hard bright wings

9/eh don’t remember when I wrote this, couple days ago

“Death is in his hard bright wings”

aka that moment where both your warriors die and your ranged rogue has to tank the dragon while your spirit healer mage uses his 0 offensive spells to kill it

Hawke knew how exaggeratedly Varric loathed the Deep Roads, and he’d honestly done everything in his power to meliorate the experience somewhat. Until now. Not everything could be avoided.

Well, the dragon definitely could’ve been avoided. And waking the dragon by weighing a chunk of stone in his hand and lobbing it before Carver could stop him. Hawke supposed if he’d been a bit quicker and more attentive with healing, perhaps Fenris and Carver wouldn’t have fallen so quickly in the battle that ensued. Then, maybe, they wouldn’t be pinioned against the back wall of a corridor with the dragon bearing down on them.

The familiar ache and surge of magic pooled and then poured out of him. It siphoned through his staff and a rush of lightning fulgurated across the dragon’s scales.

“Distract him!” Hawke yelled, a plan sitting nebulous and half-formed in the back of his head. Without bothering to complete it, he lunged around the dragon and up the corridor.

“Excuse me?” Varric yelled behind him, followed by the low ka-chunk of Bianca launching a bolt. “No! No! Mage! You son of a bitch, get your apostate as back here and cover me!”

Hawke laughed, sliding to a stop behind the dragon and dodging its tail when the thing lunged for Varric.

“What qualifies me as a distraction, anyway?”

“You’re loud and very irritating!” Hawke gritted his teeth, adrenaline hammering in the back of his skull. “And probably quite tasty, too!”

“Well thank you,” Varric said, ducking before raising Bianca and firing another salvo of bolts. The dragon twisted backward, shaking its head. Hawke felt the fire burgeoning in the dragon’s chest—behind the beast, even, the temperature rose a couple degrees. He couldn’t imagine how Varric felt.

Again the surge of magic from his flagging reserve. This time, he formed it into a glyph on the ground beneath the dragon. It flashed brilliant green and the dragon, fire glowing in its gullet, froze in place, a look of stricken rage in its eyes.

“Holy shit!” Varric yelled, firing a bolt into the beast’s throat. Hawke, sweat standing on his skin, whirled his staff around and electricity sizzled loose from the weapon to strike the dragon. Again and again, panic seizing up within him, until the wings crumpled inward and the dragon collapsed.

Hawke and Varric looked at one another across the folded corpse.

“What the hell were you thinking, ‘be a distraction’?” Varric said, shaking his head as he stowed Bianca against his back. He stepped gingerly around the dragon.

“Stand still,” Hawke said, his brow furrowing as he summoned his mana, feeling the usual tide of placating warmth as the healing magic left him and poured across Varric.

Finished, Hawke stood straight and glanced toward where Fenris and Carver lay. In time they would regain consciousness. For now, he thought, he could rest and regain his strength.


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