Chapter Sixteen

At long last, the end had come.

They'd been fighting through the streets of Denerim for hours. The city was burning. The stench of blood and smoke poisoned the air. Gráinne and her companions had managed to defeat the two darkspawn generals, leaving Eamon's forces and their allies to secure the city. All that remained was the archdemon.

Before they proceeded to the roof of Fort Drakon, Gráinne and her companions paused to dress wounds and gulp down healing poultices. Despite the bloodstains that soiled their armor, everyone's injuries were mostly superficial.

Gráinne stared at the doorway that led to the rooftop. She could feel the archdemon's evil presence pulsing in her veins, as toxic and lethal as poison. It ripped into the depths of her soul and exposed what she had carried and hidden away for so long. All at once she felt every fear of failure, loss, and death that had crossed her mind ever since she began this journey. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to push it away, to bury her fear before it weakened her resolve. As she struggled, she felt a delicate hand touch her shoulder. Gráinne opened her eyes and met Morrigan's feral gaze. She reached up and laid her hand over Morrigan's, realizing then that she was trembling.

"Let us see this finally done," Morrigan said quietly, giving Gráinne a rare, reassuring smile.

Alistair watched as the two women embraced one last time. He knew the fear in Gráinne's eyes, for he felt it as well. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, to comfort her in these last moments before they faced death. But he couldn't. He didn't deserve to, not after he had betrayed and abandoned her. After he'd learned the truth, he'd wanted to beg her forgiveness, to try and right everything, but then the horde marched on Denerim and there had been no time.

And now they readied themselves to battle the archdemon. He prayed that, Maker willing, they would succeed, but he also knew they could all die. He realized he couldn't bear the thought of death without making things right.

"Gráinne," he said, stepping towards her.

Morrigan broke away and eyed Alistair scathingly before she left them alone. Their other companions also suddenly seemed too busy to notice their conversation. Although Alistair knew it was feigned and they were listening to every word, he at least appreciated the effort.

Gráinne held his gaze and waited. There were so many things he wanted to say but no time to say them. "I'm sorry," he finally said after a moment. He hated how trite the words sounded. "I was a fool, a complete idiot, and I'm sorry. I should have trusted you, just as you've always trusted me. Instead I abandoned you, I was wrong, and—" He cut himself short and tried to calm the tumult of emotion that threatened to spill over. He took a deep breath. "As unlikely as it is, can you forgive me?" he asked quietly.

Tears burned in Gráinne's eyes, but she held them back. She knew his words to be sincere and honest, just as he had always been. She remembered then how, so long ago—a lifetime, it seemed—he had held her hand on the shores of Lake Calenhad, kindly listening as she shared her worst fears with him. As they had walked back to camp, he had given her a rose.

I…I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness.

She remembered their first kiss in the firelight, his warm touch, the feel of his body against hers when they made love. Those moments of happiness were now overshadowed by grief and heartache. As she searched for the answer to his question, she found only one.

"No."

Gráinne saw the hurt in his eyes, but he nodded wordlessly in acceptance. Before he could turn away, she reached up and touched his cheek. She felt him shudder as he choked back a sob.

"I can't forgive you now," she whispered, fighting her own tears, "but I will always love you." She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, knowing it might well be their last. When their lips parted, she lingered, cherishing the moment before she broke away and opened the doors to the rooftop.

The sight of the archdemon was more terrifying than any nightmare. Its bellow echoed through the air, a single note that caused many to cower in fear. Dozens of arrows stuck out from the dragon's thick hide, but the creature was unfazed. Its monstrous claws swung at everything in its path, catching soldiers and ripping the bodies to shreds. Gráinne and her companions quickly ducked into cover as the archdemon unleashed a scorching burst of blue flames.

As the flames died away, Gráinne stepped out of hiding place, sword in hand. The archdemon paused, sensing her presence, and turned to face its opponent. Its eyes, black and cold as the Void, bore into her very soul. Once more it roared, as if to issue a challenge.

Gráinne closed her eyes and took slow, even breaths. Her sword began to hum as she summoned the magic of the Arcane Warrior. The world grew quiet; there were no screams of dying men, no blistering heat of the fires. Her only focus was the archdemon that towered before her, her final foe.

The battle was long and fierce. The Circle Mages had established a perimeter around the dragon and launched a variety of ranged attacks to help weaken it. Gráinne used her magic sparingly, instead focusing her power into additional strength and speed. She and Alistair fought at close range, dodging around the creature as they attempted to slash at its vulnerable underbelly. It swung at them with claws and tail, only barely missing its targets. The creature then launched itself into the air, knocking them back with a gust of wind propelled from its wings.

At once they were swarmed by darkspawn. Gráinne sliced through four genlocks, then quickly searched for the archdemon. She spotted it perched on the ruins of one of the towers, unreachable. From its vantage point the dragon had begun hurling fireballs onto the battleground, killing soldiers by the dozens.

"We'll never be able to get past the archdemon while it has the higher ground," Alistair shouted over the din of fighting. "We've got to draw it away, back to our level."

"How do we do that?" Gráinne shouted back. "Spells can't reach that distance."

Alistair searched around them. "The fortress should be equipped with defenses—there!" He pointed. "The ballista."

A group of darkspawn followed as Gráinne raced towards the ballista. Alistair followed and took a defensive stance, ready to fight them off. Within moments, Morrigan was also at her side and quickly cast up a shield, just as a whirlwind of flames erupted around them.

Gráinne aimed and fired the ballista; the first three shots missed the archdemon entirely. The fourth went through one of the dragon's wings, causing a howl of pain and fury. She managed two more shots, both lodged directly into its side. The dragon attempted to take flight but failed, crashing onto the rooftop, once again within range of attack. It flailed about, damaging human and darkspawn forces alike.

"Now!" she yelled to Alistair. He nodded and hurried forward to slay the creature.

Yet the darkspawn sensed their weakened master and surged towards it, making a protective circle around the dragon. At once Alistair was overwhelmed, managing a few strikes before he was knocked to the ground by an alpha hurlock wielding a large maul. It quickly descended on Alistair, attacking with unnatural speed. He rolled away and managed to get to his feet, sword in hand but shield lost. A sharp, blinding pain in his side told him at least one rib was cracked. The hurlock came after him again and it took all his strength to parry its devastating blows.

Gráinne jumped down from the ballista to aid him, only to be met by another wave of darkspawn. Behind her, Morrigan transformed into a spider and together they fought, felling one beast after another. Her heart nearly stopped as she watched the hurlock's weapon hit Alistair squarely in the chest. He fell over, but this time did not get up. Before the hurlock could take another swing, Gráinne struck him down with lightning, giving her enough time to reach Alistair's side.

His eyes were unfocused, but he was still conscious. "Oh, this is going to hurt in the morning," he groaned.

"Here." She held his head as he drank her last health poultice. "It's not much, but it'll at least dull the pain."

"We've got to kill the archdemon. We're not going to last much longer."

He was right. The Circle Mages had been able to destroy over half the darkspawn that had encircled the dragon, but their numbers had greatly dwindled. Hardly any of Denerim's soldiers remained. Gráinne could no longer see Morrigan, in spider form or otherwise. Zevran remained standing, defending a group of half a dozen wounded soldiers.

"Can you stand?"

Alistair nodded and she helped him to his feet. "We'll flank it from both sides," she told him. "That should give one of us enough time to—"

"Look out!"

Gráinne turned, raising her sword just in time to block as the hurlock swung its maul. The impact of the blow sent painful reverberations down her arms, disorienting her. The hurlock parried Alistair's assault with a sword in its other hand before it thrust the blade into Gráinne's side.

Her body reacted before her mind fully registered what had happened. She blasted the hurlock back with a fire ball, sending it flying into the air. Alistair killed the creature as it landed.

Her hand instinctively clutched her side. At first she felt only a dull ache; suddenly a wave of searing pain rushed her, nearly causing her to double over. She examined her armor, discovering a deep puncture that pierced through her body. She pulled her hand away and found it covered in blood. Within seconds, she began to feel lightheaded and her vision blurred. As Alistair returned to her, she wiped her hand clean.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "How bad is it?"

As the shock wore off, she slowly became aware of the severity of her injury. She felt the blood continue to pulse from the wound, soaking the inside of her armor. It wasn't going to stop.

"It's fine," she lied without hesitation. "Just a scratch."

Alistair didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't argue. "I've got a clear path around the left flank. I can draw the archdemon's attention while you come from the right."

Gráinne shook her head. "That's suicide! You'll be swarmed by darkspawn. You can't fend them off alone." She clenched her teeth against the throbbing in her side. "I'll distract them. That should give you time to kill the archdemon." She interrupted him before he could protest. "You're king now, Alistair. The people will need you when this is over."

"Too bad." He kissed her roughly and ran off before she could stop him.

Alistair grabbed a shield from the ground and hoisted it onto his arm as he charged forward. His plan worked; the archdemon focused its rage on him, thrashing and snapping at him with its huge jaws. A throng of darkspawn followed, attacking him at once. He fought them off, slaying them one by one with great skill. Yet Gráinne knew he would not last long, just as she knew her life was slowly but surely bleeding away. It was time to end this, once and for all. She gripped the hilt of her sword, struggling not to cry as her body burned with agony. Mustering the last of her strength, she rushed forward, dodging between darkspawn as they tried to attack. As she closed in, she raised her sword, ready to make the killing blow.

The archdemon took notice of her and reared its ugly head, preparing to strike. As its head came down, Gráinne fell to her knees and slid, slicing her sword through the dragon's neck. The archdemon gave a dying roar as it swayed, black blood spurting from its wound. She tumbled away just as its head crashed to the ground.

She gasped for breath, blinded by pain. Her magic was all but depleted, but she summoned forth what little remained, charging her sword with lightning. She lifted her sword and screamed, both from pain and triumph, before burying the blade deep into the archdemon's skull.

A beam of light burst forth and enveloped her; she shrieked once more, feeling as though she were on fire. She tried desperately to pull away, but the light held her fast.

The darkspawn had dispersed in a panic once they felt their master die. Alistair watched helplessly as Gráinne struggled to free herself from the magical force. The darkspawn had overtaken him; his leg was broken, his body riddled with cuts and bruises. He tried to limp towards her but fell to the ground, too weak to continue.

At last, Gráinne wrenched her sword from the archdemon's body, letting loose a devastating explosion that reverberated through the air and expanded over the entire city. It was the last thing she saw as her body propelled backwards, before everything went dark.

Alistair drifted in and out of consciousness, his ears ringing from the explosion. He sensed people round him, running and yelling. Someone knelt by his side.

"The king is here! Summon a healer!"

After a few moments, his mind began to clear a little. He tried to sit up, but the soldier at his side held him down. "Please be still, your Majesty. The healer will soon be here."

Alistair pushed his hand away. "The broken leg is the worst of it." He pushed himself upright, leaning against the soldier. "Where is Gráinne?" The man gave him a confused look. "The other Warden," he pressed. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, your Majesty."

He scanned the battleground until he spotted Wynne nearby, kneeling over Gráinne's body, her hands glowing with blue healing magic. Gráinne wasn't moving.

"Mage!" the soldier called out. "The king needs healing at once!"

"Is he dying?"

"No, but—"

"Then he can wait, because this woman is!" came her angry reply.

No, Alistair thought. Maker, don't let her die.

A/N: Stay tuned for the final chapter...