#taarbashok

The summary is simply this:

Interpret how you will.

“Are you sure about this? I mean...are you really sure?” Varric's apprehension was palpable as they watched Isabela be handed the reins to one of the transport dragons, a creature now being trained to help in the fight against darkspawn.

The Arishok merely looked on, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed as he pondered over not just this situation but what it would take to outfit the Vashoth Stenok. Marian had apparently suggested to the Triumvirate some time earlier that the blighted creatures had an undeniable fear and fascination for the massive reptiles, and that the fire of a dragon's breath was more devastating to them than the edge of any blade. With the antaam so diminished, he felt there was no recourse but to trust her judgment and have faith that the false beliefs of the magister lords still flowed in those putrid veins. Even the Qunari had heard the legends and weren't in the least surprised that the saarebas of their enemy could have fallen so low.

“Here we go!” He could hear Marian's breath catch. There was excitement glittering in her eyes as she watched Isabela climb up into the molded saddle and situate herself. There was a moment's hesitation as the dragon appeared to want to object, but its kossith handler reached out to touch its scaly neck, whispering a few words of comfort. It jerked at its strange bridle and shifted beneath the unfamiliar weight of a human but behaved.

Isabela gave a verbal command, and the dragon shrieked. Moments later, it spread its great leathery wings and beat them to rise into the air. The pirate's bronze face looked worried at first, but once the creature was completely airborne and swooping around to catch an updraft, a whooping of sheer delight carried to those still on the ground. They followed her flight pattern, running along the grassy field below as she learned to handle the creature above.

The Arishok did not grow concerned until he saw the low stone wall of a dathrasi pasture. Isabela was supposed to conduct her mount toward the hay bales stationed like soldiers to the east. Instead, she was heading due north, and over the panting breath and racing steps of himself and his fellows, he was certain that he heard emphatic epithets in Trade meshed with Rivaini. When, “Shaltam, atashi, bugger you all!” rang out, he knew there was trouble.

The dragon made an upward spin. Then, its wings flared and it plummeted in a dive that left Isabela screaming and Marian striding out and bounding over the wall. The Arishok was not far behind, and he had picked Varric up by the collar to toss him over the stone barrier. The dwarf did not object. He didn't have the time or breath to object.

All around them, the dathrasi were squealing, herding together and beginning to stampede away in the direction they knew the gates to be. The dragon came lower, claws extended, maw open wide. There was the hint of a ball of flame forming between its jaws as it dived. Isabela yanked on the reins, forcing the beast's head to the side in a wail of pain, but it did not fail in snatching up one of the plump livestock and soaring back into the air with it.

Fire did come eventually. Once the flight had evened out again and the pirate's shrieks had returned to agitated curses, a burst of flame came forth and seared the poor creature in the dragon's grasp before it ripped at the flesh with its teeth. The three on the ground had long since come to a halt, hands on knees and gasping for air.

Chapter 55: Fever Dream

As the Veil is torn asunder, not even the Qunari are spared the horrors of the Fade and what it means for the waking world.

Link to Ao3.

Thanks to a new job I started not all that long ago, it's been a lengthening period of time between updates of Following Fate.  In the meantime, the next two chapters ARE in the works.  The following is a teaser to...maybe tide you over?  Or...just make you angry?  I'm sorry.  But there are plot demons just...EVERYWHERE.

And I mean that in more than one way.

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It was high summer in Par Vollen. The Arishok was newly returned from battle, his armor over his shoulder. His step was light. The old scar no longer pained him. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with air heavy with the scents of earth and flowers and fresh green. His homestead lay just beyond, a house and grounds outside of Qunandar, its whitewashed walls gleaming. Athlok worked the fields and tended dathrasi. All smiled and nodded to him as he passed.

The one he wanted to see was in the doorway. Marian stood beneath the awning, her countenance aglow at his approach. Her hair was down, a thing she rarely did but that he loved so much. The copper locks flowed over her shoulders and framed her face. Her skin had taken on a golden hue from her time in the sun, which only enhanced the colors of her crimson and white sleeveless robes.

“Kana! Kana!” A tiny form pushed passed her and bolted toward the Arishok. Skin of silver, hair pale, his golden-eyed son rushed to leap into his waiting arms. His brow was smooth, and the Arishok swelled with pride every time he remembered that the boy would always be hornless. An asset. A boon. And his beloved Marian had been strong enough to bear him.

The woman came forward to kiss him, deep and passionate, full of the joy that he was home. She was so warm, her skin soft and hands no longer calloused from carrying a sword. There was no longer a need. She tasted of honey and spices. She smelled of incense and home.