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The Shadow Dragon hideout was quiet, eerily so, and Tarquin stared at the destruction caused by the dragon. By the Venatori. Everything he’d worked for, that the Viper had worked for, destroyed in the matter of hours, left as nothing but rubble and broken furniture, smashed plates and burned fabric, a ghost of what it’d once been.
Minrathous might not burn any longer, but the city still clung to desperation like a shroud, misery and death walking the docks hand in hand. Shadow Dragon blood spilled in the streets, the Venatori posing the dead like trophies on display. And Tarquin… well, there was little he could do but fight where he could, each battle proving more important, more treacherous than the last.
Then there was the issue of the Viper.
Ashur had taken a blighted dragon claw to the gut during the battle against the Evanuris. And even as the blight coursed through his veins, corrupting him to his very core, still the stubborn bastard fought the Venatori, fought the darkspawn.
And fought him.
Searching for Venatori commanders had become his new focus, a way to fight back even as he succumbed to the blight, because ‘if he was going to die, might as take some Venatori with him.’ And during the usual battles, Tarquin would’ve agreed with him, but there was too much at stake now. And that didn’t only include the future of the Shadow Dragons or the future of the Divine.
Minrathous might cease to exist if they lost.
Tarquin didn’t even know where Ashur was and that was part of the problem. He’d disappeared only a few days after the dragon attack, mumbling about hunting Venatori, and nothing Tarquin said had convinced him to stay, not even about the need to protect any Shadows left. Now Hector was gone, lying in a pool of blood in the street. Dorian and Mae were in hiding, the only link they had left to the Magisterium. And Lorelei…
Four names out of dozens that were now gone or missing when yesterday they’d been full of life.
Tarquin’s mouth was dry, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, trying not to choke on the dust stirred up by his footsteps. Rook was supposed to care about Minrathous. They were a Shadow Dragon, and yet, for a reason he couldn’t possibly fathom, they spent majority of their time saving Treviso from its problems instead.
Still, somehow, the Shadow Dragons continued on despite the loss and the setbacks.
And Tarquin would fight until the day he no longer breathed.
The beat of footsteps outside of Lorelei’s shop set him on edge, Venatori or templars or whatever else might be racing through the streets at this hour, and his hand gravitated to the sword on his hip. Seconds ticked by, each one more torturous than the last, each heartbeat in his chest drowning out every other a noise around him. Then the familiar click of a prosthetic had him relaxing.
Neve Gallus entered the dilapidated hideout, dark eyes glancing to the ceiling at the dried blood still splattered there. A frown crossed her lips, the dark circles beneath her eyes only more evident in the dimness of the room. When she returned her gaze to Tarquin, he saw the pain she tried so hard to hide from the world. Minrathous meant as much to her as it did to him, to Ashur, to the rest of the Shadows.
“Tarquin. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She didn’t have to explain why. He’d made himself scarce since the Venatori takeover. They all had. But it’d apparently not been enough.
“Gallus.” He returned, trying not to stare at the rest of the blood covering the former shop. The blood of his friends. The only family that mattered to him. “What are you doing here? Is Rook with you?”
“Rook is busy with more important places than home.” Tarquin heard the barely disguised anger in her voice, and she glanced away, jaw tense. Neve always kept a decent handle on her rage, her frustration, even when she probably shouldn’t (and much more so than Tarquin ever had), but her mask was slipping. “I came searching for you. We have a problem.”
That seemed to be the usual for them nowadays.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Ok then.” Neve met his gaze with iron in hers, the scepter in her hand glowing despite not being in use. “The Venatori have the Viper. And we’re going to rescue him.”
“How the hell do you know that? I haven’t seen Ashur in weeks.” Tarquin felt like a hole had opened in the pit of his stomach. What a poor excuse of a partner he was, not bothering to even search for the man who’d held the Shadow Dragons together over the last few years. Without the Viper, they wouldn’t be what they were. And without Ashur, Tarquin didn’t know what he’d do.
Who he’d be.
As if she sensed his inner turmoil, Neve rested a hand against his shoulder, squeezing gently to comfort him, as if it was that easy. The only thing that’d make him feel better besides getting Ashur back was putting a sword into every Venatori he met. “I saved some of the Shadows from the Venatori. From slavers too. But we don’t have much time. If they figure out who he is, they’ll execute him without hesitation.”
“Where?”
~~~~
The Chantry doors were locked, which wasn’t a surprise, but Tarquin wished something would go their way for once. It seemed the Maker had a sense of humor after all, even if it was dark. So instead of walking through the front door like a normal person, Tarquin was perched on the roof of the Chantry, watching as the Venatori made their rounds, keeping alert for anyone attempting to breach the perimeter, though they didn’t look up once.
“Idiots.” Tarquin mumbled, pulling his sword from the sheath on his belt. The silverite reflected the sunlight, and he met Neve’s eyes, finding her watching him with the smallest of grins. “What?”
“You better not get yourself killed before we get Ashur out.” Lifting her scepter, she called on her magic, preparing for battle as well. Tarquin felt the magic sing in his blood, a chill settling in him as if her connection to the Fade had turned all magic to ice. His blood itched and he knew it was only going to get worse as they descended into a den of Venatori and blood magic. “He’d never forgive me.”
“Considering he got himself caught in the first place, he’s the one who needs to seek forgiveness first.”
Neve’s gaze softened, which was so unlike her that the weight of the situation finally pressed in on him. The Viper, caught by the Venatori, and there was no ending where they’d let him go without a fight. “We’ll get him out, Tarquin.”
“Someone needs to.” He grumbled before dropping down into the hatch, landing on a desk in the quiet corner office of the Chantry. Bodies were piled on the floor: not a single one recognizable as a person. Tarquin sucked in a breath, turning his head away as he forced himself to move, finding the cleanest section of floor to step on before continuing.
He couldn’t do anything to save them, but he could avenge them.
Keeping out of sight of the patrolling Venatori, Tarquin stuck to the shadows, hoping they obscured him and Neve enough that they’d have the element of surprise. He watched as the guard gazed out over the courtyard, hand settling over the blade on his hip, before he turned around and went back the way he came. With sword in hand, Tarquin moved closer, taking note of the other three Venatori on the other side of the garden. One, of which, was a mage.
Neve saw her as well, gripping tightening on her scepter. “She’s powerful.”
It was all she needed to say.
In the center of them all was the Viper, standing upright in a cage made from blood magic, the crimson surrounding him in waves, pulsing like the blood was alive, the sickly glow only making him look worse than Tarquin remembered.
The Venatori weren’t expecting them.
It was obvious when the first of the Venatori fumbled his daggers the moment Tarquin revealed himself, ending the miserable wretch’s life with a sword to the gut. He collapsed onto the pretty stone walkway with blood in his lungs, choking as Tarquin turned to the next enemy. Neve’s magic caught the next Venatori as he rushed them, frozen solid as he tried to strike, and Tarquin took the opportunity to end his life as well.
Neve focused on the magister next, her magic flaring in a chaotic maelstrom of white and blue, ice and snow combining into a magical projectile, and she launched it at the mage, only for it to collide with the barrier surrounding the Venatori, exploding into thousands of pieces on impact. When the ice finally cleared, Tarquin noticed a dagger clutched in the mage’s hand. She brought it down across the palm of her opposite hand, the blood immediately sizzling as it hit the ground at her feet.
“Fuck.”
An explosion rocked the courtyard, throwing Tarquin to the ground from the force of it. Neve landed on top of him, her elbow in his ribs, and without thinking about the consequences, Tarquin immediately rolled them over to shield her from the debris. Rocks bounced off of his armor, a shower of dirt covering them as he ducked his head, keeping Neve as safe as he was able. When the last of the debris hit the grass, Tarquin got to his knees, blocking an incoming swipe of a dagger from the lone guard left.
Neve moved out of the way in a hurry, clutching her scepter, her attention on the magister again.
Tarquin, however, used what strength he had to push the Venatori away, finding his feet and continuing to pursue him. He attempted another strike, but Tarquin merely blocked that one as well, his free hand curling into a fist and lashing out at his face. The punch connected, Tarquin’s knuckles stinging at the contact, and the Venatori stumbled just enough that he was able to shove his sword into his abdomen. The Venatori dropped his weapons, slumping to the ground dead.
Tarquin wasted no time in turning towards the Venatori magister, finding Neve was already locked in a battle with her.
Blood magic swirled in the air above the Venatori as she recited a spell. Neve, however, had formed an ice barrier between her and the enemy, the only means of protection she had from whatever magic was coming. But Tarquin wasn’t the type to fight at a distance. Not when this woman hurt the man he loved… and she’d probably hurt many others. Minrathous would be a better place without her to sully its streets.
The magister didn’t have time to finish her spell, her eyes darting to where Tarquin was, realizing she was outnumbered and alone. With a quick flurry of hand movements, she aimed her attack at him instead, crystallizing blood into small daggers sharp enough to cut, and they flew across the space between them.
He didn’t have time to react, though he wasn’t sure how he’d manage to avoid the attack even if he had the time to think. He got his arms up to cover his face, but the tiny fragments of blood magic sliced through his leathers, digging into his skin, pain like lightning erupting in his arm, his hand, as it tried to protect his face from the worst of the damage.
“Tarquin!”
Neve’s voice was drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears and the pain burning his body. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain, taking another step closer to the mage. It was enough of a distraction, her attention completely focused on him instead of Neve.
The detective pulled on more of the Fade, it made Tarquin’s teeth chatter and his blood turn to ice, and she aimed another barrage of her power at the magister. This time, it struck true, the barrier she’d formed around herself failing, leaving her completely vulnerable. Realizing she was in danger, the Venatori turned her focus to Neve, and despite the pain in his arm, Tarquin finished closing the gap, his sword ending her life immediately.
Blood soaked his skin and leathers, pieces of crystallized blood daggers (he didn’t want to know whose blood it was) sticking out of his hand and forearm. Bracing himself with eyes closed, he pulled the fragments out of his skin, letting each one drop to the stained stone floors.
“Fuck.” He cursed, trying to breathe through the excruciating pain, the metallic scent of blood the only thing filling his senses. He wavered briefly, lightheaded, when the pull of magic was in the air again.
Opening his eyes, the image of Neve’s healing magic closing his wounds brought him back to his senses, the magic rejuvenating as much as it made his skin itch. When she was satisfied, she pulled away, the blue glow fading to nothing. Then she turned to where the Viper waited, suspended in the blood magic cage the Venatori had him trapped in.
“Let’s get him out of there.”
The magical barrier fell away, blood of the cage coating the ground around Ashur, and the man wavered briefly before falling into Tarquin’s arms, unable to stand without the help of magic. They almost tumbled to the ground amongst the Venatori dead, but Tarquin braced his legs, the bulk of Ashur’s weight distributed between both of his feet. He was as heavy as he looked, it took everything the templar had to keep upright.
“We need to get him somewhere safe.” Neve told him, the urgency in her voice unmistakable to miss. She slipped beneath one of Ashur’s arms, hooking it around her shoulders and trying her best to help take some of his weight herself. “I have an apartment close by, but we need to leave. Now. Before more Venatori show up.”
Neve had a point. More Venatori would show up. They always did. Like cockroaches, where one was, many more still lurked in the dark.
Draping Ashur’s free arm over his shoulders as well, Tarquin met Neve’s gaze, determined to get some fucking rest. “Show me the way.”
~~~~
Neve’s Docktown apartment was a few streets away from the Chantry, hidden in an unassuming corner of a back alley, and even if it was a little scorched and drafty, anything was better than giving the Venatori the chance of catching Ashur again. Tarquin stared out of the ash smudged window into the streets below, watching as a mugger held someone at knife-point, demanding coin or food, whatever it was that day.
And while he normally would’ve helped both of them find a better solution, Tarquin was exhausted, each waking hour he had spent making sure Ashur didn’t fall more into the corruption, that he didn’t go off on another crusade to get himself killed. It’d taken every ounce of energy the man had to leave the hideout after the Venatori had raided it in the first place, and still, he continued to argue, to push back against reason.
And people had always called Tarquin pig-headed.
Turning from the window, he returned to the chair beside Neve’s bed, sinking onto the wood as if it’d be softer than before, his lower back protesting as he did. The mattress was barely holding together, only big enough for one person, and Ashur nearly counted as two, his large frame too wide for him to comfortably lay on his back. Even now, one of his arms was draped over his chest, the other dangling over the side of the bed, fingers brushing the worn floor.
Tarquin had sat in this spot for the last few hours, nearly going cross-eyed from staring at Ashur while he slept. And while his breathing had evened out and he didn’t appear to have any lasting effects from the blood magic cage, he was still worried. These types of things left marks on a person, they didn’t have to be physical, and Ashur was already in bad shape.
Overcome with emotion, Tarquin let his head fall into his hands, trying to keep the tears at bay. They were useless to shed, especially when there was a fight still waging in the streets. Better to leave the grief for after, once they’d taken Minrathous back. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was for naught, the tears still leaked out, spilling hot onto his cheeks. Frustrated, he wiped them away, sniffing back the rest that threatened to follow.
“Quin.”
Ashur’s voice was the same as it’d always been: a comfort on the worst of days, a bright light he’d follow until the end. Unfortunately, those days might be coming sooner than either of them had hoped.
“He wakes.”
With a groan, Ashur tried to sit up, but couldn’t find the strength, collapsing onto the pillow beneath his head. Tarquin was on his feet before he’d realized it, leaning forward to help him sit up, propping him against the wall behind him. His hat and mask sat on the short table beside the bed, and Tarquin finally got the first real look at the blight infection.
Ashur’s eyes were clouded over, the black veins that filled his face a stark contrast to his tanned features. Tarquin’s heart sunk, fear and worry churning in his gut, instinct begging him to kill something, anything, to make it right. But nothing could, and that stung even more. No matter how many Venatori or darkspawn he killed, no matter how many Grey Wardens offered the Joining to Ashur, he was never going to recover.
And one day, Tarquin would be alone again.
“You don’t need to fuss over me.” Ashur assured him, brushing his fingers gently over Tarquin’s wrist as he sat on the small amount of space afforded to him on the bed.
“Someone should since you won’t fuss over yourself.”
Ashur chuckled, a sound that didn’t fit in their current circumstances, but was welcome nonetheless. The entire world was on the edge of a precipice, about to tumble in without a way to pull itself out. Tarquin hadn’t realized how much he missed laughter, particularly Ashur’s, and hearing it again was almost like seeing the sun for the first time after a long period of darkness. And other poetic nonsense that would make him blush if he kept thinking about it.
“I know you want to help Minrathous, but you can’t do that if you’re dead.” Tarquin’s voice was strained, and no matter how much he tried to rein in the emotion, it was impossible to.
Ashur glanced away in shame, taking a shallow breath before he spoke, his baritone booming in the small room. “I’m going to die anyway, Quin. Taking out however many Venatori I can while I am here… that’s all I’m good for now.”
Ashur’s words nearly broke him.
“That’s not true. And you damned well know that.”
“Quin-”
Leaning forward, Tarquin took Ashur’s face between his hands, the warmth leaching out of his skin, the darkspawn taint slowly killing him, turning him into a monster who wouldn’t remember who he was. But for now, he was still the man Tarquin loved. “I won’t let you give up on yourself, Ashur. Don’t ask me to.”
Ashur’s hand came up to settle over top of his, gentle and comforting. Almost like before, back when things weren’t as dire. Back when they had to pretend they were merely associates, and not two men who’d found each other in the midst of shadow, lighting the path for each other. “I only stay strong because of you, Quin. Because you fight even when the darkness closes in.”
The space separating them was still too much. Closing the distance, Tarquin touched his forehead to Ashur’s, finding the teal of his eyes behind the cloudiness. There was still parts of him untouched by blight, and he was going to hold onto those for as long as he could.
Tarquin’s tongue felt thick, heavy, his mouth dry, but he managed to speak. “You were always better at words than I was.”
Ashur’s hand brushed against a spot on his cheek, soft, careful, and it took a moment for Tarquin to realize he was tracing a line across his skin. “The Venatori hurt you.”
“It would’ve hurt more if you weren’t here.” Tarquin pressed a kiss to the spot between his brows, feeling how Ashur relaxed beneath his touch. It was a small thing, the tension in his face softening, but Tarquin relished in the feeling.
Ashur’s hand tangled in Tarquin’s long dark hair, forcing his head to angle downwards so their lips could meet. It was messy, cautious, the Viper’s lips cold against his, but it was enough to warm every part of Tarquin, from his ears to his toes. While Ashur broke the kiss, he lingered against Tarquin’s lips as if it was the hardest thing in the world to pull away.
Tarquin knew how that felt.
“We’ll find a way through this, Quin.” Ashur mumbled, lips brushing against lips as he spoke. “I promise.”
He couldn’t promise that, and they both knew it, because there wasn’t a happy ending waiting for them at the end of the road. But for the moment, Tarquin accepted the pretty lie, content to exist with Ashur for as long as the world let them.