Through a suckered breath, Lana caught the end of a giggle. She coughed a few more times, her larynx pushing against the templar's palm, but her laugh grew stronger with each new breath. Clarel whipped back around, a sneer lifting her thin lips, but she didn't say a word, only watched as Lana threw her eyes up and lost her mind in laughter. Even the templar shifted uncomfortably in his boots, driving his fist in deeper, but Lana continued to laugh through that pinch.
She shook her head against the wall, rattling her remaining braids and then beamed every shred of experience she had scraping across Ferleden, building an army from nothing, and ending a blight before it destroyed her home. "It is always glory with the types who will drag us all to the void with them."
Clarel snorted once at Lana's impudence, then she leaned back and folded her arms, a decision crossing her face. "We will not kill you, if that is your concern. No," she tapped her finger against her lips as if Clarel had any choice in the coming storm. The woman was a puppet in all but name. "The wardens require stout mages. You will be an asset I will not waste."
"I will kill myself before you ever turn me into an abomination!" Lana screamed, her fingers reaching towards Clarel. The templar gripped tighter, locking off her oxygen but Clarel tipped her head for him to release Lana. Her hands fell to her side, one curling into her robe as if to steady herself from the attack.
Clarel snickered, "Then your blood will guide us to victory. Bring her to..."
Flying through the air, a ceramic pot shattered against the ground. White smoke billowed through the cavern, blanketing everyone in the fog. Obscured from sight, the wardens spun around, weapons drawn but useless. "Stop!" Clarel coughed, "Do not let her escape."
Lana felt the templar renew another mana purge, but she had other plans. When he turned his head back to try and find the new assailant, Lana unsheathed her dagger and drove it deep into his stomach. The templar screamed, his blood pouring into her hands while she twisted the knife deeper up his ribcage. He tried to crush the life out of Lana, pushing both hands into her throat, but she yanked the knife from his wound, drew back her arm and sliced the blade across his eyes. Blinded by his own blood, the templar finally released her, his fingers trying to purge the pain in his eyes. Lana's feet skidded to the ground and she reached blindly for her staff. Above her stepped a giant of a woman whirling a sword carved from a mountain.
"Cuz!" Hawke screamed in the chaos, "We need to be getting gone!"
Instinctively, Lana threw up a barrier around Hawke just as Clarel burst a beam of fire against her. Hawke spun towards the Warden Commander and waved her sword menacingly. "That tickles," she sneered.
"I'm here to kill Erimond!" Lana shouted. Her fingers skidded across her staff, the wood humming to her machinations. She yanked it up and tried to peer through the smoke biting into her eyes. There was a glimmer of Clarel's warden robes darting through the haze and Lana cast her second most powerful ice spell at her. The seasoned mage caught it, the ice harmlessly scattering away, but she breathed heavy from the exertion, her own mana taking a hit. This might be her only chance to finish this madness once and for all. Lana twisted up her own mana, prepared to knock Clarel on her idiotic head, when Hawke grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up like she was a bag of rice.
"What are you doing?" she shouted, trying to not flail her legs like an obstinate child.
"There's this thing called reinforcements," Hawke chided. She kicked aside the bleeding templar and leapt into the cavern while still carrying Lana.
"I bloody well know what reinforcements are."
"Good, because they're on their way. At least a dozen of 'em, maybe more. I don't know about you, but I can't do that many, and unless we get out fast, we're gonna have the entire fortress on our assess."
Damn them all, she was right. Peering from behind Hawke, Lana watched Clarel cast a whirlwind strong enough to wipe away the remaining smoke. Her nemesis leaned down to the bleeding man. With enough healing, he'd live. She'd probably blinded him, but... Clarel stuck her dagger into the man's throat, emptying his veins, the raw power flooding into the cavern.
"Hawke...drop me!"
"No, you're not going back there!"
"I know that, but we need to both run, now!" Lana tipped her voice to an order, and Hawke obeyed. She caught onto the ground, her shoes slicking against the rock. Lana spun to follow after her cousin, but not before she watched all the templar's blood rushing up around Clarel like a gruesome robe. What was she doing? Maker, Lana barely knew how to fight against the stumbling blood magic of the south, she had no idea how to combat seasoned tevinter malifecarum.
She threw up another barrier trying to seal off the tunnels as they ran through them. Clarel tossed her first bolt, the power easily slicing through Lana's shield and blasting into the ceiling. They had to get out fast. There was no way she could stop that kind of force. Redoubling her barriers, Lana tried to follow in Hawke's stampeding wake, but more than exhaustion deadened her limbs and yanked down her arms. Dread and despair in equal parts overloaded her system, the rage that powered her through the desert broken and lost. All she had left was the will to live, to not have Clarel drain her body, then toss it aside like an empty water skin.
"How are we going to get out of here?" Lana shouted at Hawke.
"Don't worry, I've got a plan," Hawke called back a near copy of Lana's own words. For a moment, she wondered if that was sarcasm, but her cousin sounded genuine.
"Ah!" Lana shrieked. One of Clarel's bolts slipped clean through her barrier and nicked Lana in the shoulder. Her robes were burned through, leaving charred black skin in its wake, but there was no blood. Thank the Maker for small miracles. "What is this plan?"
Hawke twisted her running not towards the gap in the wall to the riverbed, but deeper down the tunnel. Her boots slapped against the blackened ground, the panting of her breath giving away that she was pulling further and further away from Lana. "Hawke, what's your plan?" she screamed again. And then she saw it -- hints of dawn's light illuminated their doom. A portcullis cut off their only remaining means of escape, its bars thick enough to let at best an arm through, nothing more. "Blessed Andraste, no," Lana moaned, the last vestiges of her driving force drying away from her. She stumbled, almost falling to her knees.
Patting her hand along the wall, Hawke turned back to her and grinned. She reached into a hidden crevice and yanked back on a lever. "You aren't the only one who knows ancient traps." Like a miracle from on high, the portcullis began to rise, dust shaking off the hinges. But it was going too slowly. Clarel's attacks continued, her energy blasts chewing through every barrier Lana placed. She wasn't running down the tunnel to catch them, she didn't have to. The woman was enjoying this game of chase.
"Hawke!" Lana shouted. "You have any of those smoke bombs left?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Give it to me," Lana held out her hand and accepted the clay pot. She glared at it as she reached into the pouch along her belt and extracted the last of her lyrium sand. This was so far gone on the list of wise things to do, but they had no choice. Clarel would catch them before they could escape. She dumped half of the tube into the clay pot, hopefully enough to cause the right amount of damage without killing anyone. Securing the rest of the lyrium sand, Lana backed up to her cousin beside the still rising portcullis.
"Right after I throw this, roll under the door as fast as you can."
"Uh," Hawke slotted her greatsword on her back, "how about I throw it instead?"
"That's a good idea," Lana passed her the clay pot, "but be careful."
Hawke shrugged and with the might of biceps that could wrestle qunari, she hurled the bomb through the air. It missed all the possible obstacles Lana would have hit and struck against the stone floor nearly a hundred feet away. Fire burst out of it, the lyrium igniting from the impact. An explosion fractured the cavern, rending the stone walls in half. Rocks and shrapnel shattered, racing to fill both sides of the tunnel like solid water. Lana grabbe
d onto her staff and rolled under the rising door. She tugged onto Hawke's pants leg to get her to look away from the cool explosion. Shaking her head, Hawke followed suit, both of them rolling past the barrier and further down the tunnel, until they rose back to their feet. Chunks of rock slammed against the rising door, the force denting the iron like it was paper.
Without looking back, Lana and Hawke raced out of the tunnel towards daylight. Lana threw up a few barriers around them for fear of archers, but if they kept to the dry riverbed they should be able to sneak past and back to the Inquisition camp. Maker, what had she done? She'd thought it'd be so easy, that she could end this all by herself, but now Clarel knew they knew of her plans. He was going to kill her.
"Welp," Hawke cheerfully called from her side, "that coulda gone better. Who's gonna tell the Inquisitor?"
Chapter Eighteen
For Now
"In a matter of minutes, you managed to destroy what little edge we had against Corypheus, place the entire Inquisition in danger, and - for all we are aware - increased the warden's timeline. The demon army could be pouring out of the fade at this very moment and we have no way yet to combat or stop it!"
The Inquisitor stood stock still before his war map, his grey eyes slicing through the silent mage. Lana's hands dangled limply at her side and she stared blankly through the elf. She'd only managed a few words here and there, her throat constricting in pain, the bruise blisteringly evident even against her darker skin. It was Hawke who told the full tale and tried to spin it as best she could; Lana added nothing beyond a yes or no when a question was put to her. The rest of the advisers stood behind the Inquisitor, each of them passing furtive glances but no one else spoke. It was only the elf who continued haranguing Lana, and rightly so. She'd failed more than just the Inquisition, perhaps risked all of thedas and for what?
"Look, it was a quick decision made in heat of battle. Things happen," Hawke stuck up for her. She'd tossed her greatsword against the wall upon entering the war room and tried to mimic Lana's subservient pose, but Hawke couldn't stand still long. Grabbing onto her sword's grip, the warrior swung it through the air in what to the rest looked like a threat. "Leave it be," Hawke spoke in her natural shout. Josephine gasped from the display, her eyes darting down to her clipboard while Leliana and the commander both rose up in the event they needed to stop a Hawke rampage. Even the Inquisitor stumbled back, her eyes widening out of their frozen glare. Unaware of the terror she was stirring, Hawke continued to rotate her wrist, the sword slicing through air that could easily contain a body.
Lana's fingers snapped out and grabbed onto Hawke's arm. She glanced at the intrusion, then twisted back down her blade, confusion across her face. Lana knew that it was simply Hawke needing to do something and there being a sword in the way. That was how her mind worked, she thought by doing, but this wasn't the time or place. Shaking her head slowly, Lana released her grip and Hawke lowered her weapon.
The Inquisitor was the first to rebound as the rush of tension cracked away, but his eyes remained fixed on Hawke who was returning her sword to the wall. "There is the heat of battle, and then there is making tactical decisions that are not yours to decide. I thought we were of the same mind, Lady Amell, but it seems I was mistaken."
Lana folded her hands up and placed them against her stomach. She stared through him, past a nick in his ear to a tree branch banging against the open window pane. Its leaves were a golden sunset, a strange color for spring. He glared at her silence, obviously expecting her own rebuttal, but when none was forthcoming, the Inquisitor continued to rant, "And you wasted a perfect opportunity for us. We could have used that tunnel ourselves to take down the Warden forces from multiple fronts."
"Or they'd have chopped you all up into bits. Seemed they were expecting someone to take that path," Hawke grumbled. She'd leaned against the wall beside her sword and tipped her head down, but even her angry whispers echoed through the room.
"Be that as it may," the Inquisitor whipped his head from the Champion to the Hero. There were too many titles in the room. "We are at war with the wardens and I, I am uncertain whose side you are on."
Lana's eyes slipped away from the branches peering through the window and deep into the Inquisitor's. Her face curled up, the blank slate chipping and breaking away to the stoked rage in her heart. "I am with whoever intends to kill Erimond," her voice rasped and she coughed at the end, struggling against the pain in her throat. She could heal it, at least blot the sting away, but the Inquisitor wasn't the only one who needed to punish her.
He blanched for a moment from her obvious discomfort and glanced back at the advisers. No one came to her rescue, no one even sprung forward to offer a glass of water. It was the right move. "What you have done was idiotic, brash beyond measure, the very fact that you'd..."
"You're wasting time," she interrupted, her sight back on the window, her eyes as dead as a statue's.
"Time because of what you did, what you..."
"I know."
"Then you admit fault?" the Inquisitor shook his head, disbelieving she'd give in so simply.
"I failed," Lana admitted. The others started as if she confessed her soul, but she'd been speaking the words every step to Skyhold. She knew she failed the moment Clarel confronted her. If she'd let the wardens take her, she wouldn't have to suffer the shame of failure, but facing down a chastising Inquisitor was preferable to becoming an abomination. "Unless you intend to throw me in your dungeon, or stretch my neck on a block, repeating it will do little."
The Inquisitor's hands ran across his face, the fingers digging into his forehead. Behind his palms, he sighed, "On that we can agree. Go, go until we..." He turned back to the advisers clustered around the map. "Until we can solve this."
Lana didn't bow, didn't nod, barely acknowledged his words. She turned on her heels and marched out of the room. Hawke grabbed her sword and followed, but Lana shook her head. She needed time, and while Hawke was a great distraction she was also a terrible distraction. Lana extended her hand to indicate Varric who'd been sitting just near enough to the war room to overhear everything. Hawke sighed, but stepped towards the dwarf. She was certain to replay Lana's blunder to him in more vivid details and with extra dragons. It should sting her, but Lana was numb. Her heart beat sluggishly, each thump of the organ pulsing pain against her throat. She'd nearly died, been slit across the neck, had her blood drained to unleash a demon army and all she felt inside her veins was the void. An eternal nothingness.
Drifting away from Hawke, Varric, and the bright hall filled with soldiers unaware of the coming battle, Lana pushed open doors at random until she stumbled into the gardens. Juxtaposed against the snowy backdrop, the burst of green appeared even fresher than seemed possible. Floral scents hung in the air, lavender and jasmine popular, as well as the little yellow flowers dotting elfroot. Most people claimed they had no scent, but she could swear there was an almost peppery smell when they bloomed. A few people reclined through the grounds, the head gardener tending to one of the Inquisitor's pots with a trowel in each hand while she dug deep in the soil. Peace reigned here, a gentle balm away from everything Corypheus wanted to destroy.
Slipping around the ferns, Lana settled on a bench partially obscured by the greens. In the far end of the garden she caught sight of a boy, little more than eight or nine, zipping in and out of the gazebo's columns. He leapt forward, his hands clapping in the air, but upon pulling them back to his face, he sighed in disappointment. Pushing the dark hair off his forehead, he watched the silken blue wings of the butterfly flitting against the flowers. Abandoning the frontal assault, the boy crouched low and crept like water against the shore towards it. He moved softly for a child, but upon reaching the butterfly's bush he popped up shouting in joy. His prize fluttered away before the boy had a chance to get near it.
"Kieran." Lana followed the voice to see Morrigan chasing after the boy, a chastising look upon her face. "What are you playing at?"
Morrigan smiled with pursed lips, her fingers ruffling her son's hair. Bending low towards him, she said, "In time. How about we play the dragon game instead?" To Lana's surprise, Morrigan hoisted her son up by his arms. The boy squealed in delight, then - after positioning himself as if he was flying above his mother - roared like a dragon blanketing the gardens in flame. His not so realistic dragon cries scattered all the butterflies hiding in the brambles, a multitude of blue silk canvassing the sky. But the boy didn't notice, he was too busy playing with his mother.
Ten years. She'd been gifted ten years, and what did she have to show for it? No wardens, the world once again upon the brink of ruin, and her own order - the only place she had left in the world - terrified of her. More than terrified, planning her death, hoping to use her, to bind her to a demon. To turn her into the very thing she feared. Life would have been so much simpler if she'd taken the blow instead, if she'd left Alistair behind, told Morrigan there was no deal, and sacrificed herself as a good Grey Warden did.
And yet... Her heart stung as she watched the boy who'd never have lived fly into his mother's arms, his hands trying to slip leaves in Morrigan's slick hair. His existence was as dubious as Lana's, but she had no right to wish it way from him. Even if, even with the soul of the old god inside of him, he deserved hope. She on the other hand...
"May I..." Lana broke away from the happy family to turn and gaze up at Cullen. His eyes betrayed nothing beyond the stoic commander weary from the endless grind, but he couldn't stop fidgeting with his sword. "May I sit beside you?"
She shrugged. It wasn't as if she had any right to throw him out, he had an army behind him and she had no one. They were gone. All of them. Her fingers curled against her staff, digging into the names carved into the wood like life lines upon a palm. Cullen settled beside her, his hands gripping onto the bench below him but inching no closer to her. He stared out across the picturesque garden letting the cool breeze speak for him.
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