We Are the Champions

We Are the Champions

WHAM!

In one wisp of a black wind, Aedan Cousland tasted the mud-blood-and-smoke bricks of Fort Drakon. Breaking a bone or two was bad enough, but tasting its foundations were far worse than drinking a goblet full of darkspawn blood. His noble upbringing had nothing to do with his reaction: he was well aware that he was a noble no more. He was now a Grey Warden: sworn to dedicate all his life to battle the darkspawn and their Archdemon. It might not had been the life that he wanted; but it was the life that saved him from the corruption of the bureaucracy.

Aedan shook his head. It was not the time for nostalgia. The being that he prepared to fight for months was already in front of him. Its roars seemed like taunts that announce the futility of stopping the inevitable. Forcing his blurry sight to give him some clarity, he saw the tremendous dark shadow of the Archdemon raising its long neck to the skies, readying for another attack.

He stood up, grabbed his pair of swords scattered beside him and ran towards the nearby bastion where Wynne was posted. "How many lyrium potions do you still have?" he asked after he slid beside the elderly mage.

"A few," Wynne replied shortly as she casted a healing spell on the rogue Warden, "But do not worry too much about it, young man. I haven't survived to this age if I had relied solely on those blue vials!"

Aedan managed to crack out a chuckle. Bringing a mage like Wynne was truly a good decision. He had always trusted Wynne to cast a healing spell while the rest of the group focused on the offense. She might be more powerful for her age, but the young warden was no fool to overexert her. He could already see the signs of fatigue on the mage's pale, ashen face. It would be just a matter of time before she would collapse in the battlefield.

He looked out beyond the bastion and saw some Redcliffe soldiers, Circle mages, Dalish elves, and dwarves distract the monster while his group recuperate. He couldn't help but to throw up as those monsters slaughter his makeshift army. "Have you seen Alistair and Leliana?" he finally asked while surveying the smoke-filled rooftop of the fort.

"I've seen them get thrown away when the Archdemon lashed its tail on you," Wynne replied and drank another vial of the glowing, blue liquid.

"Damn!" Aedan muttered under his breath as more darkspawn stormed the rooftops. He knew that Teagan, Sten and the rest were trying their best to keep the horde away from the fort while they fought the Archdemon. But it was evident that their efforts were futile: his long-thought strategy had failed. How long would the nightmare last before they succumb--

"Aedan!" Alistair's voice rang through the raging noise of the battlefield, "Are you alright?"

The Warden looked around and saw a battered king carrying an unconscious, injured bard through the crossfire. His heart almost melted at the sight. He thought he had picked the best people in his group to join him in his fight. But how come he was proven wrong now? He knelt there, speechless, as Wynne tried to heal their two comrades. He had done his best, yet his best wasn't good enough.

In a matter of minutes, the red-haired Orlesian bard regained consciousness. "I-I'm sorry to worry you," she whispered, "I thought my range wasn't--"

"It wasn't your fault," Alistair quickly spoke up, "The Archdemon's tail could actually cover this fort."

"It is I who needs to apologize," Aedan shook his head, "The war tactics was a failure; and I just brought you to your graves."

Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne stared at the crestfallen warden. The sound of the current battle filled the awkward silence between them.

"I thought that this war could be won conventionally," Aedan sighed, "But I now realized that we're not fighting against some great general--we're fighting against something more sinister and ruthless. And its power was far more tremendous than all the powers combined in Ferelden--or maybe in Thedas!"

The Warden hung his head low after he spoke those words. It was now evident the difference between him and his older brother, Fergus. A good leader, like his brother, would never say anything that would demoralize the people around him. Instead, he would cast his fears back to Oblivion and say some inspiring speech that would be planted in the hearts of his men and on the pages of history. But what did he just do?

Aedan was ready to bury the blade of his family's heraldic sword to his aching heart when a heavy gauntlet touched his shoulder firmly. He looked up and saw the face of the king of Ferelden: the face that was once goofy and carefree now showed a more powerful and determined visage. The mere flare in his eyes made Aedan sit up straight.

"The Archdemon may have all the darkspawn under his command," Alistair commented, "But there's one thing that that thing doesn't have: a relentless, valiant Warden that did not give up until he united the whole forces of Ferelden against the threat of the Blight."

The new king's words struck Aedan's dying will aflame. He never thought that Alistair would regard him that highly, nor his ability to say something that inspiring; but his words came at the right place, at the right time. "You're right. We're still alive--and it's far too soon to give up!"


Alistair smiled. "That's the spirit!" he laughed, "Now, before we get all mushy here and have an obligatory group hug, let's not forget our big, bad friend to join in our sentiments."

The Warden smirked as he brandished the sword of the Couslands against the tangerine-colored sky. "Yeah, I hate to keep him waiting," he said as he stood on the bastion. He and Alistair held their positions on the front and focused all their energies to the great dragon. Their path was filled with darkspawn and the remains of his army; but he was well-confident that they could manage to push through, "Ready to finish this?"

Wynne dusted her robes off and picked up her staff while Leliana readied an arrow on her bow. "On your command," they chorused.

And with a loud cry, Aedan charged ahead of the group. One-by-one, countless number of darkspawn fell through the series of flurry of strikes as the warden paved a way for his comrades to follow. As they neared their target, more and more of those creatures flocked towards them; but Alistair did a good job of bashing the enemy ranks with his shield as Aedan proceeded to cut the remaining off.

It wasn't long until they had reached the foot of the Archdemon, who had already taken notice of them. Aedan could clearly hear its voice, barking threats in his head, but he ignored its words. "This day wouldn't end without any of us falling down," he roared, "And I'm making sure that it will be you!"

And with those words, The Grey Warden and the others concentrated their fire on the Archdemon, who was more than willing to retaliate. His wings swatted some of the elves shooting arrows at him while his tail wiped out the dwarves and humans charging towards him. His flaming breath sprayed towards the warden's group but Wynne managed to block the attack.

Wynne and Leliana held their ground a few feet away from the dragon while Aedan and Alistair charged to the front lines. Their swords lashed through the Archdemon's thick, scaly skin while the enemy returned their attack with another strong gust of wind from its wings. The wind knocked the two Grey Wardens back but they picked up to their feet and resumed the fight. Blow after blow, slash after slash, Aedan and his group relentlessly fought until--

"RRRAAARRGHHHH!!!" the Archdemon's cry shook the foundations of Fort Drakon and slumped down the stone floors.

Aedan looked at the weakened state of the enemy. Fear and uncertainty started to cloud his thoughts. Would he survive the final blow? But the Warden shook his head vigorously. This was the moment he was waiting for; and he knew that he was damn well prepared for that event. He inhaled deeply, charged towards the Archdemon, grabbed a greatsword nearby, and jumped on top of the dragon, just above its heart.

I hope Morrigan is right about this. He breathed a prayer to the Maker and struck the thick skin with a heavy blow. Almost instantly, rays of golden light burst from the wound he had caused on the Archdemon, almost blinding him. He could feel a strange, fiery feeling--as if the soul of the Archdemon was trying to invade his body. His grip was already loosening when he heard the voices of his comrades.

Aedan, you can do this!

Finish that blighted bastard already!

Be strong, young man. Don't let go!

Collecting all his strength, Aedan grabbed the handle of the greatsword with both hands and buried its blade deeper into the Archdemon's flesh. "I'm not going to let you possess me!" he cried, "Maker help me!" He gave one final push down the sword and everything went dark.

Aedan, wake up!

Maker's breath, he's alive!

C'mon, open your eyes, you've got to see this!

Aedan groggily opened his eyes and saw Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne looking on him. "W-what happened?" he asked.

Leliana chuckled. "What else? Do you think we can still have this conversation if you didn't manage to kill the Archdemon?"

The Warden blinked. After a few seconds, he raised his hands to his eye level, tried to feel his leather jerkin and his whole body. He didn't know what to say. The Dark Ritual worked and the Archdemon was already dead!

"Here now," Alistair smiled and offered his hand which Aedan gladly took to help him stand up, "Denerim might not be in a pretty shape; but you've want to see this."

Aedan took a minute or two to regain his balance and then followed the king towards the edge of the roof. At horizon of the now crimson skies, he could see the shadow of the darkspawn being swallowed into the falling sun. He looked down the fort and saw countless of inhabitants of Ferelden, cheering to their hearts delight.

Aedan silently smiled as he and the others made their way to the grounds of Denerim. The journey towards the end was indeed a hard one that he had never expected that they would pull through. But here they were, standing at the foot of Fort Drakon, being carried by the crowds that were calling him as the "Hero of Ferelden." It was a dream came true; but he knew that he would have done it without the support of his friends. And now they marched towards the palace with their heads held up high and with their smiles beaming as they announced the joyous news.

They had won the war.