Alistair had never seen Deylan so unnerved. Deylan had proved himself to be steady and calm in the last several weeks, dealing with undead in Redcliffe and werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, but the current state of the Circle tower had unhinged something in him. Since coming across Wynne, his fellow Warden had been furtively checking the bodies wearing mages robes. Each one seemed to relieve him and then unsettle him in the next moment. He hadn't spoken much of the Circle or his time there but Alistair got the distinct impression that he was looking for someone or, perhaps, several someones. Deylan's behavior was setting Alistair on edge. It seemed the pretty bard, Leliana, was feeling the same way.

They were several floors up in the tower when a swell of magic nearby set a the familiar tingling sensation through Alistair. He was about to tell Deylan about his sensing magic when a door just down the hall exploded outward. Wooden splinters flew in all directions quickly followed by an abomination engulfed in flames. The used-to-be-mage was pinned against a wall by a force unseen until a small woman walked out of the splintered door, her face a mask of rage and hurt. The lower half of her robes had been torn off leaving her legs bare to just above the knee. Three large tears across her abdomen exposed torn flesh, partially healed, oozing thick, red blood where it had torn open again. Her feet were bare and her exposed skin was covered in bruises and cuts. She stopped a mere foot away from her target.

"Pathetic mage, I will destroy you!" came a gravely roar from the tortured creature against the wall.

"Not today," came the cold reply. Her hand jerked upright and the abomination was riddled with thick icicles, bottom to top. Her hand lowered and the abomination dropped lifeless to the floor, covering her feet in thick, red blood. She stood motionless until Deylan called out.

"Arie?"

Alistair startled slightly at the sound of his fellow Warden's voice. He'd never heard so much emotion from him before. This was something between a sob and relief.

The mage jerked, turning toward them, staff ready. Magic swelled around her rapidly and then dissipated as recognition washed over her face.

"Deylan?" she squeaked. There was a moment of hesitation, as if she were checking her senses, before she ran toward the man, throwing herself into his embrace. He held her tightly for a moment before pushing her back to look at her face.

Her eyes were brilliant, full of unshed tears of relief and anguish. She was shaking and filthy. The long braid hanging down her back was caked with blood. She'd left a trail of small, red foot prints in her haste down the hall.

"Arie, are you alright?" Deylan asked, his voice colored with concern.

She smiled weakly at him. "A little banged up, but I'm okay." She stared at him in wonder for a moment. "I thought... They said all the Wardens were dead. How are you here?" She reached up and touched the side of his face as if checking to make sure he was tangible.

"Alistair and I were... saved. We can talk about that later. You're injured. Wynne," he turned to the elderly mage, "can you heal her?"

Ilaria seemed to notice that there were others nearby for the first time. "Wynne, you're alright. I saw you fall and I thought for sure that you were gone."

"I'm fine, child. Don't fuss over me. Let's see to you injuries." She pressed the young woman to a seat on the stone bench against the wall.

Alistair watched Ilaria relax in the warm glow of Wynne's healing. It was always fascinating to see wounds close as if they had never been there. The long gashes in Ilaria's abdomen sealed up till only thick, pink lines of new skin evidenced that any injury had ever been present while the bruises slowly faded: purple to green to yellow and disappeared. As Wynne finished the healing spell, Deylan knelt next to Ilaria.

"Arie," he asked in a gentle tone, "where are Anders and Neria?"

She stared at him blankly for several moments. "Anders is locked in the storage room two floors down with all the younger apprentices. We were able to get them there before... when everything started happening." She paused, unwilling or unable to continue.

"And Neria?"

Bright blue-green eyes rose to dark brown ones. Her jaw clenched and she swallowed. "Neria... she..." Her head dropped. "She's gone." One glittering tear made a track through the blood and grim caked on her cheek.

In an unexpected show of tenderness, Deylan kissed the top of Ilaria's head, stroking tendrils of hair pulled lose back. After several moments of silence, he said, "Come, let's take you back to Anders. You can wait with him there."

Ilaria's head jerked up. "NO! Deylan, I'm coming with you. You need me. My magic is meant for battle. Let me help. Please! I... I can't just sit waiting... not knowing..."

He studied her face and sighed. "It would be illogical for me to refuse your help. I know your abilities and based on what we've seen so far, we could use your help."

Alistair clenched his jaw to keep back a flood of comments about not needing any more mages along for the ride. Something in this particular mage's magic had felt strange to him: Deylan's magic was controlled and steady, Morrigan's felt dark and forceful, Wynne's was calm and measured. But this... Ilaria's magic felt wild and emotional. Something about it gave him the distinct impression of the ocean; calm and even one moment, raging and deadly the next.

As if she sensed his thoughts, her head rose and her vivid blue-green eyes met his amber eyes. For a moment he felt immobilized by her gaze. "You must be the other Warden." It was an exclamation, not a question.

"Yes, I'm Alistair."

She inclined her head. "My father was a great admirer of the Grey Wardens. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Ilaria... as you probably heard."

Before he could respond, her eyes moved past him. "This is Leliana," Deylan explained. The women greeted each other in a brief but friendly manner.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" Wynne asked Ilaria.

"A day or two."

As Deylan reached into his pack, Ilaria shook her head and raised a hand to stop him.

"No, Deylan. I'm fine. I don't know if I can keep anything down. I've been taking a lot of lyrium."

Alistair watched Deylan stiffen. Lyrium was addictive. Taking too much at once was dangerous.

"How much have you had?" Deylan asked.

Ilaria's eyes scanned his face for a moment before she responded. She must have been able to see the concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine. I haven't had that much. Just enough to keep going. I've had to use a lot of magic to keep myself safe. I've been able to hide and get some sleep but never for long enough to feel restored. I've only had a few vials and it's been over several days." She smiled weakly. "Let's go. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can rest," her smile grew slightly wider, "and eat... and maybe find some clothes without so many holes."

Deylan's shoulders relaxed, he nodded and they continued on. Hours later, the weary party was just a few floors below the Harrowing Chamber at the top of the tower. Ilaria had led most of the way. She knew the way and her shield spell would block almost any hit and most magic. Alistair was beginning to find her sinuous movements combined with an unusually substantial swath of bare skin distracting. Even the way she placed her feet was a distraction. As they checked room after room, she'd tiptoe several paces ahead on silent feet as if dancing. Her movements were similar to Leliana's but still uniquely her own. He knew part of the distraction was due to fatigue. Even his years of discipline couldn't hold up all the time.

"There," Ilaria said pointing to a heavy wooden door. "The stairs to the top of the tower are in that room." She pressed open the door a walked in. Alistair almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly a few feet in. There was a short entryway into the room which blocked the view of part of the room until it was passed. Stepping ahead of her, Alistair could see what had stopped her - another abomination. Something about this one seemed different that those they had met previously. He felt weighted as the creature's gaze settled on him.

"Ah, look. Visitors. I'd entertain you but... too much effort involved," the gravelly voice rolled toward them.

"A demon of sloth," Ilaria whispered. The fact that she hadn't blasted the monster with fire the moment she saw him alerted Alistair that there truly was something different here.

Deylan's voice was soft, just behind him. "That's Niall."

Alistair almost missed the inert form on the floor at the abomination's feet. He was lying on his back, breathing but his eyes were open, staring sightlessly toward the ceiling.

"He's just resting. Poor lad, he was so very, very weary. You want to join us, don't you. Wouldn't you like to just lay down and... forget about all this? Leave it all behind?" the creature soothed.

Alistair felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. He'd never felt so tired before. His body seemed to be out of his control. "Can't... keep eyes open. Someone... pinch... me." He collapsed heavily to the floor trying to force his eyes open. He could hear Wynne behind him. What is she saying? he wondered. Something about resist... Resist what? He could see Ilaria on the floor a few feet away from him, her had reached toward him, almost touching his face.

"Why do you fight? You deserve more... You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you," the creature spoke.

"Don't... go to sleep..." was all he heard before everything went dark.

Ilaria watched Alistair's eyes close and felt despair wash over her. She couldn't move. Her hand was resting lightly against the sleeping Warden's stubbly chin but she couldn't find the strength to try to wake him or even to speak. She began to drift toward the Fade, her willpower failing her.

You will not sleep now, mage. She knew that voice. How many times had she heard it over the last several years? Every time she was weak it came. We cannot prevent the spell cast on you but I can keep you from its prison but you must fight! Do not close your eyes!

Ilaria forced her eyes open. She still could not will herself to move but she focused on the only thing in her line of sight, Alistair's face. She forced herself to examine him to keep herself awake. She tried focusing her energy toward him, wanting him to wake, wanting anyone to wake. After a while, the moments blurred together and she simply waited, cold and weak on the stone floor.

Deylan fought his way through the demon's prison, vanquishing one foe after another, freeing first Wynne, then Leliana and Alistair from their own dreams. Five demons had been defeated before there was a way open to the sloth demon that held them captive and he still could not find her in this maze. Over and over he would hear her voice calling, "Wake up." It was always echoing, indistinct. He could never locate where it was coming from. Sometimes he thought he'd see her at the edge of his vision but when he would turn she wouldn't be there.

The battle with the sloth demon was challenging but over more quickly than he expected. He imagined the demon was weakened with each dream that was destroyed. The moment the demon died, his vision flashed to darkness and then he found himself opening his eyes as he lay on the floor of the tower. The others were stirring around him as well, slowly shaking off sleep. He was relieved to see Ilaria rise.

"I couldn't find you," he whispered to her while the others prepared to continue. Her expression was guarded when she replied.

"I... didn't sleep. I was able to stay awake but I couldn't move or speak."

Deylan was puzzled. "How were you able to resist? That was an incredibly powerful spell."

She turned away as she spoke. "The demon must have been stretching too far to compel all of us to sleep. He probably would have gotten me eventually." She walked toward the stairs. Deylan couldn't shake the feeling that she was hiding something from him.

They were almost to the top of the tower. Just a half flight of stairs in the next room stood between them and their goal. They were stopped by the sight of a powerful shield made prison. Ilaria approached the shimmering wall, using her magic to study it. Through the rippling wall she could see several motionless bodies on the floor. A single form paced within. He turned and brown eyes in a familiar face met hers.

"Cullen? Are you alright?" she asked, rushing forward.

"This trick again?" he exclaimed. "I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong..." he said, dropping to his knees, preparing to pray.

"Cullen, it's me..."

Wynne stepped up to her side. "The boy is exhausted," she said, her tone riddled with sympathy.

"I've never seen anything like this... cage before. It surpasses my shield ten times over. I cannot break it," Ilaria told her mentor.

Wynne directed her attention back to the caged templar. "Rest easy... help is here."

"Enough visions! If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs... Sifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the things I always wanted but could never have. Using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with mages... mages, of all things! Two beautiful women... both so different but each so sweet... and always together..." He sobbed. "I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks... these..."

"Cullen," Ilaria soothed, trying to control the blush rising to her cheeks. She knew that Cullen had shown interest in Neria but she never suspected that her kindness toward him had flamed feelings toward her as well. "This isn't a trick. I'm going to..."

"Silence!" he demanded, rising to his feet. I'll not listen to anything you say! Now, begone!" She watched him squeeze his eyes shut. She remained silent, searching for something to say that could take away the hurt he was feeling. Several moments passed before he opened his eyes, a wild, panicked look to them. "Still here? But that's always worked before." He ran a hand over his face. "I close my eyes but you are still here when I open them."

"Cullen," she said again, trying to focus his attention. "I'm really here. Whatever they did to you, I think..."

"I am beyond caring what you think!" he shouted. "The Maker knows my sin, and I pray he will forgive me."

Ilaria felt a wave of sadness and sympathy wash over her. Regardless of how he felt toward her, she didn't want his memories of Neria tainted. Neria was gone. "What you felt wasn't wrong..." she said, trying to soothe him.

"It was foolish fancy of a naive boy," he said, bitterness leaking into his tone. "I know better now. They caged us like animals... looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left... They turned some into... monsters. And... there was nothing I could do." Ilaria could hear the barely chocked back sobs in his voice.

"Cullen... I'm sor..."

He interrupted, raging again. "And to think, I once thought we were too hard on you. Only mages have that much power at their fingertips. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons."

Ilaria turned her gaze back to Deylan. He must have seen the desperation in her eyes. He came and stood beside her.

"Enough, Cullen. You must calm yourself," he said in a firm, soft voice.

She watched Cullen's gaze flicker to Deylan, seeing him for the first time. "You... Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?"

"This was my home. Is it really so surprising?" he replied.

"As it was mine. And look what they've done to it! They deserve to die. Uldred most of all," the templar snapped.

"Where are the other mages?"

"They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there... oh, Maker... You can't save them! You don't know what they've become." Ilaria could see Cullen was becoming frantic again.

"There are still three mages before you," she stated softly.

"You haven't been up there. You haven't been under their influence. They've been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts," he wailed.

Alistair spoke for the first time, his voice, though hushed, startled her. "His hatred of mages is so intense... the memory of his friends' deaths is still so fresh in his mind." She felt tears building in her eyes. She'd watched mages and templars die over the last few days, some of them friends but she had been able to fight back. To have been trapped, unable to fight, watching friends tortured, dying... the thought tore at her.

Deylan's fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling her toward the stairs leading to the Harrowing Chamber. She gave Cullen on last anguished look before turning and following the others.

"You have to end it now! Before it's too late. To ensure this horror is ended... to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there!" he called after them. Ilaria took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come.

Cullen began pacing again as the weight of the Harrowing Chamber door shut behind Ilaria and the others. After several moments of silence, a loud roar shook the room and he could hear the sounds of battle swelling. For a long time the shouts and cries were indiscernible but then he heard something that broke through the haze of rage and anguish - Ilaria's cry of pain. Memories of her began to swell, unbidden, as he dropped to the floor, hands over his ears.

The first time he saw her, pulling her from the filthy prison floor, her eyes frightened but determined blurred into a memory of standing, shoulders squared before the Knight-Commander, unshakable. And then, the sound of her laugh as it rolled out of her, like soft chimes, all warmth and pleasure. The way her lips quirked before she really smiled...

Her lips... A new wave of memories surged forth, memories of more recent times. Memories that never really happened. Her warm, soft lips meeting his, running over his jaw, down his neck and bare chest, lower... Long, slender fingers tantalizing, teasing... Pale, ivory skin glowing, inviting his touch... Her standing exposed before him, enticing him with her eyes and gestures. Neria standing beside her, their hands exploring each other for him to see.

"No, no, no, no..." he said over and over. Trying to force away the demon dreams. Then the most painful of all came crashing full force over him. Ilaria and Neria flicked in his vision, each filling the roll, his longing never settling on one or the other.

They would be standing, staring into the setting sun, wind rippling through long, loose hair. A smiling face would turn to him as he approached. His eyes would follow the silhouette down to the full swell of a belly ripe with child. His child.

Cullen allowed the tortured sobs to overtake him. There were no more demons before him to tempt him with this sweetest dream but he would never be free of it and now it was tainted by their touch. He'd been so certain when he took his vows but his blossoming feelings had unlocked a dream within him he never knew he carried. Had it been anyone but a mage...

After a few minutes, his crying dissipated and then stopped altogether. He remained kneeling on the floor, willing it to end, one way or another, when suddenly, his glimmering cage disappeared and he was free. Uldred is dead, he thought. He rose and rushed up the stairs, bursting through the door in time to see Ilaria lifting herself from the floor. Her lip was split and bleeding, and she held her arm against her body gently. It looked broken. When she began to walk toward the First Enchanter who was, miraculously still alive, she limped and winced. A river of relief flowed through him but he couldn't help feeling that it would be better if she were dead. He turned, unseen and ran down through the tower, unsure of what he might find.