There was screaming, that much she was certain of. Black, tortured screaming. She had heard many things in her travels, been many dark and terrible places, but she could not recall having heard screams this terrible. She'd rather hear Hespith's insane chant echoing through the Dead Trenches than this. Well, maybe not…
Shapes began to materialize out of the darkness. Large, frightening shapes that made a perfect accompaniment to the screams. She could not explain the terror that gripped her rapidly beating heart, but it threatened to strangle her. There was a piercing beam of light through it all. In the brightness, an image of a fortress flashed briefly. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes from the glare.
When she reopened her watering eyes, the dragon loomed large before her. It bellowed, forelegs scrambling at the rocks and stone. She stumbled backwards, feeling it perfectly acceptable to add her scream to the others.
Urthemiel.
This wasn't happening. It was impossible. The Archdemon was defeated…and yet here it stood before her.
It roared again, wings beating uselessly and eyes rolling aimlessly. The great head whipped back and forth on its sinewy neck. All four legs clawed for purchase on the ground, but it did not advance.
When she could think straight, when her breathing was as close to normal as she felt it was going to get, she took a few steps forward. Through the blinding light and colors, she could make out ephemeral chains holding the ancient God in place.
The screams came again, much closer now. Her eyes immediately darted to the source of the sound, near the Archdemon's restless feet. There was…someone there. Someone with their own translucent chains. The source of the screaming.
Alistair.
Suddenly everything could be seen with blazing clarity.
Soaked with sweat, blood dripping from countless wounds. Face twisted with pain. His head kept shaking back and forth in an eerie mimicry of the Archdemon. Time seemed to slow, as individual drops of sweat and blood danced through the air. From his mouth poured the anguished screams.
She froze, head ringing as bile rose in her throat. She wanted to go to him, to help him, but her feet would not move. She had no weapons to defend him and no voice to cry out to him. It seemed she was as trapped as he was, for even if her feet ever responded to her commands again, she could not leave him. Not like this.
Well, she finally had one thing. Her scream ripped from her throat like a griffon rising on a thermal.
"Alistair!"
Sierra sat bolt upright, not knowing if she'd screamed aloud or in her mind. She sat motionless, breathing raggedly through her mouth, waiting to see if the camp roused around her. When she was only greeted by the sounds of crickets, the Grey Warden heaved a trembling sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was everyone fussing over her. They already did it all the time.
Sticking her head outside of the aravel, Sierra looked at the stars. "Well, got about an hour tonight, not bad," she muttered to herself. Gathering her blanket stiffly, she took up her usual post near the opening.
There was blood. Everywhere. Staining her hands, dripping from her hair, running between her breasts. Looking down, it was pooled around her, yet she felt no pain. Was it not hers? There was the sound of weeping behind her.
She spun around, and the breath left her body.
Duncan lay bleeding on the ground, his life pouring out of a horrific wound in his side. Alistair, tears carving trails through the grime on his face, struggled on his hands and knees to reach his mentor. The Grey Warden couldn't seem gain any ground though, forever mere feet away from his dying mentor.
She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her bloody hands. She could not bear to see this…not this. Physical pain she could attempt to save him from, foes could be fought. Not this.
Reflected against the darkness of her closed eyelids was the outline of a fortress.
"Warden?"
Sierra's head snapped up, hand automatically snaking up to the hilt of her battle axe over her shoulder, which was mostly hidden by the blanket she'd clumsily wrapped around her.
"At ease, lethallin. It is only me."
Sierra cursed under her breath. She must have dozed off. She'd only come out to watch the stars, and then creep back into her avarel before everyone else awakened. A ritual she'd been practicing for some time. Kept the rest of the clan from wondering about her sleeping habits, or lack thereof.
"My apologies, Athras. You just startled me," the Grey Warden responded.
"You're up…early," the elf began cautiously, coming around in front of her.
"Very early," she grudgingly admitted, keeping her gaze on the ground.
"Could you not sleep? If there is something wrong with your accommodations-"
"They're fine, Athras," she interrupted, too sharply.
"Forgive me. I'll leave you to your thoughts, then."
The crunch of leaves as he turned to go made Sierra's heart wrench. "Athras, wait."
"Yes, Grey Warden?"
Sierra raised her head to look into her fellow Dalish's eyes. She could read the shock on his face at her appearance. She'd been doing her best to hide it, but… Lack of sleep eventually starts to look like something worse, like a sickness. Maybe she was sick. "Please," she managed, as tears sprang to her eyes, "will you sit with me a moment?"
Wordlessly, Athras placed himself on the ground next to her.
She took a shaking breath, absently twirling one of the errant strands of deep red hair that constantly hung in her face. "I have dreams, Athras. I dream of him." She stared straight ahead, dark eyes hollow.
"I used to dream of Danyla, too. I still do, sometimes. It is always disappointing to wake, but you should not avoid sleeping because of it," he responded kindly.
The Grey Warden turned to face him. The gentle smile he'd gained from thinking he'd solved her problem dissolved instantly. "I see him trapped somewhere with the Archdemon. I see him tortured. Every night. Every time I close my eyes." The tears had overflowed her eyes. She gave a little, heartbroken laugh. "That's the reason I look as…attractive as I do."
Athras took a deep breath and blew it out. "I take it you do not think these to be simple nightmares."
"Whether they are nightmares or visions, it doesn't really matter. I fear I will go mad before I figure it out." Sierra broke her gaze with the gray-haired Dalish and turned to observe the morning bustle of the camp. "I'll have to leave soon. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to trust myself."
Her companion remained silent for a time. She appreciated that he did not make protests about how she couldn't possibly hurt anyone in camp. No. He'd been in Denerim the night of the final battle. He'd seen what she could do with that mighty axe she carried. If she could not longer distinguish friend from foe, the Dalish warriors would be unable to stand against her.
"I remember your man, when you came here the first time," he finally said.
Sierra shot him a glance, but he too was watching the Dalish people go about their daily duties. "Yes?" she prompted, when nothing else was forthcoming.
"I remember thinking, 'What could this shemlen have possibly done to seduce a Dalish elf? Does he ever say anything seriously?'"
Sierra laughed, this time with a bit of joy. "You weren't the only one, I'm sure. I didn't expect many to see what I saw in him."
"Ah, but I did, lethallin," Athras assured her. "That night, after Lanaya was made Keeper, around the celebratory fire. I watched him. More accurately, I watched him watch you. Such joy in his face, such desire. It made me think that I must have looked like that when I watched Danyla. When you'd catch him watching, he'd blush like a fool, but do his best to hold the stare, to not look away. Ah," the older elf raised his hands in a graceful gesture, "so shy, yet trying to be so brave for his brazen lady."
Sierra bit her lip as her eyes softly unfocused. "You know, I had to proposition him? Such strange rules and laws those shem have. He came to my tent as pure as new snow on the mountains."
"Truly?" Athras chuckled. "How strange."
"I know," agreed the Grey Warden, still staring off into space. "Something about being raised in that religious house, I'm still not altogether clear on it." Her lips widened in a smile. "Didn't stop him from being…eager to learn."
The hunter threw back his head and laughed. "Well, great Dalish beauty can inspire that in a man." Athras pondered the camp again for a time. "Did you love him, lethallin?"
Sierra jerked out of her reminiscing. "Did I what? I didn't- He never-" she stammered.
"Peace, Warden, peace," Athras calmed her. "I merely ask because of something you said earlier, about figuring out whether it was nightmare or vision." He paused. "You do not believe it is nightmare, do you?"
Sierra narrowed her eyes. "I don't. I believe he needs me, and I cannot find him. I don't know how." She buried her face in her hands as tears overtook her again.
"If you loved him, lethallin, perhaps the way is not as hidden as you think. In love, there is always a way."
"Love doesn't fill my nights with horror. At least I hope not!"
"Love is not always easy, Warden," he chided.
"Oh, indeed. Tell me more gems of wisdom, oh Grandfather!" She batted her eyelashes at him in mock innocence.
"Did you get your sharp tongue from your man, or did you have it all along?" the older elf demanded, sighing exasperatedly.
"Definitely from him," Sierra answered, raising her chin defiantly.
"If you believe these to be visions, then someone, or something, believes love to be a journey, as well," he continued, as if he hadn't had to sidetrack the conversation to scold her.
Sierra sneered. "More likely someone believes love to be exploited, a way to lure a Grey Warden to her death."
Athras rose to his feet and looked down at her. "I suppose the real question is can you live with yourself if you don't find out?"
She stopped, and she thought about the horrible nightmares. Then…his face came to mind, one eyebrow raised and a smirk, as if a sarcastic remark was right on the tip of his tongue. It usually was. "No," she finally answered, "I cannot."
"Then your path is laid out before you. Do you have the courage to hold the madness back long enough to follow it?"
Sierra stared up at him, mouth open slightly in shock. "Path? There is no path!" she half-shouted. "I have nothing to go on!"
"Since he needs you, you better start looking." The Dalish hunter turned and walked away from her.
The younger elf watched him go, mouth hanging completely open now. It was only when he was almost out of shouting distance that she pulled herself back together. "Athras!"
He stopped and turned, a challenging look on his face. "Yes, lethallin?"
"Don't ever question a Grey Warden's bravery again!"
He chuckled. "I'll take that as a 'thank you'."