[FIC] The Devil Takes Care of His Own: Sigrun

[alaterdate]

Title : The Devil Takes Care of His Own [AO3]
Series: Dragon Age
Characters: Lachlan Surana (HOF); Sigrun
Rating: General
Word Count: 519
Summary: Sigrun is saved.
A/N: Part 4/8

Darkspawn overwhelmed them. A swarm of black mass overtook the legion. Kal'Hirol felt like an ambush, but that couldn't be right, darkspawn aren't that smart. At least they're weren't supposed to be. Sigrun didn't even have time to shed tears over Varlan and the rest. She booked it toward the surface, anywhere would be better than in the catacombs. Falling into the sky, never to be seen again, would be infinitely better than what waited for her in the grasp of darkspawn. She refused to be captured by them. To be turned into a broodmother was a fate worse than death and she was already dead. Rotten hands gripped her with dirty claws sinking into her skin and dragged her back down into the tunnels. There was no honor in this. No debt forgiven. Sigrun’s throat squeezed in on itself and her jaw grew tight as she held back a sob. She wouldn’t cry.

High pitched howls from the shrieks pulling her down pierced her ears. They let go of her to grab at their own heads, panicked and thrashing. Then they set upon one another and Sigrun watched in horror and confusion as they ripped each other apart. She made sure to keep her mouth closed tight.

“Are you alright?” A calm voice called out to her.

She stood and turned toward the stranger. Dark inks in unfamiliar patterns ran across his face. She might have mistaken him for a foreign casteless if he wasn’t so obviously an elf. And a mage too. Whatever spell he cast on those shrieks, she didn’t want to know about it. Two humans flanked him at his sides, another mage and an archer, an odd sight.

“For a moment there I thought I was really going to join the legion of the dead. Kal’Hirol was a massacre. I’m the last of my squadron, but maybe something remains. Thank you for the help, but I have to go back, see if there’s anything I can do about that army the darkspawn are breeding down there in the fortress.” As crazy as it sounded it was the only thing she could do. Return to the deeproads and try to die a better death this time.

“We’ll go with you,” the elf offered.

“What? Didn’t you hear me? Kal’Hirol is a deathtrap.”

The elf’s expression didn’t change. He either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Maybe he wanted to die too.

“He’s a bit of a deathtrap himself,” the other mage chimed in.

The two humans laughed and the elf’s expression softened a fraction.

“Can’t say I don’t need the help, but why would you want to go down there?”

“We’re Grey Wardens,” the human mage answered.

“So you’ll throw your lives away down there just like the Legion then.”

“That’s not what we do,” the elf shook his head. “We want to live. We want our lives to mean something. And if we want to thrive, that means stopping the darkspawn and the blight. Throwing yourself recklessly into the darkness doesn’t help anyone.”

“I’m in the Legion because my life doesn’t mean anything.”

“It could.”