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They say the Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs.
Aiden has heard the stories – usually unwillingly, given how often Alistair is prone to going off on rants about their purpose – yet he remains unconvinced.
And as he hears the true method of slaying the Archdemon – something about its soul seeking the nearest vessel, something about how its death must be repaid with more death – he can’t help but shake his head.
“The Maker has a sense of humor,” he says.
Sloane stands next to him, just as she stood next to him as he drew the chalice filled with Darkspawn blood to his lips.
She is gripping onto her staff, her jaw set and eyes strong. “Why?” Her voice doesn’t waver.
Sloane is no longer the quiet mage that she once was, fresh from the Circle with trembling hands and a weighed mind.
Aiden remembers the look of horror on her face as their fellow recruits fell that night, seemingly a lifetime ago. The night that this all started.
He tries not to think about it.
He can’t even remember those recruits’ names.
“It is how it is. How it has always been.” Riordan sighs. “This is why we are needed in this world. This is the true purpose of the Grey Wardens.”
But Sloane is not listening to him. Aiden knows her – he knows that she sometimes asks questions that she already knows the answer to. “In death, sacrifice,” she mutters to herself.
“So, no alternative, then.” Aiden rest his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“None.” Riordan sighs again. “I will take it upon myself. I will perform the final blow. However, we all go to battle. If I fall before the Archdemon is defeated, you must be prepared.”
“You’re saying that one of us might have to die, then,” Sloane says.
“Alistair is due for the throne, and will likely stay out away from the frontlines,” Riordan says. “But… Loghain, on the other hand, is… A candidate to be considered.”
“We didn’t spare Loghain during the Landsmeet to kill him a few days later,” Sloane says, her voice firm.
“He is a Warden now, Amell,” Riordan says.
Aiden frowns. Riordan speaks of being a Warden as if it’s a death sentence.
Aiden knows that, for all intents and purposes, it is.
He knows that.
But... His hand curls around his sword’s hilt.
“Anora sheds tears of joy for her father’s life,” Sloane presses on regardless. "Now you expect us to take that away from her?”
“No, Amell.” The patient tone that Riordan is using with Sloane is really starting to piss Aiden off. “I am merely stating that Loghain is now a Grey Warden, and Anora is aware of the… Consequences.”
“Fuck the consequences. I lost my father.” Aiden’s voice is steady despite the anger that flares up in his chest. “Anora won’t experience that anytime soon. Loghain’s not dying tomorrow.”
“It will not be an issue, Cousland.” Riordan smiles tightly. “I have already agreed to pay the price.” He moves for the door. “Now, by your leave…”
The door closes behind him.
“What a shit,” Aiden says.
“He’s giving his life for us, Aiden,” Sloane points out. “Not a very shit move.”
“He’s being smug about it.”
“He has the right to be smug,” she says. “These are… His final hours.”
Aiden grunts noncommittally. He unsheathes his sword, and inspects it.
It’s still covered in dark smudges of Darkspawn blood – he’ll have to clean it later. Getting into Redcliffe Castle – a place that he already hates – was no easy task. He was relieved when he entered its doors. Happy, even.
You know that something’s wrong when Aiden Cousland is happy about entering Redcliffe Castle.
Evidently, it’s the place that all hopes and dreams go to rot away and die.
“I’ll do it,” Sloane says, suddenly.
“Do what?” Aiden glances up from his blade.
“The sacrifice. If Riordan falls before he can kill the Archdemon.”
“Like hell you will,” Aiden retorts.
“Why not? I have nothing in this world,” Sloane says. “No children. No lover. I have a mabari, but he loves you. You can take care of him in my absence. I’ll do it.”
“Bullshit, Slo,” Aiden says. “I won’t allow it.”
“Since when do you command me?” Sloane snaps. “Being a Cousland doesn’t give you the right to boss me around.”
The anger flares again, but Aiden remains in control of it. “I know what you’re trying to do,” Aiden says. She pulled the family card, so she must be trying to rile him up. Trying to bait him into hating her, so that she can be left alone to be a martyr. “It won’t work.”
Sloane sighs. “I just…” She looks up at Aiden warily and her brown eyes are so tired. “Loghain is out of the question. I don’t even want him near the Archdemon.”
“Me neither,” Aiden says.
Not only because of the whole sacrifice thing, but because he, frankly, still has no reason to trust their former antagonist. Thinking about all of the logistics just made Aiden’s head ache, so he stopped. There would be time for logistics and reasoning after the final battle.
“Then who?” Sloane looks up at Aiden. Desperate. “That leaves us, Aiden.”
“Then it’ll be me.”
“No.” Sloane dismisses him quickly. She turns away. “Absolutely not.”
“I saw my family cut down by Howe’s men,” Aiden says. “I couldn’t prevent that. But I can prevent this. I won’t let you die.”
“And what about Zevran?” Sloane whips back around to face him. “You can’t just leave him, Aiden. He’d break.”
“Zev’s stronger than that,” Aiden says.
And yet, he thinks of warm brown skin and golden hair. Wide smiles and gentle kisses, the scent of leather and sweat. He touches his right ear, almost instinctively – his fingers brushing against the golden earring on it. To leave him behind…
“No,” Sloane said. “No. I could never live with myself. No.” She shakes her head.
“What about our companions?” Aiden feels heavier with every word. “What about Wynne? Alistair? Leliana? Everyone else, too. What would I tell them if you died? What would I tell myself?”
“I can ask the same thing of you,” Sloane says. Her knuckles are white; her grip on her staff is so fierce.
A silence settles between them.
They never fought. Not once during their entire journey.
And now, on the eve of the final battle, they stand opposed to each other. It feels unnatural and wrong and Aiden doesn’t know how to deal with it.
He was never good with these complicated matters.
“This is pointless,” Aiden says. “Riordan’s making the sacrifice for us.”
“We’ll be fighting an army of Darkspawn, too,” Sloane says. “There’s no guarantee that he will make it to the final fight. In fact, there is no guarantee that either of us will even get to land a blow on the Archdemon.”
“No. We’ll make it,” Aiden mutters. “Both of us will definitely make it.”
That gets a small smile out of her.
But it drops quickly.
“I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse, at this point,” she says.
Aiden decides that the Maker has the worst sense of humor.
~
Aiden and Sloane parted after that. Sloane headed for the library. Aiden intended to look for Zevran, but…
Honestly, Aiden’s sense of direction isn’t that bad. It’s this bloody castle that’s impossible to navigate.
He somehow ends up in the same room he left. He wonders if he should throw a portrait of Arl Eamon into the fireplace – just for the sake of letting out all of this pent-up frustration – when he feels eyes upon him.
He turns to the door, and there Morrigan stands.
“Are you quite finished?” She asks.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Aiden says. “You alright, Morrigan?”
Morrigan walks into the room. “’Tis not I, stalking the halls like a caged beast.”
“A beast?” Aiden echoes. “I like the sound of that.”
“Of course you do,” Morrigan says. “Anyway, onto more pressing matters. I overheard a conversation of yours.”
“The one with Riordan and Slo?”
“The very same.” She fidgets, and Aiden thinks that this is probably the most nervous he’s ever seen her.
“So you know that Riordan’s going to die,” Aiden says. Smoothly. He’s decided not to humor the other options.
Morrigan, however, says nothing.
“Morrigan?”
“There is no easy way to say this, Cousland,” Morrigan says. “So allow me to be frank.”
“I like when things are frank,” Aiden says.
Morrigan sets her jaw. “I know of an alternate ending to this Archdemon. One that does not involve the death of any Warden – unless they fall during combat itself.”
Aiden raises an eyebrow.
~
“She wants to what?!” Sloane screams.
“Yeah,” Aiden says. “That was the same reaction I had. Less of a scream, though.”
“How does that even work?” Sloane leafs through the gigantic book in front of her. “I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”
“Something about transferring the essence of it to an unborn child,” Aiden says. “Instead of into one of us.”
“This is magic, then.” Sloane closes her book. “Some sort of magic that I don’t know about… And I know a lot of magic, Aiden!”
Aiden can’t tell if she’s excited or alarmed.
Well, she’s Sloane. She’s probably both.
“She didn’t get into the details,” Aiden says. “All I know is that she needs, uh. Warden sperm.”
“Warden sperm,” Sloane echoes.
“Yeah.” Aiden nods. “Tainted sperm.”
“That’s… Interesting.” Sloane gives Aiden her classic are you aware of the words that are coming out of your mouth look. He could never miss it – he’s seen it countless times.
“Yeah. So.” Aiden shrugs. “One of us has to fuck Morrigan.”
Sloane raises her eyebrows.
“Uh, not you. You’re safe. I meant Alistair. Or Loghain. Or me. Apparently, Riordan’s too old.”
“Okay, I was kind of afraid for a moment, there,” Sloane says. “I figured that you got the sex talk at some point, considering that you’re, what? Twenty-seven?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good to know!” Sloane closes her book. It looks old and dusty. If Aiden touched it, it would probably fall apart. “So… You trust this ritual, then?”
“Not even a little,” Aiden says. “But I trust Morrigan.”
“Then we’re on the same page once more,” Sloane says. “This ritual reminds me more of Flemeth than Morrigan, to be honest. Perhaps she found it in Flemeth’s grimoire?”
“I don’t care,” Aiden says. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” Sloane frowns. “Why didn’t Morrigan come to me about this?”
“She didn’t want to be questioned, I guess.”
“So you just sat there and listened to her talk about a dark, foreboding ritual?” Sloane asks. “One which probably has consequences beyond the scope of the Blight? And, then, you just got up and wandered over here to tell me about it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Of course.” Sloane sighs. “Listen, I’m still perfectly willing to sacrifice myself. As Riordan said, we’re Grey Wardens. It’s our duty.”
“Fuck that,” Aiden says. “I don’t believe that. Lives shouldn’t just be thrown away.”
Sloane smiles bitterly.
Aiden knows that Sloane wants to live. She doesn’t truly believe that she has nothing.
Since the night they became Grey Wardens, a lot has changed about Sloane.
But… She’s always been selfless.
That never changed.
She’s a better Grey Warden than he’ll ever be, but he’ll be damned if they took her away from him.
“I say we let Morrigan do the ritual,” Aiden says. “What about you?”
“It’s worth a try,” Sloane says quietly. “I suppose. If it means that no one will die.”
Not me. Not you. No one.
“So…” Sloane stands up. “Who’s going to do the honors of… doing Morrigan?”
“Not me,” Aiden says. Quickly.
She starts laughing. “And why not?”
“I’m taken,” Aiden says. “That leaves Alistair and Loghain.”
“Alistair’s had a rough time since the Landsmeet,” Sloane says. “I don’t think sleeping with Morrigan would help him out.”
“Loghain it is, then,” Aiden says. Sloane walks over to him, leaving the books behind.
“Loghain and Morrigan? Weird,” she says. “How are we going to explain this to him?”
“I was planning on leaving that to you,” Aiden says.
“Of course you were,” Sloane says, patting his back.
~
“Ah, at last! My dear warden has returned!” Zevran sprints into Aiden’s arms. Aiden doesn’t budge upon impact – he’s used to this.
The room they share in Redcliffe Castle is small and dusty. It was likely a storeroom, hastily converted into a guest room lest the Wardens’ companions be dissatisfied.
Initially, Arl Eamon assigned Aiden and Sloane to a room. A room with one alarmingly ornate bed. Because, obviously, if two Wardens are spearheading a movement against the Blight across Ferelden, they must be romantically involved. When they saw the room the first time, Sloane cried from laughing so hard. It was too much. (Aiden laughed, too. The fact that such a gesture made him visibly react added to how ridiculous the entire thing was.)
Of course, Aiden told Arl Eamon about his relationship with Zevran. It wasn’t something to hide.
But Arl Eamon hears what he wishes to hear, apparently.
Anyway, Aiden left Sloane with the large bed – one that she would surely enjoy rolling around on when no one was looking, save her mabari (hell, she might roll around on it with her mabari) – and, instead, shared quarters with Zevran.
“Hello, Zev,” Aiden says. “You’re as energetic as ever.”
“But of course!” Zevran hugs him tightly. “Around this time tomorrow, that giant lizard will be slain, and we will be free to make as much merriment as we desire.” He cups Aiden’s cheek.
“And you desire a lot, don’t you?” Aiden smirks.
“You know me too well,” Zevran says, with a chuckle. He stands on the tips of his toes, and Aiden bends slightly down so that their lips can meet.
He wants to tell Zevran everything he has learnt. Everything about the Archdemon – including the risks involved in defeating it. He wants to tell him about the ritual that may save them. About the fact that, right now, Sloane is having a very awkward conversation with Loghain Mac Tir.
Zev would roar with laughter if he heard about that.
Instead, Aiden smiles.
“Zev, thanks,” he says, into their kiss.
Zevran pulls away, his eyes questioning. “For?”
“Everything.” Aiden hugs him, practically lifting him off the ground.
“Are you getting poetic on me, my Warden?” Zevran laughs. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Ha. Very funny,” Aiden says. “I only get like this for you.”
“Good,” Zevran says, smugly. “Now, let us move on to business. History will be made tomorrow, and countless people will have your name upon their lips.”
“Are you jealous?” Aiden chuckles as Zevran takes his shield off for him.
“Not jealous, no,” Zevran replies as he places the shield on a nearby table. “I simply wish to appreciate what is mine.”
“Fair enough,” Aiden says, bringing him in for another kiss. “Oh, wait.” He stops. “I have to clean my sword before the battle tomorrow.”
Zevran rolls his eyes. “Before then, allow me to tend to another blade.”
“Your daggers aren’t ready yet?” Aiden asks.
Zevran just laughs.
~
Aiden stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair messy and clothes disheveled. He almost crashes into a servant.
“P-Pardon me, Ser!” The servant is alarmed.
“It’s okay,” Aiden says. “Can you take me to Sloane’s room?”
“S-Sloane?” The servant is a thin blonde woman, who looks younger than Aiden. “Do you mean the other Warden? The woman?”
“Yeah.”
“Right this way, Ser!” The servant scurries off; Aiden follows.
“I don’t know how you find your way around this place,” he grumbles. “It’s a bloody labyrinth.”
The servant laughs nervously.
They arrive at Sloane’s door, and she takes her leave.
“Slo?” Aiden doesn’t bother with knocking, he walks right in.
Sloane squeaks in surprise, nearly dropping the lyrium potion that she has in her hands.
“Maker! You scared me, Aiden!” She places the potion on her bedside. “I thought you turned in for the night.”
“I spent some time with Zev,” Aiden says. “Then I had to get my weapons ready.”
“Oh, of course.” Sloane’s staff is propped up next to her bed – within arm’s reach. She’s always prepared for the worst case scenario.
Meanwhile, Aiden is completely unarmed.
If any Darkspawn somehow make their way into the castle, he’ll just punch them until Zevran helps out.
Yes, that’s an excellent strategy.
“Alistair was just in here,” she says. “He gave me a ‘stern talking to.’” She does air quotations with her fingers.
“I don’t envy you,” Aiden says. Sloane laughs. She and Alistair were romantically involved, at one point in their journey. But Sloane called that off a while ago.
It would be best not to pry.
“How’d the talk with Loghain go?” Aiden walks in and sits on the bed, right next to Sloane.
“Oh, he was willing to sacrifice himself,” Sloane says. “I told him we had further uses for him yet, and supposedly persuaded him. Now I’m waiting for Morrigan to confirm that the… Um… Deed was done.”
“So, they might be having sex right now?”
“…Maybe.”
“That’s horrible,” Aiden says, wrinkling his nose a bit.
“Wow, so mature, Aiden!” Sloane pokes him on the shoulder. “As if you’re one to talk. I know what you’ve been doing with Zevran.”
“Okay, but the sex between Zev and I is definitely less repulsive than the sex between Loghain and Morrigan,” Aiden says.
Sloane laughs and laughs.
“Oh yeah, where’s your dog?” Aiden looks around the room – there’s no signs of him.
“He’s under the bed. Already asleep,” Sloane replies, wiping at her eyes.
Aiden bends down to see the mabari – sure enough, he’s fast asleep under the bed.
“It’s strange, isn’t it? Sleeping indoors.” Sloane finally collects herself. “I didn’t realize that the camp we set up last night would be our last.”
“Me neither.” Aiden straightens his back. “Darkspawn ruin everything.”
“You can say that again.” Sloane leans back onto the bed. “It feels so surreal. We march tomorrow. The army we put together… All of the work we’ve done… It was all for this.”
“We waded through a lot of shit together, yeah,” Aiden says. “Is this wine?” He points to a jug on Sloane’s bedside table.
“It is,” she replies. Aiden immediately reaches for it. “Yes, you can have some.” He’s already filling a chalice with it.
“You want any?” He asks.
“No, I’m fine,” Sloane replies. “Please don’t be hungover for the final battle.”
“I never get wasted,” Aiden says. “Tell that to Oghren, instead.”
“Oh no!” Sloane sits up. “I forgot to tell the guards to keep the ale away from Oghren!”
Aiden shrugs. “He fights better when he’s drunk, sometimes.”
Sloane stares at him for a moment. “You have a point, there.” She flops back down onto the bed.
Aiden swirls the contents of the chalice around – the wine is a deep, dark red.
“Slo,” he says. “Do you remember the night of our Joining?” For some reason, it keeps coming back to him today.
Sloane visibly shudders. “Ugh, of course. I almost passed out - before I even brought the chalice to my lips. You had to drink from it right after Jory was stabbed, right?”
“I think so,” Aiden says. “Yeah. That was something.”
“You passed out right after. I thought you were dead,” Sloane says. “I didn’t even know you, back then. Maker, if you died…” She shakes her head. “If I had to travel alongside Jory or Daveth instead of you, I’m pretty sure my head would have exploded. What a night.”
“I felt numb to everything,” Aiden says, sipping some wine. “I didn’t want to be there. I wanted Howe’s blood and nothing else.” He lived like that for quite a while. “I wanted to live, but only so I could take a shot at his life.”
It wasn’t the way to live.
Aiden hated Duncan. He hated Duncan for dragging him away from his dying family. He hated Duncan’s composure; the way he prized duty above all else. It was heartless. Even now, he felt something like a grudge against the man who permanently altered his life. Something much less than hatred, yet still far from admiration.
And yet, when Loghain’s fate was in their hands, it was Duncan’s voice that Aiden heard, whispering about his blighted duty. Whispering about the evils of personal grudges, as they cloud over what must be done.
The man just wouldn’t let Aiden be at peace.
“I understand,” Sloane says quietly. “I thought I was to be made Tranquil. Then I was outside of the Circle for the very first time… It was fascinating and terrifying. I wanted to run and jump and travel as far as I possibly could. I thought that being a Warden meant freedom. But… Here we are.” She clenches her fists. “I don’t regret it, though.”
“Me neither,” Aiden says.
“We’ve seen things that I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.” Sloane smiles. “It’s funny how, a year ago, I thought my adventures would be limited to old books and history lessons.” She sits up. “A part of me wishes that our journey wasn’t approaching its end.”
“The Blight will end,” Aiden says. “But not our journey.”
“Assuming that Riordan doesn’t die, that the ritual works out, and that we all actually get to the Archdemon in one piece,” Sloane says. “Then, maybe.”
“Everything will be fine,” Aiden replies. “We’ve survived worse.”
Sloane laughs softly. “True. We had to deal with Dwarven politics. The Archdemon’s nothing.”
Aiden snorts. He finishes off his chalice of wine, then places it back on the bedside table. When their journey first began, they frequently sat like this. Aiden remembers the first time they set up camp, right outside Lothering. When the nightmares got unbearable, they would just sit together. Not talking.
Just existing.
Existing as two souls pushed towards a destiny that they never asked for.
“Aiden,” Sloane’s quiet voice pulls Aiden out of his thoughts. “If Riordan falls, you have to let me deal the final blow on the Archdemon.”
Aiden glares at her. “Slo, we’re going to live. The ritual is going to work. Even if it doesn’t, Riordan will not fall. Stop talking about this.”
“We have to talk about it, Aiden,” she says, propping herself up with her elbows.
“‘Talking about it’ didn’t work out earlier,” Aiden points out.
“Because we were panicking,” Sloane says. “Please… If you think the ritual will work, just let me bring down the Archdemon.”
“Slo.” Aiden glares at her. “You will not be a fucking martyr. Stop.”
Sloane bites her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”
Aiden feels a knot form in his throat.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs. “You always think. I just act. I’m not good at thinking. It’s too much for me.”
“That’s why we make such a good team, though,” Sloane says. “I’m not good at… Taking action. There’s always so many different things to consider.” She sighs. “Sometimes, all of the choices are paralyzing. I envy the way you can just choose a path and stick to it.”
“The paths I choose are sometimes dead ends,” Aiden says. “Or they lead to pits. Or caves infested with Darkspawn.”
Sloane laughs. “Still.”
“I’m not letting you deal the final blow,” Aiden says. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Sloane squints at him. “Fine. But I’m not letting you do it, either.”
“Then we’ll just have to see what happens,” Aiden says.
“I suppose so,” Sloane retorts.
At that moment, there is a light knock on the door. Before Sloane can approve entry, the door opens.
Morrigan steps inside, looking the same as ever – though, perhaps, a bit pale.
Sloane sits upright. Aiden is wide-eyed. Morrigan takes a deep breath.
“It is done.”
~
Zevran puts his armor on for him, then kisses his forehead gently. A corner of Aiden’s mind recalls the tales his father used to tell him – of brave knights, riding into battle and away from their homes. Some rode into glory, others into death.
Aiden is not the type to get nervous, but his hands shake as he opens his lyrium kit.
~
There are more Darkspawn than they expected. There are waves of them flooding Denerim. The battle is the definition of chaos.
Sloane commands the Dalish troops and the Circle mages. Aiden commands the dwarves of Orzammar and Redcliffe’s soldiers.
Blood is spilt, but it could be worse.
Zevran laughs as he leaps upon an Ogre’s back, driving his daggers into the beast’s skull. It roars in agony, then falls to the ground. He jumps from its shoulders and his dance continues.
Sten rushes at a mass of Hurlocks, the Sword of the Beresaad in his hands. He charges through them, leaving nothing but corpses in his wake.
Leliana sings prayers, praising the Maker as her arrows rain down from the skies. She managed to secure higher footing, atop what was once a market stall. When a lone Genlock clambers next to her, she kicks its face in with her boot.
Shale is steady; they cannot be moved. With a mighty swing of their arms, an Alpha Hurlock soars across the marketplace, crashing into a burning house. An Ogre approaches them, and their fists swing yet again. They cannot be moved.
Oghren is, as Sloane and Aiden predicted, drunk. He swings his axe recklessly, hollering something about these Blighted shits. His anger is evident in all of his attacks – “Could have a drink in one hand and a girl in the other; instead, here I am, sniffing Darkspawn ass!”
Morrigan’s form changes – first she is a spider, then she is a swarm of wasps. She assumes her human form, static electricity dancing around her fingertips as she swings her staff into the face of a Genlock Emissary.
Wynne stands back, whispering words of healing. Aiden feels her soothing spells wash over him on occasion; fresh wounds close. Even amidst a sea of horrors, Wynne stands proud and watches over them, the kindness of a mother present in every spell.
Loghain fights as a true general would. The legends that speak of the Hero of River Dane are no exaggeration. As Aiden sees him slam his sword into an Ogre’s gut while bashing the head of an Alpha Hurlock in with his shield, he does not regret sparing the man.
Alistair is not with them, for he stands with Anora. Their lives are too precious to be lost in the heat of battle, for they will lead Ferelden into a new age – one which Aiden welcomes, should he have the luxury of surviving past this day.
And Sloane.
Sloane is as adaptable as ever. A master of magic, she goes from incinerating foes to freezing them solid; from mowing down enemies to healing the wounds that Wynne overlooks. Her faithful mabari is by her side, snarling at and tearing down all of the Darkspawn who dare to approach her. She is a force of nature; her Warden armor shines silver, reflecting the elements that she unleashes through her staff.
Aiden doesn’t know how he looks. He just feels the pulse of the lyrium beneath his skin, hears it softly drumming in his ears, and sees his sword glow with a holy light. He swings his blade and he pushes forth with his shield. Corpses litter the ground surrounding him – he turns to the next target and moves on.
The battle lasts for hours, but it feels like it took mere minutes. The City Gates are seized, and the army lets out a cry of triumph – though the fight has only just begun.
Riordan informs them of a new tactic – he’s still too smug for Aiden’s liking, but Sloane gives him a play nice look, so he obliges. They are to separate into two forces. One group will head to Fort Drakon for the final battle. The other will defend the gates which have been seized, to prevent the Darkspawn from overpowering the city further.
Aiden and Sloane form the Fort Drakon team. A small argument ensues over who will accompany them to the Archdemon – they decide on taking Sloane’s mabari, along with Zevran and Wynne.
Then they stand at the city gates, and heartfelt words are shared.
Goodbye is not among them.
~
Riordan falls.
He falls - flung from the wing of the Archdemon - and is tossed down to the streets below.
The group sees it happen. None are innocent enough to believe that he survived.
“Fuck!” Aiden screams. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He throws his sword and shield upon the cobblestone beneath his feet; the impact leaves the stone chipped.
“Aiden!” Sloane runs to his side. “Calm down!”
Aiden won’t calm down, though. He falls to his knees instead. “Why did he jump?! Why did he fucking jump?!”
“He injured its wing,” Zevran says. “The beast lands upon Fort Drakon.”
“Now would be the best time to strike,” Wynne says. “It’s immobilized - that should make the battle significantly easier.”
“Then why didn’t he use a catapult?” Aiden snarls. He doesn’t hide his anger. His heart is beating hard against his chest. “He promised. He fucking promised!”
He screams until his voice is raw.
Sloane puts a hand upon his shoulder. He looks up at her; she is covered in blood. They all are. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t shed a single tear.
“What did he promise?” Wynne asks, wide-eyed.
Shit. They don’t know. They can’t know.
Aiden didn’t intend to break. Not here.
“He promised his strength against the Archdemon.” Sloane saves him. “He knew crucial information concerning how to fight it.”
“Ah,” Wynne says. She is skeptical, Aiden can tell. But she does not question them further.
Zevran wraps his arms around Aiden. Aiden feels Zevran’s fingers comb through his hair, matted with blood. “It will all be alright, mi amor,” he says.
“Yes. It will be,” Sloane says.
Aiden inhales sharply and stands back up.
The ritual will work.
~
Claiming the Fort was significantly less chaotic than their battle through the city – however, tiredness weighed heavily on their bones. Adrenaline worked in their favor, however – and increased in its effectiveness once they laid eyes upon the Archdemon.
“It’s time,” Sloane says. She pets her mabari – he barks, affectionately, licking at her hands.
Wynne casts a healing spell, and Zevran pulls Aiden into a kiss.
“Sorry for leading you into this mess,” Aiden says as they part. “I’m sure you’d rather be drinking brandy on a beach somewhere.”
“Please,” Zevran says, rolling his eyes. “I would storm the gates of the Dark City itself if it meant remaining by your side.”
“Aww,” Sloane says, teasingly. “Character development!”
“Hush, you!” Zevran snaps. But he laughs, too. They all do.
And, for a moment, Aiden forgets that they stand before an ultimate evil.
“Well then, Slo…” A full-on grin spreads across Aiden’s face – something that does not occur very often. “Are you ready?”
“Of course,” Sloane says. She smiles, and her eyes are wet.
There are no guarantees as to how this battle will end.
One may fall while the other draws breath.
But they are here.
They made it to the Archdemon.
Months of terror, of regret, of laughter, of hope, of despair, of dreams and nightmares and endless joy and limitless misery, led to this moment.
And if they are to fall, they will do so with a fight.
~
The beast lets out a screech.
Its wings are a mangled mess. Blood pours from its mouth.
Aiden sees the look in Sloane’s eyes; the sudden spark of realization present in them.
He sees the frost at her fingertips, he sees her raise her staff.
And he’s having none of it.
He roars, running at the beast, sword in hand. He feels the bones of Darkspawn crunch under his feet, the lyrium’s song reduced to screaming in his ears.
I won’t let you give your life up.
You will not be a fucking martyr!
His blade meets its heart the moment Sloane’s frost slams into its back, snapping its spine.
An ear-piercing cry fills the skies, and the very world seems to shake. A white light washes over them, as if the Maker’s fury itself has suddenly been unleashed.
Aiden releases his sword, and he cannot breathe.
He clutches at his throat.
His time has come.
Zev… Forgive me, love. I couldn’t have her blood on my hands...
But he splutters and coughs and draws breath.
He lives.
He lives.
His eyes sting and his ears ring. He sees nothing but white and hears nothing but the screams of the lyrium that pulses through his veins, but he lives.
Then… Sloane? What of Sloane?
The Maker has a sense of humor.
He remembers where she stood, and so he runs. His arms are outstretched; his weapons have been long abandoned.
He grabs her and holds her as the world continues to shake.
He can only feel the pain of his wounds – he does not know if she responds to his presence.
So he does not let go.
He holds her, tightly, even as the world stops shaking and the light fades.
Even as the cheers of soldiers erupt around him.
He holds onto her, for he doesn’t want to let go of her and see a corpse staring back at him.
“Aiden! Sloane!” Wynne calls out.
Aiden shakes his head, his eyes wild and searching.
I have lost so much, please, Maker – no more. Not her. Do not take my dearest friend.
“Aiden,” a voice murmurs, choked with sobs. “Aiden, do you… Are you…”
Aiden pulls away from her, still gripping onto her arms.
Sloane’s grip on his arms is just as tight… If not even tighter.
“You’re alive,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re alive!”
She throws her arms around his neck.
And, for the first time since the night his family was slain, Aiden’s tears fall freely.