Chapter 8

9:30 Dragon, Brecillian Forest

The Dalish weren't quite as friendly as Surana had hoped.

Meeting the Dalish is like a childhood dream for many a city-dwelling elf, her included. Every poor elf child hears tales of their free cousins, living away from human persecution. But it isn't what she expected. They greet her as an outsider, rather than long lost family; most were cordial, but she was not one of them, and she felt it.. She didn't want to admit to her companions that she was let down, so the next day, she channels the energy into tearing apart the undead residents of the Brecillian Forest.

"Left!" Alistair shouts.

Tamsin spins in the direction, magic already at her fingertips, and splashes flames into the face of an undead corpse. Inconveniently, the Veil is thin enough here to create such things. She doesn't thank him, only returns to their fight, shooting a bolt of lightning at an enemy who is creeping up behind Leliana. With the dead put back to rest, they push deeper into the ruins.

"Werewolves, corpses, giant spiders - what the fuck's next?" Surana exclaims, leading the way deeper into the ruins. She wishes she hadn't lost her staff at Ostagar, if only to knock the damn beasts back a few paces while she casts. If only it was easier to come across those things.

"I have a bad feeling about this…" Leliana trails off.

"Do you think the werewolves ever take vacation?" Alistair quips. "I could use one right about now, should we ask them?"

"Oh, come on, you two. It's only Monday," Surana says. Panelan ruffs lowly in agreement, trudging on near the head of the party. Sten trails silently at the back, sword drawn and at the ready.

As the group steps into the next room, a large room, full of traps, which Leliana quickly points out. She moves ahead of the party to begin disarming them, while the others spread out and look for threats.

"Careful, Panelan," Tamsin warns.

A roar interrupts them about halfway into the room. To their great surprise, a young dragon rushes forwards, charging for Leliana, who dives agilely out of the way. Alistair jumps ahead, charging with his shield to take the brunt of the beast's damage. The bard pulls out her bow, and begins shooting from the dragon's flank. Sten, from the other side of the room, shouts and charges the beast - Surana thinks she can see an echo of joy on his face, just barely.

Tamsin rushes to the side, aiming with ice to shatter the dragon's wings as a first step. They were the weakest point. She coats them, and Sten's sword cuts into the left one, shattering thin parts and mutilating the rest. Alistair bashes its head with his shield, leaving room for Leliana to dig a few arrows into its flank.

"Sten, watch out!" Surana barely has time to shout before the dragon's right leg kicks him in the side, knocking him off balance. She shoots a spike of ice over Sten's head, which justs into the dragon's neck. It keels in pain, and Alistair rushes forwards to finish it off, pinning its head with his shield, and stabs his sword deep into the beast's chest.

The party backs off to breathe, a bit of shock settling over them. A dragon is a new experience, even small.

"Didn't expect that," Surana mutters, more to herself, then continues, louder, "Should we keep moving? Witherfang won't cut his own heart out."

Wordlessly agreeing, the party gathers their bearings - and fill their bags from the dragon's hoard - and continues through the ruin. As the reach the end of the room, Sten finally speaks up.

"Some architect clearly suffered from an unrequited love of the pointed arch."

Surana moves out of her previous thoughts, surprised by the sudden comment. She glances up at the ceiling, observing the architecture, and then stifles a short laugh before finally giving into full laughter. The image of Sten sitting over a desk, studying architecture, strikes her.

They move into the lower ruins.

As soon as they do so, Surana is on edge. The stone walls, the chill - it's all to familiar. It's all she can do to focus on the fighting and forcefully press forwards as rapidly as possible. As long as she didn't panic, she'd survive. She stops responding to her companion's quarries and sticks constantly to Panelan's side. She keeps one hand on him whenever possible. It helps, mildly.

An elven ritual, some dead spiders and a few dead shades later, Surana makes the interesting discovery of an ancient phylactery. She lifts it carefully, studying the blood inside. She senses a presence of some sort.

"A trapped spirit?" she muses aloud. Images flit through her mind, she spirit communicating in quick emotions and imagery. An ancient elf, a mage, though her memories are jumbled. She fled battle, believing someone would come for her, but no one did. Wordlessly, Surana inquires for more information with her own feelings.

The elf was a mage and a warrior - Dirth'ena'salin - an Arcane Warrior. Fascinated, Surana presses for more information, a million questions forming in her mind at once. How was such a thing done?

The presence can teach, she says. She can share her remaining knowledge, and finally rest.

Surana steps back for a moment, considering if this could be the Fade, or this creature a demon, but finds herself awake and surrounded by her alarmed and confused companions. Alistair takes a step towards her, arm reached out, but Surana snaps her attention back to the phylactery, agreeing simultaneously before Alistair could stop her.

Images overtake her. Memories flood into her mind that are not her own. One hand on the phylactery and one on her forehead, she reels back, losing all sense of her physical form as she is absorbed into the body of the ancient elf - the warrior without a name. She sees her - the warrior, in silver armour, with brilliant blonde hair and the vallaslin of Andruil tattooed on her face. It is a reflection. Her memories flit in front of Surana's eyes, and into her limbs. She moves with the warrior.

She is a young girl, training under a strict tutor, late for lessons. She trains for years, flickering past her vision, with an older man, also bearing Andruil's vallaslin. She grows into a woman, learning with him, day to day. She is called Ashavise. She's late for lessons, and she has to do many dishes that night.

She is older, no longer training with the man, surrounded by a group of other warriors - friends, she feels - three men and another woman. One bears the vallaslin of Dirthamen, the rest Andruil. They train together, and patrol. One day, the man with Dirthamen's vallaslin is gone - Surana does not know why. She can't understand their words, though they flow from her mouth as a native speaker, she can barely wrap her mind around their meaning as it flies through her head. She can't keep up with the words.

A woman is walking through a courtyard. Surana watches from the crowd, one among many, both armoured and not, all elves, painted with vallaslin - save the one woman, with vibrant red braids, walking through the centre of the crowd, which parts in front of her and her entourage. She is flanked by similarly dressed warriors, minimal vallaslin on their faces, expressing devotion to Andruil. They look fierce, though behind them trail servants, who look cowed and afraid. Surana peers at the faces of those around her - they seem discouraged, unhappy, some concerned.

Some time later, the woman still present in Surana's temple city, they are out on a hunt. They ride harts, Surana included, feeling as though she has done so all her life. Words flow from her mouth to her companions - Elvhen, too quick for her to understand so quickly. Someone cries out, having sighted their prey, and Ashavise turns to shoot - it is a young boy. An arrow pierces his back.

A battle. Ashavise is fighting, a whirlwind through a sea of other vallaslin-wearing elves. At the head of the field, on a chariot, sits the woman from before, without vallaslin. Magic and the blade combine. Surana is comfortable in the style, moving reflexively through the field.

She's being whipped. One of her friends was a traitor.

More battles follow. Sometimes, they fight elves with different vallaslin - sometimes they also bear dedications to Andruil. Eventually, they begin facing mixed armies, or forces that bear no vallaslin at all. They achieve great success.

Then great failure. They face force of elves, greater in number, without vallaslin, led by a tall man, with flowing black hair. Magic flies around the battlefield and she runs - fleeing for the temple, for the vial.

"Tamsin. Tamsin!"

Her body is being shook. Hands are on her shoulders. Her body feels foreign, her surroundings unfamiliar.

"Mahn ea ar? Ar ea ena'sal'in'amelan, sul'ana Andruil. Ar ea Ashavise, tas ma ea sul'ema su panathe!" Ashavise shouts, jumping to her feet and leaving the vial abandoned on the altar. She can't make sense of her surroundings, and confused, she stops, squinting at Leliana.

"Shem'len? Sul'ana ra harellan?"

Ashavise spins around in the temple room, seeking her long gone weapon. When she doesn't find it, she begins scrambling about the room.

"Tamsin, are you in there?" Alistair steps towards her, but Ashavise raises an arm, coated in fire. Their eyes met and Alistair moves back. The flames extinguish.

"Has she been possessed? Alistair, do something!" Leliana cries.

Slowly, the mage's movements slow down, digging through rubble less vigorously until she stops entirely. Surana comes back to herself, gradually regaining control of her body. She can't speak, but rather stands dumbly for a few moments, trying to recall her situation. She has experienced an entire other lifetime - an immortal Elvhen one.

Withdrawn into herself, it's a shock when she's hit with a holy smite.

It doesn't knock her out as it might have a child. No, instead, she feels every bit of it seeping into her and severing her from the Fade. Panic comes over her, her breathing sharp. She clatters to the ground, lying in a pile of rubble. She feels it when her companions circle her. Their closeness fills her with revulsion.

The walls around her are too familiar. She can't feel the Fade, the Veil, no matter how hard she reaches for it. As she fails to grasp it, her panic grows. She's back in her solitary confinement cell. The stone floor scrapes against her bare arms, just as it did then. She can't breathe, her chest is constricting, her lungs refuse to fill. She can't move from her position lying on her side.

She thinks she's going to die, and when she loses consciousness, she thinks she has.

Tamsin was out for only a few minutes. When she comes to, she's greeted by worried faces. The first comfort to her is Panelan, standing over her lap, having chased Leliana and Alistair back to a distance. Sten remained, guarding the door, ever practical. Her breathing is nearly normal, though the tightness in her chest has only subsided marginally, she grasps Panelan tightly and tries to gain control of her own body.

She has to order her memories. Her sense of time is jumbled, and she begins retracing their steps and the days since Ostagar. When she has finally oriented herself in time, she feels more secure. She is in a Dalish ruin, hunting a werewolf's heart. She is Tamsin Surana, a Grey Warden. Unfortunately.

Ashavise was an ancient Elvhen warrior who had done a memory transfer.

She can delve into the elf's memories, if she thinks about it. Actually, it is far easier to do than is comfortable. She remembers training at a temple as a young girl - but no, that wasn't her. She pushes the memories from her current thoughts. She would have to deal with that later.

She stands on shaky legs, steadying herself on her loyal mabari. Her magic is returning to her, if weaker than before. She wishes she had a staff, now, to fight with.

"I am myself," she says to Alistair and Leliana. They are the only words she says until they reach the werewolves.

Each time she looks at Alistairs face, she recalls that he hit her with a Holy Smite. He nauseates her.

Surana wonders how she'd ever let herself begin to trust him.

A Templar is a Templar.

"When I was told that Zathrian had rediscovered immortality, I was hoping for something a bit different," Surana says.

"It seems t'was not his goal in creating this curse," Morrigan replies. They exchange a smile.

Their party, returned to the Dalish camp after the successful breaking of the curse, was camped for the night. Surana had instructed them to remain a few days for a few reasons. The one she will never speak is that she's shaken from her experiences, and needs time to sort her mind out. The second is that Varathorn is crafting a custom weapon for her, from ironbark, as it is the first time they've encountered someone with the skills to craft a mage's staff. Surana was very specific, drawing on memories from Ashavise, in describing and drawing schematics with him. The third was simply to allow the party a day or two's rest, which no one save Sten objected to.

The mages, sitting before a fire, pass a few seconds in silence.

"Tamsin," Morrigan begins, the stops. Surana looks up at her.

"Yes?"

"Do you still wish to learn to change your shape?"

Surprised, Tamsin wakes up. Her eyes were heavy, but now, curiosity lit up her face. "Very much."

Morrigan leaned back against the stump she sat against. "I will teach you. Perhaps we can begin tomorrow?"

Tamsin nodded slowly, resting back in her bedroll. The two has set up Morrigan's tent next to a fire, separated from the rest of camp. Tamsin wanted one eye on Alistair, though she did not fully want to admit it. The open air and space from those she did not trust fully was the best thing for her at the moment, and Morrigan asked no questions on the subject.

The elf drifted off by the fireside, sleep overtaking her quickly after the full days.

The next thing she knew, she was in the Fade. Delighted, she finds the familiar environment of her dreamspace. It is a space she could see outside of the Circle Tower's windows, a clearing in the trees by the lakeside. The Tower, looming over her, ever present, inescapable… but she ignores it, as she is outside. Free of it.

Her dreamspace appears as such, and always has, since she has few memories to build a comfortable space with. Had she been able to imagine herself farther from the Tower, she would have done so in the first place. But now, now if she looks around, it's nowhere in sight. She's finally out.

She could change the dreamscape.

"But to what?" she mutters.

She isn't sure. The places she has been… Ostagar, Lothering, Redcliffe, the Dalish camp… They aren't happy places.

Perhaps the inn she'd stayed at with Duncan. That had been a happy night.

She pictures it, struggling to push her perception on the environment around her. It has never been a perfectly easy task, but it was possible. Instead, her imagination and memories fail her.

She hasn't dreamt, aside from darkspawn nightmares, since leaving the Circle. Even so, it's obvious the Fade is different today. A bit less mutable, a bit fuzzier. She'd been able to tell as soon as she arrived. She wonders if it is the Taint, or the blood magic, or if she simply isn't sleeping as well. She always dreamt stronger, clearer, than the other mages; the Enchanters told her it was because her magic was stronger. At times, though, she wondered which was the cause and which the consequence. Was perhaps her magic stronger because she was more connected to the Fade, instead?

"Tamsin!"

Startled, Tamsin finds Curiosity has arrived in her space. She realizes she must have been open to the spirit. And questioning. For a moment, she is disappointed, since she has not been in the Fade for so long that she thought to enjoy peace. Immediately, she realizes she may not dream again for some time, and would prefer to speak with her friend.

"I've watched some of what you've done! You've gone so far. Are you a Grey Warden, now? I've heard of those before. How does one become a Grey Warden, exactly? Is there a ceremony? Do you swear an oath?"

"Curiosity! Slow down, friend." Tamsin sits back on her usual rock, and her friend joins her nearby. It is different, to speak with her, unworried that her Circle companions will find out and think her dangerous. "Yes, there is a ceremony, and actually, it's rather more complex than you might expect. See, they have this blood mixture…"

The purple-glowing young woman pays rapt attention as the mage explains the details of becoming a Grey Warden, and the consequences of it.

"Fascinating!" the spirit exclaims. She processes the information faster than Surana ever could, and immediately presses onto the next issue. "You said you feel different? More distant?"

"I don't know if it's the taint, the blood magic, or coincidence."

"Blood magic!" the spirit glances around. "Did you speak to another spirit? But, to answer your question, yes, I would hazard that it is the blood magic."

"No, I did not speak with another spirit. My…" Friend? "Jowan. He taught me the basic principle of the thing. Truly, I know very little about it. I can barely conjure a flame." She sighs. "So it's… weakened my connection? To the Fade?"

"In a way. I'm uncertain about how your waking mana will be affected, but in my experience, blood mages are less aware of their surroundings. Their lucidity can fade when sleeping. I have watched blood mages dream, and considered that perhaps that is why your teachers say they are more susceptible to demons."

Surana, mind working slower than the spirit's, has to process this new information for a moment. She leans back, running her hands through her hair.

"I could have taught you, you know."

At that, Surana tilts her head to peer over at the spirit. "For what, a ride in my skin?"

"No." Curiosity manages to look affronted. "That might be interesting, but I would lose out on the long-term benefit of discussions with you."

"Oh."

Curiosity waves Surana over, so she slides down to sit cross-legged across from her.

"So if you're really planning on helping me with this, Curiosity, I'm going to need a stated, understood agreement. I don't plan on accidentally giving away my fucking body." Or gods know what else.

"Very well. Practical," she replies. "I will help you learn to use blood magic. In return, when we meet, you will tell me of your experiences in the world and anything new you learned. As we do now."

Surana shrugs, agreeing. She nods to Curiosity, indicating she should continue.

"Then. Let's practice."

The spirit laughed joyously.