Ah, the alerts, the favorites, the reviews! As always, an extra special thanks to those who take the time to review: Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nithu, CCBug, mutive, Biff McLaughlin
My hands actually hurt from typing this chapter. *ouch* And it's not even my longest!
Alright, alright, alright…as if admitting none of this is mine would do any good! But, fine! It's not mine!
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 29
The gloom of the caverns and tunnels made her eyes sensitive to the sunlight. Not brilliant, certainly, but bright to cause the elf to blink several times against the tearing of her eyes as she and her companions stepped from the cavern in where lay the remains of Kolgrim and his fanatical followers. She lifted her face, the falling snow catching in her long lashes, causing her eyes to blink even more furiously. She took a deep breath of the first lungful of fresh air she had had since entering the vile village just the day before.
Shielding her sensitive eyes, she gazed around them. Ahead of them were the devastated pathways leading to another building across the ruined courtyard. Cliffs and jagged ledges encircled the area, almost enclosing it in its natural walls. Snow flurried around them, accumulating upon the cold, stone ground as the wind whistled and blustered around corners and up the crevices and airshafts.
The elf halted, however, when the gusts of wind took on another tone. Motioning everyone back, she scanned the horizon, pulling her field of vision closer. A frown formed on her smooth features, and she turned, hand over her eyes, to peer up onto the many ledges and overhangs. Her blood nearly froze in her veins, and her vision tunneled as her blue eyes settled upon the majestic form of a slumbering high dragon.
Red scales shimmered in the gray sunshine, darkening around the creatures great shoulders and to its underbelly. Two horns curved out from the top of its reptilian head, lengthening out over large, hooded eyes. Rows of teeth, each as long as a Qunari's greatsword, jutted from between its lips, its long, alligator-like jaws clenched as great bouts of hot breath gusted from wide nostrils. The long head lay nestled upon crossed forelegs, its hind legs tucked under it, it's long, spiked tail coiled protectively around its long body.
Carefully, she eased back around the corner, and, in hushed and frightened whispers, explained what she saw. Zevran risked a peek around the corner and ducked back, white showing around his lips.
"If we move very quietly," the assassin offered in almost hopeful tones, "we should be able to sneak past the great beast."
Giving her elven friend a look of quiet incredulity, Adela gestured toward Alistair and Roland. "And our two heavily armed and armored friends here will what? Charm their way by?"
A mischievous twinkle in his tawny eyes, Zevran quipped, "Ah, see, my dear, I think you are catching on. Our fine, handsome men here may well be able to do just such a thing, no?" He easily dismissed the glares each man shot him as he sidled over to Adela's side once more.
"We are not seriously considering battling such a creature?" Morrigan asked, unable to contain or hide the fear in her voice. She relaxed slightly in relief as Adela shook her head.
"I have no desire to fight a high dragon," the elven Warden declared. "Not with half our team guarding over Brother Genetivi." She shrugged nervously, wondering if even with all their full strength she would ever consider such a thing.
Both elves went back to peering around the bend, scanning through the shadows lining the walled in walkway they would need to traverse. A walkway that went directly under the ledge the dragon now perched upon. There was no question that they could well manage to remain out of the dragon's point of view; Morrigan had a decent chance, given her upbringing in the Wilds. Alistair and Roland were a completely different story. Neither man was particularly known for his agility and grace, and divesting them of their heavy armor and trust that they would not need to be armored once they entered the far building was a stretch of faith none of them was willing to consider.
Adela was almost ready to relinquish the day's journey they had to give to get to where they were, turn around, and go back to where the good Brother and the others awaited when the rush of air and heavy flap of wings brought her attention up.
And up further as the dragon gave wing and flew off in a northerly direction, heading well away from the group.
Not wanting to push their luck, the four companions rushed to the far building, hastily pushing open the front doors. With a rush of relief, they hurriedly closed the doors, and turned, facing a stairway leading upwards.
It was as they stood, panting, staring up at the stairs that disappeared into the shadowy darkness above, that Adela noted the dark, coolness of the entryway they stood in. She took a deep breath. There was also a sense of peace that almost exuded from the very air itself. Despite the obvious neglect of the building, the air was clean, fresh and refreshing. Looking closely at her companions, she noted the same calm come over them as well.
The stairway led up to the first floor of the building. As they entered, they spied statues depicting the Prophet Andraste in various positions. Some showed her as the Warrior, fighting against the evil Imperium; others as the wise General, guiding those who followed her. One statue depicted her in conference with the elven leader, Shartan, their faces close together, she holding a hand over her heart, he with his head bowed slightly to her. The most predominant style of statue showed her standing straight and tall, her mantle flowing over her shoulders and down her slender form, her head held high, arms outstretched as though to the Maker. These statues lined the vast corridor they walked down, leading to another set of doors.
In front of which stood a man of middle years, dressed in archaic heavy plate. His sorrowful, wise eyes watched as the group approached, and a gentle smile formed upon his lips.
"Greetings, Pilgrims," he said in a soft, echoing voice.
"Greetings, Guardian," Adela replied as she stepped in front of him, stopping before him.
"You have come to seek out the Ashes of the Prophet," the Guardian stated, and Adela nodded in reply.
"We need the Ashes to cure a sick nobleman," Adela offered, but the Guardian shook his head.
"It is not I who decides if you are worthy to approach the Urn, Pilgrim," he stated. "That is for the Gauntlet to decide."
"The Gauntlet?" Alistair asked the slightest of quavers in his voice.
"Indeed," the Guardian nodded his head. "But, before I can let you pass, there are questions that must be asked, and answers given."
"What questions?" Adela asked.
The Guardian turned his full attention to the elven woman, his eyes reflecting back sorrow and pity. "Adela Tabris, daughter of the proud Dalish and beleaguered Alienage, Grey Warden, Commander, the path that brought you here has been fraught with pain, sorrow and suffering." He took a slight step forward, his eyes claiming hers in their intensity, unwilling to relinquish their hold. "You stood up to Lord Vaughan and sought to free those who had been wrongfully taken. In so standing up for yourselves, those who had once been under the care of your mother now suffer. Tell me, Adela, do you feel responsible for the suffering of those within the Alienage now?"
She felt the blood drain for her face, but she raised it, her eyes meeting the Guardian's with steady force. In a strong voice, she replied, "At one time, yes, I felt as though through my own actions I had brought pain and suffering to my people. However, since that time, I have learned that there will always be those cruel people who seek to elevate themselves by making others suffer. Such is the lot in life for the elves of Fereldan; we are always deemed unworthy of life or happiness. So, I would now encourage any of my people to protect themselves and theirs, regardless of what they may feel the consequences of those actions may bring later on." She tilted her chin up, defiantly. "I would do it again, if need be."
Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the Guardian stepped back. Adela, unaware of the approving gazes of her companions, bowed her head slightly, hoping no one noticed the trembling of her hands. As the Guardian turned to ask his questions of her friends, she realized just how true her own words had been. She had blamed herself upon learning of the fate of the Alienage, had learned of the purge, the sickness and the current conditions therein. She was certain that there would be those within the Alienage who, too, would blame her. However, since that time, she had learned that only when elves could be seen as people would the humans of their land cease treating them as animals. Her duty, now as a Grey Warden, was to make certain that humans did not only see her as an elf, but as a person determined to save the land from the Blight. She would remind them that the last Grey Warden to end a Blight had been elven. And that, given the opportunities, elves could and would assist in the protection of their land alongside the humans.
The Dalish had it wrong - they thought isolation would keep their people safe, allow them to grow. In some aspects, it was true. The Elves of the Dales had started regaining their longevity and some of their lost lore. However, they had no home of their own, no system set up to reflect the elven society of the past, the society they so longed to regain. Only when they stood shoulder to shoulder with those with whom they shared the land with could they even hope to do so. Changes came not by hiding away, but by dialogue and interaction with those races they deemed unworthy. As a relative outsider, despite her elven heritage, despite her Dalish heritage, Adela could so clearly see the divides between the elves of the Alienages, the Dalish and the humans. Divides created mostly from an inability to see the other side; divides created by obstinacy and mistrust.
She sighed, glancing up as the Guardian pulled back from the group. She watched the thoughtful expressions upon her friends' faces.
She had known all along that Alistair had felt he had abandoned Duncan and the other Grey Wardens on the field. Moreover, no amount of talking with him, telling him that he had acted upon orders from Duncan would convince him otherwise. He still let it haunt him.
Roland, too, felt the sting of feeling he had left the innocents at Highever to terrible fates, even when he had been living his own torturous nightmare. The guilt he felt at surviving would continue to assail him until he could accept that there had been nothing he could have done to prevent what had happened. His dying would only have added one more to the death count.
Adela had no doubts that, with a past as bloody and harsh as his that Zevran had many regrets. She had seen that, beneath the joking and innuendos, the elven male had a deep personality and tremendously caring heart. The elven assassin, however, had refused to allow the Guardian to finish his question, merely stating that he had regrets and left it at that.
And Morrigan, staring straight and haughty, proud, at the Guardian refused to entertain any question or observation he may have. With a bow, he respected her wishes, and asked nothing of her.
With a respectful bow, the Guardian advised the group that they would be allowed to continue further into the Temple, to face the challenges of the Gauntlet.
DA:O
The first leg of the Gauntlet was rather…disappointing to the elf. A series of riddles disguised as historical fact, and the locked door at the end of the chamber mysteriously opened. It was rather anticlimactically, given the discussion with the Guardian, and Adela could not help but feel disappointed with the outcome.
It was the figure, shrouded in a faint ghostly aura that caused the elf to pause, wishing for a way to just turn tail and run. She stepped neared, certain her friends could sense the tension in each of her steps, could feel her reluctance to approach the form as they neared. Hafter, sensing his mistress's ill ease, growl slightly in the back of his throat as the group neared.
Blond hair, curling slightly, fell down the figure's back. Standing taller than Morrigan, the form was slender and very feminine. With catlike grace, the woman turned, revealing slender, shapely ears, sharp gray-blue eyes, and a whirling tattoo over her right eye. Her face, a sharper, older image of Adela's own, was set in a stern mask, those eyes sweeping over Adela's companions before resting upon the girl herself.
"Mother," Adela whispered in a weak voice, her knees trembling as she gazed upon the beloved face of her fierce mother. Alistair moved closer, almost brushing against her shoulder, and she felt Roland's strong presence behind her. She noticed her mother's frown at the humans within her group, and her frown eased only slightly at the sight of Zevran.
In a strong, lyrical voice, the elven warrior spoke. "Creators protect you, my daughter," Adaia's eyes softened as she spoke the words of greeting. A smile crossed her face, smoothing the harsh lines, softening it so that it looked more like Adela's own features. "Fear not for those you left behind, da'len," her mother said, placing cold hands upon her shoulders. "Your actions, though they may have brought pain for the now, will help in the after that is to follow."
Adela was surprised, truly. She had expected her mother to first spit out harsh words at the humans flanking her. Adaia seemed aware of that, and smiled at her daughter's confusion. "I died by the hand of humans, daughter," Adaia replied. "And by my own arrogance and stubbornness. Glad I am that you inherited your father's temperance, fueled with my spirit. Had it been the other way, I am certain you would have died when you were in that vile little man's possession."
"Mamae," Adela whispered, stepping nearer, wanting nothing more than to hug her mother.
Adaia smiled down at her smaller daughter. "Long had I hated, child. Hated humans, hated the Wardens, hated friends whom had no cause for such. Your heart is true, your goals just. Hold your head high, da'len. You are a child of the Dales, and it will be yet another child of the Elvhenan that will save Fereldan, and Thedas, from Man's arrogance."
With these words, Adaia stepped back, the aura about her growing in intensity. With a hand raised in farewell, the ghost of the Dalish warrior dissipated as mist.
Adela stood there, staring at the spot where the vision of her mother had stood, blinking back the tears that prickled at the back of her eyes. Alistair nervously cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. With a shy smile, the human warden put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in for a tight hug. Adela put her arms about him, pressing her face against the cold metal of his armor.
"Are you alright?" he asked, shaking her gently.
Nodding, she pulled away, smiling up at him and then turning that smile upon her friends. "I'm fine," she said, stepping out of his embrace, adjusting her armor. Her smile brightened. "Everything will be fine," she said with strength and finality. Roland reached over and gently brushed her cheek, and nodded his agreement.
"Shall we see what the rest of this Gauntlet has in store for us?" she asked, and then led her companions further in.
The next chamber proved a battle against themselves. Adela and her companions found that such a fight was difficult, for every weakness they tried to take advantage in their opponent was used against themselves as well. The companions were battered, bruised, and somewhat disheartened by having to kill spirit versions of themselves and their friends. Scowling, Zevran proclaimed that he did not see the value in such a test.
The next chamber proved more daunting. A puzzle to cross a vast, seemingly bottomless chasm. Along each of the sides of the chasm were four flat rune stones, each large enough for the Sten to stand upon. She and her friends studied the rune stones, Alistair finding the plaque that gave a hint as to how to beat the puzzle. He frowned, declaring that he hated puzzles and then wondered how deep the chasm was. Adela stood at the mouth of the chasm. The other three alternately stepped upon the stones, and suddenly a stone appeared at the end of the path, appearing solid. With a furtive glance at her friends, Adela placed a cautious foot upon the stone, testing it. Deciding it was solid, she stepped firmly upon it, much to the dismay of Alistair and Roland, who both cried out. Roland, standing upon one of the stones, made to move, but Morrigan, standing across from him, called out, commanding him to remain where he was. Alistair then moved along the stones, and the trio began to step around and upon the remaining stones, until finally Adela was able to make her way across. Once her feet stepped lightly upon the floor, the bridge appeared, as solid as any stone. Hafter bounded along the stone bridge, barking and jumping around. With a whoop, Alistair rushed across, gathering Adela in his arms, ignoring the shaking that had come over him as he had watched her make her way across. The others joined them, and the group then moved toward the next chamber.
At the chamber's entryway stood a stone altar, engraved with images of Andraste leading her army against the Tevinter Imperium. The Lady herself stood upon the crest of a hill, overlooking the vast armies of the once great empire, one hand stretched out before her as the wind tossed her hair back. Behind and beside her stood her generals, eyes uplifted in prayer and reverence to the Maker.
On the other side of the altar roared a wall of red flames, licking up taller than either Alistair or Roland stood. Beyond that stood a magnificent stairway, leading up.
They stood there, staring balefully at the wall of flames, at least six feet deep and that stretched directly across the chamber from one wall to the other. Zevran and Adela each paced the barrier, starting at opposite walls. Neither elf could discern a path through the flaming barrier.
The pair met up at the center. "I can see no way around it, mi amica," Zevran admitted quietly, his honey colored eyes scanning the length and breadth of the obstacle, as though he could see something both he and Adela had missed their first sweep by.
Biting her bottom lip, Adela agreed with a slight nod of her head, her own eyes skimming along the blockade as well. With a sigh, she stepped to the altar, dropping into a crouch as she studied the surface of the altar.
She frowned, then a faint blush rose to her cheeks as she read the inscription. She glanced up at her party, and then back down at the altar. Figures I'd choose mostly men to accompany me, she thought ruefully, feeling the blush rush from her cheeks down her neck. Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, she rose and told the men standing quietly behind her what the inscription said.
Zevran immediately wore a wide grin upon his handsome face, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Both Alistair and Roland fought blushes of their own. Morrigan simply scoffed, declaring that she needn't worry about unwanted glances from these three. Adela turned back to the firewall, offering it a glare that, had it been living person, would have frozen it to the spot. Extracting a promise that the men would avert their gazes, the elf proceeded to divest herself of all of her equipment, armor and clothing, as per the altar's instruction.
Taking a deep breath, keeping her eyes averted forward, the elven warden stepped into the blazing barrier…and stepped through unscathed.
She turned, facing the guardian. Behind him, the firewall had vanished. The guardian stepped nearer to the elf, further blocking her view of her friends. Placing his hands upon her shoulders, he said in his soft, otherworldly voice, "You have been through the trials of faith. You have walked the path of Andraste. Like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, Pilgrim." At his words, Adela found herself armed, armored, and clothed again, much to her relief. She had started to shiver with chill, nerves and embarrassment. The guardian offered her a smile and a pat upon her shoulders before releasing her fully and stepping back. She was surprised by the slight warm shock that flowed from the spirit's touch and through her body, but she thought nothing further of it as her companions stepped forward, and ascended the stairway with her.
She stepped to the foot of the stairway, gazing up its wide berth, to the top where a magnificent statue of Andraste stood. She could feel her companions - especially Alistair, though their shared tainted blood - intensely. With a sigh, she mounted the stairs, making her way up the impressive length, to stand before the statue. At Andraste's feet stood a marble and silverite altar, and upon that sat an urn of gold, silverite and dragon bone.
Behind the elf, Roland knelt, offering up prayers to the Maker. Alistair breathed out a reverent oath, complimenting Adela for getting them there. Morrigan stood, staring with a look of almost boredom at the urn, while Zevran made the remark of wanting a vase just like the urn for his home. Adela tossed her elven friend a smirk, then turned back to the urn, trying to discern her own feelings at their journey.
There, lying in the urn, were the mortal remains of the woman hailed as the Maker's Bride. Conflicting emotions came over her at the thought: Andraste had been responsible for the barbarian slaves' freedom from a dark and corrupt empire. The elves had fought by her side for their own freedom. Yet, Adela had to wonder, were the freedoms, so extravagantly purchased through blood and strife all those centuries before, managed to survive the tide of years? For the elves, the answer was a resounding 'no'. For the mages, again, 'no'. The Chantry, for all the flowery words and declaration that it spoke for the Maker, took more than it gave, and saw the world with hooded eyes. Yet, she could not help but feel respect for the woman who had pulled together vast armies among the Alammari barbarians, and helped toppled a mighty Imperium, which even today had not recovered from its devastating losses.
Therefore, with reverence, she said a silent prayer to the Maker, and took a pinch of the ashes, placing them inside a tiny pouch. Her fingertips numb from the contact, she gently brushed her fingers together, allowing none of the Sacred Ashes to fall to the floor, wasted.
Turning, offering up a tiny smile to her friends, Adela led the group through the side door, and back onto the mountainside.
DA:O
Heavy wings cut through the air, sending downdrafts to the ground below. Alistair looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, watching as the red high dragon resumed its perch upon the ledge just beyond the walkway. A nervous glance to his companions spoke more than words could on the anxiety level. The magnificent, ancient beast was watching the ruined courtyard with intense interest, the heat of fury all but scorching the surrounding area. Apparently, she had discovered the decimation of the cult and her young within.
DA:O
The beast's nostrils twitched, the scent of human and elf rising upwards, floated along the updraft she had created from her recent flight. Red slatted eyes glared down along the walkway, to the courtyard and toward the hated ruins wherein the damnable immortal spirit waited. Those hate filled eyes narrowed as her sight skimmed along the crumbling walls, passed the main doorway, toward the side where stood the hidden entries into the temple. A roar burst forth from her huge lungs as her eyes settled upon those responsible for the deaths of her younglings. Gathering herself, she leaped into the air like a cat, her powerful wings beating to raise her into the air. With another bellow of anger, the great ancient beast swooped down toward the scattering group, fire bursting from her lungs, seeking to scorch and roast the fools where they stood.
DA:O
They watched with dawning horror as the great beast lunged down at them, sending her magical fire at them. Alistair gathered his willpower, hoping that his templar abilities would work against dragon's fire. Adela and Zevran jumped aside, Adela pulling her bow free of her shoulder, nocking an arrow in a quick, fluid movement. As she brought the missile to bear, Zevran started scampering up the stone wall, keeping into the shadows, looking for a landing upon the monster's back. Hafter, barking out his own war cry, jumped along side of Adela, ready to charge should the need arise.
Roland pulled his shield forth, dropping down into a crouch behind the wall as the fire blasted toward him. Morrigan, standing to the side, called forth a cone of ice, enveloping the creature's maw within a sheet of ice. She followed that up quickly with a stone fist, shattering the ice, and punching the nose beneath the icy sheath, jerking the creature's head back with a snarl of outrage.
Alistair sent out a cleansing force, but found that dragon's fire was not the same as mage fire. Shouting out his discouragement, the ex-templar raised his own shield and sword, and proceeded to lunge toward the great brute, cleaving at the creature's underbelly. Roland had risen and joined the other warrior.
The dragon danced back on its four feet, angrily roaring at the pair of warriors who worried her underside. Zevran found purchase within the stone wall and continued his climb upwards, seeking a position just above the great wyrm's back. Morrigan continued to assault the beast with frost, stone and energy, alternating between the primal and entropic spells at their foe and healing (she thanks Wynne and Niall for their patience in training her!) to her allies. A stead stream of ice arrows sprang from Adela's bow, many merely bouncing off the tough scaly hide, but many more finding purchase between the scales along its chest, throat and underbelly. Hafter, seeing his chance, raced under the creature, nipping and biting at its forefeet, tearing at its toes.
The great beast let out a scream of outrage, flapping its wings to seek purchase into the air to get away from the sting and pain of the swords, arrows and spells of its tiny foes. Zevran, seeing an opening, leaped from his stony hold, arms out stretched, his daggers held out and blades down in his hands. He landed in a not-quite-so-graceful fall upon one wing, his daggers ripping through the thin membrane as he scrambled for purchase. The dragon hissed and roared at the newest pain, fumbling back to the ground as the ruined wing failed to offer enough resistance to pull it off the ground. With a triumphant 'ha!' the elven assassin rose swiftly, dancing lightly across the bones of the wings, leaping gracefully upon the creature's scaly back, immediately dropping, driving his daggers deeply into the back of the dragon's neck.
Pain erupted from the wounds, and the not-Andraste dragon roared again, this time breathing out fire. Adela, forced to drop her bow, barely rolled out of the way, while Morrigan scampered against the wall, calling forth another cone of ice upon the dragon. Alistair and Roland danced further beneath the behemoth, their blades finding soft spots and tearing and rending scales free, driving their blades deeply into the soft flesh below.
Adela's roll brought her too close to the dragon, and the beast ceased its fiery breath. Swooping down, it sought to grasp the scrambling elf into its jaws. Pulling out a dagger, Adela spun about, ducking and twisting away from the creature's sharp teeth. Striking out quickly, she slashed her blade across the sensitive nostrils of the monster. Hissing in a decidedly catlike fashion, that monstrous head dove forward, knocking the elf to the ground, her dagger skittering away out of reach. Pain exploded along her body as the powerful jaws closed around her, scooping her up off the ground, the sharp teeth digging into the magically enhanced leather of the armor she wore. A scream of abject terror forced its way passed her lips, and she grappled with the jaws, trying in vain to jam her fingers into the sensitive flesh of the gums and lips.
Morrigan's cry of horror blended with Adela's scream of anguish. Alistair, closest to the women, watched in helpless dread as the creature's head rose, shaking the elf in its mouth like a rag doll. Fury, intense and unknown to the young man, rose in his heart, and, discarding his shield, he launched himself bodily at the beast's head, his blade held upwards as he leaped up. Driving the blade forward and down, he lodged it deeply into one malicious, glaring eye. The creature snarled in outrage and pain, dropping the lifeless form of Adela to the ground. Giving his own cry of fury, Alistair pulled himself up onto the face of the beast, holding on by his embedded sword. Bracing his feet, holding on as the dragon swung its head in an attempt to dislodge the human, Alistair pushed with his weight upon the blade, hoping to drive it deeper into the eye, seeking its brain.
Zevran continued driving his daggers into the creature's neck, pulling them free, using them to scale the long, serpentine neck. He did not witness the attack upon Adela, could not see Alistair's struggle upon the maw of the beast. His only thoughts were to reach the head, and seek a soft spot in its skull, thereby ending the battle as quickly as possible.
Roland, below, turned his eyes from Adela's bloodied form, swallowing down his own fear as he saw, from the corner of his eye, Morrigan approach the elf, hopefully with healing. He positioned himself directly under the dragon's soft belly. Tossing down his longsword and shield, the knight pulled his seldom-used greatsword from his back. Crouching down, he positioned the blade, tip up. Then, with an anguished, enraged war cry, the knight drove the blade upwards with all his strength, driving it hilt deep into the soft flesh, tearing through skin, flesh, and into the organs beneath. Blood poured from the wound, covering the knight as he pulled the blade free, moving toward the chest of the great, languishing beast.
With gentle hands, Morrigan pulled Adela's broken body away from the battle. Pouring her healing into the elf, she vainly struggled to find her life's pulse. Nothing. She poured more healing into her, taking only a mere moment to gulp down two vials of lyrium. Brushing a blood strand of hair from her face, she then poured a vial of healing potion down the elf's throat. There, a faint beat pulsed along her finger at the elf's slender throat. Repeatedly, the mage cast healing spells and poured healing potions into the girl, gulping vial after vial of lyrium, trying desperately to keep the young woman alive as the warriors and assassin fought to bring the murderous beast down.
He had no idea how long he hung onto his sword, pushing, jamming it and twisting and jabbing it into the beast's eye. He knew he hurt it - badly - as it continued to road and shake its head. However, the movements were slowing, becoming weaker, and he was certain that he had hit brain matter as his blade slipped easily to the hilt in its eye. With a vicious twist, he spun the blade fully about, digging out great chunks of the eye, blood and clear fluids now flowing easily over his hands and arms. His feet slipped, and he went to his knees, his grip on his sword the only thing keeping him from falling many feet to the hard, stone ground below. Alistair glanced up, and saw Zevran there, driving his blades down into the creature's skull. A weak murmur of a roar whispered from the beast's maw, and it started to slump to the ground, its struggles becoming less and less intense. He clung to his sword, praying to the Maker that Adela was all right.
Roland saw that the beast was failing. Driving his blade once more up between its ribs, he drove it hilt deep, unsure if he hit anything vital, knowing only that the creature was dying. And falling. Leaving his blade where it was embedded, the young knight rolled out from under the creature as it fell to its side, a great gasp escaping its bloodied lips. He watched as Alistair, too, left his sword buried hilt deep in one eye and leaped ungracefully to the ground. Zevran, with his own usual grace, practically danced from the creature's head, his eyes alight with triumph over their vanquished foe.
That light died as his eyes fell upon the prone and bloody figure Morrigan held gently in her lap as she continued to cast healing spells into her still body.