A.N: I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think!

Chapter 26,

Elena's eyes fluttered open, the warm cot beneath her body adding to the disorienting heaviness she felt. She blinked a few times, trying to shake off the fog that clouded her mind. The Joining—it had hit her harder than expected. Her muscles were stiff, and there was a strange pressure behind her eyes, as if something inside her was trying to settle back into place.

She turned her head, groaning softly, and saw Alistair sitting nearby, watching her closely with concern etched across his features. "What… happened?" she croaked, her throat feeling as dry as sand.

Alistair shook his head with a faint sigh, his brow furrowed. "I'm not really sure. You collapsed during the Joining. Duncan and I… we couldn't quite figure out what went wrong." His tone was calm, but his eyes flickered with unease, as if he were holding back. Instead of pressing further, he stood and crossed the room.

Elena tried to sit up, but her body protested, and the world spun for a moment before settling. When she focused again, Alistair had returned, carrying a tray. He set it down next to her—a loaf of freshly baked bread, a wedge of sharp-smelling cheese, and a cup of mead. He smiled, the tension in his face easing slightly as he joked, "Thought you could use something to eat. When I woke up from my Joining, I felt like I could devour a whole tavern. I was starving."

Elena glanced down at the food, and before she could respond, her stomach betrayed her, letting out a loud, unmistakable growl. She froze, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment. The flush that spread across her cheeks was undeniable.

Alistair's grin broadened, and he burst into laughter, the sound light and infectious. "Well, at least we know you're alive," he teased, clearly enjoying the moment. "I'd say that's a good sign."

Elena tried to hold back a smile but failed miserably, a soft laugh escaping her lips despite the fatigue. She glanced down again, this time reaching for the bread. "Apparently, surviving a Joining makes you ravenous," she muttered, more to herself than him, tearing off a piece of the loaf.

Alistair settled back down beside her, still chuckling. "It's like a rite of passage. You go through the most dangerous ritual in existence, and when you wake up, the first thing you want is food. Welcome to the club."

As she bit into the bread, the warm, doughy texture hit her taste buds, and the exhaustion in her bones seemed to ease, if only a little. The mead was surprisingly sweet, washing away the dryness in her throat. The soft moments between them, the warmth of Alistair's laughter, and the simple comfort of a meal were grounding. It gave her something tangible to hold onto, a temporary escape from the confusing, overwhelming sensations still lingering from the Joining.

The more Elena ate and drank, the more the pressure behind her eyes began to ease, and the heaviness that had weighed down her limbs seemed to slowly drift away. The warmth of the bread and mead spread through her, grounding her in the present moment. It was a simple comfort, but after the ordeal of the Joining, it felt like a lifeline.

"So," she said after a few bites, her voice a little stronger now, "what else should I expect… besides being hungry?" She shot Alistair a small, amused look, her lips curling into a faint smile.

Alistair smirked, leaning back on his elbows, clearly relieved to see some of her strength returning. "Well, aside from the constant hunger, there's the occasional nightmares, strange dreams about darkspawn, and oh, the best part—being able to sense them." His tone was light, but there was an edge to his words that hinted at the seriousness beneath the joke.

Elena raised an eyebrow, her smile faltering slightly. "Strange dreams?"

"Yeah," Alistair said with a casual shrug, though his expression grew more serious. "We all get them. Visions of the darkspawn, the Archdemon… it's part of being a Grey Warden. It's how we know they're near. You'll get used to it, though." He paused, then gave her a reassuring smile. "Not that it's all bad. You get to fight darkspawn, save the world, and look good doing it."

Elena huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds worth it."

"Almost," he agreed, the humor returning to his voice. He gave her a sideways glance. "But seriously, if you ever feel off or need to talk about anything… you can come to me. This whole thing isn't exactly easy to handle alone."

Elena's expression softened at that, appreciating his sincerity. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," she said quietly, taking another sip of mead. The weight of the Joining still lingered, but for now, with the food, the drink, and Alistair's company, it felt manageable.

It didn't take long for Elena to finish off the food, though she wasn't alone in devouring it. Alistair's eyes kept drifting toward the huge chunk of cheese on her plate, his expression caught somewhere between nonchalance and sheer longing. His attempts to play it cool were failing miserably.

"Do you want some?" Elena asked, smirking as she held the plate out toward him. "I can practically see you drooling."

Alistair's face brightened instantly. "What? No, I wasn't drooling… much." His tone was playful, but he didn't waste a second before grabbing the cheese. "Alright, maybe just a little. But in my defense, cheese is a weakness of mine."

Elena shook her head, laughing softly as she watched him tear into the chunk. "I've noticed," she teased, unable to suppress her amusement at the way he practically inhaled the food.

"What can I say?" Alistair shrugged, his mouth full. "Some people crave power or riches. Me? I just want cheese."

"Good to know your ambitions are so noble," Elena replied with a grin, watching him with a bemused shake of her head.

Between the two of them, the tray was quickly emptied, and Elena wiped her hands on her leggings, feeling much better than she had when she first woke up. The food had chased away most of the lingering heaviness in her limbs, and the pressure behind her eyes had nearly disappeared entirely. Standing up, she stretched and flexed her arms, testing the renewed strength in her body.

"Where's Duncan?" she asked, glancing over at Alistair as she adjusted her gear. "I need to ask him some questions."

Alistair stood as well, wiping the last crumbs of cheese from his fingers. "He's probably off with the other Wardens, preparing for… everything that's about to go down." He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. "You sure you're ready for more questions? You've had a rough time of it."

"I need answers," Elena said firmly, meeting his gaze. "There's too much I still don't understand."

Alistair nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestured toward the door. "Fair enough. Let's go find him. But just a heads-up—Duncan's not as easily bribed as I am. You can't win him over with cheese."

Elena chuckled, shaking her head as she followed him. "Noted. I'll save the cheese strategy for you."

As they headed off, Elena's thoughts turned back to the Joining and the strange things she'd experienced. There were many questions that needed answers, and Duncan seemed to be the only one who could provide them.

As they stepped out of the tent, the camp unfolded before them, a flurry of activity that caught Elena off guard. The air buzzed with the sounds of clanking armor, hurried footsteps, and the low murmur of conversation. Soldiers moved in organized lines, carrying supplies, sharpening weapons, and readying themselves for something imminent. The energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the relative quiet she'd experienced before the Joining.

"It seems much busier than it was," she mused aloud, her eyes scanning the scene with curiosity.

Alistair, walking a few steps ahead, glanced back at her. "Yeah, things have definitely picked up. The battle's drawing near, so everyone's scrambling to make sure we're ready. There's not much time left to prepare."

Elena nodded thoughtfully, taking it all in. There was an undercurrent of tension threading through the camp, and it gnawed at her. This wasn't just the usual bustle of soldiers going through their routines—this was the calm before the storm, and everyone knew it.

Together, Elena and Alistair walked through the camp, weaving through clusters of soldiers and Wardens as they prepared for the battle ahead. The energy around them was electric, almost heavy, as though the very air buzzed with the tension and anticipation of the coming fight. Despite the pressing urgency of her thoughts, Elena found herself observing every detail with a warrior's eye, committing it all to memory—the sounds of sharpening blades, the rhythmic hammering from the blacksmith's forge, the low murmur of strategizing voices. This was more than a camp; it was a staging ground, a place where lives would be decided soon.

As they passed by one of the large fires, her gaze settled on a familiar figure. Ser Jory sat with a few other Wardens around the flickering flames, his expression softer than she'd ever seen. A plate piled high with bread, roasted meat, and cheese was cradled in his hands, and he was eating with a hunger that matched her own from earlier. He tore into the food with unrestrained enthusiasm, each bite accompanied by a low murmur of satisfaction. His usual anxious demeanor seemed to have faded, replaced with an almost childlike relief in the comfort of a full plate.

Elena smirked, the sight striking a chord with her. Despite the gravity of everything surrounding them, the simple pleasure of food seemed to offer Jory a brief reprieve from his ever-present nerves. It reminded her of her own meal not long ago—and the quiet camaraderie she and Alistair had shared over their hasty feast.

Beside her, Alistair caught her gaze lingering on Jory and chuckled, nudging her slightly with his elbow. "See? I wasn't exaggerating. Every new Warden eats like they've been starved for days. Jory's probably feeling the Joining as much as you did."

Elena huffed softly, her eyes still on Jory as he attacked a thick piece of bread with a focus usually reserved for battle. "Seems to be a universal side effect of the Joining," she murmured, her amusement growing as she watched him. "You're sure it's not a spell you cast on us?"

Alistair held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Hey, don't look at me. The Grey Wardens' secrets are vast, but we don't deal in food enchantments." He glanced at Jory, shaking his head. "Though I admit, it does make us all a bit more… relatable. Even if it's just for the love of bread and cheese."

Elena couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at her lips as they moved on, heading toward Duncan's tent at the edge of camp. The sense of gravity was never far from her mind, but seeing Jory momentarily at ease had reminded her that, amidst the battles and bloodshed, they were still human. Just people thrown into something larger than themselves, doing what they could to survive—one meal, one moment at a time.

Pushing open the flap of the gray tent, Elena stepped inside, Alistair just a step behind her. The air was cooler here, the scent of leather and ink mingling faintly, and the muted sounds of the bustling camp outside gave the space a sense of calm. Duncan stood near a small table cluttered with maps and reports, his dark eyes trained on the young man standing before him—a Warden with sandy blond hair who wore standard soldier's armor, his stance respectful and attentive.

Noticing their arrival, Duncan paused his conversation, glancing up. He gave a quick nod to the young Warden, a silent instruction that was understood without words. The young man straightened, throwing a polite nod toward both Elena and Alistair before slipping out of the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind him.

"Elena, Alistair," Duncan greeted, his expression softening slightly as he looked at her. "You're looking better." His gaze was sharp, though, a silent assessment that missed nothing. "How are you feeling?"

Elena nodded. "Better, thanks to some food and rest," she said, casting a brief glance at Alistair, recalling the warmth of their shared meal. It had been a welcome comfort, a moment of humanity in the midst of everything shifting around her.

"That is good," Duncan replied, his voice thoughtful. He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest as he turned his attention to the worn wooden table behind him. The table was a battlefield in itself, laden with scattered maps and charts, each worn and faded from repeated handling. Faint lines marked the positions of forces, with notes hastily scrawled along the edges. Some maps bore dark stains—perhaps ink, perhaps something darker—and each spoke of a history of struggle.

Elena's gaze moved over the papers, absorbing the details. She noticed the regions marked with thick, ominous strokes to indicate darkspawn activity, while smaller annotations outlined tactical placements, planned movements, and encampments. Duncan's fingers traced one of the lines as he continued, his face unreadable but his voice tense.

Turning his gaze back to Elena, Duncan studied her closely, his expression one of quiet caution. "Elena, I have a few questions for you," he said, his voice steady but softer, almost careful. "If you're uncomfortable answering with Alistair here, I can ask him to leave." He gave her a choice, a rare gesture of privacy, and one that carried weight.

Elena met his gaze, sensing the importance of his request. She glanced at Alistair beside her, who looked back at her without a hint of his usual humor, only a quiet attentiveness. Shaking her head, she straightened her posture and motioned slightly toward him. "I'm fine with him here. If I'm to fight alongside him, then I should be able to trust him with whatever answers your questions require."

Duncan's gaze softened slightly, a glint of approval in his eyes as he regarded her with new respect. Alistair gave her a nod of silent thanks, remaining at her side, his shoulders easing as he stood ready to listen without intrusion.

After a pause, Duncan spoke again, letting the silence settle first. "Very well," he began, choosing his words carefully. "During the Joining, you showed a unique… reaction. Unusual, even for us Wardens. Many experience visions, perhaps memories, but yours appeared… different." His brow furrowed slightly, the flicker of a question in his eyes as he regarded her.

Duncan's gaze sharpened as he studied her. His tone softened, but his words carried an unmistakable weight. "Elena, most recruits endure violent reactions during the Joining. The taint takes them to the very edge, forcing them to face unimaginable darkness. But you…" He paused, searching her face. "Yours was… unusual. Almost as if you were guided somewhere beyond."

Elena's heart quickened as she recalled the surreal calm she had felt amidst the shadows that had surrounded her. Those images—fragmented and strange—had not felt like her own but rather as though they had been pulled from a place far older, from memories etched into the darkness itself.

Duncan's voice broke through her thoughts, quieter, but carrying a note of something almost reverent. "But what stood out most was that you muttered a name," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "Uthriemiel. That is not a name known to most—even in the higher ranks of the Wardens." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with a restrained intensity. "What did you see that gave you that name?"

Elena hesitated, her mind grasping at the edges of that haunting vision. She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she began to speak. "I saw… a dragon. Massive, black, with wings torn and sickly, like something decaying from within. She was ancient, as if she'd seen countless ages come and go. And she called out to me."

Duncan's brows drew together, a glint of confusion in his eyes. "Called out… how? The Archdemon's voice… You understood her?" His voice was laced with disbelief, tinged with the discomfort of something he couldn't understand.

Elena nodded softly, choosing her words carefully as she sensed the significance of what she was about to share. "Yes," she began, her voice measured, "the Archdemon spoke in Dovahzul—the language of dragons. It's not a language like ours. It's… raw. Each word carries a power that can shake mountains or calm storms. And I understand it because… I am Dragonborn."

Duncan and Alistair exchanged glances, both clearly intrigued, though Duncan's eyes held a deeper spark of curiosity. He shifted his weight, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied her, waiting for her to continue.

"To be Dragonborn is… rare," Elena explained, her gaze fixed as she spoke, lost in the memories of her own discovery. "It's more than just understanding the language. Being Dragonborn means having a piece of that ancient power within me. Dovahzul isn't learned in the same way other languages are—it's like I was born knowing it, but it took slaying a dragon for me to learn the meaning of the words. They resonate with me, with my very soul, and when I speak them, they become… Shouts. A Dragonborn can use Dovahzul to channel power, to reshape the world in small ways." Her voice trailed off slightly, a shadow flickering across her face. "Some people would call it a blessing. Others… a burden."

Alistair's expression was wide-eyed, his usual easy-going demeanor slipping as he absorbed the revelation. "So, you're saying that… dragons could actually speak to you? They wouldn't just attack, or…?"

Elena shook her head, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips as memories surfaced. "Some dragons prefer conversation—especially the older, wiser ones. They carry a sense of time and knowledge that's hard to describe. But many dragons, particularly the younger or more prideful, consider me a worthy opponent, a challenge." She glanced between Alistair and Duncan, her expression turning almost playful. "I often found myself facing dragons seeking to test their Thu'um—their Voice—against my own."

She paused, her eyes distant for a moment as she recalled the countless battles and trials she had faced. "It was more than a fight. To dragons, combat is a language, a way of honoring strength. I'm not just another human to them. To some, I am dovah—a dragon in spirit." A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth, pride glinting in her gaze. "I never lost."

Alistair gaped at her, a mix of awe and disbelief etched across his face. "You… you actually fought dragons?" he stammered, his voice thick with astonishment. "Real, massive, fire-breathing dragons?"

Elena chuckled softly. "Yes. The battles were intense, but they weren't always about destruction. To dragons, especially the older ones, it's a show of respect to challenge those they deem equals. But not all dragons live for combat or pride. One of my teachers, Parthurnax, was a wise, ancient dragon who'd lived longer than anyone I'd ever known. He saw beyond power and pride. He taught me that Dovahzul isn't just words or strength—it's about understanding, about the essence of who we are."

Her gaze softened as she recalled Parthurnax, the ancient dragon who had watched over her training with patience and wisdom. "Parthurnax taught me to see dragons not only as adversaries but as beings with knowledge older than any human civilization. He showed me that true mastery of the Thu'um is about balance. A Shout can destroy, but it can also heal or protect. To him, wisdom and restraint held as much power as force."

Duncan's expression shifted, his usual composure slipping as he absorbed her words. "A dragon, a teacher…" he murmured, clearly taken aback. "I knew little of dragons other than tales of their might, and here you speak of wisdom, restraint—values I'd never associate with them. The Archdemon, Uthriemiel, may have recognized that strength and insight within you, that you could grasp her suffering. No Warden has ever known this—ever had the chance to understand these creatures."

Elena inclined her head, letting the weight of his words settle within her. "Dragons live by instinct and honor, as much as by power. And for them, combat is almost sacred. When they challenge me, it's more a declaration of respect than a bid for dominance." She took a steadying breath, her voice softening. "To hear an Archdemon speak in Dovahzul, to plead with me… it was unlike anything I've experienced. Her voice wasn't one of rage but of sorrow. She was in agony, Duncan, and it was clear she knew exactly what she was asking me to do."

Alistair's brow furrowed, his expression shifting from awe to something almost reverent. "So… you're saying this Archdemon didn't just see you as prey or another enemy?"

Elena shook her head, her eyes serious. "No. She saw me as an equal, another dovah. Her words carried that same ancient wisdom I knew from Parthurnax, even twisted as she was by the taint. It was as though some remnant of who she was, what she once represented, still lived beneath all that darkness. She wanted peace, and she believed that as Dragonborn, I was the one who could give it to her."

Duncan ran a hand over his mouth, visibly stunned, his usual stoic expression betraying his shock. "We've always believed the Archdemons were nothing but twisted, corrupted creatures, lost to madness and driven by rage. But to know that she asked you to end her suffering…" He shook his head, struggling to piece it together. "It's… shocking, to say the least."

Elena absorbed Duncan's words in silence, her mind working to grasp the scale of what he had revealed. Until now, she'd only seen fragments in her vision—a tortured creature pleading for an end to its suffering. But the idea of an Archdemon, a being that was once a god, twisted into a monstrous engine of the Blight, changed everything.

"So… Archdemons," she said slowly, as though trying to pin down the enormity of it. "They were gods once. And the darkspawn… the taint… it turned them into these beings of destruction?"

Duncan nodded, his expression somber. "Yes. We believe they were revered as gods in ancient times, but when the darkspawn found them slumbering in the deep, their corruption turned these beings into something dark and twisted. Now, they are the minds behind the Blight, each one a leader that draws darkspawn to it like a hive."

Elena felt a chill settle over her. The image of Uthriemiel from her vision rose in her mind—a dragon of shadow and sorrow, her body broken and wings tattered, her gaze heavy with a kind of despair that felt older than the world itself. Knowing now that Uthriemiel was an Archdemon made her words feel even more haunting.

"Uthriemiel…" she murmured, tasting the name as if it held the weight of the ancient sorrow she had felt in the vision. "She didn't seem filled with rage or bloodlust. There was pain in her voice, a consciousness." She took a breath, her eyes steady on Duncan. "If she is the source of this Blight, perhaps it is her suffering that fuels it. If she wants an end, then maybe her death… could bring peace."

Duncan absorbed her words, his expression shifting from contemplation to something deeper, almost reverent. He let out a heavy breath, the weight of it seeming to echo in the small tent. For a moment, he looked as if he were carrying the burdens of centuries, the truths and secrets held by the Grey Wardens themselves.

"Well," he began, his voice quiet but carrying a hard-won resolve, "there will come a time when we face her. Uthriemiel. But now… now we know there are things even the Wardens do not understand. We've always believed we knew the Blight inside and out. But you've revealed something beyond what any of us could have foreseen." He paused, his eyes meeting hers with a flicker of something approaching hope. "When this is all over, would you be willing to come with me to the Grey Warden high command? If they can see and hear what you know, understand the wisdom you hold, it could change everything about how we approach the Blight—and it may even prevent another one from happening."

Elena took a breath, feeling the full gravity of his request settle on her. Until now, her connection to dragons, to Dovahzul, and to her own identity as Dragonborn had been hers alone, a legacy she had carried in isolation. But to share it with the Wardens, to reveal insights that might reshape centuries of tradition and strategies… the thought was both daunting and humbling. And yet, she could see the immense value. If even a fragment of her knowledge could change how the Wardens fought, or spare the world from future suffering, then she could not ignore this path.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice steady, though the weight of the decision pulsed beneath her words. "I'd be honored to help the Wardens however I can. If there's a chance to stop the Blight from consuming any more lives… or to change how we approach these creatures, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my knowledge reaches those who need it."

Duncan's shoulders eased slightly, as if the heavy mantle he wore had shifted just enough to grant him a moment of relief. He regarded her with deep respect, his tone laced with gratitude. "Then we'll face this battle together. Whatever lies ahead, this understanding could be the very thing that finally breaks the cycle. For too long, the Wardens have been bound to the fight, locked in a relentless battle against an endless foe. But if what you've discovered holds the key to truly understanding the Blight's nature, then perhaps we have a chance… a real chance… to end it."

A sense of purpose settled over Elena, clear and resolute. For so long, she had carried the legacy of the dragons as a solitary weight, a truth only she understood. Now, she could use it to honor Uthriemiel's plea, to find a way to end her suffering, and to potentially bring an end to the Blight itself. She would walk this path with the Grey Wardens, not just as Dragonborn but as a voice that could offer understanding, compassion, and perhaps, at long last, peace.

P.S: hope you enjoyed sorry for the long break