There was magic, and then there was magic. All of them had seen Anansi vanquish hordes with the power of the tempest, or the scalding sun, or the riven earth before. All of them had felt his boons wash over them in controlled waves that could have crushed them all with their intensity.
But this was no mere skirmish, no sortie against a gaggle of darkspawn. Urthemiel rose mighty and terrible over Fort Drakon, an adversary beyond measure, beyond understanding. Not a dragon, not an abomination, an archdemon, something even the Maker, should he have existed, would not wish to behold.
They fought as valiantly as they could, but soon all of them were wearier than they’d ever been, and it seemed they would lose.
In that moment Anansi Surana stood in the fray, whipped ragged by the winds that Urthemiel’s wings stirred up, but refusing to buckle. And for that moment, all was still.
Later, they would all avoid the question that nagged them-- did you hear it, too?
Anansi brought his hands together in front of his chest, and he closed his eyes, and he sang but a few bars -- enough to focus, enough to touch, enough to fill him to the brim.
Urthemiel was circling, and when Anansi began to sing, the archdemon saw an opening and began to dive.
Alistair, Ali Bear-boy, was staggering to his feet when he heard the song in his mind. It was a question, and he answered. I am a Grey Warden. I give this shield, this power of mine, for Anansi. I haven’t always believed in myself, but I have always believed in Anansi Surana.
Briar Heart, Vashoth, was yanking the bladed end of eir staff out of a genlock when ey heard the song in eir mind. It was a question, and ey answered. I am a Grey Warden. I give this magic, this power of mine, for the sake of my mate, for the sake of the child ey carry, for the sake of us all.
Loghain mac Tir, newly Joined, was hastily wrapping a wound with a scrap ripped from a fallen mage’s robes when he heard the song in his mind. It was a question, and he answered. I am a Grey Warden. I give this sword, this power of mine, for the land I love and the queen who will rule it. I am not afraid to die, but maybe I will be glad to live.
So this, then, is the power of Wardens, Morrigan thought to herself as she stood on the rampart, feeding Anansi’s growing spell through the bond their Ritual had created. This magic, her last gift; her last silent expression of faith in a young Warden she’d begrudgingly nursed back to health in a ramshackle hut what seems like ages ago.
The battle is not yet done, many more soldiers in this Battle for Denerim thought to themselves as they felt Anansi’s song wash over them, lifting them to their feet, drawing their combined energy to the core of the song -- to Anansi’s loosely clasped hands, in front of his chest.
Anansi opened his eyes. The archdemon dove. Anansi raised his eyes to Urthemiel’s, raised his hands, and pushed.
“It was like... like a light, right? A giant ball of flamin’ sunlight, but all outta that one little body,” someone would marvel in a tavern later, but someone else would argue, “Nah, you’ve got it all wrong, son, it was like... like a scream, like the loudest scream you’d ever heard, like someone was just splittin’ you apart with it.” Still another would claim that Anansi’s final spell was like another dragon rising to meet Urthemiel and ripping him open, and yet another would insist that no one could have seen anything, because surely they’d gotten instantly knocked out by the force of blast just like he had, so they must all be making it up.
“Just a little Creation magic, a little hedge magic, some help from my friends,” Anansi would shrug, when pressed about how he’d ended the Fifth Blight. It was an unsatisfying answer, but you just had to have been there.
