Sound...The Retreat
The Darkspawn horde was far larger than anyone had anticipated. Their numbers were impossible to determine, and the thick fog they carried with them obscured any attempt at assessing the battlefield. But it wasn't just their sheer size that troubled Loghain—it was the unnerving coordination with which they fought. These creatures, once thought mindless, now seemed to possess a terrifying strategy.
Loghain stood on the cliff's edge, his gaze locked on the battlefield below. Behind him, rows of soldiers waited, holding their breath, ready for his orders. In the valley, the men and women of Ferelden fought with all their might against the tide of darkness, but for every monster felled, another seemed to rise in its place. There was no end in sight. King Cailan, his golden armor gleaming in the chaos, stood out like a beacon—an all too tempting target.
Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from behind him. When Loghain turned, he saw the Tower of Ishal plummeting to the ground. A Darkspawn catapult, of an unimaginable force until now, had struck it down. A hint of Panic clawed at Loghain's chest, but he suppressed it. His mind raced, and in those few moments, dozens of plans surged through him, each more hopeless than the last. Every strategy seemed destined to fail.
"Send scouts ahead!" Loghain barked at his second in command, Ser Cauthrien. "I need to know how many of these monsters we face!"
His thoughts turned to his King: "Perhaps you can place your hopes on the legends of the Grey Wardens, Cailan, for legends and miracles are what we now need..."
"Barricade the door!" Duran shouted to the few soldiers still alive inside the Tower of Ishal. They had barely reached the summit, but the Darkspawn showed no sign of relenting. The men hurriedly slammed the door shut and pressed against it with all their weight.
"Hold the line as long as you can. We light the signal fire!" Duran climbed the final steps toward the tower's summit, his resolve unbroken. But as he reached the top, Alistair, grabbed his arm.
"We can't just leave them to die here!" Alistair protested.
"Do you have a better idea?" Duran snapped, his voice hard. "Teyrn Loghain is counting on our signal. If we don't light it, the battle could be lost."
Alistair hesitated, his eyes heavy with sorrow as he looked at the men below. "May the Maker be with you," he whispered, before turning to follow Duran up the last steps.
"Commander! Sir!" Ser Cauthrien's voice was frantic as she relayed the scouts' report. "They say they cannot see the end of the army. There are countless openings in the earth, and the Darkspawn are pouring out of them!"
Loghain's mind spun, time seeming to slow as the weight of the decision pressed upon him. He could feel the uncertainty rising, a feeling he hadn't experienced since the early days of the rebellion. Everything depended on him now. Would he condemn his men by sending them into this hopeless battle? Or was there still a way to win?
He thought of the past—the rebellion, the sacrifices made. But these were different times. Then, it had been a war for their homeland, driven by love for their people. What was the cause now? A king seeking personal glory, a king who trusted in legends of a warrior people who were long exiled, while forsaking wise counsel and strategy.
Loghain's heart hardened. There was only one path forward now: the survival of Ferelden.
With a final, brutal strike, Duran plunged his sword into the ogre's chest, sending the beast hurtling off the tower and into the abyss below.
"Quickly, light the signal!" Duran shouted to Alistair. Below, the crashing sound of the Darkspawn breaking through the door echoed up to them. Without hesitation, Alistair ignited the beacon, the light flashing high into the sky, illuminating the tower's peak. It was the last thing Duran saw before an arrow pierced his shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Just before Loghain turned his attention to Ser Cauthrien, he heard the light beam shoot up from the Tower of Ishal. The soldiers readied themselves to charge, but for Loghain, the decision had already been made. No beacon of hope, no symbol of legend, could alter what was necessary.
"Sound… the retreat!" Loghain's voice was ice-cold, a command that echoed across the field.
Ser Cauthrien hesitated, confusion in her eyes. "But Sir, the beacon… What about the King?"
Loghain's gaze hardened, his icy blue eyes drilling into hers with unspoken conviction. "Do as I command!" He grabbed her arm, his grip unyielding, and for a moment, he stared deep into her soul. She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat before she turned to relay the order.
Loghain felt a cruel satisfaction as she obeyed. Perhaps, Cailan, you will go down in history, along with the Grey Wardens, as a failure in the defense of Ferelden. The thought made Loghain smile faintly, but that smile quickly faded as he turned back, his mind now consumed only with the grim duty of protecting his homeland.