Chapter Text
Ostagar Ruins
Korcari Wilds, Ferelden
9:30 Dragon Age
Twilight had fallen on the ruins of Ostagar, an unspoken tension hanging in the air as the hustle and bustle of soldiers began to dissipate, spilling out into the forward camp near the frontlines. Black shadows reached across the grounds of the new Grey Warden as she wove through the ruins, aiming for the long-awaited war table meeting. The crumbling pillars seemed to cradle the dark sky above, the wind whistled through the ruins, and the smell of burning wood wafted in the breeze.
Flickering torches danced on the sconces against the pillars, casting an orange glow that barely baited off the abyssal shadows, lighting an eerie and ominous path toward the long war table ahead. There were already people present, crowding the heavy oak table with murmured conversations.
As she approached, she rubbed her injured arm, the flesh already knitted together from Wynne's healing magic and the potion, but it still ached dully. Elaina's glacier eyes landed on Duncan, who was positioned at the center of the table. She belied a sigh of relief at the familiar face as she moved to join him.
Duncan's olive skin looked darker in the fading light and the ambient flicker of the nearby torches and candles. He turned toward her with a nod as she approached.
"You made it. Good," A ghost of a smile crested his face for a waning moment. "You're right on time."
Elaina's eyes surveyed the war table, taking in the various people surrounding it. Several of the Ash Warriors, a handful of the king's soldiers, a few of the Teyrn's commanders, and even a Chantry priestess flanked by three Templars. She raised a brow at that but caught sight of a familiar, senior enchanter mage robes nestled between the heavily armored knights and grimaced at the realization. The circle had come with an escort. All in all, the table was full, and everyone was here and ready to begin.
Save the king and the mysterious Teyrn that is.
Just as she opened her mouth to pose the obvious question, the metallic clanking of armor and hushed voices permeated the air around the war table, silencing the brewing conversations as rhythmic footfalls approached.
"-Cailan, if you would just listen!" The voice held a deep timbre yet cracked like a whip. Just then, two men entered the soft glow of the torchlit path. King Cailan Theirin, with his chin, held high and his golden armor gleaming with a near-spit shine strode toward the table. His youthful face, framed by a mane of blonde hair, was alight with a boyish eagerness that seemed at odds with the grim task at hand.
"Loghain, my decision is final!" Cailan spoke, not once glancing at the man who flanked him—a man who starkly contrasted the young king in every possible way. The two took their stations at the table, allowing Elaina a better view of the Teyrn she had heard so much about.
Where Cailan was gilded and gleaming, Loghain was all sharp angles and cold steel. His armor was practical, unadorned save for the marks of battle, its muted tones reflecting his no-nonsense demeanor. His dark hair, streaked with grey, was cropped close, and his face was a map of hard lines and deep furrows etched by years of war and sacrifice. His piercing grey eyes, shadowed by suspicion and grim resolve, regarded the king with a mixture of exasperation and thinly veiled disdain.
"Good, we are all here," Cailan smiled, his cheeks dimpling. "Straight to business. What's the report?"
One of the men, a scout commander by the look of it, cleared his throat and stepped up to the table. The scout commander—a wiry man with a sun-weathered face and a deep scar running from brow to cheek—leaned over the table, his finger tracing the edge of the map where darkspawn movements were marked. His voice was steady, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
"The darkspawn advance has quickened, Your Majesty," he began, his sharp eyes flicking from Cailan to Loghain and then briefly, curiously, to Elaina before returning to the map. "Our forward scouts report heavy concentrations of their forces along the western ridge. They've begun setting up chokepoints here"—he tapped a spot on the map—"and here. Their numbers are larger than anticipated, possibly bolstered by fresh spawn."
Cailan leaned in, his bright blue eyes narrowing as if he could will the map to yield some advantage. "Larger than anticipated? Then we'll simply need to crush them with overwhelming force."
Loghain exhaled sharply, his expression darkening as his arms folded over his chest. "Bluster will not win this battle, Cailan. Their numbers suggest a deeper strategy—this is no mere skirmish. They’re probing our defenses, looking for weaknesses."
Elaina swallowed, her eyes darting toward Duncan, who remained statuesque like the others. There was a tension, different than the anticipation of battle that hung in the air. This was a tension that seemed to grow from the King and the Teyrn. The conversations continued, with the Teyrn leading the bulk of the strategies and pushing around chess pieces on the map like it was a simple strategy game. Despite the aforementioned tension, the plans seemed sound, supported by the relevant reports from the scouts and soldiers.
"As the forward group engages the first wave of the horde, you and I will stand ready to move in with the Army-," Loghain's explanation was interrupted by a disbelieving scoff. Loghain's jaw clenched as he stood up from where he leaned over the table and face Cailan. "Must I remind you, this is not a tale for bards. It’s war. Romanticizing it will not change the stakes. We face annihilation if we falter.”
Cailan rolled his azure eyes, saying, "I believe I was quite clear. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."
A muscle feathered in the Teyrn's jaw. "You risk too much, Cailan. The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the frontlines."
Even Elaina had to agree with that. Cailan is the King of Ferelden, the future of the country. She got the idea that he was a bit too overzealous and hungry for glory when she first met him, but had hoped that such childish ideations might be placated closer to the impending battle. Those hopes were since dashed.
"If that's the case, then maybe we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all," Cailan's sarcastic quip felt like a punch to the gut. Elaina may have spent most of her life living in the Circle, but even she knew of the tenuous relationship between Ferelden and Orlais, the bloody war that left a raw scar on the newfound allies. Based on the information readily available around Ostagar, Loghain earned his title as Teyrn and respect for battle during that war.
The Teyrn clenched his fists and closed his eyes as he sucked in a long and purposeful breath. Elaina braced herself for an explosion.
"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves," Loghain spoke through his teeth.
Cailan's boyish face and kind eyes suddenly drained, and the man left standing there was unquestionably the King of Ferelden. Elaina's lung cried out for relief as she held her breath.
"It is not a fool notion," Cailan's voice was clipped, leaving no room for argument. Elaina wanted to dive under the table. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past...and you will remember who is king."
When the Teyrn rubbed his head tirelessly and droned, "How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those enslaved us for a century," Elaina balked. Her knowledge of nobility dwindled with age, but something told her that such a response was hardly appropriate when speaking to royalty. Then again, with the respect and honor Loghain wielded, perhaps he had more room to wave his words around without repercussions.
"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailan quipped, whirling in her direction and fixing his blue eyes to the Grey Warden beside her. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"
Duncan squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as he was addressed. "They are, your Majesty."
Those royal blues fixed onto Elaina and the girl's stomach flipped. The smile returned to Cailan's face as he nodded at her. "And this is the recruit I met the other day on the road? Elaina, was it? I understand congratulations are in order."
Dozens of eyes speared through her, and Elaina had to remind her bladder to hold strong as she dipped her head in a bow. "Th-Thank you, your M-Majesty." There was a nearby snort and a soft chorus of chuckling at her stuttering.
Cailan, however, held up a single gold gauntlet, silencing the impudent chatter as he gazed warmly at her. "Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks."
Loghain rolled his eyes and Elaina instinctively took a step behind Duncan's shoulders as the Teyrn said, "Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality."
Cailan sighed, leaning over the war table as he lazily gestured with his hand, "Fine, speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then...?"
Loghain seemed content that Cailan was finally indulging current plans and leaned over next to him to point out pieces of the schemes. "You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover, to-"
"-To flank the darkspawn, I remember," the King interrupted the Teyrn again, this time pushing a different piece into position. "This is the Tower of Ishaal, yes? Who will light the beacon?"
Teyrn stood up, dark eyes fixed to the map as he said, "I have a few men stationed there. It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital."
Cailan pursed his lips, a moment of silence passing over the war table before he spoke. "Then we should send our best," Cailan's azure eyes flicked toward Duncan. "Send Alistair and Elaina to make sure it's done."
"As you wish," Duncan nodded, turning his eyes toward Elaina expectantly...as did the King. Elaina swallowed thickly once more as she gave a short nod.
"I'll...do my best, your Majesty," she said, discreetly wiping her sweaty palms along her breeches. Loghain, however, was discontent with this and scoffed.
"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much," he sneered the word like it was a foul profanity and Elaina scrunched her nose, but held her tongue. "Is that truly wise?"
"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain," King Cailan groaned with exasperation. "Grey Wardens battle the blight, no matter where they're from."
As Loghain's eyes flashed and his lips parted to argue, Duncan cleared his throat to gain their attention. "Your majesty, you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."
"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," Loghain disputed, shaking his head. For once, Cailan seemed to agree with the Teyrn and shrugged his shoulders.
"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?"
Duncan blinked. "I...yes, your Majesty."
"Your majesty," A familiar voice interrupted, and a man pushed past the Templars to stand before the King. It took two seconds for Elaina to recognize the older, bald mage in the senior enchanter robes. Uldred? He was among Elaina's least favorite instructors at the Circle. When he was called away, Elaina nearly cheered in relief that his incessant micromanaging and bland lessons had come to an end. He always seemed to know more, and none of Elaina's final projects were every quite good enough, always nit picking and critiquing.
"The Tower and its beacon are unnecessary," Uldred tutted and the young mage deadpanned at the senior enchanter's boldness. "The Circle of Magi-"
"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" The priestess hissed, shoulder her way in front of him to scowl. "Save them for the darkspawn."
Elaina wasn't sure what she hated more. Uldred's mansplaining or the priestess' obvious prejudice. They both left much to be desired. Which was why she was grateful when the Teyrn spoke up.
"Enough! The plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon," As Loghain spoke, Uldred's lip curles with distaste before glancing over at her. He did a double take, blinking owlishly when he recognized Elaina, questions dancing in the older mage's eyes. His mouth fumbled for words that died on his tongue as he was ushered back behind the guard of Templars.
"Thank you, Loghain," Cailan sighed, his azure eyes glimmering with that fervor that spoke of dreams of glory, of songs sung in his name long after the battle was won. There was a lightness to him, a radiance that felt almost fragile in the face of the heavy reality they faced. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"
"Yes, Cailan," the Teyrn murmured, turning his back to the war table. "A glorious moment for us all."
The meeting concluded with orders barked and strategies confirmed, but the unspoken divide between Cailan and Loghain lingered like smoke in the air. As the commanders dispersed into the night, the sounds of preparation filled the camp—armor being fitted, weapons sharpened, and prayers whispered into the cold.
The flames of the bonfire near the Grey Warden's camp were stoked once more. Tall embers leaped high into the air as the wood crackled and sparks shimmered. There was no mistaking the impatient gait of the man pacing back and forth, Alistair's silhouette as distinguishable as if he were standing in the full light of day. Elaina found herself gulping nervously as she flanked Duncan, aiming toward the junior warden.
Alistair paused midstep as he noticed their arrival and squared his shoulders as he faced them.
"You're back!" He exclaimed, seemingly relieved that he was not left to ponder his thoughts alone. "How did it go?"
Duncan's face remained neutral, smooth despite the sun-weathered lines that etched his skin. Though his face revealed nothing and Duncan's silence indicated less, his wary dark eyes spoke volumes to Alistair who pulled a face.
"That bad, huh?" Alistair muttered, running a hand through his dark blonde hair as his shoulders slumped. "Let me guess: Cailan's eager to charge in, swords blazing, while Loghain grumbles about strategy and doom?"
Duncan's lips quirked slightly, a ghost of amusement flickering over his otherwise solemn features. "An astute observation, Alistair. The king and the teyrn have... differing views on how this battle should be fought. But the plan is set. We hold the line and light the beacon as agreed."
Alistair gave a half-hearted chuckle, though his brow furrowed. "Oh, good. I was worried we might get through this without a dramatic disagreement between our leaders."
Elaina watched the exchange, her nervousness mingling with a sense of mirth and a slight somber realization. Alistair's humor was biting, but there was a sincerity beneath it—a need to mask his unease. She couldn't blame him; the tension in the camp was thick enough to choke on, and the looming threat of battle weighed heavily on them all.
"And what about you, Elaina?" Alistair turned to her, his expression softening. "How are you holding up after all... this?"
Caught off guard by his sudden attention, Elaina hesitated. The truth was, she felt like a leaf caught in a storm—helplessly swept along by forces she barely understood. But the warmth in Alistair's honeyed gaze, the quiet solidarity he offered, steadied her.
"I'm... managing," she replied, her voice quieter than she'd intended. "Though I can't say I'm looking forward to what's coming."
"None of us are," Alistair admitted, his tone softer now. "But, hey, at least we're all in this mess together, right?"
Together...Elaina tried to brush off the wider, unrealistic implication of that word, but it stuck like a fly in tree sap. Curses.
"Did you say the Grey Wardens will hold the line and light the beacon?" Alistair inquired, raising a brow. Duncan made a noise that sounded like a short, humorless laugh. Alistair was sharper than he presented himself and would surely abhor the King's arrangements.
"Yes," Duncan said, folding his hands behind his back. "You and Elaina will go to the Tower of Ishaal and ensure the beacon is lit."
Despite the overwhelming tension of the approaching battle, Elaina couldn't help but bit back a bemused smile at Alistair's gobsmacked expression.
"What!?" He exclaimed like a pouting child being told they couldn't have dessert before dinner. "I won't be in the battle?"
"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair," Duncan responded knowingly. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."
Alistair's face fell, his whiskey eyes gleaming with irritation and his expression dull as he said, "So, he needs two Grey Wardens up there holding the torch just in case, right?"
Elaina grimaced, looking at her fellow Warden with a hint of amusement. "Hey, it's still an important job," she reassured him with a shrug. "What if you sneeze and blow out the flame? I'll have to light it for you with my parlor tricks."
Alistair rolled his eyes, but his annoyance began to ebb. "If I ever sneeze hard enough to extinguish a torch, you'd better write a song about it. I'll want the world to know about my unparalleled sneezing prowess."
Elain scoffed, "Sure thing. But you'll have to supply the rhymes. I'm just the magical backup, remember?"
Duncan, observing the exchange, allowed himself the faintest smile before clearing his throat. “This is no small responsibility, Alistair. The timing of the beacon is critical. Without it, the battle could be lost before it begins.”
Alistair’s humor dimmed slightly, though his trademark sarcasm remained intact. “Right. No pressure, then. Just the fate of Ferelden resting on our impeccable torch-lighting skills.”
“Exactly,” Duncan replied, entirely unphased. "We must do whatever it takes to stop the darkspawn...exciting or no."
Alistair sighed noisily, rolling his eyes as he submitted to Duncan's orders begrudgingly. "I get it, I get it," He cut one final annoyed look at his senior. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."
Elaina choked on a very impolite laugh, earning a slight smirk from Alistair. "I think I'd like to see that," Elaina said over a strangled giggle.
"For you, maybe," his honey-smooth voice said, making her skin grow unbearably warm, and her cheeks flush as more laughter bubbled in her gut. But it has to be a pretty dress."
Duncan's eyes squinted as he let out a near-pained sigh. Leave it to him to recruit two young Grey Wardens steered by their hormones more than logic, sense, and intellect. He was glad they were getting along, perhaps a bit too well, but their dynamic would send him marching into the Deep Roads alone if it meant avoiding their young, angsty flirtations.
"The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp," Duncan interjected, escorting the two back to reality. "The way we came when we arrived. You'll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up through the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley."
"And where will you be?" Alistair asked.
"I will be fighting alongside the king with the rest of the Grey Wardens, again, at his request. We will signal you when the time is right," Duncan replied.
Elaina pursed her lips and glanced between her fellow Junior and Duncan before asking, "Can we join the battle afterward?" Perhaps that would appease Alistair's desire for fight and glory.
Duncan grimaced and shook his head. "Stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word."
Just then, Duncan's earlier comment at the war table spawned into her mind and Elaina swallowed nervously, her voice a bit shaky as she spoke, "What if the archdemon appears?"
Alistair stiffened, his face drawing up nervously as he looked at her, trying to deflect the horrific notion with humor.
"We soil our drawers, that's what."
"If it does, leave it to us,. I want no heroics from either of you." Duncan's voice was severe and clipped, leaving no room for objection. It made a chill crawl down Elaina's spine. "Despite what you may be thinking, there will be danger. Even the best-laid plans go awry. So, do what you must. I trust you both."
Elaina lowered her icy gaze as Duncan's words permeated her armor, her skin, and seeped into her heart. Trust. What a fragile thing it is. Yet Duncan instilled his trust in them so fully, just as she had with Jowan. You risked all to help a friend in need. And now, you must risk all to help the Grey Wardens, to honor this second chance. That was what Duncan had told her earlier. Could she do that?
The answer was clear. If this was her second chance, her shot at redemption, Elaina would not squander it.
"Just not enough to actually fight with the rest of you," Alistair grumbled.
"There will be plenty of battles, Alistair," Duncan chuckled. "Be patient."
Elaina lifted her gaze back to Duncan, a new sort of resolve gleaming in the arctic expanse of her eyes as she nodded.
"I must join the others," the Warden Commander sighed, his eyes surveying the awaiting troup of Grey Wardens nearby. "From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."
Alistair set his jaw and said, "Duncan. May the maker watch over you."
The older Warden let his eyes fall for a split second before saying, "May he watch over us all."
As Duncan turned on his heel and retreated toward the small team of Ferelden Grey Wardens, Elaina's eyes followed him. Then her feet were moving. Every step Duncan took, she matched his with two until she was a half-step away from him.
"Wait!" She objected, clenching her fists as she paused in tandem with Duncan. The Warden Commander swivelled to face her, his face hardset and one brow lifted in questions. Elaina swallowed the lump in her throat. Duncan was a seasoned war veteran. He would be fine...right? And yet, as she stared at him, the shadows of Ostagar seemed to consume him around the edges, gradually swallowing him. It felt like he might disappear entirely. Nothing was guaranteed. Even the best laid plans go awry.
Elaina opened her mouth and closed it several times, words fumbling and dying on her tongue before she clenched her jaw and met his eyes with that same resolve.
"To clear skies and free winds," she spoke the words like a vow, holding her arm out toward him. They were his words, Duncan realized, and the hard lines on his face softened. He could see it now. That same unwavering loyalty he had witnessed when she had tripped out of the Circle's phylactery chambers alongside the maleficar and the priestess. Elaina had seized hold of this second chance.
Duncan didn't bother to hide the proud smile that lifted his beard and showed the faintest sliver of his teeth as he clasped their arms together.
"To the choices we make and the lives we control," Duncan replied, dark eyes glimmering with pride and hope. "We will speak soon."
The camp was quiet and desolate—a wasteland of ruins, with a haunting reminder of the soldiers who once filled its ancient bones. The two junior wardens spent the remainder of their time prepping their gear, packing gear lightly in case of a swift change of plans that left Ostagar abandoned. Now, they stood on the crumbling battlements, waiting on the first signal. It all came down to timing, executing the timing of the plan perfectly.
A web of lightning spread across the sky, dark clouds moving in to consume the pale moon that cast an ethereal glow over the battleground below. The earth rumbled with a clap of thunder a moment later and Elaina held her breath,
The crumbling battlements of Ostagar loomed over the darkened gorge below, their ancient stones slick with the evening dew. Elaina and Alistair stood side by side, their breaths misting in the chill night air. The camp behind them, once bustling with activity, now felt eerily still, its emptiness a stark contrast to the roiling tension that hung in the air. Hundreds if not thousands of soldiers filled the valley below, torches glittering against the darkness like speckling lightning bugs.
Archers, hounds, warriors...countless ranks held the chasm below as all watched the sprawling expanse of thick forests ahead, waiting with waited breath for movement. The chill Elaina felt was hard to decipher. Was it the winter air? The horror of battle? Both? Clearing her throat, she turned to look at Alistair, desperately needing humor to cut the suffocating tension.
Elaina crossed her arms, giving Alistair a mock-serious look. “So, about the beacon," She said, her voice wavering.
"Ah, yes, and my god-like sneezing that could ruin our mission?" Alistair rolled his eyes.
Elaina tutted, muscles relaxing slightly. "We’d better start practicing if the bards will have any material to work with. I’ll conjure flames, and you try not to panic when they get too close.”
Alistair shot her a look but couldn’t suppress a small smirk. “Ha, ha. Very funny. You know, if the darkspawn don’t kill me, I’m certain your jokes will.”
“Good,” Elaina replied lightly. “At least you’ll die laughing.”
The silence returned with a sense of unease and the silver-haired mage grimaced. The wind around them howled and stung their cheeks. A cold drop of water splattered across Elaina's cheek, eliciting a flinch from the girl. Below, the trees seemed to move. Perhaps it was their imagination concocting something that wasn't there yet, or the gust of wind creaking the bows of the woods, or...
"Some view, huh?" Alistair’s voice was quiet but laced with unease. His golden hair caught the light of the distant bonfires, a stark contrast to the grim lines of his face. He leaned forward, resting his gloved hands on the jagged stone, his eyes narrowing as he tried to discern the movements below.
Elaina gave a soft, humorless laugh. "If by ‘some view’ you mean horrifying, then yes, it’s spectacular."
He huffed, glancing sideways at her. "Well, when you put it that way, it’s practically a vacation spot. I’m sure the darkspawn would love to give us a warm welcome."
Suddenly, a flicker of light glinted in the thick, shrouded forest below. Elaina's body instantly tensed, her muscles coiling as her hand ghosted the staff handle on her back. Each second that passed felt like a century. Then she saw it again. Then another.
On the winds, a long and deep sound resonated. The battle horn. It brayed three times, echoing across the ruins with the intensity of a cry for help. The short blasts of sound seemed to echo endlessly as the masses below began to light up signals to ready the archers. At first, Elaina thought the faint pounding in her ears was the rush of blood from her stampeding heart...but it didn't match the wild staccato in her chest. It was too rhythmic and slow....it was drums.
Her skin turned to ice as she felt the hissing in her ears, the garbled wet noises, and the listless snarling that accompanied her nightmares. It was all too clear for her not to realize what it was, and Alistair's large hard found her shoulder, warm and reassuring as her body shook with fear. She could sense the darkspawn.
Elaina's glacier-blue eyes scanned the gorge, where the faint sound of drums and guttural growls drifted upward like ghostly echoes. The dark clouds swallowed the moon now as the speckling rain began to fall with consistency. The black tide of darkspawn was barely visible—a writhing, malevolent sea surging toward the battlefield. Her fingers tightened instinctively around her staff, the smooth wood grounding her as her stomach churned with dread and fear.
Then, the glittering lights in the wilds began to multiply rapidly, spreading through the endless Wilds like a plague. Torches. Thousands upon thousands of torches glimmered between the thick growth of trees and forest in the gorge. The darkspawn moved like an undulating mass of black sickness and cancer.
And then...it surged forward.
The horde of darkspawn charged toward the forces holding the line at Ostagar below and Elaina's mouth went dry, stomach broiling as the blighted creatures surged from the forest, practically crawling out the ground and the shadows. She'd never, in her worst nightmares, imagined so many of them. They were endless.
There was an indistinguishable cry from below, and Elaina watched as hundreds of flaming arrows arched through the storming sky, raining fire onto the horde of darkspawn. Another shout, and the brutish canines were released from the frontlines, meeting the bulk of the horde head-on.
"For Ferelden!" Even from these heights, King Cailan's commanding voice was clear, followed by a rally of war cries and barbaric screams as the King's soldiers and the Grey Wardens spilled onto the battlefield in a flood of glory.
The signal...they needed to wait for the signal.
The first wave of combat had begun—a deafening clash of steel, roaring darkspawn, and the distant war cries of soldiers. Torches flared below like scattered fireflies, illuminating brief, chaotic glimpses of the battle.
Alistair’s jaw tightened as he watched. "They’re holding the line for now," he muttered, his tone betraying more hope than certainty.
"For now," Elaina echoed, her voice softer.
A sudden burst of light drew their attention to the left. Fire arced through the sky—a mage's handiwork, she realized—and descended in a brilliant explosion amidst the darkspawn ranks. The cries of the dying rose were an eerie symphony that sent a shiver down her spine.
"You ever wonder," Alistair began, his voice quieter now, "if this will ever end? The Blight, I mean. It’s like trying to hold back an ocean with a bucket."
Elaina glanced at him, her silvery blonde hair catching the light of the distant flames. She'd been a Grey Warden all of one day and felt she lacked the experience needed to answer such a disarming question. She shook her head, eyes watering from the brutal winds and pelting rain. "If we don’t try, who will?" she whispered.
He looked at her, his whiskey-brown eyes searching hers for a moment before he nodded. "Guess that’s what makes us Grey Wardens, huh?"
"Something like that," she replied with a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
The sound of a horn shattered the moment, reverberating through the camp. The first signal.
Elaina inhaled sharply, straightening as adrenaline surged through her veins. Alistair mirrored her movement, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade.
"It’s time," he said, his voice grim but resolute.
Elaina nodded, her grip tightening on her staff as she turned toward the distant Tower of Ishal. The battle raged below, a chaotic tide of death and defiance, but their task lay above—silent and watchful, the fate of the battlefield depending on their actions.
Together, they left the battlements behind, their steps echoing in the desolate ruins as the sounds of war raged on below.