The Defence of the Walls
Messengers scramble to bring your instructions to the walls as you stalk down the corridors of the tower. For your part, you are headed to the position where the reserves are stationed. In the break between attacks, they need to be moved to the western wall, hopefully without alerting the enemy to your movements.
To that end, you are taking command personally.
Heads turn to face you as you emerge from the tower. Paloma and the rangers straighten up reflexively, the commander of the reserve looks up at with burning eagerness and even Morrigan looks like she knows something is up.
"There will soon be a large scale assault upon the west wall." You inform them all. "We shall be heading there at once to stiffen the defences, and I shall be assuming command there."
To head off arguments and to ensure Bann Evlynne does not lose that fire that you value so, you give her a part in leading. She will take command of the details of moving the forces, while you race ahead to reach the wall.
"Something's happening." Morrigan interrupts your consultation. "All the mages can feel it. It's opposing our attempts to use magic to assist the defence."
You frown. "Strange, is it akin to the powers of the Templar or something else?"
Morrigan sniffs. "Hardly, it is more likely some kind of spell."
"Do what you can to keep it at bay." You command. "I will see what can be done when I have a better view of the battlefield."
Morrigan gives you a look that manages to convey that she questions your competence and decision making, but she says nothing. Grateful that she has at least managed to keep the interaction civil, you turn back to the briefing.
"Ensure you do not emerge until I give the signal." You stress to the whole force. "The last thing we want is for the foe to realise we have anticipated his stroke. Should he see us upon the walls, he will surely turn his strike elsewhere."
"Won't the Blight know something's up when they see you?" Asks Bann Evlynne.
You shake your head. "Perhaps, but we are foes of old. I am sure this Archdemon will believe me foolish enough to go alone, and be willing to risk what it considers a disposable force for the chance to kill me."
With one final glance at the sky to ensure that no birds have betrayed you and no dragons have swooped in unlooked for, you give the final authorisation and begin to lope towards the western wall.
The horns sound the alarm. Maeglin is started from his contemplation of the gem he borrowed from Maethros. He looks out to see the horde slowly moving forward. The section coming towards the eastern wall is much slower than the others. Likely due to needing to fetch additional ladders.
A small grim smile flickers across his face. Then he stands once more, the persilima's glow at a low ebb as he waits for the oncoming assault.
"How many this time?" One of the humans from earlier asks.
"Fewer." Maeglin replies, frowning in concentration. "Concerningly so in fact."
"We got a runner saying that the main attack is anticipated elsewhere." Reports the idiot who blustered their way into command. "We should have an easier time of it here. Assuming that the elf knows what he's talking about."
"Maedhros has forgotten more about the Enemy than you have ever known." Maeglin retorts, barely paying attention to the human.
While those around him are relieved by the news that they will have an easier time, he is not so short sighted. If the blow is going elsewhere that means there is a higher chance of breakthrough elsewhere, which, if it should happen, will put them in a difficult position.
However, changing such things are beyond his power, all he can focus on is defending this position. Maedhros is the one who will have to see to the western wall, and Maeglin is confident that the defence is thus in good hands.
Then the ladders strike the walls and the time for thought has passed.
Maeglin raises the Persilima high and rushes to face the foe, the battle cry of his people on his lips. Initially, he meets with success, not so great as the previous assault, but he is somewhat more tired now. However, that initial success is met with a different reaction.
While the Persilima still drives the darkspawn back, they do not recoil either as aggressively or as far. Few, if any, fall from the walls, and now that Maeglin looks, he can see far more of the larger, more heavily armed vanguards. All of whom are making their way towards him.
Anguirel and the Persilima serve him well, one serving to distract and break cohesion, while Anguirel cleaves iron and steel alike. However, it is clear to the son of Eöl that he is being herded slowly, but surely, away from the rest of the defenders.
The heavier than usual assault concentrated on his location is carving a pocket into the defences of the wall. Slowly the line of his allies is being bowed, as they are driven back. When Maeglin attempts to follow, the foe will try to outflank him while diminishing the ferocity of their assault. Despite knowing their game, he simply cannot afford to let them surround him or attack his back.
Maeglin does not simply allow this, naturally. With gem and sword he extracts a brutal toll from the darkspawn who attack him, yet it feels futile. The darkspawn have managed to assemble a large number of their strongest vanguards, who lunge towards him with the eerie unity of their species.
Magelin wields his blade and gem to the best of his abilities, yet it seems futile. His arms burn with effort and it seems that he has now lost even the momentary chances for rest that he had before. The twisted, warped faces of the darkspawn snarl at him from the light of the Persilima and he fears the worse.
Perhaps it is his imagination, but he swears he hears an elleth's voice singing distantly.
Lómion, i fuin gwann, an nadath garthar.[1]
"No!" Maeglin cries aloud.
He cannot end here, not like this, not for humans of all things. The Persilima burns in his hand as he pours all he can into the gem, which flares brighter sill. Perhaps it is from that, or perhaps it is the fear, but strength burns new in his veins.
With a suddenness that the foe was not expecting he strikes towards where he sees they are weakest. He hews down those between him and safety with the strength born of desperation, and the black blade of Anguirel reaps a hefty toll.
Such is the speed and ferocity of his assault that he manages to break through the encircling foe and reach his allies. The line briefly parts to allow him through, and he slumps to the ground. As he pants and regains his breath an odd calm descends upon the battle. All seems silent, almost watchful as though waiting to see what will happen next.
"Andraste's blessed Husband." Someone says. "Thought you were a goner."
"If I were that easy to fell." Maeglin pants. "I should not have lived to see the fall of Gondolin."
Besides which, there is a noticeable lack of cliffs to tumble down, shattering every bone in his body. Eöl's curse should, theoretically anyway, not be able to reach him. Then again, he is surrounded on all sides by those he deems enemies so if one is willing to be a bit more metaphorical about the interpretation…
The Noldo surges to his feet, Anguirel and Persilima rising. The strange black fog that had started to gather around him shatters and flees the burning light.
"If thou thinkst I fear death." He hissed defiantly at the darkspawn. "The thou hast gravely underestimated Maeglin son of Eöl. Come then Brood of Morgoth, come and meet thy end."
"What are you saying?" Someone asks.
"It matters little." Maeglin rolls his shoulders as the sounds of battle renewed begin to consume the walls. "Come. The foe spreads dark despair to make us beliee all is lost, yet we know fewer attack us than before. With me. We shall cast these abominations back into the abyss from whence they came."
With no cheers, the warriors of Ferelden busy themselves with the business of slaying the darkspawn. At their head, however unwillingly, is Maeglin.
The battle upon the eastern walls was never in much doubt. With Maeglin in command, the darkspawn lacked the cover of night that would have allowed them an advantage to seize the walls. However, the struggle was a difficult and bloody one.
Darkspawn of great size came in numbers unexpected. While their primary target had been Maeglin, they had wreaked terrible death upon what had, until that point, been the stoutest part of the defences. Nearly half of the defenders had taken some kind of injury, though it was unclear how severe those were.
That said, the forces that remained threw back the assault none the less. Over six thousand of the darkspawn horde had now died upon the eastern walls. While a drop in the bucket compared to the whole horde outside, it was a performance worthy of song nonetheless.
Captain Jymes is not having a good evening. In fact, if she were to write a memoir, she would recall this whole day as one of the worst in her life. Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, she is illiterate and in no hurry to write a memoir besides. Instead, she indulges in that favourite pastime of all soldiers.
Complaining.
"My ears are still ringing." She grumbles as she stares out into the blackness. "And I've got a splitting headache."
"Might I examine you?" Asks the bald elf. "Those sound like the symptoms of a serious head injury, and it would be a terrible loss if you should die this early into the defence."
"I'm fine." Jessica snaps. "Just wish I could see something through this blackness.
"It is most disconcerting." Agrees the elf neutrally. "If you do not wish to be treated by an elf, might I suggest retiring to the medical tents?"
The captain is spared the need to respond by the arrival of yet more grappling hooks. "Up and at 'em lads. Once more into the fight!"
"I am reasonably certain that is not the correct line." The elf mutters as he raises his staff.
The assault comes quickly and seemingly out of nowhere. Without having the reports coming in, beyond and assurance that this time the attack will not be as heavy, it is harder to estimate the strength.
Further, Jessica is tired. She was fighting for her life in the tower earlier, as were many of her men. Now she is still fighting, and primarily the strongest and most dangerous foes. It is late and she desperately wishes she was in bed. Even more so than usual.
'Surely it is midnight by now' She thinks to herself as her arm goes numb.
'This cannot go on much longer' She thinks when her sword falls out of her hand.
'Oh Maker, please let me get my sword back.' She prays as she stabs a hurlock with her knife.
The bald elf is having his own problems. Jessica can't spend much time staring at him, given the whole fighting for her life thing, but he doesn't seem to be sailing through the darkspawn as easily. Most pertinently, far fewer of them were flying over the walls.
"What's the matter with you!" She snaps at one point, a darkspawn's sword in her hand. "Having performance anxiety or something?"
The bald elf has the utter nerve to outright glare at her. "Some great working is opposing me. You are fortunate that I am as skilled as I am, else I would be entirely unable to assist you at all."
"What exactly do you mean by that!" She asks, hewing a genlock in two.
"We do not have time for me to explain." The elf says through gritted teeth, staff fending off an axe. "In summary, a lot of darkspawn mages are making it their business to prevent me from casting spells."
"Well do something about it!" Captain Jymes commands, before the tides of battle sweep the two apart.
She misses Solas' muttered response in Elvhen. Which is fortunate, as even without understanding the language, some things are clear through tone alone.
Limbs grow heavier as the fighting continues. Not just for the captain, but for all her warriors. Their morale wavers as the darkspawn come out of the darkness. Intellectually, they may know that they do not have to fight as hard as they have. Experientially however, they have to contend with exhaustion and the darkness.
"Come on lads!" Jessica calls. "If we go down, then it's our families next. For Ferelden!"
Her voice is swallowed by the noise of combat. Not for the first time, she wonders if she is even the right person to be doing this. Surely if Ethel was here, she'd know some secret to getting the message out, to bolstering everyone's courage.
"Take heart." The bald elf says.
"Where did you come from!" Jessica yelps, losing yet another sword into an alpha's face.
"I saw you yelling and realised you might need some advice." The mage notes, idly setting the alpha on fire. "Your words help those they reach, you just need to reach more of them."
"And I suppose you have a magical solution for that?" She asks, grabbing the fallen Alpha's sword.
Since she is bent over, she misses the elf's wince. "Actually, I was going to suggest walking along the wall."
"Right." Jessica mutters. "Right, just walk along the wall. Like it's that easy."
Indeed, it is not. To her credit, she tries. However, the need to face the foes that are her responsibility keep distracting and dragging her out of position. More than once she gets bogged down at one ladder or other that her men are struggling to retake.
Naturally, randomly arriving wherever the fighting is fiercest has its own morale boosting effects. So, despite the fact she does less than she would like, it would be wrong to say she did nothing.
The fight for the wall is in some ways easier than the last one. However, the fatigue and morale problems tell. Many bodies of both sides litter the battlements, and if one who had keen eyes were to look from the tower, they would see people leaving the walls. Mercenaries, lower level knights and other such easily shaken warriors are quick to head for the relative safety of the tower.
This in turn makes it harder for those who remain to fight, and the casualties mount, which in turn causes more of the shakily motivated to leave. This vicious cycle only comes to a halt where Solas or Captain Jymes are present personally.
Despite this, it would have ended poorly were it not for the fact that as suddenly as the attack began, it ends. No more darkspawn scale the ladders, the last of those on the walls are slain.
Only a quarter of those who began on the walls remain, but the wall has held. For now.
You reached the wall some time ago. Immediately your first task was to soothe the nerves of the commander. Bann Offrey is an excellent example of the novel command problem, while he is theoretically qualified for this role the actual test has shown crucial flaws in his preparation.
Not that his ego would allow him to admit that.
"I assure you, I am more than capable of commanding the defence here." He claimed, sweat clear on his brow in the firelight.
"I have no doubts about your capacity to lead." You stated, for you have no doubt he would fail in this task. "However, the main strength of the enemy is coming here, and it would be a dereliction of my own duties not to come to meet it. I hope you understand, and I trust that you will see my orders carried out with the promptness your competence promises."
The flattery, over thick as it sounded to your ears, did its job, and you were free to examine the battlefield.
There was, and still is, a dark power in the air, light for now, but with Morrigan's warning you noticed it. Not too far from the walls you saw a large number of the magically inclined darkspawn, whose absence in previous attacks you only realised in that hour.
Now, the last of the reinforcement wave has moved into position, just out of sight of the oncoming darkspawn. They march in columns, following ladders. Meanwhile, ogres are heading towards the gate, likely to stow it in. Quick orders see a small force dispatched to reinforce the gate and directs those with missiles to direct them at the ogres.
For the others you remind them to wait for your signal and await the arrival of the enemy. You watch as the columns reach the wall, as an alpha climbs aboard the top of each ladder, and as they are swung up by main strength.
Your sword meets the throat of the closest one and it is impaled by the force of its own swing. Then you hack off the top of the ladder, making climbing up a more difficult for those who are already attempting to reach it.
After that, your focus narrows as you dance along the walls.
Obviously, this is not a literal dance, not even you are quite skilled enough to work aught but the simplest steps into battle. Still, you make a big show of running about and engaging the strongest foes you can find. Darkspawn have not yet learned to flee at your approach, and you intend to do so.
One, two, three fall to your blade. Many more die recoiling from the Light of Valinor, or are slain in their distraction and distress. Still, they outnumber the defenders of the wall by more than two to one. Or so they believe.
You notice that the alphas and a vanguard are attempting to encircle and cut you off from the rest of your forces. Resisting the urge to laugh, you lead them on a merry chase, flashing in and out of their lines like Kano's cavalry upon the plains of Lothlann. You see clear rage and a lack of understanding why they cannot pin you down.
Then, you give the signal for your reinforcements to join the fray.
With a great cry, the warriors of Ferelden spring up stairs or from towers. The timing is perfect. The foe had believed their victory at hand and turned their attention to wrapping up the pockets they had forced the defenders into. Much as you had once planned, they were caught by sudden strike between the anvil of the shieldwall and the surge of reinforcements.
Through it all, you are there in the thickest of the fighting. Your blade flashing through the ranks of the darkspawn. When unchallenged you are as a scythe to wheat upon the rank and file, yet to challenge you means to doom the leaders of the horde to death. The Light of Valinor and more so your mere presence bolsters the spirits of all upon the wall.
Then, suddenly, there is a break in the battle. All atop the walls have been slain, and whatever intelligence directs them has correctly deduced that it is best to regroup before sending up the rest of the wave. However, in this, you sense a unique opportunity.
The Light still burning you mount the highest point of the wall, and roar a challenge to the darkness.
"Is this it!?" You ask. "Is this all you have to send? Surely not! Surely the mighty hordes of Angband are not depleted so soon! Has fear taken the hearts of our ancient foes?"
There are some scattered laugh and jeers from the warriors on the walls, and you glance around to see the fleeing men in the centre and the slow, narrow victory on the other walls.
Now, louder you call, "If you have not the stomach for this battle, let me make an offer. Your leader, and me. One on one, no friends, no allies. Skill against skill alone."
Strangely, the horde falls quiet, almost as though they are one organism that is considering your proposal. The silence emboldens the Men beside you, who intensify their taunts.
Sensing an opportunity, you raise your voice yet louder. "Come forth Archdemon! Fight with your own hands, show all who stand here that you are as powerful as you claim!"
The silence is expectant now. Everyone is wondering, will it happen? Will the Archdemon come.
"Well?" Your voice is as loud as it gets now. "Come forth, Archdemon! Do you need some encouragement? Come forth to fight with your own hands slave of the Jailcrow! Leader of slave, coward and slayer of the weak and unarmed! Come forth! Here stands the last son of Fëanor, the last of the line that has mocked and defied you since before the sun! Come forth! FIGHT!"
The final word of your challenge echoes from the hills and trees about. It seems to repeat the challenge tauntingly. For another moment, the horde is silent. Then they roar and start to leap up the ladders as though goaded to rage.
With a laugh you gesture with your sword. "It seems my challenge has been declined. What weaklings they are to follow such a coward. Why, they dare not even face the sun! Hark, it is near midnight, the night is half done! We have but to hold until the dawn and they shall vanish like the dew!"
It is slightly embarrassing that you forgot to lower your voice, which you only realise when you hear Maeglin take up the cry.
"For the dawn!" He roars back, at a respectable volume.
"For the dawn!" Paloma takes up the cry.
So, it spreads, and the swords, axes and spears of Ferelden are lifted high into the sky. Firelight reflects in blades such that it seems that they wield not steel but great tongues of flame.
"FOR THE DAWN!" You cry, and the Light of the Two Trees burns in your eyes.
Far beneath you, the cry echoes out, and the force you have dispatched sallies forth. They, by design or skill, strike with most of the foe upon the wall already. While there are many ogres, they are supported by few.
Riddled with javelins, arrows and stones from above, and struck suddenly from the front, the stupid creatures are as much a danger to each other as their foe. It is not a bloodless affair by any stretch of the imagination, but the toll is light and the death of the trolls is swift.
Thinking quickly, Bann Evlynne takes her command across the walls, tearing ladders from the walls and slaughtering what forces remained to guard them. She would have done more, but she needed to retreat before enemy reinforcements arrived.
Instead, she races to reach the walls and join the fight there, for her vengeance is yet unfulfilled.
With their ladders destroyed those atop the walls are trapped, and cut off from support. They fight fiercely despite that, but weight of skill, steel and spirit drags them down and they are slaughtered.
The pile of the slain is great, outnumbering your starting force twice over. The toll is low for such things. Maybe a third of your warriors have taken injuries or lie dead. The total number is beyond your knowledge, as you would need to speak to the healers, but you think things are going well. At least here.
Then you turn your eyes out to the main force. With the brief peace victory has won you are final able to focus on the growing power in the air. Quickly it becomes clear that this is not simply intended to snuff out your own magic.
The Emissaries are working on something, what you are unsure. However, you can guess. Something to claim the walls, whether by destroying them or slaying those atop them. It is clear that, while the horde will eventually overwhelm your defences, they cannot do so before daybreak.
The only question is whether this is a final gambit or if this is but the next assault. Instinctually you feel that if this attack fails, the darkspawn will see no reason to continue the assault. However, what constitutes failure?
In the healers' tent, Xandar is feeling tired in ways he did not know was possible. Watching grown men and women scream for their parents, waste away in seconds or even beg for their lives as they are 'triaged'… It hurts in ways that he's never experienced.
A full count of the dead is hard to come by, but from what those more experienced say the defenders have lost one and a half thousand people. That's enough to empty his village fifteen times!
He really wishes Merrill hadn't taught him numerancy now. He wishes he never came here, that he'd stayed home where he was safe. He is clearly not the only one, based on all the people who are leaving the walls in a panic.
Then Teacher's voice boomed from the walls.
Xandar, and the many others around looked up. There he stood, a bright star burning atop the walls and he roared his defiance into the darkness. Nobody dared speak, everyone felt certain that something would happen. An arrow, a spell, the Archdemon itself swooping down to kill him.
But the challenge is never answered. Not when he roars louder, not when he insults the archdemon.
Then the teacher points out the time and it is like a new energy runs through the camp. Those who were running return to the walls, strengthening the weakening centre up to around half its strength. The healers too turn to their tasks with new hope, and even some of the wounded drag themselves back to the walls.
For his part Xandar smiles widely and quotes his book to himself, "Lo, I saw thousands of swords like tongues of flame, and the armies of darkness broke and ran and died before them."
[1] Lómion, the night has passed, for nothingness is nigh. Credit to Lord Bane, check out his poetry in Apocrypha if you haven't already