As the years had passed the visions became less and less. The nightmares faded to dreams, skirting round the battlefield. Those dreams showed a person outside the chaos looking in. Only after years of peace had there grown an emotional distance from the memories of menacing battle and the rush of adrenaline fueled fighting. In true memories the immediacy clawed at the senses. They were too loud, too fast, too many red dipped blades and unseeing eyes. In sleep the figure would look on from the outside, here in Denerim, sometimes inching but a breath away from the fray.
Once detached the dreamer could see the turmoil rippling through haze of the battlefield; another wave of darkspawn crashing into the sea of terrified faces beneath scratched helmets, rippling through the ranks of armoured bodies. The sound of war cries and wild howls seemed to muffle as the figure passed by, never truly touching or hindering the battle. The light is always brighter as the dreamer, the blood less far reaching and the air just a little too crisp. It is as this ethereal being that Leliana would relive the final battle at night.
Silent steps were trodden along cobbles splattered with blood that never left a mark on her. Closer she would come to the front of the battle, following a well travelled path toward the tip of the spearhead. Through a mass of tumbling limbs and scraping iron she walked, the sweat soaked grimaces worn by the soldiers never faltering as they fought on without knowledge of their spectator. It was always the same.
The air tasted of burning and desperation, growing stronger as she neared the spot that seemed most familiar. Dust swirled suspended in the air that parted deftly as Leliana pressed forward, cutting the air and easing her hood from her head. Finally she reached the sight that she had seen every time she closed her eyes for years after the blight had ended. She stepped into a small parting of bodies, and her pace slowed. She found what she had been searching for. What she found every time. She wanted just one last look.
Lost in the chaos in a battlefield clutching for hope and the strength to push the darkspawn back. Her companions. Her friends. Her warden.
Fear reached out like gnarled fingers, catching on the hems of robes and loops on cuiresses. Through the heated air Leliana could feel the tension frozen in weighted limbs of each of them. She herself had experienced the moment first hand- tasted the breath taken in panic, in pain and determination. Yet from the outside looking in she could only see what had not occurred to her years ago. Before her was a small group of mere people ahead of an army. Singular souls from all over Southern Thedas daring to believe they had the ability to face down a God. It was the stuff of her very own bardic tales that, given time, would fade into legend. In this place, however, in this slowed piece of time, you could see the whites of each member's eyes. There were no glorifications in what chaos Leliana saw before her.
Softly she stepped closer and waved a hand through the lingering spirals of scattered silt in the air. Shining armour had been battle worn in every case, and though she remembered her warden's gauntlet pierced clean through towards the end of the battle, she noticed this one was still intact.
'Not as late as normal then. A blessing, perhaps?', she sighed and made new clouds in the dust.
Even in this slowed state there was little respite to linger in. The next wave of snarling hurlocks were bowing their wide armoured heads, lunging over the lip and into the fight with the greed and bloodlust no man could replicate. It looked as if Alistair was mid shout, bringing his shield up to block a blow from his left flank. The telltale sparks of a barrier skittered through group as Wynne willed her power from the Fade and channelled it to protect those around her. Leliana could see it build as she turned to face the savage creatures scrabbling to reach them. She saw through the eyes of her old self. Enemies pooling from the corners of sight to meet the force that fought the blight. And at it's peak was the only way it could end.
Barely a pace away, Leliana stood by her warden. Without a glance behind her she knew the order, she had seen it so many times before like this. The warden turned. One still gauntlet clad arm rose above their heads to draw the eyes of all around, a demand that was obeyed instantly by her companions. Grey eyes swept each face quickly, passing meanings of earnest words long dead on the lips of a friend by the campfire. A leader, not quite a commander. Leliana knew as she braced herself that those same grey eyes had briefly found her own under her sweat soaked brow. She could almost feel the ache of that mental embrace, the arching fingers of fear reaching for her lead limbs once again. Her former self so scared of falling too far into moment that could bare hesitation and yet, how could she not? The memories of caught breaths and half choked sighs of love faded little even in battle.
Then the warden was moving forward. Long dark braids swung as she turned to face the horde, with a chant ready on her bitten lips. In practised form her grip shifted on Oathkeeper, it's rune shooting sparks along the blade like a beacon.
Now, Leliana thought, perhaps that really was the stuff of bardic tales and children's stories.
And yet her chest still tightened at the scene playing out all around her. It was not even the final push of the fight but to her it didn't matter. This moment was the one she came back to. Seeing the darkspawn sink into the fray to be met by the crest of blades and burning air. As her companions found footing and dove forward in formation, Leliana bowed her head again and for the last time drew her hood up over her eyes. She had seen them move too many times to watch again. Just to be close had been enough.
Somewhere high above her a battle horn sounded, distorted and wavering in the slowed time. Leliana spared a glance towards the player, then quickly swept back through the bodies. The path had changed but held the same taste of blood and rumbling fear mixed into the armoured defences. Behind her she knew the spearhead remained unbroken, though as she sidestepped a soldier piercing a Genlock's helm, she sent a small prayer of protection. She knew how it ended but to witness the battle again in this unsettling place drew too many doubts that it would end the same every time. Leliana dreaded the night that she walked the familiar steps and there was a different scene to walk through. Hopefully her companions would never need that prayer.
From further away she could feel the ripple of that last wave, as it fed the hungry tide of the battle. Reaching the outskirts she could still feel the warden's eyes reaching for her in that brief moment, those many years ago.
Her body seemed tired now, the cost of drawing back each figure with etching on their faces. Her mind seemed to feel for the edges of the memory and wishing to return. This place was too bright and yet too heavy to dwell in for long. Further away Leliana could hear the cries in the change of battle, muffled and distant though it carried through the crisp air. She briefly caught one last glimpse of the front.
Held in the moment before the very place slipped from her dreams, she witnessed the harrowing picture of that front line exploding in fire.
Right before the archdemon came.
It is then that the dreamer woke.