No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Rooftop

On the roof of Fort Drakon, all was chaos. Darkspawn were pouring out onto the rooftop, and the Archdemon was blowing great blue blasts of corruption all around. They'd done it quite a bit of damage already, but not enough. From the courtyard of the Fort, Thora had watched Riordan fall from the dragon's wing, seen his broken body land on a parapet. She and Alistair had looked at each other, knowing now it was up to them.

And here they were, the objective almost within their reach. Thora caught the eye of Kardol, the leader of the Legion of the Dead. She was glad to have such stalwart warriors as the Legion at her back. "Cover me!" she shouted. He went before her, clearing a path through the darkspawn, as she held her blades at the ready. At last she reached the dragon's side, driving Duncan's dagger in, and used her two blades to climb up to its head. She hung on grimly as the head twitched back and forth, Maric's blade firmly dug into the neck to hold her steady, stabbing the Archdemon over and over with Duncan's dagger. She felt a grim satisfaction that it was his blade that would help take down this great monster.

The momentary distraction of the thought was enough. The dragon tossed its head, and she lost her grip on Maric's blade, flying through the air. With an agility born of desperation—she couldn't land awkwardly and chance hurting the baby—she twisted in the air to land on her feet. Her boots scraped across the stone roof as she slid, but as she came to a stop, she saw the dragon was down. Now! she thought. "Wynne!" She searched desperately for the mage. She found her, already in place, standing not far from the dragon and tracing some kind of rune in the air. Wynne nodded, and Thora raced forward, her mouth set determinedly, wrenching a sword from the gut of a hurlock as she passed it.

Amidst the confusion, Alistair saw her too late to stop her. "Thora!" he cried, but she couldn't hear him. He started to move, to try and catch her, force her to let him do this, just in case Morrigan's ritual hadn't worked, but his metal boots couldn't seem to find purchase in the rubble and he stumbled, nearly falling. He would never be able to reach her in time now. He saw Leliana at his side and they ran forward together.

Thora reached the dragon, which lay twitching weakly. It was almost gone. Just one more blow, and it would be over. She lifted the sword in her hands, paused to make sure her aim was true, and then stabbed downward, forcing the sword through the dragon's skull and brain, her entire weight leaning on it as it sank in.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then a great light and a rushing wind came boiling forth from the entry point of the blade. Thora held on with all her strength, hearing voices crying at her, feeling the wind like fingers wrapping around her hands, trying to force her away from the blade.

On the ground a disturbance ran through the darkspawn. The Fereldans looked up, seeing the white shaft of light climbing from the top of the Fort, and they cheered as the darkspawn disengaged from the battle, rushing away as fast as they could go.

"She sodding did it," Oghren growled, raising his maul in the air in the great cheer that went up from all throats. "The Grey Warden!" they called. When the cheer was over and the light had faded from the top of the Fort, Oghren looked around and found that Morrigan was gone. Where, he didn't know. "Figures," he grunted, and got started helping to clear up the battleground.

On top of the Fort, Wynne was holding her ward steady around Thora with every ounce of strength she had, calling on the spirit that sustained her for help as well. She could not fail in this task. She knew the true, utterly unique heritage of the child Thora carried within her. So it was for Ferelden, as well as for the two young people she loved as her own, that Wynne held firm, determined that no corrupting taint would touch the child.

Alistair could no longer see Thora through the blinding flash of light, but he was determined to try and get to her. Until suddenly there was a great concussion and they were all sent flying—all but Wynne, who had braced herself against a wall and continued her chant with fierce determination. Alistair came to a stop far across the rooftop, his eyes searching desperately for the bright hair and the dark armor. At last he saw her, lying motionless near a pile of darkspawn bodies. As the rest of the troops on the roof—the few remaining mages, First Enchanter Irving, the Legion dwarves, Arl Eamon, Leliana—all began to get to their feet, Alistair was already on his, running to the small crumpled body. What if it hadn't worked? he thought, his heart in his throat. It was one thing to live without her, knowing she was somewhere in the world still alive. It would be quite another to live without her knowing that he'd failed to save her. At last he reached her, pulling her into his arms, ripping off his metal gloves and cradling her head in his hands.

She opened her eyes to see the beloved face leaning over her. It was just like waking up after the Joining to see Alistair and Duncan's faces staring down at her. "I think this is where we started, isn't it?" she asked him in a hoarse croak, smiling.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the Maker," he said. "I thought you were— I was afraid— How could you put yourself in danger that way?!"

Thora struggled to sit up, feeling sore everywhere. "Grey Warden, remember? Kill the Archdemon, end the Blight, save the world ... any of that ring a bell?" She groaned.

"Sounds vaguely familiar," Alistair said, weak with relief.

Thora searched the rooftop frantically for Wynne. The mage, so drained she could barely stand, managed a nod in the dwarf's direction, and a weary smile passed between the two before Wynne collapsed in the arms of First Enchanter Irving.

Alistair still held Thora's hands in his, unable to let go. "Are you— Are you sure you're all right?"

She took stock for a moment. "Yes, I think so." Looking up at him, she thought, if they had still been together, what a wonderful, triumphant moment this could have been, hugging each other wildly, their future spreading out before them. Instead, this moment would mark the end of their travels together. Sadly, she removed her hands from his. "Your public awaits, Your Majesty."

He stood up, helping her as well, just to have the excuse to touch her one more time before reentering reality. "Your public, I think you mean. You've saved us all."

"Ours, then. We've done this together."

He capitulated. "Ours." If the moment wasn't entirely triumphant, at least it belonged to them. And no one could take it away from them.