Lack of a proper update = Fic
Title: Survivors
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Mahariel, Dog
Summary: They survived Ostagar together, now they travel to find the remaining Grey Wardens.
The king is dead and the world screams around him.
The beacon is lit, no soldiers are coming, the shem they were relying on to reinforce their numbers, nowhere to be found and Theron of Clan Mahariel watches in horror as the darkspawn come at them in waves.
His blades drip with blood, his armour stained. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, the orange fire burning brightly, the ice cold rain like knives against his cheeks. The roars of the darkspawn are deafening, the screams of the men more so. The darkspawn drag them away, back into the holes they came from, while others swarm like flies around the dead.
Duncan fights, dispatching the ogre that has killed the king. He runs to the fallen monarch, wounded, exhausted, collapses to his knees. He knows the darkspawn are there, he stares at the lit beacon and fights them with the last ounce of his strength.
This is enough to shake Theron from his fear-induced stupor and he fights, blades moving in a flurry, blood spraying and bodies falling. Duncan falls, Theron rushes to him.
"Go..." Duncan tells him, "Find Alistair...and Darrian, if they've survived..."
Theron nods. There's nothing he can do. He wants to stay with Duncan, he might not like the man, but no one, not even this shem should die alone. The darkspawn decide it for him however.
Duncan sees the oncoming horde, roughly shoves him and he scrambles to his feet and runs. He doesn't dare look back.
He runs. Runs through the horde, past the dying soldiers, through the Wilds and away from Ostagar. The darkspawn follow, there are more the further he goes, stragglers he can kill. He cuts them down, keeps running, even when his chest burns, his lungs afire and he is unsure whether his legs can carry him. He runs.
Ostagar is an orange silhouette, the Tower of Ishal with its beacon of false hope, glowing in the darkness. Distantly, he can hear the darkspawn, can hear the remaining men scream their last, disturbingly it is mostly women he hears. He doesn't want to know what the darkspawn are going to do with them. He stops, he can't run any further and he leans on a tree, coughing, gasping and sinks to the ground.
He wipes his eyes, his brow, stares at the ground. He tries to tell himself he's fine, he's not. Tells himself he's alive, more than can be said for the other Grey Wardens, it's of no comfort. He takes his knives, takes some cloth, tries to scrub the blood off of the metal, something, anything to distract himself from the noise, the echoes.
He feels a tingling, can smell them, the dirt that clings, he stays on the ground, wiping the blades. He can see them out the corner of his eye. He gets to his feet, holds the blades, ignores the aching in his legs, his chest.
He takes a breath then launches into an attack. He ducks, moves, avoids the hurlock's blades, kicks the genlock and stabs it. He moves behind a hurlock, stabs its back, pulls his knife out, stabs its chest and slashes its throat. Black blood sprays like a fountain, he leaps back. He's careless, tired and falls over the genlock's corpse. The other hurlocks take their chance, advancing on him, one stabs its blade into the ground as he rolls away. The other kicks his ribs, pain explodes and the hurlock kicks his stomach, all air leaving him. He still has his knives and as the hurlock that kicked him aims its sword to kill him, he stabs its foot and crawls away.
He's going to die.
He's going to die in the Wilds, alone, killed by darkspawn. He glares at them defiantly, staggers to his feet. He will fight, he may die, but he will fight.
A howl resounds behind him. He doesn't dare look, doesn't dare believe that something, someone may actually be on their way to help him. He can hear the mabari hound barrelling towards him and it leaps at the nearest hurlock, tearing its throat out. He takes the chance, attacks the remaining hurlock, leaving it a bloody mess on the ground.
The mabari trots over to him and sits down, staring up at him.
"You're the one the Flat-Ear helped," he says. He kneels down, puts his knives down and gives the hound a scratch behind the ears. "Ma serannas..."
The tears come swiftly and unending. He throws his arms around the dog's neck, weeping bitterly into its fur, and feeling entirely ashamed of it. It's tears of gratitude, relief, that he's alive, that he's not another corpse to be dragged away by darkspawn.
The dog nudges him and sniffs at his ear. He lets it go, wipes his eyes and scrubs at his face. He picks up his knives, sheathes them on his back then stands up. He takes a last look back at Ostagar then back to the dog.
"All right hound, what are you doing out here?"
The dog barks and walks on ahead of him, looking over its shoulder and barking again. He frowns and follows it.
"What? You're...looking for someone?"
Another two barks. The dog takes hold of his cuirass, tugging on it insistently. He's surprised by its strength, it manages to pull him forward a few steps.
"Who are you looking for, hound? And why do I need to come?"
The dog lets go and barks at him. He's getting annoyed and wondering why he's being ordered by a dog.
It barks again and goes to jump up at him. He steps back, the dog is pounds of muscle and could knock him over without even trying. He kneels down to it instead, takes its face in his hands, treating it almost like one of the halla, as if it'll understand him.
"Tell me who you're looking for," he tells it. The dog sits in front of him, he lets go of its head and it licks his ear. "The Flat-Ear? You're looking for the other elf Warden?"
The dog actually growls at him this time.
"What, you don't like me calling him that?"
The dog barks affirmative.
He stares at it. "You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"
The dog wags its stumpy tail and stands up again.
"All right. We'll go and find him. With any luck the shem will be with him, maybe some other survivors."
The dog barks happily and bounds on ahead, Theron following it a moment later.
It's a day later when he and the dog find the Flat-Ear and the Shem. There's another with them, the Witch of the Wilds, the thief called her. If she's surprised that he's survived, she doesn't show it. He meets them on the road, halfway there, darkspawn somewhere nearby though he can't quite pinpoint where.
The dog spots them first and it runs on, over to the other elf, barking happily and the Flat-Ear kneels down to it. Then the darkspawn appear.
The dog growls, ears pinned back and stays in front of the Flat-Ear. The elf draws his own weapons, a knife and the sword he had during their sojourn into the Wilds. He walks around the dog, the hound following him at his heel.
Theron turns and starts to back away, knives at the ready and he does a quick headcount. Seven against five. Not bad.
They attack, the alpha coming at him and he dives out of the way. The Shem rushes in, smashing his shield into one hurlock, slashing another while the Witch fires her spells from a safe distance. The Flat-Ear goes for the alpha. He thought he had a death-wish, which he does but he's not nearly so openly suicidal as the Flat-Ear. The elf charges it, blocking attacks, dodging, slashing, not staying in one place for more than a second. He lets the Flat-Ear distract it, gets up behind it and tries to stab it. The alpha whirls around, and backhands him. He stumbles, recovers himself, dodges. He moves to the Flat-Ear's side, glancing to him. The elf glances back, raises an eyebrow then leaps to one side when the alpha attacks again. He leaps to the other side and the alpha is shot with a cold blast of ice. They take this chance and attack as one, from either side and bring down the darkspawn. As much as he really doesn't like to admit, they do indeed make a good team.
The Shem has dealt with the others, one or two stragglers remaining and these are cut down quickly. They regroup and the dog trots up to the Flat-Ear, tongue hanging out and wags its tail happily. Its found its new master.
The Flat-Ear frowns and kneels down to it once more. "Is this the dog I helped in Ostagar?" he says. He makes no move to pet it, only looks at it, then back to the Shem for confirmation.
"He must've been out here looking for you," the Shem answers and looks down at the dog. "He's...chosen you. Mabari are like that, they call it imprinting."
The Flat-Ear looks at the dog and raises an eyebrow.
The Witch however sighs. "Does this mean we have this mangy beast following us now? Wonderful."
The Shem frowns. "He's not mangy!"
The Flat-Ear stands up. "Well if you like him so much you can have him."
The dog whines and hangs its head. In that moment he could hit the Flat-Ear and he narrows his eyes at him.
"Me? I don't want a dog. I can barely look after myself."
"So many comments spring to mind, I cannot even begin to choose," the Witch adds.
The Flat-Ear groans. "Morrigan, don't." He sounds as if he's fed up. "Let's just go." The elf starts to walk on and he catches his arm. "Oh what, you want me to take the dog as well now?"
He glares at the Flat-Ear. "You can't very well leave him here, not with so many darkspawn around," he tells him.
The Flat-Ear wrenches his arm out of his grip and he knows he's beaten. "Fine. Fine it can come with us, but I'm not the one feeding it." He stalks on ahead of the group.
The dog stands up, unsure of whether to follow or not with the reception its just been given, then looks to him and the Shem. He reaches down and gives it a pat on the head.
"Well, better catch up," the Shem remarks, then looks to him, "I'm...glad someone else survived, by the way. I thought it was just us."
He shakes his head. "I'm still here. Thanks to the dog."
"You must've been in the thick of it..."
He nods.
Alistair pauses, then asks, "Did you..." He stops and clears his throat. "Were you there when Duncan..." He doesn't finish.
He nods again.
"How did he...?"
"Sh..." He stops to correct himself, can't keep calling him 'Shem'. "Alistair, don't ask. Not now. Later perhaps."
Alistair nods, appears almost grateful then stays silent the rest of the way.
They camp a few hours later, the rest of the darkspawn horde thankfully some distance away. Lothering is another day's walk and even then, he doesn't quite know what they plan to do. A Blight is coming, if Duncan was to be believed, and there are all of three Grey Wardens to fight it, three novice Grey Wardens at that. He tries to silence these thoughts, let the Flat-Ear think of a solution, if he's the leader of this little band. But he can't. Three Grey Wardens against a Blight, an Archdemon. The thought fills him with fear, with dread and uncertainty. He feels a lump grow in his throat, tears sting his eyes and he shuts them tight. He's scared and tired and he retreats to the tent he's pitched. There he stays till it's time for his watch. He pokes his head out, fully expecting to see Alistair or the Witch, Morrigan, coming for him since the Flat-Ear took first and didn't come for him when he was finished.
Instead it's the Flat-Ear.
"Did you just pull a double-shift?" he asks, impulsive, the question voiced before he stops it.
The Flat-Ear nods. "Morrigan's shift is after yours. Alistair couldn't do his."
He frowns.
"He was upset, I let him be, for now."
So the elf has some compassion after all. He leaves the tent, sits down near the camp fire, draws out his knives and tries once more to clean them. The dog walks over and lies down next to him. He reaches out and gives it a pet.
"He'll come round I'm sure," he tells the dog, sure that it'll understand to whom he refers to.
The dog whuffs in response.
Three Grey Wardens and a Witch and he's finding better companionship with the dog than any of the others. Tamlen would laugh, he was sure. The tightness in his chest returns, as does the lump in his throat. He hasn't thought about Tamlen in days, hasn't thought about how much he misses him, and how guilty, terrible he feels that he left his best friend behind.
The dog lays its head on his leg and he pats its head. "I'm fine," he tells it.
The dog whines and looks up at him.
He wipes his eyes. "Go see your Master, might appreciate a bit of extra warmth." He gives the dog a nudge and it obeys him, going to the Flat-Ear's tent. It goes inside, he waits a few moments, to see if the elf throws it back out. He does not.
Theron continues his watch duty alone and when his shift is over, he wakes Morrigan and retreats to his tent for a few hours rest.
They pack up camp, leave for Lothering and to begin the task of stopping the Blight. Creators help them, he thinks.
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Mahariel, Dog
Summary: They survived Ostagar together, now they travel to find the remaining Grey Wardens.
The king is dead and the world screams around him.
The beacon is lit, no soldiers are coming, the shem they were relying on to reinforce their numbers, nowhere to be found and Theron of Clan Mahariel watches in horror as the darkspawn come at them in waves.
His blades drip with blood, his armour stained. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, the orange fire burning brightly, the ice cold rain like knives against his cheeks. The roars of the darkspawn are deafening, the screams of the men more so. The darkspawn drag them away, back into the holes they came from, while others swarm like flies around the dead.
Duncan fights, dispatching the ogre that has killed the king. He runs to the fallen monarch, wounded, exhausted, collapses to his knees. He knows the darkspawn are there, he stares at the lit beacon and fights them with the last ounce of his strength.
This is enough to shake Theron from his fear-induced stupor and he fights, blades moving in a flurry, blood spraying and bodies falling. Duncan falls, Theron rushes to him.
"Go..." Duncan tells him, "Find Alistair...and Darrian, if they've survived..."
Theron nods. There's nothing he can do. He wants to stay with Duncan, he might not like the man, but no one, not even this shem should die alone. The darkspawn decide it for him however.
Duncan sees the oncoming horde, roughly shoves him and he scrambles to his feet and runs. He doesn't dare look back.
He runs. Runs through the horde, past the dying soldiers, through the Wilds and away from Ostagar. The darkspawn follow, there are more the further he goes, stragglers he can kill. He cuts them down, keeps running, even when his chest burns, his lungs afire and he is unsure whether his legs can carry him. He runs.
Ostagar is an orange silhouette, the Tower of Ishal with its beacon of false hope, glowing in the darkness. Distantly, he can hear the darkspawn, can hear the remaining men scream their last, disturbingly it is mostly women he hears. He doesn't want to know what the darkspawn are going to do with them. He stops, he can't run any further and he leans on a tree, coughing, gasping and sinks to the ground.
He wipes his eyes, his brow, stares at the ground. He tries to tell himself he's fine, he's not. Tells himself he's alive, more than can be said for the other Grey Wardens, it's of no comfort. He takes his knives, takes some cloth, tries to scrub the blood off of the metal, something, anything to distract himself from the noise, the echoes.
He feels a tingling, can smell them, the dirt that clings, he stays on the ground, wiping the blades. He can see them out the corner of his eye. He gets to his feet, holds the blades, ignores the aching in his legs, his chest.
He takes a breath then launches into an attack. He ducks, moves, avoids the hurlock's blades, kicks the genlock and stabs it. He moves behind a hurlock, stabs its back, pulls his knife out, stabs its chest and slashes its throat. Black blood sprays like a fountain, he leaps back. He's careless, tired and falls over the genlock's corpse. The other hurlocks take their chance, advancing on him, one stabs its blade into the ground as he rolls away. The other kicks his ribs, pain explodes and the hurlock kicks his stomach, all air leaving him. He still has his knives and as the hurlock that kicked him aims its sword to kill him, he stabs its foot and crawls away.
He's going to die.
He's going to die in the Wilds, alone, killed by darkspawn. He glares at them defiantly, staggers to his feet. He will fight, he may die, but he will fight.
A howl resounds behind him. He doesn't dare look, doesn't dare believe that something, someone may actually be on their way to help him. He can hear the mabari hound barrelling towards him and it leaps at the nearest hurlock, tearing its throat out. He takes the chance, attacks the remaining hurlock, leaving it a bloody mess on the ground.
The mabari trots over to him and sits down, staring up at him.
"You're the one the Flat-Ear helped," he says. He kneels down, puts his knives down and gives the hound a scratch behind the ears. "Ma serannas..."
The tears come swiftly and unending. He throws his arms around the dog's neck, weeping bitterly into its fur, and feeling entirely ashamed of it. It's tears of gratitude, relief, that he's alive, that he's not another corpse to be dragged away by darkspawn.
The dog nudges him and sniffs at his ear. He lets it go, wipes his eyes and scrubs at his face. He picks up his knives, sheathes them on his back then stands up. He takes a last look back at Ostagar then back to the dog.
"All right hound, what are you doing out here?"
The dog barks and walks on ahead of him, looking over its shoulder and barking again. He frowns and follows it.
"What? You're...looking for someone?"
Another two barks. The dog takes hold of his cuirass, tugging on it insistently. He's surprised by its strength, it manages to pull him forward a few steps.
"Who are you looking for, hound? And why do I need to come?"
The dog lets go and barks at him. He's getting annoyed and wondering why he's being ordered by a dog.
It barks again and goes to jump up at him. He steps back, the dog is pounds of muscle and could knock him over without even trying. He kneels down to it instead, takes its face in his hands, treating it almost like one of the halla, as if it'll understand him.
"Tell me who you're looking for," he tells it. The dog sits in front of him, he lets go of its head and it licks his ear. "The Flat-Ear? You're looking for the other elf Warden?"
The dog actually growls at him this time.
"What, you don't like me calling him that?"
The dog barks affirmative.
He stares at it. "You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"
The dog wags its stumpy tail and stands up again.
"All right. We'll go and find him. With any luck the shem will be with him, maybe some other survivors."
The dog barks happily and bounds on ahead, Theron following it a moment later.
It's a day later when he and the dog find the Flat-Ear and the Shem. There's another with them, the Witch of the Wilds, the thief called her. If she's surprised that he's survived, she doesn't show it. He meets them on the road, halfway there, darkspawn somewhere nearby though he can't quite pinpoint where.
The dog spots them first and it runs on, over to the other elf, barking happily and the Flat-Ear kneels down to it. Then the darkspawn appear.
The dog growls, ears pinned back and stays in front of the Flat-Ear. The elf draws his own weapons, a knife and the sword he had during their sojourn into the Wilds. He walks around the dog, the hound following him at his heel.
Theron turns and starts to back away, knives at the ready and he does a quick headcount. Seven against five. Not bad.
They attack, the alpha coming at him and he dives out of the way. The Shem rushes in, smashing his shield into one hurlock, slashing another while the Witch fires her spells from a safe distance. The Flat-Ear goes for the alpha. He thought he had a death-wish, which he does but he's not nearly so openly suicidal as the Flat-Ear. The elf charges it, blocking attacks, dodging, slashing, not staying in one place for more than a second. He lets the Flat-Ear distract it, gets up behind it and tries to stab it. The alpha whirls around, and backhands him. He stumbles, recovers himself, dodges. He moves to the Flat-Ear's side, glancing to him. The elf glances back, raises an eyebrow then leaps to one side when the alpha attacks again. He leaps to the other side and the alpha is shot with a cold blast of ice. They take this chance and attack as one, from either side and bring down the darkspawn. As much as he really doesn't like to admit, they do indeed make a good team.
The Shem has dealt with the others, one or two stragglers remaining and these are cut down quickly. They regroup and the dog trots up to the Flat-Ear, tongue hanging out and wags its tail happily. Its found its new master.
The Flat-Ear frowns and kneels down to it once more. "Is this the dog I helped in Ostagar?" he says. He makes no move to pet it, only looks at it, then back to the Shem for confirmation.
"He must've been out here looking for you," the Shem answers and looks down at the dog. "He's...chosen you. Mabari are like that, they call it imprinting."
The Flat-Ear looks at the dog and raises an eyebrow.
The Witch however sighs. "Does this mean we have this mangy beast following us now? Wonderful."
The Shem frowns. "He's not mangy!"
The Flat-Ear stands up. "Well if you like him so much you can have him."
The dog whines and hangs its head. In that moment he could hit the Flat-Ear and he narrows his eyes at him.
"Me? I don't want a dog. I can barely look after myself."
"So many comments spring to mind, I cannot even begin to choose," the Witch adds.
The Flat-Ear groans. "Morrigan, don't." He sounds as if he's fed up. "Let's just go." The elf starts to walk on and he catches his arm. "Oh what, you want me to take the dog as well now?"
He glares at the Flat-Ear. "You can't very well leave him here, not with so many darkspawn around," he tells him.
The Flat-Ear wrenches his arm out of his grip and he knows he's beaten. "Fine. Fine it can come with us, but I'm not the one feeding it." He stalks on ahead of the group.
The dog stands up, unsure of whether to follow or not with the reception its just been given, then looks to him and the Shem. He reaches down and gives it a pat on the head.
"Well, better catch up," the Shem remarks, then looks to him, "I'm...glad someone else survived, by the way. I thought it was just us."
He shakes his head. "I'm still here. Thanks to the dog."
"You must've been in the thick of it..."
He nods.
Alistair pauses, then asks, "Did you..." He stops and clears his throat. "Were you there when Duncan..." He doesn't finish.
He nods again.
"How did he...?"
"Sh..." He stops to correct himself, can't keep calling him 'Shem'. "Alistair, don't ask. Not now. Later perhaps."
Alistair nods, appears almost grateful then stays silent the rest of the way.
They camp a few hours later, the rest of the darkspawn horde thankfully some distance away. Lothering is another day's walk and even then, he doesn't quite know what they plan to do. A Blight is coming, if Duncan was to be believed, and there are all of three Grey Wardens to fight it, three novice Grey Wardens at that. He tries to silence these thoughts, let the Flat-Ear think of a solution, if he's the leader of this little band. But he can't. Three Grey Wardens against a Blight, an Archdemon. The thought fills him with fear, with dread and uncertainty. He feels a lump grow in his throat, tears sting his eyes and he shuts them tight. He's scared and tired and he retreats to the tent he's pitched. There he stays till it's time for his watch. He pokes his head out, fully expecting to see Alistair or the Witch, Morrigan, coming for him since the Flat-Ear took first and didn't come for him when he was finished.
Instead it's the Flat-Ear.
"Did you just pull a double-shift?" he asks, impulsive, the question voiced before he stops it.
The Flat-Ear nods. "Morrigan's shift is after yours. Alistair couldn't do his."
He frowns.
"He was upset, I let him be, for now."
So the elf has some compassion after all. He leaves the tent, sits down near the camp fire, draws out his knives and tries once more to clean them. The dog walks over and lies down next to him. He reaches out and gives it a pet.
"He'll come round I'm sure," he tells the dog, sure that it'll understand to whom he refers to.
The dog whuffs in response.
Three Grey Wardens and a Witch and he's finding better companionship with the dog than any of the others. Tamlen would laugh, he was sure. The tightness in his chest returns, as does the lump in his throat. He hasn't thought about Tamlen in days, hasn't thought about how much he misses him, and how guilty, terrible he feels that he left his best friend behind.
The dog lays its head on his leg and he pats its head. "I'm fine," he tells it.
The dog whines and looks up at him.
He wipes his eyes. "Go see your Master, might appreciate a bit of extra warmth." He gives the dog a nudge and it obeys him, going to the Flat-Ear's tent. It goes inside, he waits a few moments, to see if the elf throws it back out. He does not.
Theron continues his watch duty alone and when his shift is over, he wakes Morrigan and retreats to his tent for a few hours rest.
They pack up camp, leave for Lothering and to begin the task of stopping the Blight. Creators help them, he thinks.