Chapter 13: Shackled
"Stay. The fuck. Away," was all Rayne heard as he turned the corner with his companions to see an abomination explode in a flash of blue light, the abominations around them giving off the same sickly blue light before they, too, exploded, blood covering every single surface in the room.
"Effective, but a bit gross," Rayne said to the mage who cast the spell, surrounded by a blue force bubble covered in blood and obscuring his form. Still, Rayne recognized that voice anywhere. The bubble dropped to display a bloodless, but exhausted and sweaty, human mage in yellow robes with a mage staff. He had black stubble and hair to match. The hair was tied in a bun, but still almost as excessively long as Rayne's hair, tumbling out in every direction. His silver eyes were confused for a second before they flashed with recognition. Before Wynne, Sten, Enid and Rayne stood Jaime Amell.
Like something out of one of the First Enchanter's sappy foreign romance novels, the two ran at each other, holding one another tight. Kissing Rayne hard, Jaime eventually collected himself and asked his oldest friend what he was doing here.
"The Grey Wardens needs allies against the Blight, and I couldn't pass up a chance at visiting home again. I just didn't realize how much you guys relied on me. I leave for a few months and the whole place goes to shit," Rayne said, trying to joke his way through the fact that the place he called home was desecrated beyond recognition and many of his family was dead.
"Wonderful. Another bas sarebaas," Sten grumbled, walking past Jaime and Rayne and further into the tower. Enid chuckled as everyone else fell in behind him, trying as well as they could to step over the entrails of the abominations Jaime had dealt with.
"Surprised the Wardens didn't make you cut your hair," Jaime said, trying to pretend everything was normal as they fought their way through the abominations and maleficar that infested Kinloch Hold. Garahel eagerly greeted the human his master embraced with such affection.
"They tried. Well, one did. But I couldn't give you the satisfaction of winning," Rayne responded as his wisp circled Jaime's body excitedly.
"Oh, Maker forbid!" Jaime exclaimed, making a big show of it.
"Lady Wynne," Enid whispered to the woman she just met. "What are they talking about?"
"Wynne will do fine, child, or Enchanter Wynne if you insist on titles. And I haven't the foggiest. The Senior Enchanters long ago learned to ignore their antics unless they posed a danger to someone, and they usually didn't."
"Antics?" Enid asked. "I wouldn't presume to know him very well, but since I have met Rayne, I would have never thought him capable of antics."
Eventually, Rayne realized he hadn't actually made any formal introductions, and rectified that immediately. While he and Jaime continued their incessant banter, their other companions traveled in silence. Wynne was worried about her home and Enid her friend and commanding officer. Anything other than silence from Sten, of course, would have been world-shattering. He did shock his companions when he insisted on keeping the water-stained portrait they found, saying he appreciated the mastery shown by its artist. They eventually made it to a particularly terrifying abomination towering over the exact person they were looking for: Niall. Rayne tried to leap into action immediately, but the will of the creature proved too strong.
"Why do you fight? You deserve more… you deserve a rest. The world will go on without you."
"Have a good night, First Enchanter," Knight-Commander Hadley nodded at Rayne as he departed the elf's study.
The First Enchanter was just finishing his treatise on darkspawn taint and how it interfered with, and even changed, a mage's magic. Rayne was something of an expert, considering he had… no, that can't be right. He had lived in the Circle nearly his entire life. Shaking his head, he stood up and tidied his desk; that was enough writing for tonight.
Rayne made his way up to his room, bidding goodnight to the mages and templars he saw along the way, Garahel at his side. He arrived to see Morrigan had already gotten ready for bed, and was thumbing through some ancient elven book. She didn't look up to greet him, but smiled as he entered the room. Wait, Morrigan didn't smile, and since when was she a subservient Circle mage?
"'Tis so cold, here in our bed. Do hurry up, dear."
Garahel growled at her, barking like he would at a darkspawn or demon. Wait, why did a First Enchanter need a war dog? Something was very, very wrong.
"Just a sec," Rayne said, running over to a washbasin to clean up before going to bed, Garahel at his side. It was then that he noticed the glowing blue figure in the mirror behind him, its slight elven features given an unnatural and unsettling beauty by its iridescent and translucent skin. The glowing blue sapphires where its eyes would have been regarded Rayne like a disappointed parent, but the effect was lost when Garahel began to nuzzle its hand, its firm visage melting into a reluctant smile as it pet the mabari.
In an instant, Rayne knew at whom he was looking. Curiosity.
"This is not the pursuit of knowledge, da'len. Sloth offers you complicity, stagnation, death, yet you have become ensnared by its trap. It is… Disappointing. Even Garahel knows this is a trick."
The mabari barked in agreement.
"Wait… you're familiar. Are you… you're my wisp, aren't you? You've been with me since…"
"Since a month after you arrived at the Tower, yes. I had been watching you, your young curiosity shining across the Veil. Your dreams called to spirits of Desire and Curiosity both. You unknowingly drew but a piece, a wisp, of me across the Veil, and that same piece has returned to you every time you called. It has been… pleasant, thus far," its voice, neither female nor male, echoed inside Rayne's head.
"Why reveal yourself now? After all this time? Not even during my Harrowing?"
"There was no reason to before; I was content experiencing the world alongside you, da'len, but the need arose when you let yourself be caged."
"Rayne, my dear, to whom are you speaking?" Morrigan asked, before seeing the specter beside Rayne.
"Begone, Sloth," Curiosity commanded. "Mortals are not for us to toy with, this one especially."
Not-Morrigan let out a scornful laugh as everything came flooding back to Rayne. Morrigan's eyes flashed red and, in a voice that was Morrigan's and a demon's both, she said "'Tis not your choice to make, Curiosity! He belongs to me now." At this point, the facsimile of Morrigan's hands lit up with raging violet fire.
"He belongs to no one save himself, Sloth." Curiosity said, stepping in between the two of them. He needn't have bothered, however.
Just before letting off a blast of her sickly flames, a beautiful runed long sword shot out of not-Morrigan's chest, and she dissipated before their eyes. When the smoke cleared, a relieved-looking Enid Mahariel was standing before them, green ironbark armour practically shining as she sheathed her ancient blade, Rage's End. Garahel charged at her happily, assaulting her with kisses. She looked at Rayne, relieved he was okay.
"There you are. Let's go," she said, leading Rayne out of his room.
"So, about what you saw in there…" he tried to say before she cut him off.
"I won't tell her if you won't," Enid assured him. "Creators know the Beyond is a weird place."
Anora summoned him and Howe both to the throne room first thing in the morning, and judging by increased presence of armed guards at every entrance and on either side of Anora, this would not be a pleasant meeting. Loghain swore silently to himself as he saw Anora's pet Orlesian at her side, face as inscrutable as ever. He counted at least five daggers hidden in her servant's robes, and Anora was in blue vitriol plate armour, her piercing blue eyes made even more so by the shining plate.
"Arl Howe. Father. Thank you for coming to see me. There are some things we must discuss," Anora said, regarding them not without suspicion.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Howe said, bowing low, ever the simpering fool. "Though it is Teyrn Howe now, of course."
"What is this about, Anora? There are things to do, and we cannot waste time with—"
"You will speak when spoken to, Teyrn Loghain. You may be regent, but I am still your queen," Anora said, with enough conviction that Loghain almost believed her. "Arl Howe," Anora said pointedly, making Loghain snicker and Howe bristle. "I was wondering if I might inquire about the… unpleasantness with the Couslands."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Howe said, hiding a scowl.
"I understand they were traitors, cavorting with Orlesians and plotting direst treason against our good King Cailan, my dear departed husband."
"Indeed, Your Majesty. Why do you ask?"
"While I, of course, do not doubt your word, Arl Howe, the landsmeet will need assurances. None of my agents were able to find any proof of such treason, nor had any nobles ever suspected the Couslands before, though they may have used that to their advantage, of course."
"I believe they did, yes. Bryce was a dear friend of mine, and it broke my heart to do what I did, but such is the price of our continued freedom."
"Indeed, and we thank you for your service."
"Anora, why is it necessary for me to be here?" Loghain asked, crossing his arms.
"Patience, Teyrn Loghain. Now, Arl Howe, in preparation for the landsmeet, I request that you find proof of the Couslands' treason in order to have you confirmed as Teyrn of Highever. And, given your drastic actions, I have no doubt that this will be quite easy. Furthermore, I expect you to name your replacements for Arls of Amaranthine and Denerim within the week, and I will consider them."
"My replacements, Your Majesty?"
"Indeed. One man cannot hold all three of those titles," Anora chuckled mirthlessly. "That would be preposterous, wouldn't it?"
"I… Of course, Your Majesty," Howe pouted.
"Wonderful. As my next order of business… Some papers have come into my possession, and they made me feel sick to my stomach. Erlina?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," the Orlesian said, producing a parcel that… no, that was impossible. How did Anora get that?
"Now, these papers bear my father's seal, but this is not his writing. Arl Howe, you may approach the throne. Is this your handwriting?" she asked, holding the papers out for him to see.
"It is, Your Majesty…"
"As I suspected. I assume you both know what these papers are?" Anora was trembling in anger now.
"Anora, we did what we had to do. This is a war. You don't understand the costs of—"
"I understand just fine!" Anora said, slamming her gauntleted fist into the arm of the wooden throne with enough force to crack it. " I understand that you have sold natural-born Fereldan citizens into slavery, the both of you! Citizens that rely on us to protect them, to watch out for them. They are not our possessions, they are our subjects, and it is our responsibility to do right by them!"
"Anora—" Loghain started.
"Queen Anora, Teyrn Loghain" she corrected him coldly.
"Queen Anora, war has costs. It is an ugly business, but the bannorn has left us little choice."
"There is always a choice, Teyrn Loghain. Especially when we are fighting against the very people with whom we should be allied! By Andraste, should we not be fighting the darkspawn, instead of each other?"
"Your Majesty," Howe piped up, taking a patronizing tone as he looked pointedly at Anora's handmaiden. "I fail to see the problem. They are just elves."
"Just elves, Arl Howe?!" she nearly yelled, before taking a deep breath to regain her composure. "Be careful, Rendon. You're beginning to sound like a Tevinter… or worse, an Orlesian."
Maker, she's right, Loghain realized. This is exactly what they would do. How could I have agreed to this?!
"Your Majesty," Howe started, raising his voice for the first time since they entered, before being cut off once again by his Queen.
"You two have one week to get the slavers off Fereldan soil, whether that be through rescinding your offer or dealing with them more… violently."
"Your Majesty, how can you expect us to fund—"
"I. Don't. Care. We are Ferelden. We are not Orlesians, or Tevinters. We are not the barbarians they think we are, and we should give them to reason to doubt that. We are better than that. Get it done," Anora said, disappointed with her father for perhaps the first time in her life.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Loghain said, bowing low.
"Good. You are both dismissed."
"Revka, dear, the de Launcets have dropped off an invitation for a soirée at their estate next Saturday," Jaime's father said to his mother, passing her the letter.
"Oh, Maker. Not again. I can scarcely stomach Dulci's nattering by letter. How can we be expected to sit through her inane prattling in person?"
"At least Fifi and Babette will be there," Jaime said mischieviously.
"Really, Jaime," his mother scolded jokingly. "Even your standards can't be that low. Now, go fetch your siblings. I believe the servants said we are having duck tonight."
"Of course, mother," Jaime said, starting down the stairs of their lavishly-decorated and expansive Kirkwall mansion, but before he was able to find even one of his five other siblings, he heard a knock on the door. Confused about why he didn't see any servants running to the door, Jaime sighed and went to get it himself.
"Hey, Jaime," the elf at the door said sadly, his long black hair tumbling over his Grey Warden robes. He was accompanied by his mabari, the Dalish elf, Wynne and the qunari that Jaime had just met… Where? Where had he met them? Following all of them was a shimmering blue elf, long hair flowing behind its form as if underwater, its transluscent form emitting an unsettiling light.
"Rayne, what're you doing here?" Jaime asked, beckoning them inside. "I'm not sure the servants made enough for you and your guests, but we can certainly try to accomodate you…"
"Jaime…" Rayne started.
"Mother! Father! We have guests!" Jaime called happily.
His parents appeared on the balcony and waved politely at Jaime's guests.
"Jaime, this isn't real. This is the Fade."
"The Fade?" Jaime asked, amused. "Why would I be in the Fade? I'm not even a mage."
"Yes you are. Why would a noble from Kirkwall know a senior enchanter of Ferelden, a dalish elf, a qunari and an elven mage? Think about how you got here. Remember who you are."
"I… I will try," Jaime said, rubbing his eyes.
"NO!" called the discordant voices of his parents as their bodies erupted in flame, replaced instantly by rage demons. In an instant, everything came flooding back to Jaime.
"Rayne… I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"
"So am I," Rayne responded, hugging Jaime tight.
"Shouldn't we… do something?" Jaime asked, turning to face the demons.
"Just watch this," Rayne said, nodding at Enid, who had now drawn Rage's End, smiling.
From the balcony shot two intense blasts of heat, threatening to incinerate them all. Jaime put a spell shield up, but Rayne stood there calmly. Just as the fire was about to reach them, it changed its course, and arced towards Enid's silverite blade, instantly absorbed by its shimmering form. Satisfied with its performance, Enid took off up the stairs, brandishing her elven blade. In a single slash, each of the rage demons were killed instantly.
"How… how is that possible?" Jaime said, staring at the grinning Dalish elf.
"It is a blade dating back to the days of Arlathan, imbued with great magical power. I had thought them all lost, but it seems that this one was preserved, protected. It shields its wielder from flames and silences Rage, and it seems that its funcionality is not impaired in the Beyond. It is… good to see that some such things still exist in the waking world," the spirit said.
"You are… useful to have with us, spirit," Wynne said. "However, the time comes now to leave this place. Shall we confront the demon?"
"Finally," Sten nodded, leading the charge to Sloth's lair.