Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns

by Karmic Acumen

There's something to say about trying to hold onto basic decency in a den full of snakes. It kills you or drives you insane. Or both. Why else would he get himself exiled on purpose? Not that surfacer lords proved much better. Good thing the other Grey Wardens were there. They had such wonderful common sense. Well, most of them, the Assembly was still deadlocked about one or two.

26. Demon Arc 2: A Duster's Worst Nightmare

Chapter 26: A Duster's Worst Nightmare

"-. .-"

Even though it was supposed to be a lazy bum, Sloth had apparently designed that realm of his in the weirdest and most meticulous of ways, or maybe it was his five lackeys that did most of the work, since they seemed to rule over the five islands that surrounded the central one, or so it seemed. Dreamers were supposed to be stuck in their illusions, on separate islands, while demons, and those that unfortunately 'awakened', could teleport between them through use of strange pedestals.

There were mazes, tests of strength, all the things that one would expect to find in a needlessly complicated puzzle game and each Demon could only be reached by passing through some sort of tests or whatnot. The poor souls trying to escape would be lured through some carefully arranged path, with minimal obstacles meant only to wear them out, leaving the pleasure of the kill, which was likely going to be slow and painful (among other, more disturbing things if desire demons were involved), to the one at the end of the so-called obstacle course. There was only one way for dreamers to get there, and a lot of things to warn of their coming, which meant that the owners of each 'island' would always be ready for them.

Which was why the apparent desire demonness Yevena, supreme and undisputed holder of the Raw Fade, but slave to Sloth (even though Sloth Demons were, technically, supposed to be beneath desire demons on the hierarchy), didn't even have time to figure out where that flapping of wings was coming from before Alim the Griffon nonchalantly stomped on her with his talon-decorated forepaw, killing her instantly.

His rider Raonar Aeducan, currently known as the Silver Warden for the sake of immodesty, (if this was a dream, he could afford to at least have a badass title in it, and silver was just a very bright shade of grey anyway) looked down at the undignified splotch as his flying mount stepped aside. "Hmm... Somehow, I wish I could have taken her myself," he mused, "I have this nagging feeling that she may have been the twisted 'damsel' that impersonated Leandra and..." he decided to stop there, although the winged creature-transformed mage chuckled awkwardly (as far as the Fade allowed griffons to actually produce human sounds at least).

The dwarf noble had grasped the basics of griffon-riding fairly easily, mostly because he had done some bronto riding in the past, though such a thing was hardly practiced among dwarves as a sport. It was more like a very horrible version of rodeo and had served him well during the Kal Hirol rediscovery effort. And just now, while practicing, he had only fallen into the empty void seventeen times, Alim catching him in his talons each time, before he finally got the gist of it.

They stumbled upon Niall too, or his soul at least. After he got over the awe at seeing a Griffon and a Griffon Rider (which took a pretty long while), he told them that the Litany of Adralla, a scroll that could protect against mind control of all kinds, was on his body in the mortal world. He refused to do anything except just stand there, however, and Alim didn't really feel like carrying two people at once so they just went on their way, saving the hide of a mouse-shaped dreamer while they were at it. Alim even learned how to turn into one.

The air swoop trick didn't work in the island with the mages, since that dream was shaped like the twisted insides of the circle tower, so flying was out of the question. It looked like they were supposed to travel through various mouse holes and portals to reach this Slavren fellow. Setting aside the fact that only Alim could turn into a mouse, after having saved that poor dreamer in the Raw Fade by accident, they just couldn't be bothered. There was also the fact that, the longer it took to finish this whole deal, the more life force Sloth could drain them of in the mortal world.

So Alim the elf decided to just telekinetically hurl floor stone slabs into walls, creating their own path until they got where they needed to get, taking advantage of the conveniently placed lyrium veins to restore his energy on the way. Demons really did like lyrium, just like the dwarf noble's experience in Zazikel's lair suggested, so they had made a point of willing raw veins into being here and there. When they finally reached him (after Raonar slaughtered most minions almost singlehandedly), Slavren was a bit tricky, but the Warden Commander eventually cut him in half.

The two self-proclaimed emulators of the heroes of legend would have done the air swop trick in the darkspawn invasion dream too, on Uthkiel the Crusher (a stupid rage demon with an equally stupid name that had decided to look like an Ogre. Seriously, do demons even know that Grey Wardens kill things like this for a living? Granted, it's never really easy to accomplish, but it would have been smarter to assume the form of a steel golem). He wasn't too much of a hassle, even though both Wardens did, under slightly different circumstances, get thrown to the ground at least once. Until Raonar used his own recently gained transformations. He first became an arcane horror that froze that monster, after which he turned into a golem and quaintly punched it into pieces.

They didn't come out unscathed, however. At least Alim's healing magic seemed to work properly on the dwarf in this realm, since the tear in the Veil was anchored in his body, not his soul, so the latter's dislocated shoulder was just a temporary, albeit annoying inconvenience.

Vereveel in the Templar's Nightmare was also located behind a mouse hole, so Alim went in alone, with Honor the Mouse trailing him. They returned a worrisomely long amount of time later, only from the same way they had reached the room that the demon was in before she turned into a weird small thing and ran through said mouse hole. Apparently, there had been no return mouse hole and the mage was forced to use a pedestal to teleport to a different island, then come back to this one the same way as before.

Rhagos the fire demon proved to be the most dangerous, mostly because he was in a place shaped like a building on fire and there were even a few trap rooms that almost burned both Wardens alive. The last one almost claimed their lives.

Alim had, fortunately, been granted the ability to turn into a burning man (somehow, there seemed to be a dreamer for every ability needed to escape these dreams, which was oddly convenient. Perhaps this was a part of a sort of intuitive self-defense mechanism that all humans had, to create such things as so-called convenient coincidences). Granted, to be fair, the ability needed to deal with one realm was usually held by a dreamer trapped in another.

Regardless, Alim used magic to practically lift the dwarf in the air and throw him through the door ahead before the growing flames consumed him, while he himself turned into the burning man form and felt nothing. On the downside, the exile crashed in the middle of what looked like a room populated by crazed chantry sisters and templars, and was almost killed because of his temporary daze. He managed to roll around in time... mostly, while his very tough armor shrugged off the cheap knives those specters were using.

The Aeducan's misfortune did not stop there, however. Even as the two (three counting the white, shining mouse) individuals reached and bested Rhagos, the ordeal did leave the dwarf quite scorched, his beard and hair most of all. He was quite glad of the fact that the weird Fade breach anomaly made them fireproof in the real world.

Of course, Alim regenerated them, once he managed to get some rest. Considering that that beard was all that his companion had to remember his long-dead lover by, whose memory had just been besmirched by demons, it was the least he could do.

And the calm smile on Raonar's face was the dwarf's way of saying 'thanks for the thought'.

Then, the time came to finally go and free their companions. Chances were that maybe they should just go and kill the main perpetrator, but everything hinted at the fact that he was very powerful and, thus, they would likely need the help of all the others to overcome him. This was his domain, after all.

"-. .-"

The first they stumbled upon was Wynne. This elderly mage had joined them in the hopes of saving First Enchanter Irving and supposedly had a special affinity to the Fade. Which made the fact that she could not realize that this was the Fade even in the slightest seem quite ironic. The dwarf noble looked at her as she muttered to herself, apparently grieving the losses of the supposed apprentices that lay all around her.

He glanced over to the elf mage and would have expected him to have some blunt remark of how supposedly demeaning it was that Wynne could not notice that this was a dream. Instead, he found him inspecting the scene with a frown, mixed with a sort of savant-like curiosity.

"Hmm, quite peculiar," said the Grey Warden mage. "I'll have to talk to her, later, about how she failed to see through this illusion. Maybe she was more seriously hurt in her fight with that demon that Petra mentioned than she let on. People have a tendency to be more easily fooled by illusions like this when they are already in low health. I wonder if there are any lingering effects she may not have spoken to us of."

It took just a short while for the Grey Warden elf to snap Wynne out of her senses, after which all the 'corpses' got to their feet and attacked, refusing to relinquish the elderly woman. They didn't last very long, but neither did the joy at having freed the old woman, since she was spirited away immediately afterwards.

"-. .-"

The second island they teleported to was Sten's, who was, apparently, fully aware of the fact that he was dreaming. He was in the company of two other qunari that called him The Sten, which the giant explained was because Sten was, in fact, a title and not a name. He had chosen to just stay in that dream because it was a pleasant distraction.

The dwarf noble gave a short yet passionate speech about duty and the Arishok, and about Asala, and about Sten's pledge to stop the Blight (read: nagged Sten into compliance), at which point the huge man agreed to leave the dream. Of course, as before, this meant that his 'friends' turned on him, which just meant they died all the sooner. After that, he was also spirited away, despite his outraged protests.

Sten had spoken, on the road to Kinloch Hold, of what duty means to the Qunari people, though succinctly, and that it basically defines everyone in the Qun. That was why this glimpse into his mind left a sour taste in the Commander's mouth.

Because Sten's deepest desire was to no longer be burdened by his duty and, because of his indoctrination, chances were that he was never going to realize it.

"-. .-"

The third dream was Theron's and it was definitely not what either of the Fade wanderers, plus Honor the mouse, would have expected. Judging by what little Theron had disclosed about himself, they would have expected to see a version of his earlier life, him traveling a forest of some sort and with that Tamlen fellow as the likeliest specter.

Instead, the Dalish hunter was lying on his back and staring at the sky, which likely appeared the same as the regular Thedas sky to him. He was just lying on the ground in the middle of what looked to be shaped similar to a fortress of some kind, just resting.

And as the two newcomers, plus the inconspicuous mouse that was one the dwarf's right shoulder, approached, he just weakly waved in their direction.

"Andaran atish'an," he welcomed them, turning his head in their direction without even lifting it from the ground. "Were you bored with your own little fantasies that you came to see mine?"

Alim and Raonar shared a look.

Then they just stared at the tattooed elf as he lay there, with both hands under his head and with his eyes closed. So the hunter pushed himself half-way up until he was on his side and leaning on his elbow. "What?"

"So... you can tell this is a dream," the other elf enunciated rhetorically. "And why, then, have you not left yet?"

Theron gave him the raised eyebrow look. "Well, I tried to find an exit but I somehow always end up back around here in the middle of this Weisshaupt fortress that I somehow imagined without ever having visited."

"Weisshaupt?" the currently so-called Silver Warden echoed. "And why do you think this is Weisshaupt Fortress?"

"Well..." the Dalish man pointed in the direction of what looked like a higher level, where several humanoid shapes could be seen. "Duncan, or whatever it is that is impersonating him, told me so."

"Ah," the dwarf uttered.

"You speak so nonchalantly about this," the mage observed, tilting his head to the left. "I'm rather amazed you could even tell this was a dream."

Theron smirked. "Well, the first thing that gave it all away was the fact that this supposed headquarters of the Grey Wardens is populated by only Duncan and two or three shems, even though it should be bristling with Wardens. The other thing was the incredibly unlikely statement that darkspawn no longer exist. And, of course, the fact that the real Duncan is dead, although I only remembered this a bit later as if I was... waking up from a dream. And yes, the pun was completely intended."

"So... you just waited around for someone to solve this whole mess for you?" the mage could scarcely believe it.

"Well, it's not like I have that much a motivation to actually go out of my way to kill those doppelgangers," the hunter said with a dismissive shrug. "It's a bit too troublesome."

The dwarf assumed a thinker's posture not unlike Alim's, and both wardens were now standing there, with their right arms horizontally raised in front of their chests and the elbow of the left one resting on it, the hand hovering in front of the mouth. Then, the former spoke. "So... you just stayed here... because doing anything about it was too troublesome."

There was a pause.

"Well, that was the plan, at least until I got bored enough to finally kill those impostors and be on my way to seeing just what this Beyond is all about. So, the answer to that is... yes, more or less," he admitted. "I welcomed a reprieve from that whole darkspawn debacle. After all, I am doing this whole Grey Warden business because I was forced into it-"

"-by your own rashness that made you get infected with taint from that mirror," the other knife-eared one finished his sentence in his stead.

It looked like the follower of the Creators couldn't be bothered to acknowledge that remark so he just went on as if Alim had not said anything. "Although I admit, if I saw them kick a puppy or doing other such nonsense, I would have killed them quite readily."

"They more or less tortured a mouse with fire," the warrior stepped in. "And it could talk."

There was a moment of silence.

After that, the hunter quaintly got up, went over to the supposed Duncan and his two goons all friendly like, killed them, returned and stretched as if he had just woken up. Again. "Well then, shall we g-"

And he was gone in a glittering poof.

Alim and Raonar shared a look.

"Perhaps we should..."

"... Forget this ever happened. Yeah."

"-. .-"

The fourth dream was Alistair's. he seemed to be caught in an illusion of... living with his sister and her children? Someone definitely dropped the ball on that one because Alistair had never even mentioned having living family members. The woman was supposedly called Goldanna and had supposedly almost finished preparing dinner.

The almost templar jokingly begged the dwarf and the blood mage to join them at the table that seemed to be located in the larger room of the modest shack they found themselves in when they walked through that portal.

"This is your sister?" Alim asked in obvious disbelief.

"Yes, this is my sister Goldanna," the human confirmed with a degree of cheerfulness that was outright disturbing.

"You never told us you had a sister," said the other newly arrived Warden.

"I know, I know," Alistair acknowledged, almost unconcerned. "Fact was that I was always planning to come visit her because I wanted to see her at least once before this while Blight thing escalated."

The emulators of the heroes of legend coughed into their fists in unison at the realization that what this Goldanna looked like was probably not what she really looked like at all. After all, that man had yet to set eyes on her even once.

Before Alim could start to make fun of the poor human, the dwarf began to talk him through recent events, until he finally remembered the Circle Tower, and the Demon and how he was suddenly in this situation.

Alistair sighed. "Oh... I feel really stupid right now."

Of course, when they saw that the jig was up, those demons that impersonated Alistair's family attacked. The bad part was that they retained their forms, which meat that, essentially, the three were supposed to actually slaughter a woman and several children. And since Alistair was closest to them, he was going to be the first to have to do it.

He hesitated, even in spite of his templar discipline.

Which made it all the more fortunate that all specters started writhing in pain at the same time, until they collapsed to the ground (no longer a floor, since the illusionary shack had dispelled). Both warrior looked back at the mage, only to notice that his eyes were shining a sort of light blue. Clearly he had no reservations when it came to using Blood Wound on demons.

"That true seeing spell..." Alistair remembered. "You used it to see them for what they really were."

"True seeing spell?" the commander spoke up, slightly surprised as this was the first time he had heard of it. "Does it do what it sounds like?"

Alistair was going to answer but the same odd light started swirling around him so he groaned before being spirited away himself.

The spellcaster exhaled. "Yes, it does what it sounds like... more or less."

"-. .-"

The fifth dream was Leliana's, and she managed to be the most surprising by not even recognizing the two that came before her. She was caught in a lie that she was still with the Chantry, even being in the process of praying to the Maker.

It took a while to convince her to focus, at which point Alim asked her if she remembered why she left the cloister. Then, the so-called 'revered mother' questioned her beliefs, which was supposedly what gave her away as an impostor. According to Leliana, her revered mother knew of her so-called vision and of why she had left the Chantry.

The battle with the ensuing demons lasted little, after which a shocked Leliana was also spirited away.

"Most interesting," a voice was heard, reminding the dwarf noble that he still had a white, shining, talking mouse on his shoulder.

"What is?" the mage asked before he had the chance to.

"I believe I have almost uncovered the means by which this "spiriting away" as you called it can be prevented," the extension of the mighty Fade Spirit answered.

The elf's and dwarf's gazes met once again as they gave the same answer. "Good to know."

"-. .-"

Up until this point, the dreams of their companions hadn't exactly been all that horrible.

This had finally changed, as the first thing that they heard upon teleporting to this new dream were the sounds of battle. And that was all they needed for adrenaline to start pumping in their systems, as far as it was even possible in the spirit world at least. And finally, they could look around to see what kind of dream it was, and realized that they were inside a keep of some sort, a keep that was definitely not in its best shape.

They were currently on what looked like a 'street' (bordered by very tall and apparently thick granite walls on both sides), one that had shoddy, improvised barricades here and there, most of them on fire, and there was a general sensation of chaos in the air. The crackle of the flames would mix with the sounds of hurried steps, from the softer ones of lightly armored soldiers to those of metal boots stomping the stone slabs beneath them.

A reciprocated glance was all the accord required for the two new intruders in this dream to immediately run after what they spotted as soldiers headed towards a certain destination, cutting through dust and smoke alike. The duo ran for a few minutes, taking several turns until the men they were pursuing barged through one of the wooden doors on the left. That was when the dwarf and elf slowed down and approached more warily, considering that it may very well be a trap.

That hypothesis crumbled when they heard the sound of blade sinking into flesh, as well as one, then two men screaming, only for their yelps to be silenced by what could be heard as a swing of a sword, at least as was allowed by the short rousing battle cry that a woman's voice gave out at the very same moment of the kill.

After a second, the two Wardens approached the door and set themselves on either side of it, already suspecting what they may very well find inside. That was when they heard what sounded like an armored person falling on one knee and the distinct bang of a blade's tip striking against the stone floor. Heavy breathing was the last hint they needed to realize that whoever had slain those 'attackers' was more than a little tired.

The dwarf noble peered inside, only to draw his head back out of the door opening as fast as he could before a chair crushed into the side of the door, breaking into pieces with a loud smash because of the sheer force of the impact.

"More of you come!" Gwen's voice was distinctly heard from inside, the shiver in her tone betraying her fatigue. "Show yourselves, cowards! I will kill every last one of you that comes in here!"

The exile raised his round targe in front of him in the shield wall stance and barged into the room, ducking his head behind said shield just in time to avoid the worst of the collision between him and a footstool. He was sent staggering backwards and his arm quaked in pain from the might of the impact, even in spite of the thick white steel armor he was wearing.

He heard Gwenith push herself to her feet, still tired, so he lowered his shield slightly so as to look over it and at her. Her dark brown hair was arranged in a single braid that went behind her left ear and hung in front of her, over her shoulder, but even so there were a few loose strands hanging in front of her eyes, some even stuck to her sweat-covered brow. The woman took her own stance, gripping her greatsword's hilt tight, ferocity blazing inside her brown eyes.

Her silverite heavy chain mail was dented all over and some small cuts seemed to bleed even through her armor. A bruise was visible on the side of her neck, but it looked as though the worst of it was concealed beneath her pauldron.

Several men, soldiers apparently, with shields bearing a bear as the crest were lying dead across that chamber, the kitchen apparently. The room was quite spacious too, and whatever furniture was in it had long since been either smashed, pushed or toppled over, leaving most of the room clear enough for the woman to swing her large weapon without a handicap.

At last the elf mage also stepped inside, slowly and with his staff at the ready, his spell, force field in this case, just a gesture away from activating.

"Always you dogs of Arl Howe come in groups," the woman spat in disgust. "How shameful, to jump a lady so."

"Gwen, stop this. This is a dr-"

"No!" the currently golden-haired dwarf commanded, raising his curved blade as a sort of placating barrier in front of him. "This is actually an... excellent opportunity," he whispered.

The mage kept his eyes pinned on her as he moved behind the Warden Commander. "That sounds a bit ominous."

The exile immediately assumed his chosen role, remembering every allusion and every detail he knew about the young woman. She was the daughter of Teryrn Bryce and Teryna Eleanor Cousland, her family ranking second only to the king. She had been conscripted by Duncan while escaping her home castle. The lady had not actually spoken of it much, but he heard enough from the others to know that her family had remained behind in that castle, at the 'mercy', or lack thereof, of whoever betrayed them, this Arl Howe she mentioned most likely.

"Are you done mumbling? Or are you scared of one woman?" she taunted, bending forward just an inch, ready to lunge in at any second.

"Oh, my but you seem driven," the short warrior shot back with narrowed eyes. "I wonder why that is. Perhaps you're trying to protect something?"

Gwenith failed to hide her sudden gust of fear for a moment and instinctively placed herself between the door to that larder and her assumed enemy. "I'll kill you before you even take a step, scum!"

A weak voice was heard coming from behind her, that of a man, and the two newcomers noticed that two people were there, beyond that door. A man that had a deep wound in his abdomen, bleeding profusely, as well as a woman past her middle years, hair already grey, though she was wearing armor more or less similar to Gwen's and seemed quite fit for her age, betraying a warrior's lifestyle.

"Pup..." the dying man let out.

"Bryce, hold on!" the woman pleaded, almost frantically as she seemed to put pressure on the wound.

Damned demons, both 'intruders' thought, to go as far as to violate such memories.

But the former prince did not abate in his act. "Ah, so that's what you are so fiercely protecting," he said in an almost excited voice. "You really think what you're doing here will actually make a difference? You should have just fled when you had the chance, little girl."

"Be careful darling!" the woman called out. Apparently, that was supposed to be her mother.

"You'll die before you even take a step!" Gwen yelled as she charged.

"Alim, stay out of this," said the other warrior, and the battle was joined.

The elf wisely retreated behind the entrance, giving them the whole room to do whatever they were going to do.

Gwen was tired, breathing heavily, and the fluctuating strength behind her blows betrayed her fatigue and hidden injuries that had already begun to take their toll on her prowess. And yet she fought so relentlessly that she actually had her opponent on the defensive, her ferocity unabated as she let herself be driven by her instinct to protect her home and her family.

The two fighters' blades crossed several times, until the woman managed to strike at him particularly hard. He blocked it with his shield, barely, but the force pushed him back several steps and his arm almost went numb. Almost being the key word. He managed to raise the targe up in time to absorb the impact as Gwen kicked at another, already broken, chair, hurling it straight at him.

Of course it was just a feint, for she tried to skewer him through the chest the same instant he had thrown the piece of furniture away. The blow did get past the shield, but the dwarf made half a step to the side and twisted his body half-way. The tip of the blade met his breastplate, and the silverite edge slid to the side, leaving a scratch mark across the white steel armor with a screeching sound. So the exile stepped in close, spun on his heel and practically bashed his shield into her back as his arm came in a circle up behind her.

She was pushed to the ground, the side of her face hitting the stone floor and leaving her dazed, until her hearing started to again become clear and she could hear her enemy's metal boots as he seemed to put distance between her and him.

No, he was going for the larder.

"Hmm, now whatever shall we do?" said the short warrior as he kept staring her down while she forced herself back to her feet. "I am so close to this so-called larder, I wonder what I could do once I go in there..."

With an outright scream of rage, the human lady charged in again, once more drawing on her inner reserves. In fact, much to Raonar's surprise, she was fighting even more violently now, to the point where she began to push him back and even made a horizontal swipe strong enough to almost throw him through the air once it collided with his round shield. He recovered mid-way, and rolled across the ground of his own volition.

Again Gwenith was in front of the door to the larder, gasping for breath, while the Warden Commander, whom she still did not recognize if the vengeful wrath in her stare was any indication, got back up and ignored the ache in his right shoulder and entire left arm.

He then grinned menacingly at her, his voice carrying what seemed like utter mockery. "Poor girl, caught up in a fantasy, thinking she could actually make a difference by protecting that door. Well, perhaps it's time you learned a lesson!"

This time it was his own turn to charge. She lifted her greatsword at an angle, so as to intercept his ascending swing, but he quickly stepped closer and brought his shield's edge in a similar fashion from the other direction., until it hit not her body, but her weapon stark in the middle of the blade. The power behind that strike sent a tremor from her palm all the way to her shoulder, even through her gauntlet, and the sword flew out of her grasp, sliding across the floor until it reached the wall.

What was left was for the Warden Commander to spin his own sword in his grasp, until it was the pommel, not the pointy end, that faced forward. It was that pommel that buried itself deep in the woman's abdomen, the collision strong enough to send a tremor straight to her insides even though her armor.

The dwarf quickly backed away a couple of steps, giving Gwen more than enough room to topple over and fall on her face, defeated and helpless, her lungs almost hyperventilating.

All she could now do was barely manage to twist her head and try to look up at her enemy as he brought the tip of his sword to her throat, one inch away from her skin.

The dwarf noble stared down at her, an implacable, blank expression visibly confounding the lady warrior as she lay there. And then, he got his confirmation to the hypothesis that he tested out by acting as one of her assailants when she closed her eyes in resignation and calmly awaited her death.

Fool girl.

He drew his sword away and stooped low right in front of her. "Did you really think it would end so quickly?"

The shudder was clearly visible, even to the elf who had finally gathered enough courage to step inside, although he still kept a safe distance. Gwen's visible eye, the right one as her head lay on the side, snapped open and looked up at the one who had bested her, as well as it could manage at least.

Then, the eyes of the Commander of the Grey hardened, and so did his voice, until every word he uttered drilled deep into her mind. "This is your greatest wish? You wish you had stayed behind with your parents and defended them to the death? Do you honestly think that's what would have happened? That you would keep fighting and killing until you fell and someone just came along and ended your life and, thus, allowed you to perform your duty to your family and whatever else is going on through your mind right now?"

Confusion passed over the woman, partly because she did not understand why he was speaking in past tense.

But he continued, voice as hard as before. "Do you want to know what would have really happened if you hadn't fled? Well let me give you a hint. When the willing underlings of a murderer gang up in order to corner a woman, especially one as beautiful as you, and one that can get any man's adrenaline pumping as madly as you did to me during this duel just now, what do you think is the next logical outcome?"

The way her battered shell shook just then made her previous shudder seem insignificant and her eyes widened in horror.

"And not just that," the implacable voice continued. "Your mother may be more or less past her prime, but her physique is not exactly aged just yet. And your father there looks pretty banged up, but he could still live for an hour or so, or more with assistance, enough for him to see some last things, some last... memories... to take along with him to his grave."

Gwen gave up on trying to meet the speaker's gaze and just stared blankly ahead while the blood mage kept silent, almost motionless, realizing how delicate the situation was getting and what the former prince was trying to do.

"So what do you think this Arl Howe would have done? What do you think he would have had his men do? What do you think he would have allowed his men to do?"

There was no visible or audible response.

"Yes, you do realize now, don't you? They would have abused you, raped you, over and over, soldiers taking turns at you while your parents would be forced to watch helplessly, being able to only beg them to stop hurting their precious daughter. Yes, they would have given up all dignity even for the sake of the vainest of hope that maybe your suffering would be eased even in the slightest. And those fiends would just cackle madly at the agony they would be inflicting. And then, after you would be all but spent, you would be killed right in front of their eyes, maybe after you were made to see your mother suffer a similar fate as yours. And that would have been only if a certain someone didn't decide to just keep your imprisoned... for later."

Alim Surana subtly created a sound-blocking but just as physically impenetrable forcefield in the doorway to the larder just before Gwen's supposed mother tried to call out something. He knew it was not exactly necessary, but he couldn't just sit by and watch, so he could at least prevent any other sort of interference.

And the exile followed up with more. "Is that what you would have wanted?"

Only silence greeted that question.

"Is that what your parents would have wanted?"

Silence again.

"I asked you something."

Still nothing.

"Is it what they would have wanted? Is it what you would have wanted for yourself?"

"... no..." the response was barely audible.

And the Warden Commander just could not have such a half-hearted response. "I can't hear you."

"No."

"What was that?"

"No!"

And the vice came like an explosion. "Is that what you would have really wanted?"

"No, dammit!" Those words came out in a flash of anger and, before she knew it, Gwen had pushed herself up by both arms and was staring the dwarf right in the face as he stood crouched in front of her, the latter not blinking even once. And, somehow, her arms held fast and she did not collapse again, so the one lecturing her slowly stood up, until he was again staring her down.

"So then, now that we know that staying behind is not what you or they would have wanted, we can find out why that is so and what you truly want."

She blinked. And then she drew back and ended up positioned in what could be seen as half-way between kneeling and sitting. And her back was turned to the door to the larder, which meant that the dwarf noble had her undivided attention.

"So let us analyze what happened. They let Duncan conscript you into the Grey Wardens and had you flee without them. Now, push all illusion aside and search your mind. What did your parents say. What did they entrust you with? What kind of greater purpose did they give you?"

Gwen was staring up in the direction of his eyes but her gaze wasn't focused on them. it wasn't focused on anything.

So he decided to help her along. "What were their last words?"

She searched.

And she found the answer

"See that justice is done..." her mouth spoke on her own.

And the stout warrior smiled down at her. "Yes, not vengeance and not just mere survival. They were fine parents, for they sent you away to save you and gave you a purpose higher than yourself in order for you to have something to keep you going even when things grow darkest. But still, in the end, what you do is your decision, so I ask you now: What do you choose?"

Her eyes grew slightly more narrow as she sorted through her mind, until she repeated another part of her parent's last wishes. "The Couslands always do their duty."

"And what is that duty of yours? And answer carefully, for you are no longer just a Cousland. You are a Grey Warden as well."

A silence fell again, until the lady's eyes became unflinching and she met the dwarf's hard gaze once more. "To stand against the Blight and to bring Arl Rendon Howe to justice." Because even my dying father enforced Duncan's words when he said that Grey Wardens face the darkspawn above all else.

And the short one looked surprised. "In that order? I am impressed. Very well, perhaps now your mind will have cleared and you will have fully remembered. But just in case I am wrong, I will make it clear for you." He extended his hand, an offer to help her up. "I am your commanding officer and I order you to get up and start doing that duty. Show me what a true Cousland is."

And she did. She accepted his assistance and got to her feet. And that left just one last thing she had to do, now that her mind was her own and she recognized this as the illusion it was. She was going to take her sword and personally deal with that which had dishonored her parents' faces.

She went over and picked up her sword, despite the exhaustion and pain, and made for the larder...

... only to realize that it was empty. So she twisted around and finally noticed that Alim was also in the room. "Where...? Where did those... things go?"

Alim chuckled awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, had already crushed them into nothingness with my contracting spherical forcefield by the time you had gotten to the "No, dammit!" part."

Gwen practically shrieked in exasperation, and that was the last they saw or heard from her before she, like the others, teleported to some other place.

Raonar and Alim gave Honor the Mouse, who was still on the former's shoulder, questioning looks.

"Before you ask, yes, I will be able to prevent the next of your friends from being spirited away like that."

"Okay then," the leader concluded. "That leaves just Faren and Kallian."

"-. .-"

Raonar barely even noticed that Alim was waving his hand in front of his face. "Hey, are you still there? Come one man, don't you shut down too."

The response came as the dwarf noble grabbed him by the wrist. "Alim... could you please... go back the way we came?" The voice was level but slow.

And while the elf would have protested, he well knew that there was hardly any way he could help in this situation. This so-called dream was just... too extreme, to put it mildly. "Be careful." And with a swirl of light, he had teleported to one of the inner islands, leaving the exile and Honor's mouse-shaped extension alone.

There are two main things that define a person.

And these aren't trivial things like the color of one's hair, or the shape of one's face, or his genealogy or the place he grew up in, or anything of the sort. These are all just conditions that can only act as opportunities for development. What truly stays at the basis of one's self are two things.

A person's actions.

And a person's reactions.

Semantic debates about both concepts being two sides of the same coin, or two parts of a whole, or other metaphors really no longer mattered at this point. The fact was that it was these two things that were, ultimately, the essence of one's personality. These two things were a direct consequence of just one trait that sentient beings had in common, that stemmed from and, at the same time, granted self-awareness.

The ability to choose.

This ability that was, normally, not something that could be taken away. A person did not spend any length of time without making a kind of choice. Each day, each hour, each minute, each second, each moment was a choice. Each action was a choice. Basic things, such as breathing, walking, running, speaking, listening, even thinking, were the result of a choice of some kind, regardless of whether it was biologically, reflexively, emotionally or intellectually prompted. The basic functions of a body could be seen as one's soul's choice to keep them going. Complex actions, such as solving an unusual problem or performing large-scale manipulation, were also splendid examples of the ability to choose, and one could also choose not to perform them, or try to do so.

People could choose what to do.

People could choose how to do it.

And, of course, people could choose between doing said thing or not doing it at all, which, in itself, was the choice to perform the action known as not performing the action that one was considering performing.

In any other situation, the dwarf noble would have been at least mildly amused at what was going on in his head.

This once, however, amusement either did not exist or did not show itself in case the consequence turned out to be its total and permanent banishment from the prince's psyche forever.

When he teleported into that dream, he was faced with what looked like carnage. That would not have exactly phased him much, since he had come to see death on a regular basis. What took him aback was who those corpses were supposed to be, and how they looked to have been murdered.

There were five of them.

One of them was the dwarf known as Leske. He was lying on the ground, face-down, in a pool of blood.

Another one was the girl Rica, lying on her back with eyes wide open and with a deep and wide wound in her stomach, bloody and messy, as though it had been made by a thick, blunt object only minutes before.

The third body was also dwarven, a red-haired middle-aged woman dressed in rags and sprawled over the ground, a bottle of mosswine still stuck in her dead hand's grip. Faren's... Faren's mother.

But to the exile, the two remaining corpses were the most shocking. One of them was Kallian, facing up and with her chest also decorated with a veritable hole, gory and red. The prince may have even jumped to conclusions and assumed that was the real Kallian, if not for the final corpse.

That fifth corpse was his own.

He was staring at himself, fallen dead on his back and with his throat mangled and shred by something he could not even start to guess.

He stared in shock at the scene. And there, in the middle of it all, was Faren himself, with his back turned and his hands apparently raised in front of him. He wasn't moving. At all. It was like he was just a statue, part of a twisted static nature.

That demon was definitely going to learn the meaning of the word punishment.

Setting all confusion aside, Raonar strode towards him as quickly as he could without causing too much noise. It was unnecessary, because the castless rogue didn't even budge, as if he was not even aware he was coming. As if he couldn't hear him.

So the noble carefully walked over to Faren's front, only to finally figure out what had supposedly killed those 'people.'

Which was no weapon.

Faren was standing there, his head bent forward and his eyes staring blankly in the direction of his hands. He may have been staring at them specifically at some point, and at the very thick layer of fresh blood that covered them from the tip of his fingers all the way to his elbows. But not anymore. He wasn't even staring, his eyes weren't blinking, his irises themselves were dead.

"Faren..."

No response.

The newcomer tried to reach for him, but his arms drew back on their own, for fear that he may cause something irreversible just by touching him. So he had to force himself to slowly place a hand on his shoulder. "Faren."

Still no answer, so he shook him lightly. Then a bit more strongly, and a bit more, until he took him by both shoulders and shook him as hard as he could. "Faren. Faren! Dammit brand, snap out of it!"

Drip.

The only response was a drop of the fresh blood dripping off the rogue's elbow.

How had it come to this?

This kind of dream didn't just happen.

Demons were manipulative monsters, and they either preyed on one's deepest desires or darkest fears in order to keep them trapped in these dreams. And this essentially meant that this dream itself was the depiction of Faren's worst possible nightmare.

The dwarf noble found himself covering his mouth with his hand in what bordered on horror and what this must have meant.

Faren murdered someone in the past.

Multiple people at once.

With his bare hands.

And so his greatest fear was that he could end up murdering the five people that had come to mean anything to him. And because those people were the only ones who meant anything to him, they were, automatically, the ones that meant everything in the world to him.

So what would happen when the whole meaning in one's life was suddenly taken away?

Death by heart attack or outright suicide.

Unless the mind of the person that had suffered through something like that did a last desperate act of self-preservation and shut itself down because of the shock.

"You are incredibly strong. I almost went into shock from killing just one person I cared about."

There was the sound of a sword being drawn. Then, exactly one minute and 26 seconds later, the demons acting as the fake corpses on the ground had been destroyed.

And then, with unrestrained motions, the exile threw away his weapon and shield and began taking off all the pieces of his armor, one by one joining the pile that the blade and targe had started. Honor, still in mouse form, decided to wait there as well.

Oh yes, that demon was definitely going to see a whole new definition of the word punishment.

Instantly, the prince's memory flashed back to when Faren had decided to not kill that guard in the carta dungeon. Then, the noble remembered him showing up to help him out with his mad scheme, by his own initiative. Then he showed up again and saved his life in the Deep Roads, after he was exiled. After that, there was his performance during the battle of Ostagar, when he almost stopped thinking and was going to go and try to save a bunch of people that had been paralyzed by enemy magic. And his sister was very proud of him too.

And now, it was revealed that Faren had likely murdered someone, or more than one someone, at some point or another.

It made no sense.

Raonar's hand was still covering his mouth as he stared at the unmoving dwarf. His gaze was totally dead, even though his body seemed to function, or at least breathe. It was like the lights were on... but no one was home.

By the Stone, Faren, what kind of hell did you actually live in? What have we so-called upper castes been doing to you all this time?

Raonar knew why Alim had complied to his request to handle this dream alone so easily. He well knew that the mage likely understood his reasoning, despite the obvious fact that the elf was not as emotionally invested as he was in this contemplation. Violating the main underlying trait of sentient beings was something the elf abhorred and had learned blood magic with the specific purpose of preventing or countering. What's more, he showed little pity to those that ruthlessly abused such power, as was shown when he obliterated that templar-bewitching desire demon in one of the most gruesome ways one could think of (tearing her apart inch by inch with just the power of his mind, without even flinching, although Kallian would probably have nightmares just because of how that apparently female demoness had screamed). And even more recently he showed that mercilessness, when he silently dispatched Gwen's tormenters.

Mind control was seen as the ultimate manifestation of blood magic, as it could practically override one's free will. And yet, even then, one could still resist, if one had enough awareness to recognize the intrusion, and enough willpower and mental discipline to stay in control, though it came at the cost of great pain, or even death. The choice between succumbing to the control or not doing it still existed.

Which was why what this Sloth had done to the one standing in front of the dwarf noble right now was something that prompted, no, demanded the most extreme and decisive response on the latter's part. The most extreme form of choice that he could come up with, the ultimate manifestation of retribution.

Because what the demon had done was completely shut down that ability to choose, and that was just one very small step away from completely destroying the person in question. And it was not the result of blood control. It was the result of the most twisted, the most brutal, the most revolting and the most psychologically-scarring form of emotional torture.

Faren had just been convinced that he had done the worst thing possible, and his mind was actively rejecting any sort of choice, because Faren was convinced it would be a wrong one. So his mind had completely turned off.

And what most got to the exile was that it now fell to him to try and remedy that fact, and he knew that, depending on how he handled it, he could do anything from nothing, to completely changing that person in the most fundamental of ways or, worst case scenario, totally shattering the last thing holding that person's mind together, if it was even intact anymore.

That demon had violated what made life sacred, and had placed him, the Commander of the Grey, in a position where he could very well do the same thing.

And now came the time when he would finally snap Faren back into awareness and he knew well that there would be a moment, one single moment when, upon reactivation, his mind would be totally vulnerable. In that instant, whatever Raonar happened to say, whatever he decided to tell him, he would automatically take for granted. he would automatically obey.

Self-serving manipulators would probably abuse this chance and say something that would forever bind his fate to theirs, perhaps even make him into a servant.

Raonar didn't want that.

But the other problem was that, if he didn't say anything, Faren's mind would probably just break apart and he would go insane.

And so he decided that there was only one way he could think of that could push both the above risks to their minimum. He would assume that whatever murder Faren committed in the past had mitigating circumstances and hope that this assumption actually did stem from logic and not his personal bias.

The prince's left hand rose and went over to his right side, stretching outward in preparation as he prepared the best words he could come up with. And he did all he could to cram as much meaning, as much feeling and as much conviction into them as he could muster.

Whatever happened in the past, it was in the past, and you can outgrow it. You can surpass it, become more than the person you were back then, until those actions no longer define you. If there were mitigating circumstances to what you did back then, notice them, acknowledge them and use them to forgive yourself. And if you can see none, look outward, look ahead, look to more recent times and know that you have atoned for it.

And most of all, know that this is all an illusion.

You are not a murderer.

A moment of stillness followed, as well as a deep breath, after which the back of Raonar's left hand collided violently with the other dwarf's right cheek, shaking him to the core and almost sending him toppling backwards.

But the Warden Commander would just not accept that. Before that second had passed, he had already grabbed the castless man by both shoulders and stared into his eyes.

The pupils shrunk.

His mind was coming back.

And so the former Aeducan finally released the deep breath he had been holding in a loud an direct shout that, rather than trying to persuade someone into believing the words, sounded more like it was simply enunciating an immutable reality.

"There is no blood on your hands!"

That yell cause the redhead to shudder even more sharply than the actual hit had and, as he heard those words, the blood on his arms practically vaporized.

He blinked several times before his mouth opened, and like a panicked child started to look around, at the ground where his victims were, only to see it clear of everything. And then he finally saw who was in front of him, at last realizing that he wasn't really dead.

But he was not alright. As the effects of the trauma he had just suffered were only now starting to take effect, and as he saw who was holding him, his face crumpled and, instead of relief or anything of the sort, he started hyperventilating.

And before long he was crying, breaking into a fit of sobs as his eyes shut in what the Warden Commander could interpret only as a vain effort to keep those painful tears from gushing out. And in the same way that Faren did not realize the futility of his effort to prevent himself from falling apart, he only later noticed that the other dwarf had put his arms around him and drawn him as close as he could manage.

And the duster stammered as tears flowed down his face. "I... Leske he... and mom they..."

These sobs spoke to the upper castman of more than just this one shock, and he decided to accept that pain into himself, to the point where it could be heard in his own voice even as his arm started to rub the poor man across the back. "No, it's alright, it was just a dream." I'm sorry, Faren. First it was Connor and now you. What the sodding Ancestors is wrong with this world?

"Rica, she... And you... and then I just..."

"No," even his own voice had become pained now, and yet that "no" still sounded like the utter expression of reality. "No, it's alright. It was just a dream. It was all a bad dream. I'm the only thing that's real. Ignore everything else." I'm sorry Faren, I'm so sorry. Whatever you went through in the past, whatever left you with this horrible scar, whatever caused you to snap, I'm so sorry. You have such a gentle soul and it's been marred so horribly. I'm so sorry.

If the gushing sobs from before actually had some sort of emotional restraint, the way the young lad was crying now was downright painful, to the point where he was clinging onto his rescuer with everything he had, as if he were his lifeline, the final thing that could hold his sanity together. And the sharp sobs started to wear on his chest, until it actually hurt him to even breathe, and that only made him cry more, until he wasn't just crying about one or two things, but for everything he had gone through ever since he had been born. Big or small, it didn't matter, everything was coming out.

And there was not even a moment when the other one would even think of letting go. That young guy was crying in his arms, and there was no chance in hell or heaven, whatever those concepts meant, that he would ever be the first to let go. No one he ever knew had ever cried like that, as though all they had been trying to outrun had crashed upon them all at once. So he would just stay and hold him like that, let him cry, encourage him to cry until all the pain had finally come out. There was no need for words, no need for any sort of explanation.

The river of tears that had soaked the back of his shirt was all he needed to know that he would do anything to protect this person.

That river of tears was all the reason he needed to make sure that demon got his due.

That demon was going to pay.

He would face him, defeat him.

The demon would come to be at his mercy.

And then he would decide his fate, in a completely objective way.

No sadism.

No malice.

No hatred.

No pleasure.

No vengeance.

No emotional response at all.

There would be only punishment.

---

And the review space is still waiting!