Warmage, Chapter 7
Title: Warmage, Chapter 7
Rating: T
Universe: Dragon Age AU
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: It has been a thousand years since the Tevinter Imperium put down the rebellion of Andraste. Magister Marian Hawke-- the Warmage, scourge of the Qunari-- has beaten her peer Danarius in a duel at court, winning quite a number of his possessions...and finding herself forced to help govern the southern city of Kirkwall. Her greatest ambition is to take command of the legions at Par Vollen and win the war. The trick is just getting there. Something one former piece of Danarius' property may be useful in accomplishing.
On AO3
She knew this was going to be a disaster. She knew it.
It had started with the Qunari arriving much sooner than expected. Aveline had seen fit to stop them at the gate and send a runner to Hawke who sent a runner back letting her know what was going on with this. The Qunari, true to their diplomatic intentions, had remained where they were to wait for the Prefex.
None of this stopped a group of apprentices from seeing them. And attempting to kill them.
It went from there.
Aveline was forced back into the Keep (the apprentices had gotten friends, and a few had gotten their masters), which did not help as now everyone knew. The Qunari had bound their blades in their sheathes, but Aveline’s solid logic had gotten them to cut the ropes and fight for their lives.
Hawke, in the meantime, was mediating an unrelated violent argument between two of the higher ranking magisters, something to do with a courtesan whose gender she couldn’t figure out from the conversation. It was only when things were in full, fiery swing that she found out what was going on.
“Stay in there,” Hawke snapped for the fifth time as Orsino poked his head out the heavy doors of the throne room.
“But Prefex-”
“This is not your concern, Magister.” She slammed her staff into the ground in time to disperse an oncoming fireball. Half these morons were drunk and mere rumors of Qunari presence were enough to either scare them or have them clamoring for glory or both.
Orsino obliged and withdrew behind the heavy door. Hawke sighed in relief. She threw a paralysis spell at the fool throwing fireballs and locked the door. Now to find Aveline and end this madness.
Hawke followed the sounds of violence. The Qunari would draw the young hotbloods towards them-and likely kill them, especially with Aveline and her guards helping. The south made mages like this, kept them comfortable and safe, useless in a fight, let alone a proper war, but boiling over with ambition.
She wasn’t sure if that bizarre combination of ambition and lack of skill was a good thing tonight or not.
She found a small group firing bolts of energy towards a corner, their backs to her. Stupid.
With a wave of her free hand, she brushed them off their feet. The dazed young mages blinked as she strode imperiously through their scattered…rank. Her glare froze them in place as they reached for their staffs.
Hawke frowned as she surveyed their target. No Qunari.
Rather, Isabela.
“You spoiled my fun, Prefex,” the pirate said, walking over to recover a thrown dagger from a dead apprentice. She was splattered with blood.
“Have you seen the Qunari?”
Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Some unexpected guests? Well, that explains this bit of fun.” She wiped the dagger off on her tunic as if that would help.
“Not now, Isabela.” Hawke tried to pinpoint the direction of the fighting she was still hearing. Probably near the entrance hall.
The pirate laughed. “Oh, calm down. Everyone has that one party that gets out of control when they’re in the other room.” She smirked at some fond memory.
Hawke shook her head. “Help or go away, Isabela.” She turned towards the fighting, and froze.
A half dozen of her slaves lay broken in pools of blood in the hallway.
Hawke whirled on heel towards one of the mages she had floored. She was gripping her staff so tightly it hurt.
Like all of this little gang, this mage was an apprentice, judging from his robes. He shuffled backwards as she approached. “Prefex…”
“Silence.”
He shut his mouth with a snap.
She wished for her real staff, with its bladed end. These little blood mages, these thieves, would end in manner similar to her slaves. They would bleed out.
This silly ceremonial stick would have to do. The end was already a point.
Hawke clicked the staff’s end against her boot. A controlled burst of magic turned it into a very sharp stake.
She drove it into the apprentice’s chest cavity.
The others just stared, understanding their fate and their helplessness.
“Isabela,” Hawke said, looking back at the pirate. She was staring grimly at the dead slaves.
“I’ll choose help,” she said. She threw one dagger into an apprentice’s throat, the other through one’s belly.
It was quick work. Fear had paralyzed the young mages. They knew who the Warmage was. They knew what they had done. Hawke would have to answer for this, but it wouldn’t be hard. Finding an excuse for the Qunari presence was bigger legal concern.
Hawke left the gruesome scene and headed for the entrance hall. Isabela lingered for a bit, but dashed for the nearest servant’s entrance as soon as she could. Hawke rolled her eyes. She’d never understand the pirate’s principles.
As she moved towards the Qunari-she could pick out some of their battle cries-the manor grew more and more messy The battle had apparently never moved from the entrance, but the mages had toppled tables and knocked sculptures down in their rush to either escape or join the fight. There would be a major redecoration in the future. Kalias would enjoy it, once the blood was scrubbed off the floors.
The doors to the entrance hall had been torn off their hinges. Hawke grit her teeth as she heard the flurry of battle outside. And, yet again, a group of mages firing down from the balcony had their backs turned towards her.
Unfortunately, she had to be delicate about this.
She threw them off their feet and hit them all with paralysis, then strode to where they had been standing.
The battle before her was a mess. Aveline had organized her people and the Qunari into a defensive square, archers and the odd guards-mage in the center. Most of the warriors were wielding spears with their heads removed, or only striking with their shields. Trying to save the House of Parthalan from political shame. Hawke smiled bitterly and hoped their loyalty wouldn’t get them killed. Not that they had much to hit; these mages fought from strictly a distance.
The mages around them were mostly apprentices with no clear plan of attack. They were clumped together in groups of a half dozen or so. There were no more than fifty all told, the large majority being apprentices. She thanked all the gods. The hall was filled with rather weak fireballs and arcane bolts, with the occasional more advanced spell, often fueled by the caster’s blood, thrown in every once in a while. They were very bad shots.
It was held that Kirkwall was a stronghold of research and a bastion of magical power. Clearly this was not true for conventional war magic.
This was going to end now. Hawke lifted her staff towards the ceiling, carefully drawing power from the Fade. Moisture gathered, condensing into a great gray cloud. She flipped her staff horizontal.
Thunder rang out from the indoor storm and lightning struck down all around the defensive square. “Enough!” Hawke shouted, amplifying her voice, “Leave my house now!”
Like the tide beginning to pull out, the mages made to follow her orders.
One mage began cackling. A gathering of power made the hairs on Hawke’s arms stand up.
There was a blast of light. There was always a damned blast of light.
Standing in the midst of the mages was a twisted mockery of a human being, laughing, covered in pulsing tumors. An abomination.
The mages fled as they could, some firing as they hurried away from the horror. The abomination dropped all those around it with a blast of energy. Others lit on fire. Some dropped, convulsing.
Hawke gaped. The thing turned to look at her with a corpse’s eyes. It was still laughing. It thrust its hands upwards, as if pushing something. Dust rose from the ground, coalescing into bizarre sleek shapes; shades.
Some charged the defenders. Four came for Hawke.
She snarled at them and let loose a bolt of lighting. It took the first one out, but the other three were only knocked back.
Hawke charged them. She drove the sharpened end of her staff through one and used it to fill the demon with fire. She hit another with the dragon’s head on the other end, forcing it away.
There was one more but she couldn’t see or sense it. The whole room was full of magic. She could feel flares of energy as the abomination summed more demons.
The other shade hissed right at her back. Hawke turned, an arcane bolt burning in her free hand.
The shade flopped backward, following some other kind of physics, and dissolved.
She almost laughed at the sight of Fenris, standing about six feet away, staring at an arrow clattering on the ground. Varric, standing near the wall, shrugged when they both looked at him, reloading his crossbow.
Instead, she just snorted and flung her bolt at the other shade, following it up with a blow from her staff and another and another until the thing dispersed. Unfortunately, the hall was now crawling with them.
Fenris moved to guard her back. “I hope you have a plan.”
“Yes. We need to get to Aveline.”
They moved through the army of shades. Shades were the simplest and weakest of the demons, but they were easy to summon en masse and hardier than anything made of dust had a right to be.
Hawke flicked out lightning and massive slamming force over and over. This was too fine a crowd control for her tastes. To make it worse, she could see the glyphs the abomination was casting, strengthening its minions.
She appreciated the reach of Fenris’ sword behind her as it swept away multiple shades in a single blow. But they were learning, coming in more open groups, each bearing a glyph of strength.
Hawke used a force cage to trap the group coming at Fenris, then shot three successive bolts of lightning through the shades coming at her. One popped up next to her, but she drove her staff into it and ripped it open with a tug. That didn’t kill it, but her energy bolt to the wound did.
Several arrows pierced the next wave. They’d reached Aveline’s group. The guards quickly enfolded them.
Hawke shook herself, feeling the hum of adrenaline keenly. She nodded to what appeared to be the Qunari leader, a sten from his armor. “I apologize for the welcome,” she said, “You arrived sooner than anticipated.”
The Qunari simply nodded, eyes tracking the shades around them.
Hawke looked to Aveline. “You have everyone here?”
“Everyone not trying to prevent a riot at our gates.”
“Good.” She coughed and shouted, “Varric, get to cover!” She hoped he heard, because otherwise he would soon have a very bad day. “Mages,” she stated, turning to the five guard-mages of her household.
They were far from the best, all freedmen, usually healers with the occasional energy bolt. Still, she had taught them a few tricks herself, and they could pull off what she needed better than she could.
“I need your lyrium potions.” They pulled their lyrium flasks out frighteningly fast. “Drink some. I am going to throw up a shield and you need to maintain it while I fix this problem.”
They nodded and readied themselves, gulping down a mouthful of the shining blue liquid before handing her the flasks.
Hawke had long detested relying on lyrium for her power. She had practiced for years on extending her stamina and natural power reserves. But she had always been terrible at creating, let alone holding, a shield with her innate talent. A blind spot, of sorts.
She drank down the remainders of two flasks and half of the other three. Lyrium began to sing in her veins along with the adrenaline rush. Raising her staff, she started with a small bubble and steadily increased it to encompass the whole group. It was like lifting a great weight and then holding it high. The five mages helped take a fair portion off her, but it was still very heavy.
The guards quit firing arrows when the shield went up. Hawke took a deep breath, then flipped her staff around to her back. Power crackled all around her, gaping holes to the Fade.
She pulled the staff back very fast and jabbed it forward.
Fire rushed outside of the bubble, staring in wavering streams but growing quickly into torrents that roared through the air. The heat was incredible inside the bubble. Outside, the shades burned away.
Hawke held the spell for a few moments longer. It was impossible to feel anything right now; her sense for magic was overloaded.
She carefully lifted her staff to her side and the fire steadily died. The bubble vanished, leaving them in a badly scorched room. Hawke could smell charred flesh.
If it weren’t for the lyrium she might well be dead. It would have been the stupid shield that killed her, too.
There was a roar. The abomination staggered to its feet nearby, all clothing charred from its blackened body. It was badly burnt, but that did not stop it from summoning fire to its hands.
Aveline leapt forward, knocking aside the thing’s arms with her shield and driving her sword straight through it. It screamed, blazing and turning to ash around the blade.
Everyone looked towards Hawke. An uninjured Kalias and Varric peered out a doorway. “Well,” Hawke said, feeling a touch euphoric from battle and lyrium. There was much to do. “My dear, blessed guard-mages, attend to the wounded-yes, including Qunari. Aveline, work on dispersing the crowd at the gates. Kalias…you have much to tend to.” She turned to the Qunari leader. “Sten, please leave your injured to my healers and follow me. We have much to discuss.”