Thanks so much for the reviews from the previous chapter! And the oncoming alerts! Yay! Everyone is so concerned about Roland, it's rather touching. I'm also pleased by everyone's reaction to the dynamics between Loghain and Nelaros.
So, my thanks for their reviews (Oh! And you really, really should check out their stories, too!): Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, mutive, Nithu, Shakespira, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Eriana10
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 42
Adela stood facing the door, her hands twisting in front of her. How long she stood, staring at the offending wood she couldn't tell. She had left Alistair and the others downstairs in the kitchen, enjoying a rough meal of cold meat and cheese, but had noticed that Roland had not been present. So, with a final glance at Alistair, who nodded encouragingly at her, she left the party and searched out the former knight's room.
Nervousness and anxiety nearly stifled her breathing, and she paused, taking a deep breath. She had been dreading this conversation, but felt it needed to be done sooner rather than later. She could not bear the thought of her friend continuing to hope for something that could not be.
Bracing herself, she raised a small fist to knock at the door. As her hand neared the wood, the door opened, revealing the red haired man staring down at her with his green eyes as he grasped hold of her descending hand.
DA:O
A click and twang and the bolt shot through the air, pinning into the fluidity of the demon's undulating body. Nelaros allowed himself a moment's satisfaction at the scream the fiery demon let out as he set another bolt. That smile widened as Loghain's own missile dug deeply into the same demon, burying itself into a glowing spot the elf could only guess was an eye.
Taunting voices rose from the other rage demons as their fellow twisted in its agony as Nelaros' second bolt slammed into its head.
The first of the demons fell easily to the onslaught of bolts. Groaning, its fiery form merely melted away, dissipating into the floor below it. The trio left slid past the burned spot on the marble floor, their arms twisting, their bodies swaying as they advanced upon the pair.
Abandoning his crossbow, Nelaros, who had been the closest to the demons, rose, his shield held before him, just at his face, his sword raised. Loghain let loose his last bolt, pinning it into the demon closest the elf, and he, too rose, his shield and sword held at the ready as he surveyed their foes.
A dark chuckle rose from the throats of the remaining demons as they raised their burning limbs, readying to strike out at the elf that stood before them.
With a roar, the forefront demon shot towards the elf, the bolt from Loghain's crossbow sticking out of its chest, dancing crazily with each motion the fiend made. Prepared, Nelaros braced his feet, raising his shield slightly higher, bashing it forward with all of his strength as the demon neared. Stunned, the Fade creature stumbled backwards, shaking its large head, snarling at the elf. It raised its hands as Nelaros in turn raised his blade, swinging it forward in a wide arc. The keen edge of the blade sliced through the demon's hands, dropping them, wetly, to the ground.
Its keening shriek filled the corridor as acidic blood poured to the floor, burning through the marble. Carefully sidestepping, the blond elf swung out with his blade again, smashing his shield forward at the same time. The sturdy metal and wood of the shield connected solidly with the full front of the demon as the blade jabbed forward and into the creature's chest. The elf quickly pulled his blade free, mindful of the damage that could be caused should the demon's blood make contact with his flesh. Giving his shield a shove, he pushed the shrieking demon back, causing it to stumble down and onto its back. The heat from its body scorched Nelaros' hand and he took a slight step back. Then, with a cry, Nelaros leaped forward, driving his blade to the hilt into the demon's head, twisting it savagely until the creature ceased its struggles.
DA:O
"Adela?" Roland queried, holding her hand as she stumbled slightly from the momentum of her movement to knock upon the door. His green eyes settled upon her face, noting the tense expression that was fixed thereupon.
"Roland," Adela greeted, her voice small. "Can we talk?"
With a nod, he stepped aside, releasing the elven woman's hand as she stepped past him and into his room. With a quick glance down the hall, the man stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
He turned to see Adela's back turned to him. He did notice, however, the twitching of her shoulders and knew that she was wringing her hands before her in a very familiar gesture of nervousness. Although he could not see her face, he was absolutely certain she was mauling her lower lip.
A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. If he was reading the expressive elf correctly, he knew he was not going to like what she had to say to him. And, based upon their history, it could only mean one of two things.
And he was fairly certain she was not going to deny him admittance into the order of Grey Wardens.
"Adela."
The elven woman, hearing her name, turned to face the man. He sighed softly as he noted that she was, indeed, savagely worrying her lip. Smiling gently, he stepped forward, brushing a thumb across the bottom of her mouth. Her small, pearly teeth released the flesh of her lip while her hands continued to twist before her. Once again sighing, he clasped both of her hands in his much larger ones, stilling their motions. "I take it you're not this worked up over telling me you don't want me to join the wardens?" Roland asked gently.
"Wha-what?" Adela stammered, unprepared for Roland's choice in topic. Catching herself, she shook her head. "No, no…that's not it. Not that I'm happy about the prospect…"
A red brow twitched, and the smile softened. "You don't want me in the Wardens?" he asked carefully, his green eyes intense upon her face.
She sighed, her entire body moving with the gesture. "It's not that, Roland," she said softly, glancing down to where their hands remained joined. "I think that you will make an excellent Warden. It's just…not something I would choose for those I…I care about."
"So you care about me?" he prodded gently.
Nodding, she looked back up. "Of course I do. I consider you a good and true friend."
"But friend only?"
Adela twisted her hands so that now they clasped Roland's. "I'm sorry," she said softly, gazing into his eyes. He did not miss the pleading look in those blue depths.
Nodding, taking a deep breath, Roland responded, "I should have guessed he would, indeed, win your heart once I had left you in Haven."
Brows knotted together, Adela shook her head vigorously. "No, no, Roland." The grip upon his hands tightened. "Alistair did not pursue me…He had every intention of keeping his promise to you…"
Realizing he had spoken his thoughts, the young man shook his head, smiling down at the distraught elven woman. "Adela, I know Alistair is a man of his word. I merely meant that once I was out of the picture, you would clearly see who held your heart." He took a deep breath, his eyes closing momentarily. "Alistair is, indeed, the most fortunate of men."
"I'm sorry," Adela said again, her grip on his hands tightening.
"Why?" He asked, turning their hands so that he could see her palms. "Alistair is a fine man. If I am to lose the woman I love to anyone, I'd rather it be to a man as good and brave as he." He smirked into her face. "Of course, I'd rather have…" His voice trailed off, and he left the thought unsaid. I would rather have been the one for you.
They stood there, silent, for many moments, with Roland continuing to hold her hands, rubbing his thumbs along her palms. He could feel the tension ease from her hands, and her stiff arms relaxed. "I want to know that this is definitely what you want," he broke the silence, his eyes still upon her hands. He could feel her eyes upon him and, with a sigh, he looked into her face.
"It is," she whispered, her eyes clear, the tension gone from her face. "I love him."
Nodding, he took a breath. In one graceful movement, the former knight knelt to one knee, her hands still held in his. He heard her quick intake of breath and felt her try to remove her hands from his grasp. It was a gentle tug, and one he choose to ignore at this moment. Lifting his face to look fully into her eyes, he said, "Know this, Adela Tabris, that ever shall I be your humble servant," he smiled as she shook her head. "I will remain by your side, always, until death or duty takes me elsewhere." He placed one fist over his heart, bowing his head. "This I swear."
"Roland, don't…" she pleaded, pulling on her hands again. "That's not…"
"It is," he said as he rose to his feet, his eyes still on her somber face, making her eyes follow his movements. "I want you to take care, Adela. I have no doubt of Alistair's love for you. However, the Arl has plans…"
"To make Alistair king," she finished for him, nodding at the surprised look upon Roland's face. "That was what he had to discuss with Alistair upon our arrival. Alistair, however, was very adamant he not take the throne, and that he was a Grey Warden first and foremost." Her eyes raised, not really looking at anything. "Alistair would never do anything to hurt me, Roland." Her gaze found his. "You know that, don't you?"
"I know that he would never intentionally harm you. However, be wary of the Arl. I do not trust his motivations." The young man felt his own tension ease slightly, but not fully. He still had a concern regarding Adela's relationship with Alistair, but could not find a voice for it. "I will always be there for you, Adela," he reiterated, his face calm and set, and he hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice.
The young elf stared up into the knight's face for several moments, her eyes searching his face. He had no idea what she was looking for, but she seemed content when a smile graced her lips and she nodded. "Thank you, Roland. For your friendship, most of all."
"Always," he said again, seriously. They stood thusly for another moment, and then Roland asked. He took a deep, steadying breath. "So, when is the wedding?" He was trying for levity, something that he didn't feel, but he did not like the tension he felt between the two of them.
Her eyes widened and a slight blush dusted her cheeks. "How…?"
"Alistair is a gentleman," Roland replied evenly, maintaining a calm hold upon his emotions. He released Adela's hands but remained in front of her. "With these uncertain times, never knowing what we may face down the road, it would only be right that he would want to wed you." A wistful look crossed his face briefly as he admitted. "You deserve no less."
Her eyes still searching, she replied, "We plan to wed before we leave Redcliffe."
His heart plummeted like a rock through air, but he forced himself to nod. "Had it been me, I would have done the same." he had not meant to say the words, but found them tumbling out before he could curb them.
"Roland…" Adela whispered as she placed a small hand upon his arm, squeezing it gently.
"I meant what I said, Adela," Roland said, bending slightly to kiss her cheek. "I will always be there for you." He pinned her with his gaze. "Always."
She nodded, seeming to realize that there was no arguing with the man. "We should join the others downstairs," she suggested, her hand still upon his arm.
Smiling down at her hand, blinking, he moved to grip it with his other, and moved toward the door. He would not allow his disappointment to hurt his friendship with either Adela or Alistair. He was to be a Grey Warden, and they had a great evil to face down. Mustering himself, he replied as he pulled the door open. "Indeed we should."
DA:O
Blade dripping black ichor, Loghain advanced upon the wounded demon as it glided backwards, seeking escape from the human warrior. His face set in a grim mask of destruction, the skilled warrior stepped easily over the debris and refuse to get to his prey.
Behind him, the human could hear the sounds of battle as his companion fought off the other demons. Loghain knew he had to make quick work of this foe and get to his comrade's side. His sword slashed out, followed quickly by a sweep of his shield, the edge of the bulwark slicing across the midsection of the fiery fiend. A thin, fiery appendage lashed outwards, grasping the shield as it made its path before it. Loghain's momentum came to a jolting halt as the stronger demon yanked on the shield, trying to pull the human off balance. A scowl crossed the Teyrn's face, and, bracing his feet to prevent his continued momentum forward he released the shield, causing the demon to stumble back from its own assault. With a shout, the human combatant sent his blade sweeping out in a low arc, slicing through the midsection, causing acidic black blood to erupt from the gaping wound. With a snarl, the demon negligently tossed the metal shield to the side as it launched itself at its foe.
Backpedaling, Loghain stepped back and to the side, slightly behind a toppled statue, his blade held perpendicular to his body, much as a shield. He cursed the loss of his shield, but would rather have lost it and still remain standing than find himself in the burning embrace of one of those creatures.
The demon followed the human's movements, snarling out its outrage and pain, while still offering a taunt in its dark, whispering voice. But Loghain had been taunted by the very vilest that humanity could offer. Orlesian Chevaliers had a knack for making one feel inferior. The taunts offered up by the demons - taunts of pettiness and inferiority - meant little coming from inhuman monsters when having faced those who raped, murdered and pillaged others simply for being born a different nationality, race or class. Loghain briefly wondered if his elven companion felt the same with regards to humans as he did for Orlesians.
The columnar body of the demon rose upwards to its full height, easily overmatching the human in stature. Arm-like appendages stretched out overhead, and the creature brought its upper body up and curved, looming over the smaller human as he stood behind the statue. The wounds across its midsection continued to spout the bloody ichor, dripping to the marble floor, hissing at contact. Loghain looked up, his blade rising as he matched snarl for snarl with his foe. As the demon rushed downwards in a heavy descent, Loghain danced to the side, away from the statue, his blade jabbing upwards, slicing deeply into what he could only assume was its neck. As the blade pushed through the fiery flesh, the creature gurgled out a protest, its arms sweeping down to try and capture the human in its smoldering clinch. Loghain had other ideas, and yanked his embedded blade to the side, slicing through the flesh and bone (he was momentarily amazed that the creature had bones). As the creature moved downward, its own impetus caused the wound to open further, giving the blade its direction. Weakness overtook the creature, and it flopped, twitching and convulsing, to the floor, its head nearly severed from the rest of its body. A roar of agony followed by gurgling sounds told the Teyrn that Nelaros had vanquished one of his opponents. With a push, Loghain launched himself away from the body as it dissolved into the floor, seeking out his shield.
DA:O
Their group stood around the table in the kitchen area, catching up and simply enjoying being with each other once again. Alistair's eyes continued to wander to the doorway leading out of the pantry, wondering how Adela's conversation with Roland was going. He knew that she had been dreading speaking with the other man for some time, her heart too soft to want to cause any harm to someone she cared about. That caused a slight jolt of jealousy to course through him, and he physically shook it free, relaxing as he felt its grip upon him loosen and vanish.
Arl Eamon had, of course, not joined in the group's revelry. The Arl had made himself scarce since his and Alistair's confrontation in the study upon their arrival. The young warden actually felt pretty good about standing up the Arl. He had not liked the way he had spoken to Adela, calling her an 'elf' as though that was the worst thing in the world to be. And then to stand there demanding that Alistair's duty as Maric's son required he take the throne? After a lifetime of being told he was nothing? That he had no claim to the Theirin name? And had spent his entire life neglected by said father? The young man shook his head. He had never been happier before he became a Grey Warden. Finding Adela and earning her love had only filled a hole in his heart he had never truly acknowledged was there. Why in all of Thedas would he give that up for something that he had no aspiration for?
He looked up to see Wynne and Isolde in conversation, the young red haired elven maid standing silently beside the Arlessa, her clear green eyes surveying the activity around her, but not joining in. During his brief return to Redcliffe, Alistair had noted the change in the woman who had made his childhood miserable. She had been welcoming, friendly, and, in her glances to him and warm greeting, had let him know that she had forgiven his part in Connor's death. He watched as the two women talked, their heads together, white head bent near the strawberry blond. He knew, beyond doubt, that the elder mage had a great hand in the Lady Isolde's change of heart.
His eyes continued their course around the room. Morrigan and Leliana sat together by the table, their own heads bent near, and he watched as Leliana's hand swept upward, brushing a stray lock of Morrigan's raven black hair from her eyes. He was slightly amused that the witch did not grimace or scowl at the affectionate gesture, but merely continued with that bemused look that now seemed glued to her features since she and the Orlesian bard had been reunited.
Nearby the women stood Zevran, his arm tossed lazily across Niall's shoulders, listening to something Artemis was saying. Knowing the elven mage, he was certain it was something outrageous, especially given the flush that crossed the human mage's face and the wide, lascivious grin that crossed the elven Crow's.
His eyes settled upon the Sten's massive form, standing, as always, in the background, watching everything. The sentinel of the group, always making certain that those he traveled with would be safe and secure, even when they themselves were hardly paying attention to their surroundings. Alistair found he had missed the Qunari's stolid presence.
Actually, he thought as his gaze swept to the doorway, watching as Adela and Roland entered, the knight holding her smaller hand in a loose grip, he found he had missed every one of their companions, and was greatly pleased to be reunited with this group. A group he had come to consider more family than any blood ties could ever have forged. Smiling to himself, he pushed himself from his perch on the table and walked over to the newcomers.
DA:O
Nelaros backed away, stumbling slightly over the debris strewn across the floor. He had managed to dispatch one of the demons with little effort, but he now found himself tiring. He held his sword with tip slightly downward, and he berated himself the stance, forcing the tip up, threatening the pursuing fiend. The amorphous lava-like body flowed around the refuse, barking out its taunts as it slashed out at the retreating elf.
A shadow moved beside him, and he had no need to glance over to know that Loghain now stood shoulder to shoulder with him against their final foe. He heard the older man shout out his great war cry, the one he had been told the man had used during the rebellion against the Orlesians. Always 'For Fereldan', regardless the task, regardless the situation. And, apparently, regardless the battle.
Smirking slightly, the elf dug deep within himself, pulling forth from his reservoir of strength and will, and pulled himself straighter. Steadying himself, he braced his feet, watching as Loghain's blade swept outwards, arcing down and across, sweeping across the demon's midsection. Positioning himself more to the side of the creature, Nelaros gave a wordless shout, and launched himself at the fiery form on the demon, his blade straight before him, his shield up to protect his face from the heat.
The demon, however, would not be caught unawares. Despite being the weaker and least intelligent of the demon ilk, rage demons were not without instinctive defenses, and were masters of offensive capabilities. Snarling, it raised its spindly arms overhead, and then dramatically dropped them, sending a great fire storm over the two men threatening it, knocking them both from their feet and onto their backs, burning. Laughing, it flowed forward and bent down, its arms outstretched to grasp Nelaros in its fiery grasp.
DA:O
There was that familiar tightening in her stomach as she watched as Alistair disengaged himself from the others and make his way towards her. She could feel Roland tense beside her, and tugged his hand gently. His acceptance of her choice to marry Alistair had somewhat surprised her, and the elf quickly chastised herself her vanity. True, she had expected more of an uproar or disapproval. But, if she truly thought upon it, she realized that it was all in keeping with Roland's personality. He was a gentleman, and someone who truly cared for her wellbeing and happiness. Regardless of his own feelings, her happiness would mean far more to him, and he would support whatever decision she made. A truer friend she could never have found.
She released Roland's hand as she turned toward Alistair, noting the smile that was upon his face, and the friendly smirk he tossed at Roland. Beside her, the former knight relaxed as the warden extended a large hand, easily grasping his own in a friendly squeeze. Stepping nearer to the other, Adela heard Roland whisper, "I understand congratulations are in order, my friend."
A momentary spell of surprise crossed Alistair's amber eyes, and his smile widened. "Hold on to that thought," the Second of the Wardens murmured. Confused, Adela stepped nearer Alistair, staring up into his face.
Alistair had turned his attention back to the other companions, pulling Adela around with him, but keeping Roland close as well. He cleared his throat loudly; the others continued with their conversations, laughing and whispering. Grinning down at Adela, he released his hold on her, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He let out a loud, piercing shriek of a whistle. All conversation ceased, and all eyes turned toward the male warden.
Again, clearing his throat for dramatic effect, he paused, smiling as everyone's attention was turned toward him. Adela allowed a small smile to cross her lips, wondering what Alistair was up to.
"I've a few things I need to say." He smiled over his friends, his eyes going from one to another, until they finally rested upon Adela's lovely face. "We've been through much together," he looked back up. "And still have a long road ahead of us. The months we were separated were, well, rather difficult for us all. I don't know if I speak for the others, but I've come to…well…think of all of you as family." He grinned at the round of chuckles that swept through the room. Isolde smiled at the young man, her hands clasped before her as he spoke. Alistair turned his gaze once more to Adela. "However, one of you has become very dear to me, and I am the most fortunate of men to know that she feels the same for me." A slight blush rose to his ears as the others in the room guffawed and 'oooo'd' and 'ahhh'd' at him. Shaking his head, he continued. "And, it is my pleasure to tell you, our family, that Adela Tabris has agreed to become my wife."
There was an eruption of well wishes and cheers as his friends congratulated the couple. Adela turned and noticed that there were tears in the Arlessa's eye, and she resolved to rethink her opinion of the Orlesian woman. However, Alistair was not finished, and he raised his arms, getting their attention once again.
"Because we never know what lies ahead of us, it is our desire to wed before we leave Redcliffe to complete our mission. And we wish for all of you," he swept his arms out to encompass everyone in the kitchen. "to stand by our side as we take our vows."
At that announcement, pandemonium struck as the women gathered around Adela, speaking wedding strategy. Isolde immediately promised a dress and called Gail to her side, asking her to got to the chantry and advise Mother Hannah that there would be a wedding within the next day or two, so she had little time to prepare. With a final look at Alistair, Adela allowed herself to be ushered from the room.
DA:O
Burning, fiery agony flooded his body. Groaning, he pushed himself upright, dragging his sword and shield to him as he stubbornly pushed himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, glancing around. The demon had been caught up in the fury of its own storm, dragged away from the prone elf, and while the torrent of fiery rain did no damage to the thing, the force of the storm had pushed it back, stumbling, struggling to maintain its footing. Smirking slightly, Loghain searched the area, seeking out his elven companion.
He heard a groan to his left, and the shuffle of rubble and feet as the elf pushed himself resolutely to his feet. Loghain saw him, dressed in the heavy armor of a palace guard, his sword and shield held low in his hands, as he struggled to regain his senses. He watched as the elf shook his head to clear it, wincing at the pain. Loghain saw that much of the elf's face had been burned, and patches of hair had been burned from his scalp. Yet, the elf regained his offensive stance, a glower in his eye, as he searched out the remaining demon, obviously intent upon its destruction.
Not for the first time, the human Teyrn questioned the wisdom that did not allow elves to serve in the military. His own experiences with the Night Elves had more than solidified his opinion that in battle few were the equal of an elf defending his home or loved ones.
"Its over there," he heard Nelaros grumble out, his voice raw and cracked. It was when the elf turned to glance at him that Loghain noticed the point of one ear had been burned away, leaving a blackened scar.
Vaguely wondering if any injuries they sustain in the Fade would carry over to their physical forms, Loghain lurched to the elf's side. With a glance to each other, the pair rushed into the dissipating storm, swords slashing out, catching the demon off guard.
DA:O
The women spent the rest of the day and early evening sequestered away in Isolde's chambers, the Arlessa digging through dresses, seeking out the perfect one for Adela, one that could easily be altered to fit the elf's much slighter figure. After much giggling and teasing, with even Morrigan and Wynne joining in on the fun, the gaggle of women finally decided upon a simple yet elegant cream colored gown that settled just below the elf's narrow shoulders. Gail, who still remained by the Arlessa's side, had volunteered to alter the gown. So, the group set Adela upon an ottoman in the room's center, while Gail pinned the larger garment to the smaller elf's frame. Satisfied with the fit, the red haired maidservant carefully helped the other elf peel the garment from her, and promised to have it to her the next day. Surprised by her efficiency, Adela thanked Gail as the other woman swept from the room and into one of the nearby chambers, her sewing implements well in hand.
Then, the talk took a turn for the worse, in Adela's opinion. Morrigan had confirmed (over enthusiastically) that the betrothal pair had not yet consummated their relationship, and that, of course, brought the conversation from the dress and vows to the wedding night. As with her first wedding, she found herself spending much of the evening blushing and desperately wishing for an escape. However, unlike her cousin's party, there was no way for her to escape…the doors had strategically been blocked by chairs or cushions, and everyone seemed to take delight in explaining exactly how a man and woman expressed their love. Adela was, admittedly, surprised Morrigan was so well versed. She had presumed the marsh witch had been too isolated for such…encounters. It was Leliana's own frankness that caused a bought of giggling to make the rounds of the room. Isolde offered advice on par with what Anora had offered: straight laced, with little advices on the excuses to use when she wished to avoid such encounters. The other women in the room booed at that advice, with Wynne explaining that there was nothing quite like the feeling one got after the experience of making love.
After several hours of enduring the good natured teasing of her friends, Adela finally managed to escape to her chambers and her own bed. The next day promised to be as eventful as this one, she just knew it.
DA:O
The pain was nearly unbearable. The heat far surpassed discomfort. Yet, Nelaros saw the only route for his continued survival, straight through the path of the slowly dissipating fire storm, straight to the heart of it where stood, albeit stumbling, struggling to retain its stance, the rage demon that managed to retain some control over the dwindling might of the maelstrom.
Setting his feet solidly with each step forward, Nelaros bent his torso forward, putting as much weight in the step as possible, gaining forward momentum against the strength of the squall. He noticed that Loghain - being larger and heavier than he - managed to make his own progress with less effort, his dark head bent slightly to protect his eyes. The demon in the storm's center snarled at the pair, lunging forward as it, too, strained against the firestorm. Drops of flame scattered across the metal of his armor, dancing down his arms, dripping from fingertips. Occasional droplets burned into the flesh of his face, and he managed to ignore the pain as he advanced upon the demon.
The adversaries neared each other, the demon's arms flailing out, leaving fiery paths midair as they swiped at the pair. Nelaros' sword flashed upwards, knocking one arm back, causing the demon to stumble even more so than it had suffered in the wake of its own firestorm. As the creature stumbled backwards, Loghain took the opportunity to wade through the fire and wind, pushing forward, his sword leading. Nelaros followed in the human's wake, taking the opportunity to dash ahead once they managed to push the demon from the eye of the storm to the outer edges, where the storm's fury garnered less strength. With a shout of triumph, the elf leapt forward, slamming the beast in the face with his shield as his sword swept outwards, arcing high, cleaving through the bulbous head. The demon's scream almost sent both men on their heels, but neither faltered. Loghain's blade came in low, slicing across and then into the demon's abdomen. Both pulled their blades back, then rammed forward with their shields, once again bashing into the monstrous creature's form, slashing out with their sharp blades, seeking to end their foe's life as they had its companions.
The demon fell easily enough, once the firestorm ended. Nelaros sported several severe burns over his head and hands, some of the storm's droplets having found their way down his ill fitting armor. Breathing hard, the elf raised a hand to his face, running it briefly over the planes of his features, feeling the lesions upon his flesh, the bare patches upon his head, the damage done his ear. He grimaced as he turned toward Loghain, and noticed that the human had not fared much better than he.
Their eyes met, and an unspoken agreement passed between them.
They needed to hunt out the desire demon and end her existence. Before she set anymore of her 'pets' upon them.
DA:O
The next two days were spent in a blur of dresses, wedding plans and general joviality. And while Arl Eamon made himself basically absent such activities, Isolde found herself set upon the boundaries of all the activity, directing, planning…she was in her element and obviously found much enjoyment in it.
Adela's gaze scanned the room that Mother Hannah had given them at the Chantry, watching as Gail made the finishing touches to her dress before having the elven Warden put it on for the last time. She knew that Alistair was garnering similar attention from their male companions, although she was more than certain there was less flurry of activity wherever he was. Leliana had insisted upon doing up Adela's hair in an elaborate chignon, twisting and curling stray strands of hair to frame her face. Isolde had taken some cosmetics to redden her lips, add a bit more pink to her cheeks, and a faint blue swath over her eyes. Gail then assisted her with the dress, fussing over the fit, adjusting it here and there, pulling it slightly off her shoulders as she exclaimed over the scars that crossed her fair skin.
Once the preparation was completed, Adela stood before the great mirror, staring at the girl who she did not recognize. She merely shook her head in astonishment while her friends continued to gawk and praise her beauty.
It was finally time for the ceremony, and, unlike her first wedding day, Adela found that the butterflies floating around in her stomach were actually pleasant. A more anticipatory feeling flowed through her, and as she stood just at the Chantry's large double doors that led into the altar room, she peeked in, watching as Alistair's attention and eyes went from whomever was speaking to him at that time to the doors she now stood by.
How she wished her father were here! A slight guilty tug awakened in her heart, but she quickly squashed it down. Her father would understand, and would be happy for her regardless of the ceremony. She knew, too, that Alistair's being human would not affect how her father regarded her husband. She grinned at that thought. No. Her father would only be concerned with whether or not the man she married truly loved her, would protect her, and make her happy. Knowing Alistair, she knew that her father would be most pleased.
Leliana pulled Adela to the doors and, with a gentle tug, led her down to stand beside Alistair.
She barely registered the words that Mother Hannah spoke. Although she was surrounded by the people who had become more important to her than almost any others, only Alistair existed. His own amber eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and he wore that goofy grin that she loved. She felt her lips tug upwards into her own grin, and she blinked, staring over at the revered mother with confusion. A chorus of gentle chuckles rose from the throats of her friends. Alistair bent down to her, whispering what Mother Hannah had asked. Blushing sheepishly, she replied, "I do," softly, gazing up into Alistair's face. He answered a similar question with his own, "I do," his voice trembling with emotion.
Adela did hear the revered mother pronounce the pair husband and wife, advising that Alistair could now kiss his bride. Both were now grinning widely, and Alistair swept his wife into his arms, clinging to her in a passionate kiss. Yips and cheers resounded in the air as their fellows greeted the newly married pair, and the two parted slightly, gazing into each others eyes.
There was an eruption of cheers from outside the Chantry's walls as the villagers added their voices to those of those within the Chantry.
DA:O
"We need rest," Loghain growled at his companion, stepping before him to stop his progress through the rubble and debris that surrounded them.
"We need to end this," Nelaros argued. However, his very voice betrayed him, offering up just how exhausted and injured the elf truly was.
The human scowled at the stubborn elf, his pale blue eyes flicking up and down the corridor. There were no signs of the desire demon. And, as much as Loghain wished to just end this foolery now, he knew that neither he nor Nelaros could endure another drawn out conflict against the demon.
Rest was in order. And rest they shall get. Without another word, Loghain Mac Tir shoved the younger man into a nearby room, barring the entryway.
DA:O
Roland picked his way through the crowd of well wishers and lurkers. He glanced back, watching as Alistair swept Adela - his bride - into his arms, kissing her soundly before the cheering crowd. With a heavy sigh, he turned, trudging up the hill to the tavern.
Bright light greeted him as he pushed the door open, and he blinked briefly at the onslaught. Making his way through the relatively thin crowd (it seemed as though most were at the wedding festivities in the town proper itself), he found an empty table, and sat down. He waited only a mere moment before the pretty tavern wench made her way to him.
"I see you've come up from the goings on down in the village," the young redheaded woman quipped, a smile upon her pretty face. "What can I get you?"
Looking up, Roland took in the girl's features. She was pretty, as many tavern wenches in smaller towns tended to be. But, nothing truly special. Her blue eyes glimmered with mischief, but he could also see the tired resignation therein as well. Her dark red hair hung loose to her shoulders. She was tall, but very curvaceous, and the young man found himself admiring her form.
Seeing his interest, the young woman smiled. "I remember you. You're one of the heroes that saved us from the monsters!"
Nodding, Roland replied, "And I believe you are Belle, correct?"
A slight flush graced her cheeks, and she nodded. "I cannot believe someone of your personage would remember someone like me."
Shrugging, Roland replied, "You seemed to have a lot of fire, despite being scared during that time. It's hard to forget someone like that."
Belle glanced back toward the door, a knowing smile crossing her face. Turning back to the man, she asked, "Now, why aren't you down in the village, celebrating your friends' nuptials?"
She watched as Roland's face darkened slightly, and gave a nod. Taking a glance to the barkeep, she settled down into the chair next to the handsome young man. "Seems to me that you have the look of someone who just lost his best friend." She all but purred this last out, adding a sympathetic cluck of her tongue.
Shaking his head, Roland replied, "No. I still have my best friend. It's just…" He let the thought trail off as his gaze wandered to the door, but the perceptive and experienced young woman knew very well what he meant.
"Lover, than?" she asked, placing a gentle hand upon his arm.
Green eyes glanced down at the hand upon his arm, and he shook his head again. "Never a lover, but, I had hoped…"
"And now she's off and married to another man," she moved closer. So close, Roland could feel the heat from her. "I could help you to forget her, if you've the need."
Now he raised his eyes to look into the young woman's blues. Belle was pretty, and the sort he would have cavorted with before. But, 'before' was prior to Adela, and he found that he had not the heart nor desire to so play about. With a shake of his head, he gently removed her hand from his arm. Belle frowned prettily but removed her hand.
"I'm very sorry, Miss," Roland said quietly, still maintaining his gaze. "But, honestly, I do not believe that I want to forget."
Confusion marred the pretty woman's face, and her lips straightened in a tight line. With a nod, she rose, asking what she could bring him. After a thought, Roland rose, offering the girl a few silver for her time, and left the tavern.
He determined he would enjoy his friends' joyous occasion, and see what the Maker held in store for him.