A/N: Back in town after a glorious near two weeks and hoping you all are doing great! Take care and enjoy, catalina
She disappeared back the way they had come and Ffion turned to leave as well, and nearly crashed into Alistair. He was standing directly in her path and had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usually merry, happy-go-lucky brown eyes were snapping with anger and his face was an even deeper red.
Arching her brows and feigning innocence, Ffion met him glare for glare.
"Yes?" She asked, making her voice light.
"I know you're a smart girl, Ffion, but what the hell are you thinking?" He snapped, "That woman was part of all this chaos and you just let her walk out the door. If it was up to me, I would've killed her or tied her up here to wait out her judgement. You-"
Ffion's frustrations boiled over and she felt her face growing hot with rage. The weight of every one of their decisions was overcoming her and she was snapping before she could remind herself to keep a hold of her tongue.
"You had your chance to lead this whole damn mess, Alistair, and you left it to me. I took that to mean that I could recruit or let go anyone I chose. If you want this responsibility, prove to me that you can handle it."
She brushed by him, smacking into his shoulder in the fashion that she'd seen both Gilmore and Fergus use, and continued to the next floor. In hindsight, it wasn't her smartest move. His splintmail armor was much harder and heavier than her duster leather and her shoulder was smarting with the impact, which soured her mood. It was drawn further down as she heard Wynne speaking soothingly to the ex-Templar and listening to his soft-spoken rants. She wanted to punch something and the only thing she knew would suffice would be Alistair, which would go over about as well as the shoulder bump.
"Do not worry yourself," Leliana's accented voice was speaking quietly in her ear, making her jump. The little Orlesian could move so silently, it was rather frighting, "You did a decent, good thing, Ffion. And you are right: seeing others cut down and helpless to stop it is a punishment I would not wish on anyone."
Ffion suddenly thought of Howe and how satisfying it would be to kill the bastard and her anger at Alistair was almost forgotten.
"I don't know if I'd go that far," She answered, "But thanks, Leliana, it was the right thing and it's nice to hear a confirmation."
They reached the third floor and were met with a few more creatures called abominations, according to Wynne. They were like nothing Ffion had ever seen and she would have examined them more closely, but she learned the hard way that the things exploded into a fiery mass not long after they were killed. She had cut one of them down and it staggered away from her, falling about five yards away. Wynne couldn't stop her in time and she had taken a few steps forward before the abomination erupted, knocking her to the floor and singeing her eyebrows and the loose strands of her braided hair. Stunned, she remained flat on her back, trying to regain her breath and wondering how badly her face was burned as it hurt to even blink her eyes. Wynne was casting a healing spell whose warmth reminded her sharply of Highever's summer rains... and then Alistair was dropping to his knees beside her, drawing her back to reality, with a look of such intense concern that he was instantly forgiven.
He slid one arm around her shoulders and helped her to sit up. She allowed it, brushing at the singed hair with a hand that trembled in the aftershock. The ex-Templar's honey colored eyes were anxious as he looked her over.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
"I-I think so," She replied and inspected the backs of her hands before gently touching her face. Her gaze went up to the mage, "That happened too damn fast. Thanks, Wynne."
Alistair helped her to her feet and their gazes met.
"I'm sorry," They blurted at the same time and then grinned at each other.
The ex-Templar was shamefaced and Wynne and Leliana both seemed to know he wanted privacy with his fellow Warden. They moved further down the hall, speaking to one another quietly as Alistair met Ffion's gaze again.
"If any of this was up to me, Ffion, we would have been screwed a long time ago," He confessed quietly, "You kept me from breaking down completely and that's still true now."
Ffion's face was hot again and it had nothing to do with the fire she'd almost walked into. She realized that his hands were still resting somewhat idly against her waist and she pulled away from him as she motioned to Wynne and Leliana.
"And I shouldn't have lit into you like that. It just... all came crashing down, I guess. Come on, they're waiting," She took a few steps and then glanced at him again, "Besides I did tell you, you could tell me anything. That was just clearing the air, right?"
Prolonging the inevitable, girl, prolonging the inevitable. The voice in her head reminded. She pushed it violently away once more and Alistair's crooked grin helped disperse it more completely than she could manage.
"Right, and now that we've got that out of the way, we can get onto more important things. Like teaching that bastard a lesson."
They pressed on, fighting their way up to the fourth floor, running across more blood mages that preferred fighting to surrendering, and the ever present abominations to whom everyone gave a wide berth. Wynne knew where they were headed and so she was the one that led the way into the middle room on this floor, hoping to make it to the fifth floor. But the tower and Uldred had other plans.
Upon entering the room, Wynne stopped abruptly, her hands tight around her staff. Tilly began growling as Ffion hefted her knife; Leliana was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, bow drawn tight, as Alistair moved ahead of them with his sword at the ready.
Standing in front of them, the body of a fallen mage at its feet, was something along the lines of the other abominations. It was tall and hulking: its skin mottled reddish pink, while its murky white eyes peered intelligently at them. The shoulders were broad and thick and when it spoke, a delicious weariness swept over Ffion's entire band.
"Ah, here are my troublemakers," The voice murmured and was soothing as it chided them, "You have been fighting all the way up here. Why do you resist?"
"We won't hear what you have to say, demon," Wynne replied, and her voice wasn't nearly as sharp as she desired it to be, "We've come here to right what you've done wrong and see that judgement is served."
The demon turned to face them completely and the way it stood blocked the mage at its feet from their view. There was something absurdly comforting in its red splotched face and Ffion felt that if she were to lie down here and allow this weariness to overcome her, everything would be right in the world once more. The side of her brain that was fighting to stay alert and awake forced her body to move next to Alistair, but the demon's voice was casting a spell with the same efficiency that Wynne and Morrigan achieved with a staff. Her limbs felt heavy and she faintly heard her knife clatter to the stone floor. She had been wanting rest and sleep since they left Flemeth's swamp-side hut and here seemed to be her chance.
"But why do that?" The thing questioned, its voice softening even more as it realized they were falling victim, "You have been fighting for so long and you must be so tired. Is it not better to simply rest? Just fall asleep and let your troubles disappear?"
Tilly was slumping to the ground with a heavy sounding whump and Ffion was sinking to her heels beside her. Something brushed her elbow and she relaxed into Alistair's comforting weight without thinking twice about it. The ex-Templar didn't mind. Indeed, he was the next to give in and flopped on the floor, letting Ffion lean into him even more. She blinked and came back to herself for a moment as Leliana spoke.
"But... we have to... resist," Even the Orlesian's usually lilting voice was grating, but it brought Ffion out of the spell long enough to struggle to her feet, trying to throw the weariness away permanently, "We've come... too far to... give in."
Ffion was almost free of the enchantment and then the demon poured it on twice as thick and she fell against Alistair's slumbering form as Wynne and Leliana gave in as well.
"No, no, no, you deserve rest," The thing argued and its voice was just above a whisper, "A nice, long rest; a sleep to restore... everything."
The last thing Ffion saw before giving into the spell was the demon bending over the fallen mage with a possessiveness that was frightening.
Ffion strode down a long, open hallway of a beautifully constructed building. The walls were shining in the bright sunlight with a consistency that was almost too perfect. It caught the tapestries hanging on the walls and she had to look closely at them. They were depicting herself triumphing over a huge scaled and horned dragon that she figured had to be the Archdemon. Others showed Alistair at her side as they cut the head from the beast and there were Morrigan, Leliana and Sten taking their share of the glory and adoration. The scenes each picked up where the other left off and her step faltered as she looked them over.
Something was wrong. This didn't seem right. This was the outcome everyone had hoped for of course, but she couldn't remember anything about it.
Indeed, everything seemed a little off here. Soldiers in armor decorated with the Wardens' griffon were passing by her and bowing or saluting on the way. Ffion didn't think much of this until she began paying attention to their faces. Every single one of them looked the same. They were all men and very handsome, with straight noses, artfully shaped cheekbones, smooth foreheads and wide-set, crystal clear blue eyes. Birds were singing cheerfully and, through the open windows, the sunlight was glinting off bright green tree leaves and creating a glare on the distant bay. It resembled Highever and Ffion felt the warning bells start to sound in the back of her mind.
Something was horribly wrong...
She faced the hallway again and through the door ahead of her spotted a familiar figure that caused relief and a little trepidation to course through her. In the large courtyard she was approaching, Duncan was standing at the top of a flight of steps, his hands clasped behind his back and smiling at her with the paternal fondness she remembered.
Remembered? Her head questioned. She pushed it aside and hurried to him, never thinking twice about the absence of clicking claws at her side.
"Ah, there you are," Duncan greeted and his smile grew, "We were beginning to wonder when you would rejoin us. How are you enjoying Weisshaupt?"
"Very much," Ffion's words sounded odd and out of place and she wondered why she felt like she was watching herself answer these questions; why it felt like these answers were nothing but learned responses, "This place is beautiful... but..."
"But?" Duncan repeated and he seemed to struggle to keep his deep voice soothing and calm, "But what?"
"But... there's some things that I just don't understand," She spoke quietly, slowly, trying to word her concerns so they would have some sort of order. The alarm bells were still ringing in her head, progressively becoming louder and she caught herself reaching with one hand for something to steady her; wondering why she felt a pang when nothing was there. She glanced at the floor beside her and realized quite suddenly what was missing. Tilly! She thought with a deeper pang, hoping that her hound wasn't lost in the last battle, "I don't know, really. It seems like I should remember something from the victory, but... I mean, we did win, didn't we?"
Duncan laughed and even that sounded off.
"Yes, my dear girl, we did win," He assured her, "It was a glorious triumph and you have become a legend amongst the men here, beating out Alistair, even. It was what you wanted, wasn't it? To follow in the footsteps of your parents and brother?"
The bells were closer now to the front of her head, warning her that he was at the very least lying to her. Duncan, who would never have lied to her or anyone else, unless he was doing so to protect and save innocents. She wasn't even sure why he was here, it didn't seem right; and with the mention of her family, painful flashes were centering her, bringing her back to terrifying reality. She remembered the smell of smoke, her mother's drawn expression and haunted eyes, the overturned shelves, busted doors; Gilmore's touch, her father's rattling breath and gasped words, Oriana's scream...
"No," She whispered, hearing... feeling everything again like it was that night, and knowing it was causing her eyes to flood with tears. Looking at Duncan, she remembered the sight of him leaping onto the ogre, sinking his blades into the beast's chest, killing it because it had killed 'Good King Cailan'; remembered him perching on his knees and calmly waiting for the Darkspawn to cut him down... "No, it's not that."
"What?" The Duncan imposter was fixing her with that penetrating stare, making her feel exposed, and he took a half-step towards her. A vaguely familiar weariness washed over Ffion with his next words, "This isn't what you wanted? Then tell us. Close your eyes and tell us your deepest desires and we will make them come true. All you need to do... is surrender."
Ffion allowed her eyes to drift shut, thinking of Highever in the summer with the cool sea breezes. The castle would be surrounded by the rich wisteria vines and soft green willows. Marmie's magnolias would be in fine form, infusing the hallways and rooms with their heady perfume. Father's favorite pipe tobacco would be shipped in again and his library would be their evening meeting place. She would sprawl on one of the couches, taking in the vanilla and clove tobacco smells and allowing her hair to hang over the arm so Father could tug on the locks every now and then as he paced by. They would talk about their day and he would chide her gently for some of her more questionable exploits with Fergus or Gilmore. Fergus and Oriana coddling her. Oriana constantly siding with Marmie and trying to turn her into a lady; while in the next breath she would be giggling and teasing with her as though they were little girls again. Fergus, her hero-worshiped big brother teaching her his pranks, sometimes the hard way, and giving her practice tips for the battlefield, always with endless patience. And Rick, who jumped at every opportunity to take Oren to the beach with her and splash and wrestle in the water like they were all kids. Rick and his tender touch at her temple, his commanding voice urging her to run... If Howe gets you, he wins... Go, Fi!
It was like he was there with her again, protecting her from any threat as he used to do; and Ffion's spine stiffened even as terror, cold, gripping and nearly overwhelming pooled into her belly, making her knees weak. Her eyes snapped open and she forcibly pulled her mind from those memories, feeling violated. Bastards! She thought fiercely. They had no right to poke and prod at her deepest desires and she took a step back, determined to stay clear-minded and not fall for their cheap tricks. She glanced around again, noting that two of the look-alike soldiers were inching closer, fixated on her like she was the only thing that mattered. Her hands itched for her blades and with a relief that was near debilitating, she felt the familiar weight of the swords on her back. She met the imposter's gaze and tried to steel herself. Fergus had struggled to teach her to think on her feet and it was only in the past 6 months that he had been really proud of her, and so she called every one of his lessons to the forefront of her mind. The soldier with the bow would have to be her priority and so she turned partially towards him even as she answered,
"Go to hell."
She whirled on the archer, pulling her blades loose and leaping at him before he got the chance to string an arrow. Reacting purely on instinct, she faced the next soldier and parried his thrust with her own sword. She ducked around and behind him, remembering her big brother telling her that everyone would underestimate her small stature. Her second sword dealt a vicious backstab and when that man fell, she was able to focus solely on the Duncan imposter. He had advanced on her while she fought the other two and was a few paces from her when she glanced at him. He threw himself at her and she repeated her tactics, forgetting that her one-time commander had been an experienced rogue. His body twisted about in midair and his blades clashed with hers in a way that made her stagger back, nearly falling to her knees. She slid one blade away and gashed it across the back of his hand, making him curse and weaken enough for her to try to gain the upper hand. Pulling her other blade away suddenly, she darted to the side and used his surprise to her advantage. He hadn't expected her absence and he stumbled forward a couple of steps before whirling about once more.
This time she was ready for him.
She knocked his first thrust away and drove her own blade up and into his belly. The imposter's black eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Ffion shoved up again and then pushed the body from her, telling herself again and again: It's not really him, it's not really him.
As soon as the imposter breathed his last, the ground gave a slight rumble and the landscape around Ffion began shimmering like a mirage. She closed her eyes, sinking to her heels, preparing herself for whatever end the Maker had in store for her.