Their Name is Amell

By Reyavie & Champion the WonderSnail

A/N: I suppose you could call this a fanfiction of a fanfiction, because I love Reyavie's The Laughing Wall characters so much that I just had to throw an inter-fanfiction party so our crazy mages could meet. Also because despite ending my own, two Amell stories years ago (Wishing You Weren't Here and Remembering Aunt Mildred), they appeared out of the virtual universe where I thought they had gone for a well-deserved retirement to nag at me: 'We're not done yet!' Well no. This is true. There are some buildings in Thedas still standing; plenty of people yet to traumatise and clearly, not enough random noblefolk have been turned into amphibians.

This story is – tentatively – the result. Where it's going to go…nobody knows. Least of all, I suspect, do the girls. But they are Amells. I'm sure they'll cope.

Their writers however…will probably need more coffee. And chocolate. Lots of it.

World of Dragon Age belongs to Bioware. DA and the Knight Commander belong to the wonderful, patient, incredibly talented and very generous Reyavie.

-oo-

Chapter 1

Argh…another completely exhausting day…It was late, she was cold; every bone in her body felt chilled to their cores. Someone could hit her with a hammer and she'd shatter. Alright, that was an exaggeration but…She paused, one foot slightly above the hall runner. The door to the Warden Commander's office stood ajar; pale yellow light spilling out onto the stone. Could she sneak past? As much as she adored, loved, admired, blah blah blah the Commander she really just wanted to topple into bed with a handful of cheese sandwich, cursing Anders for deciding to leave the Peak and making her the only Healer in the Arling, in addition to her normal Warden duties.

"Mer, that you?"

Had the stone squeaked? How had he known it had been her and not, say, some other Warden walking past his office?

Pondering the lamplight on the stone a few moments, she answered. "No…?"

"Oh, very funny."

She grimaced. He'd want a report, to be briefed. A 'how was your day, dear' talk which was all very nice and caring and communicative but her bed would be warm and there were new curses to be made about Anders and by the way, Jowan too for choosing arcane warrior magic because it was manly and the only way to get girls, not like Healing…eew, Healing's for pansies in poofy pants, I'm not doing that euww…The door swung open, the light obscured by a wide-shouldered Warden with the I'm-In-Charge double-Griffon on the front. Clearly, he'd been doing some official Commandery things or he wouldn't be wearing the 'special' armour.

And he was giving her that look.

"Wow Merran, you look…terrible."

Yup. That was the look alright.

"I mean…" he continued. "You look awful; like you've been dipped into a pool of mud then rolled in a bucket of leaves then stampeded over by a pack of hungry blight wolves." He plucked one of the abovementioned leaves from her hair. It had been raining outside. It had been windy. Gusty. Torrential. She'd been blown off her pony. Heck, the pony had been blown off the path…

Talk? Exchange pleasantries? She was not in the mood. Hunching her shoulders, Merran ignored her Warden Commander husband and continued her silent and tired trudge down the hallway.

"I mean, well it's…it's cute on you," he called after her, stepping forward to walk by her side. "Aw…look at the cute and adorable muddy mage. All that dirt; it clearly suits you."

She gave him that look.

"Oh now, don't be like that." He threw an arm around her, realised he was making a mess of perfectly shiny armour and more importantly…raising her grumpiness to dangerous levels and withdrew the offending arm. He sighed, halting in his tracks while she continued on; the small, forlorn and thoroughly miserable, slumping creature that she was disappearing into the gloom of the hallway.

After a while he ran a hand through his hair. It had been like this for months now. He didn't doubt his wife loved him, but there was something going on in that muddied head of hers that she preferred to keep to herself. His sunny, optimistic, bursting-with-energy little mage was sad, short-tempered and not fun to be around. Was she tired? Well, they all were really. The combination of the fracas with the replacement Wardens from Orlais after the whole business with the Archdemon and getting involved with politics and…Anders going a bit funny had made Weisshaupt ignore their requests for more Wardens. There were recruits willing to undergo the Joining in Ferelden, but with Archdemon blood running critically low Thedas-wide, Wardens all over had to be extra careful who they chose to put through the Joining.

And of course, Weisshaupt were particularly annoyed that the Ferelden Wardens hadn't been able to collect any Archdemon blood at all and had pointedly not sent any more from their own fourth-Blight vintage stocks.

Not that anyone could predict who was going to survive the Joining…and who wasn't. It just meant that whoever they did choose had to be guaranteed to both remain in the Order and be able to fight darkspawn. Really, really, really well. Because Maker, were they fighting darkspawn…! While the bulk of the creatures had fled underground after the defeat of the Archdemon, large bands of darkspawn still roamed the surface, killing, destroying and tainting the landscape and livestock wherever they went. All he had – to keep the entire country darkspawn-free – was slightly less than a dozen Grey Wardens.

Well, less than a dozen now that Anders had decided that the life of a Grey Warden should have less darkspawn-slaying and more kittens in it than had been supplied...

Of course, he reminded himself, his situation now was no different from Duncan's circumstances during the Blight…On the other hand…the annoyingly contrary part of him added, Duncan hadn't exactly made do with a dozen Grey Wardens had he? It had taken a combined army of thousands to fight the horde in the end…Maker, I'm depressing myself.

Casting one last, worried look down the hallway, Warden Commander Alistair Theirin turned on his heel and returned to his office, the letter from the First Enchanter he'd desperately wanted to discuss with Merran burning a hole in his pocket.

-oo-

"So what you're saying…is that this is…and this is just the gist of it so tell me if I've gotten it completely wrong – where are you again? – some kind of…door…device…thingie…thing." Leaning on the bench top, the speaker stretched over to try and locate…she jumped as Dagna's head appeared abruptly in her field of view, orange eyebrows beetling across a freckled forehead.

"Alyyyyyyyyyyce…" she began in a warning tone. "Keep your distance until I'm finished. You're going to break something."

Pouting, Senior Enchanter Alyce Amell nevertheless did as she was bid, returning to the tall stool provided for 'the visiting Beanpole' and folded her arms across her chest. Meanwhile Dagna continued to fuss about the device; a…well it appeared to be a mirror. Of sorts. Very magical. Very old too, according to Dagna who at this very moment was in the process of attaching tubes of varying sizes and lengths from sealed cylindrical metal barrels to it.

"And yes," Dagna stood, two tube ends in each hand, facing the mirror thoughtfully. "As much as I could make of the muddled Old Tevinter it's a portal."

"Portal?" Alyce repeated. "Like one of those fellows the nobles hire to carry luggage and so forth?"

Dagna rolled her eyes. "That's a porter. This is a port…al. Though," she added cheerfully, "I suppose it's a nice simile. While I wouldn't let this anywhere near a nobleman, woman or nug, it will sort of carry a thing or even a person from one place to another."

"Carry them?" Alyce's own frown deepened. "Carry them where?"

Dagna turned, the tubes still in her hand emitting a strange, blue smoke and her eyes sparkling in fervent, dwarvish eagerness. "That's the exciting part! I don't know!"

"You're insane, you do know that don't you?" Alyce stated in a flat tone of voice.

"Probably!" Dagna nodded her head vigorously. She turned back to the 'portal' as she had called it, diving under some scaffolding with the tubes. Industrious dwarvish grunting followed.

Alyce returned her attention to the mirror. The Eluvian. There was something about the shape of the thing that caused her not to trust it; those sticky-up bits there for instance looked like demon horns and even if she didn't automatically view anything that came out of Tevinter with healthy suspicion, the fact that it dated back to the time of Arlathan when magic was pretty much a free-for-all (unless a person went about setting everyone's pants on fire) was in itself something to be wary of. It looked funny. And it sounded funny too. When it had first been brought into Dagna's workshop and set down, it had hummed as though making some kind of comment about its new surroundings, startling the poor dwarves that had been carrying it into nearly dropping the thing.

Some time passed with no sign of the dwarf. Just as Alyce began to wonder anew whether the scaffolding had eaten her old Tower friend, Dagna reappeared; red-faced but rather smug looking.

"Done!" she announced.

"What is?" Alyce said automatically.

Dagna struck the air with her finger. "Everything!" she grinned; her smile widening at the Circle Mage's look of worried bewilderment. As she pointed to the mirror, Alyce was sure the humming grew in volume, turning from a mildly irritating background noise to one that was increasingly insistent. Her back teeth began to ache.

"The portal uses quite a bit of mana," Dagna explained – while Alyce gave her head a shake – "I wasn't able to determine exactly how much…it's been pretty hit and miss to work out the precise amount of lyrium -"

"Lyrium?" Alyce asked sharply. "You're powering that thing with lyrium?"

Dagna rolled her eyes. "Well it wouldn't work with hugs and kisses, Alyce. So lyrium it had to be." She pointed to the surrounding cylinders and again grinned. "Purified and uh…enhanced," she added, the particular sparkle in those big blue eyes beginning to worry Alyce. "Just ah…you being a mage and all…well, if any of these barrels leaked or anything – not that I'm throwing doubt on their structural integrity or anything but – just in case they do because you've always taught me to be prepared…"

"Just spit it out already Dagna!"

"You're dead," Dagna stated. "As in. Dead, dead. Really, horribly – quite possibly, probably incredibly painfully too – dead. Every vein in your body? Explodey. Boom!"

Alyce stared at the little Alchemist that could. "You know Dagna…I think saying 'pure lyrium' would probably have been enough. The hand gestures? I would probably skip that bit next time."

"Kablooey!" Dagna chuckled, then cleared her throat. "So uh…don't touch anything as I've mentioned before."

As Dagna had turned back to the Eluvian, she missed Alyce recoiling from the bench barrier, backing several steps away then glancing about frantically for any signs of possible leakage. Anywhere. And as Alyce was too engaged in acts of self-preservation, she missed Dagna waving at her, beckoning her forward.

"Oh come on Alyce! It'll be fun!"

Alyce blinked at her former Apprentice in wonder. "Is that before or after I die horribly?" she asked.

"Oh, during!" Dagna responded cheerfully. "Now stop being such a big baby and come over here. Just don't touch anything on the way." Turning back, Dagna put one foot onto the scaffolding and began to climb up to the narrow platform that had been set up above the clawed-foot base of the Eluvian. As the dwarf neared the mirror, Alyce swore the humming of the mirror intensified. It sounded…excited…Dagna bent forward, raising her hand to the silvery surface. It rippled under her touch, bending and undulating.

"Oh my…now that is unusual…" Dagna murmured.

"Dagna…?" Alyce remained rooted to the spot. Every mage instinct in her screamed danger! Stop her! "I…I don't think you should…"

The mirror's surface began to take on a deep reddish glow; blackened speckles fizzing across its surface. The humming now sounded hungry.

"Step away from…" Alyce began to warn, only to be cut off by Dagna's excited chirping.

"I can see something! Ancestors! Will you look at…!" The surface of the mirror appeared to lunge out at the little dwarf; silvery tendrils wrapping around Dagna's legs and arms and pulling her forwards, towards the mirror's surface.

"Dagna!"

Alyce vaulted over the bench, scrambling up the scaffolding just in time to see the mirror swallow her dwarf. Throwing herself forward, she managed to grab hold of Dagna's ankle…too late…her momentum and the strength of the mirror's pull on the dwarven alchemist far, far too strong to counteract or resist. Shivery, chilled greyness enveloped them both; smothering…Alyce fought for breath, the sound of her heart beating loudly in her ears. They were falling, falling, falling…until grey darkened into black nothingness and all sense of feeling had gone.

-oo-

"Are you done yet?"

Diana had never thought about being a mother. The sheer idea of having someone tugging at the edge of her robe and screeching and whining made her want to start running and end up somewhere Qunari dwelled, dead or magically neutered. That was a better prospect.

She wasn't a mom though. She was married. And her husband was a dumbass.

For the countless time, the mage rubbed her forehead with a little too much strength – the alternative involved fireballing and loads of pain – while asking herself why her husband was such a Maker-forsaken child. Sure, he was fine between the sheets but ever since she had said yes in that Chantry, it was like she had signed in blood on some contract which demanded her soul in return.

And magic. And body. Likely a few organs sold for demon soup somewhere. Next time she'd have to pay more attention to the fine print.

"Still sitting, still writing, still busy." Diana tapped the quill against her notes, before sighing deeply at the amount she had already written. A small pile rested in front of her. A bigger and already reaching tower-level stack had been pushed behind her so as to not hinder her line of vision; amazingly filled with the arching structure in front of her.

It was a lot of work but still, it was just so interesting! Diana was used to losing her time studying darker things with the dubious help of Avernus. To be able to work together on something that didn't seem ready to eat the world was so different.

"You said you were almost done an hour ago."

Maker above, what was it with him today? Did she forget his toys again?

"Seriously," she began. "Are you asking to be hurt? You told me you'd come only to watch."

Her eyes left the oval structure for the space behind her. Lo and behold, there was the Knight-Commander, crossed arms over armoured chest and a look on his face that would produce instant cheese when thrown in the direction of a milk-related substance.

Diana's thoughts ran through the list of possible duties in her head. Nothing about appointments outside of the academic pursuit of Thedas-wide knowledge occurred. So why the citrus face? Really, getting the man a puppy was beginning to look more and more attractive by the day. Actually, a puppy would be a good idea. If the Knight Commander had time to bother her, then clearly the Grand Cleric wasn't giving him enough to do. Poopie-scooping, cleaning urine off the Chantry-issued rugs, training, feeding…that should keep him occupied for at least a morning. Or two.

Not to mention, be able to spend time with someone he had lots in common with. Though she had been told by those wiser than she - and why any marital advice from eighty-year old unmarried Chantry Sisters had any credence, she had no idea - that in time, her husband would become house-trained.

Flaw in that plan? They didn't live in a house. They lived in a ruddy great big tower made out of stone, stuck out in the middle of a frigid lake where it rained icicles ninety-nine percent of the year and showered boulders of frozen stone the other one percent.

Tower training him would require more energy and reserves of enthusiasm than was currently allowed in the Circle.

Lucky the bastard had pretty eyes.

"Do you realise what time this is?"

Ask a stupid question…? This was required of Templars. I'm sorry, I forgot that bit. "Time you stopped pestering me so I can finish this?"

She saw him give a shake of his head. Like a…puppy actually. Attempting to dislodge a bit of ear wax or a flea from its head. Aw, adorable. And I must remember to mix up some repellent, next time I'm back at the…

"Wait." He interrupted her thoughts, as though she'd been speaking out loud. "Did you hear that?"

"That would have been the sound of my voice, reminding you that I'll be finished when I'm finished."

"Sounds like magic."

What now? 'Sounds' like magic? So Ser Templar suddenly gets super powers when the words 'Knight' and 'Commander' get stuck in front of his name? Magic was soundless. The only sound one was likely to hear were the screams of your victims attempting to put their drawers out of fire. It was such a happy sound.

Kneading at her temple, she returned to her work; habit and lots of practice enabling her to ignore him even while he continued to loiter at the edge of her peripheral vision, hand still raised; a single finger pointing upwards. Her quill was soon gliding across her parchment on more important things.

"There it is again."

She'd been in the process of removing the quill nib from her ink pot to the blotter. His unexpected voice had startled her into blotting an entire paragraph. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes, counted to ten. "You really have a death wish today, don't you?"

"This is serious." He was frowning at her. She was a mage. She should know these things. Feel the Veil being tested; prodded, stretched and broken. Perhaps it was all that time spent in Kirkwall where even the privy seat could turn into an abomination that made him extra sensitive. Extra wary. On guard. Diana on the other hand wasn't bothered at all. He knew better than to think she didn't care, so that was not an option. Ever. He preferred his man parts to remain where they were – that is, attached to him and not say to the nearest tree or sent into the Void in ghostly form.

She also continued to write.

That being the case…"I'll go and investigate myself then, shall I?"

"You do that." A wave of her feathered quill. Dismissed. Off you go little boy. Go play somewhere else, don't put dirty things into your mouth and play nice with the other children.

He hadn't left.

"You really didn't hear that?"

A sound like impending doom and the end of the world as he knew it sounded in her throat…quill bending as her fingers tightened around it. Self-preservation smacked him upside the head. He was sure he could have a look by himself. He didn't need her holding his hand. Anything interesting up there, he was sure to report back in detail. Unless a dragon ate him. Or darkspawn dragged him underground and turned his living body into an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I am not afraid. The Maker is at my side…even if my wife is too busy with her career to spend five minutes with her new husband who made her dinner – never mind the burnt crunchy bits, it was the thought that counted – now congealing into a sloppy mess back on the dinner table. He'd even found wine. Nice wine too. There'd be pudding later. That is to say, it looked like pudding. It was pink. Ish. It had currants in it. She liked currants as he recalled. Or was it chocolate?

Knight Commander Cullen sighed. The honeymoon was over, wasn't it? Maybe he should get a puppy? To keep him company while his wife rolled in parchment and ink and the pursuit of knowledge for all.

Climbing the first set of stairs, he sighed again. "I'm warmer…" And there it was again. A strange…sound, tickling the hairs on the back of his neck; turning the inside of his armour cold. The impulse to draw his sword arrived and stayed, his hand reaching back behind him to his scabbard. The sound of metal scraping against metal sounded comfortingly in the air; the weight of his sword giving him confidence in a place that leached him of it.

Something is definitely not right here…

Cold touched his chin. He turned his head. Over there. A breeze? In a temple? It was a ruin, there would be broken parts where the weather would intrude. Still. That was the direction his Templar senses prodded him.

He continued to climb.

-oo-