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Co-Author and Beta: Etheral-23
Test of morality at Edgehall: Act IV
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How familiar it became to them, war. That blood, battle, and steel were integral to their lives, the type of companion you could never truly part with, no matter how much you tried.
As the soldiers shouted and the Darkspawn roared, Neria fought. She fought because that's what her life was now. Battle after battle. A constant struggle in defense of her nation, as dictated by her duties as a Warden. The young lady who froze at her first fight was now casting deadly spells without hesitation, precise lightning and bursts of fire to incinerate the Darkspawn nearest to her without causing collateral damage. While the knowledge of the Arcane Warriors came seamlessly to her, she wielded her blade of magic, cutting their jagged crude armors as though they were paper, leaving only the scent of burnt flesh and metal.
Neria did not enjoy this; she never did, and some of her hated it. She hated how her life was now blood and death and how killing and fighting became second nature.
All she wanted was to study.
So she fought. They all did. To most, it was not a choice anymore; it was just how things were.
She didn't know how the others did it, how they could relish in the carnage of this fight. Warriors and their honor and glory were a concept understood only distantly. Neria lacked the fighting spirit to enjoy the battle and sometimes questioned how others could.
She questioned how Brianna could enjoy this.
There she was, her oldest friend, cutting through Darkspawn with her mithril sword, a gift from Miara. Her magic unbound as she moved through the battlefield in bursts of Fade Steps, disappearing in one moment only to cut down more Darkspawn as she reappeared behind them; powerful bursts of Force magic squashed their bodies together, twisting metal and flesh into painful amalgamations. And she did it all with satisfaction on her face.
Neria didn't know who Brianna was anymore; she didn't know who either of the two was.
Sten fought as he always did, with precision and control that betrayed hints of a savage and brutal rage that burned underneath. His ebony greatsword cleaved through the monsters and tore them into bloody pieces without hesitation. They were all monsters in need of extermination, and like the dutiful soldier he was, he performed his duty in an admirably and horrifyingly efficient and brutal display of raw strength combined with masterful swordsmanship.
Gin's daggers flowed like water, parrying and slashing into the weak spots of a Genlock's armor, killing it instantly. Unlike Neria, he was indifferent about most things. Resigned to his place in the world, he'd draw his daggers and fight whoever would harm his family and friends if it meant protecting those he loved.
Sereda's Bownammer plates prove their durability in resisting an axe to her shoulder from a Hurlock. With her shield, she smashed the blighter's extended arm garnering a cry of pain. Like most of her comrades, the exiled princess loved a good battle, but not this time. Her grief and rage were at the forefront as she vented upon any darkspawn that came for her with extreme viciousness. Always at her side was Faren, whose daggers tore through any who tried to sneak up upon his friend.
Marcus balanced his duty to fight with the thrill of battle. He did not seek out conflict except whenever he got his hands on Rendon Howe for his crimes. But the disgraced noble never sought a fight for the sake of fighting. Something Neria always respected about him. Alistair, Maker bless him; he fought for the honor of not just the Warden anymore. But for the fellow compatriots of his nation, he will one day rule as king by his birthright as the son of Maric.
Both fought side-by-side like brothers, with their strengths while protecting the other's weaknesses with flawless discipline.
With the string of her bow pulled back, Leliana unleashed her mithril and silverite arrows with a skill to rival the elves. The redhead was always a bit eccentric for her tastes and seemed to enjoy fighting as much as her lover Sofie who revels in it. If not her nordic greatsword, her silverite axes moved and flowed through enemies like their armor was paper. The towering woman's savage smile showed she was enjoying her work immensely.
Shale lowered its rocky fists, crushing a Hurlock with ease, "Darkspawn, don't squash as well as birds." Neria made it a point to avoid the self-aware golem, as it also did not like mages much.
Duty as a Warden and loyalty to protecting his clan drove Theron, whose stoicism faded if only slightly. Much like Oryrn, he only sought out battle if necessary but fought when a weapon was needed. Speaking of the Dunmeri Templar, he impaled several darkspawn with a divine spear glowing as he charged. She had never met such a selfless and courageous man who gave everything to defend the innocent from harm. Be it a monster from the darkest of depths to lowly raiders. He would bring down righteous justice upon them.
Fereldens fought with vigor and courage, weapons held in both experienced and inexperienced hands, yet they all killed Darkspawn. What a force the Blight could be that made some people push away their hatred in favor of an even more reviled and feared enemy. Darkspawn were monsters to the core; they destroyed everything in sight because it was their nature to defile and bring death in such disgusting amounts that one could make mountains with the corpses they left in their wake. A type of evil incarnate that even the malice of the human heart could not compare to. So the Fereldens gave it their all in this fight, cutting down the monsters that sought to consume the land in their Taint; what brave warriors they were. Not surprisingly, experienced fighters like Lanya and Bryton were on the front lines, while those lacking sufficient martial training like Kail or someone as seasoned as Parth remained behind in Edgehall to deal with stragglers and, if anything happened to the others, to lead the arling. Lanya reminded Neria so much of Sofie, large, muscular, and strong. Her greatsword was cutting down darkspawn after darkspawn that came her way. By contrast, Bryton was precise and swift, his sword soaring through the air as it parried away jagged metal and pierced Blighted flesh.
The orlesians had no stake in this fight, yet they fought simultaneously. Neria could see the sheer experience and professional training combined with armor and weapons of excellent quality. Fighting unflinchingly against the dark tide because those were their orders. Marcel had a flourish to his style like the battlefield was one more place where he had to conduct himself with the elegance and dignity of a highborn. The same could be said of his aides, in their way at least. Despite her evident love for bloodshed and the unnerving smile on her lips, Brigitte fought like someone who had refined exquisite swordsmanship for years instead of a berserker. While Julien's spellcasting was elegant, possessing a flair of pride, he pulled at the Veil and drew magic with flair, making his allies' weapons shine with flames, shrouding them in protective barriers, casting invigoration and invigoration and healing. A battlemage whose supportive abilities were even more remarkable than his offensive ones.
And then there were their draconic allies, Odahviing and Durhenviir, soared, raining down death in flames at the Darkspawn further away from their forces, sparing them from the same burning fate. And when they landed, they smashed through the monsters with tails and talons, reducing them to twisted, broken bodies as they tore them apart. They roared and Shouted, commanding reality itself by way of primal magic that Neria still could barely comprehend; the Voice was their rightful power, as commanded by their Father.
What a battle this was; she was confident people would tell stories of it for years. Former enemies joined by Wardens and dragons to slay the Darkspawn, the sort of tales bards would fall to their knees just for a chance at retelling it.
Neria could not say she enjoyed her role in this battle, but she embraced it all the same.
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As Edgehall was a minor Hold, its only measure of defense was its massive walls. However, if they failed to repel invaders, there was no real proper safe house to protect the citizens on account all the former Arls never truly believed the walls could be breached. Their hubris would have likely been the deaths of countless innocent lives if not for the current people protecting the place and its people.
Since the only well-fortified building within the hold was the Arl's keep, it was decided to place all villages non-combatants for their safety. However, even that was not enough to house every civilian, leaving many terrified people outside the keep's hardened walls. Fortunately, measures were in place to protect those people outside and the rest within the keep, with a small platoon of soldiers being their shield in case any of the blighters got past the primary defense. A mixture of Ferelden and Orlesian forces, with a few of Alora's archers taking positions on several roofs.
And much to the horror of the civilians clutched together behind the soldiers, several Darkspawn made it past the frontline forces and charged into the Hold. Vaea and her uncle Coran were among the unfortunate few outside the Keep with Elder Laranni, who held several elven children close, muttering a prayer silently.
Roaring from an alpha Hurlock sends many civilians outside the keep to shutter as it and several of its vile kin charge. But their bloodlust was not to be quenched as two holy sabers tore through its armor and body with ease before it shrieked upon being engulfed by golden flames. The alpha's body fell and turned to ashes as Miara's crimson eyes glared with a steely resolution before dashing for the next blighter.
Per her request, the Dragonborn was placed in charge of the group to defend the civilians within the Hold in case stragglers breached through the frontline. At the same time, the mixture of soldiers was wary of an unknown foreigner at the head. She displayed a commander's presence with decades of experience in her voice and stance.
But now they, and all the Edgehall civilians, bore witness to her combat prowess taking on the Darkspawn with a speed and strength none had ever seen a person have. She did not run; she flowed across their enemies like a paintbrush of a master artist. If her swords, which the people could only describe as gifts from the Maker himself, not only cut through the monsters with ease. But they howled and cried in immense pain as they burned in what looked like sacred flames to smite their evil.
Parring a Genlock's axe, she brought down her Starfang, which sang through every cut it made, and slashed its current prey in literal half before unleashing what looked like pure fire in the form of a whip from one of her palms and wrapping it around an Emissary's throat before pulling it violently back to her towards her and awaiting Dawnbeaker that glowed with our fury and rage.
Elves were not warriors; they were incapable of standing up for themselves. That was the reality of the elven city folk in Thedas. It was why the dalish were spoken about with such awe, bordering on the mythical, for they were those the People who chose to break free from the bondage of human civilization and stay true to the heritage of their ancestors, marking their faces with the emblems of their gods.
This elf bore no such markings, nor did she not carry herself as someone who had grown up in poverty and under the constant mistreatment of humans. No, this elf was unlike any other they had ever seen. She was tall as humans, already making her tower over any of her Thedosian kin, her skin was an ashen grey, and her eyes 'blazed' like fire. She fought without hesitation, without fear; the only thing shown in her features was steely resolve.
To the elves of Edgehall, who had long lived in deplorable conditions, even worse than some other alienages in the country, could only look at this woman and marvel at what she was capable of, how this single elf was so powerful and brave as to guard them all by herself against the numbers of the Blighted monsters. The young elven child of dark complexion and emerald eyes watched, enthralled, at this warrior woman who cut down the monsters to protect them, her young mind engraving this memory so vividly to recall this woman's beauty and might, but above all else, her courage. And it would stay on Vaea's mind for many years, shaping her into the woman she wanted to be.
"Not one of the damn blighters has gotten past her," Galehut conveyed with equal disbelief and awe.
"Où le directeur l'a-t-il trouvé!?" A shout came from an Orlesian soldier.
Two elven archers standing ready on a roof look on, "She is like a goddess of battle." One muttered, earning a nod from the other.
"Yol Toor Shul!" Gasps and cries came from several people as they witnessed the ashen-skinned elf breathing literal flames from her mouth as if she was a dragon! The power and force of the flames obliterated some of the weaker Genlocks and Hurlocks. "Fin nil saraan hi!" Miara roared, severing the head of an alpha Genlock who avoided her fire shout.
As the vile beast fell came a roar that did not come from either of her dovah companions at the front of the battle.
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"Of course, they had to have fucking bloody ogre!" Fallon declared with anger.
However, Alistair took note of the giant beast being much larger than the rest adorned in full armor as it charged from behind the rest of the Darkspawn, "It is an Alpha!"
Arcane energies radiated from Sarya's hands as a large bow appeared. Pulling back, the string now glowed four large arrows as she aimed at the armored siege engine of an ogre. Charging as much power as she could, the bow and arrows grew before releasing all four arcane arrows like Redguard cannonballs.
A pause came from a blinking Brianna, "You never taught me that!"
However, the Telvanni mage remained silent, focusing on her target as the arrows struck the massive Darkspawn. But much to the Dunmeri woman's ire, the arrows did not penetrate the armor. But did knock the ogre back a few good feet.
Morrigan's staff twirled in her hands before slamming it down, the force of the magic causing the snow around her to be blasted away, revealing the ground underneath. Earth twisted and broke apart in long arcs that stretched towards the fallen ogre, and while this one tried to get up, thorny vines shot up to hold the beast back down. They did an admirable job, but the creature resisted, snapping the vines with his brutish strength.
"Hurry!" The witch shouted, casting more and more vines to keep the ogre down.
Marcus brandished his blades and charged at the creature; his eyes focused on the opening in its throat that the plates didn't cover. All he needed was to be swift; he stepped over the ogre's armored shoulder and was ready to bring the blades down.
Then the ogre exploded.
There was a flash of fire, a sudden wave of heat and force that threw Marcus flying back and incinerated Morrigan's vines. The ogre rose, its entire form shrouded in flames burning with as much intensity as its rage. It roared, and the flames gathered on its fists before rearing it back and slamming it upon the ground, instantly melting all snow around it as flames scorched everything in their path. Neria and Wynne did their best to contain the flames, yet the force of the heat still washed over them.
Morrigan almost swore, "That thing is a mage?!"
Fantastic. It couldn't be a genlock or a hurlock alpha at most. Oh no, this emissary, in particular, had to be an ogre alpha of all blasted things.
Bryton stared hard at the giant beast, "How do we fight that thing!?"
"Nothing is invulnerable," Marcus declared, "We find a weak spot and take it out."
"Easier said than done, dog lord," Julien quipped warily.
Sweat dripped from Oryrn's face under his helmet as his gaze noted his Nordic undead mother slashing through several blighters with her katana further away. She was far enough for him to use what he needed, with his hands soon radiating a golden hue. His mouth moved as he whispered in an arcane language before firing what could be described as sunlight striking the massive beast.
Its roar drew the attention of many while a painful hiss came from Serana looking away. The ogre's body looked like it was being restrained while also burning simultaneously. However, this was unlike its more mindless kin as its arcane energy glowed from its body. Unleashing another howl, Oryrn's solar prison spell shattered before hurling giant fireballs at the Templar. To his surprise, he barely had time to erect a barrier that broke from the first fireball before being slammed by the second, sending him flying.
"Oryrn!" Neria cried out, seeing the Dunmeri man hit the ground and into the mote near the bridge.
Neria moved to assist him, moving with superior speed thanks to the battle magics empowering her body. She looked over the edge to find Oryrn hanging off the deep gorge by his blade; this one stabbed deep enough into the earth. Rocks fell from down to the icy waters below; the male dunmer's crimson eyes narrowed as he glanced down over his shoulder before his helmeted visage looked back at Neria.
"A bit of assistance, please?" His easy tone betrayed some of the urgency he felt.
"I've got you" Neria concentrated and carefully wrapped her magic around him, telekinetically pulling him up. Oryrn removed the blade from the bedrock but kept a hand on the gorge as he levitated upwards. Neria had kept a steady control lest she risked having him fall, which was easier said than done considering the chaos of the battle.
She heard the ogre roar, its footsteps making the ground tremble, and she was confident it was coming for her. Casting lightning and raw magic around it in devastating measures. "Not now...!" She hissed, and Oryrn's form wobbled a bit.
The ogre was picking up speed, targeting the elf, who was not in a position to defend herself. Suddenly, a giant block of ice struck against its helmeted horned head. The ogre turned its head back and saw an enormous creature made of pure supernatural ice standing before it; repeatedly, it slammed its blocky limbs against the armored monster.
Brianna twirled her blade, brimming with magical energy as her conjured atronach kept the ogre busy.
As Miara explained, mithril was one of the better light but strong metals to allow magic to be conducted efficiently. It was the perfect weapon for Amell to fit her needs as they found it could harm Darkspawn much like Silverite. She dashed around with her summon as it knocked the ogre hard in the face with its blunt icy arm. The force was strong enough to dent the monster's helm and stagger it.
That was the opening the aspiring spellsword needed to use one of the blighter's arms to climb up it and leap behind it, holding the hilt of her sword with both hands and aiming for the opening in the back of the neck. With a battle cry, she plunged her blade through the ogre's thick hide as she allowed gravity to bring her down.
Simultaneously her arcane energies within the sword lengthened it to reach far enough and pierce the beast's heart. As a puppet with its strings cut, it fell to the ground dead. Brianna hit the corpse's back and rolled off it onto the ground, quickly standing. Her chest heaved as she took in as much air as possible, glancing to the atronach, "thanks, big guy."
The elemental daedra gave a slight nod as her head turned to Neria and Oryrn, who now happily stood on solid ground, "You two alright!?"
"We're fine," The Templar waved off the worry peering down at his rescuer, "Thank you, Neria."
The young elven woman nodded before turning to the remaining darkspawn facing down their forces. "We're beating them back."
"Then let's keep the pressure going," Brianna dashed back into the fray after getting back her sword with her summoning charging with her. Surana took note of her lifelong friend's smile.
"...She's changed so much."
"You both have," Oryrn addressed, patting her shoulder, "Let us not dally and finish this."
"Right."
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A warcry came from Marcel, bringing down his sword into the skull of a Genlock. Despite the sting of exhaustion in his limbs, he only felt the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he smiled. A smile slowly spread among the soldiers as their enemies fell in droves while they lost a few.
And as the armored Alpha Ogre was felled by Warden Amell, it was like a second wind for their forces as they pressed against the Darkspawn harder. Odahviing laughed at the sight of the blighters beginning to flee the battle, "Nost bovul med nikriin! HAHAHA!"
"They think they can run from us!" Durnehviir growled with fury.
"They're routed. Keep the pressure on!" Bryton barked, waving his sword to signal the soldiers to keep advancing. "Kill as many of them as you can!"
Marcus quickly approached a couple of their party, "We need to go after the stragglers; Theron, Sarya, you take south!"
"On it!" The Telvanni mage was already conjuring a pair of summons as Marcus kept instructing the rest of their companions. Invoking two frost mares, she hopped on the first and motioned Theron to join her. "Giddy up!"
Theron did not question it, far too used to these things at this point, and merely mounted on the second ice steed. The creatures worked better in this climate, as their icy hooves almost seemed to glide above the snow, barely leaving any tracks, moving through it unimpeded and with tremendous speed.
When they reached them, the escaping darkspawn were almost completely gone into the tree line. Theron was already firing arrows at those closest; his strikes were accurate as the projectiles pierced their skulls while Sarya cast bolts of lightning that turned the Blighters into smoking corpses.
As they entered the forest, it became harder to shoot while riding, so they dismounted and gave chase on foot. Theron remained stoic as he holstered his bow and began cutting down any Blighter he found with his dalish blade. Their wild and savage strikes were easy for someone of his speed and agility to dodge, slipping between the openings seamlessly as they delivered deadly strikes.
Corpse after corpse fell behind him, his ability to sense the Blight pointing him toward every Darkspawn nearby. While Sarya was taking out those still standing on her side, Theron's sensing allowed him to kill those near him much faster, as they could not hide between the thick sea of trees in this snowy landscape.
It all led to a final Darkspawn he could feel hiding behind a tree. Was it waiting to ambush him? Doubtful, it would have struck by now. He circled the tree and found the huddled form of what had to be a Shriek, one of those monsters whose pointy ears unnerved him greatly. These Darkspawn were incredibly fast and stealthy, yet this one had done an abysmal job at hiding.
As he walked closer, Theron began to feel something was... amiss. The Darkspawn was shivering; its blackened, warped hide still had sores and patches of peeled-off skin. The armor wasn't the jagged, rusty metal those creatures used. It was leather but torn and falling to pieces. A closer look revealed the creature had hair, or rather, patches of hair, as most of it had fallen off already. And its posture and overall body shape looked more... elven.
His eyes widened before narrowing in pity. Ah... a ghoul. A poor soul that did not die upon being infected by the Taint but was driven to madness and bloodlust as they slowly underwent a metamorphosis into becoming full Darkspawn. He did not wish such a fate even on his worst enemy. This had one of The People, so Theron would grant him mercy and end his painful existence.
"Ir abelas, my kin," He muttered solemnly. "Fear not; your suffering is at an end."
Upon hearing Theron's voice, the Ghoul's body stopped shaking. Its hands lowered just enough to reveal its eyes staring wide at the Dalish warrior. They were milky white. Whatever color they once were was long gone by the corruption. But what happened next made Theron's blood feel like ice. "...lethallin..."
The voice was broken, guttural, but it held the tone the elven man had not heard in months. His tone... Theron's sword slipped from his hand as he backed away with shock on his expression. This drew Sarya's attention as she ran to her companion, "What's wrong!?" Coming to his side, she gazed at Theron and soon the huddling creature, which again shook out of fright, hiding its upper face. "Is this a ghoul?"
Her question was only met with silence as she looked back to Theron. Terror and recognition glowed in his eyes, "Theron?" He did not react to her voice. Her crimson eyes danced between him and the Ghoul.
"Lethallin..."
Recognition soon came to Sarya as the corrupted elf spoke once more. Terrified recognition as she covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
Theron's heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, with his breathing becoming erratic, "Tamlen..." His voice was a horse whisper.
Slowly, the Ghoul fully lowered his hands, revealing the visage of what was left of the Dalish warrior known as Tamlen. Portions of his old face were covered with sores and peeled skin. He tried to stand, but even that act looked like it caused him pain, and once up, he hunched forward. Unable to fully stand upright. His eyes looked at the two, "Theron... Sarya..."
"Oh gods," Sarya shuddered.
The dalish warden could not fight the tears that fell from his sorrow-filled eyes, "Brother."
Tears soon followed from Tamlen's eyes before he reached down and grabbed Theron's dropped sword. He pointed the tip of the blade at his chest. He gazed back at the duo with a pleading gaze. "...Kill...me..."
The dalish Warden's head shook, his movements intensifying by the second. "No," He muttered, horrified and heartbroken, "I-I can't. I can't."
This was not any victim of the Blight, a poor soul he could not give a name to. This was Tamlen, his friend, his brother.
Tamlen, who went with him and Merrill to the forest to look for berries and spirits.
Tamlen, who learned the art of the bow and the blade alongside him.
Tamlen, who was there when he first got his vallaslin.
In every important moment of his life, Tamlen had been there for him.
And now here was his friend, whom he believed dead, on the brink of becoming a monster, begging him to kill him.
But he couldn't, for this was Tamlen.
And Tamlen could not end his own life, no matter how much he wanted to; even if he held the blade pointed at his chest, the gnarled hands would not drive it through, for the overpowering need to consume, to Taint, to kill everything around him was far stronger than his desire to put an end to such cursed existence.
"Can't stop it..." The guttural voice was no longer Tamlen's; little remained of the man he was. "The Song... it sings to me!" He spat, black ichor running down his lips, a foul and tainted saliva. "Consume... kill... taaaaint" He dragged out the last word in a garbled sound akin to metal scraping against class. "Don't let me... live like this!" He begged through dark tears.
"Tamlen, no, no I..." Theron was in hysterics, unable to deliver what he was friend needed.
"Theron," Sarya muttered softly, the words almost ignored by the dalish Warden.
Even as Theron could not comply, the last remnants of Tamlen's soul were enough to allow the ghoulified elf to smile one last time. "Always with me... lethallin" And bared rows of jagged teeth. "I'm sorry!"
Then he lunged and jumped from the ground towards Theron in a single bout; the swords still clenched in his hand. Sarya gasped, hands midway through casting when Theron took hold of Tamlen, and the two rolled down on the snowy ground. The sounds coming from Tamlen's throat were shrieks, high pitched and horrible noises that one's eardrums throb painfully; he swiped and clawed at Theron's face, scratching his cheeks and neck with sharp nails.
Then there was the sound of metal piercing leather and flesh, and Tamlen's erratic assault ended, his limbs frozen in place before they fell to the sides like a puppet whose strings had been cut, half of his face buried on the snow as his maw remained half-open, eyes wide and glassy, quickly losing all semblance of life. No more sounds came from him, not even shallow breaths.
Theron was atop him, both hands tightly grasping the blade buried deep in his chest.
It felt like time had frozen for that singular moment. All was still along with Theron, who stared down at the half-turned corpse of Tamlen. This wasn't... Was this real? No, no, this couldn't be...
The joyful laughter echoed throughout the forest as three elven children played hide and seek happily.
A shudder escaped the Dalish warrior's lip as his body trembled. "Tamlen...?" His voice was a broken whisper.
"Hah! found you, Theron!" Tamlen as a child beamed brightly.
His tears poured from his eyes, "...lethallin...? lethallin?" There was only silence.
An adolescent, Tamlen cheered as Theron held up his first hunting kill, "Not bad, lethallin! I get a bigger stag than you next time!"
"Brother..." Once more, there was nothing from the corpse below him, "Brother!" His voice grew louder and louder as he repeated that word over and over. His screams became wails roaring up at the sky. Beside him, Sarya only stood quietly, tears dripping off her cheeks.
"Remember," Tamlen smirked knowingly, "When you and Merrill finally get married, I'll be the first to tell you about time."
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Theron sat on his knees, his mind and body numb to the world around him as he stared at the lifeless body of Tamlen. His eyes were puffy and red as he still could not stop the tears as Sarya knelt opposite him. Neither spoke as she moved her hands above the fallen Dalish's corpse. Her teary mournful crimson looked at Theron, who only kept his gaze on his friend and brother.
"...If I remember right, it is dalish tradition to bury him and plant a seed. To symbolize life from death," She finally broke the heavy silence. "Do you want to-?"
"No," Theron replied, his voice barely above a whisper. It was hoarse and raw. "Tamlen would not want his body in this state to be buried; it'd foul the earth" His eyes never left his friend's face; seeing beneath the warped monstrosity the Blight had turned him into, he saw the man he knew all his life.
Sarya pursed her lips, "So what do you want to do?"
Theron remained silent for a few seconds, "Burn him. Let his ashes be scattered to the winds; let nature take him another way."
The mage softly nodded, "Okay," She said gently as she stood up, magic gathering in her hand. She paused as she saw Theron remain knelt by Tamlen's side. "I'll need you to keep your distance. The fires will burn very hot."
The dalish's lips parted briefly before he pressed them into a thin line. He gently touched Tamlen's chest, right over his heart. He tried to find the right words, rites he heard many times in the clan, gentle offerings about their time together, anything to express how important Tamlen had been to him... but he was silent. No words could ever fully capture the swirling storm of emotions he felt at that moment.
He could only say his goodbyes as he finally let Tamlen go, standing up and moving a few steps back.
Theron did not look away even as Sarya cast bright flames, burning almost white in intensity, and engulfed Tamlen's body.
Sarya lowered her hands as she used enough magic to ensure her flames would burn away the Dalish warrior's body to ashes. "May Arkay preserve you until the day you are reborn anew." She gently whispered as she rubbed the tears from her eyes. Said orbs shot forward, witnessing Theron fall to his knees on the snowy ground.
Memories were like a flood within his mind. Unable to stop or slow down while observing Tamlen's burning body in white-gold flames.
Ashalle's gentle voice sings a tale by a campfire as Theron, Tamlen, Merrill, Tamlen, and Fenarel as children listen with wonder and joy in their eyes.
A scold from Maren as the bunch tried to play with the Halla.
No matter how much Theron tried to will it, it would not stop with the memories and the stinging despair in his heart. He barely registered Sarya's dainty hand on his shoulder, kneeling beside him. He barely glanced at her as she kept her crimson eyes on the burning body of his kin; they sat in silent respect to the fallen warrior who was his dearest friend and a true brother.
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"Bastards stink worse being dead," A soldier groaned as he and another were dragging the corpses of the Darkspawn to several massive flames made by Odahviing and Durnehviir. "This bloody necessary?" He quipped before wincing from a glare from Bann Lanya, "Sorry, ma'am."
"Unless you prefer wild animals to eat on these blighters and turn into monsters attacking the hold. Let us also not forget their blood alone corrupts and taints the earth under our feet," An older soldier scolded the younger, who apologized again as they resumed their work.
Shale easily dragged several blighters before tossing them into the flames, "They do not squish as well as birds." It muttered casually before going to get more.
Holding the feet of the alpha ogre was Sofie; with Sten grabbing its arms, they hauled it to the fire. "Bri improved taking down this big fella!" The Qunari grunted back before they heaved the massive corpse into the flames.
"Her skills still need improvement but are adequate so far." He blinked upon seeing the Nord woman staring at him, "What?"
"I'm so proud of you... You complimented someone!" Sten promptly rolled his eyes before walking away. "Bri! Sten complimented you!" She cheered, garnering cocked brows from many around her.
Oryrn grunts as he sits on a stump with parts of his armor off with only his fell leather jerkin while Neria checks him over. "This isn't necessary."
"Oh, hush up, and let me check you over."
"...Fine."
Turning his massive head, Durnehviir turned his gaze to an approaching Miara with an energetic Vaea chattering beside her. Much to her uncle's exhaustion and wariness coming near the dragons. Coran was especially disturbed by the seemingly undead scaled beast who muttered 'Qahnaarin' to the grey-skinned elf, who nodded back.
"These vile beasts are unlike anything I have ever seen," quipped the ancient Dovah with open disgust.
"A mystery among many others that dwell in these lands called Thedas."
Amusement danced in Odahviing's eyes, "Our Thur is quite enthralled with it all, Wuthgeth."
The old dov only laughed at being called 'old bones.'
Vaea only stared with wonderment only a child could have when seeing dragons so up close, "They are so beautiful." The little child elf squeaked, now garnering the attention of both scaled beasts, and hid behind her uncle, who sighed.
"I am sorry," Coran uttered to Miara, who waved it off.
"I'm a mother of three; believe me, I know how children are."
Odahviing snorted, "At least the Fahliilkiir knows perfection upon seeing such glorious scales."
Miara dryly stared at her zeymah before Coran looked at her again, "Fahliilkiir?"
"Elf-child." She huffed, "Should be finishing up this mess. Then I can tell you what has been happening here." Durnehviir nodded eagerly as he was quite fascinated by the new surroundings.
Alistair watched as the soldiers carried the corpses of the Blighters to make more pyres and burn the taint away from their lands. The faster, the better; barring the Blight, any corpse left for too long would attract insects, and then their rot would bring about disease. Their dead would be gathered up somewhere else and burned with all the proper rites.
Casualties had been extremely low, a result of all their collective efforts. The banns and their soldiers, Fallon's mercenaries Marcel's company, Alora's elven archers, Odahviing, and Durhenviir. This had been a rousing victory, and everyone's spirits were at an all-time high. They had secured not just Edgehall but a valuable ally in the fight to save Ferelden.
Marcel was at least cordial enough to have his soldiers help with the aftermath, tend to the wounded, and everything. But once they all regrouped and resupplied, they'd march back to their homeland. And honestly, none of the Ferelden natives here would miss them, not after what they did. But no further violence would be exchanged among them. At least, that was something.
More fortunately, he could see the Ferelden soldiers at least talking respectably with the dalish who had joined their fight. Of course, the elves had a lot of reservations, and the humans acted as though they hadn't done a thing wrong to any elf in their life. But it was there. There was familiarity and respect that came from fighting together. Ferelden respected those things; it just pained Alistair it had that their acceptance could only come through war.
"Now, that's how you handle a bow!" Fallon loudly laughed as she chatted up with Alora. The dalish was uncomfortable with a human acting amicably towards her. "Got some elves among my ranks; they know their stuff. But to see your bunch in action? Hah! My boys could learn a thing or two.
Alora had her arms firmly crossed with an expression she hoped would make the human understand she did not want her near. "I'm sure you shem have a lot to learn," To her surprise and displeasure, the larger woman only laughed and firmly slapped the elf's back, almost sending her tumbling.
Alistair only chuckled; standing near the town gate, he saw more scenes like this.
"The stragglers that managed to get through our lines and into the city were quickly dealt with by your elven friend," Bann Parth said. The four banns gathered near the town bridge, seeking to speak with Alistair.
Bann Lanya only laughed, "She's got a talent for war! Ohh, I like her" The growl in her voice was certainly a touch too erotic, and Alistair winced at the thought.
"Quite right, none of our soldiers had their chance to fight," Kail added, impressed by what he had witnessed.
"Things are okay then?" Alistair asked.
"People are returning to their home, the soldiers will be done with the bodies before nightfall, and Marcel will leave in a day or two," Bryton assured him. "Now, the only matter left is to select a new arl."
"We were hoping to get your input, prince Alistair," Kail cordially said with a small bow.
The young man nodded, "Of course." He huffed with his hands resting on his hips, "Right, how do I say it without sounding like I'm insulting any of you once I make the suggestion?"
"I think I speak for all of us in saying after today, our respect for one another has grown." Bann Parth omitted, "We spilled blood together and fought shoulder to shoulder. Even Kail," The older noble faintly humored with a tiny smirk.
"Charming as ever, Parth."
Lanya snorted, cleaning her weapon, "Regardless. We all will accept your suggestion with no offense taken."
"Indeed," Bryton continued, "I feel all of us can work together more often to improve this area for everyone. But we need someone at the helm of this ship."
All nodded in agreement to the youngest noble as Alistair rubbed his chin, "If that is the case. I feel the best to helm this ship is you, Bann Bryton."
The man in question looked back in surprise, "Me? Prince Alistair, my peers have much more experience than me in statecraft." Even as he said so, his companions did not bear any disapproving looks at the prospect.
Ignoring how uncomfortable he still felt by being called 'prince' by anyone, Alistair explained his reasons to Bryton. "You remained calm and focused in a crisis, you didn't let your emotions get the better of you, and you always put what was best for the people of the arling above all else."
"Some of us are a bit old to look past grudges," Bann Parth said, acknowledging his flaws. "The way you kept the peace here avoided far more trouble in the long run."
"You may not have as much experiencing leading as us, lad," Lanya said with a smile and props to the woman for still looking intimidating even while being genially friendly. "But you showed your mettle when the time called for it, lesser men who would have crumbled under pressure."
Kail nodded, throwing his two sovereigns, "You showed plenty of initiative when handling the logistics to keep the city safe and, alongside Lanya, commanded our forces to the best of your ability. Rallied the men and women from the rest of the bannorn, not only those under your command."
"Above all else," Alistair finished with what was the most important trait. "You are a just and fair man, and I believe you will do your utmost for the people of Edgahall regardless of their standing."
Humbled beyond words by the high praise everyone had of him, Bryton's lips could only open and close, struggling to form a coherent response. "I... I do not know what to say."
"Say you'll take the title of arl, lad," Parth softly encouraged. "We need someone to look after the arling and help our Warden allies defy Loghain."
"Well, that goes without saying," a slight chuckle came from the young noble, who soon nodded, "Very well. I accept for the people of Edgehall and surrounding villages to be Arl. This may only be a footnote, but let it be where those who stood up for morality and love for our nation to save it from vile monsters and corrupt men."
All could agree with those words as they soon held grim expressions to the few of their fallen being placed together. While the casualties were small, it was still people many knew by name. Parth, Kail, Lanya, and now Arl Bryton hung their heads in respect to their courageous kin who fought with honor and integrity to their last breath.
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