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Samahlen	By : BronxWench Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1569 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I make no money from this story.

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A King's Promise

Denerim burned.
Wraith looked up, sucking in a desperate lungful of the powdery air as he watched the archdemon circle haphazardly above. Around him were the roars of too many voices: Eamon's men, the dwarves of Orzammer standing alongside the Legion of the Dead, the Dalish archers, the Templars and the mages of the Circle.
Stone cracked as the archdemon slammed onto the roof of Fort Drakon, its right wing damaged and unable to hold it aloft. Riordan lay at Wraith's feet, his blade having been the one that had torn through the leathery wing until there was nothing left to tear, leaving the older Warden to plummet downward.
The blood that covered Wraith was black, and he looked down at Riordan's crumpled body with a twisted shadow of a smile. "Better the sky than the Deep Roads? And now we are two. Dareth shiral, Warden. Farewell."
Smoke roiled across the ground, and Wraith looked around for any sign of the King. Alistair should have been easy to spot. Against all of Wraith's protests, he had put aside his Warden Commander's armor, choosing instead to wear the golden armor that Cailin had worn at Ostagar. It afforded less protection, but Alistair's men had cheered to see their King and Wraith's words were lost.
The archdemon's generals were dead, and Wraith had lost count of how many darkspawn had fallen as he led his borrowed armies through the burning streets. His lungs ached from the ash that hung in the thick air, and his eyes watered, but there was no time to rest. The darkspawn were converging on Fort Drakon in answer to the siren song of the archdemon, a call that burned in Wraith's blood just as strongly. He growled low in his throat and turned toward the fort.
The interior of the fort was eerily quiet, the floors slick with the blood of the men and women who had died defending it, and Wraith picked his way past the bodies that seemed to be everywhere. Darkspawn and human, the occasional elf or dwarf, even mabari, no distinction among the dead. At least the air was marginally less thick, and for that Wraith was grateful. He looked around for the ballistas that had been there, when he and Alistair had been imprisoned within the fort, but there was no sign of them.
"He is coming," Zevran said softly, appearing out of the shadows and startling Wraith, his twin blades dripping blood. "Your Alistair is on his way, all golden and full of fury. I begin to see the attraction, my dear Warden."
Wraith snorted. "Only now?"
Zevran's chuckle was dark and rich, like molten honey. "I was not so motivated to see it earlier, then, was I?"
"Wraith! There you are!" Alistair's voice ran through Wraith's veins like clear water, washing away the exhaustion, and Wraith turned to survey his King.
Like the rest of them, Alistair was liberally splattered with gore, but he moved easily and seemed uninjured, and he strode forward until he had reached Wraith. Alistair's green-gold eyes held Wraith in place, the elf's breath catching in his throat, and Alistair bent forward to brush his lips across Wraith's lips.
"Stay at my side, emma lath. We do this together," Alistair said, and Wraith remembered how to breathe. "The archdemon appears to be unable to leave the roof. We'll take it down there."
They encountered only minor resistance as they worked their way up to the roof of the fort, if one could call ogres and undead minor. The sounds of screams led them upward as surely as the pull of the archdemon, Wraith's bones aching from the taint within him as it responded to the presence of so many darkspawn nearby.
As they approached the roof, Wraith could hear the pounding of the ballistas, and his eyes widened slightly. The soldiers had disassembled the war machines and carried them up to the roof, and a spark of hope flared within Wraith. He beckoned to a young human.
"Take word to the King's armies. We'll need mages on the roof of Fort Drakon, and archers as well. Bring as many of the Dalish as you can find. The Legion of the Dead as well." Wraith patted the young man and waved him off, as Alistair arched a brow. "We need to pin the damned archdemon down. If the mages can hold it with spells, and if the archers and dwarves can pick off the darkspawn, we can end this."
Alistair nodded, and the easy confidence of his smile astonished Wraith anew. "We'll end it like we began, side by side, then. It's fitting, emma lath."
My lover, my King, my Alistair, Wraith thought, smiling back at this golden man. I'd follow you to the Dark City itself.
"You always make it sound so easy," Wraith said aloud, his tone light.
"That's because you always make it sound so reasonable," Alistair retorted, equally amused. "Like ignoring a high dragon."
"It worked," Wraith pointed out.
Alistair laughed, a clean sound in the gloom. "Up to a point. The point when you blew that horn and called it over to kill it, that is."
"Can we not discuss that?" Zevran snarled. "It was not one of my better performances."
Alistair laughed again. "Then let's hope you've improved."
"Alistair?" Wraith jerked his head, drawing his lover aside. "In case this goes a little worse than we hoped..." Wraith stopped, spread his hands and tried again. "Ma'arlath, I love you."
"We didn't come this far not to make it." Alistair's eyes glittered a little and he reached out to touch Wraith's cheek very gently. "I love you, Wraith. I won't lose you."
A king's promise, and Wraith could hold on to that. He nodded, his throat tight, and followed his lover up the last flight of stairs to the roof.

Prompt word: Powdery
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