's lips. Roland looked at her questioningly. "Sorry," she waved a tiny hand at him. "I've known Cailan and Anora since before they were wed. I have a hard time picturing Cailan with anyone other than Anora."
The knight smiled. "I had forgotten you were friends with the royals," he settled back a bit, his eyes fixed upon Adela's face, thoughtful for a moment. "Elissa would not have liked you." He said a slight touch of humor in his voice.
"Ha!" she swatted at him. "Why not?"
He shrugged. "Other than your being an elf…" he smirked. "You are far too pretty. Elissa never liked competition, and trust me, you are far more than merely competition." He reached over and traced her cheek with one calloused hand, smiling as she blushed slightly at his compliment. "You are also too nice. People like you, regardless of any preconceptions they may have." His eyes swept over to where Zevran lay as his hand fell from her face. "Even if they are paid to dispose of you, you have a knack for getting them to change their minds."
The elf grinned. "That's a talent more inherited from my father than my mother, I fear." She sipped at her cooling tea. "Father can put anyone at ease, befriend anyone, and calm nearly any situation. Mother had more a talent for inciting riots." She sighed, missing her mother more than ever. "But, she was brave, and strong. Had a firm sense of what was right. And even though she may not have liked the situation with the Alienage, she always did her best to protect the elves who lived there." Her head bowed slightly. "I remember the funeral they had for her when she died." She lifted her head, looking over at her friend. "She would have hated it!" she chuckled, recalling how the elves had buried Adaia, planting a tree upon her grave. It was the words they had spoken, from the Chant, admonishing the deceased to never walk the path to the Golden City that her mother would have hated!
Roland laughed, placing an arm across Adela's shoulders. "I would like to have met your mother," he said, giving her a slight squeeze.
"I don't think you would have," she replied, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods. "She really didn't like humans overly much." She frowned. "Actually, I'd almost say she hated them. The only ones I knew she considered friends were Queen Rowan and Teyrn Loghain." She lifted her face to his, unable to identify the look that crossed his face. "She didn't like King Maric much."
"Is that how you met Cailan and Anora?" Roland asked, not knowing Adela's history with the family.
The elf shook her head. "No. I didn't meet them until after my mother's death. I know Mamae kept in contact with the Queen and Teyrn, but once the Queen died…" She shrugged her shoulders.
She frowned, her eyes dimming in memory. She told Roland how her mother had met her death, how Loghain had rescued her and brought her back to the palace so that he could advise Maric, immediately, of Adaia's death, to try and make a point to the king of promises made and not kept. She remembered in great detail how Loghain had carried her mother's body, his fine armor and clothing covered in her blood, the entire way through the streets of Denerim, through the nobles' quarter, past merchants and the Chantry, to the Alienage, seeking out her father, before relinquishing the body of his friend. The look that Loghain had shared with her father came back to her; the look shared by two men who lost something that had been important to them. She recalled how Loghain had looked to the small elven child that had followed him, quietly, in his shadow, and how he knelt to one knee to give that child a firm hug.
It was after that that he and Cyrion had reacquainted themselves, and how regular visits to the palace had ensued from there.
Sitting there, listening to her quiet voice, watching as the memories passed across her face, Roland nodded. "He was your hero," he said insightfully.
Adela nodded. "For the longest time I was infatuated with him," she grinned up into Roland's face. "What little girl doesn't dream of a hero to save her from the villains? He made me a part of his family, taught me how to handle a mabari, how to stand up for myself and never think of myself as just an elf." She shrugged. "Sometimes those lessons are hard to remember." She turned her face back to the fire.
"It must be difficult now," Roland said after a few moments thoughtful pause. "To know that he had left the king and the wardens behind. To face the darkspawn alone."
"It is," she acknowledged. "But," she turned back to the knight. "There are other things to ponder upon. And," she smirked over at the two sleeping men behind them. "You need to get some rest. Come on," she rose, putting out a hand for the knight to grasp. "Let's wake these two sleepy heads so that you can get some rest."
Taking her very small hand in his, giving it a squeeze, the knight rose to his feet, and went over to the sleeping men to awake them for watch duty.
DA:O
The next day found the group wandering the ever changing trails of the Forest. Roland and Adela led the group, Hafter taking point, at times racing ahead, sniffing out new smells, and then returning quickly. Niall followed behind the knight and elf, with Zevran, ever alert, at the rear.
Although the day was sunny and bright, the sunshine and warmth had difficulty penetrating the thick cover of the Forest. Shadows dappled the ground, creating shadowy areas and cooler shades. A light mist covered the ground in some areas, especially the areas nearer older growths and swampy grounds. Adela's robes contained a charm so that she felt little of the chill in the air. She wore her cloak off one shoulder to allow better access to her bow and arrows. Poor Niall, however, had no such luck with his robes, and shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter about him. Both Roland and Zevran foreswore cloaks, complaining that they got in the way of combat and were a nuisance to remove prior to engaging the enemy.
Their journey that day took them into a portion of the Forest they had not been before. Or, at the very least, a portion that none of them recognized. The trees were very old here, and Hafter seemed a bit more on edge, more wary as he trotted ahead of the group, his sharp senses alert: ears raised and constantly twitching for sounds, nose more often than not to the ground, eyes constantly scanning, watching to be certain of his mistress's position in the group as well as the path ahead.
Roland felt as on edge as the dog apparently was. A glance to the elven archer beside him alerted him to the fact that she, too, felt it. Niall pressed slightly closer to the two, making his own ill ease felt. A glance backward found Zevran's own sharp elven eyes watching the area closely - his eyes focused above them rather than around them, scanning the treetops with apprehension.
"So," Niall started after clearing his throat nervously. "You had another bad dream last night?" this question was directed to Adela.
She nodded. "Comes with the territory," she replied, her eyes glancing back at the mage before resuming their scan of the area. She saw his confused expression and clarified. "All Grey Wardens experience…vivid dreams, especially during a Blight."
"Ah," the mage said wisely. "And with your own sensitivity to the Fade, these must be even more vivid." His expression seemed one of a scholar taking mental notes, to file away for future reference.
"You're the one saying I'm overly sensitive, Niall," the elf pointed out good naturedly, emphasizing with a pointed finger to his chest. "I never said any such thing."
The mage scoffed at her. "Really, Adela," he gentled scolded, grinning at Roland. "I am an expert on the Fade, or have you forgotten how we met?"
"Forgotten?" She queried, glancing back again. "Oh, yes, completely forgot how we met, yes I did. Tower full of demons and abominations. Oh! And the pleasant excursion into the Fade." She rolled her eyes then. "Completely forgot," she ticked one finger off a temple, clicking her tongue. "Right out of my mind."
She felt his long fingered hand settle upon her shoulder, twitching with a chuckle. "Yes, yes, my dear little elven Fade wanderer," he just would not give up. "But, I tell you, the things you did in the Fade no non-mage ever could have - or should have - been able to do." He removed his hand. "I stand by my initial assessment that you are sensitive to the Fade." His brown eyes softened slightly. "I'd almost say that you could well have been mage-born, save the lack of spell casting."
Adela was about to respond with a sarcastic comment when Zevran shushed them to silence. Roland immediately pulled his sword from his back, fixing his shield to his arm. Adela's bow was in hand, an arrow held loosely in the other as her sharp eyes pierced the misty depths of the forest around them. Niall stepped back somewhat, a quick spell coming to mind.
It was then that they heard it: a low, grinding groan, like the creaking of wood. The noise grew in volume. The sound of snapping twigs and wood brought Adela around, her arrow fully nocked to her bow, bowstring pulled taut. She faltered for a moment as she saw the looming figure of an ancient tree, towering over the companions, its branches reaching out as arms. Blinking past her sudden fear, the elf let loose an arrow, one enchanted with fire, paying scant attention as some of the wild sylvan's leaves caught aflame. Frowning in concentration, she nocked another arrow and let loose.
There is more creaking of wood groans and Niall found himself facing off against another wild sylvan. Cursing, the mage jumped back, his hands fanned out as flames spurted forth, catching the walking tree on fire. From the corner of his eye, he spied Zevran leaping forward, his daggers in hand, ducking beneath swinging branches. Now mindful of the elven assassin's presence beneath the boughs of their woodland foe, the mage called forth a winter's grasp spell, hoping to freeze the monstrous tree into immobility. Astonishingly, the thing shrugged off the magical assault, swinging out with a burning branch to snap the mage from his feet, sending him sprawling upon his back with an "oof".
Arrow after arrow, each blazing with magical fire, flew into the thick boughs of the wild sylvan. Roland ducked beneath a swinging branch, raising his shield to deflect a second, driving forward with his sword, trying to pierce the tough bark of the tree's trunk. Another groan erupted from the mobile tree, and he felt the ground shudder beneath his feet. Stumbling backwards, the knight braced his feet, striving to maintain his footing and balance. A sharp crack followed, and Roland found himself encased in a cage of twigs, branches and bark, all pressing against him, holding him immobile. He heard Adela cry out his name, but he could not turn his head to see her. He felt the heat rise as the wood encasing him caught aflame, and he found his movement no longer impaired. Pushing backwards, he broke through the weakened wood, staggering backwards, shield and sword raised, he was a bit singed, but free.
Zevran stared at the burning trunk in consternation, and then began hacking away at it with his daggers. He had no idea how, exactly, they would fell these behemoths, but the flames caused by Niall's spells and Adela's arrows seemed to be doing the trick. As he danced away from one sweeping, burning branch, he made a mental note to have a flame rune added to his daggers.
Adela's fire arrows were starting to run low, and she wasn't confident that the missiles enchanted with ice would do as much damage as those of fire. She was more aware than watchful of Roland's continued hacking and bashing at the mobile and vicious tree, careful to avoid his ever moving form as arrow after arrow flew from her fingers. An echoing groan to her left told her that Niall and Zevran's foe was being overtaken, and she hoped that it would fall soon so that the mage could apply his flame spells to this one. It was taking far too long.
Roland almost seethed. The damnedable thing just would not fall! He bashed at the thing with shield, hacking at it with his blade. Great hunks of wood and bark - burnt and otherwise - fell from the sylvan in abundance, yet still the thing struggled, stomped, swatted and bashed at the knight. He could hear Hafter growling and barking in the background, and then heard a sudden yelp from the warhound. Hoping the faithful beast was alright, he continued his assault. He could hear the fire crackling upon the other sylvan, but could not spare a glance from his current foe. Barely dodging one vicious strike, the knight rolled to the ground, bringing his shield up just in time to deflect a back blow from the creature.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the huge warhound sail through the air to lie motionless feet from where Adela stood, still streaking arrows into her foe. Frowning, the mage continued his magical onslaught of the wild sylvan. Niall's mana was draining quickly as he continued to hurl spells at the quickly failing, burning tree. Fires crackled and continued to consume the ancient, dry wood and bark, rushing upwards towards the halo of leaves. Exhausted, the mage - more scholar than battlemage - stumbled backwards slightly, grasping a vial of blue liquid from his pouch and downing it in one, quick gulp. Reenergized, the mage called forth another blast of flame, sending it spewing upon the sylvan. He saw Zevran duck from beneath its canopy, skipping back into the open as it gave its final groan, falling to the forest floor with a great boom.
Panting, sparing a glance to the elf, the mage took out another vial, downing that as he turned toward the still battling form of the second wild sylvan.
Her fire arrows spent, Adela reached for one of ice. She noted with satisfaction that while it did not do the damage the fire did, the ice did cause the wild sylvan injury. Her eyes settled upon Roland's kneeling form, his shield held upwards as he deflected the on coming swung of arms of wood. She aimed her bow at the appendage, firing it quickly as she reached for another arrow to let loose. The missile struck the assaulting branch cleanly, the force in which it hit the rotted wood, the ice of the enchantment weakening it further, allowing it to continue its trajectory through the wood and into the trunk behind. The second arrow cut through close to the first wound, weakening the appendage greatly.
Seeing the opportunity, Roland surged to his feet, leading with his shield, putting all his weight behind the strike as he smashed the bulwark into the appendage. He was rewarded with the sharp sound of snapping wood, and smiled grimly as the branch broke in half, the lower part falling to the ground.
"Ware yourself!" Niall cried out to Roland, barely allowing the warrior time to dodge out of the way as he sent forth a steady stream of flame. Maintaining concentration, using all of his mana, the mage moved his arms, allowing the flames to lick hungrily at the full length of the sylvan. Dry wood and bark crackled and caught afire, the flames consumed the ancient fuel, rising steadily upwards into the vast canopy of leaves, igniting the top of the tree. Thoroughly drained, Niall slumped to the ground.
Crying out in victory, Roland dashed forward, bashing his shield and slamming his sword into the quickly weakening sylvan. Zevran danced and dodged, slicing his blades into the wood. Eventually, the fires overcame the creature, and it, too, crashed to the forest floor, the flames continuing to consume the tree, leaving behind only a burnt husk.
Panting, the companions looked at one another, concern upon their features. Adela quickly slung her bow onto her shoulder, dashing over to the still seated Niall. He smiled weakly into her concerned face, waving away her questing hands, assuring her he was unharmed, merely tired. Nodding, the elf turned her attentions first to Zevran, the nearest. He had managed to escape injury, acquiring only scrapes and bruises, perhaps a singed lock of golden hair. Roland had taken more injury, and the elf insisted he remove his armor so that she could check him over and heal any injuries. Niall unstoppered another vial of lyrium, one less potent than those he took during battle, quickly quaffing it in one swallow. He rose, unsteadily, to assist in the knight's healing. Zevran placed a steadying hand to the mage's elbow, waggling his eyebrows at his lover as he helped him over to the others.
Roland escaped the battle with bruised ribs, several cuts, and some scorching. He grinned up at Adela, who was still nervously inspecting him for more wounds, trying to quell the concern and anxiety he saw etched upon her fine features.
"I promise from here on out," the knight vowed weakly, trying to catch his breath, although whether from the battle or from the touch of Adela's warm hands on his flesh he rightly could not say. "If you were to tell me that Andraste came back reincarnated as a dragon, I will believe you until there is proof to the contrary." He winced slightly as he shifted, his bruised ribs protesting against the movement.
Adela smiled down at the knight as she applied a healing poultice to a particularly nasty gash. "I'll hold you to that promise, Ser Knight," she proclaimed, a twinkle in her blue eyes.
Zevran, his usual cool grin upon his face, slumped to the ground beside Niall, draping an arm across the mage's shoulders. "You know," he said in his heavily accented drawl. "I think it is time for a nap, no?" He gestured toward the still burning sylvans. "We have plenty of heat, yes/"
Staring at the elf, her hands just mere fractions from Roland's skin, Adela shook her head, trying to stifle the laugh that threatened to force itself past her lips. Her eyes glance over to the knight, startled by the intensity behind his stare. With another shake of her fair head, she carefully wrapped a bandage about his broad chest, fastening it quickly, and then helped him replace the torn cotton undershirt he wore beneath his armor. Revitalized, Niall leaned over and cast another healing spell over the knight, taking care of any injuries Adela's ministrations would not have been able to see to.
Once properly bandaged and attired, the party rose to their feet and, with a final glance at the smoldering corpses of the trees, headed away, trying to seek out and penetrate the center of the forest.