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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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“Meet me by the fire,” Duncan told the two remaining Wardens. “I will give you further instructions there.”

“Of course, Commander,” Alistair agreed with a fist to his heart with Solona performing a mirror of the movement at his side.

The mage waited for the older Warden to put enough distance between himself and his charges before turning to her companion. His hazel eyes glistened in the light of the torches surrounding the war table. He wet his lips before the bottom one disappeared beneath his upper teeth.

“Hey?” she queried. “Are you going to be alright?”

Alistair’s gaze met hers. There was confusion swirling within the sea of green, as if she had said something untoward. He searched her eyes for several moments, contemplating words he had no intention of uttering. She had seen that look too many times before, always just before Anders planned to leave the tower but would not let her in on his schemes. She grimaced.

Don’t you dare leave me.

A wistful, uneven smile curved the corners of his lips. “Careful,” he warned. “Or your face will get stuck like that.”

She chuckled for a moment before her expression grew serious again. “Not that it would be an unusual occurrence for you, but tell me you’re not planning anything completely stupid.”

His brow furrowed in mock surprise as his grin widened. “Me? Do something stupid? Perish the thought, dear lady. I was thinking of donning a dress and shimmying down the darkspawn line.” When Solona’s left brow raised in questioning bewilderment, he continued. “I thought it might be a good distraction. We could kill them while they roll around laughing. Maybe the Remigold, hmm? But it would have to be a pretty dress, of course, with lots of ruffles and bows. I refuse to be seen in rags.”

Solona couldn’t help herself. Just the idea of Alistair in a pink dress covered in ruffles and bows was too funny not to laugh. He began chuckling right along with her until they both had tears in their eyes. How did he do that to her? No matter how upset she was with her life, with the world…no matter the situation, he could always bring a smile to her face.

After a few minutes, she waggled her head. “You know there’s something seriously wrong with you, don’t you?”

The space between his brows disappeared as he gazed into her eyes once more. Her breath hitched in her throat as she thought she glimpsed the hint of something more than the usual friendship and kindness she normally found within. He ran his tongue over his lips and exhaled a ragged sighed. He offered her an appreciative grin and cupped her chin between his index finger and thumb.

“It put a smile on your face, didn’t it?” he asked. “Made you forget about what we’re about to face?” He shook his head. “That makes it worth you thinking me mad. That makes it worth anything.”

Solona gasped as he began to lower his face toward her. She closed her eyes, awaiting the touch of those thick lips on hers. She hadn’t realized until that moment how very much she wanted him to kiss her. Her breaths were short and labored. Time seemed to crawl to a near stop.

The sensation of his lips on the tip of her nose made Solona’s heart drop into her stomach. She opened her eyes to find his just inches away. It felt as if a rock had gotten stuck in her throat, and she was forced to swallow past it. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she misread every signal he ever gave her.

He wasn’t falling in love with her. How could he? Even if he was interested in women, he would never find favor in her. She was too jaded. Too bitter and cold. Anders could never find a place for her in his heart, why should Alistair?

Then Solona recalled his tears upon being forced to say goodbye to Sithig, and it suddenly all made sense. Alistair’s love, that specific kind of love, was reserved for the Avvar. She was merely a close friend, a confidant. That was why her teasing and her subtle attempts at seduction hadn’t worked. Still, it was a disappointment she found difficult to bear.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We can do this.” She averted her eyes to the side in an attempt to hide her disenchantment, but he turned her face until her gaze was on him once more. “Hey, you’ve got this.”

He just couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted to, Alistair couldn’t complete that kiss. Solona seemed willing. Her lids were closed, her rose stained lips set in a slight, delicate pout, but he was unable to find the courage to close that gap. What if he was wrong? Not only that, but the setting wasn’t exactly romantic. He had only shared a kiss once, with one other person, and that ended in complete disaster. He couldn’t go through that again. Not with her. So, instead, he placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

When she opened her eyes, she seemed disappointed, and it damned near broke his heart. He supposed he could try again, do it right, but it just felt like the wrong place, the wrong time.

Not now, my love. Later. Somewhere else.

Alistair tried to say with his gaze what he felt down to the very depths of his soul. They hadn’t known each other long, but given everything they had been through together, it was long enough. It was true she barely knew a thing about him, but it didn’t matter. He knew how he felt. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

When he spoke the words to her, the words that always seemed to bring her courage, she smiled through tear-filled eyes. At least that was something. There would be time for confessions later.

And what if this is your only chance? What if one or both of you die tonight, and you’ll never know the taste of those lips.

A small sigh escaped Alistair’s lips. If he were to perish, at least he could wrap himself in the memory of her kiss as he faded into the abyss. He inched closer, then stopped. Perhaps he was wrong, seeing only what he wished to be true. Maybe his signals were completely crossed. It happened before. She was beautiful, intelligent, experienced…everything he was not.

Forget it, jackass. It’s not love for you in her eyes. It’s fear of the unknown. Of the battle. Quit being an idiot and move on.

Duncan gave them their orders quickly. When he dismissed them, it was without fanfare or any tearful goodbyes, merely a reiteration of the importance of their duty and a warning to use caution. He was their commander, after all, not their friend. He was an amicable enough man, but he maintained the distance appropriate of one of his station. The only one of them he really ever conversed with on any sort of regular basis was Sithig, but Solona could never hazard a guess as to why.

As the two Wardens made their way to the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal, Solona couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Although Duncan said there shouldn’t be any resistance at the tower, Solona knew nothing was ever that easy. There was trouble on the other side of that gorge. She felt it in her bones.

The oppression in the air was as thick as the mist and acrid smoke that had settled all around them. The steady beating of heavy drums in the distance pounded out a rhythm of impending doom. It was more than a warning, it was a portent.

Solona refused to display her misgivings, however. They had a job to do. She needed to remain strong for both of them. If she showed any fear, it would just feed Alistair’s worry for her, and that might result in mistakes that would threaten both their lives.

Alistair fell in place behind Solona as she stepped out onto the bridge. The moment her foot touched down on the stone, the drums stopped and the thundering roar of darkspawn heading toward the ruined city split the night sky. Great stones which had been covered in sulfur and oil and set ablaze began raining down from the heavens. The pungent stench of rotten eggs burning all around stung Solona’s eyes and made her gag as she and Alistair were forced to dodge the falling debris.

As they made their way across, one of the flaming boulders collided into a wider portion of the bridge where several soldiers were manning a trebuchet, sending both the men and the greater portion of the overpass hurtling into the depths of the chasm below. Solona stopped long enough to gain her bearings and try to discern if there was any way to get to the tower on the other side. Fortunately, she found just enough of the span left for one person to traverse it at a time, provided she and Alistair were careful.

The mage rushed toward the precarious easement, slowing down only when the toe of her boot touched the skeletal remains of the bridge. She held her arms out to her sides to aid in her balance, but found it more difficult than what she first anticipated. Although the armor she wore was less bulky than Alistair’s, she was still unaccustomed to its mass.

Then, while crossing the narrowest part of the stone, Solona’s foot slipped. She gasped as she began to tumble over the side, but felt Alistair’s arm catch her around the waist at the last second. He pulled her tight to his body, lifting her feet from the stone, before continuing on. She was impressed at the way he was able to maintain his footing as he hauled her the remainder of the way. The warrior didn’t let go until he was able to set her down again on the other side of the gap. Once Solona’s feet were back on some semblance of solid ground, she managed only a few steps when the stone behind them began to crumble and give way.

“Run!” Alistair cried over the din of crashing rocks.

Solona took off as fast as her feet and burning legs could carry her, but they were still a bit wobbly from the fear of nearly falling to her death. She felt Alistair’s arms encircle her waist once more and in a single motion, he tossed her up and over his opposite shoulder. He had to jump the last few feet, but succeeded in clearing the end of the bridge, landing squarely and securely on the ground. After putting Solona down, he placed his hands on his hips and bent at the waist, attempting to catch his breath.

“Didn’t think I’d let you get out of this that easy, did you?” he wheezed.

“You were just afraid you’d have to do this all on your own,” she quipped.

“Damned straight,” Alistair agreed. “I’m counting on you to protect me.”

Still panting from exertion, he peered over at her with a boyish grin and a playful wink. Even with the battle raging all around them, Solona found comfort in the gesture and his odd sense of humor. Then, something dawned on her. Somewhere along the way, amid all the death and destruction, Alistair had become her best friend and the most important person in her world. More than Cullen. More than Jowan. Even more than Anders. A grateful smile curled her lips as she continued to stare into his hazel eyes.

The cry of a soldier finally broke their gaze when Alistair turned to acknowledge the approaching man. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, with dark red freckles peppering the blush of his cheeks and nose. His deep brown eyes were wide and his voice full of panic when he finally spoke.

“Grey Wardens,” he chuffed. “Thank the Maker.”

“What’s going on?” Alistair questioned with a worried frown.

“The darkspawn…” the soldier croaked. “The tower’s been overrun.”

“We have to move,” Alistair told Solona as he pulled his sword from its scabbard.

The mage presented him with a terse nod before readying her own weapon. She happened a glance at her companion, and the words he spoke to her time and again bolstered her resolve. Although she was frightened, she was primed for the battle that lay ahead of her. She was prepared to fight, for him, to protect him. Solona didn’t care about glory or honor, nor darkspawn or duty. The only thing that mattered to her was Alistair and keeping him safe at her side.

They were overrun. Too many night-gangers on the field and too few soldiers left to fight them. When Cailan asked Sithig to stand at his side during the battle, the Avvar assumed it was so he could act as a shield for the king. Cailan, however, surprised him by remaining in the thick of things, fighting just as hard as any of his men. Sithig’s first impression of the king had been wrong. He was definitely a man of courage and honor.

The Avvar swung his axe upward straight into the gut of a hurlock. He kicked its body away with his oversized foot then pivoted, using his momentum to bury his weapon into a genlock’s skull. He used his elbow on another that attacked his left flank then planted his boot into the chest of yet another on his right. There seemed to be no end to the creatures. He chanced a look at Cailan and saw that the king’s position was about to be overtaken by three of the spawn in addition to the two that were already engaging him.

The Avvar spread out his arms, knocking away the creatures that surrounded him and, with a mighty battle cry, charged toward the king’s attackers. The sharp sting of a blade slicing across his bicep induced a grunt from the warrior as he crashed into the night-gangers closing in on Cailan. As the king continued to cut down the beasts around him, Sithig remained at his back to prevent him from being overrun again.

“Keep them back!” Cailan cried over the din. “I need time to give the signal.”

The Avvar threw his body between the king and his enemies, then used the weight of his massive frame to swing his axe in a wide arc around them. Cailan turned and brandished his sword in a circle over his head to inform the red-headed elven boy cowering atop the wall to sound the horn. A few moments later, three blasts from a war horn echoed above the bedlam, prompting Sithig to pray to Hakkon that Loghain and his men would arrive soon.

The young soldier hadn’t exaggerated when he claimed the tower had been overrun. Solona and Alistair fought their way through dozens of darkspawn before they even entered the spire, and at least a hundred more before they finally reached the top. The young man, who insisted on accompanying the Wardens even though he was terrified, perished along the way. It was a shame, really, that it appeared he had given his life for what was looking more and more to be a hopeless cause.

When the Wardens at last cleared the door to the uppermost chamber, they found an ogre crouching near the opposite wall with its back turned to them. It was tearing apart a body, eating from the dead soldier’s gaping abdomen. Alistair skidded to a stop, causing Solona to crash into his back. He steadied himself before looking over his shoulder at his fellow Warden.

“Maker’s balls, I fucking hate ogres” he whispered.

“Should I shoo him away?” she asked with an arch of her brow.

As they fought the creatures on the way up, Alistair and Solona had maintained a steady flow of quips and japes between them. They even kept a tally of their kills, comparing who was in the lead for the highest body count. Somehow, the banter helped quell the fear and trepidation they both felt.

“Could you?” he retorted. “That would be great.”

“Fine,” she smirked. “But this one counts as at least two.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll still be ahead by three.”

Their banter finally garnered the ogre’s attention enough to prompt it to turn its head. It lumbered to its feet before opening its copious maw and emitting a prolonged, resounding roar. Great globules of saliva and the blood from the beast’s meal spattered all around.

“That’s disgusting,” Alistair observed with a grimace.

“Maybe we should teach it some manners?” Solona suggested as she brandished her sword at his side.

“Impress me,” her fellow Warden challenged with an uneven grin.

The mage called forth her magic and cast a vulnerability hex on the creature, weakening its defenses. While she attempted to cast her next spell, the ogre charged, but before it overtook her, Alistair pushed Solona aside, taking the full brunt of the attack. As it reached down its massive hand to snatch him around the waist, the mage leapt to her feet, leaving her sword on the ground, and used both hands to send twin bolts of lightning hurtling toward the side of the beast’s head. It reeled for only a moment then swiped at its nose before turning its attention back to the mage.

She cast a death hex, and it roared in response, covering her with its stinking spittle before barging at her once again. The creature grabbed for her, but she rolled out of the way. As it pivoted and bent to retrieve Solona from the floor, Alistair clambered onto the beast’s back and lunged his sword into the nape of its neck. It howled in pain for only a few seconds before crashing to the ground below.

“That’s seven,” he claimed with a smirk. “I believe it’s clear who won this round.”

Solona retrieved her sword from the floor and harrumphed. “I could have taken that beast if you hadn’t interfered.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Alistair teased before glancing over at the huge stone hearth near the tower’s window. “We should probably go ahead and light the beacon. I’m sure we’ve missed Cailan’s signal by now.”

Solona’s brow furrowed. He referred to the king by his given name. Not the king or King Cailan. Just Cailan. A commoner would never invoke the name of his liege so informally. There was history between the two. Between that and his moodiness every time Alistair spoke to King Cailan, there was no doubt left in her mind. But they still had a job to do. There would be time later for her to grill Alistair about his relationship with the king.

She hurdled over the ogre’s legs past her fellow Warden to ensure he wouldn’t be caught in the blast of her magic and called forth her mana. A moment later, a small flame shot from the palms of her outstretched hand and into the oil-soaked tinder causing a great fire to roar to life. When she turned, she found Alistair at her side, sword at the ready.

“We’re fucked,” he declared in a low voice as a few dozen darkspawn began to descend upon them.

Solona brandished her sword, but found she could barely keep her grip. Mana drain had taken nearly all her strength. With her empty hand, she reached down into the pouch at her waist to retrieve a lyrium potion, but found them missing. She had used them all on the way up. Still, she had to do something.

She sheathed her sword then lifted her hands to cast, careening from the effort of calling her magic. Using every last ounce of mana she could spare without it killing her, Solona threw a chain lightning spell at the nearest darkspawn. The flash of electric bolts as they began moving from one creature to the next was the last thing the mage saw before she collapsed onto the floor. Somewhere in the distance, past the darkness she was tumbling through, Alistair screamed out her name.

“Maker fuck!” she heard him curse, as the Fade pulled her under.

An arrow pierced Sithig’s right shoulder as he spun on the ball of his left foot and bashed the haft of his axe into a hurlock’s skull. His body was beginning to resemble a pincushion with all the projectiles protruding from his skin. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop. Not while breath still remained in his lungs.

The signal fire had gone up, but there was no sign of the general or his troops, just the blare of a lone horn in the distance. It was a sound Sithig knew all too well. It was the sound of retreat. No aid would be coming for the king or his men that night. They were betrayed, doomed. Still, the Avvar fought on. He would protect Cailan to the last. Maybe then he would finally regain the honor he lost so long ago.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sithig spotted an ogre bounding toward the king. He mustered his strength, and putting his shoulder to the effort, rushed toward the beast to stop it in its tracks. When his shoulder made contact with the oversized spawn, Sithig screamed in agony and rage as the impact drove the arrows there further into his muscles. His attack didn’t knock the creature over, but it halted its charge.

With a cry of anger, the Avvar hefted his axe in a circle, bringing it high into the air before burying it in the ogre’s skull right between its long horns. As the night-ganger went down, Sithig turned in time to see a second ogre squeeze its hand around the king’s waist and emit a resounding roar. Time slowed. The entire world seemed to spin in slow motion as the warrior willed his weary arms to wrest his axe from his last victim and hurry to Cailan’s rescue.

Sithig hadn’t made it more than a few strides before the hand encircling Cailan’s torso tightened, snapping his spine. The king’s body went limp and his head fell back with a jerk. The Avvar continued his assault. He may not have been able to save Cailan, but that ogre would feel the end of his axe just the same. Sithig would avenge the king, even if it was with his dying breath.

The Avvar leapt into the air with his weapon held high over his head and to the right. When he finally began his descent, the muscles of his arms flexed with the effort of his swing as he brought the blade down on the side of the ogre’s neck and severed its head from its body.

His feet had just touched down, when Sithig felt a blade pierce his side. He immediately reacted by landing a hard right fist to his assailant’s face, but the damage had been done. Streams of thick crimson seeped from the wound onto the already pink and sanguine stained snow, and the Avvar fell to his knees. Breathing became more of an effort by the second as his throat constricted against the blood rising up from his injuries.

He looked down into a pair of familiar dark eyes. Duncan’s dead stare beckoned him to embrace the abyss. Sithig tried to fight it, but between his wounds, the fatigue, and the pain, he just couldn’t do it. As he collapsed onto his commander’s chest, for the first time in a long time, he finally felt at peace. He prayed to the Lady of the Skies that in his sacrifice he regained his honor. That he would once again be a true Avvar. If he found the Lady’s favor, he would see Kattrin again. He would hold Amund in his arms and never let either his wife or his son stray from his embrace again.

When Alistair relayed the story of that “kiss”, I’ll admit I called him an idiot. Solona wasn’t much better, however, given her completely wrong assessment of the situation. As naïve as he was about women, she was just as clueless when it came to people and relationships in general.

I made my husband a promise many years ago, when I was toying with the idea of writing this book, that I would include mention the bravery of both Sithig and Cailan in that battle. I only hope I did both of their memories justice.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight