There and Back Again Ch. 111-112

I raced towards the emissaries with the Grey Wardens pacing me, but just as I came into range to disrupt their spellcasting, the ground underneath my feet began to rumble. I was knocked over, my feet flying out from under me, and landed awkwardly on my face and one shoulder with a scream. I could hear the crunching and moaning of armoured figures hitting the ground around me, and guessed that all of us were down.

When the earth finally quit heaving, I slowly climbed to my feet, only to gape in shock. We'd made it to within a couple hundred feet of the Archdemon, but between us and it, a massive ravine had opened up, splitting the ground in front of us. There was a canyon, at least twenty feet deep and fifteen feet wide, with sheer walls and sharp rubble at the bottom, dividing us from the rest of the army.

Cailan immediately began shouting for the soldiers to form up, sending scouts out, half south and half north, to find a way around; Riordan paced beside the cleft, and I wondered if he was trying to decide if he could jump it, or climb. A few dwarves raced back to the woods we'd left behind, talking about cutting trees and building bridges.

I stayed where I was, reaching out angrily to seize the mana of the five emissaries who had cut us off from where my brother and my husband were fighting for their lives. I managed to control the shockwave, letting out the pressure quickly enough that I didn't feel like my head would explode, and all of the darkspawn mages crumpled to the ground.

And then, nothing left to do, I watched helplessly. I was close enough to see them, now – both Aedan's and Alistair's groups were there, trying to take the beast down. It was injured, black ichor oozing out of its shattered wing, one leg deformed – from the crash landing, I assumed – and multiple wounds were sluggishly bleeding. The warriors took turns drawing its attention, the mages weakening, freezing, or electrocuting it, the rogues darting underneath or behind to bleed it further. Even Prince was there, tearing into a hind leg with his teeth. It was a war of attrition, and it looked like the Grey Wardens were winning.

To my surprise, despite its injuries, the Archdemon, receiving the first rays of morning sun, reared back, flapping its one good wing, blowing most of the Grey Wardens back a dozen feet, and sending the few it missed scrambling for cover with an enormous torrent of flames. Aedan went ass over teakettle as he'd dodged a flailing leg just as the wind kicked up, and they all regrouped with him, wearily eyeing the enraged dragon.

The mages and archers in the army, fighting against a renewed assault by the darkspawn, took a moment to switch from their attackers, sending a last volley of spells and arrows at the failing beast. A massive frost spell of some sort paralysed its good wing, while the arrows filled it full of holes, and some sort of lightning explosion impacted against its raised chin, rocking it solidly.

The beast fell, head crashing down to the ground, neck muscles too weak or too damaged to hold it up anymore, and it was clear despite the last gust of flame that the fight was all-but-over. One more significant hit to the neck or head would be the end of it, and the dragon's position left those important parts vulnerable.

It was time for a killing blow, and Riordan, Dougal, Conrad and Loghain were on the wrong side of a chasm they could not cross.

I saw Aedan square his shoulders, and turn a sorrowful eye on Zevran. I couldn't hear what was said, of course, but if I knew my brother, he was saying something stupid like 'go on without me' or 'take care of my sister.' Zev nodded, a strange, jerky head bob; I started to scream, only to see Aedan's own mabari jump up and tackle him, take a mouthful of the back of Aedan's armour and drag him down to the ground. Before anyone else could do anything about it, the Antivan was sprinting towards the now quiescent dragon.

I watched, horrified, clinging to Riordan, who groaned softly, as the love of Aedan's life raised his sword, and as I had seen in the game, thrust it firmly into the back of the neck of the vulnerable, tainted creature.

A blast wave travelled out from the site of the assassin's sacrifice, and we barely kept to our feet as it swept past us. A few of the soldiers closer to the beast fell, the darkspawn taking momentary advantage, until the brilliant light burst out from the corpse. I had to look away, the intensity agonising, so I couldn't have said what happened to Zevran. I blinked quickly, only to see the nearest darkspawn actually incinerated by the explosion while the soldiers were left unharmed.

After that, it was a complete rout. Dazed darkspawn were slaughtered without a fight, while others turned tail and tried to flee, and the archers shot them in the back as they ran. On our side of the chasm, all we could do was stand and watch as the army mopped up the stragglers who weren't successful at escaping. A couple dozen dwarves finally returned dragging two large tree trunks, which were stripped of their branches, lashed together, and dropped over the ravine.

Riordan and the other Wardens were the first to cross, followed by me, Cailan, and the other nobles. The battalion behind me had been instructed to begin gathering more wood for pyres, setting up a larger infirmary, and preparing for the dead and wounded, while the rest of the fighters – warriors and rogues, humans, dwarves and elves, mages and templars, sank to the ground where they stood, exhausted and shaky from the remains of their battle highs.

I found my brother, who was barely being restrained by the combined efforts of Sten and Alistair, as he attempted to break free and go to Zevran. Prince whined pitifully, Alistair tried murmuring reassuring nonsense, while Sten tried appealing to his logic.

"You cannot approach yet, Warden. It helps no one if you perish too."

I didn't think either would be successful, given the wracking sobs shaking his frame; I got in front of him and wrapped my arms around his neck, just holding tight until he slumped into my arms and we both sank to the ground, Prince burying his muzzle in the small space between our bellies. I suppressed sobs of my own, trying to be strong for my brother. Trying not to break down demanding forgiveness.

I looked around, catching Alistair's eye and exchanging a meaningful glance I couldn't have explained if I tried, but it was full of sadness, regret, but also hope and relief. I'm so lucky. Thank you, Maker, for sparing him. I broke the gaze to check everyone else out while Aedan cried on my shoulder. Nothing like feeling guilty for being relieved.

"Where is Duncan?" someone finally asked, and I just shook my head in sorrow as Riordan hurried to tell everyone he hadn't made it and that we could discuss the details later.

I caught a last glimpse of Morrigan, who smiled sadly, raised one hand in an unexpected wave, and then shapeshifted into a bird and flew off. Sten had backed off and stood stoically cleaning his blade. The mages huddled together, Anders and Solona clinging to each other, the healer looking positively grey, while Jowan hovered awkwardly. I think they're all out of mana, if their skin colour is anything to go by. Faren and Bel were bandaging up superficial wounds on each other, then started making the rounds to see who else needed it.

Leliana and Mornwulf spoke quietly, the bard's eyes suspiciously bright. Oghren stood, holding his hammer sadly, staring at the place where the elf had disappeared.

"Never thought the nug-humper had it in him," he muttered. "Sod it, this wasn't supposed to be how it happened."

"He planned it, I think," Alistair wondered aloud. "He said something in Antivan to Prince just before he tackled Aedan." He came over to where I held my brother and offered me a hand; I clung to it, needing the reassurance of contact with my husband.

I nodded, sniffling. "Why else do you think he Joined?" I sighed. "Do you think we can go look for... um..." I didn't want to say the words 'body' or 'corpse', though I had no other terms that were more acceptable.

I glanced at Riordan, who had signalled a group of mages before staring at the Archdemon speculatively. "I think it will be safe." He lowered his voice, speaking to Alistair and me alone. "I'll make arrangements for the blood to be collected. Why don't you go look?"

Alistair helped me hoist Aedan, but I still held my brother's hand as we shuffled towards the dragon's corpse. I heard clomping behind me, and guessed the other Wardens had come to help look, and pay their respects.

It was several long minutes before we found Zevran, his slight frame crumpled up against the beast's neck where it couldn't initially be seen. It took all of us to shift the dragon's head so we could reach him, and Aedan dropped to his knees beside the assassin without touching him.

"It should have been me," he moaned, renewed tears streaking down his face. "Why am I always the one left behind?"

I knelt to pull him into my arms again, letting him sob against my neck; Leliana patted my shoulder as she stepped past us, bending down to straighten out the body. Zevran looked unscathed, I noticed vaguely; his face was covered in dirt and darkspawn blood, but he was otherwise unmarked. Leliana eased him into a supine position, crossing his arms across his chest. She went to close his eyes, and then twitched, startled, as she realised they weren't open. I'd seen enough death to know that was unusual – very few people who died in battle did so with closed eyes. The bard brushed her fingers against his temple, smearing some of the dirt and fondly smoothing back a lock of his hair, when a voice I never thought I would hear again croaked out softly.

"If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?"

Chapter One Hundred Twelve: *No Regrets

"If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?"

Leliana sprang away from the blond elf like someone had hit her with a taser. It might have been hilarious, if it hadn't been so shocking and serious and horrific a moment before. As it was, not one of us didn't gasp, twitch, jump, fall over, scream, or otherwise express horror, which rapidly transmuted into humour, as the reality of Zevran's survival sank in.

Aedan leapt out of my arms, lunging towards the supine elf; oblivious and uncaring who was watching, he showered kisses on the former Crow's face before burying his own face in Zev's neck and sobbing unrestrainedly. Zev reached up awkwardly to rub his back, murmuring endearments in Antivan.

Alistair, behind me, barked out a semi-hysterical laugh, and that broke the ice for everyone else; the entire group began talking and laughing, too happy to even speculate on the strange events that had brought us to this point.

As for me, I froze, kneeling where Aedan had left me moments before, staring open-mouthed at the assassin in shock, mind reeling. How? It isn't possible, unless... Something occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes, turning my head to examine my companions who were all celebrating in obvious relief. So Morrigan sticking around wasn't for my benefit, after all, as she'd claimed. Who? Someone did that damned ritual, but who?

Zevran blinked at me over Aedan's head, confused as well. "I rather thought I'd wake up dead...or not at all, as the case may be."

I frowned. "You've used that line already." He's genuinely surprised to be alive...strike Zevran and Aedan off the list of suspects. Aedan was far too afraid he'd died to be the one. I looked around some more.

Alistair wasn't on the list in the first place – I knew where he'd slept every night since we'd gotten back together, and it wasn't with Morrigan. Anders was deep in an embrace with Solona, a blissful look on his face as he held her like he'd never let go, and I crossed him off my mental list as well. A quick look at Jowan, Wulf, and the dwarves showed obvious shock, and I decided none of them were likely suspects either. Sten looked pissed off, and I wondered if he regretted his hasty decision to become a Warden and submit himself to a magical ritual given that it looked like no one had had to die to end the Blight in the end. Loghain also looked angry, but I ascribed other reasons for his anger – probably just pissed off he'll have to go to Orlais after all. I didn't think he would have agreed to the ritual to save his own life, much less the rest of us, without serious convincing – and Aedan, likely the only one possibly capable of it, obviously hadn't even tried.

Riordan looked weary, but also alarmed, and the look on Dougal's face mirrored that almost exactly; it was clear they were both concerned that somehow the Blight hadn't been ended, and the Archdemon was going to reform. I pondered the idea, briefly; it was, I supposed, just possible that Avernus' altered Joining potion was somehow ineffective, didn't render quite the right sort of taint to effectively kill an Archdemon, and Zevran – and the rest of us who'd recently Joined – weren't technically Grey Wardens.

But then my gaze fell on Conrad. The normally confidant redhead stood, looking around and avoiding eye contact, neither obviously shocked nor worried, and his usually pale face was flushed red as he rubbed nervously at one wrist with the other hand. My eyes narrowed further as I stared at him, noticing for the first time how his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them – or was really, inexplicably sad. Son of a...

I stood on shaky legs, and Alistair held out one arm, clearly expecting me to leap at him. I reached out and squeezed his hand, quickly, before slipping around him to walk up to Conrad. I stared at him for a moment, considering the unhappiness that was apparent.

"You," I began, and he winced. "You did the ritual. With Morrigan."

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then, finally, met my eyes. "Yes."

I was stunned at the sheer despair on his face, and I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder.

"Thank you. You saved him. Thank you." I babbled a few more thanks as he slowly, awkwardly, put his arms around me to pat my back. I could feel him shudder, and I went up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Do you love her?"

He didn't answer out loud, but I could feel the tremulous bob that indicated he'd nodded.

"You'll see her again, I promise. And your son will be fine. I will help you find her, I swear."

He nodded again, and his arms tightened once before releasing me. I stepped back and eased backwards into Alistair's embrace to find Riordan, Dougal, and Loghain watching me with varying degrees of skepticism and concern. I almost laughed – they were giving me the look they should be levelling at Conrad – but managed to refrain. The other Grey Wardens, newer to the Order as they were, seemed to be missing the seriousness of what was happening, and for Conrad's sake, I was relieved.

I tilted my head, and Alistair and I stepped sideways slightly, the three worried Wardens following us and Conrad reluctantly accompanying them. Riordan looked almost angry, and I sighed. "Look, there was a ritual, okay? One that meant the Warden who killed the Archdemon wouldn't die. Duncan knew about it and had decided against allowing it. I thought he'd told you, told everyone..." Their unimpressed expressions made it clear that wasn't true. "But obviously not. Apparently Conrad didn't ask permission." I noticed Conrad playing with a wooden ring on his finger and smiled softly.

Their unconvinced expressions spurred Alistair to defend me. "It's true. Aedan, Duncan, and I all knew. Duncan forbade us from going through with it. I assume either he thought no one else would do it without permission, or he spoke with Morrigan and believed she'd accepted his refusal on everyone's behalf."

"And just what are the consequences of this ritual, young lady?"

Dougal took his age way too seriously, I decided, and I suppressed a giggle. "Nothing you need to worry about, old man." He looked startled, but even Riordan twitched a smile. Loghain glared at me as though he'd be able to divine why they were asking me by burning a hole through my forehead with his gaze alone.

"No, seriously. I trust Morrigan. I don't know what exactly she plans, but I know the Blight is over, the Archdemon is truly dead, and she intends nothing bad for Ferelden or Thedas as a whole. Honestly, it will be okay." I purposely avoided mentioning a baby. I want Conrad to be the one to find her, not one of the others.

Conrad agreed with me, confirming what I'd said, also not mentioning the child, I noticed. Apparently satisfied, Riordan finally allowed us to return to the celebration with the others. Someone had helped Zevran up, and while his arm remained over Aedan's shoulder for support, he looked remarkably hale for a dead man. I kissed my brother's cheek, and squeezed Zevran gently with murmured thanks for keeping Aedan safe. I exchanged hugs with everyone, more than slightly relieved that the little family I had come to care about were safe – with one exception, whose absence made my heart ache.

I finally got the opportunity to curl myself into Alistair's arms – he threw off his gauntlets, lifted me up and kissed me aggressively, plundering my mouth and making me fervently wish we were somewhere more appropriate, and cleaner. When he released me, I buried my face in his neck. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"Duncan died saving me. I'm sorry."

He pulled away from me slightly, and I looked away, reluctant to see the pain or censure I expected in his eyes. He lifted my chin with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Duncan was never coming back, Sierra. Not after this. He would have been devastated to survive this battle. There is nothing to apologise for – not to me, or anyone else. He would have been happy to die to save your life, and I'm nothing but grateful that not only did he succeed, he won't have to go die in the Deep Roads alone."

"So...I did him a favour?" I sniffled, caught between relief the battle was over, and remorse that Duncan hadn't survived somehow against all odds.

Alistair chuckled. "I suppose so, yes. That's how he'd see it, anyway." He kissed my forehead softly. "I love you. And it isn't your fault he died. Knowing you, you were off trying to save the world, or something, when he saved you."

"I..." I blushed. "In other news, I did learn how to control that crazy smite that kills mages, more or less. The one I used at Ostagar."

"I'd like to see that!"

"You find me a handful of mages you want dead, and I'd be happy to show you."

"Think you could teach me?" He looked sort of...enthused.

"Honestly, no." He frowned, and I hurried to explain. "Nothing personal. I just don't think your magic resistance is high enough. I'm pretty sure mine is barely high enough. I was holding five emissaries' mana at the time. Pretty sure my brain was trying to drip out my nose, actually. It was awful."

He touched my face gently. "That explains the blood then. We should have Wynne or Anders check you out, just in case."

I nodded. "Once the injured are taken care of, I promise."

By this time, I saw a group of mages and a bunch of the Tranquil, supervised by Irving, approach Riordan. After some discussion, a subdued Conrad, Sten, and Jowan were left with them as they began the laborious process of draining and preserving the Archdemon's blood; once that was done, Sten had already started talking about how we could get the most scale and bone from the beast. A Warden had to do most of the work, given the risk of becoming tainted during handling, and Sten looked positively enthusiastic about the prospect.