[Here, have a so-different-it’s-not-even-an-AU...

22nd February 2012

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[Here, have a so-different-it’s-not-even-an-AU story based on these screencaps.]

When they reach the old ruins, the mission is simple - find the king’s party, and bring them out alive. The king has gone mad, Duncan tells her. Delusions of grandeur, glory, that risk everybody because the old ruins are not safe. There are demons and walking dead here, if anybody delves too deeply.

And the king has ordered people to dig.

When did it happen, she asks as they prowl the surface to find nothing at all, only scraps of food and abandoned cups.

Half a year ago, when you were away.

When she was away- she remembers sunny Antiva, and how distant that now seems. The sun shines here, too, but it is cold and thin, and while both places smelled of muck and of loss, at least Antiva had perfume to go with it.

But this is home, and always has been.

They don’t expect to find him above the surface, but they do.

He’s in his old armor, gleaming gold, and he greets them as old friends. Cauthrien fights the urge to simply order her mabari forward, or to tackle him to the ground herself. No, they try diplomacy first. He is her king.

He is her king.

But diplomacy fails. She can talk down Orlesian chevaliers at the border, she can stand down an Antivan noble with the might of the Crows at his back, but she cannot talk down a mad king.

He leads them down.

He leads them into madness.

In the dark, the stench of death winds up too strongly. It threatens to curdle her stomach, her blood, but Duncan tells her they must go forward. Her mabari whines and edges back. They move forward.

And then the screaming starts.

Their only blessing is that half the men and women are in armor, are armed, are waiting for this moment. She loses track of the king, but she is there to fight beside Eleanor Cousland, to beat back the demons that wail and thrash and rip through the Veil between this world and the next. Her mind and muscles scream and all she wants is that thin, cold sunlight above the surface.

When they find Eleanor’s husband, he is already dying. Eleanor refuses to leave his side.

Duncan leads them onward.

And then they find the king.

His armor has not protected him. It doesn’t fit properly anymore, not these days, and it is brilliant streaked with blood. He stares blankly at the stone ceiling. She crouches and closes his eyes, because there is nothing there to stare at but horror.

And then she recommends a retreat, and Duncan agrees. They take all they can with them.

She has half a mind to leave everybody below. She has half a mind to abandon them all. What can be done against so much horror? She knows how to fight men and beasts, but what lurks beneath, all the pain and disgust and terror, she doesn’t know that.

Her heart clenches and begins to harden.

Her king is dead.

She finds a precipice to stare out from, and takes up a post for the better part of the day. The sunlight is thin and cold, and hardly the balm she wanted it to be, down below the surface. Her mabari curls at her feet, as if to keep her from jumping. She would never jump - but the idea of falling is, in that moment, far preferable to digging down again.

There are footsteps behind her.

She turns, expecting to see Duncan with a final tally of the dead and dying. Instead, it’s a man in blue armor, one of those that Duncan left to protect and watch the king.

I’m sorry, he says, and there is pain there in his brow, masked incompletely behind bitterness and distance. I failed.

We all did, she says, and turns out to look at the failing sun.

The man joins her.

His name is Nathaniel, and he fights- not like a demon, for like a demon has become a curse, but he is good and strong and quick. She would not choose another to fight by her side when she pushes back beneath.

He is quiet and he is surly and he is bitter, but she finds them to be a good enough match. He is certainly a better match to her than the mage who starts at every shadow, and who she watches at every turn for any hint of possession. Duncan has remained above; he is arranging the evacuation, and dealing with the Orlesians who have come to offer their own brand of ‘aid’.

So it is only the three of them, and her mabari at their heels, in the first press down. Her thoughts stray to the surface to often.

And then the rumbling starts.

There are no screams this time, only the hissing rending of the Veil. Cauthrien glances behind her.

Nathaniel nods.

They will prevail.

Tagged: cauthrien ser cauthrien Nathaniel Howe zimrathon dragon age remix?