Haven - In the Awe Of The Palace - The Dragon Prince Rises

6 - 7

Duran, his companions, and Brother Genitivi entered the imposing hallways of the palace, an eerie silence settled around them, as if the very walls held their breath in anticipation. The grandeur of the palace was overwhelming. The architecture was both awe-inspiring and cold, the stone adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to whisper tales of ages long past. Ice and snow had claimed much of the interior, turning the already magnificent hall into something otherworldly, as if the palace had been preserved in time by the chill of a distant winter.

"Maker's Breath…" murmured Brother Genitivi, walking alongside the group, his steps deliberate and curious as he took in the awe-inspiring surroundings. He leaned slightly on his staff, his eyes scanning the towering columns and the intricate tapestries, as if he were searching for forgotten truths hidden within their frozen beauty. "This must be a temple to the Bride Andraste," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Magnificent," Duran muttered, his gaze sweeping across the marble floors, the towering statues, and the glinting gold that seemed to light up the dark corners of the hall. Despite the eerie atmosphere, there was a strange comfort in the sheer scale of the place—a reminder of a power that had been long forgotten.

Leliana walked by his side, her hand resting on the hilt of her bow, her eyes wide in admiration. "It's... beyond anything I ever imagined," she said in awe, her voice barely a whisper as if speaking too loudly might shatter the illusion of peace the place exuded.

Even Morrigan, who typically scoffed at such religious grandeur, found herself momentarily silenced by the overwhelming atmosphere of the place. "Temple?" she muttered. "It looks more like a palace to me, judging by the size of this entrance hall alone."

Alistair, who had been unusually quiet since their arrival, gave a half-hearted laugh as he moved towards one of the large windows. "Yeah, I'm with Morrigan on this one. If you ask me, this is definitely a palace—one that could use a bit more warmth."

Duran smirked at Alistair's relaxed tone but didn't respond, instead allowing the others to take in their surroundings. Brother Genitivi, limping slightly with a mix of awe and scholarly focus, leaned closer to a column, its surface etched with ancient symbols. His fingers hovered over the faded text, tracing its contours. "The stories here must be older than any of us could ever imagine," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. "We are standing in a place that holds the echoes of centuries."

They continued deeper into the palace, the silence broken only by the sounds of their boots echoing off the stone. Despite the occasional dark turn, they couldn't help but marvel at the treasures and relics surrounding them—fine tapestries, sculptures depicting the most revered figures of Andraste's time, and ancient books whose pages were as brittle as the air. Yet, for all the wonder, Duran couldn't shake the feeling that danger was never far behind.

"Let's not get too comfortable," Duran muttered, looking over his shoulder at the group. "I have a feeling we're not alone here."

As though on cue, the air grew tense, and the group suddenly found themselves face-to-face with a small group of cultists. They attacked without a word, their fanaticism clear in the madness in their eyes. With practiced ease, Duran and his companions dispatched the cultists, but they soon realized that the palace's beauty hid more than just old relics. Every turn seemed to reveal another attack—another ambush. Cultists lurked in the shadows, watching, waiting.

Yet, it was not just the cultists that posed a threat. The true danger came in the form of the dragons—small but fierce, they swooped down from the higher towers, attacking with a ferocity that took the group by surprise. Duran's heart pounded as he realized the creatures were not natural enemies but bound by some kind of magic, perhaps by the very cult they had come to stop.

"Blood magic, I'm certain of it," Alistair said, his usual humor gone, replaced with a more serious tone. "These cultists have blood-bound the dragons to their will."

Morrigan scowled. "Blood magic on such mighty creatures. There's no end to the lengths these fanatics will go."

"Well, another thing on our list to be weary about," Duran said, his hand still on the hilt of his weapon. "Let's be extra careful then."

As they pressed on, the group reached what seemed to be the breeding grounds of these dragons. The cultists had bred them and used blood magic to bind them to their service. Brother Genitivi's eyes widened as he observed the ruinous equipment and the texts that were clearly part of the cult's twisted rituals. "These poor creatures were never meant to be slaves," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "This... these are the works of lost souls."

The mage responsible for the blood magic had been caught in the act, and the group wasted no time ending the vile sorcery. The group destroyed the remaining equipment, so that it was never used for this kind of practice again.

As they neared the exit of the temple, they encountered Kolgrim. The leader of the cult stood before them, his presence imposing, eyes gleaming with fervor. Through the conversation that followed, it became clear that Kolgrim was the mastermind behind the chaos that had engulfed this place. He sought to persuade Duran to destroy the Guardian of the Urn of Sacred Ashes, so that the cult could reunite the ashes with the "true" Andraste, who, in their madness, believed had been reborn as a great dragon. In return, Duran would be granted the power of the cult—the dark and dangerous power of blood magic.

Duran glanced at his companions, his gaze meeting theirs in silent agreement. It was clear to all of them: Kolgrim was as mad as the rest of the cultists they had encountered. This was no offer of power; it was a threat to everything they stood for.

With a firm shake of his head, Duran rejected Kolgrim's offer, his voice resolute. "You're insane. No power is worth the lives you've twisted for your madness," he declared, stepping forward.

In an instant, Kolgrim's eyes flashed with fury, and he called upon his followers. A brutal battle ensued, filled with clashing steel and the desperate cries of those who fought for their twisted cause. Bother genitivi stayed as far behind as he could and hid behind a massive rock.

But then, amidst the chaos, something else broke through the noise—a loud, echoing cry that only the bravest of men would dare face. The sound of multiple dragons shrieking from the heights above. „Makers Breath…", Bother Genitivi could not belive what his eyes were showing him.

They swooped down from the upper levels of the temple, their massive wings beating the air with terrifying force.

The cultists, clearly unprepared for the onslaught of their own creations, were quickly overwhelmed. The dragons tore through their ranks with brutal precision, their fiery breath and powerful claws making short work of those who had dared to control them.

For a moment, Duran thought the dragons might turn on them next. But then, Alistair, stepped forward with a calm that he had not yet seen in him. "Hold. They're not attacking us," he said, his voice strangely sure. "I think they understand what we've done here."

Morrigan turned to face him, her eyes burning with fury. "Have you completely lost your mind?!" she spat, her voice low but seething with anger. "I'm not about to let myself be devoured by dragons after they've finished with the cultists, just because you've decided you need to play their protector!" Her grip tightened around her staff as she began to channel her magic, the air around her crackling with energy.

Alistair didn't flinch. His eyes hardened, and in a series of quick, deliberate movements, he gathered every ounce of his Templar power, the familiar surge of righteous fury filling him. He stepped forward, his voice sharp and unyielding. "I will not allow you to harm these dragons. These dragons… they are unlike the ones we fought earlier. They act with a kind of freedom, a will of their own. And it feels like…" His gaze shifted toward the dragons, his expression becoming distant as though he was reaching out for something beyond his grasp. "…like I can understand them."

Morrigan scoffed, her lips curling in contempt as she stared at him, her staff still raised. For a moment, the tension between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife. But then, as if forcing herself to let go of the storm inside her, she slowly lowered her staff. Her eyes flashed with something unreadable, but the bitter edge of her voice remained. "Fine... Let the day come when I place my trust in you."

As the last cultist fell, the dragons turned their piercing gazes toward Duran's group.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The air crackled with raw power as the dragons' eyes swept over the party. The tension was palpable, thick and suffocating, like the weight of the world hung in the balance. Alistair stood at the front, his hand tight on his sword hilt, his gaze unwavering. "Lower your weapons," he said, his voice firm, yet strange in its calm.

Duran felt a hesitation rise in his chest. He had never been one to trust beeings who mere moments ago tried to eat him but he had learned something on his travels—something about trust. Without a word, he slowly lowered his weapon, watching as the others followed suit, though their eyes flickered nervously to the dragons.

Brother Genitivi, still struggling with his crutches, made his way out of his hidding spot, his usually calm face now filled with wonder and a touch of fear. He watched the dragons intently, unsure whether to retreat or to simply wait. His mouth parted, but no words came. His gaze remained locked on the creatures before him—an awe that was almost reverential. The dragons circled above them, their wings stirring the air in gusts that tugged at their clothes and hair.

Alistair remained at the forefront, his body relaxed despite the monumental creatures before him. One dragon, larger than the rest, began to glide closer to Alistair, its gaze fixed with unnerving intent.

Duran held his breath. He watched the creature approach, its every movement calculated and deliberate. The silence stretched. Alistair did not move. He simply closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly, as though he were preparing for something only he could understand. Seconds passed, and each one seemed to draw them deeper into the strange tension that filled the cavern. Then, with a sudden, powerful beat of its wings, the dragon leaned back, its gaze lingering one last time on Alistair before it turned and joined the others, soaring into the shadows.

The group remained silent for a long moment. No one spoke. The air still hummed with the weight of what had just occurred. Duran's eyes darted between the others, the shock and confusion settling into something like disbelief.

Breaking the silence, Duran let out a half-laugh, the tension finally cracking. "Well, that was... unexpected," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is there something you're not telling us, Alistair? Did one of them raise you? Teach you to fly? Maybe they fed you from their... well, from their titts?" He couldn't help but grin, his usual humor returning in a flash, even if the situation had been anything but funny.

Alistair, his expression unreadable, turned slowly to face Duran. His voice was calm, almost too calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something deep, something unsettled. "Do you honestly believe me when I tell you I have no idea what just happened?" he asked quietly.

Morrigan's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Isn't that always the case with you, Alistair? No idea, no clue, but somehow things just work out for you, don't they?"

Alistair shot her a glance, his lips curling slightly in a wry smile. "Ah, Morrigan. Always a fountain of encouragement," he muttered before turning his attention back to the others. "I'm telling you, it felt like... like I was communicating with them. They didn't want to harm us. They seemed... grateful. Probably because we broke the blood magic that was controlling them."

Duran slapped Alistair on the back with a grin, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Well, if you've got that kind of rapport with them, why not ask them to join us? Maybe they can help with the Archdemon. After all, if Andraste really did come back as a dragon, who knows? We could use a few more of them on our side."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. "Right," he said dryly. "I'll make sure to send out the invitations."

"Well," Duran continued, his smile fading into something more serious, "whether or not you've had a heart-to-heart with the dragons, let's get out of here. I'm starting to get sick of this place."

Alistair nodded, his usual self returning. "A toast to that, my friend."

The tension slowly began to ease, and the group moved toward the exit. But as they made their way out, Leliana, her usual mischievous grin returning, teased, "Oh, what a song I could write about this! 'Alistair, Son of Dragons!'" She pinched his arm playfully. Brother Genitivi added: „Maybe we could add a story in the chant!"

Duran chuckled at her and the brothers jest, but it was Alistair who finally gave a dry chuckle in return. Brother Genitivi, still processing the event with wide eyes, gave a low murmur. "If only I had the words for this... Dragons, speaking to you... It's like something out of legend."

Duran clapped him on the back. "It's probably the first time I've heard Alistair referred to as a legend. But let's hope it's not the last."

And with that, they moved towards the surface, the cavern's strange, heavy atmosphere slowly fading behind them, replaced by the cold air of the world outside.

7

As the blinding light of the surface greeted them, they found themselves standing on a collapsed bridge. In the distance, a smaller temple could be seen, its silhouette barely visible against the backdrop of the towering Frostback Mountains. It was fortunate that the path leading there was straightforward, cutting across a snow-covered and icy expanse. Morrigan remarked that the palace they had just emerged from was almost completely buried beneath the snow of the Frostback Mountains. When Duran glanced back, he marveled at the towers that barely protruded above the snow and wondered just how long this temple—or rather, palace—had remained hidden beneath the icy blanket.

Suddenly, a sharp, biting wind rose up, and the sound of heavy wingbeats cut through the air. But this wasn't the normal flapping of wings that Duran had heard from the countless birds of the surface. No, this was the unmistakable sound of a creature far larger—he suspected, even bigger than a Bronto. And indeed, it was. Above them, barely visible through the thick snowfall, flew a dragon. But not just any dragon—this one was easily ten times the size of those they had encountered in the temple. It gleamed in a magnificent white, its scales shimmering with a beauty so striking that it appeared almost delicate.

"By Andraste… That's a High Dragon!" Leliana exclaimed in awe.

"Or perhaps the holy prophet Andraste herself?" Morrigan shot back, her voice laced with sarcastic laughter.

„I think i can't take more wonders fort he day, the makers world is truly a magnificent one.", murmured Genitivi as he leaned against a stone pillar on the bridge.

Duran could only stare in stunned silence. Even Alistair, his hand raised to shield himself from the snow, was mesmerized by the sight, his eyes following the dragon with a focus that seemed almost hypnotic.

The snowstorm slowly began to subside, and as the winds calmed, Duran noticed that the dragon was now rapidly descending toward them. It let out a deafening roar, and the group, with the exception of Alistair, instinctively took several steps back. „Well, we had a good time folks", Duran mumured. The dragon landed with a mighty thud just before Alistair, who stood his ground, his left hand resting lightly on his sword while his right arm remained outstretched in front of his face, as if to shield himself from the icy wind.

"What's going on here?" Duran muttered to himself. He glanced toward Morrigan and Leliana, both of whom looked equally perplexed.

The dragon advanced toward Alistair, its steps slow but purposeful, and Duran watched in awe as Alistair remained utterly still, an air of tranquility emanating from him—something Duran had clearly never seen from him before. The closer the dragon came, the more majestic and serene it appeared. If Duran didn't know better, he would have sworn that the dragon was female.

Now, the creature's enormous snout was mere inches from Alistair's head. The dragon seemed to study him, much like the smaller one had in the temple. But this time, Alistair did something unexpected. He extended his hand, running it gently along the tip of the dragon's snout, his sword hand resting at his side. The dragon's eyes closed in response, and Duran could almost feel the connection between the two—an unspoken bond that transcended species.

"There," Alistair murmured softly. "Now you can spend your time here in peace."

For a moment, Duran swore that Alistair and the dragon were one and the same. The silence between them lingered, filled with an unspoken understanding, before the mighty beast slowly pulled back. With a final glance, it took flight, its wings cutting through the air, trailing white streaks through the clouds. Behind it, the smaller dragons followed, their wings flapping in unison as they disappeared into the sky.

Duran felt a tear slip down his cheek, despite the cold. He never thought he'd see anything like this in his life. No one back in Orzammar would ever believe him.

Leliana was the first to speak, her voice soft, almost reverent. "In moments like this, I know the Maker has not abandoned us." She made a quiet gesture of prayer with her hands and fell silent once more.

Morrigan turned away, and though Duran couldn't see her face, he couldn't help but feel that the moment had affected her too, though she would never admit it.

Duran took a few steps toward Alistair, resting a hand on his back. "Well, my comment earlier about asking if they wanted to join us… Do you think we could work something out?"

Alistair, still staring skyward, turned to face him with a faint smile. "Well, if you can provide provisions and supplies for about a hundred men, I could certainly draft a letter on your behalf."

Duran chuckled, realizing that there was more to Alistair than just a simple bastard prince. This day had certainly surprised him a lot.

After a moment of silence, the group, still recovering from the awe of the encounter, gathered their bearings and made their way toward the final temple. As they trudged forward, Duran couldn't shake the sense that something had fundamentally shifted in the air. A change had come over them all—perhaps the presence of the dragons had altered their course, or perhaps it was the quiet bond they had witnessed between Alistair and the magnificent creature. Either way, they were no longer the same group that had entered the temple just hours before.

As they walked, Leliana's voice broke the silence once more. "Oh, I could write such a song from this… 'Alistair, Son of Dragons!'"

Duran couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, well, I'm sure it'd be a hit. 'The Ballad of Alistair and His Dragon Friends.'"

Alistair smirked, clearly unbothered by their teasing. And even Brother Genitivi, who had been observing the whole scene quietly with his crutches, managed a small smile, his voice soft but filled with awe. "This... this is something no book has prepared me for."

Duran grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "You've got a lot to write about when we get back."

And with that, they continued toward the temple, their footsteps heavy in the snow but their hearts a little lighter for having witnessed something truly extraordinary.