A/N: Day fourteen for Whumptober, today’s prompt: “Just hold on”
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Stephen was very glad that he did not need to be a part of the actual battle. Being in sickbay, taking care of the wounded and dead was quite enough for him. And the worst part always was if he needed to go see the battlefield after the fighting was over to see if there were more wounded. Today was such a day and automatically, his eyes were scanning the floor for his friends, feeling both relief and sadness every time he could identify someone else instead. But then he saw something that almost made his heart freeze. A small group of sailors had gathered around their Captain. Without even thinking, Stephen hurried to his best friend, ushering away the bystanders to have a look. Jack seemed almost unconscious, whether from pain or blood loss Stephen didn’t know. But judging by the many wounds on his chest and all the blood there was as well as the injury on the back of his head it might as well be both.
“What happened to him?” an unnecessary question, Stephen was almost sure. But if he just knew that he had not been shot and there would be no splinters or bullets to remove that was already a good start. As if he was feeling his presence, Jack’s barely conscious form leaned more onto Stephen than anyone else, almost making the doctor drop him. “Jack?” he asked and all of a reply he got was a slight groan and the fluttering of his eyes. “Just hold on. We’re gonna get you fixed up” he sent the crewmembers surrounding them a glance to ask them help him carry the Captain downstairs. One by one they got what he wanted and carefully got hold of the blond man who ever so slightly gave an acknowledgement that he was aware of the touch and not entirely gone. For one part, Stephen was glad about it, conscious patients always were a good sign but on the other hand he hated to see his friend in such discomfort. Well, that was something he could remedy once they had him in sickbay, the sooner this was done, the better. Four men finally came to help him carry Jack to sickbay. A young boy saw them approach and his eyes widened in shock.
“Is he gonna be alright?”
“Of course he will” Stephen assured him, silently hoping so as well. Because sometimes, even if he did his best, it was too late or a too serious injury to save the patient. At first he had thought that every death that happened in his sickbay would haunt him forever but with time it got better. But he knew one thing for certain; letting his best friend die would be something that would weigh down his mind for the rest of his life and there was no way he would let this happen!
Theo gasped as euphoria rushed through him. He always forgot how the magic crashed against his senses, stifling his mind with its power. It was as strong as a wave from a stormy sea, as hot as a forge. The magic burned out of the Vessel’s body and into Theo’s, setting every single nerve on fire. He had to get it out of his body, otherwise it would consume him.
Theo threw out his hand towards the enemy army. The magic swept towards the soldiers, taking the form of a cloud of flame. Theo could hardly hear their screams over the rushing in his ears. This Vessel had more magic than he had ever worked with before. Theo closed his eyes as his limbs trembled and his skin burned hotter and hotter.
He couldn’t control it.
But if he didn’t give it somewhere to go it would kill him.
He screamed as the magic burned up the side of his body. He had to act now.
Just as the magic was about to overwhelm him he released it all at once, a wall of flames shooting out from him in all directions. His vision went white as the remainder of the magic rushed through his body to find its freedom, no longer content to be bound by flesh.
He collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as his skin cooled, limbs twitching and fingers tingling. His ears rang and his vision was blurry. He took one deep breath, then another, each one filled with the stench of smoke and smoldering flesh. That’s when he realized that his hand was still on the hilt of the knife buried in the Vessel’s chest.
Theo scrambled back with a cry, bloody hands shaking. He couldn’t look away from the corpse of the Vessel he had just killed, his glazed eyes staring blankly at the sky. This was wrong. Wrong. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember why he had killed that man. His mind was muddled, his thoughts scattered.
He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think.
“You’re okay, Theo,” a voice said. Theo spun around. There was a man crouched before him, his clothes dark and black beard closely trimmed. Theo’s eyes caught on the peak of a tattoo at his wrists.
The man was a Reaper. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember what a Reaper was.
“Who-who are you?” Theo asked.
“Simeon. We’re friends, don’t you remember?”
Theo shook his head, eyes drifting back to the corpse. To the knife in its chest. The knife he had put there. A lump gathered in his throat.
“Are you alright, Theo?” Simeon asked.
Theo burst into sobs. “No,” he finally managed to choke out, “I just murdered a man.”
Simeon shook his head. “No, Theo, you’re confused,” he said softly. “That thing you killed was a monster, not a person.”
Theo stared at the corpse, his brow wrinkling. The body looked human.
“You always get confused after the magic, remember? I have your medicine right here, it’ll help.” Simeon pulled a pouch out of his jacket and loosened the drawstring. Fear slammed into Theo. The medicine was bad. He couldn’t remember why, his thoughts were still too jumbled, but he knew that he didn’t want to take it.
“I-I don’t want it. Please. I don’t want to take the medicine,” Theo said, panic building.
The Reaper sighed. “This is why I hate it when you use a lot of magic,” he muttered. He moved towards Theo.
“No!” Theo yelled, throwing out his hands in front of him instinctively. To his shock, weak sparks shot from his fingers, the final dregs of the dead Vessel’s magic. Simeon cursed and leaped forward, pinning Theo to the ground. He was larger than Theo, stronger too. Theo thrashed around as the last of the magic fizzled out, trying desperately to get away from this man.
“No! No! Please Simeon please I don’t want it please!” Theo screamed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He didn’t want it, he didn’t want it. His memories were coming back, he knew that once he ingested the drug he would be helpless. Then, Simeon would hurt him.
Simeon dug his fingers into the sides of Theo’s jaw. His grip was painfully tight and he forced Theo’s mouth open. Theo let out a scream of terror. He gagged as the Reaper poured a handful of the bitter white powder into his mouth and shut it.
Within seconds a wave of calm washed over him and Theo’s whole body relaxed, his limbs heavy.
“There you go, that’s better,” Simeon said. Theo smiled up at him, dazed. He couldn’t remember what he had been so upset about before. Whatever it was, it mustn't have been important. Simeon ran a thumb along Theo’s cheek. “I’m here, Theo, you’re safe with me,” he said softly. Theo yawned, suddenly incredibly sleepy.
Simeon helped him to his feet and Theo swayed dizzily. The Reaper caught him against his chest and Theo giggled.
“I feel funny,” he slurred.
Simeon ran a hand through his hair and Theo melted into the touch.
“You’re so cute when you’re high on the smoke plum,” Simeon said affectionately, ruffling Theo’s hair. Theo looked up at him with adoration. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Theo nodded lazily. He leaned against his Reaper as they made their way back to camp, all thoughts of the man he killed forgotten in the haze of the drug.
Echo - A 21 year old female soldier in King Ilium’s army. She has brown hair and silvery-blue eyes.
Kazamir - The Tyrant King Orick’s herald. (”Kazamir” means “Destroyer of Peace”) He is 25, and has a reputation for being arrogant and vicious. He has black hair and grey-green eyes.
Altina- A kind healer in her sixties.
Mavaria- A veteran soldier in her early forties.
Tagging @whumpwillow
Warnings: Fantasy war, battlefield, death, whipping, fever, infection, vaguely referenced animal death.
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Echo tightened her legs against her horse’s back as she raised her sword. Around her, the sounds of battle seemed to fade into the background. A hard jolt went up her arm as her sword collided with the blade of an enemy soldier.
Battle never got any easier. The clang of metal on metal, the dying screams of soldiers and horses, the stench of blood and sweat and fear that hung heavy in the air.
She twisted in the saddle, driving her sword forward, grimacing at the sticky spray that coated her gauntlet and helmet.
“Echo!” Mavaria’s voice shouted. “Fall back.”
Echo hesitated, before turning her horse around, following the rest of her battalion into the trees.
At the edge of the forest, she halted next to Mavaria.
“Go, Echo.”
“I’m staying with you.”
“Get out of here! I’ll be along as soon as I’m sure the others know to follow.”
Echo remained where she was.
“Dammit, girl.” Mavaria snapped, giving her horse a smack. Echo cursed as her mount took off, nearly throwing her out of the saddle.
Tightening her grip on the reins, Echo turned her horse back, going in an arc, intending to circle back to her commander.
_____
Kazamir wrenched his blade free, his lips twisting into a grimace at the sickening pain in his stomach.
Mentally, he cursed himself for being so stupid. He should have known better than to question the King, especially before a battle.
His grimace warps into a snarl as he surveys the battlefield, eyes locking onto on of the enemy commanders.
Mavaria. One of King Ilium’s favorites. Even his mistress according to some. Kazamir tightened his grip on his sword, and urged his horse towards the older woman, who was currently following behind her retreating troops. The soldiers she valued so much that she put their lives before hers.
She couldn’t see him coming, not at this angle, it would be easy to kill her, and it would put him back in favor with King Orick.
He bared his teeth in a vicious grin, levelling his blade.
He was almost to the Commander when another horse collided with his, Kazamir cursed as he was knocked from the saddle, lashing out blindly, he grabbed the enemy soldier by the wrist, and dragging her off her own horse, and to the ground with him.
The impact with the ground sent a spike of nausea-inducing pain through his stomach, and spots danced before his eyes. Gritting his teeth, Kazamir rolled onto his front, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees.
The soldier who’d unseated him was also getting up, grabbing her sword from where it had fallen a few feet away.
Kazamir grit his teeth, and lurched forward, driving his shoulder into her back and tackling her to the ground.
She writhed and bucked beneath him, but he was bigger than she was, and he had her pinned firmly.
The pain in his abdomen was enough to make him feel ill, and he swallowed hard to keep from being sick.
Silvery-blue eyes glared up at him, and Kazamir managed a sneer.
“Thought it might be you.” He said, voice tightly controlled. “Echo, is it not?”
The girl did not reply, she just regarded him with those stunning eyes, colder than a frozen ocean. She did not correct him, however, so he assumed he was right about her name.
One of Mavaria’s soldiers. He had encountered her once before, during a very tense political meeting right before the war had started, nearly a year prior.
He only remembered her because during the brief negotiations, he’d thought that she seemed like the most unpredictable of the soldiers. The one most likely to try an attack.
Nobody seemed to have heard the attack, and both of the horses had bolted after the retreating forces, leaving the two of them alone.
Kazamir wasted no time binding the girl’s wrists with leather cord, before yanking her to her feet.
“Walk.” He barked, and reluctantly, she obeyed.
They had barely made it a mile before he began to feel overheated and ill. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off, it clung to him.
Dizziness struck as pain once again flared through his stomach. Kazamir stumbled, and went to his knees.
______
Echo didn’t know if Kazamir had tripped or just lost his footing, but she didn’t wait around to check, she immediately took off in the direction that the others had gone, hoping she could make it back to the camp before the rain turned to sleet and she froze to death.
After she was sure she had shaken Kazamir off of her trail, she slowed to a walk, discouraged by the fact that she could see her breath in the rapidly cooling air.
She jumped at every noise, half-expecting Orick’s herald to catch up to her at any moment.
By the time night fell, her body ached with exhaustion, and she was sure her feet were more blisters than untouched skin, but she trudged on, trying to ignore the chill that had sunk into her bones.
_____
Kazamir staggered, bracing himself against a tree. After regaining his feet, he had tried to go after Echo, but it quickly became apparent that he’d lost any chance of finding her again.
So he’d continued his trek alone, doing his best to make it back to the battlefield. By now, he was hopelessly disoriented, and, despite his best effort, his strength failed him, and he collapsed, uttering a weak cry at the pain that bolted through his abdomen.
It didn’t matter. There was no one around to hear him.
___________
It was nearly dawn by the time Echo met up with a patrol led by Mavaria herself.
After cutting the binds on her wrists, the commander had given her a half-hearted scolding, and helped her onto one of the unridden horses.
Upon hearing of how Echo had escaped Kazamir, Mavaria had asked her to retrace her steps. It would be worth it to capture him if possible.
“You must be tired, Echo.” Altina said, riding beside her.
“Is that concern I hear?”
“For a little stray like you? Never.”
Echo bit back a laugh. Altina had delivered Echo when she was born, and had been a steady presence in her life ever since.
“Aww, you weren’t at all worried about me, old woman?”
“Didn’t they ever teach you to respect your elders?”
“Oh, so you admit you’re an elder?”
“Wise up, young one. I was old when you were born.”
This time, Echo did laugh, and Altina did too.
The mirth was short-lived. After crossing a small stream, the smile dropped off Echo’s face as she took in the sight of the figure lying collapsed on the forest floor.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Alistair/Carver Hawke, Alistair & Carver Hawke
Characters: Carver Hawke, Alistair (Dragon Age), Original Grey Warden Character(s) (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Possibly Unrequited Love, Feelings Realization, Fear of Death, Battle, Friends to Lovers, Deep Roads (Dragon Age), Warden Carver Hawke, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Darkspawn, Blood, Injury, Gore, Blood and Gore, Angst
Summary:
Another clang and squelch sounded from his right as Alistair blocked a darkspawn’s thrust and drove home his own blade into its chest. Carver readied his stance, watching the darkspawn crumple to the ground as Alistair retrieved his longsword. Catching his eye, the Warden-Commander only shrugged and smiled, adding a flip, “Don’t worry. You’ll catch up.”
Wardens Carver and Alistair run into a troupe of darkspawn in the Deep Roads. Everything is fun and light and fairly routine until, well... until it's not.
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A little bit wish-fulfillment will they/won't they pre-relationship angst and a lotta bit taking the piss out of Bioware for their weird fight mechanics for warriors in DAII. Written for Whumptober 2021 alt prompt "battlefield" (no.23) and prompt no.17 "burns"
according to the book, the count still took part in all of the major battles to protect transylvania and her people between the 14th and 18th century, despite his vampiric nature- that he had been apart of all of these battles and fought in them with sword in hand. something to think about. because stabbing a 7 foot tall man again and again and he’s not dying or slowing down has got to be absolutely terrifying.
Haven't done advertisements in a while I need to catch up!
Broken Sword, a Jam fic based off the tumble prompt of two enemy generals colliding in battle, their swords shattering when hitting one another as they are soul mates.
"Jay, just Jay" has lived a thousand years - he thinks - and has seen more battles and death than anyone else alive. And it. is. boring. Siding with the only person to see him as human - not just a weapon - Jay seeks the one who can finally strike him down.
Except, he gets much, much more than he gambled for.
One of my favorite stories so far to have written, and it's already finished, so no need to wait!
Jay's Armor:
Tim and Brian's Armor:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
closed event starter for @softsliders19 (Kimiko and Cullen)
Once more the city has fallen into some sort of chaos. Something Cullen hadn’t expected and realistically there was no way for him to prevent it but here they were once more. He had learned how to use a gun so it was strapped to his thigh but he was so much better with a sword so he had one from his office in hand. Immediately without thinking Cullen took to the streets. He would help every last person if he could. Weaker without Lyrium. He was not holding back though. “Hey! Are you alright?” He spotted someone, he managed to get next to her but kept looking around. The roar of dragons a bit too familiar and taking him back to the many battles he had fought against the archdemon.
