There was a fog lifting him from darkness. Maker, how hard had he been hit? The last thing Alistair remembered was the heavy maul swinging towards his face and then nothing. Blackness, emptiness..something struck a chord within him and he groaned in agony. There was a smell, something archaic and sensual, tickling his senses. He groaned in pain, and his eyes flickered open - ceiling. Ceiling surrounded by a pink cloud. Pink cloud?
In his chest something jolted him. This was familiar. Wake up you idiot. Wake up. He brought his hand up and a gash upon his forehead was met by a garish steel glove, sending more pain through him - "Aghh, fuc-!" He started to swear and looking down his tongue froze in his mouth. Templar armor...? He brought his hand up and stared at the blood on his fingers which were hidden by his guantlets. His guantlets...? How...how did he end up here? He had been rushing up the castle steps...staring the Blight and the Archdemon in the eyes - ready for the ultimate sacrifice, screams behind him demanding him to stop.
"Oh dear. I've never seen a cage like this. And that poor boy! Is he alright?" A smooth voice rolled over his ears. He knew that voice. Wynne! He struggled into a kneeling position when vertigo refused to allow him to stand. His mouth dry as he tried to speak and panic written on his features, they rounded the corner. His heart sunk, froze then broke into pieces - what...what was HE doing? Wearing HIS splintmail, carrying HIS shield and HIS sword?
"Di...Ditrieg!" He gasped, lunging towards the cage and the Warden startled back, his silvery blue eyes widened in shock. The Warden twitched a gaze to Cullen, the Templar. Cullen lifted a brow and a smirk, HIS smirk, curled his lips. "Hey. He called for you, friend, not me. Didn't know you knew a Templar." Dietrieg, Alistair's friend - confidante - support frowned minutely. "I don't know him. Perhaps he has heard of me through the news. Tell me, Templar...what awaits us at the top?" The cold indifference leaves Alistair stricken.
"Ditrieg, what is wrong with you! How...we were at Ostragar together! I met you through Duncan -" Ditrieg's fist slammed into the cage, rattling it briefly. Magics were not supposed to be affected by physical means but the anger and anguish in his friends eyes spoke of a darker urge, and Alistair stepped back with fear on his face. "Do not, Templar, speak the name of someone you could not know. How culd you have known him, locked away in your tower like some kind of Princess?" He glared coldly at Alistair, and Cullen's eyes reflected the similiar hatred. Wynne only looked sympathetic.
"It is the demons. They have tricked him, let him believe what he wants...we go upstairs now, and face down Uldred. He requires more of my attention than some bumbling Templar." Ditrieg snapped, and the group turned away. Alistair couldn't help the scream that burbled from his throat. Where were they going. No! This...this wasn't right! This wasn't right! Tears were staining his cheeks as he pounded on the cage, until he exhausted himself.
"Sweet boy..." He heard cooed in his ear, sensual and dark. That smell returned, the one that was old and tempting. "Sweet boy, would you like to return..? Your friends are so worried for you, you aren't waking up fast enough." Her hands caressed his cheeks and he felt her nails scratch in to his cheeks. He felt weak, and his soul tainted. "Alistair..."
"Wake up! Alistair, oh Maker, Alistair! Wake up!" a voice cried.
And he did.