As my lifeblood flowed out of me, I struck the final blow and rammed the greatsword that I’d jerked out of a warrior’s body, sinking it deep into the Archdemon’s underbelly. I quickly rolled out from under the beast, gaining my feet slowly, I stood and grimaced. Then raising the greatsword above my head, thrusting the blade through the dragon’s skull until I heard the tip strike the stone beneath. The pain had been mind altering, but I’d held on, with the last of my strength, I twisted the great blade and ended the dragon’s life.
Bellavalia saw Zevran and Morrigan trying to get near her out of the corner of her eye, but the energy and magic prevented them helping her, as they stood helplessly watching in a combination of horror and awe at the sight before them. The dragon’s tainted soul along with my own become as one, my heart came close to bursting with the force as the Archdemon and I fought for the dominance of my soul. Both of us were surrounded with light, energy, and magic. Wave after wave of energy poured forth as the demon’s soul penetrated mine. Pain the likes of which I’d never experienced before penetrated my body, I opened my mouth to scream, but the pain was too much and it prevented my voice from crying out. I threw my head back as the light entered every pore of my body, doing my best to hang onto the sword as wave after wave of blood magic roared through my body.
Soon, this journey that I’d traveled would finally be over, the task completed. Would the ritual save my life? I truly didn’t know. I love you Alistair, be a good king, and I love you always was my last thought. The light, energy, and magic finally built into a massive explosion. I fell next to the giant beast I’d killed, swirling down into blackness. Fort Drakon’s top turret ran with a river of blood. The blood dripping down the sides of the massive tower ending the blight in unnerving silence atop the massive fort.
“Maker’s breath I’m too old to fight like this anymore.” Said Wynne as she regained awareness of her surroundings.
Slowly, Wynne got to her feet, turning to her right where Irving had been casting beside her, she found him a short distance where the blast had blown him further back than it had her. Running over to him Wynne knelt down to check the pulse in his neck.
He’s alive, thought Wynne. Gently, she shook his shoulder, “Irving are you alright?”
“Yes Wynne, I was just catching my breath for a moment,” reaching over Irving patted Wynne’s hand. Rising up into a sitting position, Irving groaned, reaching up he checked the back of his head. “I’ve a nasty bump on the back of my head, but rather than that I seem to be fine.”
“Wynne, are you alright?”
“Same as you Irving, a bump on the head, a few bruises to my bum, and a rather nasty gash on my left shoulder (where a genlock had stabbed her, luckily Zevran had come to her aid), I should be fine. Irving, can you stand? We need to find Bellavalia, I’m sure she is terribly injured.”
“Go Wynne, once I get my legs under me I’ll be right behind you.”
Reaching down Wynne picked up her staff and reattached it to her back, where the explosion had knocked it from her hand. Turning back around Wynne was unsure which direction to take. The explosion from the archdemon’s death had her out-of-sorts, her sense of direction slightly topsy-turvy. Spanning the roof of Fort Drakon, just ahead and to her right she spied Zevran, just coming to himself. Glancing to the left of Zevran and several paces in front of him lay Bellavalia’s body next to the dragon.
Running to Bellavalia, Wynne skidded to a stop, throwing her hands up covering her mouth to stop her instant reaction of vomiting, due to what she was seeing. Gore, is the only word to even describe what she was looking at. Bellavalia’s body was a bloody gory mess. Tears stung her eyes as she knelt down beside her leader and friend. With a shaking hand, Wynne pressed her fingers against Bellavalia’s throat to check for a pulse. Faint, just barely a pulse, where Bellavalia had lost so much blood. It won’t be long thought Wynne.
Zevran and Irving had come up behind her. Irving stepped forward and knelt next to Wynne. Taking his fingers he placed them on Bellavalia’s wrists doing the same as Wynne trying to gauge Bellavalia’s pulse. Wynne and Irving looked at each other. “Irving, do you think a rival spell will do the trick or is she too far gone?” Before Irving could respond, Bellavalia took one last shallow breath, and then she breathed no more. Several minutes had passed before anyone spoke or moved.
Zevran stepped forward and knelt by Bellavalia’s head. With his hand he gently stroked her hair, tears spilling down his cheeks and dripping onto Bellavalia’s forehead, where they slide off into the lake of blood they were all kneeling in. Slowly, Zevran reached out and gently closed Bellavalia’s eyes.
The others who had been fighting with them on the roof: Arl Eamon, Sir Perth, two other Knights of Redcliffe, Sir Greagoir along with three other Templars, and the remaining Legionnaires and Soldiers of Orzammar who had survived the battle and were able to walk had come to form a semicircle behind Bellavalia’s companions. One by one they all knelt and paid homage to the woman lying before them. One Templar that had knelt began speaking the ‘Chant of Light’, passages for the departed.
“NOOOOOOOO” roared Alistair, as he came running from the main entrance to the roof, followed by his personal guards and several soldiers of Denerim. Running to Bell’s side he dropped down to his knees and what he saw tore his heart and soul in shreds. Her body was a bloody gory mess, never had he seen such massive damage to any soldier’s body as she had suffered, the dragon had gored her right at her breast bone, her armor had been sundered to shreds, her beautiful right breast was barely hanging by a thin sliver of sinew, her legs had massive compound fractures where the bones in her legs had been shattered and pierced her skin and been shoved through her boots. Her face, arms and the rest of her body was covered in slashes seeping blood. Her whole body was a mass of contusions. She was lying in a lake of blood. His shield had not been there to protect her.
She’d commanded him to stay and help guard the city gates because he was King – he had to stay behind to command his soldiers. She’d asked his permission to dispatch a message to the wardens that were waiting on the border with Orlais to begin a march to Denerim; those wardens were racing to Denerim right this minute. If she fell he was order a retreat from the city until the Grey Warden reinforcements arrived to help him end the blight and to kill the Archdemon. He had tried to argue with her, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Her logic had been sound as always. She had been cold and right down savage with him when she’d barked her orders to him.
She was gone, the love of his life, the other half of his soul. The woman that he had cruelly hurt by ending their relationship once she had made him King. He’d never get the chance to tell her he would love her always and that he’d made a terrible mistake, when he ended their relationship. He had hurt her beyond his own imagination, and she had just stood and took it, tears in her eyes.
Alistair fell on his stomach and threw his right arm across her shoulders and his other arm he slid under her neck, he buried his face in her neck where he cried great raking sobs out of his heart over her death. The next thing Alistair knew was that he was being jerked to his feet and shoved back out-of-the-way, then his personal royal guard surrounded him and Allen (the captain of the personal royal guard) was manhandling him to keep him in place. Why he didn’t know or understand until he saw the pillar of light, then he went still as a statue.