A.N: Thank you to all whom have read, reviewed, or both! Please let me know if there are any issues.
A.N: I do not own Dragon Age, Skyrim, or any of the characters
Chapter 20,
As Elena followed Alistair, her gaze swept over the camp with a warrior's instinct, taking in the bustle of soldiers, tents, and supplies. The air was thick with the smell of firewood and cooking, mixed with the ever-present scent of damp earth. The camp was alive with the sound of clanging metal, low murmurs of conversation, and the occasional barked command.
Elena's attention, however, wasn't entirely on the camp. Her keen senses stayed alert for any sign of danger from the shadows of the thick forest that bordered them. The large wooden gate loomed ahead, the only thing standing between the camp and whatever lay within the forest.
"Do you know what we'll find out there?" she asked Alistair quietly, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
Alistair glanced back with a half-smile, "More darkspawn than you'd like, probably." His answer was light, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed a hint of unease.
Elena's grip tightened on the hilt of one of her swords as she fell into step behind him. She wasn't one to shy away from a fight, but there was something about the darkness ahead that stirred a restlessness within her—an almost primal warning.
The wooden gate groaned open with a heavy creak, and as Elena and Alistair stepped through, the world seemed to shift. The dense forest ahead closed around them, muffling the sounds of the camp behind. The earthy, damp scent of the woods filled Elena's senses immediately, a potent mix of wet earth, decaying leaves, and the musk of stagnant water from unseen marshes. It was familiar, a reminder of the marshlands near Dawnstar—a place of mist and mystery, where the ground felt alive underfoot.
The air here felt heavier, more humid, clinging to her skin as she adjusted her stride on the uneven ground. The sound of the forest was different too—quieter, with only the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. Elena's sharp gaze darted around, noting the dense canopy overhead that allowed only slivers of sunlight to filter through, casting eerie, shifting shadows along their path.
"This place..." she murmured, more to herself than to Alistair. "It feels like Dawnstar's swamps. Cold and secretive."
Alistair glanced at her curiously but didn't press for more. He had already sensed something about Elena that suggested she carried many stories, some of which might never be spoken aloud.
She caught the sound of Ser Jory's voice behind her, his tone laced with fear and frustration. His eyes darted nervously at every shadow that danced on the forest floor, and she could hear the tension in his breathing. His lament broke the uneasy quiet of the forest.
Elena caught the sound of Ser Jory's voice behind her, his tone laced with fear and frustration. His eyes darted nervously at every shadow that danced on the forest floor, and she could hear the tension in his breathing. His lament broke the uneasy quiet of the forest.
"Why would he send us to this dangerous place?! There are wolves, witches, and those horrible creatures!" Jory whined, his voice rising with each word.
Elena's expression remained impassive, but internally, she felt a flicker of annoyance. Fear was a natural response, but whining in a place like this could be a liability.
"Because it's necessary," she replied coldly, her tone firm but controlled. She didn't bother turning around to look at him. "The dangers are real, but so are the stakes. Complaining won't make it any safer."
She could sense his discomfort growing, and part of her knew he wasn't ready for the path they were walking. The forest around them was no place for hesitation or doubt. Elena understood the weight of facing the unknown, but she had no patience for weakness right now, not with darkspawn potentially lurking nearby.
Elena exhaled deeply, the breath carrying her rising irritation with it as she shook her head. How on earth did a man like that become a knight? she wondered, the thought sharp and biting as she glanced over her shoulder at Jory. His wide eyes flitted nervously from shadow to shadow, the glint of his armor betraying his every anxious movement. His fear, palpable and distracting, grated against her already thin patience.
With deliberate steps, she slowed her pace just enough to catch his eye, her own gaze steely and unwavering. "You have nothing to fear from wolves here," she said, her voice carrying an edge as cold and unforgiving as the dark woods around them. "And as for the witches and darkspawn... they can be killed like any other creature." There was no softness in her tone, only the blunt confidence of someone who had faced far more dangerous enemies and emerged victorious.
The impact of her words struck like a blade, cutting through Jory's panic with brutal efficiency. His mouth snapped shut, his gaze dropping like a chastised child. The weight of her stare alone was enough to silence him, and for the first time since they entered the forest, the sound of his complaining faded into blessed quiet.
Ahead, Alistair and Daveth had been walking in relative silence, but Elena could hear the soft chuckles rumbling from both of them now, clearly entertained by the exchange. Daveth threw a smirk over his shoulder at Jory, his lips twitching in amusement.
"She's right, you know," Daveth said, his tone casual but teasing. "No point worrying over things we can't control. And if darkspawn are the worst we face, at least they don't whine as much as you do."
Alistair's chuckle was louder now, though he masked it behind a cough. "Yeah, besides," he added, shooting Elena an appreciative glance, "I reckon with her around, we'll manage just fine. Wolves, witches, darkspawn—seems like just another day for her."
Elena's lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she didn't bother responding. Her focus remained trained on the path ahead, her senses sharp to the forest's subtle changes. The towering trees seemed to close in around them, their gnarled branches twisting together above to form a darkened canopy. Here, sunlight was but a distant memory, and the ground beneath her boots was a mix of mud, rotting leaves, and thick mulch. The scent of the place—earthy, wet, and tinged with the smell of decay—was all too familiar, reminding her of the swamps outside Dawnstar.
But this place felt different. Alive, in a way that was unsettling. The forest's silence wasn't peaceful; it was watchful, waiting. Elena's instincts, honed from years of combat, told her that something was out there, hidden in the shadows. She could feel it, lurking just beyond their sight, watching as they moved deeper into the dense, oppressive wood.
The group pressed on in silence, their focus sharp, each of them prepared for whatever danger the forest might hold. The air felt thick, weighed down by the anticipation of combat, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Alistair led the way, his sword drawn and shield at the ready, his posture tense but practiced. His eyes scanned the shadows, ever watchful, a seasoned warrior despite the playful demeanor he often wore.
Behind him, Daveth moved with an easy grace, his bow drawn but held loosely in one hand. The fingers of his other hand rested lightly on the string, ready to notch an arrow at a moment's notice. He had the quiet confidence of a man who had lived by his wits and skills, his keen eyes tracking every movement in the underbrush.
Ser Jory, though more composed after Elena's words, still showed signs of nervousness. His hand gripped the hilt of his greatsword, the large blade resting heavily on his back. His movements were less fluid, the weight of the weapon clearly on his mind. Every now and then, his eyes would dart around, his breathing quickening at the faintest sound from the surrounding forest.
Elena, on the other hand, moved with a quiet, deliberate grace. Her swords remained sheathed on her back, the hilts within easy reach but untouched. She knew better than to carry her weapons in hand for too long—such a habit would wear down her endurance over time. While her companions braced themselves with drawn blades and shields, she kept her fingers loose, her arms relaxed, conserving her energy for when it would be truly needed.
She didn't share Jory's anxious pacing or Alistair's readiness to strike at every shadow. Her warrior instincts told her that the threat, if it came, wouldn't be something they'd see until it was too late. Her senses were her guide, alert and tuned to every shift in the wind, every rustle of leaves that seemed out of place.
The further they ventured, the denser the forest became. The trees, thick and gnarled, blocked out what little light remained, casting long, eerie shadows across their path. The ground beneath them squelched with each step, a reminder of the marshy lands Elena knew all too well. The damp, humid air clung to them like a second skin, making every breath feel heavy. It was the kind of environment that dulled the senses if one wasn't careful, and Elena knew better than to let her guard down.
As they walked, her sharp eyes flicked briefly to her companions. Alistair's stance, steady but coiled, ready for action. Daveth, moving silently, his expression calm but vigilant. Jory, still grappling with his fear, though he was doing his best to mask it. They were a strange group, each of them different, yet all bound by the same mission. For now, they were united by necessity, and she could only hope that when the time came, they would all hold their ground.
The silence between them stretched on, broken only by the occasional snap of a twig or the distant croak of some unseen creature in the swamp. Elena's mind wandered, back to the swamps of Dawnstar and the dangers she had faced there. Wolves, beasts, the occasional bandit hiding in the mist. All those things seemed simpler now compared to what lay ahead. Darkspawn and witches were real threats, but she had faced worse. And no matter what came out of the shadows, she would be ready.
Together, they had ventured deep into the forest, their slow and deliberate pace ensuring they moved quietly through the thick undergrowth. The oppressive silence had settled in, broken only by the occasional crackle of leaves underfoot or the distant hoot of an unseen owl. Every sense in Elena's body was on high alert, tuned to the subtle shifts in the forest's atmosphere.
It was then that she caught the faint sound—almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakable to her trained ears. The rapid thudding of paws hitting the forest floor, accompanied by heavy panting. Wolves.
Ah, there are the wolves Jory mentioned, Elena thought wryly, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. She could feel the creatures before she could see them, their presence weaving through the trees, circling. The sound was scattered, yet purposeful, like predators testing the boundaries of their prey.
She raised a hand, signaling for the others to stop. Alistair and Daveth immediately halted, their eyes snapping toward her in silent question. Jory, slower to react, clutched his greatsword tightly, his knuckles white. Elena's sharp eyes flickered to the shadows just beyond their path, listening, waiting.
"They're close," she said quietly, barely a whisper, but enough for the others to hear. Her voice was calm, betraying none of the tension that had gripped Jory earlier. "Wolves."
Daveth glanced around warily, his bow at the ready, while Alistair adjusted his grip on his shield and sword, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened trees. Jory, already pale from the oppressive atmosphere, looked even more unsettled at the confirmation.
"Of course there are," Alistair muttered with a sigh, though there was a note of grim humor in his tone. "What's a stroll through the woods without a few wolves?
Elena barely acknowledged Alistair's remark, her focus razor-sharp as she stepped past him, her boots barely making a sound on the forest floor. Her eyes were locked on the shadows between the trees ahead, where she could sense the pack was gathering, just out of sight. She moved with purpose, calm and confident, her hands nowhere near the hilts of her twin blades.
Alistair, caught off guard by her movement, reached out reflexively, his fingers brushing the air just behind her. "What are you doing?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice. He held himself back from grabbing her, torn between trust in her ability and the instinct to protect. His shield shifted slightly, his body tensing as if preparing to charge into the fray.
But Elena didn't even look back. She shook her head, a subtle signal that there was no need to worry. Her footsteps remained deliberate, yet unhurried, each one bringing her closer to where she knew the pack would emerge. The wolves were watching her—she could feel their eyes on her, the intensity of their presence growing as the gap between them closed.
Her heart remained steady, her muscles loose and ready, but her hands stayed free of her weapons. Elena had faced wolves before; she understood their nature. They were creatures of instinct, driven by the need to hunt but not foolish enough to throw themselves recklessly into a fight. They would respect power if it was shown in the right way—and she intended to show them just that.
The tension in the air was thick as the rest of the group stood frozen behind her. Jory's breath hitched audibly, while Daveth watched with wide eyes, his bowstring still taut but unmoving. Alistair's fingers twitched, clearly fighting the urge to rush in after her. But Elena's steady, unwavering demeanor held them in place.
Ahead, just as she predicted, the underbrush rustled, and the dark shadows of the wolves began to take shape. Their lithe forms slipped through the trees, low to the ground, their yellow eyes glowing like molten gold in the dim light. There were four of them, their powerful bodies sleek and muscular, the lead wolf baring its teeth in a low growl that reverberated through the stillness.
Elena stopped just short of where the trees opened up, her posture calm, unafraid. She met the eyes of the lead wolf, her gaze firm but without hostility. The creature held her stare for a long moment, its growl rumbling deep in its chest. The others circled behind it, their predatory instincts on full display, but they didn't lunge. Not yet.
Elena stood her ground, her posture making it clear that she was no easy prey. Her lack of aggression was just as powerful as drawing a blade. She wasn't here to provoke a fight—unless they forced her hand.
The lead wolf took a step forward, its snarl deepening, but still, Elena did not flinch. Instead, she lowered her gaze ever so slightly, not in submission but in understanding. She respected their territory, but she would not retreat. They could sense her strength, her lack of fear. These were creatures that understood dominance, and Elena, in her stillness, conveyed her power with more clarity than any weapon could.
For a moment, the forest felt frozen in time—the wolves, her companions, even the wind seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what would happen next.
Then, the lead wolf gave a sharp snort, its growl fading. It hesitated, studying her one last time before slowly backing away, its pack following suit. The tension in the air eased as the wolves slipped back into the shadows, the sound of their padded footsteps growing fainter as they retreated.
Elena straightened, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned back to the group, her face calm and unreadable.
"See?" she said softly, with the faintest hint of a smirk. "No need for swords."
Alistair's eyes were wide, his shield still half-raised. "How…? What just happened?"
Daveth let out a low whistle, clearly impressed, while Jory stood frozen, his greatsword still clenched tightly in his hands, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Some creatures understand more than just violence," Elena replied, her tone casual as she walked back to them. "You just have to know how to speak their language." Though she didn't tell them that the reason she knew how to speak their language was because of her wolf blood...being a werewolf and all that. The wolves could sense what she was and they could understand her as if she was one of their own kind.
None of them said anything more, though their silence was thick with unspoken questions. Elena took it as a signal to continue, her companions falling in line behind her without protest. Their earlier tension had shifted, replaced with a newfound respect for her methods, though it didn't erase the quiet unease that lingered. The forest ahead beckoned, darker and denser with every step they took.
Elena's stride remained calm, purposeful, but as they moved deeper into the woods, she sensed something strange. It was subtle—just a ripple in the air that brushed against her heightened awareness. A presence. At first, it felt like another wolf, its essence wild and predatory, but there was something wrong. This presence didn't behave like the pack they had just encountered. It smelled human. But not quite.
Her instincts flared, sharp and precise, but Elena kept her expression carefully neutral. There's something else out there. The thought pulsed through her mind, alerting her without shifting her demeanor. It was a presence that blended the primal instincts of a wolf with the scent and intelligence of a human. That unnatural combination made her wary. She didn't turn her head, didn't falter in her pace, but the sensation remained—an invisible tether connecting her to whatever lurked just out of sight.
It was close, keeping to the edges of her senses like a shadow stalking through the trees. Not moving like a beast, but more calculated, patient, and deliberate. It was watching, assessing.
Elena's grip on her thoughts tightened. A shape-shifter? Or something darker? She had encountered creatures like this before—beasts twisted by magic or worse, caught between the human world and something else. Whatever it was, she kept a feeler on it, ready to act if it became a threat.
The forest had taken on a new atmosphere, the trees crowding together as if forming a barrier against the outside world. The canopy above them blocked nearly all the light, leaving the path ahead bathed in a dim, eerie glow. Every footstep felt heavier, the ground softer, almost sinking beneath their boots with the marshy moisture that clung to the earth.
The air was thick with the pungent smells of decay, moss, and wet leaves. Each breath felt damp, weighed down by the oppressive humidity of the dense forest. The sound of their movement was muffled, absorbed by the thick blanket of mulch beneath them, and the silence between them was broken only by the occasional snap of a twig or the distant, haunting call of an unseen bird.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the oppressive atmosphere thickened, and the sharp tension between them was almost palpable. Ahead, the shapes of twisted, grotesque creatures began to form in the shadowy distance, their movements slow and deliberate. Elena halted, raising a hand to signal the others to stop. Alistair, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the dark figures, moved closer to the group, his face serious for once.
He crouched slightly, lowering his voice as he spoke to Elena, Daveth, and Jory. "Darkspawn," he said grimly, nodding toward the creatures ahead. "Those ones are Genlocks and Hurlocks—two of the most common types. They're vicious, brutal, and corrupted by the Blight. If you haven't encountered them before, now's the time to listen."
Elena's eyes stayed fixed on the dark figures, but she listened intently, knowing any insight into the creatures could give them an edge.
Alistair continued, his tone grim and steady. "The tall ones—those are Hurlocks. Bigger, stronger, and more humanoid. They like to get in close, smash through defenses, and tear you apart with brute force. You'll recognize them by their sickly, greyish skin and glowing eyes. Rusted weapons or not, they hit hard."
He gestured toward the shorter, stockier figures. "And those squat ones? Those are Genlocks. Smaller, but don't let that fool you. They're quick and vicious, especially when they get up close. Strong, despite their size. They're like animals in the way they fight—relentless. They come from the Deep Roads, which is why they look so... warped."
Jory shifted nervously, gripping his sword tighter as his eyes flickered between the creatures and Alistair. Daveth, on the other hand, kept a calm, focused expression, absorbing every word Alistair said.
"Stay alert, and don't underestimate them," Alistair added, his voice low but insistent. "They'll swarm you if they get the chance."
With the warning delivered, Alistair's expression hardened, his shield raised slightly in preparation. He didn't need to say more—the reality of the situation was clear enough from the sight of the darkspawn before them. Elena took a deep breath, eyes narrowing as she studied the enemy ahead.
Now, as the group surveyed the darkspawn, Elena could see them clearly: five in total, two Hurlocks and three Genlocks. The creatures hadn't yet noticed them, but their presence was undeniable, oozing a foul, corrupted energy.
The Hurlocks were grotesque, towering figures, standing over six feet tall. Their skin was a sickly grey-black, stretched tightly over muscular bodies. Their faces were twisted into ghastly expressions, with sunken eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, and mouths filled with jagged teeth that protruded from blackened gums. The rusted armor they wore clung haphazardly to their bodies, a patchwork of crude metal that left much of their darkened skin exposed. Jagged, rusted swords were clutched in their hands, their very appearance threatening even before they moved.
Beside them were the Genlocks, shorter and more hunched but no less dangerous. Their squat, muscular forms were covered in rough, dark skin, nearly black, with their beady red eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Their armor, a mismatched collection of scavenged plates and leather, barely seemed to protect them, but their thick, powerful limbs hinted at their ability to absorb damage. They carried crude axes and short blades, weapons that looked barely forged but were deadly in the hands of these savage creatures.
Elena's senses heightened as she analyzed their movements. The darkspawn moved slowly, almost lazily, unaware of the threat that stalked them from the shadows. But Elena knew better than to let her guard down. These creatures might appear disorganized, but once they caught the scent of prey, they would attack with vicious coordination.
She glanced back at her group. "We'll need to be smart about this," she whispered. "Quick and decisive."
Elena glanced back at the group, her sharp mind quickly forming a plan. Her gaze lingered on each of them, gauging their strengths and readiness. She wasn't sure if Alistair, being the more experienced Grey Warden, would take charge, but when he didn't object, she knew it was up to her. He seemed comfortable letting her lead, trusting her instincts. Jory, on the other hand, was visibly shaking, his nerves still clearly unsettled.
"Alright," she whispered, her voice low but authoritative. "Here's the plan. Alistair, you take point with your shield. You're our front line, hold their attention and keep them focused on you. Jory, you'll be at his side—don't try to charge in, just back him up and hold the line. Shield up, sword steady, and watch your footing. Your job is to keep them from flanking us."
Jory gave a shaky nod, gripping his greatsword tighter, but she could see the fear in his eyes. Elena kept her tone firm, trying to instill confidence in him without being harsh.
"Daveth," she continued, turning to the archer. "You'll stay behind them, find high ground or cover if you can, and focus on picking off the Genlocks. They're smaller but faster, and we can't let them overwhelm the front. Use your range to thin their numbers before they get too close."
Daveth nodded, his bow already in hand, his expression focused. "Got it," he muttered, shifting his weight as he prepared to find a vantage point.
Elena's eyes moved back to Alistair. "I'll weave in between you two, striking where they're vulnerable. I'll look for gaps, hit them from the sides or behind, and take out any stragglers trying to break through. We keep them contained, don't let them split us up or push past the front."
Alistair smirked slightly, his shield raising as he rolled his shoulders. "Sounds good to me. Keep them off balance, hit fast and hard."
Elena's gaze flickered to Jory once more, seeing the uncertainty written in his posture. She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice slightly. "Stay close to Alistair and keep your stance solid. You don't need to be a hero, just hold them off long enough for us to cut them down. You're not alone in this."
Jory swallowed hard but nodded, his grip on his greatsword tightening as he straightened his stance. "I—I'll do my best."
With the plan set, Elena scanned the darkspawn ahead one last time, her senses tuned to their every movement. The foul creatures still hadn't noticed them, giving them a crucial moment to strike on their own terms.
"Remember," Elena whispered to the group, "we control the pace. Don't let them overwhelm us. Stay sharp, and we'll come out of this."
Alistair gave her a firm nod, his expression serious but ready. "We've got this. Let's show them what happens when they face Wardens."
A.N: Thank for reading!