AU Fic: For Want of a Warden, Part 2
Title: For Want of a Warden
Pairing: Alistair/Cousland (Avelle)
Rating: M, for Violence.
Summary: When Castle Highever comes under attack by Howe’s men, the younger Cousland flees without the aid of Duncan. Now she’s been told her part in the battle of Ostagar is to aid the Grey Warden in making it to the top of the Tower of Ishal to light the beacon.
2 - Lightning Struck Tower
It reeked of burning of all kinds. The stink of flesh was the most potent, but it was mixed with the musty odor of wood. Above all else, that was the first thing Avelle notice when they entered the Tower of Ishal. The others did too; everyone’s faces scrunching up in an attempt to keep their noses functional. Avelle’s stomach, that had been telling her every other second that it was unhappy, clenched into a tight rock that shot up into her chest. The back of her throat felt empty and full at the same time.
She ran a few steps away from the others and heaved.
“Here they come!” the soldier cried. With sword drawn, shield at the ready, and his senses all under control, he ran out to meet the monsters pouring from the other room. A rush of heat brought his steps to a screeching halt as a fire trap sprang to life in front of him. The mage ran beside him and brought his staff up in the already familiar motion. Through the fire a bright white light bloomed around a humanoid shape, it spread and popped like a bubble. One of the darkspawn through the fire had been frozen in place.
The Grey Warden stayed on guard in the doorway, shield held in front of himself. He cast a glance back at Avelle, a look of concern on his face. “Stay here, alright? I won’t let any come through this doorway!”
A dainty girl playing the bold adventurous fighter. It may have been concern that was on his face, but to her it looked like pity. Ser Gilmore’s face stared back at her, and when she blinked his face was replaced with that of her father’s. She blinked again and both were gone.
She sniffed and straightened herself upright. No playing, no pretend. Years of encouragement were not for nothing. They couldn’t be.
Avelle stalked forward, pushing the Grey Warden aside, to his surprised. He made a surprised shout that she cut off with, “They need our help!”
They ran ahead and joined the others, clashing blade against blade and arcane might. Cries of pain were mixed with inhuman growls. While the Grey Warden pushed through and took the lead in the fight, Avelle was sure his eyes kept darting back at her every few seconds with that look of pity in them (and she was positive that was what it had to be). She swallowed back the lump in her throat and sank her family’s longsword deep into the arm of a Hurlock in front of her. Blood seeped out and it screeched in pain. Once again the bright light spread and popped, and what was left of the creature was now staring back at her through a sheet of ice. Another screech of pain rang through the room, combined with a metallic clang. A Hurlock fell to the ground, and the Grey Warden ended its life by stabbing his sword through its exposed throat.
And the rest was silence. In front of them stretched a large room, walls lined with bunk beds. Chests sat in front of them and in between them, cracks marred the stone floor, and still the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. What little light the room had either streamed in from above, possibly weak cracks in the wall, and small lit braziers. The soldier’s sword dipped down and he sighed as his shoulders sagged.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
The Grey Warden motioned to the carved stone door on the other side of the room. “We keep going. We have to light the beacon at the top before we’re too late. Teyrn Loghain must be given the signal!”
The soldier and the mage nodded. “Aye then, Grey Warden. We’ll follow you,” the soldier said.
This seemed to cause the Grey Warden pause for a moment. He moved to scratch his head, but stopped when he realized his sword was still in his hand. His gaze turned back to Avelle and she looked away. His pitying look was unbearable now. The Grey Warden blew a breath out through his mouth. If he had wanted to say anything to her, her avoiding eyes were enough to deter him from it. Whether he had or not, it didn’t matter. He started crossing the room, making his way to the carved stone door.
“They’re counting on us. Let’s not let them down."
If she hadn’t vomited upon entering the tower, the sight that met them when they reached the second floor surely would have caused her to. All the soldiers that had fell victim to the darkspawn, every single one, had been decapitated and their heads placed upon pikes. Blank eyes stared out at them, while mouths were stuck in permanently in silent screams of agony. The monsters had sought to turn the tower into their own, and had wasted no time to let any who entered realize that. Here the air was heavy with tangy copper; the scent of blood. That smell was already too familiar. The Grey Warden remarked that it shouldn’t have been like this, that resistance was not meant to be there. The dark haired mage said something had to be wrong then. It changed nothing. Still the top level waited them, still some fire needed to be lit for Teyrn Loghain. What was meant to happen was not what happened, and she of all people knew that too well. When hers eyes spotted dummies draped with armor and chests sitting near them, she walked over without waiting to hear if any of them called after her.
It was the soldier that followed her as she knelt in front of the chest, attempting to jimmy it open with the meager tools she had been able to flee home with. “Young lady, we haven’t the time for this!”
A soft click still gave her some small satisfaction. Avelle pulled the chest open and rifled through the contents within. Flasks, deep mushrooms…she stuffed them in the small pack she had managed to grab just before the battle had started. “Ah,” she muttered and pulled the real prize out. A glass bottle, ruby colored from the contents within, looked slick even in the dull light of the pseudo-armory. “Health poultices,” she said. “Two of them, in fact. We’ll need them to get to the top.”
Not to mention that beside the shield on your back that you have no use for, the weapons you wield and the armor you wear, you have nary a thing to your name now. Do I even have my name?
The soldier bent down and took the other poultice, attaching it to a leather strap on his belt. He gave her a curt nod and smile, but still his impatience was apparent. Avelle stood up, but not before stuffing the last thing that remained in the chest in her pack: a single quartz crystal.
Perhaps if I live through this, I could trade it for a meal.
She wasn’t sure why she was thinking ahead. Her survival seemed slim at best, and Avelle wasn’t sure if she cared. No, she did, if for nothing but still having a chance to find Fergus once the battle was done. It was just…if he was gone…she rubbed her forehead. She wanted death and she wanted life. She wanted her life and not what stared at her now. Her jaw clenched and she also remembered how much she wanted revenge. There was just too much, each thought a heartbeat, a single impulse that would be immediate and important and then fade when the next beat came. In some moments she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore, her identity and life left behind with the burning castle in Highever. Or perhaps it had died the in cold dim hours of sunrise in the lifeless stare of her mother when she had fallen
The next floor reeked of spoiled meat. Errol’s barking was ringing in her ears, unceasing and in a chorus with others. He needed help. He needed her help. Avelle broke into a mad dash, following the sound of the barking hounds.
“Errol! Errol!”
She rammed the stone door open with her shoulder (pain would be blossoming there right quick) and at once realized how her mind was fooling her yet again. Mabari yelled in their cages as a group of darkspawn rushed the door, all intent to ending Avelle after such a stupid action.
From behind, the Grey Warden’s voice came through clear, “The lever on the left! Use it and release the hounds!”
Avelle ran, twisting her body sideways to avoid the stab of a Genlock attacking, and spinning to avoid another. She didn’t so much pull the lever as push the thing using the momentum she had gained. The doors creaked open and the barking turned to excited growls as the dogs leaped from their crates and pounced their enemies. The others fought alongside the hounds, magic sparking from the mage’s staff, and shields working in concert with the swords of the soldier and Grey Warden. With a spin and a slash of his sword the last darkspawn fell, its head rolling across the ground.
Their immediate home clear for the moment, the hounds sat watching down the hallway, their senses tuned to any other disturbances. The mage let out a tense breath and prodded a nearby fallen darkspawn, just to be sure. The Grey Warden turned to Avelle, his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing.
“Errol?”
Avelle swallowed. “It’s not important,” she said, her voice low. “Not right now.”
The Grey Warden didn’t look like he felt that was a sufficient response, and pursed his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “Look, no matter what I don’t want you running ahead like that again, alright? It’s far too dangerous here for any of us to be doing that.”
“Right,” she replied, already looking away to one of the barrels stacked next to one of the dog crates. Popping the top, she started grabbing the Mabari Crunches that were sitting at the top.
This didn’t please the Grey Warden one bit. He closed the distance between them and stood next to her as she rummaged and stuffed the treats in her pack. His stare was piercing. Annoyed, yes, but also concerned (or pitying?). “I’m serious. Don’t throw your life away for a stupid mistake.”
Avelle stopped and stared back at him and found it hard to breathe. She hadn’t truly looked at anyone since…She nodded. “Yes, I hear you, ser.”
That seemed to satisfy him for the moment, though he looked uncomfortable when Avelle addressed him as ‘ser.’ Avelle strolled over to the hounds and brought the Mabari Crunches out of her pack. She held them out to them with both hands and felt a little happy when their little tails wiggled. A few of them walked up and took the treats from her hands, snorting and drooling as they did. She kept her hands out even when they were empty, letting the dogs sniff them. It was something they seemed to approve of, their tails wiggled some more, and then they moved back to sit down.
She nodded down to them. “Good dogs.”
The mage smiled as he walked up beside them. “Know much about Mabari, m’lady?”
Avelle smiled down at the dogs, though it was tinged with regret and sadness. "Quite a bit."
It was drooling saliva and blood, making wet sickening crunches with each bite it took. It looked over its spiked pauldron and roared, sending sprays of both saliva and blood flying. Its teeth were unnaturally white for what it was, and razor sharp. Tiny white beady eyes stared at them, squinting almost, but still seeming devoid of anything other than hunger and eagerness for violence. Its legs were surely bigger than tree trunks and its arms bigger than Avelle entirely. Sharp twisted horns snaked out of its head, their goring intent all too clear. With the horrors the young noble had seen of late, the sight of the ogre at the top of the tower sent a coldness running through her that she had not yet felt. Each heartbeat came faster and faster, many of them with the impulse to turn and run, run anywhere where that thing wasn’t.
The Grey Warden charged without hesitation, readying his sword to slice at the ogre’s legs, the soldier only a pace behind him, while the mage sent his staff high to aid them with some spell of protection.
Maker’s mercy, it has skulls on its belt…
In her mind’s eye her father looked upon her again, and Avelle bit her lip. She charged in to join the battle.
The creature took several steps back and leaned upon one of its arms, intending to charge at the Grey Warden. Her body told her what she had to do, though her mind shouted that it was stupid. In battle, one had to rely more on training than thought processes. Practice was long and hard to allow one to free their mind in battle. The key was that thought happened, but a warrior had spent enough time to know what to do without debate and coherent thought. They would come as words and impulses, not full thoughts. You just knew what had to be done.
Avelle knew.
She ran and jumped, landing on the ogre’s considerable rear end. The mind separate from battle cringed with the realization of where she was. Her battle mind only sent her the signal to run faster lest she be thrown before getting anything done. Avelle ran up the beast’s back and brought her sword and dagger up high before sending them down into the ogre’s neck. Its reaction was immediate; it reared back and screamed. Avelle lost her footing and only managed not to tumble to the ground by holding onto her weapons stuck where she had struck.
“Hey!” the Grey Warden shouted.
The ogre reared its head back and swung from side to side, trying to reach the source of pain. When it reached with its right hand, Avelle would let go and try to swing just out of its reach and switch to the other side when it would reach with its left. Below the Grey Warden bashed at the creature’s shins with his shield while the soldier stabbed into its feet with his sword. A flash of light blinded Avelle for a moment and she realized that the mage had frozen the ogre. Using this opportunity, she struggled to wrench at least one of her blades out of the ogre’s neck. It was short lived. With a thin cracking noise the creature shook and the ice fell off, chunks flying in to her face. The ogre reached back and Avelle felt cold large fingers wrap and squeeze around her torso.
It brought her around to face it and growled with anger, more saliva blood dripping from its mouth. It squeezed and Avelle felt her entire chest scream with pain and her face turn red with pressure. A shout from behind sounded like the soldier, and for a moment the ogre’s attention was split. It seemed to kick backward and Avelle both heard and saw the soldier go skidding across the stone floor. The mage bent down next to him, grasping at the soldier’s belt for the health poultice. The ogre looked back at the young woman and once again she felt as if her insides were nothing more than pastry batter being forced upward.
All at once the ogre screeched in pain and threw its head back. The sound of sword cutting across bone rang out and the scent of blood came rushing to her nose. The ogre dipped down, though still kept its fingers wrapped around her, and Avelle saw the Grey Warden beside her, driving his sword into its throat. It uttered a strangled cry as it stumbled backwards, bringing both the Warden and Avelle down with it. There was a loud resounding thud when it hit the ground, the impact shaking what was left of her insides. With an expression of fiery determination, the Warden pulled his sword out of the ogre’s neck, raised it high and drove it in again. Hot blood sprayed forth onto the both of them and the ogre’s strangled wet cry faded until there was nothing.
“Hey? Hey?!” the Warden shouted. He yanked at the ogre’s fingers, pushing and prying until the weight gave and its grip loosened. Avelle felt the pressure lessen, and although it hurt to breathe, there was still some relief from being able to do so. The Grey Warden bent down and looked at Avelle with a look of grief of one who already expected the one they were looking at to be dead.
Avelle coughed and sputtered.
The Grey Warden’s face broke into a relieved grin. “Oh, thank the Maker. I thought it got you there.”
“…It smells terrible,” she replied, rolling out of the ogre’s hand and onto the stone floor.
He laughed and offered her a hand up. “Maybe if we tell the darkspawn how bad they smell they’ll be so shamed they’ll just leave.”
Avelle coughed again and took a few uneasy steps to the ogre’s neck. She knelt beside it and reached underneath, wrenching and pulling with considerable effort until her sword and dagger finally fell free.
The soldier limped over to them, flanked by the mage. “I’m just glad it’s dead,” said the soldier.
The Grey Warden smiled at him, and then looked over to the other side of the room. “The beacon is over there. We’ve surely missed the signal. Let’s light it quickly before it’s too late.”
They all ran over to what to Avelle looked like a fireplace. The Grey Warden pulled one of the logs from within it and walked over to the fire that she supposed the ogre had started before they arrived. When the piece of wood was alight, he went back to the beacon and threw it in with the other logs. Golds and oranges crawled over the log and onto the others, crackling, and popping as it grew with intensity.
The beacon had been lit. Their mission had been a success.
Avelle’s leg then burst into a sharp and distinct pain. Next to hear she heard the soldier’s strangled cry as an arrow went through his throat. The mage sent a stream of arcane light out that fizzled into nothing when three arrows entered him, one right into one of his eyes. Her leg burned, and a second later was joined with her arm. She looked to the Grey Warden, whose eyes were wide with unbelieving confusion. An arrow entered his arm, wedged where the inside of his elbow was, a weak spot in his armor. Avelle lurched at him, pushing him aside as an arrow meant for him found a home in her shoulder.
It all seemed for nothing, though. As she hit the ground, every muscle, every bone crying in pain, she saw more arrows fly. Several of them found their mark in the Grey Warden and he stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.
Darkness encroached, and this seemed to be the end. Was it fitting? Was it deserved? Was it the only end to this painful journey? As the heaviness of her eyelids became too much to bear, Avelle found that she had no answers…and that was what hurt the most.
Pairing: Alistair/Cousland (Avelle)
Rating: M, for Violence.
Summary: When Castle Highever comes under attack by Howe’s men, the younger Cousland flees without the aid of Duncan. Now she’s been told her part in the battle of Ostagar is to aid the Grey Warden in making it to the top of the Tower of Ishal to light the beacon.
2 - Lightning Struck Tower
It reeked of burning of all kinds. The stink of flesh was the most potent, but it was mixed with the musty odor of wood. Above all else, that was the first thing Avelle notice when they entered the Tower of Ishal. The others did too; everyone’s faces scrunching up in an attempt to keep their noses functional. Avelle’s stomach, that had been telling her every other second that it was unhappy, clenched into a tight rock that shot up into her chest. The back of her throat felt empty and full at the same time.
She ran a few steps away from the others and heaved.
“Here they come!” the soldier cried. With sword drawn, shield at the ready, and his senses all under control, he ran out to meet the monsters pouring from the other room. A rush of heat brought his steps to a screeching halt as a fire trap sprang to life in front of him. The mage ran beside him and brought his staff up in the already familiar motion. Through the fire a bright white light bloomed around a humanoid shape, it spread and popped like a bubble. One of the darkspawn through the fire had been frozen in place.
The Grey Warden stayed on guard in the doorway, shield held in front of himself. He cast a glance back at Avelle, a look of concern on his face. “Stay here, alright? I won’t let any come through this doorway!”
A dainty girl playing the bold adventurous fighter. It may have been concern that was on his face, but to her it looked like pity. Ser Gilmore’s face stared back at her, and when she blinked his face was replaced with that of her father’s. She blinked again and both were gone.
She sniffed and straightened herself upright. No playing, no pretend. Years of encouragement were not for nothing. They couldn’t be.
Avelle stalked forward, pushing the Grey Warden aside, to his surprised. He made a surprised shout that she cut off with, “They need our help!”
They ran ahead and joined the others, clashing blade against blade and arcane might. Cries of pain were mixed with inhuman growls. While the Grey Warden pushed through and took the lead in the fight, Avelle was sure his eyes kept darting back at her every few seconds with that look of pity in them (and she was positive that was what it had to be). She swallowed back the lump in her throat and sank her family’s longsword deep into the arm of a Hurlock in front of her. Blood seeped out and it screeched in pain. Once again the bright light spread and popped, and what was left of the creature was now staring back at her through a sheet of ice. Another screech of pain rang through the room, combined with a metallic clang. A Hurlock fell to the ground, and the Grey Warden ended its life by stabbing his sword through its exposed throat.
And the rest was silence. In front of them stretched a large room, walls lined with bunk beds. Chests sat in front of them and in between them, cracks marred the stone floor, and still the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. What little light the room had either streamed in from above, possibly weak cracks in the wall, and small lit braziers. The soldier’s sword dipped down and he sighed as his shoulders sagged.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
The Grey Warden motioned to the carved stone door on the other side of the room. “We keep going. We have to light the beacon at the top before we’re too late. Teyrn Loghain must be given the signal!”
The soldier and the mage nodded. “Aye then, Grey Warden. We’ll follow you,” the soldier said.
This seemed to cause the Grey Warden pause for a moment. He moved to scratch his head, but stopped when he realized his sword was still in his hand. His gaze turned back to Avelle and she looked away. His pitying look was unbearable now. The Grey Warden blew a breath out through his mouth. If he had wanted to say anything to her, her avoiding eyes were enough to deter him from it. Whether he had or not, it didn’t matter. He started crossing the room, making his way to the carved stone door.
“They’re counting on us. Let’s not let them down."
If she hadn’t vomited upon entering the tower, the sight that met them when they reached the second floor surely would have caused her to. All the soldiers that had fell victim to the darkspawn, every single one, had been decapitated and their heads placed upon pikes. Blank eyes stared out at them, while mouths were stuck in permanently in silent screams of agony. The monsters had sought to turn the tower into their own, and had wasted no time to let any who entered realize that. Here the air was heavy with tangy copper; the scent of blood. That smell was already too familiar. The Grey Warden remarked that it shouldn’t have been like this, that resistance was not meant to be there. The dark haired mage said something had to be wrong then. It changed nothing. Still the top level waited them, still some fire needed to be lit for Teyrn Loghain. What was meant to happen was not what happened, and she of all people knew that too well. When hers eyes spotted dummies draped with armor and chests sitting near them, she walked over without waiting to hear if any of them called after her.
It was the soldier that followed her as she knelt in front of the chest, attempting to jimmy it open with the meager tools she had been able to flee home with. “Young lady, we haven’t the time for this!”
A soft click still gave her some small satisfaction. Avelle pulled the chest open and rifled through the contents within. Flasks, deep mushrooms…she stuffed them in the small pack she had managed to grab just before the battle had started. “Ah,” she muttered and pulled the real prize out. A glass bottle, ruby colored from the contents within, looked slick even in the dull light of the pseudo-armory. “Health poultices,” she said. “Two of them, in fact. We’ll need them to get to the top.”
Not to mention that beside the shield on your back that you have no use for, the weapons you wield and the armor you wear, you have nary a thing to your name now. Do I even have my name?
The soldier bent down and took the other poultice, attaching it to a leather strap on his belt. He gave her a curt nod and smile, but still his impatience was apparent. Avelle stood up, but not before stuffing the last thing that remained in the chest in her pack: a single quartz crystal.
Perhaps if I live through this, I could trade it for a meal.
She wasn’t sure why she was thinking ahead. Her survival seemed slim at best, and Avelle wasn’t sure if she cared. No, she did, if for nothing but still having a chance to find Fergus once the battle was done. It was just…if he was gone…she rubbed her forehead. She wanted death and she wanted life. She wanted her life and not what stared at her now. Her jaw clenched and she also remembered how much she wanted revenge. There was just too much, each thought a heartbeat, a single impulse that would be immediate and important and then fade when the next beat came. In some moments she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore, her identity and life left behind with the burning castle in Highever. Or perhaps it had died the in cold dim hours of sunrise in the lifeless stare of her mother when she had fallen
The next floor reeked of spoiled meat. Errol’s barking was ringing in her ears, unceasing and in a chorus with others. He needed help. He needed her help. Avelle broke into a mad dash, following the sound of the barking hounds.
“Errol! Errol!”
She rammed the stone door open with her shoulder (pain would be blossoming there right quick) and at once realized how her mind was fooling her yet again. Mabari yelled in their cages as a group of darkspawn rushed the door, all intent to ending Avelle after such a stupid action.
From behind, the Grey Warden’s voice came through clear, “The lever on the left! Use it and release the hounds!”
Avelle ran, twisting her body sideways to avoid the stab of a Genlock attacking, and spinning to avoid another. She didn’t so much pull the lever as push the thing using the momentum she had gained. The doors creaked open and the barking turned to excited growls as the dogs leaped from their crates and pounced their enemies. The others fought alongside the hounds, magic sparking from the mage’s staff, and shields working in concert with the swords of the soldier and Grey Warden. With a spin and a slash of his sword the last darkspawn fell, its head rolling across the ground.
Their immediate home clear for the moment, the hounds sat watching down the hallway, their senses tuned to any other disturbances. The mage let out a tense breath and prodded a nearby fallen darkspawn, just to be sure. The Grey Warden turned to Avelle, his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing.
“Errol?”
Avelle swallowed. “It’s not important,” she said, her voice low. “Not right now.”
The Grey Warden didn’t look like he felt that was a sufficient response, and pursed his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “Look, no matter what I don’t want you running ahead like that again, alright? It’s far too dangerous here for any of us to be doing that.”
“Right,” she replied, already looking away to one of the barrels stacked next to one of the dog crates. Popping the top, she started grabbing the Mabari Crunches that were sitting at the top.
This didn’t please the Grey Warden one bit. He closed the distance between them and stood next to her as she rummaged and stuffed the treats in her pack. His stare was piercing. Annoyed, yes, but also concerned (or pitying?). “I’m serious. Don’t throw your life away for a stupid mistake.”
Avelle stopped and stared back at him and found it hard to breathe. She hadn’t truly looked at anyone since…She nodded. “Yes, I hear you, ser.”
That seemed to satisfy him for the moment, though he looked uncomfortable when Avelle addressed him as ‘ser.’ Avelle strolled over to the hounds and brought the Mabari Crunches out of her pack. She held them out to them with both hands and felt a little happy when their little tails wiggled. A few of them walked up and took the treats from her hands, snorting and drooling as they did. She kept her hands out even when they were empty, letting the dogs sniff them. It was something they seemed to approve of, their tails wiggled some more, and then they moved back to sit down.
She nodded down to them. “Good dogs.”
The mage smiled as he walked up beside them. “Know much about Mabari, m’lady?”
Avelle smiled down at the dogs, though it was tinged with regret and sadness. "Quite a bit."
It was drooling saliva and blood, making wet sickening crunches with each bite it took. It looked over its spiked pauldron and roared, sending sprays of both saliva and blood flying. Its teeth were unnaturally white for what it was, and razor sharp. Tiny white beady eyes stared at them, squinting almost, but still seeming devoid of anything other than hunger and eagerness for violence. Its legs were surely bigger than tree trunks and its arms bigger than Avelle entirely. Sharp twisted horns snaked out of its head, their goring intent all too clear. With the horrors the young noble had seen of late, the sight of the ogre at the top of the tower sent a coldness running through her that she had not yet felt. Each heartbeat came faster and faster, many of them with the impulse to turn and run, run anywhere where that thing wasn’t.
The Grey Warden charged without hesitation, readying his sword to slice at the ogre’s legs, the soldier only a pace behind him, while the mage sent his staff high to aid them with some spell of protection.
Maker’s mercy, it has skulls on its belt…
In her mind’s eye her father looked upon her again, and Avelle bit her lip. She charged in to join the battle.
The creature took several steps back and leaned upon one of its arms, intending to charge at the Grey Warden. Her body told her what she had to do, though her mind shouted that it was stupid. In battle, one had to rely more on training than thought processes. Practice was long and hard to allow one to free their mind in battle. The key was that thought happened, but a warrior had spent enough time to know what to do without debate and coherent thought. They would come as words and impulses, not full thoughts. You just knew what had to be done.
Avelle knew.
She ran and jumped, landing on the ogre’s considerable rear end. The mind separate from battle cringed with the realization of where she was. Her battle mind only sent her the signal to run faster lest she be thrown before getting anything done. Avelle ran up the beast’s back and brought her sword and dagger up high before sending them down into the ogre’s neck. Its reaction was immediate; it reared back and screamed. Avelle lost her footing and only managed not to tumble to the ground by holding onto her weapons stuck where she had struck.
“Hey!” the Grey Warden shouted.
The ogre reared its head back and swung from side to side, trying to reach the source of pain. When it reached with its right hand, Avelle would let go and try to swing just out of its reach and switch to the other side when it would reach with its left. Below the Grey Warden bashed at the creature’s shins with his shield while the soldier stabbed into its feet with his sword. A flash of light blinded Avelle for a moment and she realized that the mage had frozen the ogre. Using this opportunity, she struggled to wrench at least one of her blades out of the ogre’s neck. It was short lived. With a thin cracking noise the creature shook and the ice fell off, chunks flying in to her face. The ogre reached back and Avelle felt cold large fingers wrap and squeeze around her torso.
It brought her around to face it and growled with anger, more saliva blood dripping from its mouth. It squeezed and Avelle felt her entire chest scream with pain and her face turn red with pressure. A shout from behind sounded like the soldier, and for a moment the ogre’s attention was split. It seemed to kick backward and Avelle both heard and saw the soldier go skidding across the stone floor. The mage bent down next to him, grasping at the soldier’s belt for the health poultice. The ogre looked back at the young woman and once again she felt as if her insides were nothing more than pastry batter being forced upward.
All at once the ogre screeched in pain and threw its head back. The sound of sword cutting across bone rang out and the scent of blood came rushing to her nose. The ogre dipped down, though still kept its fingers wrapped around her, and Avelle saw the Grey Warden beside her, driving his sword into its throat. It uttered a strangled cry as it stumbled backwards, bringing both the Warden and Avelle down with it. There was a loud resounding thud when it hit the ground, the impact shaking what was left of her insides. With an expression of fiery determination, the Warden pulled his sword out of the ogre’s neck, raised it high and drove it in again. Hot blood sprayed forth onto the both of them and the ogre’s strangled wet cry faded until there was nothing.
“Hey? Hey?!” the Warden shouted. He yanked at the ogre’s fingers, pushing and prying until the weight gave and its grip loosened. Avelle felt the pressure lessen, and although it hurt to breathe, there was still some relief from being able to do so. The Grey Warden bent down and looked at Avelle with a look of grief of one who already expected the one they were looking at to be dead.
Avelle coughed and sputtered.
The Grey Warden’s face broke into a relieved grin. “Oh, thank the Maker. I thought it got you there.”
“…It smells terrible,” she replied, rolling out of the ogre’s hand and onto the stone floor.
He laughed and offered her a hand up. “Maybe if we tell the darkspawn how bad they smell they’ll be so shamed they’ll just leave.”
Avelle coughed again and took a few uneasy steps to the ogre’s neck. She knelt beside it and reached underneath, wrenching and pulling with considerable effort until her sword and dagger finally fell free.
The soldier limped over to them, flanked by the mage. “I’m just glad it’s dead,” said the soldier.
The Grey Warden smiled at him, and then looked over to the other side of the room. “The beacon is over there. We’ve surely missed the signal. Let’s light it quickly before it’s too late.”
They all ran over to what to Avelle looked like a fireplace. The Grey Warden pulled one of the logs from within it and walked over to the fire that she supposed the ogre had started before they arrived. When the piece of wood was alight, he went back to the beacon and threw it in with the other logs. Golds and oranges crawled over the log and onto the others, crackling, and popping as it grew with intensity.
The beacon had been lit. Their mission had been a success.
Avelle’s leg then burst into a sharp and distinct pain. Next to hear she heard the soldier’s strangled cry as an arrow went through his throat. The mage sent a stream of arcane light out that fizzled into nothing when three arrows entered him, one right into one of his eyes. Her leg burned, and a second later was joined with her arm. She looked to the Grey Warden, whose eyes were wide with unbelieving confusion. An arrow entered his arm, wedged where the inside of his elbow was, a weak spot in his armor. Avelle lurched at him, pushing him aside as an arrow meant for him found a home in her shoulder.
It all seemed for nothing, though. As she hit the ground, every muscle, every bone crying in pain, she saw more arrows fly. Several of them found their mark in the Grey Warden and he stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.
Darkness encroached, and this seemed to be the end. Was it fitting? Was it deserved? Was it the only end to this painful journey? As the heaviness of her eyelids became too much to bear, Avelle found that she had no answers…and that was what hurt the most.