A/n- I'm reposting this from Archive of Our Own. It's part of series, The Forgotten Bards Tales, but can be read as a stand alone. It was requested that I cross post, so here it is. FF doesn't let me put the actual character list, because it has a four character limit. *sighs*
Main Cast:
Melina Amell
Maroth Tabris
Jalyn Surana
Jowan
Cullen
Daveth
Alistair
Zevran
Morrigan
Wynne
OC
Leliana
There are M/M pairings in this. If that bothers you, you're at the wrong place.
***IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE***
If this is the first thing you're reading in this series, here is a brief rundown of the important AU lore points that have been changed/developed:
1. City elves and human commoners (the poorest of the poor, that is) speak with the same accent as Sera, to explain why she has the accent in the first place. Most people's accent isn't quite as thick as Sera's though, which I just figure is because Sera's a bit of a right nutter, yeah? haha
2. Tabris and Nesiara are married seven years prior to the Blight. they have a daughter. Nelaros is married to Shianni. (both the above can be found in Thief Sleeps in my Bed and A Smuggler's Chant)
3. The Sabrae clan (Merrill and Mahariel's clan) have moved to the Wending Wood to escape the Blight after Mahariel has a vision from Asha'bellanar
4. Spirit Healers must be empaths. Non-empaths who wish to heal can only do basic healing spells.
5. Surana and Jowan were in a relationship until she is made tranquil in an effort to protect her best friend, Amell. Amell and Cullen were in a brief, almost-a-relationship but was broken off by Cullen because he felt he couldn't properly protect her. (both the above can be found in "Collision")
Cover art by MilkyTwilight on Deviantart. FF is dumb and made me heavily edit the image to get it to show at all. Please give the full image a look here: art/Dragon-Age-Commission-609315406
Nesiara lies on the ground, neck twisted at an sickening angle. Her wedding finger's been chopped off, a bloody stump where once her wedding band rested. Blood pools around her and coats her worn dress, mingling with her blonde hair. Nesiara's body is heavy in Maroth's arms, still warm against his skin. A ragged scream rips itself from his lips, echoing in the empty hall.
Maroth sits bolt upright, the cold ground hard beneath him. An owl hoots in the distance as his heart pounds with rage and grief, hands shaking in the half-hidden moonlight. It's been four months since Nesiara's death, but the pain of losing her, and of giving up his daughter, still tears at his dreams nightly.
Aneirin quietly stares at him from his watch post, sitting on the forest floor with his back against a dying tree. "Bad dream?" he questions, tone soft.
Maroth shrugs, scowling as sweat trickles down his back. "S'fine," he replies, tone short.
"I didn't ask how you were," he retorts. "I can see the answer to that plain on your face, Tabris."
Maroth scoffs, running his fingers through his long, dirty blonde hair, the slight wavy curls catching on his rough skin. He looks over at Aneirin through a curtain of his hair, green eyes shining. "Ya think ya can read me so well, right? What'sit I'm thinkin' now?" he taunts, lips twitching into a smirk.
Aneirin raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Something salacious, no doubt." His tone is dry as he meets Maroth's eyes, his tattoos barely visible in the soft light of night.
Maroth grins, crawling over toward him on his hands and knees. "Maybe ya know me alright, after all, if that means w'at I think it does," he says, pressing a soft kiss against Aneirin's lips. "You an' me, how 'bout we satisfy my wicked thoughts instead of all this talkin'?" He grips the mage's orange-red hair in his calloused hands, the texture coarse against his skin.
Aneirin wraps an arm around his neck. "As you wish, my friend," he replies.
Maroth moans as he captures Aneirin's lips in a kiss, breath mingling together as they lay on the forest floor. He can feel himself hardening against his breeches as he pulls him closer. He loses himself in the feel of the mage's hands on his skin, pushing away the cobwebs of memories clinging to his brain. He drinks in the warm embrace of his lover, a formidable wall against the wave of emotions that threaten to engulf him. Aneirin grabs a tangle of his long hair, tugging slight, and Maroth's breath hitches in his throat. He can feel a tingle of Aneirin's magic light across his skin in an electrifying dance.
"More," Maroth whispers, tilting his head back. "More."
Melina stares out over the crowd of her fellow mages, her plump face flushed as she searches for a place to sit, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous pigeon. She carefully checks her barrier, making sure a firm wall is still between her and her fellow mages, keeping their emotions separate so they don't overwhelm her.
An arm shoots out above the crowd, waving her over; and a small, relieved smile spreads across her face as she recognizes Finn. She shuffles over to where he's sitting with Petra, Niall, and Evelina. She curtsies before sitting down, blush deepening as she notices Evelina rolling her eyes.
"Always so formal, Amell. We're about to head off to battle together- lighten up," she says, her brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She grabs a hardened biscuit from the center of the table with a bored expression on her face, fingers plucking the bread deftly from the basket before Niall can grab it. He frowns at her, and Melina can feel a trickle of his displeasure at having missed the last roll.
Melina nods quickly. "Yes, Enchanter Evelina," she replies, voice soft.
Finn kicks her gently under the table. "She's just teasing, Melina. I doubt they'll take you into battle," he assures her, flicking an imaginary speck of dirt off his robes.
Petra clears her throat, exchanging an amused glance with Niall. "You didn't know, Finn? They're short on Spirit Healers so Amell's taking her Harrowing tonight so she can join them."
Finn's mouth falls open, his eyes wide. She can feel a tingle of his shock reach her, and frowns as she tries to keep her barrier erect. "You mean, she has to go outside?" he replies, voice riddled with disgust.
Melina bites her lip, golden eyes cast down toward the table as she picks meekly at her food. She knows she's not very useful as a mage. Or at least, not with battle magic.
She looks up, meeting Finn's eyes. "It's because Anders ran away again. So, I have to do my best, and follow the templar's orders, so I can come home again quickly."
She glances to her left, where a wall of templars stand. Their shining silver armour brings her comfort, because she knows they will always be there to protect her from the dangers of her magic, should she succumb to the demons. Her eyes look for Cullen, even though her mind still whispers that it's foolish to love him. But he isn't there this time, and her heart falls a little as a sigh escapes her lips.
Niall takes a bite of food, shrugging his shoulders. "I hear that one kid, what's his name? Jaween, Jolan..." He meets Melina's eyes head on as he speaks, watching her.
Petra scoffs. "Jowan?" she supplies, and Melina's blood runs cold at the name.
Niall nods in response. "Yeah, that's the one. Surana's lover, the one she did blood magic for? He's going, too, or so I hear."
Melina clenches her fists into tight balls under the table as tremors of anger run through her. She struggles to keep a tight grip on her emotions, her magic stirring in her veins as her body shakes.
She's probably the only person in all of Kinloch Hold that knows the truth, that it's Jowan who is the maleficar, not Jalyn. No, Jalyn's only guilty of falling in love when she isn't allowed to. It's too dangerous for mages to harbour such strong emotions, they had both known that; it calls the demons even nearer. But Jalyn had paid a price too steep.
But she doesn't say a word, keeping Jalyn's secret safe in her heart even now. Not out of loyalty for Jowan, or even Jalyn, but because no one will believe her, and because it won't bring her friend back, no matter how hard she prays. She hangs her head, thick curls falling in front of her face and hiding the single, cold tear streaking down her rounded cheek.
The voices of the other mages hum around her, but she ignores it, mind caught in a haze of grief.
Birds trill throughout the Brecilian Forest as Maroth and Aneirin walk alone, the grass crunching beneath their boots. Maroth's thoughts drift to his daughter and deceased wife, despite his fingers still being entwined with his lover's. His heart skips a beat every time their faces come to mind, and he struggles not to let it overwhelm him.
He's glad for Aneirin's company, to help keep the weight of his grief from crushing him- at least until he's able to reunite with his little Lialah. And living free of the oppressive pressure of the human nobility in their lofty blasted castles is nice- better than he had even imagined. He could go his whole life and never meet another human and it would still be too soon.
But, even if it meant he never would've met Aneirin, he'd give this all up in a heartbeat to bring his family back. To hold Nessy in his arms, the weight of her body soft against his. Or hear his daughter's innocent, bubbling laughter. His sweet little Lialah.
Aneirin glances at him over his shoulder, a soft, rare smile forming on his face. "Your thoughts look heavy, care to share them?" he inquires.
Maroth shakes his head. "Not on a 'uch a sunny day," he replies.
He follows Aneirin's eyes upward, dark grey storm clouds swirling across a dismal sky. "Right. Of course," Aneirin says, tone dry. "Wouldn't want to ruin such a picturesque view."
Maroth's laughter echos against the trees, his heart feeling lighter than it had a moment ago. A few drops of rain splash against his skin, causing him to shiver despite the warmth of his cloak. "Race ya to the caves?" he challenges with a grin.
Melina lets her shoulders droop as she watches Jalyn work enchantments, the tranquil mage's bony hands moving deftly with foreign movements. "Hello, Jalyn!" she calls out, forcing herself to smile wide and wave. She ignores the chilly emptiness that flows from her friend like a blanket of ice that smothers her with the bitterness of cold. It steals her breath, heart slowing as she stands there, alone.
Jalyn doesn't look up, eyes barely blinking as she continues her work. She focuses on it with a steady, blank stare. The elf feels hollow to her and Melina wants to cry, body trembling.
But Jalyn says her crying disturbs the enchantments. The last time she'd cried, the templars had to escort her away. They say her empathic powers are harmful to the tranquil's work because they're the opposite- where Melina feels everyone's emotions, Jalyn can't even feel her own. She takes a deep breath and watches as her best friend works, praying to the Maker that Rite hadn't hurt. Images of them together, practicing magic, floats through her mind. Her heartbeat quickens and she wishes she could turn back time and do everything over again. If she had paid more attention, something, anything- maybe she could have saved Jalyn from this fate.
Melina clenches her fists. It should be Jowan here, working enchantments by candlelight. It should be that blood mage who has lost his feelings. "I miss you, Jalyn," Melina whispers, turning away. Her breath shudders out as she wipes away a tear.
A warm breeze blows through Maroth's hair, and the tips of his pointed ears twitch. The weather is calm, compared to the earlier storm that had kept them trapped for the evening in a tiny cave. He grins at the memory of their rain-soaked bodies entwining on the rough stone floor, lightning flashing and occasionally lighting up Aneirin's lust-filled expression. The booming echo of thunder had almost seemed to beat in rhythm to his thrusts.
The small open field Maroth stands in is empty, and a frown pulls his lips into a pout. He glances around, wondering where Aneirin might be. They've split up, both searching in different directions for food, but they were to meet back when the sun was just to the treeline, and now it's nearly gone from view. He folds his arms across his chest as he leans against a tree, paranoia making his heart race. As Maroth waits, the seconds slipping by, his mind drifts. He remembers the eve he had met the apostate mage, and how desperate he had been for company after Aneirin had saved his life.
Aneirin had resisted his company, at first, preferring to travel alone. But Maroth had persisted, mostly for his own selfish reasons. With a mage at his side, he can still hold onto the hope of seeing his little Lialah again.
The soft sound of crunching leaves startles him and he spins around, spear held at the ready. His body relaxes as Aneirin wanders from behind the bushes, hands held in the air.
"You're not going to stab me with your spear, are you, Tabris?" he asks, one brow raised and small grin in place.
Maroth rolls his eyes, lowering his blade. "I just might, though not the way yer imagin' it," he quips, and Aneirin blushes at the lewd suggestion.
Maroth chuckles at his lover's red cheeks, a flirtatious smirk tilting the edges of his lips upward. "Or do I 'ave you pegged wrong, pet?" he says, wiggling his eyebrows at the man.
Aneirin shakes his head, his reddish brown hair flying in his face. "You are incorrigible, my friend."
He nods in agreement, dark green eyes gleeful. "You speak the right of it, I think. But it makes yer life more uh, stimulatin', yeah?" Maroth's eyes dart to the pack hung over Aneirin's shoulder. "Ya found some food, right? Let's go on an adventure after we eat. I'm bored," he continues.
It's a lie, of course, and an obvious one at that. He isn't bored, exactly, he just wants to keep moving so he doesn't have time to stop and remember anything. Less time to think and feel if he's constantly travelling.
Aneirin grabs his hand, squeezing it softly. "I know it's only been a few months but..." he begins, voice hesitant.
Maroth cuts him off, face forming a scowl. "Stop," he says, body tense.
He can still hear Nessy, voice soft and feathery, as she says her evening prayer before their meal each night. Or the way she would sing their little girl to sleep at night, such a gentle voice. La la lu, La la lu. Oh, my little sweet dreamer, I'll banish the demons for you. His heartbeat speeds up, thundering painfully against his chest. His little girl, his baby...
At least he's managed to save her, and that Dalish woman, what was her name again? Merrill. Merrill has promised she'd be safe, after the mage girl had found them wandering alone in the forest, trying to escape Vaughn's men. He can feel Lialah's tiny, plump hand holding fast to his fingers as Merrill tugged her away, tears and snot rollin g down her cherub face.
Aneirin frowns but nods, pulling Maroth closer and caressing his cheek. "Alright, let's go on an adventure, then," he says with a sigh. "So long as I'm not almost eaten by a bear- again," he adds as an afterthought, causing Maroth to chuckle.
"I make no promises," he quips, kissing the man on his chin. "Now, tell me you found somethin' other than berries to eat today."
As Aneirin shakes his head 'no', Maroth groans. He's almost certain he's eaten so many of the sour berries recently, the Maker was about to turn him into one. Blasted wretched shite.
What he wouldn't give for some of Nesiara's spicy vegetable stew. His mouth waters at the thought as he eats a berry, wincing as the sour flavour bursts across his tongue. "Andraste's ass, I hate these blasted things," he mutters.
Aneirin stills, finger held hovering at his lips. He furrows his brow before widening his eyes. "Watch out, Tabris," he shouts.
A fire spell flies above Maroth's head as he spins around. He looks up at a twisted creature of rotting flesh stares down at him, clawing at the flames licking at its skin. Maroth scrambles back, reaching for his spear. "W'at in the shite is that?" He tries to keep his voice steady as he plungers the tip of his spear into the poor beast's chest, twisting until it fades away into the ground.
"Maker be praised," Aneirin mutters behind him.
Maroth turns, wiping the sweat from his brow. "W'at in the shite was that?" he asks again.
Aneirin frowns, pulling his lower lip in through his teeth. "A demon of some sort, though I'm not sure what classification. Not very powerful, though, or we'd be dead."
"W'at a cheery thought," Maroth mutters back.
Melina smooths down her robes as she sits on her bed, hands shaking as she waits for Wynne to come for her. This is it, the night of her Harrowing. Butterflies flutter madly in her stomach as she fidgets with her patchwork robes.
A soft tapping lets her know someone has entered the room, and she can feel with her sense that it's Jowan- his guilt is a dark spot on her mind.
"Me-Melina?" he whispers, and his stuttering reminds her of Cullen.
Her brow furrows as she turns her head to look at the man who has taken Jalyn from her."Why are you here, blood mage?" she hisses, too low for the few remaining mages in the room to hear.
Jowan looks nervous anyway, beady eyes casting around as if he's checking for templars. "I'm just- I'm nervous too, you know. What if we fail?" he whines, wringing his hands.
Melina bites her lip. "You should be nervous. Demons always prey on blood mages," she replies.
The tapping of slippered feet causes her to glance toward the door. A sudden smile lights across her face when Wynne walks in the room, her grey hair twisted atop her head, not a strand out of place. Wynne smiles kindly at her, and a warmth spreads all the way through Melina at the sight. Wynne's like a mother to the mageling, a quiet guiding force that always gives her wise words to muse over.
"Senior Enchanter," Melina says, standing and curtsying. She knows it makes people nervous, but she can't help it. It's the one, albeit faded, memory she has of her mother, and Melina mimics it so she won't forget.
Wynne guides her down the hallway and away from Jowan's sad eyes. Before they begin to climb the stairs, Wynne pauses. Melina bumps into her back, not paying attention.
"Ompfh!" she mumbles, blinking rapidly. "Senior Enchanter? Is something the matter?"
Wynne shakes her head. "No child, we are waiting for our guard to escort us the rest of the way." Her face is calm and serene as she waits, hands folded neatly in front of her.
Melina fidgets, tugging on her curls. It isn't long before she hears the familiar clanking of templar armour. Her face lights up as she sees Cullen rounding the corner. A sense of relief floods her: she knows she'll be safe if Cullen's the one watching over her.
He stops in front of them, nodding politely. "S-senior Enchanter; Miss Melina," he says, and she smiles to hear his stutter has improved in the year since they had ended their ill-conceived affair.
"Ser Cullen, thank you for watching over me as I am about to undertake my Harrowing," Melina replies, trying not to wish that he would call her Mellie, even just once more.
Cullen frowns. "Y-Yes, of course, Miss," he replies, and she lets down her barrier to see if she can sense his emotions. Templar emotions are always the most elusive to her, but Cullen's she can usually feel, if she tries hard enough. His barriers are particularly strong tonight, but she feels him let it slip enough for her to feel his worry over her safety. She smiles softly at his retreating back as they follow him up the stairs to where the others wait for them. Silently, she thanks the Maker he still cares even while knowing their love is a sin in His eyes.
Three shems stand before them, shaking in their blood-stained boots. The tip of Maroth's spear presses against one's throat, and a small droplet of blood runs down the blade as the man whimpers.
"P-p-please, don't kill us! We didn't even know you Dalish were here!"
Maroth scoffs, stomach churning as he watches the sweat drip down their pale faces. "Foolish 'ittle shite. I ain't Dalish, ya see their markings on my face, twit? Spendin' all this time in this blasted forest, and I'd forgotten the lot of you shems are dead from the neck up," he sneers, voice dripping venom with every word.
The shem whimpers again, this time louder. "I-I'm sorry! Just don't kill us, please!"
Aneirin glances at Maroth. "I do have markings, though they are hardly Dalish in origin. Their confusion is understandable," he says, but his eyes are focused on Maroth and not the humans.
Maroth scoffs, pressing the tip of his spear a little deeper, and a few more droplets of blood flow down until they touch his hands, staining his skin red. He grins at the sight, enjoying the feel of their fear.
Aneirin frowns but continues. "And we have no intention of killing any of you," he says to the shems, tone firm.
Maroth's lip curls. "Why? Shem lives mean nothin'," is his cold reply. His fury over his wife's death has not been quieted in the months he's spent away from the Alienage. No, if anything, his lust for blood has only grown stronger each time he thinks of his family.
The human standing at the point of his spear starts to cry, and thick gobs of snot leak out his nose. "Friggin' disgustin'," Maroth mutters.
Aneirin sighs, lowering his staff. "If we kill them, chances are they'll blame the Dalish and attack them. Zathrian's clan is still nearby," he whispers low, finally giving Maroth pause.
He sighs, lowering his spear but still keeping it ready to attack. "Right, you win this time, Aneirin." He stops, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Tell me, w'at were you shem doin' out in this forest, anyway? W'at were ya runnin' from? A bear? Wolves? I see nothin' chasin' ya," he comments, squinting behind them.
This time it's the blonde human who speaks, the first one being too busy babbling and wringing his hands together in fear to speak coherently. "We found a cave and there was this great big demon in there!" he exclaims, his fear palpable.
The third human nods, eyes frantic. "It was huge," he whispers, eyes wide.
Maroth feels his curiosity piqued at this. "A cavern, ya say? With a demon, right?"
Anerin shakes his head, slowly backing away. "No. No, no, no you can't possibly be thinking of going there, are you? You are, aren't you? Of course you are. Bloody shit," Aneirin says, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Maroth chuckles at his lover's uncharacteristic cussing. "Ya did promise an adventure, pet," he reminds the mage.
"Yes, yes," he mumbles. Aneirin glances at the humans, still standing there shaking. He lets out a weighted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
"You three, piss off, right?" Maroth gestures behind the shems, barely even glancing at them as they stand there, slack-jawed.
Aneirin clears his throat. "Before my friend changes his mind," he adds dryly, causing Maroth to chuckle low.
The Fade forms around her, its ever shifting forms making Melina nauseous. Her stomach clenches in pain as her head swims, spots forming before her eyes. She sways on her feet but manages to stay upright, trying to ignore the niggling feeling that she shouldn't be here, that she isn't ready.
The ground spins beneath her feet as she takes a hesitant step forward. Her legs are shaky as she takes in gulps of air, a cold bead of sweat trailing down her spine.
She closes her eyes, taking in a slow deep breath. She can't fail. She can't. When she opens her eyes again, the ground is more firm. Or as firm as anything in the Fade ever can be. She wanders for a bit, curiosity eventually taking hold of her as she stares at the strange statues and floating, white orbs.
One white orb in particular is larger than the rest and it floats around her ankles, blowing her skirts around as she walks. She giggles when it brushes against her skin, the strange sensation tickling her ankles. She wonders what it might be, and a soft whispering blows through her mind. No words, just a sound that mimics the wind.
But she can sense something coming from it, some sort of pure emotion that she can't quite identify. It glows brighter when she probes it with her mind, and she can tell that, for lack of a better word, the spirit has felt a similar tickling sensation to the one she had felt when it touched her a moment ago.
She shakes her head, curls bouncing, as the Spirit continues to follow her; humming happily in her head. She walks for what seems like hours without going anywhere, the path always leading her back to the same point. In frustration, she throws up her hands and looks at the glowing Spirit. "I don't suppose you know where it is I'm supposed to go?" she asks it, not really expecting an answer.
She sighs and turns, trying to pick a different path. She hears a low growl from in front of her, and gulps again. "Maker, give me strength," she whispers as she ignores her instinct to run the opposite direction. She takes a few hesitant steps toward the sound, forcing herself ever forward.
"Maker's breath, what in all of Thedas is that?" she squeals, bouncing on the heels of her feet in excitement.
A strange bear-like creature is sprawled out on the ground in front of her. Strange spikes protrude from its body, and part of its skin is pulled tightly around one eye, revealing too much of the gleaming white orb.
Strangely, she has a strong desire to pet the beast, but resists. It probably isn't bad logic to assume a demon-bear will not enjoy being petted like a house cat, she figures, fighting her urge. Melina startles when the beast opens it other eye, this one a sickly red instead of white, to stare at her, unblinking.
She curtsies out of habit. "P-Pardon me, Ser Demon, but are you perhaps my test?" she asks.
The bear creature chuckles. "Ah... no, I am... not. I am... too weary for such mortal games... child. Begone," it says, voice grumbling with a strange whisper behind it, as if two creatures are talking in unison.
She stuffs her hands in her pockets to resist scratching it behind its ears. She isn't that keen on being the things dinner. "Are you here to help me, then?" she asks, earning an amused chuckle from it.
The creature peers at her a moment. "Perhaps... you could amuse me, for a moment. Perhaps you will play... a game... with me, mortal child?"
She bites her lip and the glowing orb buzzes angrily around the demon bear; who scoffs.
"Tell your... pet light to quit pestering me, or I shall make a snack... of you both," it grumbles, swatting at it with his paw. The motion is sluggish and delayed, though, and he misses entirely.
She waves at the orb, hands frantic. "Come here, you. Please," she whispers, and it obeys, much to her surprise. She glances back at the bear, biting her lip again before nodding. "Alright. I-I'll play your game," she replies, voice as soft as a whisper.
The bear grunts, settling back down. "Fine, very well then. The one who invented it... doesn't want it. The one who bought it... doesn't need it. The one who needs... it doesn't know it. What is it?"
Melina frowns as her mind searches for an answer. The little glowing orb hums around her head, and a word comes to her in a sudden burst. "Coffin?" she repeats, confused by the word echoing around inside her head. "Oh! It's a coffin!" she exclaims, understanding the riddle at once.
The bear grumbles, shifting to lay on its side. "Ah yes, very clever, young one." It grumbles some more in a way that sounds like it's trying to clear its throat. "My scale is something that does not weigh in grams, ounces... or pounds. However, I may be heavy or... light. What am I?"
Melina grins, her smile bright against the dimness of the Fade. "This one is easy," she replies. "Musical scales."
The demon grunts again. "Such a witty... mortal, you are," it says. "Here is your final... test are you ready?"
Melina nods, curious what type of help the creature will offer in return.
"What gets broken without ever... being held?"
Her shoulders slump as uncertainty overwhelms her, negative emotions feeling twice as strong in the fade. She isn't any good at puzzles. Why did they think she could do this? Why did she think she could do this?
She holds back tears and takes in a deep breath, exhaling quickly. No, she won't let her fears defeat her. She can't. For Jalyn, and for Cullen, she has to survive this. Cullen will never forgive himself if he has to kill her, even if they both know it's only his duty. Besides, she had promised-
"Oh, Oh that's it! A promise!" she says, clapping her hands together in excitement.
The beast rolls its eye, the other one staying immobile. It's an eerie sight and a shiver runs down Melina's spine. "Well done... mortal. You sought a... prize... did you not?"
She nods again, hesitant. Should she really accept help from what appears to be a demon?
"Your prize... is simple. I... shall not eat... you," it replies.
There is a loud popping sound and smoke covers her eyes. It's thick and cloying as she sputters, clutching at her throat as she tries to breath through it. When it clears, and she can see once more, the demon bear is gone.
She spins around, looking for it, as the Fade starts to grow dim around her. A soft whisper follows her, calming her mind as she leaves the realm of dreams.
A sense of dread runs down Maroth's spine as he stares down the mouth of the dark cave. A rank smell emanates from it, and there's no light aside from his torch.
Aneirin raises his brow, leaning against his staff. "Afraid?" he asks, his tone without judgement.
Maroth shakes his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Ya daft? Not e'en a 'ittle bit, pet," he replies, forcing himself to stroll nonchalantly into the cavern.
Tiny spiders scurry out from in front of his boots, hiding from the lights of his torch and Aneirin's staff. Cobwebs cling to the corners and there's a layer of dust so thick Nesiara would've been frantic with a need to clean the place. He walks softly, taking comfort in Aneirin's echoing footsteps. He sees tiny relics as he goes; a broken chalice here and a half-shattered gem there. Nothing of value, just the bones of whatever or whoever lived here before, lost like something time forgot.
Aneirin stops dead in his tracks, brow furrowed as he stares up at a strange statue. Maroth peers at it, a strange cracked face worn with time and weather staring back. Its expression makes him feel uneasy, a strange shiver running down his spine.
Maroth frowns as he sidles up behind Aneirin. "What'sit?" he asks, resting his head on the mage's shoulder.
Aneirin shakes his head, and his hair tickles Maroth's nose. "I think it's one of the Dalish old gods, or whatever they call them. I saw something similar in Zathrian's camp, when I visited there for a time."
Maroth raises his brow. "So? It looks like an ol' elven temple then, w'at's so strange 'bout that?"
Aneirin blinks before responding. "The writing looks human," he replies.
Maroth sighs, moving away from Aneirin and the statue. "We won't make any coin off a statue. C'mon, let's see if those shems di'n't rob this place blind before they ran, the blighted cowards."
Aneirin shrugs. "As you wish."
A strange scuttling sound echoes above Maroth before he's knocked sideways by a gentle staff blast. He lands on his face, quickly scrambling to his feet and spinning around. His eyes grow wide as he sees a large spider, twice or more his size, reared up on his back legs, like it's about to pounce and make him its supper. Its body is frozen in a thick layer of ice, however, and can't move.
It shatters in a spray of ice crystals and spider bits as a large boulder slams into it from behind. Aneirin stands on the other side, a bead of sweat rolling down his face and a frown pulling his brows tight together.
Maroth grins, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that was beginning to settle there. "Well, t'at was fun. Thanks fer the spider shower," he quips.
Aneirin just stares at him a moment, blinking, before responding. "Yes, next time I'll allow it to eat you, my friend," he drawls.
"That's a bit 'asty, innit?" Maroth replies, looking around for his spear.
It had flown out his hands when he'd hit the ground, landing about a foot away. He grabs for it, glancing at the blood stained wood a moment, pulse quickening, before continuing onward down the passageways.
It's Vaughn's blood, and the blood of his entire family. Maroth can feel his lips curling in a tight smile as he remembers the way Vaughn had begged and pleaded for his life before Maroth had run him through. If he'd had more time back then, the shems death would have been slow, and pain-filled, for his crimes.
The cavern has plenty of spiders lurking in its corners that keep both men battling almost constantly until their muscles protest in pain. But worse than the spiders, even with their venom dripping fangs, are the walking corpses. The bodies shuffle and scrape against the ground as they stumble toward the two elves, their eyes nothing but gaping, empty sockets. One manages to pin Maroth against the wall. Its rotting arms stronger than they should be considering the... whatever it is is supposed to be dead as it holds him immobile.
Its teeth are jagged and broken as its jaw snaps dangerously close to his face. A tiny spider crawls out of the its eye and Maroth struggles not to vomit berries all over the horrible creature.
The corpse explodes in a shower of dust, and Maroth lets out a slow breath of relief. "Thank the Maker for ya, Aneirin," he swears.
The mage shrugs, brow creased together in a thin line. "One would almost assume you were trying to get yourself killed, the way you've been fighting," Aneirin remarks as they continue walking.
The farther in they go, the fewer enemies they have to fight. And that thought alone makes Maroth shiver, knowing that means something must be further in that has kept the spiders away.
Now, the only thing that assaults them as they walk, footsteps echoing dimly, are a few stray corpses; though their attacks seem halfhearted, for some reason.
Aneirin stops outside a door, head shaking back and forth. "We shouldn't go in there, Tabris." His voice is shaky, and he takes a few steps backward. "Something's not right, rotting and sick, inside that room. It feels like death."
Maroth nods slowly, backing away from the door. "Right. No coin's worth that shite," he mumbles.
A burst of energy throws them both back as the door snaps open; a creature made of fire and rage burning before them. An unholy growl emanates from its throat as it lunges at them. Maroth roughly shoves Aneirin out of the way, taking the brunt force of the demon's blow.
His skin burns and itches, and he tries not to claw at it until it's a raw, open wound instead of this terrible burn that tears at his mind and flesh simultaneously. The pain is beyond anything he's ever experienced, a blinding pain that steals his senses.
He can taste it in the back of his throat, the thick smell of his own burning flesh heavy on his tongue. It tastes pungent and raw and he gags, struggling to breath past the worst physical pain he's ever felt. And in that moment, he would have said it hurt worse than losing his family, the way it tears at his body and mind.
A calm feeling flows over him as the nausea and gagging resides, quicker than it had came. Maroth spins his spear to lunge at the demon, feeling his skin reform under Aneirin's healing spell.
But the demon is stronger, and turns them around, pushing them further and further into the room. Maroth feels his back bump against something and turns, startling at his bloodied reflection in a strange, elven mirror. He doesn't have time to study it, or the strange shapes he sees in its surface, as the demon continues to attack relentlessly.
A clawed hand sweeps out at Maroth as he ducks and tumbles away, ending up behind the beast. He grins before ramming his weapon into the demon's back, plunging through where he guesses its heart must be, if it has a heart. A terrible roar echoes throughout the room, bouncing off the stone walls as the creature howls in rage and pain.
Slowly it melts into the ground, fading from view beneath the stone. Aneirin sighs, leaning back against the mirror with his eyes closed.
Maroth frowns as he notices something staring back at him from behind the glass. Its eyes glow blood red and he sees nothing else except the quick flash of a grin, it's jagged white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Before Maroth has the chance to call out a warning, fear making his heart pound wildly beneath his chest, Aneirin spins around.
His eyes are wide as he stares at it. "He's... watching me... drawing me... in. Maroth, run! Now!" He shouts the last part, voice growing more frantic with each word.
Maroth hesitates by the doorway, feet frozen to the ground, panicking in the heat of the moment. His hand reaches out for him, stretching, so close...
"RUN!" Aneirin shouts, using his magic to throw him from the room. He lands just outside the door with a thud, tailbone crashing against the ground. Pain shoots through his body, stealing his breath for a moment. His hands scramble for purchase as he pushes himself to his feet. He runs, the bones in his ankle making a strange clicking sound, pain vibrating up his leg with each step. And even now, he believes Aneirin must be right behind him. That he used his magic and pulled himself free. Aneirin isn't like Nesiara. Aneirin's a mage. Mages are powerful.
They can't just die because of a mirror...
Right?
The sky is bright blue as Melina walks close to Wynne. A calm breeze blows her curls in a tangle and Evelina hands her a tie to keep her hair up. She tries not look around at everything like a wide-eyed child, but she hasn't been outside since she was five-years-old. Back then, the boat ride had been frightening as it took her toward Kinloch Hold; now it's equally as frightening rowing away.
She can see the back of Jowan's head as the boy sits next to Uldred. She scowls before sighing, bringing her attention back to the world around her. She looks over the edge of the boat at her warped reflection. Evelina nudges her with her elbow. "Scared?" she asks.
Melina nods. "A little. But it's so beautiful out here, isn't it?"
Wynne glances at her out of the corner of her eye. "Don't get lost in this temporary freedom child. After our duty is fulfilled, we'll be returning once more to where we belong."
"I won't, I promise," Melina whispers solemnly.
The grass crunches beneath her feet as they leave the boat, and a butterfly circles a bright purple flower. It really is beautiful, Melina thinks once more. She wishes Jalyn and Cullen could be here too, enjoying the wonders she's seeing.
She watches Jowan as they travel south, a burning distaste clawing around her stomach. She can't stop the thought that it should be Jalyn here, not Jowan. She closes her eyes, the sun warm against her fair skin. A fresh breeze blows, and the smell of flowers fills her senses. She's never smelled such a sweet scent before and her heart aches to be able to name the plant. She pictures Jalyn's face, scowling in the sunlight, before her eyes flutter open again. A dull ache has settled itself in her heart, but as she marches dutifully behind Wynne it shifts to a sharper pain, like a thousand needles poking her with each quickened beat.
Melina hides her shaking hands in the heavy cotton folds of her dress, shifting her gaze from the back of Jowan's head to Uldred's. His bald head gleams, like a polished orb in the yellow glow. She lets her shields slip, trying to sense that tingle of dark magic she had felt from him before. But if it's there, it's hidden well because all she can feel is a hollow emptiness from him. With a soft sigh, she puts her shields back in place, keeping a barrier firmly erected between the empathetic powers that allow her to commune with kind, healing spirits and the chaotic whirl of emotions belonging to the younger mages with them.
Maroth stops running as the realization that Aneirin isn't behind him hits like a strong punch to the stomach, bile and fear rising in his throat. His heart speeds up, which he wouldn't have considered possible since he's already terrified beyond belief, but the thought of losing Aneirin stops him cold in a way he hasn't felt since his wife was first kidnapped.
He turns to go back when a loud boom echos behind him, throwing him forward again. He flies through the air, heat and tainted magic burning behind him.
His head cracks against something hard, a sharp pain splintering his vision. As the sunlight fades from view, Maroth can't tell if the sun is setting or if he's losing consciousness. His final thoughts are of Aneirin, and the rare moments the man had smiled for him.
"Why so pensive, Amell?" Evelina says as she slows down to walk beside her.
Melina lets a soft sigh escape her lips as she looks around at the open fields around them. Her mind is a blur of memories of Jalyn and Cullen, heart thundering like war drums beneath her breast as she realizes how alone she is. "It's so big," she says instead, offering the older mage a small smile. "I guess I never thought that it'd be so big out here, is all."
Evelina frowns, peering at her through narrowed eyes. "You sure that's all, kid?"
This time it's Melina who frowns, lips pursed, but she hides it with her mane of white-blonde curls. "Of course, Enchanter," she replies, curtsying as she walks.
"Uh-huh. Well, don't be scared about the battle kid. They'l give you a nice, safe job your first battle."
"But, I'll be there to heal. I can't heal from far away," Melina replies, tilting her head. It makes no sense in her mind that they would bring a Spirit Healer to do anything other than heal. Especially not one with her low level of talent in any form of practical battle magic. She sighs again, a heavy weight settling in her chest at the thought of the battle looming on her horizon.
Evelina shrugs her shoulders, her long brown hair falling her her matching brown eyes. "Because the last thing they need is one of the ones on their side turning into an abomination under pressure. They want to make sure you can handle it." She glances to the sky, a wistful expression crossing her face as they walk. "They say killing anything can take a lot out of you, even if the thing you're killing is just a twisted darkspawn monster. Death leaves a stain on man's soul, and our souls are already stained with sin." Evelina turns, shooting her a quick grin. "Or, that's what someone like Keili would say, right?"
As Evelina chuckles, Melina shakes her head in disagreement. "Kellie only wants to follow the Maker's plan and atone for our magic," she replies, voice whisper soft.
"We don't have anything to atone for," Evelina mutters under her breath, glancing sidelong at the templars marching on either side of them.
Wynne turns her head, eyes solemn and patient. "Be careful of your words, for our protectors hear better than you think, young Enchanter."
She shrugs, shoulders poking through her loose robes. "Right, our protectors," she mocks, voice hushed. Evelina scowls beneath her side fringe, lips in a thin line. "May the Andraste bless you, Senior Enchanter, for your ever unwarranted advice."
"Evelina," Melina exclaims, shock making her almost stop dead in her tracks.
Wynne chuckles softly. "Don't worry, child. I'm not so old that I can't beat a former apprentice with my cane for impudence, even if they are an Enchanter themselves now."
Evelina scoffs, rolling her eyes with a tiny smile. "Ah, you're nothing but an old biddy, using your staff as a common walking stick. Besides, if you beat me, I won't be able to fight in the oncoming battle. Such a shame that would be," she replies.
"What makes you presume your skills are so invaluable that you'll be missed? Such arrogance," Wynne quips back, and Meline hides a giggle behind her hand.
Melina can't help but smile as she continues to enjoy their casual banter. She wishes she were bold enough to join in but she doesn't really know what to say. Besides, she enjoys listening and observing, now that she's finally learned to shield with success.
She can only hope she'll be useful in the battle, too.
It should be destroyed. Maroth knows it, feels it in the pit of his stomach. Guilt and self-loathing rip into him. He is the bringer of death or pain to everyone he's ever known. For a moment, he wonders if Merrill and her clan are safe with his daughter, or if they'd died like everyone else.
But he pushes the morbid thought aside, refusing to acknowledge even the possibility of his daughter's death. Not now. Especially not now. Instead, he focuses on his desire to avenge Aneirin, and destroy the blasted mirror. He turns, heading in the opposite direction until he finds the camp spot he had first stayed at with the solitary mage. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, before stepping forward to enter the Dalish camp.
"'Ello, Mithra," he says, staring down the wrong end of an arrow.
The firelight casts an eerie glow over the shadowed faces of her fellow mages, or at least the ones who were still awake. Melina wraps her shawl tight around her rounded shoulders, staring into the dancing flames as they lap at the logs. Ashes blow in the soft breeze, twirling around with the smoke.
She takes a deep breath as Niall scoots closer to her, tugging at her shawl. Melina offers him a smile and holds out an edge to share the warmth. Niall clears his throat, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.
"Have you seen a darkspawn before, Senior Enchanters?" he asks, looking toward Wynne and Uldred.
Uldred scoffs, taking a long swig from a metal container. "Of course not. There's been no blight in so long. We're sure to see some on the way to Ostagar, boy."
"Such dramatics, Uldred, my my," Wynne says, shaking her head as her lips twitch upward. "They're said to be tainted creatures, cast down from the once Golden City for their sin of greed and for stepping where mortals should not be seen."
"Chantry myth to scare Thedas into fearing and hating mages twice as much," Uldred shoots back, voice quiet.
"It may be allegory, meant to teach us the dangers of magic and greed, but at least it gives one something to think on." Wynne keeps her back straight as she pokes a stick in to the log, turning it to catch brighter in the flames. Her expression looks far away, as if she can see something in the fire noone else can see.
"I think-" Melina begins, twisting the fabric of her dress in her plump hands.
Evelina scoffs, standing to her feet. "Yer both nutters," she mutters, and Melina's heart clenches at the Denerim accent creeping through. It's the same accent Jalyn would have each time she felt angry, or frustrated.
Melina bites her lips, her sentence lost in the crackling of burning wood and tension. Evelina turns abruptly on her heel, marching over toward her bedroll with a mocking salute to the nearest templar.
Wynne sighs, causing Melina to look toward her mentor. "That girl is going to get herself into trouble one day for that propensity."
"Trouble? Or freedom, Wynne? Which one do you fear more?" Uldred gets to his feet, staring down at them. "You're all fools if you think magic is some sort of sin. Magic is a gift. Meant to serve, and be used, not wasted and locked away in some Maker forsaken tower."
Wynne raises a single eyebrow as she stares up, unblinking, at Uldred. Her body is held with a quiet stillness as the moon cast a white glow on her silver hair. "You speak of this idea of freedom as if it can be so easily obtained. Our magic is dangerous, and more easily twisted to harm than a mere sword or arrow."
Uldred's upper lip curls in clear disgust before he, too, turns toward his bedroll. Niall leans his head into one hand, brow furrowed. "We should just stay away somewhere, away from everyone else."
Jowan frowns, shifting nervously in his spot. Melina startles, having forgotten the man was there, hiding in the shadows like a snake. She glares at him, eyes narrowed as chews on his lip. "I- I think we should just focus on the battles to come," Jowan says, eyes glued to the ground.
Blood mage. She thinks the phrase with more venom than she's ever felt.
Wynne nods, smiling softly. "Truer words have yet to be spoken tonight, child," she says, folding her hands in her lap.
Melina shoots to her feet, curtsying toward Wynne. "I think I'm tired, Enchanter Wynne. Goodnight, and may Andraste protect you in your dreams." She turns, ignoring Jowan as she walks with faint footsteps and a heavy heart.
The flames twist and dance in the shimmering silver armour of the nearest templar. Melina watches it, blanket drawn tight to hide her face. She focuses on the patterns and shapes, thoughts drifting as her eyelids slowly grow leaden with sleep.
She hates him. She knows she shouldn't, that only the Maker has the right to place such judgement. Hate is a strong emotion, screaming at the demons to crowd closer in glee. Melina knows she shouldn't hate anyone, least of all someone who was loved by someone she cares for so deeply.
But she does.