[Dragon Age] third part, still no title
Nov. 24th, 2009 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joiedecombatMore of the same. Spoilers for the Brecilian Forest, assuming I'm spelling that right.
I think this is my favorite part so far, even though it is kind of all over the place.
----
It nearly all ended on the outskirts of Lothering, before they'd even gotten out of proper sight of the town.
Alistair had mostly been watching the steady tromping of Sten's heels ahead of him, but when he realized Clare had dropped back out of his field of vision he stopped, and looked back to find her dropped to her knees on the roadside, digging up a stand of elfroot while her big mabari snuffled about nearby.
He thought about calling ahead to the others to wait, but that would have meant interrupting the argument Leliana and Morrigan were having - something about clothes that he hadn't really been paying attention to - and he'd already learned from experience that trying to intrude there would only get him heckled from both sides. So he simply waited, listening to the back-and-forth cadence of their voices growing more distant down the road and waiting for Clare to catch up.
"What are you growling at?" he heard her say to her dog, still crouched down at the verge with her hands halfway up to the wrists in dirt.
The next moment, the roadway between them suddenly swarmed with brigands.
"Clare!" By the time Alistair's sword was in his hands he'd lost sight of her completely. He threw himself into the bandits, forcing his way through with sword and shield, gripped with a sudden cold and irrational fear. She was down, vulnerable, and if she fell it would pull the linch-pin out of the motley collection of allies she'd been gathering around her - if she fell, he would be the only one left--
Sten's battle cry bellowed out behind him, shortly followed by the sounds of men screaming; Alistair broke through in time to see one of the brigands pulling a tangle of elfroot off of his face. "Bitch," the man was saying; "I'll cut your f--"
Alistair caved his head in with his shield.
The rest was fast and bloody and over in moments; the dog bore the last survivor to the ground and tore his throat out with a snarl, and Clare straightened up and breathed out a long, slow breath, blood dripping from the dagger in her hand.
"Not quite the use I was expecting it to be put to," she said, and Alistair looked down at the gory mess that adorned the Cousland crest on his shield and shifted his weight awkwardly on his feet, suddenly feeling very foolish. "But I'll take it."
"Maker's mercy," Leliana said, rushing to meet them. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Clare told her, and began carefully wiping off her blade. "But I think from now on we should keep to a marching order. Alistair and I up front, then you and Morrigan, and Sten at the rear."
The qunari inclined his head in the manner of one acknowledging an order. "It's a sensible precaution."
"Lovely." Morrigan sauntered up last, as unhurriedly as though she'd been out for a stroll, voice dripping sarcasm. "We can talk about shoes all across Ferelden."
Dog barked and did a tight circle close around Clare's legs; she let out a short, slightly breathless laugh and reached down, not very far, to ruffle his ears, as though his muzzle weren't still crimson with blood. "You can walk where you want to," she told him, "as long as you stay close and keep on smelling for trouble."
He barked again, happily, stubby little tail wagging.
----
As the miles and the battles fell behind them, they settled into almost a routine. Morrigan would lay down a spell, and Leliana perhaps some arrows, throwing the enemy's ranks into confusion, and then Alistair would wade in, laying about him with his sword and knocking one or two flat with his shield if he could manage it, drawing their attention onto himself so that Clare and Leliana could slip in and out among them cutting hamstrings and throats unimpeded, while Sten and Morrigan and Dog mopped up the strays.
It worked almost flawlessly, right up until the moment deep in the Brecilian Forest when a werewolf leaped at Alistair headlong and he found himself knocked flat on his back with some three hundred pounds of furious monster weighing him down, snapping jaws held off his throat only by inches and getting closer with each moment as the strength of his arms bracing up his shield began to fail.
This is how it's going to end, he thought, in a rain of slobber, but just as his arms were about to give completely, Clare appeared over the beast's shoulder, dragging its head back with a grip on one of its ears, and just where had her sword gone, anyhow? Alistair mustered one last push against his shield, forcing the werewolf up enough for Clare to rip her enchanted dagger through its throat; there was an enormous gout of hot blood, and the great furry hulk shuddered and lay still.
Alistair lay there for some moments, panting, nerves jangling with the closeness of the thing and the unexpected jolt of having seen his own fear reflected back at him in Clare's wide blue eyes.
"...I'm sorry to have to say this," he said lightly, when he thought he could trust his voice again; "I'm not sure if it's you or the werewolf, but one of you weighs a ton." She didn't say anything to that, and after letting it hang for a moment, Alistair added, "Someone doesn't smell very good either." Another moment, and then, when she still hadn't answered: "That might be me. Sorry."
"--Ah," said Clare finally, and scrambled up off of the werewolf's corpse, pulling her sword out of it with a quick scrape of metal against bone - oh, so that's what she'd done with it. With her help, he managed to roll the big heavy thing off him and sit up. "Are you--?"
"Scarcely gnawed at all," he assured her, making a failing effort to wipe blood from his face with the side of his gauntlet. "Though you might want to push me under a waterfall the next chance you get."
She smiled wanly and offered him the piece of rag she'd been using to wipe down her blades.
Later, in the depths of the werewolves' lair, she knelt by Zathrian's corpse as though in benediction, murmuring words that only Alistair stood close enough to hear: "There but for the Maker's mercy..."
He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by it, but it made him feel uncomfortable. He did his best to put it out of his mind.
----
Next up: Redcliffe.
I think this is my favorite part so far, even though it is kind of all over the place.
----
It nearly all ended on the outskirts of Lothering, before they'd even gotten out of proper sight of the town.
Alistair had mostly been watching the steady tromping of Sten's heels ahead of him, but when he realized Clare had dropped back out of his field of vision he stopped, and looked back to find her dropped to her knees on the roadside, digging up a stand of elfroot while her big mabari snuffled about nearby.
He thought about calling ahead to the others to wait, but that would have meant interrupting the argument Leliana and Morrigan were having - something about clothes that he hadn't really been paying attention to - and he'd already learned from experience that trying to intrude there would only get him heckled from both sides. So he simply waited, listening to the back-and-forth cadence of their voices growing more distant down the road and waiting for Clare to catch up.
"What are you growling at?" he heard her say to her dog, still crouched down at the verge with her hands halfway up to the wrists in dirt.
The next moment, the roadway between them suddenly swarmed with brigands.
"Clare!" By the time Alistair's sword was in his hands he'd lost sight of her completely. He threw himself into the bandits, forcing his way through with sword and shield, gripped with a sudden cold and irrational fear. She was down, vulnerable, and if she fell it would pull the linch-pin out of the motley collection of allies she'd been gathering around her - if she fell, he would be the only one left--
Sten's battle cry bellowed out behind him, shortly followed by the sounds of men screaming; Alistair broke through in time to see one of the brigands pulling a tangle of elfroot off of his face. "Bitch," the man was saying; "I'll cut your f--"
Alistair caved his head in with his shield.
The rest was fast and bloody and over in moments; the dog bore the last survivor to the ground and tore his throat out with a snarl, and Clare straightened up and breathed out a long, slow breath, blood dripping from the dagger in her hand.
"Not quite the use I was expecting it to be put to," she said, and Alistair looked down at the gory mess that adorned the Cousland crest on his shield and shifted his weight awkwardly on his feet, suddenly feeling very foolish. "But I'll take it."
"Maker's mercy," Leliana said, rushing to meet them. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Clare told her, and began carefully wiping off her blade. "But I think from now on we should keep to a marching order. Alistair and I up front, then you and Morrigan, and Sten at the rear."
The qunari inclined his head in the manner of one acknowledging an order. "It's a sensible precaution."
"Lovely." Morrigan sauntered up last, as unhurriedly as though she'd been out for a stroll, voice dripping sarcasm. "We can talk about shoes all across Ferelden."
Dog barked and did a tight circle close around Clare's legs; she let out a short, slightly breathless laugh and reached down, not very far, to ruffle his ears, as though his muzzle weren't still crimson with blood. "You can walk where you want to," she told him, "as long as you stay close and keep on smelling for trouble."
He barked again, happily, stubby little tail wagging.
----
As the miles and the battles fell behind them, they settled into almost a routine. Morrigan would lay down a spell, and Leliana perhaps some arrows, throwing the enemy's ranks into confusion, and then Alistair would wade in, laying about him with his sword and knocking one or two flat with his shield if he could manage it, drawing their attention onto himself so that Clare and Leliana could slip in and out among them cutting hamstrings and throats unimpeded, while Sten and Morrigan and Dog mopped up the strays.
It worked almost flawlessly, right up until the moment deep in the Brecilian Forest when a werewolf leaped at Alistair headlong and he found himself knocked flat on his back with some three hundred pounds of furious monster weighing him down, snapping jaws held off his throat only by inches and getting closer with each moment as the strength of his arms bracing up his shield began to fail.
This is how it's going to end, he thought, in a rain of slobber, but just as his arms were about to give completely, Clare appeared over the beast's shoulder, dragging its head back with a grip on one of its ears, and just where had her sword gone, anyhow? Alistair mustered one last push against his shield, forcing the werewolf up enough for Clare to rip her enchanted dagger through its throat; there was an enormous gout of hot blood, and the great furry hulk shuddered and lay still.
Alistair lay there for some moments, panting, nerves jangling with the closeness of the thing and the unexpected jolt of having seen his own fear reflected back at him in Clare's wide blue eyes.
"...I'm sorry to have to say this," he said lightly, when he thought he could trust his voice again; "I'm not sure if it's you or the werewolf, but one of you weighs a ton." She didn't say anything to that, and after letting it hang for a moment, Alistair added, "Someone doesn't smell very good either." Another moment, and then, when she still hadn't answered: "That might be me. Sorry."
"--Ah," said Clare finally, and scrambled up off of the werewolf's corpse, pulling her sword out of it with a quick scrape of metal against bone - oh, so that's what she'd done with it. With her help, he managed to roll the big heavy thing off him and sit up. "Are you--?"
"Scarcely gnawed at all," he assured her, making a failing effort to wipe blood from his face with the side of his gauntlet. "Though you might want to push me under a waterfall the next chance you get."
She smiled wanly and offered him the piece of rag she'd been using to wipe down her blades.
Later, in the depths of the werewolves' lair, she knelt by Zathrian's corpse as though in benediction, murmuring words that only Alistair stood close enough to hear: "There but for the Maker's mercy..."
He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by it, but it made him feel uncomfortable. He did his best to put it out of his mind.
----
Next up: Redcliffe.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-25 12:17 am (UTC)And now I kind of want to write something about one of the party getting bitten. On the one hand it might be guilt-inducing for the Wardens to be immune, on the other hand it is entirely different magic (like the templar's anti-magic abilities not affecting darkspawn), so a slowly furryfying Warden could be interesting.
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Date: 2009-11-25 05:17 am (UTC)The bit at the end is admittedly not so much about werewolfiness as it is about revenge; loss and revenge are (going to be) sort of the unifying threads of these scenes. That is an awfully intriguing idea, though.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-01 03:23 am (UTC)Oddly my PC that I'm writing about is Claire.
& his lines were good too, as you said.