9:44 Anderfels

The templar should have hit him - smashed apart his jaw, knocked his brains against the floor and put him out of his misery. Damn the fade, damn it and all those damn demons and their damn deamony damning tricks! Alistair lurked at the back of the group, their saucy Qunari leading the pack as if she already knew where to go, while Cullen... Maker, how was he still going? How did he manage to yank himself out of that razor wire trap and not even show a glint of pain across his face? He mooned more over taking the lyrium than whatever the fade did to him.

Alistair gripped tighter to his stomach, trying to pry apart the splint mail with his fingernails as if that would make him feel better. Somehow remove not just the image of Lanny and their children from his brain, but the serenity it filled in his heart. He never realized how much he wanted that until it was gone. But that wasn't a possibility, had never been one, would never be. Why not wish for edible candy clouds and the ability to fly while you're at it, Alistair? It's far more likely you'll sprout wings.

The others eyed up the walls as they continued to climb higher into the fortress. By a small miracle of the Maker, the water finally receded, leaving their ankles sopping but free to dry in the dead air. It stank the further they continued, like dried skin stretched in preparation for the tanner with chunks of gristle still attached, and the sharp bite of magic. Every time he went to lick his teeth, he feared it would spark back at him from the growing hum in the air. The templar had to feel it, especially with his own veins glowing bright, but Cullen didn't respond. He'd barely said a word since dissolving the wards, that sword's edge focus back. It unnerved Alistair how quickly the templar swung from a bubbling panic to honed certainty with a single drink. He'd only brought the one vial as a half hearted joke anyway, as if the Anderfels wouldn't use proper coin for trade. Now he regretted not bringing more, worried how the templar would react when his ration wore off.

Walking under a half broken archway, Alistair screwed his eyes up from a strange green light permeating the room. He blinked a few more times, trying to chase away the white dots across his vision when the truth of the room came into focus. It was grand by tunnel standards, with massive columns propping up a stone dome undulating green energy across it. No, not a dome, there was a big metal ball hanging off the ceiling, dented as if the sculptor couldn't be bothered to smooth it out. That was weird. "Have you ever...?" Alistair began, breaking his silence as he walked towards the others.

Cullen stood deeper in the room, his body rigid as he gazed outward at the wall. With his eyes on the giant hanging ball, Alistair didn't see what fascinated Cullen until he ran into the man's shoulder. The templar whipped back, pure focus across his face, and Alistair's eyes slid away from the slightly scary man to the alcoves dug three feet deep into the walls. It wasn't the multitude of them that startled him, nor the green barrier slapped across each one hissing in magic. No, what nearly sent him scampering out the door was the fact every single one was filled with a dead body. A good thirty bodies circled the room, their skin stretched taut against prodding bones, lips receded away from teeth revealing white gums. Their eyes were shut tight, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to stare into the depthless void of rotted away eyeballs inside those mummified skulls.

Placing a hand against the wall, Alistair leaned closer to the barrier trying to understand who and what this once was. Human, probably, though the ears were shriveled mushrooms on the side of the head. The clothing was the same across every alcove, worn and faded robes without a stitch of any ornamentation. They all looked like monks; ordinary, mummified monks resting almost upright behind the most powerful magic he'd ever tasted. While interesting, this wasn't getting them any closer to Lanny. He began to turn away, when the mummy's paper wasp-nest chest rattled.

"Merciful Andraste!" Alistair shrieked, leaping back, "They're alive!"

"Don't be..." Cullen began, then he caught another body heaving the dust from its leathered skin as it too took in a breath. "Holy Maker, what is this?"

"That's what I was gonna shriek about," Alistair continued.

"How can they be alive? They, this is..." the templar looked freaked, beyond terrified as he whipped his head around at the other mummies that weren't quite dead. The whites of his eyes glowed in the haunting green light as he glared into each alcove, scrounging through the bent and twisted faces.

Alistair shrugged, "You did sense blood magic, and this isn't beyond the pale for them. But..." Why was it bothering the templar? He'd had to have seen this kind of thing before, perhaps worse in Kirkwall and... "Shit. Oh, shitting shit. Where's Lanny?!" He joined in the hunt through the faces, trying to fight down the panic clawing up his throat. No, no, not after all this, after the heartache, the jawache, the miles, the long nights, they were not going to find her turned into one of those- one of those... Maker, no.

"The phylactery," Alistair gestured to Cullen, but the man's broken eyes widened and he shook his head.

"It's gone dark again. I can't get a sense any longer. I, I don't know if, if...what if we're too late?" The taut string he'd been running on snapped and Cullen dropped to his knees, a groan cracking through his lips. Whatever wall he built for himself after the fade, the fight, maybe even from the day he set out must have crumbled, dragging the man with. Honor tried to nudge her head against him, but the man was beyond her, beyond reaching as he crashed deep into the empty void.

No! Alistair stomped his foot like a child; he refused to give up. Even if he had to scour every desiccated face buried behind thick green glass he was going to find Lanny. Digging his fingers into his forehead, Alistair struggled to think, to find an answer, when he heard it gnawing at the back of his head. The song that'd been barely a tickle before was growing stronger, knocking from the base of his skull up through his teeth because... Oh, Maker.

"These are wardens," he moaned. And every one of them was still tied to the archdemon, to the calling, all of them knotted together in... "Of course!" he slapped himself in the forehead for being an idiot. Alistair dropped a hand to the fallen templar. At first, he batted it away, wanting to wallow in his misery, but Alistair wasn't about to give up. "Come on, I know how we can find her."

"How?" Cullen staggered to his feet, not accepting the hand offered to him.

Alistair tapped his head, "I'm gonna follow my nose." Like all grey wardens, he could kinda tell the difference between wardens and darkspawn - the former a gentle symphony in the distance, the latter like climbing inside the bass drum. He couldn't really tell the variances to associate between different wardens, all save one. "Not here," he barely paid attention to the surroundings as he zipped through a doorway into another room similarly stuffed with the dried out husks of wardens.

Cullen groaned at more of the same, even Aqun sighed in consternation, while Alistair waved his hand around, listening with his mind. "No, not here either. This way..." He could hear it - it wasn't loud, not the way it should be, but it sang to him, through him, every part of him knew it. Running past another two chambers also circled with the preserved mummies, Alistair chased after what he heard in his heart. With each step the singing grew louder through his soul, driving him further and further towards it, until they stepped into the largest chamber of them all.

While the others were impressive - your salons, or foyers, or vestibules - this was where the real shit happened. It was the grand ballroom to the quaint drawing rooms of before. No giant metal balls hung from the ceiling, but a griffin statue stood proud in the middle of all - its wings extended as if it turned to stone mid-flight. Shit, given what ancient magisters were capable of, perhaps that's what happened and it had once been a real griffin. The others gawped at the grandeur of another time pristinely preserved away from grave robbers, while Alistair pried apart his forehead, his lips tasting the song. Spinning on his heels, he raced towards a single alcove directly across from the griffin statue.

He didn't tell Cullen what he felt in his gut, but the templar kept close to him, both men coming to a dead standstill at the end of their quest - Lanny resting peacefully upon the standing altar. She wasn't a mummy, though her cheeks were sucked in more than he remembered, her hair dull and listless, her body fragile under thick robes, tattered and filthy with black mud. If they'd taken any longer there may have been nothing to find.

"Maker, blessed Maker, I..." Cullen stumbled for words, his hands skimming across the impenetrable barrier.

"She doesn't look good," the words slipped from Alistair's mouth. He didn't want to say them, didn't want to think them, but it was the truth - Lanny looked near death. The templar's ragged eyes turned to him, bloodshot around the edges as if he'd popped a vessel while holding every tear at bay. "What do we do now?"

Bowing his head, Cullen placed both hands against the barrier. His body snapped rigid as he touched it, waves of dispelling emanating off him, but that damn green barrier stayed in place. It didn't even wobble from his attempt, and the templar's power was so great it nearly knocked Alistair backwards. Cullen's eyes opened for a moment and he softened from the view of Lanny asleep on the reclined altar like in those old fairytales. Gritting his teeth, the templar tried again, pouring more of his power and the lyrium into his spell.

"I don't think that's going to..." Alistair tried, waves of nausea washing over him. Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, whatever he was doing was having an affect on him as well, but not doing a damn thing against the barrier. "Something's not right," Alistair mused, sliding back. "Something we're missing." There were the big glowing balls, which was weird, and could be causing the barriers, but then why weren't any in here? The room was blank save the griffin statue to remind everyone it was full of wardens; stupid, not-dead wardens.

"Do you have any ideas...?" Alistair turned to ask their qunari guide. She'd been quiet, standing stock still as her eyes hunted across the undead wardens, then trailed along the ceiling, as if she knew what to look for. It wasn't her interest in wainscoting that caught Alistair, but the way her hands folded into her sleeves, reaching for something hidden up them. He knew what came after that.

Aqun's eyes zeroed in on the templar with his back fully turned to her, all his concentration on trying to free Lanny. There was little time to plan, only react. Unable to draw his sword, Alistair shouted something incoherent and rushed at Cullen. The man spotted him coming out of the corner of his eye and moved to turn, but not fast enough to see the glint of a dagger Aqun lunged for his kidneys, or liver, or whatever soft spot she'd stab to goo.

Against all sense of self preservation, Alistair knocked into Cullen, throwing the templar back against the wall out of range. He took the slash of the knife across his shoulder and arm. "Maker, damn it!" Alistair screamed, "I just cleaned this!" Blood trickled through the wound across his upper arm, the splintmail doing most of the work to bounce it free.

Roaring, Aqun sliced wide, driving her dagger to finish him off while Alistair fumbled for his sword. Luckily, she forgot about the plucky little mabari that leapt off the ground and dug teeth deep into the qunari's tender hand flesh. Cursing in Qunlat, the blade scattered from Aqun's hand but Honor held tight, shaking her head to pierce her teeth deeper into bleeding skin. Unable to reach another weapon, the qunari kicked wildly against the dog's ribs, the last connecting. Honor whimpered, her teeth releasing in pain, and Aqun whipped her arm sending the mabari flying across the ground.

Her hand looked like moldy venison, blood oozing from a dozen bite marks, but the qunari only glared and moved to unsheathe her spear. Alistair swallowed against those creepy blue eyes sizing him up. He tried to reach for his own sword, but for some reason his hand wouldn't obey. It screamed in agony at the wound still bleeding down his shoulder. While his fingers nudged against the leather hilt, knocking it up and then losing their grip, he faced down death from Aqun's spear driving through his skull. Yanking her arm back, the qunari roared, when a sword smashed towards her side. She rolled to avoid it, almost missing Cullen rising from his shove.

Pressing his attack, the templar slammed his shield towards Aqun's arm, but she dodged quickly away - her spear giving her the greater reach. And yet, even with that she couldn't hope to get past his shield. They found themselves at a strange stalemate.

"Let me guess," Alistair hissed, gritting his teeth as he pressed his hand against his wound to try and stem the blood, "you're ben-ha-"

"I am ben-hassrath," Aqun declared.

"Of fucking course you are," he groaned. He was never going to hear the end of it from the templar now.

The templar didn't back down from his stance, only cast a sidelong glare at Alistair to drive his being right home. Cullen aimed a glower at the turncoat qunari, "What does the Qun care for this place?"

"Why would they even know of it?" Alistair came back with.

"Foolish bas, you know nothing of your own world. Of what you leave waiting in the fringes, like forgotten gatlock barrels to explode when you are caught unawares," Aqun whipped her head from one to the other, her spear following. If he could get his damn hand to work, maybe Alistair could flank her and finish this. But no, it had to get grumpy all of a sudden.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Alistair tried the one card Lanny'd give him so much shit for playing while gesturing at her body. "The Arishock doesn't just know her, she's his damn kadan. Or does that not mean anything to you?"

Aqun glowered at him, her eyes barely sliding back to Lanny, "I serve the Qun, the Arishock serves the Qun. It does not matter how one bas fits into the picture, this place must be purged."

"Why?" Cullen began.

Chuckling in that mirthless and cold qunari way, Aqun whipped back to the templar - the only real threat. "The Darvaraad found mention of this place when we were in the fade. Forgotten by the bas who created it, another option left available to the elven shokrakar, a threat to the Qun. I am sent to end it before it destroys us. And I will, after I kill you."

"Someone's very certain of themselves," Alistair mused. Yanking his hand away from his wound, he managed to unearth the shield off his back and slide it along his forearm. At least his left hand wanted to work. Aqun whipped back to him, her spear dancing closer to him. "Two on one, qunari," Alistair taunted.

"Three on one," Cullen said, jerking his head towards Honor who'd risen to her feet, the entire stripe of her back fur up as she snarled at Aqun.

"Not sure how you're gonna honor the Qun under those odds," Alistair said, twisting his head to emphasize their greater numbers. But that was the problem with qunari - give them impossible odds, back them into a corner and they didn't do what any right thinking person did. They'd never cut and run, make a deal, back down - no, they had to fight until the last breath was drawn from them regardless how many others they took down with them. He didn't know about the templar, but Alistair wasn't in any mood to die that day.

Moving to lick his teeth, a spark zapped against his tongue, knocking across the roof of his mouth. How could the damn magic be even stronger in here? There weren't any of those giant glowing... Oh, you cheeky bastards. That was it, right there, the whole damn time. Alistair raised the shield in front of his face and he tried to whisper at Cullen. "Pst, pst!"

"What?" the templar glared because it was all he could do.

"It's the statue."

Groaning, he glanced over at Alistair, "What is the statue?"

Alistair jerked his head at the griffin in the middle of the room, then circled it around towards every single barrier blocking off the undead wardens. "The stat-ue. Break it and..."

Understanding and certainty glittered in Cullen's eye. He whipped his head towards Aqun, then gazed at the griffin statue just behind her. In her haste to escape their reach, she'd almost butted up against it. Crap, Alistair thought, he was going to need time. Oh this was stupid, this was high on the list of stupid shit he was about to do.

"Hey!" Alistair shouted, hopping an inch ahead and then back. Aqun's eye turned towards him for a moment, then darted back to the templar who had to drop his stance. He needed more than time, he needed a full on distraction. "Hello! Scary qunari lady! Come and get me!" Leaping forward and then back, Alistair rattled his shield. "You know you want to, prime king meat here." It worked, but only for a few seconds, Aqun catching on that something was happening, but uncertain what to do. Her spear began to lean towards the man dancing like he had to pee, drawn by his elaborate movements

Gulping, Alistair prayed a bit to Andraste that the templar worked quick. And then he took a full step forward. Aqun whipped her spear to him, her eyes narrowing. He, in turn, did the same, snarling his teeth as he screamed the first word to come to mind. "Marmalade!" echoed through the dead halls - not liable to become a great war cry, but it was enough to focus the qunari fully upon him. Throwing his shoulders down, Alistair ran towards the spear most likely to slide through his innards. One step. Another. Aqun smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

Then the world exploded. Alistair's breathless body dropped to his knees as the full power of Cullen's 'break magic shit' anti-spell cracked against the griffin. He'd thought it would provide a distraction for them, cause Aqun to turn back. Instead, the magic was so unstable it blew apart, taking the entire stone griffin with it. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" he didn't know who was cursing, probably him as sound scattered from his ears. Alistair ducked under his shield, baring the brunt of debris raining against it like vengeful hail.

Even as the beak and tips of the wing shattered against Aqun's arm and stomach, she remained upright. Blood trickled out of her nose, something inside of her broken beyond repair, but she wasn't about to let some internal bleeding and certain death stop her. Pain seared up Alistair's arm, driving right for his gut and he flopped down to a knee. Smiling at the opportunity, the bruised and battered qunari lifted her spear, ready to drive it into him. He tried to huddle all the best parts of him behind his shield, but with the force she was throwing behind it, the damn thing would probably go through his shield and then him.

"Nehraa Qun!" she shouted. Aiming her arm back, those solid grey muscles prepared to bring about his doom, when the tip of a sword prodded through her throat. The spear scattered from her fingers and she reached up with both hands, trying to drive the crimson point free as blood poured from her grey neck. Sneering, Cullen grabbed onto her shoulder and both thrusted his blade deeper while yanking her back into it. A screaming gurgle gushed out of the hole in her throat, the mighty qunari toppling to her knees as the last of life drained away.

Cullen ripped his sword free, half decapitating the qunari, the empty body slumped on its side. He pinched the bridge of his nose to steady himself, swiping it with the qunari's blood, when Honor nudged him in the leg. His sword clattered free, and Cullen dropped to a knee, both hands palpating his dog. "Did she hurt you, girl? Some bruising here, but..."

"I'm fine too," Alistair winced, struggling to rise to his feet. His head buzzed as if he'd hung upside down for too long, probably from the errant magic zipping through the air. "And..." Both men stared at each other before turning back to the woman they loved, the green barrier shattered off her cage.

Reaching her first, Alistair grabbed up her hand and hissed, "Maker, she's ice cold. Lanny. Come on, Lanny. It's all good to go. We're ready to head out now. No more scary qunari going all Qun happy. Lanny? Don't do this. Don't you do this." He rubbed his hand up and down hers, trying to bring some warmth into it. "Don't you dare, don't tell me you're doing this!" Alistair cried, despair and rage competing for his heart.

Calmly, the templar lifted up his bloodied sword and held it against her nose. A puff of fog hazed up the crimson blade. She was breathing. "Sweet Maker, thank You," Cullen gasped, his sword falling from her nose as he brought his hands together in prayer. But that wasn't what they needed right now. They had to wake her, to rouse her from whatever spell she was under, to bring her back. There had to be something to it.

"Lanny...Lanny," Alistair called, jiggling her arm up and down. It was dead weight in his, offering no resistance, her body limp and far too light, "I'll call you Solona, you hate that. But I'll do it if you don't wake up. Please. Wake up. Why isn't she waking up?" Panic rattled in his veins. They'd done it, damn it. They'd crossed the insurmountable, found her, defeated the unexpected villain. That should be the end of it!

"We have to..." Cullen coughed. His hand hung above her frozen cheek as if he was terrified to touch her. "Look around, for whatever's causing this. I may have an idea. I'll, um, I'll go and find it. Shut them down." He began to slide his body away from Lanny, but he kept his hand just within reach as if he couldn't really leave. "Remain with her, watch her to see if-if it works."

"No, wait," Alistair tried to grab onto him, "you should stay here. Be the one to, to wake her up. To be here when she, that's how that works, right? True love's kiss or something like that. In all the stories..."

Cullen slipped away, shaking his head, "I'm the one with lyrium. Only I can, I-you remain. I'll see what I can do. Stay with her, please." Before Alistair could dredge up another argument, the templar vanished into one of the other chambers, Honor limping on his heels.

Maker's balls, why do you have to do this now? You know, You've pulled a lot of shit over the years, but this? To get so close and then... Alistair slapped his own cheek, trying to draw himself out of his misery. He patted Lanny's cold hand, "Hey, it's me. The one you hate, remember? Don't you want to wake up and yell at me? Give me one of your famous tongue lashings. All you have to do is open your eyes. I, I bet it's eating you up to know I'm here, getting involved in your life all over again. Come on, Lanny. Please."

Slipping his arm tighter around her back, Alistair pulled Lanny away from the altar. Maybe that was keeping her asleep, chilling her to death. Not death, never death, no, just cold, really cold that had nothing whatsoever to do with... Without her awake to hold onto him, her body slumped in his, her head lolling back, limp like a straw dummy. "It's not just me here, you know. I brought that templar of yours. All right, he's not really a templar anymore, but you know who I mean. Lanny, you have to wake up to see him. If you wake up then you two can-can run off into the sunset picking daisies. You can have a house crammed full of mabari. Whatever you want. All you have to do is wake up. Please."

Ignoring the pain screaming in his shoulder and digging through his gut, Alistair pulled her limp body to his, hugging her tight. He couldn't fight the tears anymore, but shame and grief caused him to bury his face in her limp shoulder. "He loves you so damn much. You wouldn't believe what he's had to do, to-to, put up with me and, there were... Lanny, please. We need you back. Wake up. I'm begging you. I love you. Just, just wake up."