Hello again.
'The Crow & the Warden' (Part One)
Rating: T (for the moment)
Genre: Drama, Angst, and a bit of Fluff-Romance
Note: Generic Fem!PC & Zevran. All events happen between the archdemon's death and the epilogue. Hope you enjoy.
They stood atop Fort Drakon as she charged forward, sweeping a rather large blade into her clammy palms. The beast writhed in place, ballista bolts protruding from every inch of its obsidian & crimson scale. The sword sunk into the creature's skull just at the base of its neck. The pommel burned, searing the flesh on her palm. Light enveloped them and her figure barely a thin line amid the white hot haze.
They listened as she screamed, heard as the creature's massive jaw made on last effort to take hold. The sound of teeth sinking into flesh and then, quiet. They could not breech the barrier that surrounded them, thrown back in the same instant they attempted to run through it. They could make out her face, just barely and it was contorted, streamed with tears and her mouth wide in a scream. No sound came to their ears and a free hand reaching toward them.
It was over. The light was gone in a flash & crack that resounded through the entire city. People surrounded the base of the fort, cheering and howling their might against the horde. Atop the fort, a bastard prince, foolhardy assassin and stoic qunari moved around her crumpled, motionless form. They approached eyes wide with fear, anticipation and even in their heavy footfalls she did not stir.
The assassin was first to drop at her side, cradling her head in his lap. Her face was drenched in blood and her right side was tore open, flesh frayed and stringing loose. The beast had sliced with its massive jaws and from the looks, seemed to have torn an artery. Qunari hands, calloused & huge, pressed down on the wound and yet, her blood came thickly over his fingers.
"Alistair -- get Wynne!"
The bastard king was off, dashing through the eerily empty fort and through the crowd outside looking desperate for the elder mage. She was still at the gates, waiting with the rest who stayed behind. They all followed after, not needing any sordid explanation -- it was written on his face. The worst had happened; she lived, but only for the moment.
Qunari and assassin braced her, as they burst through the rooftop doors; she was flailing, screaming and writhing. Upon sight of Wynne she calmed slightly, the blood pooling at the corners of her mouth. She could not speak, throat full of ash, but her eyes spoke volumes. The wound in her side nearly split her in two and the archdemon's taint was coursing through her veins as poison. Her porcelain skin was lined with sickly shades of blue & green, her veins hardening just under the surface. She was dying, slowly & painfully.
Wynne braced herself, pulling on the incantations & power inside her, drawing out the woman's pain. It came as a light blue force, liquid smoke from her fingertips. The wound mended together slowly, the frayed flesh pulling itself back into place. Color still drained from her face, turning her shade a sickening yellow. Her eyes were fading, flickering in & out and they were dyed red.
She raised a trembling hand and pulled with unexpected force on the collar of Alistair's shirt. His ear to her lips, "Morrigan ... find her ..." and she slipped with haste into unconsciousness.
The assassin wore an expression the others would likely never see again as he whispered rushed Antivan phrases against her skin. His own blond hair was matted and his usual perfected braids in shambles. In another place & time she would have chided him, made him to sit and fixed them proper.
Sten kept his hands over her wound, even as the flesh mended at an impossibly slow-moving pace. His deep purple eyes awash and wide, fear glimmering there. The very thought that the imposing man was capable of such a thing did nothing to assuage the others.
"We need to get her off the roof, gentlemen." Wynne's voice shocked them from their stupor and with a quiet nod, Sten lifted her meager form from the ground as Zevran worked the buckles of her armor. Alistair stood as stone, unable to move his legs. It took a hard whack over the head from Leliana's bow to get him moving. He only had one thing to do: find Morrigan.
He walked with them until they came to the gates of the fort. The crowd was nearly impenetrable and would have stayed as such had the qunari not been carrying her. They parted and silence came in her wake. The masses bowed their heads though she still drew breath, however uneven & short, and the assassin held tight her small hand.
After she killed the Broodmother in the Deep Roads, she found his hand and locked fingers into his own for the first time. They trembled even then, sending her shivers through his skin. Now they simply lay slack in his palm, cold & blue tinged.
The room prepared at Eamon's behest was on the ground floor of the palace, usually reserved for foreign dignitaries who would be easily watched during the night. The eggshell duvet was instantly stained blood red.
"Amora, you must not leave us. Come back dearest lady, we need you here -- I need you here." He pressed lips to the clean side of her neck in desperate, futile hope it would pull her from her wretched slumber. Wynne bustled about the room, calling for help -- anyone with a pair of free hands, really and the others could only watch the door and press themselves flat at the wall.
More spells, incantations & specific gestures melding together in a cadre of magical wisps that filled the room as smoke. The smell of lyrium and ground elfroot wafted around the room in a humid haze, intoxicating all who gathered 'round her bedside. A flash of some archaic cleansing and her eyes flickered and chest heaved full of air. He palmed the small jeweled bauble hanging delicately on her ear, the inlay flecked with the archdemon's ilk.
He had nearly lost her once before, the day he gave her that earring. She asked if it was meant as a token of affection and he panicked, snatching it from her hand saying, "We pick up every trinket but this you will not accept. Impossible woman -- simple, you do not want the earring, you do not get the earring."
He did not turn to see her face, simply packing down every tendon that screamed to run back and take her in his arms. He had been so sure she would not forgive him. It would have been easier at the time for him to walk away, leave in the middle of the night without a word. Instead, she came to his room at the arl's estate and he foolishly let her inside.
That night, while his head filled with visions of Taliesin's cold corpse and Rinna's tear-filled eyes, he listened to her. She was telling him she loved him and that she absolutely needed to know how he felt in turn. He moved to her side, pulling the small bauble from his coat and fastening it wordlessly to her ear. She traced the edge with her fingers and leaned against him, breath slow & heavy hanging in her lungs.
Now his Warden lay still, ragged breathing & bandages though fresh, already soaked through. He only heard the others shift uncomfortably around them as he climbed onto the bed, scooting next to her unwounded side. He wrapped himself around her, gingerly tucking an arm at her hip. Wynne worked around them, keeping any comments she may have had tightly clasped between pursed lips.
Rating: T (for the moment)
Genre: Drama, Angst, and a bit of Fluff-Romance
Note: Generic Fem!PC & Zevran. All events happen between the archdemon's death and the epilogue. Hope you enjoy.
They stood atop Fort Drakon as she charged forward, sweeping a rather large blade into her clammy palms. The beast writhed in place, ballista bolts protruding from every inch of its obsidian & crimson scale. The sword sunk into the creature's skull just at the base of its neck. The pommel burned, searing the flesh on her palm. Light enveloped them and her figure barely a thin line amid the white hot haze.
They listened as she screamed, heard as the creature's massive jaw made on last effort to take hold. The sound of teeth sinking into flesh and then, quiet. They could not breech the barrier that surrounded them, thrown back in the same instant they attempted to run through it. They could make out her face, just barely and it was contorted, streamed with tears and her mouth wide in a scream. No sound came to their ears and a free hand reaching toward them.
It was over. The light was gone in a flash & crack that resounded through the entire city. People surrounded the base of the fort, cheering and howling their might against the horde. Atop the fort, a bastard prince, foolhardy assassin and stoic qunari moved around her crumpled, motionless form. They approached eyes wide with fear, anticipation and even in their heavy footfalls she did not stir.
The assassin was first to drop at her side, cradling her head in his lap. Her face was drenched in blood and her right side was tore open, flesh frayed and stringing loose. The beast had sliced with its massive jaws and from the looks, seemed to have torn an artery. Qunari hands, calloused & huge, pressed down on the wound and yet, her blood came thickly over his fingers.
"Alistair -- get Wynne!"
The bastard king was off, dashing through the eerily empty fort and through the crowd outside looking desperate for the elder mage. She was still at the gates, waiting with the rest who stayed behind. They all followed after, not needing any sordid explanation -- it was written on his face. The worst had happened; she lived, but only for the moment.
Qunari and assassin braced her, as they burst through the rooftop doors; she was flailing, screaming and writhing. Upon sight of Wynne she calmed slightly, the blood pooling at the corners of her mouth. She could not speak, throat full of ash, but her eyes spoke volumes. The wound in her side nearly split her in two and the archdemon's taint was coursing through her veins as poison. Her porcelain skin was lined with sickly shades of blue & green, her veins hardening just under the surface. She was dying, slowly & painfully.
Wynne braced herself, pulling on the incantations & power inside her, drawing out the woman's pain. It came as a light blue force, liquid smoke from her fingertips. The wound mended together slowly, the frayed flesh pulling itself back into place. Color still drained from her face, turning her shade a sickening yellow. Her eyes were fading, flickering in & out and they were dyed red.
She raised a trembling hand and pulled with unexpected force on the collar of Alistair's shirt. His ear to her lips, "Morrigan ... find her ..." and she slipped with haste into unconsciousness.
The assassin wore an expression the others would likely never see again as he whispered rushed Antivan phrases against her skin. His own blond hair was matted and his usual perfected braids in shambles. In another place & time she would have chided him, made him to sit and fixed them proper.
Sten kept his hands over her wound, even as the flesh mended at an impossibly slow-moving pace. His deep purple eyes awash and wide, fear glimmering there. The very thought that the imposing man was capable of such a thing did nothing to assuage the others.
"We need to get her off the roof, gentlemen." Wynne's voice shocked them from their stupor and with a quiet nod, Sten lifted her meager form from the ground as Zevran worked the buckles of her armor. Alistair stood as stone, unable to move his legs. It took a hard whack over the head from Leliana's bow to get him moving. He only had one thing to do: find Morrigan.
He walked with them until they came to the gates of the fort. The crowd was nearly impenetrable and would have stayed as such had the qunari not been carrying her. They parted and silence came in her wake. The masses bowed their heads though she still drew breath, however uneven & short, and the assassin held tight her small hand.
After she killed the Broodmother in the Deep Roads, she found his hand and locked fingers into his own for the first time. They trembled even then, sending her shivers through his skin. Now they simply lay slack in his palm, cold & blue tinged.
The room prepared at Eamon's behest was on the ground floor of the palace, usually reserved for foreign dignitaries who would be easily watched during the night. The eggshell duvet was instantly stained blood red.
"Amora, you must not leave us. Come back dearest lady, we need you here -- I need you here." He pressed lips to the clean side of her neck in desperate, futile hope it would pull her from her wretched slumber. Wynne bustled about the room, calling for help -- anyone with a pair of free hands, really and the others could only watch the door and press themselves flat at the wall.
More spells, incantations & specific gestures melding together in a cadre of magical wisps that filled the room as smoke. The smell of lyrium and ground elfroot wafted around the room in a humid haze, intoxicating all who gathered 'round her bedside. A flash of some archaic cleansing and her eyes flickered and chest heaved full of air. He palmed the small jeweled bauble hanging delicately on her ear, the inlay flecked with the archdemon's ilk.
He had nearly lost her once before, the day he gave her that earring. She asked if it was meant as a token of affection and he panicked, snatching it from her hand saying, "We pick up every trinket but this you will not accept. Impossible woman -- simple, you do not want the earring, you do not get the earring."
He did not turn to see her face, simply packing down every tendon that screamed to run back and take her in his arms. He had been so sure she would not forgive him. It would have been easier at the time for him to walk away, leave in the middle of the night without a word. Instead, she came to his room at the arl's estate and he foolishly let her inside.
That night, while his head filled with visions of Taliesin's cold corpse and Rinna's tear-filled eyes, he listened to her. She was telling him she loved him and that she absolutely needed to know how he felt in turn. He moved to her side, pulling the small bauble from his coat and fastening it wordlessly to her ear. She traced the edge with her fingers and leaned against him, breath slow & heavy hanging in her lungs.
Now his Warden lay still, ragged breathing & bandages though fresh, already soaked through. He only heard the others shift uncomfortably around them as he climbed onto the bed, scooting next to her unwounded side. He wrapped himself around her, gingerly tucking an arm at her hip. Wynne worked around them, keeping any comments she may have had tightly clasped between pursed lips.