Chapter 7
The stairs grew shorter as they raced down them, the great hall of the portcullises shrinking to a doorway as they sprinted through. Nathaniel felt even the earth beneath them contract, speeding them along, until suddenly he could no longer hear Cauthrien's footsteps beside him at all.
He stumbled and slowed as he looked over his shoulder. She stood at the gateway to the home she had built, and she stared out, afraid.
"Cauthrien-"
"Give me a moment," she rasped, the sound barely carrying.
He swallowed thickly. "No," he said. "No, stay here. I'll take care of this. Protect-" yourself, your spirit, your home.
The soldier, now in armor once again, shook her head. "These walls can be rebuilt."
She didn't sound certain. Not at all.
"Stay here," he said again, and turned from her. It wasn't so far to that next island. He would find way across. He-
Her booted footsteps seemed too loud as she closed the space between them. Her expression, when he glanced her way, was set. The walls behind her were crashing down, and he tried not to falter or wince. These walls can be rebuilt, he told himself.
When he glanced back again, there was nothing. No walls. No fields. No cottage.
The Fade had taken it all back.
"This way," Cauthrien said, veering off down a narrow pass. When had she gotten ahead of him? Her strides seemed longer, heavier, and he fought to keep up with her. Surana. Surana was being torn apart in the Fade. If the demons took her, he wouldn't ever find a way out. His body would waste away in a room with Cauthrien's corpse, while an Abomination wearing Surana's skin would be unleashed on Denerim. He ran faster.
Cauthrien didn't stop at the edge of the island they were on, instead barrelling forward and taking a leap. He closed his eyes and followed. His feet struck hard ground, and he looked down to see a stone bridge forming before them and crumbling behind them.
"Focus on the distance between us," Cauthrien called over her shoulder, "and shrink it. Fold it."
He tried to see stones shrinking, mortar disappearing, but the bridge only began to buckle beneath him. He swore and jumped forward to Cauthrien's section, immediately abandoning those images. The stone firmed up.
There. There, on the horizon, were the cliffs and towers of the next island. He could see Surana, a flare of burgundy and green against the shifting sky. In the Blackmarsh, she had seemed like a banner. Here, though, her spirit was like wool rovings, unravelling, being drawn away bit by bit. His gut turned to lead.
"Sloth," Cauthrien whispered.
"What?"
"There-" she said, pointing to a dull grey that seemed to be weaving in to Surana. "That's Sloth. I've faced demons like it before, but not often. Be careful. It will make you want to lay down all of yourself, and sleep for ages. Hold something in your thoughts that requires action, that you need to be able to do. It's the only defense I've found."
Nathaniel nodded, skin prickling. He had faced desire, hunger, pride, and even once wanted to punch Justice in a moment of bad judgement and ire. He could do this.
He focused and brought forth a bow from the ether, along with replicas of arrows he had fletched, brilliant enough in his mind from how many hours he had handled them. His armor coalesced around him, replacing the bare echo of clothing that had covered him before. He stepped off the stone bridge, lifted his bow, nocked an arrow, and drew back.
The ground folded and shrunk between him and the grey wisp, and soon he could make out the head of the creature, a narrow target. With a breath, he released.
The arrow stopped mere inches from the demon's head at an upturned hand, that then turned over and batted down lazily. Nathaniel watched as the arrow bounced and rolled on the ground, and came to rest against the crumpled form of Surana.
She was curled on her side. He couldn't see any blood or any injuries, but her breathing was shallow. Her eyes appeared open, but were unfocused and unseeing. Cauthrien drew up beside him, and spared him a faint, grim smile before stepping forward.
"Release her," she said, voice clear and loud.
The demon turned to her, frowning. "Oh," it said. "It's you. I don't have the energy for you." It made a shooing motion with one hand, and she flew back as if an ogre had slammed a fist into her gut. She tumbled across the ground, and before she could rise, Nathaniel had loosed another arrow, only to have it batted away again. "Stop that," the demon said, voice slow and thick. "I'm not interested in you two."
Cauthrien crawled to her feet again. This time, she said nothing as she advanced with slow steps, as if trying not to startle their foe. The demon just watched, heavy-lidded.
"You don't want to fight," it sighed. "You want to go back to your fortress. There's a cottage there that you like, hm? Very relaxing. No demons at all. No enemies."
The muscles in her neck jumped in the moment before a helmet formed around her head and she rushed forward, sword appearing in her hands as she swung down hard across her body. He loosed another arrow, and this time it struck the distracted demon. It groaned and lashed out with one arm, and again Cauthrien staggered back.
Thick, dark liquid welled up in the cut along its front and dripped down its side from where the arrow was lodged. Those wounds would have killed a man. Nathaniel grit his teeth. Demons didn't have the decency to die easily.
"That wasn't nice," the demon said, as he reached out and caught Cauthrien's next swing. It grunted as another arrow slammed into its side, then shook his head. "You can't win, you know," it continued. "So why," it said as it wrenched the blade from Cauthrien's hands, "don't you just," as he struck her down and turned to Nathaniel, "rest?"
The full brunt of its power washed over him, blotting out the already dull colors of the Fade, and it was all he could do to think about- killing darkspawn. Yes, that would take energy, that would take so much effort. His bow dropped to the ground and he grit his teeth at the sound. He had to leave this place, and kill Cauthrien's body, and...
But killing darkspawn was grueling, and messy, and some days he hated it more than anything in the world. He shook his head, trying to think of the days when it was pure elation, when every death made his blood sing from the Taint in it. The Taint. He'd never have a family. He'd never really trust himself around his nephew, because what if it took him?
Cauthrien. He tried to focus on her wretched body, chained and rotted and possessed. She deserved an end.
Except it was far easier to think of her in her cottage, every detail of her life becoming crystal clear once more, every comfort becoming all the more soft and welcoming. He could do that for her. He had done that for her.
That took effort, right?
