Veraias hadn't been sure of what to expect when he had fallen into the rift.
The first time, things had been awful, but it had been all inside his own head. It was dark, and dank, but Cole had guided him through all of the terrible images the Envy demon had brought before him.
To see everyone standing with him this time had at least been a relief. It was also a tad more picturesque. Green mist swirled about glittering rock formations. The ground was riddled with shallow holes, which were filled with water- Dirthanen knows where the liquid came from. Eerie, but somehow melodic groaning travelled on a ghostly wind.
Though, the more he thought of it as they walked, past skulls and cages, the more he began to watch each of his companions closely, so as to keep each of them safe. Almost impossible, considering where they were.
While following the shadow of Divine Justinia, and fighting for his memories of the Conclave, the voice of the nightmare grew louder- stronger. His eight-legged minions skittered around, making the elf glad that he was no arachnophobe.
Once they reached the last of the obstacles they were stopped by the disgusting humanoid fleshy being in robes, whom the awful voice belonged to. Though it taunted and played to illusions, the group managed to make short work of the enemy.
Inquisitor Levallan shook his head in disbelief at the sight in front of him. The giant monsterous arachnicid made terrible hissing noises as they approached. It was the only thing between them and their escape.
The Champion of Kirkwall and The Hero of Fereldan stood practically shoulder to shoulder. The tall raven haired, tired eyed man ran a hand over his scruffy beard.
"Go, I will cover you," Hawke announced, staring down the nightmare as if it were nothing. His jaw was set, and his stance ready.
The sadly smirking man with the long blonde hair shook his head slowly, uncrossing his arms.
"I let others sacrifice for me ten years ago, I won't do that again."
There was silence after that. Veraias glanced towards Cassandra, who would not meet his gaze. Sera seemed infinitely interested in cleaning her own nails, and Iron Bull just looked like he wanted to get out of there. It seemed the decision was his, and his alone.
The Inquisitor shook his head. He was meant to choose between these two icons of recent history? Who would live, and who would sacrifice themselves for the safety of the rest?
He glanced back and forth slowly between the two. The moment seemed to last forever, but it was just that- a moment. He hadn't the time to spare, and Varric's happy expression as he spoke to his dear friend came to mind.
"Warden Couslind…" He said quietly, leaving it at just what it was.
Sad blue eyes seemed to clear as the warden bowed his head slightly. He took a deep breath and raised his heavy, oaken staff off of the ground.
"It is my honour to serve," he said, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Now go, save the world."
Leaping through fade-rifts would never be his favorite thing, Veraias decided. Something always got left behind.
"Inquisitor, there has been word in Fereldan that you have accomplished a large task, but no one seems to have a clue what you have been up to. Luckily my dear friend sent me a letter not too long ago." King Alistair spoke freely. It was not as if he needed an introduction. The war, the crown, the fanfare- said it all. He had strode in as if he owned the place, and he could have.
"Ah, greetings King Theirin," Veraias bowed deeply before the monarch.
"So where have you been? I have arrived as soon as possible, but it seems I missed the send-off to whatever mission you were undertaking." He looked around. "I gather you understand whom this friend I speak of is."
"I do."
"Then where is he?"
"He didn't make it."
It was no small sight to behold- what happened next. As the information sunk in, the handsome man's face slowly dropped- first to confusion, then to despair. His whole body slackened, and his knees crumbled from beneath him.
"I thought he was… indominable."
Veraias slowly reached to put his hand on the man's shoulder.
"I'm… sorry."
Back in Skyhold Leliana stared down at the scout's reports in disbelief. How had these events come to pass?
Her eyes burned as salty tears dropped from her long eyelashes. The ink of the paper in her hand began to run as it was hit with the moist droplets.
The Nightingale sat in the highest room of the tallest tower, but her prince charming was no longer there to rescue her.
When she received the news, Morrigan clutched her baby close to her chest. As the messenger left, she shut the door, and allowed her emotions to well over and spill down her cheeks.
Kieran was sobbing as if he knew. His cornflower blue eyes- as if plucked from a memory- were brimming with tears. When he settled, he would grace her with his father's smile.
She did not know what she had done to warrant the fates twisting in such a way, but one thing she did know was the Wilds were more forgiving than the fade.
In Antiva, in a dark- rundown bar, Zevran was reading a letter. It had been sent by a familiar Crow, and had arrived earlier that day.
He had read it five times now, sitting in a fadmiliar chair, it had only just begun to sink in. He set the parchment down, and slowly let his despair run over him like water.
His hands quivered as he slid them through the hair that was covering his eyes. Maybe if he kept them closed, he could pretend that this wasn't happening to him for a second tmwime.
Acting wasn't hard, even when living was.
For a moment, there was silence in Denerim. A moment where the grey Warden flag was set to half mast, and was whipped by the breeze. A moment where the city sat, to remember the brave hero that saved them for one last time.
In this moment, Warden Couslind fought. He dodged, and casted as often and as fast as he could, but still he could feel his life slowly draining from his body. He could see the blood coating the floor. His blood.
He could barely lift his arms now, his eyes shook from the mere effort of staying open. He would have tried to blink it away if he hadn't been worried that they wouldn't open again. His feet were beginning to lose sensation, as if they had fallen asleep.
"I can't… I can't stop yet!" He grunted, forcing spell after spell, movement after aching movement.
Suddenly he felt a warmth fill his body. It was a familiar presence, and it enveloped his bruised and broken frame as his staff finally fell from his weakened grip.
There was a shout, he was sure of it. He could hear it, even as he felt his knees hit the floor. His vision swam, until it faded completely, and suddenly he heard it with complete clarity.
"You can rest now, warden."
Author's note: So this is admittedly my first Dragon Age story, and it is based off of this post ( post/104881967661/okay-but-has-anyone-though-about-this-instead-of) on Tumblr. It gave me such ideas, that I requested the permission to write the fic, and she wholeheartedly agreed. I hope that you enjoyed it.