Dragon Age: King in Exile

Return to Ostagar

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King Cailan has written Alistair into the succession and is ready to recognize him publicly. Loghain will do almost anything to keep that from happening. The darkspawn give him the perfect opportunity. Alistair/Cousland, featuring F!Tabris.

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Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize from Dragon Age belongs to me.

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Ostagar was a desolate ruin, covered in snow banks and scattered with darkspawn. A far cry from the hub of activity it had been before the battle.

After all the back and forth about it, Kallian had finally agreed to let both Wynne and Morrigan come along. Only Leliana and Kitty remained at camp with their belongings–Kallian had been worried about how many darkspawn they might face here.

And she wasn't wrong to worry, Elissa privately agreed as they surveyed the ruins from a distance. They were in darkspawn territory now.

They battled stray darkspawn here and there as they approached the ruins. There was no way to arrive stealthily, not in their numbers, and it was too risky for someone to sneak in alone. The good news was that it seemed these darkspawn were not organized, and had yet to make a concerted attack.

It was hard to navigate once they got close–none of them knew the area well to begin with, but with the camp destroyed and covered in feet of snow it had become virtually impossible.

They made first for the tower of Ishal, a landmark among the ruins, and would begin searching for Cailan's chest from there. As they neared the tower, they heard the sound of loosed arrows in the air. Alistair yanked Elissa behind him, raising his shield.

"Archers!" Kallian pointed up to a window slit in the tower, where the shots had originated. Elissa frowned and aimed towards it, but the window was now empty.

"Easy," Morrigan said in a bored voice, and with a wave of her hand they heard a crunching sound from above. The archers never reappeared in the window.

Kallian's brows shot up. "Nice."

But their noise had attracted more darkspawn and now they were fighting in earnest, not stopping until they had cleared the area around the tower.

"We need to find the bridge," Elissa said. "I think I remember it was sort of that way?" She pointed.

Kallian shrugged and Alistair nodded his agreement, so they made their way through the snow. It took a bit of searching as they got turned around once or twice, but once they well and truly found the bridge, the party stilled.

"What is that?" Wynne asked, voice filled with dread. Something was there, halfway down the bridge, hoisted in the air on pikes. It was shaped like a person with large, blackened wings.

Elissa squinted as she stepped forward, and blanched. It was a body, naked and bloodied. Haloed by a mockery of wings, a head of blonde locks. Alistair was already moving forward slowly, as if he was in a dream.

A nightmare, her mind supplied, and she followed. Her fears were realized as they came closer. Cailan's body was the one so mocked and put on display. She stood frozen in horror at the sight.

"Brother," came a haunted whisper from Alistair's lips.

"I thought darkspawn didn't care for politics," she heard Zevran say.

"Don't look at me," came Kallian's retort, but it lacked her usual bite.

Before they could do or say more, they saw a genlock in a headdress at the far end of the bridge. He waved a crude staff and was encased by a sickening dark swirl of energy. Below them, on the battlefield, there was an enormous roar.

Elissa's bow arm came up automatically from where it had been hanging at her side as they moved towards the edge of the bridge, watching a number of dead darkspawn rise from the killing field, including an enormous ogre with blades sticking straight out from his chest. More darkspawn, living and undead, came running from the far end of the bridge as the genlock shaman disappeared behind them.

Her eyes were caught by one of the hurlocks wearing a chestplate far too shiny to be of darkspawn make. Her stomach turned. They'd been scavenging from the corpses.

Her arrows flew as fast as her fingers could send them as she vented her grief and rage upon the darkspawn. She felt a hint of relief that the undead ones fell as easily as the living ones, though she wondered if that shaman would simply force them to rise again.

When one broke through the line of fighters and came towards her, Elissa was glad to stab it with the sharp point at the end of her bow before jamming the arrow she held into his eye. What she was feeling required physical release.

She knew the others felt the same way. Kallian was more vicious than ever, Alistair bellowed battle cries, and Wynne's spells were like the hand of the Maker himself. Morrigan had transformed into an enormous spider and did things that Elissa couldn't bear to watch. But she had little time to think of her companions as another wave of darkspawn was upon them. The creatures from the battlefield had reached them while they'd been busy fighting the first wave.

The ogre, in its spiked plate mail, roared and barreled through the crowd towards Sten, the largest target. Elissa gasped as the ogre swung an enormous fist into the qunari's side, but Sten stood his ground and swung for a weak spot in the ogre's armor. A roar of rage followed as the rest of the party now bore down upon it.

Zevran took the opportunity to slash at the back of the ogre's legs, attempting to hobble the creature, but the ogre's hide was too tough for her to do much damage. In classic Kallian fashion, she had leapt atop the creature's back stabbing at will as it tried to shake her off.

Elissa refocused on the rest of the darkspawn, who were recovering from being knocked down by the ogre and moving in for the attack. She did her best to thin their numbers, but her shots did little in comparison to the lightning storm Morrigan trapped them in.

She continued thinning the herd until something caught her eye, a writhing dark mass down at the end of the bridge. It was the shaman again. Only she had seen it, the others were focused on the rest of the darkspawn and the ogre. She had to make this shot.

Elissa pulled her bow taut. Paused a moment. Closed her eyes, felt the breeze. Reopened them and adjusted her angle by instinct. She breathed in and out, and loosed her arrow. A beat later, blood spurted from the genlock's throat, and it fell hard to the ground. With a grim smile, she checked on the others.

The ogre was looking battered, but seemed to be continuing on with unnatural stamina. It was blinded in one eye and bleeding all over, and still it did not stop. A burst of magic hit it dead in the chest and it raged, looking for the source. Sten took a large swing low, at the creature's legs, and it began to stumble backward. Alistair leapt towards it, sword raised high, and used his momentum to stab straight down through the ogre's chest.

After that, it didn't take much to clear out the rest of the attackers. Elissa came over as Alistair yanked the other two blades out of the ogre's chest. He looked at Kallian. "I think these were Duncan's blades," he said solemnly. "You should have them."

Kallian reached for the dagger, but waved away the sword. "Someone else can have that if they want it. It won't be any use to me."

Before Alistair could say more, Wynne called to him, kneeling over a darkspawn corpse. Elissa followed him over. Once they were close, it was obvious what Wynne had wanted him for. The scavenged armor this darkspawn wore was immediately recognizable. It had been, that day, the finest set on the battlefield.

"I thought you might want it," the mage said quietly. Alistair said nothing, only staring at the blood-stained pieces.

"I'll help," Elissa said, hurriedly kneeling to help remove the armor from the darkspawn as soon as possible. It was an abomination that this creature wore what had belonged to their king, while that man was laid bare in the worst way possible.

She saw Alistair looking back towards his brother's body and knew he was thinking of returning the armor, giving Cailan back his dignity in death. When she stood, he took the pieces from her and set off back towards him.

"Hey," Kallian called. "The chest will be this way."

The two of them turned. Alistair spoke, his voice broken and angry in a way she hadn't heard it since they woke after the battle. "I don't care about the chest, not when my brother is strung up like a Maker-damned monument. I need to get him down before anything else."

"We came here for your damned Writ of Succession and we need to get it before the darkspawn regroup," she argued. "We're short on time."

"I don't care about time," Alistair spat. "I care about my brother." He turned around and ignored Kallian's indignant splutter.

Elissa went to Kallian. "Take the others and find the chest. I'll stay with him, if you don't mind collecting us before you leave."

Kallian sighed. "Just make it quick." She tossed a dagger and caught it. "We're not going to waste any time and I need you ready when we return."

Elissa nodded, grateful. "We will." She turned back and followed her husband. She would assist any way she could in getting Cailan down.

Alistair had put down the armor and was staring up at the contraption that held his brother. His eyes were glassy, but his mouth was held in an angry line. Cailan was up above their reach, but Elissa thought she could break the bindings with a well-placed arrow.

"Take a step back," she told him, and took aim at the knot that seemed to be holding things together. Her arrow flew true and sliced through the rope. Everything seemed to sag, and a loose end fell down within Alistair's reach. When he tugged it, the entire thing started to collapse. There wasn't much to it, mostly ropes and sticks, and Alistair worked to free his brother's body from the tangle of it. Elissa came to help, and after a few moments, they got Cailan free of the ropes. Alistair lifted him into his arms and searched for a clear bit of ground to lay him on.

Elissa glanced at the armor. "Are you sure you don't want to keep it?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," Alistair said. "It should stay with him."

Elissa nodded, not wanting to argue with him. She had an image in her mind's eye of him at the landsmeet in Cailan's golden armor, but banished it from her mind. He didn't need such a visual to convince the nobility of his right to rule. And she couldn't imagine how he would feel, strapping himself into the armor his brother died in.

She knelt beside Alistair on the frozen flagstone and assisted him in dressing Cailan. She had never touched a body so cold, and she shuddered.

"Are you okay?" Alistair suddenly asked.

"Don't worry about me," she answered, surprised by the question.

"Please," he said, but looked away, back to the armor's buckles and straps.

"I'm sad," she said after a moment. "I was happy he was going to be my brother. Not because he was the king, just because he was him. So kind and cheerful and funny." She shook her head. "I'm sad for the family we could have been. The family we could have had. Mostly I'm sad for you, though."

He finished buckling the breastplate and pulled Elissa close, burying his face in her hair. She held him tight, wishing she could wrap him up and protect him from all the world's pain.

When he pulled away, she asked, "What do you want to do now?"

"A proper funeral rite," Alistair said firmly. "It's what he deserves. I need Leliana."

"Leliana is back at camp," Elissa said. "We can't do it here anyway, Kallian is itching to leave. It won't be safe here."

"I'll carry him back," Alistair said. "We can do it at the campsite. It's not what I would have wanted for him, but…" He sighed. "None of this is."

She squeezed his hand, and they waited for their party to return.

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Alistair lit the pyre himself.

Leliana had left her chantry robes behind months ago, but she was no less solemn as she presided over the rite. Her voice was clear and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she sang the final words of the traditional funeral chant, Transfigurations 10:1, "And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

Alistair returned to sit by his wife, squeezing her hand as tight as he dared. The fire quickly grew and surrounded his brother's body as he watched in the ensuing silence. Everyone was solemn this night, even those who had never known or cared for Ferelden's king. They knew and cared for Alistair, and that was enough.

The fire would burn through the night and in the morning they would leave this place and likely never return. Perhaps one day someone would chance upon this pyre and wonder what poor soul had been cremated here, never imagining it had been their king. No doubt the chantry in Denerim had held a service, but without bringing Cailan's body home it would have rung hollow. At least now Alistair could be sure his brother was at peace.

Someday, Alistair would be at peace with it too. But not today.

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