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peopleofthedas2011-08-13 02:19 pm
bamftastik) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-08-13 02:19 pm
Entry tags:
- dao character: alistair,
- dao character: anders,
- dao character: anora,
- dao character: justice,
- dao character: leliana,
- dao character: loghain,
- dao character: morrigan,
- dao character: nathaniel,
- dao character: oghren,
- dao character: shale,
- dao character: sigrun,
- dao character: sten,
- dao character: wynne,
- dao character: zevran,
- fanfiction: au,
- series: no more heroes
No More Heroes, Chapter 19
Now with griffons! (I want a ride on griffon-Anders. Oh so much.)
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 19
Characters: Alistair, Loghain/Justice, Morrigan, Zevran, Anders, Leliana, Nathaniel, Wynne, Oghren, Shale, Sten, Anora, Gorim, Sigrun
Rating: T
Words: 2,400
Summary: Alistair prepares for the final battle and receives a surprise from the Warden.
Previous Chapters
The army formed up in rows, spreading out across the hills to look down upon the city. There were more of them than he might have guessed – men and elves, a handful of dwarves – springing up from whatever holes had hidden them. Some were soldiers, some were women or older children, and some looked as though they had never held a weapon in their lives. Many were wounded. All were hungry.
Leliana would have had something better to say about it, something about hope or coming into the open to stand bravely before their enemy. But Alistair could only stand alone and hang his head. This wasn't bravery; there simply wasn't enough cover here to hide even a host as small as theirs. At any moment, the archdemon could swoop overhead and roast them all alive.
He felt sick. But there were heavy footsteps behind him now, the creak of Sten's thick plate. "I'm guessing the Qunari have a saying for this? Something about it being a good day to die?"
"There are no good days to die. Trust me."
Alistair flinched and spun round. It was not Sten who stood beside him, but Loghain. "Go away."
The dead man didn't seem to hear him; his eyes remained fixed on the distant walls. "Is this justice, what we do here today? Vile as they seem, do not the darkspawn have as much right to fight for their lives as you?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't you side with the darkspawn?"
"You misunderstand. Life is struggle. Such a thing rarely becomes a question of what is just."
"Then why help at all? Go away."
It looked down at him, Loghain's lips pulling into a familiar sneer. "It was a confusing thing at first. I did not understand why I felt the need to help those who were left behind. But this body... it knew. And when I saw the girl... Anora..."
"That body also tried to kill me. More than once."
"That urge remains as well."
Alistair's hand went to his sword, but Loghain only rasped. It was a moment before he realized that it might have been a laugh.
"You have nothing to fear from me. I feel its call as you do." He nodded toward the city, toward the unseen shadow that seemed to hum on the air. "This... Loghain was a Grey Warden. I suppose that makes us brothers, you and I."
"Never. Absolutely, utterly... never. You call yourself Justice while wearing that face...?" Alistair folded his arms, dropped them to his sides, folded them again. "If the archdemon doesn't kill you, I'll do it myself."
"But first, you need my help."
"I really don't." He turned to walk away, but Loghain lay a hand on his arm. "Don't touch me!"
"I did not come to fight you. There is a message. A party of dwarves, newly arrived. They wait for you with the others."
"Fine. Thanks for that." He whirled away, rubbing at the spot where the thing had touched him.
He'd been avoiding the thin copse of trees that was their only cover, the shadows that hid their only advantage. Morrigan would be there, but given a choice between her and Loghain.... Alistair barked a bitter laugh. Three days he had managed not to see her, three days and nights she had closeted herself with the mages. When she had come to him and announced that they were ready... well, he had not known what to feel. Certainly not gratitude.
You need me, she had said. She had appeared beside his cot the morning after the Joining, startling him awake. He had held his pillow between them, a feeble shield that left him cringing at the memory. You need me, she had said again. And – Maker help him – he had whispered, yes. Maybe where she came from, that counted as an apology. But that was all it took. She had left him alone and started training the mages. He hadn't had to see her since.
Maker's breath, he was about to fly headlong to his death and all he could think about was Morrigan.
Before he could reach the trees, a pair of shadowed figures stepped out to greet him. Both were dwarves – one a man and one a woman. The man was looking at him curiously.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
There was something vaguely familiar about him. Alistair ran a sheepish hand through his hair. "No, I... Have we met?"
"A half dozen times or so. In the Denerim market. And more recently below Haven, but..." He chuckled. "...you were in a bit of a state."
"The armor merchant."
"Gorim."
"Right, Gorim. I... oh."
The dwarf waved a dismissive hand. "So you vomited in my last barrel of blades. S'alright, no one was really buying anymore."
Beside him, the other dwarf giggled.
"Have... have we met?" Alistair shook his head. "I think I would remember a..."
"Dead girl?" She grinned, the tattoos on her cheeks twitching as she reached up to shake his hand. "Sigrun. And don't worry yourself; we've never met."
"What are you doing here?"
It was Gorim who spoke. "We heard there was still fighting around Denerim, some who were still holding the line. King Harrowmont commanded us to stay put, but those in the Warrior Caste have never taken well to boredom. And if there were whispers that we were hiding behind our walls while the humans fought the darkspawn...." He shrugged. "We found the Legion on the road. I still don't know that they were doing on the surface."
"The darkspawn are on the surface, if you hadn't noticed." Sigrun smirked, tilting her head as she looked up at Alistair. "Something's going on with them, Warden. More than just the Blight. We've got a dozen men of the Legion ready to help you find out what."
"And sixty from Haven, half of them Warriors."
Looking between them, Alistair nodded. "We'll take everyone we can get. Your timing is perfect."
Sigrun grinned, the pair of them falling into step beside him as Alistair moved beneath the shadow of the trees.
The rest were milling there – Ser Cullen of the Templars, Shianni of the elven scouts, the nobleman Fergus Cousland. He was surprised to see Anora there as well, her gowns exchanged for a pair of leather breeches and a sword at her belt. But all of them kept well away from center of the clearing, from a sight that filled him with dread as much as wonder.
Three. Maker, there were only three. Wynne had warned that some might not be able to work the magics.
One of the griffons was a grey-flecked white, swishing its tail as Shale lowered Oghren onto its back. It gave a quiet squawk.
"Bah. Now the Elder Mage knows how it feels to be saddled with a load of stinking dwarf."
"At least my arse won't go numb, not like sittin' on a load of soddin' rock." Oghren took a swig from the flask at his belt, teetering as Shale lay a hand on his shoulder and rebalanced him upon Wynne's back.
Another of the griffons was tawny, restlessly stamping its paws and flexing its wings. As Leliana slipped past, it nipped playfully at her skirts, pecking at the leather as she squeaked and hopped aside.
Standing beside it, Nathaniel sighed. "Are you going to let me on or not?"
The griffon crouched and tilted its head, studying him. With a snap of its beak, it bounded off after Leliana.
"Great." With a glower for Alistair, Nathaniel stomped off after Anders.
It had been decided that the Grey Wardens would ride the griffons, as they had of old. And if they could land the fatal blow in the air, it would end the battle then and there. They at least had to wound the archdemon and bring it to ground, but he wondered at the cost. Would the new Wardens be prepared to pay it? He supposed they would have to be.
As for him... well, he had told them how it would end. He had been a Warden the longest, after all. It had hurt at first, to know that Duncan had kept the truth of their purpose hidden. It seemed everyone had known his destiny but him. And if they wanted his death – if that was the cost of the world – it was no more than he deserved.
But then She had come to him. Even in death, it was Her that made him see.
Zevran had said not a word when he found him pacing the tunnels, waiting restless for the sunrise, for the day that he would die. The elf merely lay the book in his hands, a tattered and familiar thing, opening it to a dog-earred page. He left him there and Alistair had sat down to read.
So strange to hear Her voice after all this time, ringing clear through the scribbled words. He devoured the diary entire, coming at last to the page that Zevran had marked, hidden amongst the blank and unfilled pages at the book's end.
Alistair, I'm glad that you are gone. I never thought I'd say it, but there it is. Our friends might call you coward – Maker knows I have more than once – but they don't understand. We gave up our lives the moment we became Grey Wardens, whether we knew it or not. And I've surrendered to it. You dared to fight, to argue, to walk away.
I've done only what I thought would win the day. But you've done what you believe is right, moral, just. You always have. And it was only after you were gone that I saw the truth of it.
Dying is the easy part. That's what they don't understand. I could flee, could take Morrigan's deal, could wait for Orlesian reinforcements – but I'm just too tired. So tired. And soon it will be over. Our companions see bravery, but I am merely holding my breath, desperately waiting for relief. It's the only thing that I have left.
But not you. At least I can say that. I'll die tomorrow knowing that you don't have to. Live for your thirty years – more if you can. You followed something greater than I could ever understand. Keep doing that and you'll become something greater still. Maybe I can claim to have had some small hand in getting you there.
It was unsigned, a letter that he was never meant to read. He had felt almost guilty, guiltier still when the strange wetness on his fingers smudged the final words. How long he sat brooding over them, he could not say. She urged him to live while telling him to do what was right. It was a circle, a maddening bloody circle. He had followed every possibility, round and round until he heard the tunnels fill with the pre-dawn sounds of preparation.
Maker, She was still telling him what to do. And that's when he had known.
Funny how doing the right thing had found him watching the sunrise beside Loghain, waiting to send hundreds of men and women to their deaths.
Sten would lead the ground forces, a great push that would hopefully provide a distraction before they brought the griffons from beneath the trees. He spotted the Qunari now, head bent close with Loghain. He wasn't a Warden, no matter what the spirit claimed, and even if they wanted to, they couldn't risk letting a dead man strike the final blow. Let him stay on the ground. Let him lead the vanguard and claim his blighted glory. Maybe they'd be lucky and an ogre would step on him.
Oghren was settled on Wynne and, with Leliana's help, Nathaniel had nearly corralled Anders. That left the black griffon for Alistair.
He approached slowly, all too aware of the dark and pupilless eyes that tracked his every step. It was too much to hope that the beast was Jowan or one of the other mages. No, if only three had mastered the spell, she would be one of them.
Zevran stood beside her. "This is a good look for you, my dear. There are not many who can wear feathers quite so well."
Morrigan ignored him, staring up at Alistair still.
Looking away, he fished in his belt for the book and handed it back to Zevran. "…thanks."
The elf quirked a brow, keeping the rest of his features carefully still. He tucked the diary into the folds of his tunic, seeming not to notice as his hand lingered protectively over the half-hidden shape.
Morrigan gave an impatient sniff.
" You're going to drop me, aren't you? Just one little tilt and I'm a smear on the top of Fort Drakon."
"I have told It to expect no less." Shale had approached behind him, with Sten and the others. Oghren's legs bounced awkwardly to either side of Wynne's back as she trotted over. Nathaniel sat gingerly atop Anders, scowling for every twitch of the beast's wings. The rest were dispersing, seeing to the rest of their forces.
Sten gave him a deep nod. "Do not fail, Warden."
"At what? Dying? I think I can probably manage that."
The Qunari's lips twitched, but he only turned and started down the hill. Shale followed and – after a long and level look – so did Loghain.
Leliana gave Alistair a quick hug. Stopping beside Anders, she paused, letting the griffon nuzzle at her middle as she scratched its head.
Nathaniel sighed. "Please, don’t encourage him." But his own eyes strayed to the queen, watching as she flinched and turned her gaze in the direction that Loghain had gone.
They were as ready as they would ever be. All that was left was him.
Moving forward carefully, Alistair swung a leg over the griffon's back. She danced awkwardly beneath him, flexing her wings indignantly as he settled his knees behind them. He could feel every feather, every muscle. They hadn't had time to fashion saddles; supposedly they could trust in the griffons themselves. Right. Trust Morrigan.
Beside them, Zevran laughed. "Ah, my dear Morrigan. You have gotten your wish, it seems."
The griffon tilted her head curiously.
"Things have ended with Alistair mounting you after all."
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 19
Characters: Alistair, Loghain/Justice, Morrigan, Zevran, Anders, Leliana, Nathaniel, Wynne, Oghren, Shale, Sten, Anora, Gorim, Sigrun
Rating: T
Words: 2,400
Summary: Alistair prepares for the final battle and receives a surprise from the Warden.
Previous Chapters
The army formed up in rows, spreading out across the hills to look down upon the city. There were more of them than he might have guessed – men and elves, a handful of dwarves – springing up from whatever holes had hidden them. Some were soldiers, some were women or older children, and some looked as though they had never held a weapon in their lives. Many were wounded. All were hungry.
Leliana would have had something better to say about it, something about hope or coming into the open to stand bravely before their enemy. But Alistair could only stand alone and hang his head. This wasn't bravery; there simply wasn't enough cover here to hide even a host as small as theirs. At any moment, the archdemon could swoop overhead and roast them all alive.
He felt sick. But there were heavy footsteps behind him now, the creak of Sten's thick plate. "I'm guessing the Qunari have a saying for this? Something about it being a good day to die?"
"There are no good days to die. Trust me."
Alistair flinched and spun round. It was not Sten who stood beside him, but Loghain. "Go away."
The dead man didn't seem to hear him; his eyes remained fixed on the distant walls. "Is this justice, what we do here today? Vile as they seem, do not the darkspawn have as much right to fight for their lives as you?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't you side with the darkspawn?"
"You misunderstand. Life is struggle. Such a thing rarely becomes a question of what is just."
"Then why help at all? Go away."
It looked down at him, Loghain's lips pulling into a familiar sneer. "It was a confusing thing at first. I did not understand why I felt the need to help those who were left behind. But this body... it knew. And when I saw the girl... Anora..."
"That body also tried to kill me. More than once."
"That urge remains as well."
Alistair's hand went to his sword, but Loghain only rasped. It was a moment before he realized that it might have been a laugh.
"You have nothing to fear from me. I feel its call as you do." He nodded toward the city, toward the unseen shadow that seemed to hum on the air. "This... Loghain was a Grey Warden. I suppose that makes us brothers, you and I."
"Never. Absolutely, utterly... never. You call yourself Justice while wearing that face...?" Alistair folded his arms, dropped them to his sides, folded them again. "If the archdemon doesn't kill you, I'll do it myself."
"But first, you need my help."
"I really don't." He turned to walk away, but Loghain lay a hand on his arm. "Don't touch me!"
"I did not come to fight you. There is a message. A party of dwarves, newly arrived. They wait for you with the others."
"Fine. Thanks for that." He whirled away, rubbing at the spot where the thing had touched him.
He'd been avoiding the thin copse of trees that was their only cover, the shadows that hid their only advantage. Morrigan would be there, but given a choice between her and Loghain.... Alistair barked a bitter laugh. Three days he had managed not to see her, three days and nights she had closeted herself with the mages. When she had come to him and announced that they were ready... well, he had not known what to feel. Certainly not gratitude.
You need me, she had said. She had appeared beside his cot the morning after the Joining, startling him awake. He had held his pillow between them, a feeble shield that left him cringing at the memory. You need me, she had said again. And – Maker help him – he had whispered, yes. Maybe where she came from, that counted as an apology. But that was all it took. She had left him alone and started training the mages. He hadn't had to see her since.
Maker's breath, he was about to fly headlong to his death and all he could think about was Morrigan.
Before he could reach the trees, a pair of shadowed figures stepped out to greet him. Both were dwarves – one a man and one a woman. The man was looking at him curiously.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
There was something vaguely familiar about him. Alistair ran a sheepish hand through his hair. "No, I... Have we met?"
"A half dozen times or so. In the Denerim market. And more recently below Haven, but..." He chuckled. "...you were in a bit of a state."
"The armor merchant."
"Gorim."
"Right, Gorim. I... oh."
The dwarf waved a dismissive hand. "So you vomited in my last barrel of blades. S'alright, no one was really buying anymore."
Beside him, the other dwarf giggled.
"Have... have we met?" Alistair shook his head. "I think I would remember a..."
"Dead girl?" She grinned, the tattoos on her cheeks twitching as she reached up to shake his hand. "Sigrun. And don't worry yourself; we've never met."
"What are you doing here?"
It was Gorim who spoke. "We heard there was still fighting around Denerim, some who were still holding the line. King Harrowmont commanded us to stay put, but those in the Warrior Caste have never taken well to boredom. And if there were whispers that we were hiding behind our walls while the humans fought the darkspawn...." He shrugged. "We found the Legion on the road. I still don't know that they were doing on the surface."
"The darkspawn are on the surface, if you hadn't noticed." Sigrun smirked, tilting her head as she looked up at Alistair. "Something's going on with them, Warden. More than just the Blight. We've got a dozen men of the Legion ready to help you find out what."
"And sixty from Haven, half of them Warriors."
Looking between them, Alistair nodded. "We'll take everyone we can get. Your timing is perfect."
Sigrun grinned, the pair of them falling into step beside him as Alistair moved beneath the shadow of the trees.
The rest were milling there – Ser Cullen of the Templars, Shianni of the elven scouts, the nobleman Fergus Cousland. He was surprised to see Anora there as well, her gowns exchanged for a pair of leather breeches and a sword at her belt. But all of them kept well away from center of the clearing, from a sight that filled him with dread as much as wonder.
Three. Maker, there were only three. Wynne had warned that some might not be able to work the magics.
One of the griffons was a grey-flecked white, swishing its tail as Shale lowered Oghren onto its back. It gave a quiet squawk.
"Bah. Now the Elder Mage knows how it feels to be saddled with a load of stinking dwarf."
"At least my arse won't go numb, not like sittin' on a load of soddin' rock." Oghren took a swig from the flask at his belt, teetering as Shale lay a hand on his shoulder and rebalanced him upon Wynne's back.
Another of the griffons was tawny, restlessly stamping its paws and flexing its wings. As Leliana slipped past, it nipped playfully at her skirts, pecking at the leather as she squeaked and hopped aside.
Standing beside it, Nathaniel sighed. "Are you going to let me on or not?"
The griffon crouched and tilted its head, studying him. With a snap of its beak, it bounded off after Leliana.
"Great." With a glower for Alistair, Nathaniel stomped off after Anders.
It had been decided that the Grey Wardens would ride the griffons, as they had of old. And if they could land the fatal blow in the air, it would end the battle then and there. They at least had to wound the archdemon and bring it to ground, but he wondered at the cost. Would the new Wardens be prepared to pay it? He supposed they would have to be.
As for him... well, he had told them how it would end. He had been a Warden the longest, after all. It had hurt at first, to know that Duncan had kept the truth of their purpose hidden. It seemed everyone had known his destiny but him. And if they wanted his death – if that was the cost of the world – it was no more than he deserved.
But then She had come to him. Even in death, it was Her that made him see.
Zevran had said not a word when he found him pacing the tunnels, waiting restless for the sunrise, for the day that he would die. The elf merely lay the book in his hands, a tattered and familiar thing, opening it to a dog-earred page. He left him there and Alistair had sat down to read.
So strange to hear Her voice after all this time, ringing clear through the scribbled words. He devoured the diary entire, coming at last to the page that Zevran had marked, hidden amongst the blank and unfilled pages at the book's end.
Alistair, I'm glad that you are gone. I never thought I'd say it, but there it is. Our friends might call you coward – Maker knows I have more than once – but they don't understand. We gave up our lives the moment we became Grey Wardens, whether we knew it or not. And I've surrendered to it. You dared to fight, to argue, to walk away.
I've done only what I thought would win the day. But you've done what you believe is right, moral, just. You always have. And it was only after you were gone that I saw the truth of it.
Dying is the easy part. That's what they don't understand. I could flee, could take Morrigan's deal, could wait for Orlesian reinforcements – but I'm just too tired. So tired. And soon it will be over. Our companions see bravery, but I am merely holding my breath, desperately waiting for relief. It's the only thing that I have left.
But not you. At least I can say that. I'll die tomorrow knowing that you don't have to. Live for your thirty years – more if you can. You followed something greater than I could ever understand. Keep doing that and you'll become something greater still. Maybe I can claim to have had some small hand in getting you there.
It was unsigned, a letter that he was never meant to read. He had felt almost guilty, guiltier still when the strange wetness on his fingers smudged the final words. How long he sat brooding over them, he could not say. She urged him to live while telling him to do what was right. It was a circle, a maddening bloody circle. He had followed every possibility, round and round until he heard the tunnels fill with the pre-dawn sounds of preparation.
Maker, She was still telling him what to do. And that's when he had known.
Funny how doing the right thing had found him watching the sunrise beside Loghain, waiting to send hundreds of men and women to their deaths.
Sten would lead the ground forces, a great push that would hopefully provide a distraction before they brought the griffons from beneath the trees. He spotted the Qunari now, head bent close with Loghain. He wasn't a Warden, no matter what the spirit claimed, and even if they wanted to, they couldn't risk letting a dead man strike the final blow. Let him stay on the ground. Let him lead the vanguard and claim his blighted glory. Maybe they'd be lucky and an ogre would step on him.
Oghren was settled on Wynne and, with Leliana's help, Nathaniel had nearly corralled Anders. That left the black griffon for Alistair.
He approached slowly, all too aware of the dark and pupilless eyes that tracked his every step. It was too much to hope that the beast was Jowan or one of the other mages. No, if only three had mastered the spell, she would be one of them.
Zevran stood beside her. "This is a good look for you, my dear. There are not many who can wear feathers quite so well."
Morrigan ignored him, staring up at Alistair still.
Looking away, he fished in his belt for the book and handed it back to Zevran. "…thanks."
The elf quirked a brow, keeping the rest of his features carefully still. He tucked the diary into the folds of his tunic, seeming not to notice as his hand lingered protectively over the half-hidden shape.
Morrigan gave an impatient sniff.
" You're going to drop me, aren't you? Just one little tilt and I'm a smear on the top of Fort Drakon."
"I have told It to expect no less." Shale had approached behind him, with Sten and the others. Oghren's legs bounced awkwardly to either side of Wynne's back as she trotted over. Nathaniel sat gingerly atop Anders, scowling for every twitch of the beast's wings. The rest were dispersing, seeing to the rest of their forces.
Sten gave him a deep nod. "Do not fail, Warden."
"At what? Dying? I think I can probably manage that."
The Qunari's lips twitched, but he only turned and started down the hill. Shale followed and – after a long and level look – so did Loghain.
Leliana gave Alistair a quick hug. Stopping beside Anders, she paused, letting the griffon nuzzle at her middle as she scratched its head.
Nathaniel sighed. "Please, don’t encourage him." But his own eyes strayed to the queen, watching as she flinched and turned her gaze in the direction that Loghain had gone.
They were as ready as they would ever be. All that was left was him.
Moving forward carefully, Alistair swung a leg over the griffon's back. She danced awkwardly beneath him, flexing her wings indignantly as he settled his knees behind them. He could feel every feather, every muscle. They hadn't had time to fashion saddles; supposedly they could trust in the griffons themselves. Right. Trust Morrigan.
Beside them, Zevran laughed. "Ah, my dear Morrigan. You have gotten your wish, it seems."
The griffon tilted her head curiously.
"Things have ended with Alistair mounting you after all."
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HOLY SHIT THIS STORY HAS GRIFFONS IN IT!!! *squees*
Oh this is building up to an epic finish, I can feel it already. I await more with baited breath!
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I also really like the byplay with Alistair and Justice/Loghain, and I'm so looking forward to the epic battle to come! And really wondering how this is going to end...
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The letter was gorgeous, and THIS STORY HAS GRIFFONS IN IT, and I will never get over that!
Anders!Griffon is so funny. I love it.