Dragon Age: Revengeance

ACT II

Chapter 19

Andraste stood upon one of the balconies overlooking the Landsmeet Chamber, watching with growing apprehension as the ceremony got underway. The room was packed with nobles, dignitaries, and guards, yet there was still no sign of Solona. What had happened to her? The plan was to use her friendship with the King to acquire the Blade of Mercy. Without her, Andraste wasn't sure what to do.

It was a little strange, standing in the city of her birth a thousand years after her lifetime, listening to people celebrating her birthday. Strange, and not in a good way. Everyone revered her as the Prophet and Bride of the Maker, the symbol of a religion that Andraste despised with every fibre of her being. She was nothing more than a puppet used and discarded by Dumat, her image a lie told to sell his false faith. Andraste considered casting aside her cloak and boldly declaring the truth to everyone present, but she knew that would be a waste of time. It didn't matter that she was the real Andraste, or that she knew and spoke the truth; no one would believe her. They'd dismiss her as a trick, a demon trying to challenge their faith. Would anything ever be enough to convince them, she wondered? Or would they still cling to the Chant of Light even as Dumat burned the world down around them?

Probably.

Faith was blind. Andraste despised faith. Spirits of faith were considered the greatest, purest, most benevolent of all the Fade spirits, yet as far as she was concerned they were the worst of them all. At least a Nightmare demon would be honest about its desire to feast on your fear. Faith would exploit you and lie to your face about it right up until the very last moment of your life.

A demon would kill you. A spirit of faith would convince you to kill yourself.

Sighing heavily, Andraste watched as Lady Trevelyan climbed the steps before the Ferelden throne and presented the Blade of Mercy to the King and Queen. A shiver shot down her spine as she recognised the weapon that had ended her life. The sword Hessarian had driven into her heart after Dumat had left her and possessed the Archon. According to the lies of the Chantry, it had been an act of compassion and mercy to spare her the pain of burning alive. In truth, it had been an act by Dumat to silence her after he'd abandoned her as his host. It wouldn't do for his precious prophet to spend her final moments loudly announcing the sordid truth of who he was to everyone within earshot. Oh no, that wouldn't have suited his plans one bit...

There was a loud chorus of gasps, and then a hushed silence descended upon the Landsmeet Chamber. Andraste blinked and focused upon the scene below. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Lady Trevelyan had been about to hand the Blade of Mercy to King Alistair, then at the last moment she had turned it around and driven it into his heart. As she stepped back and pulled the sword free, the King fell to his knees, a trickle of blood sliding down his chin. A strange light flashed in his eyes and mouth for an instant, and then he sank to the floor, dead.

Screams rent the air. Panic. People ran. The guests fled the room, whilst the guards rushed to defend the Queen. They were too slow. Trevelyan took a swift step and then cleaved Anora's head from her shoulders. It rolled down the steps and came to a stop before a pair of Palace Guards, who recoiled in horror as that same strange light flashed ever so briefly from it. Lady Trevelyan spun to face them, flourishing the Blade of Mercy as she did so. And then she changed. Her features melted and shifted, transforming before their very eyes, and no longer was Evelyn Trevelyan standing before them.

Razikale smiled at the guards.

"By divine right of conquest, I claim Ferelden in the name of the Tevinter Dominion," she announced, her voice booming throughout the chamber. "Kneel before your god, or suffer my wrath."

Whether foolish, brave, or some combination of both, the Palace Guards chose to avenge their fallen monarchs instead. Their efforts were futile however, as the instant it became apparent to Razikale that they would not bow to her, she turned them all to stone without so much as a gesture or word. She then glanced down at Alistair with a look of exasperated perplexity.

"Why do so many people choose to defy a living god?" she wondered aloud. "Am I not merciful? All I ask is for a little obedience and humility. Is that really too much to expect of them?" She scoffed and admired her reflection in the Blade of Mercy. "Centuries of Chantry rule has clearly stunted these mortals' brains. Power is the only thing that matters in this world. Everything else is just decoration."

Andraste was the only other living person left in the chamber. She threw aside her cloak and vaulted the balcony, landing on one knee upon the main floor. Razikale frowned in her direction as she stood and drew Vigilance.

"So Florianne wasn't lying. Why are you here now? I've been challenging your Chantry since the moment I awoke."

"It's not my Chantry," Andraste replied. "I really don't care about you destroying Val Royeaux, or killing the Divine. I just want that sword."

Razikale narrowed her eyes and glanced at Mercy. "That's ... interesting. You know what this is?"

"I do."

"And what, if I may ask, do you intend to do with it?"

Andraste answered without hesitation.

"Kill Dumat."

The Old God smirked. "Ah. Well then, I'm afraid I can't let you do that. Half of my brothers are already dead. I won't lose another one."

She descended the stairs, dark smoke pouring from her with each step, transforming her attire into a black battledress very much like the one Andraste wore. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the main floor, she gripped Mercy in both hands and angled the tip towards Andraste, who shifted into a combat stance.

"In that case, we may have a problem," she murmured, sensing Urthemiel's apprehension inside of her.

Razikale flew towards her, covering the distance between them with alarming speed. The instant before she reached Andraste, she sprang into the air and brought Mercy down upon her head, in a move intended to split her opponent in two. Andraste deftly sidestepped the attack, which cracked the ground she had been standing upon instead. As Razikale followed up with a horizontal slash, Andraste somersaulted up and around, landing lightly behind the Old God. She deflected a thrust that almost immediately came at her, then parried a second slash. When she did not respond with a riposte, Razikale hopped back and scowled.

"Why aren't you fighting back? If you think I will tire myself out you are sorely mistaken."

It wasn't that at all. Urthemiel was holding her back, she could feel it. He didn't want her to hurt his sister. She's not going to just hand over the weapon, Andraste said inwardly. If I don't fight back she's going to kill us both!

Enveloping Mercy in an aura of magic, Razikale slammed the blade into the ground and sent a wave of burning ice surging towards Andraste. The prophet leapt diagonally away from the attack, pivoted in the air, and then kicked off from one of the balconies, propelling herself towards Razikale with Vigilance extended like a spear-tip. Razikale caught the thrust on the flat of Mercy, but a telekinetic shockwave erupted from Vigilance, propelling the goddess back. She lost her footing and stumbled, yet as soon as Andraste touched down Razikale vanished, teleporting behind her. Andraste spun and brought her sword up just in time to block an attack that would have decapitated her.

"Razi, please," said Urthemiel, speaking through Andraste. Razikale's eyes widened as she recognised her brother's voice. She disengaged and fade stepped away, holding Mercy defensively before her.

"What kind of trick are you playing?" she demanded. Andraste sagged and shook her head.

"No trick. Urthemiel brought me back. He's inside of me even now."

"You're lying."

Andraste closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening intently to the voice inside of her.

"Urthemiel loves you the most out of all of his siblings. The two of you used to be close. He confided in you, told you a secret he never shared with anyone else." Andraste turned her head and smiled weakly. "He wanted to become your sister, ever since you told him how beautiful he was. And how it was a shame you had only brothers. Went by the name Urzara, until Dumat found out and put a stop to it. At some point his followers heard the name and thought he'd had a daughter."

Razikale gasped and lowered Mercy, her eyes boring into Andraste. "It is you! What are you doing inside her?"

Teeth clenched in pain, Andraste winced and pressed a hand to her head.

"I brought her back," said Urthemiel, "Because she knew better than anyone the truth about Dumat. He's fooled us all, Razi. His followers used the same ritual on him that Morrigan used on me. But whilst I was reborn in Kieran, Dumat was reborn within Andraste. He is the Maker. He founded the Chantry. He created the Grey Wardens, and has been using them for centuries to kill our brothers. He won't be satisfied until he is the only god left in the world."

Razikale half-turned away, raising a hand to her face in dismay. "No, you're ... you're wrong! He's our brother, Urthemiel, he wouldn't!"

Andraste dropped Vigilance and stumbled towards her, hands outstretched.

"I'm sorry, Razi, but it's all true. The timing was too perfect. Andraste was born soon after Dumat was slain at the end of the First Blight. No one knows who struck the final blow against him, his death throes killed all those around him. That concealed the truth – that none of the Grey Wardens had made the sacrifice to destroy his soul. Dumat's corpse has been kept at Weisshaupt ever since. He's been the First Warden for a long time."

"Stop it, Urthemiel, stop–"

"Halliserre worshipped us. She realised her sister was carrying Dumat's soul, so Dumat killed her. When Andraste was captured and burned, Dumat jumped into Hessarian. That's why Hessarian 'converted' to Andrastianism. He never 'saw the light'. He was possessed. Dumat used him to spread his new one-god religion throughout Tevinter. You weren't supposed to wake up until the Darkspawn found you. We both were supposed to die to the Grey Wardens, just like Zazikel, Toth, and Andoral. That sword isn't meant for just Fen'Harel. Dumat plans to use it on us as well, Razi."

As Andraste reached out to touch her, Razikale vanished in a swirling flash of black fire, teleporting away. She did not reappear. Andraste fell to her knees and panted, sweat trickling down her face from the exertion of Urthemiel speaking through her.

I'm sorry, Andraste, I had to try, he said in the back of her mind. She nodded and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

"It's all right, I understand. I hope it worked. If she turns that weapon over to Dumat, it's all over. For everyone."

Now they would have to wait and see if Razikale, Goddess of Mystery, was as wise as she claimed to be.

Nestled deep within Fort Drakon was a chamber almost entirely devoid of light. An eluvian occupied the centre of the room. Dumat stood a short distance away, observing it in silent contemplation. Off to one side was a table containing a number of different artefacts and potions.

Fen'Harel currently had control over almost the entire eluvian network, but that would soon change. Dumat was in the process of contaminating the one before him with the Darkspawn Taint. Long ago the eluvian network had been shut down in order to prevent the Blight from spreading to each and every mirror. Now that the network had been reactivated, Dumat was repeating the same tactic he'd employed before. Fen'Harel would have to either shut the network down again, or allow the Taint to spread between the mirrors. Either way, he would lose control of it.

Dumat tensed as he sensed a presence behind him. It was his sister.

"Razikale, at last." He turned to regard her and smiled. "I trust you were successful?"

She stood at the back of the room, shrouded in shadows, the Blade of Mercy clutched loosely in her right hand.

"Yes."

"And the weapon? You completed the final preparations?"

"I finished it, yes. The weapon works fully now, as intended."

He frowned. "What's wrong? Something is troubling you, I can tell."

She said nothing for a long moment, instead watching him, thinking. When she finally spoke, there was venom in her words.

"Why are the Grey Wardens here?"

Dumat gave a dismissive gesture. "Worry not, my dear, they serve me."

"They serve you?"

"Of course. I am the First Warden. In this way I am able to control them, and thus hinder their efforts to hunt down and destroy our brothers."

"Indeed? And what a marvellous job you are doing, given that three of our brothers are lost to us. It would have been four, in fact, were it not for the timely intervention of the Witch of the Wilds."

"Razikale, you do me a terrible injustice. I only assumed command of the Grey Wardens recently, and Urthemiel's near demise was entirely unexpected. I had taken steps to eliminate all of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but Flemeth intervened and saved two of them. And it was the Architect that afflicted our dear brother with the Blight, not I." He smirked and held up a finger. "Don't tell me, you ran into Andraste and she said some very unfortunate things about me."

"She said very little. It was Urthemiel that accused you of betraying us."

Dumat chortled and turned away. "Ah, poor little Urthemiel. Still holding a grudge after all these years. He did so want to become your darling little sister, but we could ill afford to show weakness when we were beset on all sides by our enemies. I fear I was too hard on him, and now he lashes out at me."

"He claims you are the Maker, Dumat."

"Does he, now?" He glanced over his shoulder at her. "And what do you think?"

Razikale advanced suddenly, the Blade of Mercy held firmly in her grip, the tip of the sword pressed against Dumat's back.

"I think it's entirely plausible. Fen'Harel isn't the only trickster. And the Chant of Light does have some interesting phrases in it. "Beneath their feet the footprints of the Maker, And all around them echoed a vast Silence...""

Dumat sighed. "The sun darkens, but lo! Here comes the dawn. Yes, very droll. Shall we read the Chant of Light together, and point out every instance of the word 'beauty' or 'mystery' as well? Religious dogma is intentionally vague and meandering so that it can be used to support whatever position is needed of it. You know this as well as I, dear sister." He slowly raised his hands in defeat. "But by all means, strike me down! I'm sure you can handle Fen'Harel without me. And Mythal. And all the rest of the Evanuris."

Seconds went by. Finally Razikale scowled and threw the sword down at his feet. She drew close to him and lowered her voice in a threatening fashion.

"If I find that there is even a shred of truth to Urthemiel's claims, I promise you, dear brother, that you will join Zazikel, Toth, and Andoral in oblivion. Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal," Dumat replied. He watched as Razikale turned to leave, then extended his hand. The Blade of Mercy flew into his waiting grasp, whereupon he thrust it through her back, the celestial sword piercing her armour as effortlessly as it did her torso. Smiling, Dumat twisted the blade and leaned in close to her.

"Word of advice, my dear; trust no one, and if you even begin to suspect betrayal, assume you are correct and act accordingly."

He yanked Mercy free, waited for her to crumple to the floor, and then stepped over her body.

It was time for him to pay Lusacan a little visit.