A/N: The abandoned alienage orphanage in Denerim is by far the freakiest thing I've ever played within the DA universe. Even my save point for it is titled "I don't wanna!" It really doesn't help that I scare really easily when it comes to the supernatural, especially Asian horror stories. I couldn't sleep by myself for months after watching "Juuon", shivers would run up my spine whenever I heard the ringtone from "One Missed Call", and I could not be left alone in the dark. At. All. Don't get me started on "Paranormal Activity". It can all go to NOPE-land.

That being said, let's see how badly I can scare myself here.

Happy Halloween!


Restless Awakenings

Chapter 1: Do You Hear Me, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?

Lyna Mahariel was often found wandering aimlessly across the many passages of Vigil's Keep in the middle of the night, a habit she picked up after the Blight, after the final battle... after Alistair's death. The pain of loss still affected her greatly, the promise of happiness gone within the blink of an eye. That, however, was not the cause of her bouts of insomnia.

No, that started in Denerim, after the demonic encounters within the alienage orphanage. There was no doubt that the evil presence had been cleansed from the dilapidated building at the sacrifice of the noble Ser Otto. It was the after effects that lingered and left her changed, possibly even broken. Since that experience, Lyna started seeing things in the corners of her vision...people, rather...people who were dead, or should be anyway.

The Dalish believed in a saying, "The last of life lingers in death."

It first started with Tamlen. After the Blight, once everyone parted ways, he appeared before her in her solitary camp one evening, sitting beside her before the fire as if nothing had happened between them. Lyna thought very little of it at the time, her mind and heart still reeling at the fact that Alistair was gone. She simply chalked Tamlen's reappearance up to hallucinations caused by heavy sleep deprivation. As if dreaming about darkspawn wasn't bad enough, she had to go and start dreaming of her lover's death over and over again.

But Tamlen was there and didn't seem intent on leaving anytime soon, and death aside, Lyna was grateful for the company.

"You sense me now," he said simply. Lyna didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to speak. "The others will come for you. For them, the last of life is riddled with resentment, hate, and bitterness. They will attack you."

Lyna remained silent, staring into her little campfire with blank eyes.

"Lethallan..."

She flinched visibly, tucking her knees up against her chest as she curled up into herself, "Let them come. I don't care anymore."

Tamlen disappeared then. He didn't stand up and take his leave or anything as mundane. He simply faded out of existence, leaving Lyna once again alone with her thoughts.

The next strange happening came in Denerim, after she was summoned by Queen Anora on Warden business. Lyna didn't even know why the Queen bothered. All she did was give her a fancy title and send her off to some...place in the North. Apparently other Wardens were there already. It would be a great party, if nothing else. All the food...

She passed through the Denerim marketplace on her way out of the city, content to stare at the ground in front of her instead of gazing about at the merchant stalls and wares. The atmosphere did nothing to quell the longing for a different time not so long ago. The smell of food from one of the general stores drew her attention, but the sudden smell of cheese hit her like a knife in her heart, forcing her to turn away.

Do you hear me, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?

Lyna froze. Her tawny eyes darted from side to side.

I am falling, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem, today.

A child's laugh ran through the air, seemingly from all sides, and Lyna stepped nimbly as she rotated in place, trying to find the source, not at all heeding the curious stares that she was drawing with her odd behavior.

One, two, buckle my shoe.

A sharp crack sounded from the middle of the square, and Lyna turned just in time to see the merchant canopy sway precariously on one side before the entire structure snapped and collapsed on the stalls beneath it. Most of the shopkeepers managed to run out in time, but a few were still trapped within the wreckage. Denerim citizens rushed forward in a flurry of activity, some bending down to move away the heavy wooden beams, some cutting through the festive maroon and gold tarp, and the rest joining together to lift the victims up and away from the danger zone.

Lyna observed all of this from where she stood, feeling oddly detached from her surroundings. She knew she ought to help. She was the proclaimed Hero of Ferelden, after all, but her legs felt wooden, rooted in one place.

Three, four, open the door.

She heard a low creaking sound, like a gate being lifted and searched for its source. Her eyes widened as she spotted the gate to the Alienage being raised...but there was no one manning the lever. She glanced back at the middle of the square. No one else seemed to have noticed the oddity, despite how loud the squeaks of rusty hinges were. With lips drawn into a thin line, Lyna moved stealthily away, curiosity overriding any sense of precaution she may have otherwise possessed.

I'll just take a look, she told herself. The Alienage was supposed be deserted, after all.

The battle with the Archdemon in Denerim had not been kind to the slums. City elves had since been relocated to a temporary refuge near the outskirts of the city. Needless to say, the elves weren't too thrilled with that arrangement, especially given their living conditions now were worse than they had ever been at the Alienage. However, as Lyna made her way cautiously through the area and saw the state it was in now, it was really rather difficult to tell which setting was truly the more ideal evironment. Several of the older buildings had already collapsed. Termites infested the rotting wood, hollowing the molded beams from inside out.

The stench of death still lingered, as if… Lyna turned a corner and froze, glaring at the sight before her. The elves who had fallen during the battle lay there still, their corpses undergoing various stages of decomposition. The relocation must've taken place before the city elves were able to honor their dead. With clenched fists accompanied by a few choice curses directed at the shem'alas Queen, Lyna strode forward toward the center of the Alienage. Vhenadahl still stood proudly despite the deep gashes and burns that scored its bark. She rested a palm against the trunk of the great tree and prayed to the creator Falon'Din to guide her hand as she lay these wandering spirits to rest.

And Falon'Din heard her prayer.

The wind rustled the leaves far above her, and a shower of the tree's seeds fell all around her. She bowed her head reverently before setting her pack aside and getting to work. The labor was backbreaking and far from pleasant, moving the bodies by means of a handcart she found nearby and digging into the earth with a dented shovel that had been leaning against a crumbling building. The sun had nearly set by the time she had created seventeen mounds under the shadow of Vhenadahl, folding a single seed above each of their heads and offering prayers for their departed souls.

Her stomach had protested loudly throughout the entire afternoon, but she ignored it, wanting to finish her task before the day's end. Her head spun in reaction to her hunger and thirst, her waterskin long since drained dry. It was high time she returned to the market district. She glanced up at the sky, noticing for the first time just how dark it had gotten. If she were lucky, one of the food stalls might still have something left for her to purchase. She pushed herself wearily off the trunk of Vhenadahl, arching her spine just enough to stretch the ache out of her lower back as she headed back toward the gate. Except...the gate was shut. There were no guards manning it either. In fact, there were no guards stationed anywhere that she could see.

Five, six, pick up sticks.

Her eyes widened, and she shivered at the sudden chill in the air. She heard the sounds of wood creaking behind her, as if the buildings themselves were being pressed down by a mysterious weight and would snap in mere moments, much like what had happened earlier in the market district.

Seven, eight, lay then straight.

She turned warily, peering into the darkness of the Alienage.

I'm a maiden, Ser Wilhem. Ser Wilhem?

There, amidst the burial mounds she had made earlier, appeared to be a little girl running, criss-crossing between each. She laughed, and it was an eerie sound, echoing in the stillness of the evening. There was something unnatural about the little girl. There was a faint glow around her outline. Lyna couldn't make out her face, for she had yet to turn and look at her.

But when she did…

Lyna felt her breath catch in her throat, her entire body trembling fearfully in response to what she was seeing. From behind, the long tresses of wavy hair, the edges of pointed ears peeking out from between thick locks, the trailing hem of a nightgown too big for the tiny body that wore it, it all seemed very natural. When the little girl turned, however...where there should've been a face, there was a large wound like a crater, as if the face had been smashed in by a heavy, blunt object. Tatters of skin dangled off her jaw, and Lyna thought she saw pieces of bone where the skull had been cracked into pieces.

The little girl raised a hand, a finger pointed straight at Lyna, before dragging it downward in an arc and pointing to a door behind her, a door Lyna recognized as the one leading to the abandoned orphanage. Before she could bolt or scream, Lyna felt something heavy clamp down on her ankles before she was jerked forward, the force knocking her clean off her feet. Her head bounced painfully against the dirt, and she struggled to grasp at something, anything as she was dragged past the burial mounds, past the little ghostly girl, past Vhenadahl, and through the door that had suddenly swung open and just as quickly slammed shut as soon as she was thrown within.

But I'm dying, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem. In pain.

She screamed throughout the night, but no one could hear her. No one could save her. The Alienage was supposed to be deserted, after all.