A.N. - As I mentioned in the first run-through of this chapter, I'm not a big fan of the Fade sequence in the game. It felt very much like the Spellhold exploration in BG2: like a gameshow with stats and gadgets as prizes and very little in the way of story or plot advancement (BG2 still wins the WTF? prize with the boot vending machine, though).

Please tell me someone out there knows what I'm talking about.

The Skip The Fade mod is always at the top of my list of downloads, but it does keep the companion dream sequences which, while a bit bare bones, did offer some glimpses into their personalities. My complaint about the Warden's dream remains the same, though; once the developers had gone to the trouble and expense of creating all the different Origins, would it really have been so hard to do a dream sequence for each one that might have seemed at least marginally tempting? The answer probably lies somewhere on the bottom line, because ultimately it seems to be the bean-counters that decide what goes into a game.

"Talia!"

She turned to see Oren running headlong atop the high garden wall. She heard Oriana gasp behind her, but the boy was already at the edge and jumping. She reached up, catching him easily, feeling small arms encircling her neck and sticky lips kissing her cheek, hearing a child's high, clear laugh rising in the air.

"Honey cakes?" She drew back, glaring at him in mock accusation. "And you didn't bring me any?"

He grinned unrepentantly, showing the gap where one of his front teeth had come out earlier in the week, then screamed with delight as she tossed him over one shoulder and carried him up the slope to join their mothers in the garden.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Oriana scolded her. "He's getting too big for such antics. What if you drop him?"

"Too big?" Talia gripped him by the ankles and dangled him in the air briefly before lowering him to the ground. "He's got a long way to go before he's too big for me."

"But at the rate he's been growing, he will get there all too quickly," Eleanor Cousland reminded her daughter. "Ease your sister's mind and promise her?"

"You heard them, Oren," Talia told her nephew, tousling his hair. "No more jumping off the wall."

The boy nodded, looking properly penitent, but the sly gleam in his eye just before he darted off made it clear that he understood her: Not when they're watching, anyway.

"You're good with him," Oriana told her with a smile. "You'll be a wonderful mother."

"That's getting a bit ahead of things," the Teyrna put in, giving her daughter a pointed look. "I'd be happy just to see her in the company of a young man first."

"For what…sparring?" Talia asked, feigning ignorance. "If that's the case, I'll need at least three. The new recruits are a lazy bunch."

"Talia!" Oriana gasped, looking scandalized. "Such a thing is hardly seemly." She looked the model of the proper wife, but there was the faintest hint of mischief in her eyes as she added, "Such matters must be handled with discretion. Never let the exact number of your lovers be known."

"You're not helping." Eleanor tried for sternness, but laughter won out. Oriana's eyes had not strayed from Fergus since their handfasting, and the Teyrna knew it. Talia joined in the laughter, but she could tell from her mother's expression that the lecture was not over.

"That Orlesian tailor should be here sometime in the next month, and none too soon," she announced, peering up at her youngest in exasperation. "You've completely outgrown the dresses I had made for you last year."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Talia replied innocently, though if she had known of a way to do just that, she wouldn't have hesitated. "Maybe you should wait until I'm done growing?"

"I'll be putting a flatiron on your head if you grow any more," her mother retorted. "You're near as tall as Fergus already."

"I'm not that tall," Talia protested. She'd been a bit self conscious about her height last year, when her growth had outstripped her coordination, leaving her struggling with limbs that seemed to have doubled in length overnight, but she had simply pushed herself all the harder at her swordwork, until she had regained the ground lost and then some.

"Sure you are," Fergus said as he joined them with Oren clinging to his back. "You'll have to double her dowry, Mother, to get a man to accept a wife who looks down at him." He grinned at his younger sister, easily dodging the swat she aimed at his head.

"I'm sure that a man would have a harder time accepting a wife who would rather cross swords with him than dance with him," Eleanor observed tartly. "I was a battlemaid of no small skill, but it was the gentler arts that won me a husband."

"What if I don't want a husband yet?" Talia groused, accepting Oren as the boy scrambled from his father's back into her arms. "It's not like there's anyone around who – what are you doing, Sprout?" Oren was twisting in her arms, reaching downward.

"Want to see your sword!" he demanded, reaching for the hilt of Starfang as she set him down.

"It's not a toy, Oren," she reprimanded him, as she gently but firmly peeled his hands away before he could pull the shimmering blade from its sheath.

Starfang? But…

"Talia? What's wrong?" Her mother put a cool hand to her brow, and Talia realized that she had been swaying.

"Nothing." She gave her head a little shake. "It's just –"

Starfang isn't here, it's after here…after…

"Where…where did I get this sword?"

After what?

Her mother and brother exchanged a worried glance. "Father had it made for you, remember?" Fergus said. "That traveling smith…Dryden, wasn't it?"

"Not Dryden," Oriana said abruptly, shaking her head. "I can't remember his name, but it wasn't that."

"No," Talia agreed without thinking. "The Drydens are at Soldier's Peak."

Where?

"Where?" Fergus echoed her thoughts unknowingly. "Mother, I think you might want to summon the healer."

"No, I'm fine." Talia stared down at the hilt of the longsword that she knew had been forged from starmetal, trying to remember how she knew.

Soldier's Peak? Where is that? Dryden?

"Arl Howe…he attacked us…" She frowned, trying to grasp at memories that slid out of her reach like quicksilver. "Didn't he? And you." She stared at Fergus. "You were riding to Ostagar, to lead our militia against the Blight, with King Cailan."

The look that her mother gave her was full of tender concern. "That was a nightmare you had, love. You had a fever, don't you remember?" She looked anxiously to her son.

"Sit down, Pup, and let Mother bring the healer to look you over," he told Talia reassuringly. "There was never a Blight, and Rendon Howe is Father's closest friend." He put a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away.

"You never call me Pup." She frowned at him. "Where is Father?"

He's dead. Howe killed him when –

"I'm right here, Pup." Bryce Cousland slipped an arm around his daughter's shoulders, regarding her quizzically. "What's wrong?"

"I think she may have gotten hit on the head in sword practice," Fergus replied worriedly. "She's talking about that nightmare again."

"It was a dream, Pup," her father soothed her with a hug, and she felt herself relaxing, but the questions refused to be stilled. "Just a dream."

If it was a dream, how did I get Starfang? Starfang isn't here, Starfang comes after…after what?

Her hand gripped the hilt more tightly as Oriana said. "Perhaps it is time that she gives up such things. It seems so unnatural, a woman fighting in battles. Perhaps it is not good for her."

"I wouldn't go that far," Fergus protested. "She enjoys it, and there's no denying that she's good at it. Besides," he added, giving his wife a sly glance, "I've heard that Antivan women are plenty dangerous."

"Only with kindness and poisons, husband," came the prim reply.

His laugh rang out. "This from the woman who brings me my tea!"

Eleanor and Bryce's laughter joined Fergus', and Oren began laughing, too, simply because the adults were. The sound was sweet, drawing Talia in, but –

"No." She backed away, shaking her head slowly, staring down at the sword. "This isn't right. This sword shouldn't be here. It belongs…after."

After what?

"If it troubles you, Pup, give it to me and I'll put it away for now." Her father extended a hand to her, his brown eyes warm with concern, and Talia felt a wave of relief. Yes, that was it. She'd let him put the sword away, and the troubling thoughts would go with it. Her father always knew what to do. She shifted her hand to her sword belt.

Mikhael Dryden made the sword. He saw the star fall from the sky and found the starmetal and made the sword. He gave it to you at Soldier's Peak, to use against the darkspawn; that came after Lothering, and that came after Ostagar and Duncan, and that came after -

"You're dead." She took another step back, her hand returning to Starfang's hilt, feeling the enchantments that thrummed within it.

Sandal enchanted it, Sandal Feddic, Bodahn's son that he found on the Deep Roads…

Who?

"You're dead, all of you." She pulled the sword from its sheath, holding it in front of her like a talisman. "I remember."

Her father sighed. "You see us now, don't you?" he asked, his voice softly persuasive. "You're with your family. We love you. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

"I –" The tip of the sword wavered. This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? Why question the nature of the miracle by which it had occurred? "I don't –"

"Talia?" Oren was coming toward her, hands outstretched. "Can I see your sword?"

"Let him hold it, Talia," Fergus urged her. "You know how much he wants to see a sword."

She stared down at the boy, his sweetly familiar features blurring into the face of another child.

Connor.

Redcliffe. Arl Eamon poisoned. His son possessed by a demon. They'd gone to the Mages' Circle seeking help, only to find the tower in chaos, overrun by blood mages and demons. Rage demons. Lust demons.

The sloth demon.

Leliana. Alistair. Morrigan. Shale. Sten. Brego. Wynne.

Where are they?

"You lie!" She lashed out, saw Oren fall just as any child would fall, blood fountaining from his throat. She stared down at the tiny body in horror, then back at the faces of her family.

Oriana moved first, smiling reassuringly as she stepped over the motionless corpse of her son. "It's all right, Talia. He'll be fine. You just need to lie down for a bit, and he'll be just fine, I promise."

She screamed. No words, just raw grief and fury as she lashed out again and again, seeing them fall, seeing other shapes springing to life around her, looming and hungry. She fought them all, screaming in mindless rage until she stood alone, and a voice both alien and familiar rose in her mind.

"SO BE IT."

She stumbled and fell to her knees. Highever was gone, replaced by an indistinct world that shifted and shimmered, forming into half-familiar landscapes before curling once more into vague mists. And still, their faces hung before her, pleading even in death, and she tipped her head back and howled, clutching Starfang in a white-knuckled grip.

"Kill you!" she raged, coming to her feet. "I'll kill you, you bastard!" She swung the sword at the ground, the sky, the empty air around her, screaming challenge after challenge to the demon until the battle rage faded and she was left exhausted…and still alone.

No…please.

"Alistair?" She lifted her head, looking, listening, straining to catch any reply in a silence that was as deafening as the roar of the crowd at a Grand Tournament.

"Leliana? Brego? Morrigan? Anyone? Can anyone hear me?"

Am I dead? She wandered through the ever changing world, calling out to her friends, her family, anyone, becoming more certain with every step that she was indeed dead, and this was the Void where she would spend eternity in tormented solitude, until she heard a voice raised in response, saw a figure in the distance and moved almost fearfully toward it.

"Talia!" Alistair's face lit up as he saw her. "You finally made it! I've been waiting to introduce you to everyone!"

"We don't have time for this." She ignored the Grey Wardens who surrounded him. The memories of her family falling to her blade were still seared into her mind, and she was in no mood to make things any easier on her friend than she had had it. "You need to come with me, right now."

"Come with you?" He looked at her in puzzlement. "But we're getting ready to have a drinking contest! Gregor says that he can drink a full mug of ale for every half mug the rest of us can down."

"He already beat you at that," Talia replied, barely glancing at the tall, burly knight with the bushy beard. "You told me about it, remember?"

"Did he? Did I?" Alistair frowned, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The Blight is over with; it's time for the Grey Wardens to celebrate!" He raised a mug high to cheers from the other Wardens, then took a deep swallow, holding a second mug out to her.

She knocked it aside.

"Alistair, think!" she snapped. "How did the Blight end? Can you tell me that?"

He didn't seem to have heard her, his attention focused on the puddle of ale at his feet. "That wasn't very nice," he protested, looking wounded.

"Indeed." Anger suffused her at the sound of Duncan's voice, growing as the senior Warden stepped into her field of vision, looking exactly as she – and Alistair – remembered him. "I think that Talia is perhaps not a true Grey Warden. I will escort her out and see her safely on her way."

"Wait." Alistair looked baffled. "Not…not a Grey Warden? She completed the Joining. You always said that there is no going back."

"That was before," Duncan replied, "but with the Blight ended and Cailan safely on the throne, we no longer need to make such harsh demands. It will be better for her."

"Yes, well…if you say so." His forehead creased slightly, his eyes taking on that worried look. "I'll walk out with you, then."

"That won't be necessary," Duncan assured him, reaching for Talia's arm.

She pulled away. "Cailan's dead! Your brother is dead!" she shouted at him. "Do you remember telling me that? Do you remember telling me that you were Maric's son? Do you remember what I said? Not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?" She'd been furious with him, refusing to speak to him for nearly a day, but her anger had cooled when she realized what the circumstances of his birth meant, and how terrified he was at the prospect that he might find himself on the throne.

He looked at her dazedly, a half smile on his lips. "I…I do remember that," he said with a little laugh. "I said I'd have to remember that line."

"That doesn't matter," Duncan stepped between them, his face stern. "Cailan is the King of Ferelden, and Alistair is a Grey Warden, as he should be."

"How was the Blight ended?" she challenged him. "How was the archdemon killed?"

The senior Warden frowned at her. "I do not need to explain such things to you."

"Because you don't know," Talia shot back, pushing past him. "He doesn't know because you don't know," she told Alistair. "The sloth demon took him from your memory! We're trapped in the Fade! None of this is real!"

He stared at her. "Sloth demon?" he said slowly. "The Fade?"

"She's unbalanced, Alistair," Duncan warned him, taking a firmer grasp on her arm. She dug in her heels as he tried to pull her away.

"Think, Alistair! What's the last thing that you remember?"

"The last thing?" The furrows in his brow reappeared, deepened. "Well, it was…" He trailed off, his eyes widening. "The Circle. The tower and…that demon telling us to rest…"

Two blessings: she knew beyond a doubt this time that the people that she killed weren't real, and she didn't fight alone.

Well, three blessings, actually: she had more than her sword to fight with now.

"How…how did you do that?" Alistair's face was pale and his eyes slightly wild as he watched her change back from the Burning Man form. Demon corpses lay smoking all around them, and not all had shifted from their guises in death.

"Long story," she told him wearily. "The others are still trapped in their own dreams in the Fade…at least, I hope they are." Her mind was still swimming with all that she had seen and done, and the powers bequeathed to her by the souls that she had released were a near constant pressure behind her eyes. You could die in the Fade; Niall had warned her, and she'd seen it for herself. Had any of the others perished trying to escape their dreams?

"Well, when we find them, don't tell them that it managed to fool me so completely." He looked embarrassed, but there was more than a touch of hurt behind it, as well, and she felt a twinge of guilt. "I can't believe that I - wait - what?"

He was fading away; Talia's hand passed through his as she tried to grab him, and he was gone with a final, indignant yelp.

She was alone again.

"Who's this?"

The two qunari beside the campfire regarded her impassively.

"We have a guest." Sten barked. "Make room."

"You heard the Sten," one of them growled, shoving the other aside.

"The Sten?" Talia cocked her head, regarding the warrior curiously. "Why do they call you that?"

He sighed. "Can I not be free from your incessant queries, even in my dreams?"

She blinked. "You mean, you know that this is -"

"A dream," he finished for her, looking irritated. "Yes. I am not a fool. It is a dream." He nodded at the pair by the fire. He looked around, at the campfires that dotted the ground as far as the eye could see, at the qunari gathered around those fires, talking in low, controlled voices among themselves, then down at the massive sword in his hands. The blade was plain, but obviously well made and meticulously cared for, the edge gleaming in the firelight. "But it is a good dream," he concluded, his harsh features settling into an expression of melancholy, letting the flat of the blade rest on one broad shoulder.

"It's just another cage, Sten."

"And if I leave this cage, I will simply be in another cage," he replied flatly. "One of my own making."

"You owe your Arishok a report," she reminded him.

"One that I cannot deliver," he replied through gritted teeth, looking past her into the night.

Damn it. She drew herself up to her full height, glaring at him. "If you want to abandon your duty to your people, that is your choice, but you swore to follow me until the Blight was ended."

"And yet, we waste our time trying to save a group of mages," he uttered the last word like a curse, "so that they may in turn save a single child who is possessed by a demon."

"You weren't given the option of questioning my methods when you swore to follow me." She could feel the eyes of the other two on her, coldly evaluating. She drew her sword. "I do not release you from that oath. Either follow me or fight me."

"You swore to follow this puny thing, Sten?" one of the pair queried as they pushed themselves to their feet, unlimbering weapons that were nearly as tall as Talia.

"Stand down," he ordered harshly. "I must go with her."

The qunari shook his head. "We can't let you go."

Either the demons of the Fade were getting weaker, or she was just getting used to fighting them. Having an angry qunari on her side probably didn't hurt, either.

"How do we leave this - wait…more tricks?"

"See you later," she muttered resignedly as he faded from sight. "I hope."

And then she was alone.

"Come in, child. 'Tis cold outside!"

Flemeth?

The face was undeniably that of Morrigan's mother, but the gracious smile and pleasant tone were something that Talia had never associated with the Witch of the Wilds.

The hut was much as she remembered it: small and neatly kept, with a pot of something savory bubbling over the fire, but Morrigan's golden eyes were crackling with vexation as she watched the Warden enter.

"It is about time you got here!" she snapped. "Kill this creature and let us begone!"

"Why haven't you?" Talia asked her, since it was obvious that Morrigan was aware of the deception.

Morrigan gave her a look generally reserved for imbeciles. "I cannot, you idiot. Not unless she raises a hand to me first. Would you like to guess how likely that is?"

"Don't be so cross, pet," the apparition chided her with a loving pat on the cheek. "Your friend has come a long way to see you; at least let her eat before she leaves us."

Morrigan recoiled from the hand as though it were a viper. "Do not touch me!" she fumed, looking even angrier when 'Flemeth' seemed to take no notice of her ire, giving her a loving smile before turning to the fire. "This…this thing…is even more irritating than the real Flemeth! Kill her or kill me, but put me out of my misery!"

Talia shrugged, drawing her sword and slicing through the neck of the doppelganger. It dropped to the floor of the hut without so much as a twitch; the Warden braced herself for the appearance of more demons, but none came.

"That was easy," she remarked, glancing around warily.

"Easy for you," Morrigan sniffed. "You haven't been stuck with this simpering fool. One would think that a demon could create a better illusion."

"Maybe it could," Talia suggested, "but since this is your dream, doesn't that mean that this is how you wanted Flemeth to be?"

The golden eyes narrowed, and Talia heard the witch muttering something in what sounded like the Chasind tongue as she vanished. It definitely didn't sound like a 'Thank you.'

And then she was alone again.

The Lothering chantry was restored. Candles glowed softly in their alcoves along the nave, penitents and worshippers sat in the pews or knelt before the altar, while sisters, priests and templars moved in reverent silence among them. It was by far the strongest illusion Talia had encountered since leaving her own dream. She could smell the incense and the candles, hear the whispered prayers, feel the stone of the floor beneath her boots.

The Revered Mother watched her as she approached, calm with just a hint of steel beneath the placid green eyes. "Please do not disturb our worshipers," she instructed the Warden.

Talia ignored her, eyes fixed on the figure that knelt beside her, garbed once more in a Chantry robe, head bowed and hands folded in prayer, face hidden beneath the fall of auburn hair. "Leliana."

"She seeks peace," the clergywoman warned her. "Please be so kind as to leave her to that worthy pursuit."

Talia was tempted to simply run the impostor through, but Leliana was not Morrigan, and the warrior did not know what effect slaying the demon might have if the spell of the dream was not broken first.

The bard raised her head, regarding the newcomer curiously. "Who is this?" she asked, rising slowly to her feet.

Talia felt her heart sink. The others had at least recognized her. "It's Talia Cousland. The Grey Warden? Remember?"

Blue eyes studied her without a trace of recognition. "I'm afraid I don't," she murmured, but something rippled just below the surface. "Revered Mother, I don't know this person, do I?"

"Of course not, my child," the demon soothed her. "You've lived here in the chantry all your life. She is part of the sinful and dangerous world beyond these walls…and she was just leaving." The green eyes met hers, openly challenging now. "Leliana belongs here, with us." A wrinkled hand gently smoothed the Orlesian's hair.

"You lie," Talia replied flatly, turning back to the bard. "You don't belong here, Leliana," she said carefully, trying to decide how to proceed, and how hard to push. The destruction of Lothering and the deaths there had devastated the woman. "This isn't real. Remember where you were before you came here: the Mages' Circle? The Tower? We were fighting abominations?"

Leliana's eyes widened. "I…think you must have me confused with someone else," she said softly. "If you will excuse me -"

"Do you at least remember why you were with us?" Talia persisted. "Your dream? Your vision? The Maker wanting you to help turn back the Blight?" Maker, if you do intervene in this world, now would be a very good time…

"You…you know about that?" The bard glanced to the false clergywoman in confusion. "Revered Mother, how -"

"We have already discussed this, child," the demon replied smoothly. "The dream was simply your pride, seeking to impose its own will over that of the Maker. Go now, and resume your meditations." She stepped in front of Talia as she moved to follow Leliana, her gaze coldly triumphant.

Fine. I'll do it myself.

"Do you remember Lothering?" Talia shouted after her. Last chance, and then I start killing. Damn it, Leliana, remember! "The darkspawn destroyed it, killed the Revered Mother, Miriam, the templars!" Leliana turned, her expression shocked, and then Talia saw it: the faintest ripple in the world around them, like a tapestry stirred by a breeze.

"Remember Talbot and Evanne?" she pressed relentlessly. "They ate them, Leliana! Remember that? Remember the rose? We all saw it; it was real, and so was your dream." The ripples were growing, and from the corner of her eye, Talia saw several templars moving toward her. "It was real. This is the lie!" She drew her sword, driving it point first into the floor; it sank into the wavering stone without a sound.

The bard turned to the 'Revered Mother', eyes widening in dawning horror, then drew the dagger from her belt with a furious cry and buried the blade in the woman's chest. The illusion dissolved, taking the templars with it and leaving them surrounded by demons.

Too many. She shifted effortlessly, expanding into golem form, sending some of their attackers flying, and simply pulverizing others beneath her massive fists, feeling their attacks sliding off of her stone skin like rain.

I could get used to this. She could understand now why Shale seemed to like the idea of squishing things. There was something viscerally satisfying about the brute strength of it all.

"Maker!" Leliana gasped, staring up at her, eyes even wider than Alistair's had been.

Oops. She shifted back quickly. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in the Fade, but it was increasingly hard to remember that she hadn't always been able to change shapes at will, and that her companions had never seen it. "It's all right. It's just me, I promise."

"Where are we?" The bard stared around wildly. "That…that thing was in my mind! It used me -"

"It used us all," Talia told her, hoping to calm her before -

"What - what's happening?" Leliana's voice rose further in alarm as she began to shimmer and fade. "Talia!"

"It's all right!" Talia called to her again, unsure if she heard and hoping that the words were true. The other souls she had freed in the Fade had rejoined their bodies…at least, she thought that was what had happened.

And once again, she found herself alone.

Wynne. Brego. Shale. She kept moving, through one door to another, until she found them each and released them.

Then she stepped through the final portal and found herself facing the sloth demon.

And she was not alone.

A.N. - Apart from the edits regarding how/when Starfang was obtained, not a lot of changes in this chapter. I could have pushed the acquisition further into the storyline, but when I was writing Talia's dream sequence, I realized that I was going to need something to shock her out of it, because she would otherwise have accepted the illusion that the sloth demon offered her. Starfang was really the only possibility: something that the demon would not grasp the significance of, but that a warrior like Talia would readily recognize. This realization came after I had already posted the previous chapter, hence the credibility-stretching bounce from Redcliffe to Soldier's Peak to the Circle.

And speaking of credibility stretches, the developers created a bit of one when they let any Warden go wandering the Fade & shapeshifting, when the established lore (as I understand it) states that only mages have the ability to manipulate the Fade. I remember reading at least one fic that had Morrigan doing the wake-up duty for a non-mage Warden. A Morrigan POV on this one would have been intriguing, but since I started this story in Lothering, after the deaths of Talia's family, I wanted to go back and explore the dynamic between them a bit through her eyes.