In League With The Wolf - The Elves of Fen'Harel Book 2 (Dragon Age)

Adamant Fortress

Scout Harding was waiting at a camp in the far south of the region. It had been easy enough to navigate: the Orlesians had many years ago placed colossal iron towers to mark the paths. Though old and rusty, they stood against the sands.

"Tilda!" She exclaimed in surprise, "I was expecting the Inquisitor."

"They're only a few hours behind us." Tilda explained. "Where's Eagan?"

"He never made it here." Harding answered. "Crisis in the Hinterlands as we were leaving demanded his attention. Why are you here?"

"Extra manpower I suppose. What's the situation?"

"Most of the wardens are at their fortress, Adamant, on the edge of the chasm. Some however have been heading back and forth from a ritual tower not far from our position."

There was very little for her to do, it turned out. Lavellan arrived, with Warden Stroud, and a woman. She was tall, powerful, armoured, soft brown hair falling over her shoulders. A face with gentle features and a long nose that had been broken in a few fights complemented dark intelligent eyes. This was Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.

Tilda had spotted her several times by Varric's side. The two of them were close, best of friends for many years. They were accompanied by Enchanter Vivienne, the elf Sera, and Warden Blackwall. Lavellan slipped Tilda a smile as they headed straight out to the ritual tower.

When they returned, their faces were grim.

A group of Wardens had been there with a Tevinter Magister named Erimond. He was a member of the Venatori. He had convinced the wardens to partake in a blood magic ritual, where the mages killed their brother wardens as a sacrifice. The ritual however bound the mages to the will of Corypheus. Warden Commander Clarel had no idea of course.

"We'll have to take Adamant." Lavellan was saying to Hawke. "We'll return to Skyhold, see what options are available."

Stroud looked gloomy. A handsome man, and apparently one of the order's best swordsmen, he was clearly principled and conflicted about the fate of his Warden brothers. "I cannot believe they have sunk so far." He murmured. He still carried an accent, even after all his years of travel.

The important people left not long after, heading back to the castle to discuss options in dealing with the Warden threat. Tilda, Nanin and Harding went to the ritual tower.

They could smell the bodies long before they reached them, dead flesh baking in the sun, the coppery tang of blood stinking. Harding's face was screwed up in disgust, Nanin had to turn away to vomit. Flies had swarmed in black clouds over them.

Tilda, grimacing, pushed her way through, staring down at the pile of bodies in their Warden uniforms. Sacrificing their lives, and for nothing, she thought angrily.

They burned the Wardens beneath the hot desert sun.

She found a blood-spotted journal on one of them. It described the Calling, the Warden's terror and Clarel's determination in great detail. The Magister's appearance was written there, and his fear over what became of those who went to the Ritual Tower with him.

"I think many of them don't understand what's happening until too late." She told the others. "If they understood...if Clarel could only understand before they're all dead." This was where the demon army was begun, she realised, the same army she had seen in the future. It had to be stopped.

A week passed, where she and Nanin shared shifts with the others, spying on Adamant Fortress. It was tedious, and thankless. No one came or went from the fortress, and Tilda had no opportunity to try and get inside.

The Grey Warden's fortress was built by the dwarves. It was small, but sturdy, tall walls of dark jet stone and ramparts of metal. It was constructed into the side of the great chasm that descended below into the Deep Roads. In the Second Blight, Tilda had read back at Skyhold, the Wardens had beat back the darkspawn into the chasm.

It had once housed a thousand wardens, and griffons, back in the order's golden age but with each passing year the area became more of a wasteland. It became expensive to upkeep, and the dangers of the demons from the thin Veil and the darkspawn crawling from the Abyssal Rift were disregarded by the sparse local population.

Without their numbers, and the lack of griffons, the Wardens had pulled out. By the Blessed Age, Adamant had been abandoned until Clarel and the Orlesian wardens had taken it over.

It would be impossible to penetrate without an army, Tilda thought, and even then, many people would die.

Orders finally came from Skyhold. The Inquisition's army was on the march. They were coming for Adamant. Harding was reassigned elsewhere, as was Nanin, who was to go with her. Only a couple would be left behind in the Approach, including Tilda.

She waited amid the howling desert winds, keeping an impatient eye on the fortress. Finally, hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers came marching on the horizon, the Inquisition banner held high over their heads. Some of them were singing, hymns from the Chantry floating on the air amid the rumble of the siege machines being wheeled in. Where they had managed to get them from, she had no idea.

"What's your report?" Commander Cullen asked as soon as they approached. Lavellan, Hawke and Stroud rode astride beside him.

Tilda stepped up. "No activity on the Fortress, Commander. It's all been quiet since the Inquisitor confronted the Magister at the ritual tower. They're waiting for us."

Cullen looked troubled, and resigned. "Right."

She joined the army during its progress, slipping in among the soldiers. They were scared. So scared. Some had fought with her at Haven, had survived the travel to Skyhold, only to be ordered to risk their lives again.

This was bigger than Haven. At Haven they had been scrappy defenders, fighting on their own ground. Here, they were the attacking side, trying to take a fortress. There were only occasional faces she recognised around her, and the lack of a comforting word had her on edge.

She could just leave, she rationalised. They'd all told her that. She didn't belong to the Inquisition, she'd only been passing through, and yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to. Not that one mage would do much good against an army of highly trained warriors and a demon army.

Too soon, fearful and tired, the army stood before the Fortress.

The trebuchets blew great holes in the sides of the stone, as the army cheered, fiery missiles striking the waiting Wardens.

The Wardens responded in kind, launching fiery arrows down at the attackers. Brave men swung up on siege ladders, often only to be cut down by the experienced warriors waiting for them above. The wardens dropped heavy rocks on the men pushing the siege machine, many of whom fell by the time the doors shattered.

It was a bloodbath.