When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Hold My Hand, Hold My Heart

The moment she first felt the faint warmth in her veins that told her Alistair and Anawyn—and Oghren—were near, Thora's steps quickened until even long-legged Anders had to jog to keep up with her. The sudden searing fire in her veins caught her in mid-step, and she tripped, falling to the ground. Anders reached down a hand to help her up, and she looked at him, the same anguished understanding on both their faces.

"Oghren," he said flatly.

"Yes." She gave him a shove. "Go, Anders! You might still be in time."

Without another word, the mage took off, boots pounding into the dirt of the path. At Thora's nod, Jens followed, leaving Thora and Sigrun to catch up as best they could on their shorter legs. Thora felt as though her heart was going to burst—if Oghren was down, what did that mean for the others?

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Anawyn put her fingertips gently over Uncle Oghren's eyelids, closing his eyes. She could almost touch something within him, a vibration of some kind. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, feeling almost as if she were reaching inside the dwarf's body, a set of invisible fingers searching for something to grasp. Deaf to anything going on around her, her whole being focused on that one weak pulse, Anawyn grasped Uncle Oghren's essence and held it.

"Please, help me hold on," she whispered, but to whom she wasn't sure.

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Flemeth's fireball hit the cliff about thirty feet to the right of where Alistair lay. As he peeked cautiously over the edge, he saw an arrow fly by her face, and Flemeth turned instantly, the white flash of an arcane bolt flying from her fingers in Leliana's direction, but the bard had already rolled to a different position and was nocking another arrow.

While Flemeth was momentarily distracted, Alistair gathered his energy and, in a focused blast, drained Flemeth's mana again. He could hear her screech of frustration as she reached for another lyrium potion. One of Leliana's arrows flew toward Flemeth's face as she wrestled with the stopper. The witch twisted away, finally getting the lyrium potion open and quaffing it down. If only they had enough manpower to move her away from her bag. But all they had was him, and Leliana, and two terrified little girls. Cybele still stood unmoving, and Alistair thought she must be imprisoned in some kind of magical binding.

Mana restored, Flemeth turned her head, scanning the cliffs to look for Alistair, but had to duck another arrow as it sped toward her, whizzing just barely over her head.

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Try as she might, Anawyn couldn't seem to hold on, Oghren's essence slipping inexorably through her imagined fingers. Then, as warmth flooded through her veins, she looked up, seeing Anders running toward her. "Hurry, Anders," she murmured, her control slipping further as her focus shifted from the fallen dwarf to the approaching mage. Anders skidded to a stop as soon as he was close enough to get a good sightline, and his hands reached forward, closing on the empty air. Anawyn felt a warm, strong presence searching within Oghren for the dwarf's essence. She felt the increasing heat of Oghren's life force as together she and Anders pulled at it. Beneath her hand, still on Oghren's eyelids, she felt the dwarf's eyeballs twitching. He sputtered, a deep hacking cough wracking his body, and then grunted in an unmistakably Oghren way. Anawyn looked up at Anders in delight, all the fear and uncertainty and responsibility easing off her shoulders as she saw Anders bounding toward her.

"Little girl," he said brokenly, stepping over Oghren to swing her up into his strong arms. Anawyn clung to him.

"Hey! Sparkle-fingers! Think I'd rather be dead than lookin' up yer skirt," Oghren whispered hoarsely.

"Told you I didn't wear anything under these robes," Anders said, holding out a hand to his comrade. They shared a quick grin before Anders, his small red-headed burden held firmly in his arms, ducked an incoming arcane blast from Flemeth, twisting away toward the safety of the opening in the cliffs.

"Anders, no! I can't leave Cybele!" she shouted, wriggling to try and get away, but he was deaf to her protests.

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Close behind Alistair, Jens came running. He drew his sword as soon as he saw the dragon, charging toward her, and the witch was successfully distracted from Anders and Anawyn, turning on the big man with the greatsword.

While Flemeth wasn't looking at him, Alistair concentrated his focus on Cybele, trying to discern what kind of spell bound her and decide if he could remove it. He tried a few techniques that Flemeth had clearly prepared for, the spell sending pain spiking sharply into his mind every time he brushed against it, and had to dig deep into his memory for other ways to dispel the mystical cage surrounding his daughter.

But as Alistair focused on Cybele, Flemeth's magic, refreshed by the lyrium, flowed powerful and undisturbed. With a wave of her hand, paralyzing Jens, she then turned her attention to Leliana, trying to pin down the bard, who was singing, maddeningly enough, as she nimbly moved from one protective rock to the next. Anders was occupied with Anawyn, dragging her off the field as the girl struggled with him, trying to reach Cybele. Oghren was still recovering from being mostly dead.

In frustration, Flemeth called out the runic incanation for a paralysis glyph, placing it behind a rock directly in the path Leliana was taking. Leliana lurched and almost fell as the glyph caught her, the song stilling in her throat, which suddenly refused to work.

"Silenced so easily, my fine bird?" Flemeth shouted triumphantly, and ice began to form between her hands while Leliana struggled frantically to move.

At that moment, Thora and Sigrun burst onto the field. On a gesture from her Commander, Sigrun blended into the rocks, sidling toward Leliana. Thora, with one heart-filling glance toward Anawyn, safe in Anders's strong arms, tore across the field toward Flemeth. Berserk rage flooded through her, as though Oghren's anger had joined with her own and the two combined were propelling her forward.

"And the little mother rushes in to save the day—a little too late," Flemeth called, pivoting smoothly, and the ice ball between her hands shot toward Thora. The dwarf gasped as she felt the crush of the ice move through her veins. Expecting the imprisoning block of ice that was Anders's ice spell, Thora was unprepared for the excruciating pain as Flemeth's ice crept through her very cells, freezing her from the inside out. Thora was almost immediately immobilized, staring at Flemeth with helpless frustration and anger.

Flemeth began to laugh as she beheld Thora's frantic eyes. Stepping forward, closer to Cybele, the witch began to chant again, but was cut off by a wild yell from the opening in the cliffs. The Legion of the Dead poured through, hands raised to their eyes against the unfamiliar sun as they took their places in a line of battle.

At the same time, Cybele let out a cry of pain and relief, crumpling to the ground. On top of his cliff, Alistair had finally hit on the right combination to release her. He tried now to dispel the magic turning Thora into a living icicle, but his energy was spent. With despair, he realized the trap he'd fallen into—forgetting Flemeth's shapechanging abilities, he had assumed his Templar talents were needed more than his fighting skills. And here he lay, far from where those he loved needed his sword and shield in their defense, the cliff far too high for him to leap from.

Flemeth gaped at the Legion, her eyes blazing. Then her eyebrow quirked. "Oh, yes?" And in a flash of light, a great red dragon stood before them. A nervous murmur went through the line of Legionnaires, but they stood their ground. The dragon's great head swung ponderously, jets of flame issuing from her nostrils and singing two Legionnaires before they could get out of the way. Lifting her head, the dragon roared her challenge at them all.