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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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Ma'arlath

It was pandemonium on the roof of the Fort. Alistair directed the mages to focus on the archdemon, while the Dalish archers and the Legion of the Damned made short work of the waves of darkspawn that arrived in answer to the siren call of the corrupted dragon god. The ballista fire was doing a good job of keeping the archdemon at the center of the roof, both its wings ragged now.
Wraith looked at Alistair, and the echoes of the archdemon's song flickered across the man's face. Wraith was grateful for the vallaslin that masked his own expression, feeling an almost tidal pull, a yearning that raged through his tainted blood. Darkspawn swarmed onto the roof and the slate tiles were slick with black blood, yet they still came, helpless in the face of that compulsion. Men and dwarves and elves were waiting, exacting a terrible toll on the darkspawn, yet they still came.
The archdemon was the nucleus, damaged as it was, and Wraith remembered something Riordan had said before they had left Redcliffe to come to Denerim and this carnage. The archdemon would seek out the closest being that bore the taint when it was gravely wounded. It was how the Wardens were able to defeat it. The archdemon's soul and the Warden's soul could not coexist in a single body and so both died, but darkspawn were soulless, and the archdemon could inhabit one and live.
"Alistair," Wraith called, urgent over the battle. "The darkspawn here need to die before we kill the archdemon."
Alistair nodded, and Morrigan and Wynne added their spells to the effort until there were only a few pockets of the soulless creatures left. The ballistas continued to pound, the roof vibrating with each bolt's release, and the archdemon screamed in rage.
"Looks like it's time for us," Alistair said, and Wraith could hear the strain of having had to wait in the man's voice. Wraith could only nod, unable to find words that would fit the moment. He had been no happier hanging back and waiting to engage the archdemon, but there were only the two of them who could actually kill the ancient Tevinter god. Wraith looked up to meet Morrigan's eyes, and despite the heat rising from the burning city, Wraith shivered.
"How sure are you that this will work?" Wraith let Morrigan push him backwards onto the bed. "It's not like this has been tried before, has it?"
"It is as certain as anything Flemeth has put forth in the past," Morrigan replied with admirable insouciance. Her strange golden eyes were lambent in the dim light from the fire. "Suffice to say that Flemeth is particularly adept at this sort of thing, and let us leave it at that."
For all her icy manner, the witch was liquid heat. Wraith closed his eyes and let his treacherous body do what Morrigan demanded of it, a small infidelity to save his king...
Wraith dragged his eyes away from those glowing golden eyes, and sucked in a rough breath. Now that the moment was at hand, Wraith wanted nothing more than to beg Alistair to stay behind, to let him strike the blow alone. If the ritual failed, the loss of one Dalish elf would mean little, and Ferelden would still have its King.
"Emma lath," Wraith began, his lips feeling oddly numb as he sought words that might persuade Alistair to listen.
Alistair caught Wraith's chin in one hand, the leather palm of his greaves warm. "Don't say it. Don't bother." His eyes glittered like hope. "The ritual will work, or it won't. It doesn't matter. We've come this far, and it's only a few more steps." Maric's sword shone in his other hand.
Wraith felt the warmth return to his limbs, and his heart settled back into his chest. He drew his own weapons, Duncan's sword and dagger ruddy in the crimson night. "Together, then."
It was a short sprint, their strides perfectly matched, as the archdemon screamed defiance at the Wardens. It was easier for Wraith to clamber up the dragon's side, and he spun and offered his hand to Alistair, pulling the man up onto the dragon's back between the ruin of the wings. Black blood streaked the archdemon's hindquarters, and its tail lashed with only a fraction of its former fury as it tried to snap at them in vain.
The combined weight of man and elf was enough to force the dragon's head down as they made their way up the long neck. Wraith could hear the cheering of the Legion as the last of the darkspawn was killed in the silence left as the ballistas ceased firing, no one willing to risk hitting their King.
Alistair straddled the archdemon's neck, the weight of his golden armor helping to hold the great head down. He looked into Wraith's eyes, his sword held two-handed and ready to be driven home, and Wraith matched him with his own sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Wraith saw Morrigan move closer as their swords fell in unison and the world went white.
Wraith opened his eyes slowly, the movement painful and Wynne gave a grateful sigh. "He's awake," she called, turning to look over her shoulder, and Wraith heard plate armor grind against slate.
"It worked," Wraith whispered, and he managed a smile as Alistair cupped his cheek. "Morrigan?"
"Gone, for now," Alistair replied. "But not for good, I'm sure."
Wynne held a vial to Wraith's lips and he drank, feeling the pain recede as the potion worked. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, the body of the archdemon looming nearby. "The rest?"
"All fine. The darkspawn are scattering." Alistair paused. "Told you I wouldn't lose you, emma lath."
"I never doubted you." Wraith grinned. "We do good work, for a royal bastard and his elf. And Alistair? Ma'arlath."

Prompt word: Nucleus
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