When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Fools Rush In

As Anawyn struggled with her bonds, and the shadow that was Leliana shifted slowly and carefully ever closer to the little girl, Granny drew Cybele into the middle of the circle. The old woman looked up into the sky, turning Cybele so that the sun's rays fell full on the girl's face. Then Granny took the vial of treated dragon's blood and began painting an ancient rune onto Cybele's face in blood. Cybele stood stockstill while this was happening, but fine tremors shook her body. "What's going to happen to me?" she whispered, but Granny didn't answer.

On top of one of the cliffs surrounding them, a giant hawk lit, dropping the human it had carried onto the ground.

"Hey, watch it!" Alistair hissed. The hawk fluffed its feathers contemptuously as Alistair shifted closer to the cliff's edge, until he could just peer over. He saw Anawyn, encased in some kind of blue globe, wriggling and kicking. Not far from her stood the familiar figure of Flemeth, bending over another little girl, one with long glossy black hair. His daughters, he thought. Rage welled up in him, and he controlled himself with an effort. Charging in wasn't his job.

He watched as Flemeth turned her face up to the sun. Behind him, Alistair heard the hawk take flight, and resisted the temptation to turn and watch her go. Morrigan knew better than any of them what might happen if she stayed within Flemeth's reach; he had to trust that she would not do anything foolish.

Flemeth flung her arms up. Alistair was too far away to hear what she was saying, but he could see the shimmer in the air as magic gathered around her. Behind her, Cybele quivered, but stood still, and Anawyn redoubled her efforts to get free.

It was difficult to concentrate properly in this situation, or in his current position, prone on the clifftop, but he did his best, his hands flexing as he channeled his thoughts. He felt the power slowly filling him, and with a sudden sharp chopping motion, he let the power loose.

Flemeth staggered, cut off in mid-word, as she felt the sudden, sickening drain of her mana. She spat a word that was definitely not magical as she took position and tried again, but the mana wasn't there. Now she chuckled under her breath. "Ah, Daddy makes his appearance, does he?" Moving faster than a woman her age could have been expected to, she reached her pack, digging inside it.

Anawyn sat still for a moment after the blue globe disappeared, stunned at this unexpected turn of events. Then she remembered her father's abilities as a Templar. "Father ..." she whispered exultantly. She flopped around like a fish, trying to get her knees underneath her, then staggered to her feet, her bound hands flapping uselessly behind her back.

Off to Anawyn's right, a small armored figure appeared through an opening in the cliffs, barrelling toward Flemeth with a battleaxe raised and the familiar berserker cry splitting the air. Anawyn's face was wreathed in a smile now. Father AND Uncle Oghren, both here! Now it would be all right, they'd take care of things. As she thought it, she felt the leather tying her wrists part, and Aunt Leliana's Orlesian-accented voice murmured in her ear, "Let's get you out of here, little one."

Flemeth had drawn a lyrium potion from her bag, uncorking it and swallowing the contents. As her mana regenerated, she scanned the field: Cybele, frozen in fear and magical bonds; Anawyn looking entirely too happy; and the dwarf, the sunlight glinting off the honed edge of his battleaxe. The Templar was too far away to be seen. Flemeth slid from her belt a wicked-looking little curved dagger, crackling with electric energy. With a vicious snap of her wrist, she sent it flying across the field, where it caught Oghren in the chest, the enchanted metal slicing easily into his armor. It hung there, lodged in his breastplate.

He bellowed, starting to say something, but was cut off in mid-word as the electricity runes of the dagger began to take effect. The metal of his armor conducted the electricity, and he twitched and jerked like a rag doll as the electrified suit slowly fried him. The horrific dance slowed, and the indomitable little figure crumpled to the ground, the battleaxe falling from his hands.

"Uncle Oghren!" Anawyn cried. She struggled against Leliana's well-meaning grasp.

Flemeth laughed wildly, shouting at the surrounding cliffs, "Did you think mana was all I had to draw from, little King?" She watched closely, looking for any clues as to his location, as she drew her power around her, more electricity gathering in the air above her head, waiting to be sent in Alistair's direction.

In his concealed position at the top of the cliff, Alistair fought the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. All the battles they'd been through together, all the fighting Oghren had done, only to be taken out by an old woman with a dagger. They had considered this possibility, but neither of them had really believed it could happen. If anyone was indestructible, Oghren, with his iron stomach and rage-fueled strength, certainly should have been. It was hard to conceive of Oghren's appetites quieted once and for all.

Alistair was kneeling by his pack when he heard the wet rumble of Oghren clearing his throat. "Something on your mind, Oghren?"

"I, uh ... was just thinkin' about Felsi. In case, uh, Flemeth has more up her sleeve than arm, y'know."

"That's true," Alistair said, thinking he'd rarely seen Oghren this sober. "You'll be in the most vulnerable position. If ... anything goes wrong, you can count on Thora and me to see that Felsi and your children are taken care of."

"Well, what I was thinkin' of, Thora can't really help with. If I don't come home from this one ..." He whispered something in Alistair's ear. The ex-Templar turned a vivid shade of scarlet, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Oghren!" he said, scandalized. "I can't do THAT with your wife!"

Oghren looked him over, then shook his head sadly. "No, I don't suppose you could, at that." He started to turn away, then, brightening, "Maybe you could get Sparkle-fingers to do it."

"You mean Anders?"

"You know any other fancy-skirted mages? I'll give 'im this, blighter's almost as good with the ladies as ol' Oghren."

"I'm sure he'll be flattered to hear you think so."

"Damn straight." Oghren chuckled. He started to raise his mug, then put it down again. "You might just wanta tell Anders to watch out for the teeth." As Alistair's ears reddened again, Oghren guffawed, then tilted his mug up, draining the contents. "Be good to have the little cave-tick safe again, no matter what it costs."

Alistair swallowed hard, looking at the still figure on the battleground. He hoped even more devoutly that Xandros was keeping Morrigan safe. If they'd ever needed a reminder that Flemeth's skills extended beyond her magic, they had it now.

Down on the ground, Anawyn broke free of Leliana's grip, racing across the ground to where Oghren lay. Falling to her knees, she reached out, touching his face lightly. The last of the electricity was dissipating into the ground beneath her, the hum of the energy deafening her to the increasing pull of the taint in her blood that signaled her mother's approach. "Atrast nal tunsha, Uncle Oghren," she whispered.