No More Heroes, Chapter 12

[bamftastik]

Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 12
Characters: Alistair, Leliana, Sten, Anders, Dog, Nathaniel, Zevran, Oghren, Shale, Morrigan
Rating: T
Words: 1,700
Summary: The Blight has not ended. Alistair departed during the Landsmeet and both Loghain and the Warden perished in the siege of Denerim. In its wake, the scattered companions undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all.

Leliana and Zevran's respective parties finally bump into each other. Hey, hey the gang's all here. Even Morrigan.

Previous Chapters



"Maker's breath, I could use a drink." Alistair rested hands on his knees as he bent to catch his breath.

Stopping beside him, Leliana lay a reassuring hand on his arm. Sten had set a hard pace these past few days; even Anders' complaints had lost their jesting tone. But Alistair had never put words to his groans and stumbles; he marched with the heavy steps of a man on his way to the gallows. He had hardly eaten since the cheese had run out – despite Anders' improving skill at charring the various small creatures that crossed their path – and she knew that he had not been sleeping.

She had found him awake before the dawn again that day, sitting beside the dying fire with only the mabari for company. Scraps had growled as she stirred and Leliana had the strange feeling that she was interrupting some private moment. But "dreams" was all that Alistair would say.

Sten continued up the path past them without a backward glance, turning only when they failed to follow. He glared at Anders. "You are certain there is no cure?"

The mage shrugged. "More drink maybe. Hair of the dog and all that."

"Fine." The Qunari reached into his pack, striding forward to shove a familiar bottle into Alistair's hands. "Drink."

"No!" He had blinked down at it uncomprehending, but Leliana snatched it away. She put herself between them. "Why would you save that?"

Sten arched a brow. "It can be used for pain. For wounds." He looked down at Alistair, still breathing deeply. "If it calms him and keeps him silent until we reach the archdemon..."

"You know, he might have a point."

Leliana whirled on Anders with a furious glare.

He backed up a step, holding up his hands. "Okay. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"I only meant water." The sullen mumble came from somewhere behind her, but Leliana did not hear.

Turning back to the Qunari, she poked a finger against his chest. "You are going to kill him!"

"He is the last Grey Warden. Death is his duty."

"That or vomiting on the archdemon's feet." Anders shrugged.

"I have seen men like him. Among the Tal'Vashoth. Among the bas. They are weak. They turn to drink to help them bear their burdens. I would not have it so, but this may ease the weight of what comes."

"So this is – what? – ton idee de compassion?"

"Uh oh. Now she's angry."

"Anders. Shut up."

Alistair slunk away from the others, sinking onto a nearby stone to pull his waterskin from his belt. "Right. Fine. No one listens to me."

"We only just found him! And already you want to see him dead!"

"I want nothing. It is what must be done."

Alistair turned his head from the argument, staring into the trees beside the path. After a moment he rose, taking a slow step beneath the leaves.

Spotting him from the corner of her eye, Leliana spun. "And where do you think you are going?" She sighed. "Alistair. I am sorry, I—"

He glanced over his shoulder, putting a finger to his lips. "There's someone out there."

"No doubt the bard's shouting has brought the darkspawn down upon us." Sten scowled, drawing the blade from his back as he moved to stand beside them.

Leliana could not help but flush as she unslung her bow. "You deserved it."

"Perhaps."

Nocking an arrow, she moved ahead of the others, stepping light and quick over the low brush. It was reckless, she knew, the sudden rush of warm guilt weighing her steps even as she shifted onto her toes. Sten was right, in his way. This was not a hero's journey; maybe it had never been. Alistair would face the archdemon and Alistair would die. Even in the happiest of endings, he would be the one to lose. Perhaps the Qunari's plan had been a mercy after all.

So lost in thought was she, that she did not see the other arrow until its tip danced before her eyes. It quivered unloosed, the shaft held stiff before her as she quickly leveled her own beside it. The other archer stood taller, forcing her to angle her bow upward. They held there, a strange mirror of one another, neither daring to breathe.

After a moment, the stranger sniffed, tilting his head to shake a strand of dark hair from his eyes. It was not a pretty face, lined by deep scowls and heavy-lidded eyes, but there was a strength and nobility to those features that may have bordered on handsome.

"Do not move, my dear. We have you surrounded." The voice at her back was familiar, the laugh blooming in her throat as leanly-muscled arms wrapped round her waist from behind. Zevran rested his chin on her shoulder as he tsked into her ear. "But do not tempt our sour Lord Howe. I fear he has a wicked temper."

"Only when it comes to you." Lowering his bow, the scowling man smirked and spared Leliana a nod.

She turned round, lowering her own weapon as she pulled Zevran into an almost proper one-armed hug. "It is good to see you." Pulling back, she studied him, remembering suddenly the last time they had been together. It had been just before they marched into the city, just before She had...

Zevran's smiled faltered, his eyes darting away. But there was a crash behind them as Shale pushed through the underbrush with Oghren clinging to her back. Leliana's eyes widened at that and Shale followed her gaze.

"Not a word, Sister."

Leliana giggled. "I said nothing."

There was a commotion now from the other direction, Anders stooping to pull pricklers from his robes as he stumbled over a bush. "I suppose I deserved that. I run off and worry you, you run off and worry me—" Glancing up, he realized that they were not alone. His eyes grew wider by turns as they swept over the odd party, stopping last on the archer. He dropped into a mocking bow. "My lord."

"Do I know you?"

"No, but only a lord glowers like that."

Howe turned away with an exasperated sigh.

Sten appeared behind Anders, dragging Alistair along by the sleeve. Finding the woods full of staring eyes, he scowled. "He vomited again."

"Sorry about the boots."

Zevran's brows shot up as he cursed beneath his breath. "...Alistair?"

"Oh, great." Alistair did his best to stand straight, sheathing his borrowed sword on the second try.

There was a sudden rumble at his feet, the mabari laying back its ear to growl. Its gaze was fixed across the narrow space... to the second hound standing beside Shale.

"Andraste's grace!" Leliana's hand went to her mouth. The two beasts looked exactly alike. The other had laid back its ears as well, crouching low as they began to circle each other.

"Scraps!" She and Oghren shouted in the same instant.

But the dogs paid no heed. The second lunged, but Alistair's slipped neatly aside. It held its shoulders stiff and straight, the rumble in its throat a warning. The other was for the moment perplexed, hesitating despite the fury foaming at its jaw. If she did not know better, Leliana might guess that the beast sounded... offended.

They stared a moment longer. Finally, Alistair's hound bowed its head, the motion continuing until its back was bent into an impossible arch, the air around it shivering and shimmering. It grew tall and long as they watched, legs stretching into arms, claws curling into fingers. When at last the light faded, a woman remained, a familiar sneer twisting her features as she looked down at the true hound. "'Imposter,' am I?"

Scraps whined.

"Some would take it for flattery. I have been lesser beasts." She raised her head, acknowledging the rest of them. That gaze lingered last on Alistair. Morrigan smiled.

"Maker's— You know what? No." There was no clumsiness now as he drew his blade, leveling it at the witch's throat.

Morrigan only arched a brow. "You did not enjoy our talks beside the fire? My visits to your tent?"

"Shut up!"

Sten moved to stand beside him. "That hound has been with me since Denerim."

"And you may thank me for saving your life." She nodded. "The Warden and I... had our disagreements, but I will admit that I was curious to see how it ended."

"Curious?" It was Zevran who spoke now, the word hanging heavy.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "...Then you know. Know that the Warden's death was Her own folly, that it could have all been avoided."

Leliana gaped. She did not know what they spoke of – the Warden had only told her the means of an archdemon's end. But the pain on the elf's features left little doubt that he believed the witch's words, sent a strange hope swelling in Leliana's chest. "Can it still?"

"That depends on Alistair." She looked to him with a strange and piercing curiosity. "But I cannot raise the dead."

"What are you talking about? What is she talking about?" He lowered the blade.

Looking to the assembled party, Morrigan scowled. "I would prefer to discuss this elsewhere."

"Modesty? From you?" Zevran folded his arms.

"Be silent, elf." She moved to Alistair's side, nodding to the trees as she lay a hand on his arm.

"Don't touch me!"

"We waste time here." Sten stepped between them. There was something protective in his stance, but Leliana knew better than to think it was for Alistair's benefit. "Come if you can offer help, but find your tongue on the way."

Morrigan looked as though she might retort, but she subsided with a sigh. "To Denerim, then."

Zevran nodded. "Our dear Wynne awaits us there, as does the Queen."

"Meddling old cat." Morrigan sneered.

"Backstabbing bitch," Alistair muttered in the same instant.

The two stared at each other for a long moment.

Shaking his head, Alistair stalked away, making for the path. "I hate you so much."