"Hey! Are you hurt? Can you move?"

Illyria stirred, her head throbbing with pain. She was sure her head must be cracked open, but as she raised her hands to feel it, it felt undamaged under her helmet.

"Can you sit up?" the voice was asking her, and she was comforted by its familiarity.

"I think so…" she murmured. She sat up slowly, groaning at the movement. Her vision was blurry and refused to focus, despite rapid blinking. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said again. "Last I remember was a blood mage and that strange spell…"

"A blood mage?" the voice said incredulously. "Down here?"

Illyria frowned in confusion. "Down where, Alistair?"

There was a pause. "How… How did you know my name?"

She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes finally starting to cooperate. "Very funny," she said, a chuckle starting in her throat. But as the image of him focused, she knew something was wrong. Alistair looked down at her, his expression filled with confusion and concern. But his hair was a bit longer, and a short beard covered his face. "How long was I out?" she asked.

"I don't-" Alistair began to answer, but was interrupted by a man's shouting.

"Shem! Hey, where are you?" the other voice called. That one was familiar too, but Illyria could not immediately place it

"I'm over here! I found someone!" Alistair shouted back, then sighed. "I really wish he wouldn't call me that…" he muttered.

Illyria looked around and suddenly realized she was no longer in the meeting hall. She wasn't even in Denerim. Walls of stone surrounded her on all sides, and now that she was more aware of her surroundings, she smelled a distinct hint of sulfur in the air. "What are we doing in the Deep Roads?"

Alistair smiled at her kindly. "I know what I'm doing here, my lady, but I'm sorry to say I don't know why you're here."

"Alistair, I don't understand."

He frowned and looked her in the eyes, searching her face intently. "Have we met before?"

Illyria just stared at him, dumbfounded by the ridiculousness of the question. "I don't… Of course we…"

An elf rounded the corner just then and trotted up to them. "There you are. You shouldn't run off, we've almost…" His voice trailed off as his breath caught in his throat. "Lethallan?" he breathed. He took off his helmet.

Illyria gasped. "Tamlen?"

Tamlen ran to her and caught her in a hug so tight she could almost feel it through her platemail. She sat, stunned, not knowing how to move. "Thank the gods, lethallan!" he exclaimed. "I… I can't believe it! I thought you were dead!"

Illyria wrapped her arms around him, unable to say the words that came to her mind. And I know you're dead, Tamlen. I was the one who killed you.

"What are you doing here? Are you hurt?" He pulled away from her and looked her over. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she was finally able to reply. "I just woke up, and I don't really remember how I got here." She paused, wondering. Is this the Fade? It has to be… How could Tamlen be here otherwise?

"Perhaps you hit your head," he mused, "but you seem to be fine now. Can you stand?"

She nodded and let him help her to her feet. She felt a little unsteady at the sudden movement, but her legs held her steady. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, but she otherwise seemed to have recovered from the spell's effects.

Tamlen turned to Alistair. "This is my best friend, Illyria – the one I told you about," he said proudly. "We've been friends since we were children."

Alistair took Illyria's hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you. And I'm Alistair… Though, somehow you already knew that." He gave her a curious look.

Illyria avoided the unspoken question, and was struck by the strangeness of being introduced to her own husband. "Pleased… to meet you too."

"I still can't believe you're really here," Tamlen said to her, smiling.

Her heart warmed at the familiarity of his smile and his presence. Despite her confusion, she couldn't help but smile back. "I don't even really know where 'here' is," she replied. "I can see we're in the Deep Roads. But where? How far are we from Orzammar?"

"You know of Orzammar?" he said, surprised. "We are miles away from the durgen'len city now. It would take us several hours to get back."

"What are you doing this far into the Deep Roads? Hunting darkspawn?"

Alistair nodded. "Broodmothers, to be precise. We think if we kill off some of them, it might thin the numbers of darkspawn on the surface. Cut them off at the source, so to speak. Maybe give us a chance to win against the Blight."

Illyria blinked. "You're fighting against a Blight?"

"It's what we do," Tamlen told her. "I'm a Grey Warden now. Alistair here is one too."

"Yes, but…" She floundered for words, confused all over again. "What year is this?"

Alistair exchanged similarly confused glances with Tamlen. "9:33 Dragon, of course."

"And the Blight isn't over yet?" she asked incredulously.

Alistair laughed. His laughter was different than she was used to, carrying undertones of bitterness. "You make it sound so easy. It's only been three years since it started. The last two Blights lasted well over a decade. The one before them, 90 years. The first one went on for nearly 200 years. So, no. It's not over yet."

"But…" Illyria protested, but the words died in her throat. If this was the Fade, the demons would be hard-pressed to make her want to stay in a world where the Blight still wore on.

"Would you like to help us hunt broodmothers, lethallan?" Tamlen asked. "I see you have fine armor and weapons. I have an extra bow, if you don't want to carry around that greatsword you have with you."

Illyria touched her sword fondly. The otherworldly metal glowed bright blue and hummed with power. "No, thank you, Tamlen. I prefer the greatsword."

"Can you really wield a sword that's bigger than you are?" Alistair asked in an amused tone.

"I think you'll find I handle large swords quite well, Alistair," Illyria replied with a wink.

He coughed, and blushed furiously. She grinned at him, pleased that this Alistair was not so terribly different from hers.

Tamlen gave her a curious look. "Let's head out, then," he said to them.

They walked in silence for a while as Tamlen led them further into the Deep Roads. Illyria felt strange not being the leader for a change and watched her old friend walk confidently toward the unknown. Fade or no, so much was different about this world already, and she wondered if Tamlen was also. But he is different from your Tamlen, she told herself. Your Tamlen is dead.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Alistair come up to trot alongside her. "So, you're a Grey Warden too, right?"

She blinked, roused from her thoughts. "Yes."

He nodded. "I thought so. I can feel you." His cheeks turned a sudden shade of pink. "That is, I mean… I sense you, like I do with other Grey Wardens."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "I knew what you meant."

Tamlen overheard and stopped to look at her. "You're a Grey Warden too? How did that happen?"

Illyria paused before responding. "I was sick with the taint. A Grey Warden found me and convinced me to take the Joining to save my life."

"Truly?" Tamlen said, surprise apparent in his voice. "That's the same thing that happened to me. Was it because of the mirror?"

She nodded.

"It's lucky that someone found you. When you disappeared through the mirror, they told me you were as good as dead." He looked at his hands. "The clan held a funeral for you and everything."

"I… disappeared through the mirror?" she repeated slowly.

"You don't remember? You touched it and there was a flash of light." Tamlen shook his head as if trying to rid it of the memory. "I blacked out, and the next thing I remember was that shemlen Grey Warden standing over me."

"Duncan," Alistair corrected, gritting his teeth.

"I remember his name," Tamlen snapped.

"Then use it." Alistair glared at him.

"Anyway," Tamlen continued, "the Keeper was able to heal me for a short time, but if I was to survive, I needed the immunity from the Taint that the Joining provides. I'm guessing something similar happened with you?"

Illyria frowned. "Yes, something very much like that…"

Silence returned to their little group as they forged ahead through the winding caverns. The tension between her two companions was palpable. Alistair regarded the elf with obvious, but quiet resentment, while Tamlen didn't seem to regard Alistair at all. Illyria had always wondered if these two men – they who were the two most important people in her life – would have liked each other had they ever met. She supposed she didn't have to wonder anymore.

There was a tingling in her spine that grew more urgent as they went deeper through the caverns, and she could almost hear a soft, unintelligible conversation going on in her head. "Tamlen, do you feel that?" she asked her friend. "There's a nest up ahead."

He nodded. "Tell Shem to get ready."

Illyria opened her mouth to rebuke him for his lack of respect for Alistair, but decided now was not a good time to get into it. She turned and beckoned to him. Alistair must have felt the broodmother's presence as well, as he already had his sword in hand.

"He's ready," she whispered to Tamlen.

He nodded again and docked an arrow in his bow. "Let's go."

They crept into the broodmother's chamber. Perhaps it couldn't sense them, or perhaps had mistaken their presence as other darkspawn, because it did not react when they entered. It was massive and grotesque, its tentacles waving about almost lazily in wide flicking motions. The chamber smelled of blood and rotting flesh. Illyria struggled not to gag at the stench. Tamlen pulled back the arrow in his bow, took careful aim, and sent it flying.

The arrow hit home in the broodmother's chest, and it immediately reared up in agony, bellowing and thrashing its tentacles. The Wardens were on their feet in an instant, ready to charge. But from close beyond the entrance to the chamber, a piercing noise echoed through the Deep Roads.

"Shrieks!" Alistair hissed.

"Go, both of you," Illyria ordered them. "Kill the broodmother. I'll hold the others at bay."

Concern flashed on both their faces, but there wasn't time to argue. Illyria turned toward the entrance as she heard the men fly into battle, bellowing fearsome war cries. In the blink of an eye, a shriek appeared before her, and its slashing claws missed her chest by a quarter of an inch. Others had arrived as well, filling the entryway with more claws and gaping mouths. Illyria pushed them back with a war cry of her own, and swung at them with sweeping arcs of her glowing greatsword. Despite her massive armor, she danced quick steps around the creatures, using both hilt and blade to force them back. It was a dance she knew quite well. She slammed her sword down on top of one shriek before sweeping up in one fluid motion to catch another with a mighty blow. Elf and sword as one swirled around and amongst the darkspawn until all of them had fallen dead at her feet.

Sweat beaded heavily on her brow, and she pulled off her helmet to wipe her face. She leaned on her sword for a moment to catch her breath, feeling at the few places on her armor that had dented under the swipe of the shrieks' claws.

A shout of horror came from behind her. Illyria whipped around and ran toward it, pulling her helmet back on. But as she neared the broodmother, she could tell it was already dead.

"Its face!" Tamlen was screaming. "Her face! By the gods, this can't be!" He backed away from the broodmother, his bow falling from his hands.

"Tamlen, what-" Illyria began to ask as she approached, but Alistair stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Alistair…"

"Don't look," he said in a quiet, choked voice. "Just… don't look."

But it was too late. She saw.

The broodmother's ears were pointed, and though the head had swollen from the taint, it was clear that its face was once slender and delicate. A Dalish tattoo swirled in intricate knots on its forehead, converging to a point where its nose would have been. And resting against its collarbone was a pendant of roughly carved ironbark hanging from a braided leather cord.

Illyria stepped toward the creature and fell to her knees, clutching the ironbark pendant at her own throat. It had been a gift from Tamlen when they were teenagers, during that one summer he was apprenticed to Master Ilen, and found he had no talent for woodworking. But it was the first piece he had ever finished, and Illyria had worn it proudly ever since. Her fingers rubbed against a silverite ring as she touched the pendant. Her wedding ring, held safely by the leather cord. Rare tears sprang to her eyes as she looked up at Alistair, who looked back down at her with deep sadness.

"Is this the Fade?" she whispered, her words coming out almost ghostlike from her numb lips. "This has to be the Fade, right? How could this possibly be real?"

Alistair crouched down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

Illyria searched his face imploringly. "This isn't real, right?" she pleaded. "Please, emma lath, tell me none of this is real!" Tears fell from her cheeks, unbidden.

"I'm sorry," Alistair told her, his voice broken and heartbreaking. "I am so very sorry."

Illyria took comfort in the hand on her shoulder, yet wished it could be more. She leaned into it, her chest heaving in hiccupping sighs. After a few moments, she raised her head to look for Tamlen.

And found him, holding an arrow to her throat.

"Maker's Breath!" Alistair cursed. "Tamlen, what are you doing?"

Tamlen ignored him, never taking his eyes off of Illyria. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you?"

"I am who I always have been, Tamlen," she answered, meeting his gaze.

"And who is that, exactly?" He pressed the arrow to the skin of her neck. A small, single bead of blood came to the surface. "A demon? A shape-shifter? A new kind of darkspawn?"

"I am your friend, lethallin."

He shook his head. "No. My friend is dead," he said, cocking his head in the broodmother's direction. "I just killed my friend. I don't know what you are, but you can't be her. She has the pendant I gave to her."

Illyria slowly and gently brought her hands to her neckline and pulled her pendant out from under the armor. "You mean, this one?"

He shook his head. "That can't be the same one. And I didn't make two."

"Must I really prove myself to you, Tamlen?"

"I think you should," he replied. "Though, I don't know what could possibly convince me."

"Tamlen, please," Alistair spoke up. "Is this really necessary?"

"Quiet, Shem!" Tamlen hissed. "This isn't your concern."

"It's okay, Alistair," Illyria said and turned her attention back to Tamlen. "Shall I regale us all with the story of how you were almost killed by a bear on your first solo hunt? Or how you nearly burned down Master Ilen's aravel when you were making this pendant?"

Tamlen's grip on the bow faltered. "Anyone might know about those things, if they knew our clan. It was public knowledge."

She smirked. "Something more private, then? Let's see…" She paused, thinking. "How about I tell Alistair what you were doing the time I caught you behind the halla pen when you were fourteen?"

Tamlen's face instantly turned bright red, and Illyria was tempted to smile despite herself. "You promised you wouldn't ever speak of that again."

"Was that me? If I'm a demon, I made no such promises."

He lowered the bow and arrow and fell to his knees. Taking the weapons from his hands, she pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry, lethallan," he said, his body shuddering against her.

"I know."

"How is this even possible? How can there be two of you?"

Illyria sighed. "That I don't know."

Alistair stepped forward. "I think I might have an explanation," he said softly. "But let's first leave this place far behind us."