Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics, Dragon Age, Stephen King's Doctor Sleep, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or any of their related characters. Character Warjen Zevonishki or "Zevon" is an homage to my favorite musician, long deceased, no disrespect intended, I included him because King dedicated the novel Doctor Sleep to his memory. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Doctor Sleep, Dragon Age Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. May also contain spoilers for Marvelmovies, series, and/or comics, Harry Potter books, and WB Games' Hogwarts Legacy. Song lyrics included herein were used without permission.
Chapter Seventeen: Killing Field
Elilia was the first to show when he called the War Council. He was actually rather glad of that, because the first thing she did was to poke him in the chest and get in his face.
"You did it, didn't you? I knew you would. How could you? Do Loki and I mean nothing to you?"
"My dear, if it weren't for you and Loki, I never would have joined," he said, grasping her hands and putting her gently by. "I need to be able to adequately protect you."
"You can't protect your son when you're dead!" she shrieked. "I know that's what this will come to! You're going to throw yourself at the Archdemon! Aren't you? Aren't you?"
"If the opportunity presents itself, I will not squander it."
"You knuckle-headed sonofabitch!" she shrieked, and threw herself at him, fists flying.
He wrangled her under control with some difficulty. She was quite strong, really. "Calm yourself, Elilia," he said, as sternly as he dared. Being too stern with her at this point was probably not the best idea. "You're still the Teyrna of Gwaren. My lack of title doesn't alter yours. We were legally married."
"You think I care about the bloody title?" she shrieked again. "I've been married less than one full day and I'm set to be a widow, but you think I'm worried about a title!"
Cailan was near, Loghain could hear him talking as he approached, probably to Duncan. He was always yammering away to the Warden Commander.
"Listen, dear, could we speak of this later? I don't want Cailan to know of this turn of events."
She looked toward the sound of approaching voices, then back at him. Her hard face softened a little, but only a little. "All right. I'll still myself for now, simply because Cailan doesn't need to know anything he can use to help him hurt you. Although frankly you've done his job for him."
"You know what he did, then?"
"I talked to Loki about it, yes. Instead of playing Warden, you should be gathering evidence to bring to my father against this most unworthy High King. The both of you together could have brought him low."
"We still may. I just need to find decent evidence. Then you can bring it to your father and lay Cailan low with it. Now be silent, they're nearly here."
They stood at attention, not stiffly, but perhaps a bit too formally under the circumstances. Though the main voice Loghain had heard was Cailan's, the first person to enter the private area he'd chosen for the War Council was a bald-headed man in turquoise robes. He carried a staff.
"Senior Enchanter Uldred, of the Circle of Magi, Your Grace," this man said, bowing low. "I am the chosen representative of the Circle, being the seniormost battlemage."
"Glad to have you, Enchanter," Loghain said, and offered his hand. The mage appeared taken aback to be offered a handshake by a Teyrn, or possibly by anyone, and shook his hand like he really didn't know how it was done. Then he stepped back quickly and retreated into the shadows of the ruin as if to hide.
Bryce Cousland entered next, followed by Cailan and Duncan. Bringing up the rear came the odious Revered Mother, because of course what War Council would be complete without a Priest to stand around and be completely useless? At least she didn't bring a Templar with her, because a Templar might actually think to interfere in some way. A few moments after the Revered Mother's arrival, Loki walked in. When the Revered Mother saw him, her lips peeled back like a donkey about to bray.
"What is that demon child doing here?" she said.
"My son was invited, which is more than I can say for you," Loghain said, quite calmly under the circumstances. "Now I suggest you stand quietly and don't say anything more, Your Reverence, lest I mistake you for a Darkspawn."
"You would dare to threaten me?" she said.
"I don't threaten anyone," Loghain said. "I make promises I intend to keep. And that face you're making does look horribly like a hurlock, Your Reverence. Be careful it doesn't stick like that, the Grand Cleric will never let you back in the Denerim Grand Cathedral's front door."
Cailan raised his hands for peace. "Please, please, everyone calm down," he said, smiling benevolently. "Loghain, I'm sure you don't want to be burnt in effigy before the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux?"
"Wouldn't be the first time. Doubtless won't be the last time, either."
"Well then, we wouldn't want to call an Exalted March down upon our fair province, now, would we?" Cailan urged.
"An Exalted March, for this least prepossessing Priest? I doubt it would go as far as that," he said, but he allowed his stance to relax.
"Young Lord Loki, come here and stand by me," Cailan said, but Loki went and stood next to Elilia, who picked him up and placed him on the big table in the center of them all so he had a decent view of the proceedings. He sat down on the edge of it and very carefully avoided looking at his father.
Loghain studied the boy for a moment. His face was pale and peaked and his little mouth was drawn so tight his lips appeared to be nothing more than a line on his face. Loghain knew why. It wasn't the viciousness of the Revered Mother that had him upset. That woman and those like her mattered less than nothing to a smart boy like Loki. No, the boy was upset because he knew what he, Loghain, had done.
Loghain sighed. The boy would come to understand that he had done it for him, or he would not. Either way, it was done. There was no going back now. Later, if there was a later, they would talk.
Loghain turned to the hand-drawn map of the local area and planted his palms to either side of it. "This is what I was thinking," he said. "A basic assault, with a frontal attack at the main and a flank attack coming up to take the enemy by surprise once they're fully engaged."
"That's quite the strategy, if we end up facing fifty or sixty Darkspawn like we've been facing," Bryce Cousland said.
"We won't be. It will be a major force," Loki said, in a quiet but sure voice. "We may not have enough men even as we are."
"How do you know that, child?" the Teyrn said, wide-eyed. Although he'd seen Loki stop the arrow, it hadn't yet come to his attention that Loki had the ability to forecast the future to some degree, or to read the Archdemon's mind.
"There's no time to get into it, Bryce," Loghain said, and he held up a hand to forestall Cailan's attempt to explain the whole thing. "I would like to hear suggestions as to how we take our small force of men against this slavering horde of Darkspawn successfully, because honestly I have no clue. We've been quite successful thus far, but I doubt we'll find them quite so easy tonight as they've been, somehow."
"You're certain they're going to attack tonight?" Bryce said.
"Yes. They're trying to roll over us while we sleep, but we'll meet them on our feet."
"How do you know this?"
"It's… complicated. Suffice to say we have inside information."
"Inside information? You have an informant among the Darkspawn?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Bryce regarded him wide-eyed. "I hope you know what you're doing, Loghain. Seems like a dangerous game."
"More than you realize, Bryce," Loghain said, with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't go to this extremity if I had any confidence in my abilities against this sort of foe."
"What's the worry?" Cailan said, holding his arms open wide. "We have the Wardens, and plenty of new ones. Put them on the front lines, and let them slaughter the horde with us. It will be glorious!"
Loghain looked at Duncan, to see what he would say about this grand strategy. Duncan looked sublimely uncomfortable, but said nothing, perhaps unwilling to offend the young King. Loghain, not at all unwilling to offend anyone, spoke up himself.
"Cailan, that would be a marvelous strategy, if you're looking to lose all of Ferelden's Wardens in a single blow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The Darkspawn are drawn to them like bees are drawn to bright colors. In pitched battle, the Wardens must be held to the back lines and protected until the battle against the Archdemon, when they are needed to slay the beast."
"But… but…" Cailan sputtered.
"Your Majesty, His Grace Teyrn Loghain is essentially correct," Duncan said, perhaps using the discarded title to cover the fact that he was hiding his Joining. After all, it would be difficult to explain why he wasn't calling him by any honorific. "Wardens do attract the Darkspawn. We can take care of ourselves in battle under most circumstances, but the Archdemon does like to make special targets of us. It may well happen again tonight."
"Substitute 'will' for 'may well,'" Loghain said. "I got it from my 'inside source.'"
"We are made stronger than we would naturally have been, due to the Joining," Duncan said, "but none of us is immortal. When we are seriously pressed, we die, like any soldier. If we are on the front lines tonight, and the Darkspawn make a target of us, we could all very easily be lost, as Teyrn Loghain says."
Cailan looked quite disgruntled at that. "Fine. No Wardens on the front lines," he grumbled. "How are we going to signal the flank attack?"
"I've had men checking Ishal, it seems solid," Loghain said. "I've set up a signal fire at the peak. Someone from the main army will signal a man on the inside to light the fire there and that will let the flank know to charge."
Senior Enchanter Uldred stepped out of the shadows, perhaps emboldened by the fact that he'd seen Loghain threaten to kill the Revered Mother just a few minutes prior. "My Lord, if I may, the two-signal system you describe could easily go awry. One mage, standing with the main army, could send up a signal that would let the flank know to charge, and if they were to fall, another mage could immediately step in and take their place. Fail-proof."
"Do you think we would entrust any lives to your spells, Mage?" the Revered Mother snarled.
"Do it," Loki said. "Ishal isn't as secure as you think."
"What do you mean, Pup?" Loghain said.
The boy still refused to look at him, but at least he was speaking to him. "The Deep Roads are close beneath it. It was built by the Dwarves, after all, so it goes to figure. The Darkspawn have been digging. When they're ready to attack, they will dig through the floor in Ishal and come pouring out to flank you themselves."
"Andraste's ass!" Loghain said. "Is there anything we can do to stop it?"
"Not unless you have a really big sheet of really thick metal."
"If I may," Uldred said, "Senior Enchanter Wynne, though a specialist at the healing arts, knows a very strong barrier spell. If mages were to signal the flank, she could barricade the doors of Ishal so that the Darkspawn could not exit. Of course, it would take her healing talents out of the battle."
Loghain snapped his fingers and pointed at Uldred. "See that it is done. Keeping the Darkspawn off our flank is critical. I'll ensure Enchanter Wynne has plenty of army protection while she holds the line."
"Making mages a critical part of battle strategy? Preposterous!" the Revered Mother sputtered.
"Your Reverence, what do you know of battle strategy exactly?" Loghain said. "I believe you know two things; the Chant of Light and prayer. We don't require verses of the Chant right now so why don't you stand over yonder and pray? Quietly, so you don't bother us."
Her face turned beet red and swelled alarmingly as her eyes bulged. She sputtered inanely for a time, then stalked out of the ruin and away into the camp. Uldred smirked.
"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Loghain said. "Now that that's dealt with, let us continue. Loki, any further suggestions?"
"King Cailan should stand with the flank," Loki said.
"What? No! I will lead the charge from the vanguard!" Cailan said.
"I've told you several times before, Cailan, you're not ready to lead from the vanguard. Now Loki says it as well," Loghain said.
"You probably told him to say that!"
"Your Majesty," Loki said, looking at him directly, "if you stand at the vanguard of the main army, you will die."
Cailan's jaw dropped. "I'll… I'll die? You've seen that?"
Loki stared steadily into his eyes and said nothing.
"Think about it, Cailan. If you lead the flanking charge, you'll be coming to the rescue, like a hero of legend, spurring the men to greater courage. And apparently, you'll be saving your life in the process," Loghain said.
"Well. I will… stand with the flanking charge," Cailan said. "Of course I shall. You are certain I will be safe there?"
"No one is safe in battle, but at least death is no longer a surety," Loki said.
"Well. That's comforting," Cailan said.
"It is, actually," Loghain said. "I'd certainly take it that way, were I you."
They hammered out a few more details, and then broke to return to the men and their preparations. Before he actually left, though, Loghain pulled Loki aside. "Pup, I know you're upset with me…"
"Don't, Papa," the boy said, still refusing to look at him.
"You understand, don't you? I did this for your sake. To keep you safe."
"You can't keep me safe when you're dead."
"Have you foreseen my death?"
"… No."
"Then maybe I won't die. Did you ever think of that?"
"You will die. It's a foregone conclusion. You'll never let anyone else kill the Archdemon. You won't ever let another do something terrible that you won't do yourself."
"Pup, even if I do kill the Archdemon, it's not a sure certainty I'll die. There've only been four prior Blights. Four prior Wardens have slain Archdemons and died in the effort. That's not enough evidence to say it happens every damned time."
"It's happened every damned time so far!" Loki exclaimed.
"Maybe I'll find a way to beat the system," Loghain said, shrugging. "You never know. By the way, Pup, did you really foresee that Cailan would die on the front lines of the main army?"
"It was a near certainty, surely," Loki said. "If that had been all, I might have kept my mouth shut, because it might have solved some problems if he died in battle. Mostly, though, I saw that he would serve to get a lot of your soldiers killed."
"What do you mean?"
"He's very keen to make a name for himself in history," Loki said, sneering. "But he's so stupid that he's bound to go down in ignominy. With himself at command of the main army and you on the flank, he fully intended to call the charge early, to try and get out in front of you and slay as many Darkspawn as possible before the flank attack was called. No more than one volley of arrows."
"One…? Maker's breath!"
"The men would have been slaughtered. He can't screw up too badly on the flank, although he can still get himself killed. I suppose I shouldn't be wishing for that," Loki said.
"I for one am glad Cauthrien will be standing with the flank. If he tries anything stupid, I'll tell her to slug him and knock him out."
"Will she do it?" Loki asked.
"If I tell her to, she will."
"Good. It may well come to that. And, Papa?"
"Yes?"
"You should tell the camp noncombatants to pack up and head for Lothering, or wherever else you think would be good for them to go. I don't think this battle will be an unquestioning victory."
Loghain nodded. "All right. But Loki? I want you to go to Zevon, right now, and the both of you load up in a velocycle and head there right now. The two of you together won't find it a difficult fit."
"I can't put Fen and Hakkon in a velocycle with Zevon and I."
"Tell them to follow you north up the Imperial Highway. It will take them awhile, but they'll be fine."
Loki's mouth primmed up, but he said nothing. He left. Loghain hoped he went to do what he was told. He had always been an obedient boy, but there was always a first rebellion, and telling him to leave his beloved Mabari to fend for themselves on the long dark road to Lothering – so shortly after upsetting him by joining the Wardens, no less – might well be the catalyst the boy needed to start turning away from him. He might think it was a bit early to worry about rebelliousness but he had prior experience with children and knew it could start at any age.
No time to worry about it now, just hope to Helheim that Zevon got him the bloody hel out of here before the shit really hit the ceiling.
He organized his men and got them into position. There was a faint tingle in his blood that he assumed was the Taint, growing stronger by the minute but still rather distant. The approaching horde? Or just the maturation of his Warden powers? He would ask Duncan, if there was time later. Or perhaps he should ask Loki instead. The boy knew everything about everything, and the Warden Commander wasn't anywhere near as willing to talk.
The men were nervous. Word had spread that their commanders were expecting a much larger force of Darkspawn than any they previously faced, and fighting by firelight was not ideal. Loghain stood at the front of the lines and addressed them.
"Blast 'em and they die, boys!" he shouted, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to bowl anyone over or burst any eardrums. The men realized they held far better weapons than they'd seen any Darkspawn wielding thus far, and were comforted. They had force weapons, the darkspawn seemed to be limited to rather poor-quality swords, axes, hammers, and various other blunt-force instruments. There was no particular need to let them get within range to use them.
The tingle in Loghain's blood turned into an unpleasant buzzing sensation, like a hive of angry bees loose in his veins. He guessed that was definitely the Darkspawn, and sure enough in short order the lights of the horde (he hadn't expected them to carry torches, but they had them, far fewer than they had, but some; apparently they couldn't see in the dark after all) crested the far horizon. The depressing reality of the vastness of that horde could not be denied any longer. Nor could he deny the fact that there were ogres among them, huge ten or elven-foot horn-headed monstrosities, carrying huge boulders. What purpose they had with those boulders was unknown, but Loghain didn't want to find out.
He raised his arm. "Archers!" The lines of archers, over five hundred strong, immediately raised their bows and drew. Archery was, perhaps, more primitive than force weaponry, but it killed the enemy at a greater distance. Some battles were fought without archers in Asgard, but Loghain would pit every weapon he had in his arsenal against the Darkspawn.
He dropped his arm. "Loose!" he shouted, and the satisfying sound of five hundred loosed arrows filled the air. He could barely see them, black against the dark sky, but what few stars showed were briefly blotted out. He sent arrows flying at the spawn three more times before it was too close to rely long-distance measures. He knew it was so when the first of the ogres tossed the first of the boulders into the front lines, smashing down three men.
"At them, men! Send them to the Void!" he shouted, and waved his sword. Then he charged at the Darkspawn lines. The men cried out in solidarity and raced after him, force weapons flaring. Hounds bayed and surged the lines. Grace was close at his side. As usual, when battle was joined, his vision narrowed severely and he saw little beyond those threats directly in his path, but he tried to keep his attention fixed on the moment to give the cue for the signal for the flanking charge. The enemy had to be fully engaged.
He saw and was pleased at the effect magic had on the Darkspawn lines. Uldred and his battlemages, though they were few, were devastating. Loghain wished Cailan had managed to wangle dozens more out of the Knight-Commander. It would make this battle much easier. And healers, too. The army should always have access to magical healing. And no Chantry stooge should stand in the way of it, either. Fireballs and lightning strikes were far more effective against the Darkspawn than stones were against the Asgardian lines, and that was important, because it was definitely the best thing the Darkspawn had going for them at this point, other than sheer numbers. They didn't seem to have mages of their own, which was a definite plus. Or at least, they didn't choose to deploy them at this time. Darkspawn mages were a dreadful thought.
At the proper time, when the army was fully engaged and the Darkspawn were fully committed, Loghain stood tall and bellowed out the command for the signal to be raised. Immediately, a fireball went up, sent by Uldred or another mage. It burst into embers high over the battlefield, and the heartening cry of Maric's Shield rose up in the distance and bore down on the spawn. Things were going as well as could be expected, but there were so many bloody Darkspawn on the field. Loghain understood what Loki meant when he said this would not be an unquestioning victory.
He hoped the boy was well away from here, zooming along on his way to Lothering. Maybe that wasn't even far enough. Perhaps he should have told him to go to Denerim. Kirkwall, maybe, though he didn't like the idea of sending him to the City of Chains. Tevinter slavers were said to be common there, and even if they weren't, it was certainly true that the templars held frightening power over the city government. The Knight-Commander had murdered the previous Viscount, Threnhold, when he tried to curtail their power. The new man, Dumar, was nothing more than her puppet.
He bashed a hurlock in the face with his shield and mowed down several genlocks with one swing of his sword. They were hard to fight because he had to duck down to get at them. They were also dangerous because the battlefield was bloody swarming with them. They were small and crudely armed but they were everywhere you looked, and built like Dwarves they were more fearsome than they deserved to be. He wondered, as he fought, as always his brain fully capable of dealing with the battle on something approaching autopilot while he pondered more active things, exactly what made one Darkspawn differ from another. Why were there genlocks, hurlocks, ogres, and sharlocks? Why were they different to each other? If they were all made from Tevinter magisters who were cast down and cursed from the Golden City in Heaven long ages ago, as the stories claimed, why weren't they all basically one breed? Had they evolved? The days of the Tevinter Imperium weren't so long ago that one would imagine evolution having such a grand effect. Were they… or something taking a hand to them… selectively breeding, like Orlesians selectively bred their hideous little yappy lap dogs to be tiny and inbred and ridiculous and diseased?
Cailan eventually managed to fight his way through the throngs of Darkspawn to Loghain's side, or perhaps it was the other way around. However it happened to be, Loghain soon found himself beside the young King in his eye-catching golden armor. It was a good thing, he supposed, because Cailan was… eurgh. "Biotic Strength," strength unaccountable by natural physiology, was not a ubiquitous Nord power but it was a fairly common one, one that even many peasants possessed, and virtually all the nobility had it to some degree. Cailan was not so strong as Loghain, and would not have been even if he were to the same scale as the other man, but he was more than strong enough to wield the big and clumsy greatsword he favored with far greater speed and nimbleness than most non-Nord warriors could manage. Therefore there was absolutely no reason why his backswing needed to go so wild, threatening his own soldiers with disembowelment each time he slashed. The boy just had no sense at all. Loghain positioned himself close by the King and protected the men behind him as much as he tried to protect the King from threats ahead.
"Control your swings, Cailan! You're a menace to your own men!" he shouted over the clash of blades.
"Sorry!" the King said, and made another wild swing. The same as always, the boy never listened to a word he was told.
Loghain divided his attention between battle and babysitting. His shield had to defend against Cailan's every backswing, so it could no longer defend against the Darkspawn, and he took more wounds than he should have. Mostly on the legs, which were all the genlocks and hurlocks could reach. His armor was stout but the fittings were old and rather improperly done, thanks to the many resizings. Plenty of room for weapons to dig into the joins. Still, he fought on, not noticeably hindered.
Cailan's sword clanged off his shield yet again. "Watch it," he growled, but Cailan paid no heed. Indeed, the sword went up and came back again. He moved to block it but the sword suddenly jigged around his shield and then jabbed – right into the bare space where his armor allowed his knee to bend. He looked down at the blood spurting from the wound and then up at Cailan and snarled.
Cailan, for his part, was either a much better actor than Loghain had ever imagined, or was shocked by his own audacity. His eyes were bugged, his skin was pale, sweat beaded his brow, and he seemed transfixed on the wound on Loghain's leg. Loghain was actually forced to defend him from the attack of several darkspawn before he regained some sort of volition, whereupon he dropped his sword completely and stepped back.
"It isn't as easy to kill a man as you thought it would be, is it, Cailan?" Loghain said. He grabbed the King by the shoulder and pushed him toward a red-headed woman bearing a shield and the insignia of a lieutenant. "Get him out of here! He's lost his nerve!"
The lieutenant didn't even waste time saluting, she hustled the King toward the back lines smartly. Loghain soldiered on, but the hole Cailan put in his knee was a lot worse than the smaller, more superficial wounds he'd taken from the Darkspawn. He tried not to let it show, but he was really pretty badly crippled by it.
And Andraste's flaming ashes, here comes an ogre…
He had a distinct advantage over other soldiers, when facing these purple-skinned monstrosities. He was taller than most of them. Most men and mer had barely half their height. As the creature reached for him he dropped his shield and raised his sword over his head in both hands and buried it hilt-deep in the creature's face. He pushed the body off with his good leg, necessitating standing on his injured leg for a good length of time while it slowly slid the length of the massive sword.
He was now hurting worse than ever, and he knew he could not keep fighting for long as he was. Could one of the mages heal him? Wynne was the healing specialist, and she was busy keeping the Darkspawn pinned into Ishal, but surely one of the other six mages knew a basic spell of healing?
He found Uldred's shining chrome dome among the men, marked more because of the way it glared in the light of the fireballs the mage kept throwing at the Darkspawn than by any real distinguishing characteristic of its baldness. He worked his way over to him.
"Do you know any healing spells?" he asked.
"My skills run to the elemental, spells that aid in battle," Uldred said, shouting to be heard. "Few mages are actually taught healing magic. That falls under the realm of Spirit Magic. Templars consider it a grey area. They do not like too many mages in one Circle to study it at one time."
"Healing magic? A 'grey' area? Are templars bloody insane?"
"I don't think I've ever met a sane one yet," Uldred said, "but you may be speaking to a biased observer, Your Grace. If you need healing, you'll need to find Wynne. She's the only one here who's a proper Spirit Mage."
"Who's bloody idea was it to only send one bloody healer?" Loghain groused. He didn't want to distract Wynne from her vital duty of holding the barrier against the Darkspawn in Ishal, but he definitely needed healing. Perhaps she could heal his knee quickly without letting down the barrier. If not, he would be out of the battle before long. Dead, maybe.
He fought his way toward Ishal. Darkspawn had pushed close to the edifice, he saw, and soldiers were hard-pressed to fight them back, even with their superior weapons. All a matter of sheer numbers, really, like locusts swarming. There were simply too many to get rid of them all. They climbed over the bodies of their own fallen without any hesitation and they just kept coming. If the barrier at Ishal were to fall, the battle would be lost, unquestionably. The only question there was now was when to sound the retreat before they lost more than they could afford.
He made his way to the foot of the tower, where Wynne and the six soldiers he'd posted with her stood. The elderly enchanter seemed relaxed enough, the barrier spell apparently not requiring her full-time attention. She occasionally cast a healing spell toward the fighting soldiers as she noticed one was necessary. Loghain limped up to her.
"I could use one of those, if you'll oblige me, my lady," he said, gasping a bit at the effort it took him to get this far on the wounded leg.
"Your Grace! By all means!" And Wynne cast a spell on him, and suddenly none of the wounds on his legs hurt any longer.
"Can that barrier hold even without you here to hold it up?" he asked.
"Yes, it will stay until it is removed, Your Grace. Even if I were killed, it would not fall."
"Then let's get moving! Men are wounded out there, and need healing! These soldiers need to fight, too!"
"Right away, Your Grace!"
Loghain charged back to the battlefield, and the soldiers were behind him. The elderly mage lagged behind, slowed by her years and hampered by her skirts. Her healing powers gave the men a renewed burst of spirit, but it wasn't really enough. The Darkspawn were simply relentless.
"This is untenable," Bryce Cousland said, on Loghain's left now. "We cannot hold much longer against these monsters. We cannot afford to lose any more men."
"I quite agree," Loghain said. "Start getting the men moving, Bryce – north, to Lothering. We'll regroup there."
He raised his voice and shouted the retreat. Ordinarily a General would use a war horn to signal the troops, but his voice worked better and carried farther. He didn't even own a war horn, not even the ceremonial type most Generals owned.
He moved through the lines, hustling people, and heading back toward the camp. There were wounded men at the camp, and noncombatants, and one prisoner who'd been captured, suspected of desertion. He wouldn't leave any of them to the mercy of the Darkspawn. He saw Warden Commander Duncan exhorting his own men to get moving, standing and defending them as they went. Perhaps he was a better commander than he gave him credit for. He seemed to know at least the basics of what a good leader of men should do in this situation.
He killed as many Darkspawn as he could, but made his way toward the camp as swiftly as possible, always shouting for everyone to head to Lothering, to move that ass, move that ass. A flip of blonde hair flitted past his eyes. Either it was an ogre in a wig or his wife. He reached out and grabbed the tail of hair and yanked her unceremoniously back.
"Ouch! Dammit!" she snarled.
"Elilia, get to a velocycle and get to Lothering quick like. Loki should be there, with Zevon. The Darkspawn may have sent scouts that way. Get there; defend him."
She looked at him for one split second, then seemed to comprehend what he was saying. A nod, and she ran for the sidelines where the few vehicles were stashed.
Wynne pushed through the fleeing soldiers to the camp at about the same time he did. "What are you doing, woman? You should be on your way to Lothering," Loghain said.
"There are wounded men in the camp, Your Grace, and with the Templars and the Revered Mother fleeing for Lothering, I felt this was my best chance to aid them. After all, if they are going to run, they will need to be healthy to do it."
Loghain smiled. "Good woman. Get to it. I've got to find the keys to the blasted cage we're holding that deserter in."
On the way to look for them, he saw that the few Tranquil – former mages reduced to emotionless slave labor by the Chantry – were not fleeing with their templar captors.
"Why aren't you moving? We're evacuating!" Loghain said.
"Your pardon, Your Grace," one of the two, a young man, said, cool and calm as anything, "but the templars did not tell us to leave."
"I'm telling you to leave. I command the army, and you're part of the army while you're here with it. Now go! Go! Go! At a run, now! No dawdling!"
The Tranquil seemed to accept this, and ran off when he told them to. That handled, he scared up the keys, yelled at the mostly elven camp runners to stop packing shit and get moving, and went to release the prisoner.
"You like to run? Get running. And don't stop 'til you hit Cumberland," he said, and jammed the keys into the lock.
"Thank you, Your Grace!" the man said, and even though he was bare-ass naked, he ran. Fear for your life was a marvelous motivator, and knew no modesty.
Everyone was underway now, and it seemed the Darkspawn were more interested in swarming the campsite than pursuing the army. It made no tactical sense, whatsoever, but perhaps the Archdemon could not give the Darkspawn moment-to-moment commands, or only certain ones among them, already dead. It was good news for those fleeing but very inconvenient for Loghain and Wynne, who found themselves left behind, trapped by the encroaching horde.
And then it dawned on him, they hadn't followed because they were after specific targets. Wardens. Him.
He didn't know what made him more attractive than the Wardens who had already fled – he didn't know that they knew he was the leader of the Surface troops, a rallying point for their morale, and the foremost planner of their strategies – but he did know he was Tainted, and Wynne was not, so there was at least a slim chance in Helheim that she could still get clear.
"Run for it," he told her. "I'll hold them off as best I can."
"I will not leave you to their mercy, Your Grace," she said, and sent a fireball crashing into the horde. "I may be a healer, but I can still fight."
"Damn it, woman, they're after me, not you."
"Nevertheless, they will kill me without a second thought, and I am too old to run away with any speed. I will stand."
He admired her courage, even as he cursed her stupidity. Her skirts were impractical and hampered her, and she was rather old, so perhaps it was too much to think she could run after all. He waded into the fray and tried to mow down as many Darkspawn as he could before they were overwhelmed, while Wynne blasted them with fireballs and ice storms from behind his shoulder. Then, on the far horizon, came a terrifying sight. A great dragon, bearing toward them swiftly on the winds, black against the stars. The Archdemon.
Maker save Ferelden, Loghain thought, though he had no great confidence in the Maker and never had. But then, something quite puzzling happened. Puzzling and wondrous. The dragon swooped over the horde and unleashed fire upon the Darkspawn. The spawn sizzled and burned, lit up like the most unpleasant torches ever crafted. The dragon swooped around and went back, flying low, unleashing more fire over the armies of the Archdemon. It couldn't be Urthemiel. Was it, perhaps, the same High Dragon that had savaged the Orlesian troops just prior to the Battle of River Dane? If it was, what did that mean, exactly? Was this dragon a Fereldan patriot? It seemed ridiculous to consider.
The dragon's aid was most welcome, but they remained far too hard-pressed. Wynne cried out horribly and he spared a glance her way. She was crumpled on the ground, her head bloody from some blunt force trauma, a hurlock bearing a wicked mace standing over her. Loghain cut it down but knew it was too late to do anything for the mage. Grace was still fighting gamely, seemingly indominable, but even she could not take so many Darkspawn. Loghain himself felt quite weary. It had been a helheim of a day. He began to falter, unable to keep up the steady pace of battle. He didn't consider giving up. Even standing alone with his dog, he would take as many Darkspawn with him as he possibly could.
He battled on, killing Darkspawn, until he no longer had the strength to stand. He went down among a sea of goblin faces. He heard Grace barking wildly, but could not call to her. The lights went out.
FIN
A/N: Just kidding! You didn't really think this was the end, did you? :)
