Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or A song of ice and fire
The Phoenix and the Griffin
Chapter 17: Into the Void
Tywin Lannister wiped the corner of his nose, disgusted by the state of Quentin's quarters. But he understood the need for such a man now. The Amells had completely changed the way wars would probably be fought in the future, and Tywin wanted to be ahead of the curve. Quentin had an assortment of ointments, candles and other herbs set out across the small room he had been given in Casterly rock. Jars were on the window sill with body parts and organs in them. Some of the tools were clean, but the cleanest thing in the room was a well kept portrait put on a type of alter. It was a striking woman, and judging by the flowers kept there, someone of importance to Quentin. The man himself worked at a table, mixing some of the potions on his desk together. He took a pouch from his belt, opening it and pouring blue crystals into the mix.
"What brings you to my corner today Lord Tywin?" Quentin asked.
"You say magic is real, that you used magic to produce our champion, whom still lost by the way," Tywin emphasised, frowning at Quentin as he spoke.
"I suspected you would need more proof, you Westerosi, the small folk fear magic because it can kill them...it is simple, easy to understand. But you nobles, you fear magic because it shows you just how powerless you are," Quentin explained.
"Careful...I could still use my power to have you thrown off of the rock," Tywin said.
"But then you'll never know, if your fears are warranted," Quentin smirked, producing a knife from his belt.
Tywin put his hand to the knife he kept at his waist. But much to his surprise, Quentin traced his blade across the palm of his hand. Squeezing a few droplets of blood into the bowl, he placed it on a fire. As the substance he produced boiled, Quentin gestured to a jar with a rat inside it. It was undoubtedly dead, its throat and eyes ripped open. Fumes rose from the bowl and Quentin breathed them in. He put his hand on the jar and Tywin narrowed his eyes at the green light spreading across it. The effect seeped into the creature, causing it to twitch. When Quentin removed his hand from the area, the rat's eye holes glowed green and it rolled onto its fours, teeth clattering, the exposed organs though didn't pump or work the way Tywin had read they did. He stared in shock at the creature, something that didn't often happen with him.
"What side show trick is this?" Tywin demanded.
"Not a trick, that which connects us to our power can temporarily be restored with certain chemicals, those crystals you saw, Lyrium, and I know where lyrium would be readily available to you," Quentin explained.
"Where?"
"The site of the worst massacre in the West of course, 'And who are you? the proud lord said, that I must bow so low,'" Quentin chuckled as Tywin's expression became stern.
"Only a cat, of a different coat, that's all the truth we know!"
The lyrics echoed in a region with a wet dirt floor. Daenerys hid amongst the rubble of that region, nursing the cut on her arm. Whatever this place was, the pain felt very real. As was the sight of the numerous rotted men and women walking a circuit around the wet region. Their hair floated as if they were under water. And they in unison sang.
"In a coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours!"
Daenerys rose, making her way through the wet region, watching her footsteps. But it was virtually impossible to take a step without touching a puddle. It was the slightest touch that echoed enough for a few of the slower corpses to stop. They turned in the direction Daenerys walked, still singing the eerie song.
"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o'er his halls, with no one there to hear."
They walked after Daenerys, steadily gaining speed. She looked over her shoulder, seeing them following her, there was no desperation in their eyes, no lust or rage. They began running, their movements making it seem even more as if they were under water.
"Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear."
Daenerys ran until she reached a ledge, overlooking a golden fortress.
"And so I spoke!"
The voice was closer, more coherent than the other corpses. Daenerys turned and saw a man standing before her. He had brown hair and a beard, both of which rose like in water. His skin was grey, chainmail and a white coat of arms showed him to have been a fighter. On his chest was the symbol of a red lion. A crossbow bolt stuck out of the man's back.
"And so I spoke, the lord of Castamere, but now the rains, weep o'er my hall, with no one here to hear. Yes now the rains weep o'er my hall with not a soul to HEAR!" he screamed.
He ran with the other drowned corpses. Left with no choice, Daenerys jumped for the closest window. Instead of falling onto a floor she slid down a slope. It took her into a chamber filled with gold. Only when Daenerys landed on the gold, she collapsed into water. Only the water was red, tasking the fluid on her tongue, and rising to the surface, Daenerys screamed. Blood had coated her body, and she frantically swam across the chamber of blood to a small island.
"HA! river of blood got you too did it?"
Daenerys gasped, rolling onto her back and brandishing her sword. The man sitting in front of her raised his hands in mock defence, a chuckle coming out in short bursts, alongside tears of blood. He was surrounded by blood soaked coins, the goblet he held seemed to refill itself every time he drank. Though his face was part rotted, it was also heavily bloated, just like the belly that had burst out of his doublet. A scratched out gold lion was embroidered on the breast of the shirt. He was surrounded by rotted cheeses and stale cakes, and he didn't hesitate to stuff handfuls of them into his mouth. There was no property, and he munched disgustingly on them.
"So you met the drowned men, the grave digger, welcome to my hall little girl...wait," the man leant forward, looking at Daenerys. "You remind me of someone, or perhaps some family, what does it matter? HA!"
He leant back on his pile of food, filling his belly with beer again.
Daenerys leant on her sword, using it to pick herself up. She kept it raised, cautiously walking around the man.
"So serious, you should smile, laugh like me...but not too much," the man's voice went from light hearted to hard from moment to moment. "Be too forgiving and they'll ask for more, more, more, so much more that they couldn't possibly pay it back...your could forget the debt, yes, I did that...AND LOOK WHAT IT GOT US!" he tossed his goblet aside and crawled towards Daenerys, grabbing her foot.
"The laughing lion wanted no one to die, he laughed and drank, and was merry, and then his son flooded the mine, and now he weeps forever more! FOREVER HE WEEPS FOR WHAT HIS GOLDEN LION BECAME!"
Daenerys kicked the man's face and rolled out of his grip. He clutched his face and cried, but Daenerys wasted no time in sympathy. She ran across the island, jumped over the tears of blood and onto a spiral staircase, though there were no walls around it. Forgetting the physics of it, Daenerys simply ran up, hearing the man switch between laughing and weeping. She ran high until she reached another floating island. This one had rubble on the ground and dust all around Daenerys.
"Weak, so weak, I never should have tried to bed him of all the lions," Daenerys carefully pointed her sword at the speaker.
A woman, her dress gold and red. She was covered in dust though, blonde hair dishevelled. She bitterly drank from a dirty cup.
"Another 'poor' soul lands themselves in one of the seven hells, if this is one of them. Looking for something I suppose, as we all did," she tilted the contents of the cup down her throat and sat on the throne like chair formed by the rubble.
"Were you all truly once human?" Daenerys asked.
"We at least think we were, or hoped we were, hard to say which matters to us more at this point. Some of us retain just that slither of what we had been based upon. The rest of us become mere constructs, representations of what people saw us as in life," the woman explained.
"I'm looking for a child, he was brought here against his will, a red haired boy," Daenerys said.
The woman hung her head low.
"Red haired, my beautiful red haired boy, yes, I will help you," the woman rose.
And much the Daenerys's shock, the rubble rose with her. The woman aimed the palm of her hand at the empty space beside her, and formed with the rubble around her a bridge that led Daenerys towards the city. She nodded her thanks to the dust covered woman and ran across her new path. The dust covered woman's eyes glowed red as she smirked.
Redcliffe
The Hawkes waited impatiently for news from the castle. Velanna told her father that the mages had enacted some kind of ritual, that the hero was a part of. Owen then told everyone at Bella's tavern, and Garret told his sisters, brother and mother. Bevin overheard and told his sister in the Chantry. People then began to prey, those in the Chantry prayed more for the safety of the hero of Redcliffe than they did the health of their lord and his son.
Inside the castle, Daylen's companions gathered at the door where Irving waited.
"What's happened?" Alistair asked.
"Magic," Sten growled, looking at Irving with suspicion.
"Has the Chantry made a mess of such a simple ritual to carry out?" Morrigan asked.
"I didn't see you in there helping Morrigan," Wynn retorted.
"Let Irving speak," Leliana commanded.
"Thank you child, Daylen remains in a deep sleep alongside Connor, every time we try to draw him out of it, he falls back into his slumber. He has in a way taken control of the ritual, casting aside our attempts to draw him out of the fade," Irving explained, an odd mix of pride for his student and concern over his actions was in his tone.
"What will happen if he remains asleep?" Zevran asked.
"Possession most likely," Morrigan said.
"And death at the hands of the Templars," Sten added.
"What if he dies in the Fade?"
"He'll be put into a state of half death, his body and mind incapable of acting in unison," Irving said.
"Can't you wake them both up?" Alistair asked.
"I have not told the Lady Isolde, but Connor has gone far deeper into the fade than we ever thought possible, there are sins that go beyond the hierarchy of demons in the fade," Irving explained.
"You don't mean that the boy has gone into the Deep do you?" Morrigan asked, showing a rare shock in her expression.
"The Deep?" Alistair looked at her in confusion.
"It is a rare occurrence in the Fade, when a spirit or demon takes a person's consciousness so deep into the fade that it can be considered its own world entirely," Wynn explained.
"And is there a way to free someone from this 'Deep'?" Leliana asked.
"I suspect Daylen is trying as we speak, and that that is why we cannot at least wake him," Irving said.
"He's going to willingly go into hell," Zevran said, his voice filled with awe.
"He'll lose himself," Sten muttered.
"Can we help him?" Alistair asked.
"There may be something we can do to aid his attempts to escape the Void, we could provide him with a life line of sorts," Irving explained.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Zevran asked.
"You tried to kill him once," Morrigan said.
"And what are your intentions for him Morrigan, there must be a reason you have stayed despite how much you have disagreed with him, it has to be more than about him simply giving you a book," Zevran explained.
"Enough you two, we need to focus, right now Daylen is giving everything he has to save a boy, we need to try and do the same," Alistair said.
Leliana nodded her head, "What must we do Irving?" she asked.
Beyond the door, Daylen laid in a deep sleep.
And in the Fade, he knelt on the floating island where he sensed someone had been taken. He touched the ground, red lines of light spreading across his body. Closing his eyes, he focused on the trail, using the spirits around him to determine the path Connor took. Deeper and deeper they went, and at that moment Daylen knew there was a chance he wouldn't come back. But he advanced anyway, his skin becoming like a shadow, again surrounded by that gold field, eyes blazing through the darkness. He dived through the floor, dived into darkness, dived through the roof of a church and landed amongst wraith like spirits. They screeched and flew away from his glowing form. But as soon as they had left the church, Daylen fell to his knees. His form returned to normal and he clutched his chest, feeling an immense pain.
'Damn it, what's happening?' he wondered.
He looked at his hands and saw that for a split second they faded.
'I see, that's what I risk by coming here, ceasing to be,' he shrugged and stood.
Daylen flexed his hand, adjusting the straps on his buckler. Then he drew the long sword from his waist and made his way out of the church. He looked at the gothic city in the distance, and the numerous floating platforms that would lead him to it. Daylen began to walk when he heard a disturbance of rubble behind him. He swung around, resting the flat of the sword on the edge of his shield, pointing the blade at the figures emerging from the shadows. Monsters, little children whose heads were just mouths with razor sharp teeth, lanky figures that bent and curled like snakes, and red robed women with beautiful faces. But when these women opened their mouths, worms flowed out, the tips of them resembled dead men. Men that laughed as Daylen adjusted his footing. The creatures rushed at Daylen, and he stepped back, dragging his sword against the ground. The ice spikes he formed impaled some of the child like creatures, and he swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting off the disgusting tongue of one of the 'worm women'. He brought his shield up and blocked one of the tongues. The force of the blow knocked him down the dirt path. Daylen rolled onto his knees, one of the 'teeth children' leapt at him and bit his shoulder. He yelled in agony as soon as the teeth made contact. It was a superficial cut, but it made his elbow go black. His arm felt numb, so he kept using it, shattering the creature's teeth with his shield before skewering it. With the child still attached to his sword, he cut through one of the women and battered another with the shield. One of the lanky men curled around him, pushing his arms against his chest. He yelled, impaling the creature with shards of rock armour. Dispelling his armour, he threw the shards as projectiles at the creatures around him.
A one minute battle, and he felt exhausted.
Yet still he moved onto the path ahead of him.
House of the Undying
Two more visions were waiting for Viserys. The fifth was a room where he saw his brother for the first time in years. Elia he knew a little less, but recognised nonetheless.
"You are the prince that was promised," he heard his brother say, raising Aegon up high.
Then his brother placed Aegon in Elia's arms and began to play his harp. Viserys had heard him play a few times, he'd nearly forgotten how good a player his brother was.
And finally the sixth vision, Viserys walked into the room and saw them, men and women carrying staves, all of them wearing a variant of robe that Viserys remembered Fausten once describing to him. They raised their hands, revealing signet rings bearing a broken circle symbol.
"Find us and we will teach you," they said to him.
They reached the gloomy chamber, and Viserys fell to his knees. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at Fausten. The man had more of a look of satisfaction on his face than shock. Fausten knelt by Viserys, patting his back.
"Not long now, we need to keep going, once we reach the end, we'll be able to save your sister, now come," he pulled Viserys to his feet.
The pair looked upon the long table in front of them. A grey heart lingered over the table, pumping with the Undying underneath it.
"Three fires will light, one for war, one for vengeance and one for hope," one whispered.
"Oookay," Fausten muttered, moving Viserys around the table.
One of the chairs swung around, the Undying man opening his eyes and staring at Viserys and Fausten.
"Three mounts will be ridden, one to bed, one to dread, and one to hope," he said.
"We really must be moving on," Fausten said.
Another of the Undying blocked their path.
"The Griffin will betray for ideals, the wolf will be betrayed for gold, the lion will be betrayed by blood," he said.
He opened his mouth and screamed. Fausten and Viserys winced, closing their eyes for one moment. And when they opened their eyes, they were in some kind of tent. A fire was lit at its centre, there were many unarmed Dothraki around them. But their eyes were drawn to two light haired figures. A woman, her belly partly swelling, and a man with a sword aimed at it. Viserys grit his teeth together in anger, but gasped when he saw that it was him, holding the blade to his sister's gut.
"I want what I came for," his 'vision' Viserys said.
Fausten narrowed his eyes at the man witnessing this moment, Khal Drogo, as if he had never lost to his army.
"I want the crown he promised me," Viserys continued.
One of the Dothraki slaves whispered in Drogo's ear, translating for him.
"He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what was bargained for or I'm taking you back. He can keep the baby, I'll cut it out and leave it for him," he said sadistically.
The real Viserys, or perhaps 'his' Viserys, Fausten thought, looked at his other self. He looked at the man threatening his pregnant sister, and felt both horror, disgust and self hatred. A silence filled the tent, and Drogo spoke.
"He says you shall have a splendid gold crown, that men shall tremble to behold," Daenerys said.
"That was all I wanted. What was promised," Viserys pulled his blade away and smirked.
Drogo walked to Daenerys's side, stroking her belly with an affection that surprised Fausten. Too many times he simply justified his breaking of Drogo. 'He's a monster', 'All Dothraki are.' But seeing this and what came next, he wondered if he had been wrong of his dismissal of the Khal. Drogo said something and two of his men grabbed Viserys, breaking his arms.
"NO! NO!" he yelled as they brought him to his knees. "You cannot touch me, I am the dragon, I AM THE DRAGON! I WANT MY CROWN!" he roared.
Drogo walked over to the fire, putting into the pot a gold belt. Fausten and Viserys watched this with the same dread that the 'vision' Viserys did. As the gold began to melt into the pot, Viserys screamed in agony and struggled in vain.
"Look away Khaleesi," a Westerosi man said to Daenerys, but she brushed him aside.
'Wait, what the fuck is Jorah Mormont doing there?' Fausten wondered.
"Dany," the snivelling Viserys looked to his sister. "Tell them...make them," he spoke hysterically, true fear in his eyes.
Drogo seemed pleased with the progress of the gold, holding the wooden handles of the pot and lifting it away from the flames. He walked over to Viserys, holding the pot steady.
"DANY PLEASE!" Viserys screamed.
"A crown for a king," Drogo said as he tipped the pot over Viserys.
He screamed as the gold flowed onto his head, coating it. Even as it solidified he was still screaming, his hair melted away. Then he fell with a thud and all became silent. Daenerys stood there, eyes fixed on her dead brother. And the eyes of Fausten and Viserys fell on her, shocked by her distant gaze.
"He was not a dragon, fire cannot kill a dragon," she said.
Daylen had his hand to his face, his eye wide in horror. That vision had suddenly bombarded him, why had he witnessed a man threatening his pregnant sister. True he deserved to die for that, but he couldn't shake the unease he felt from that woman's face.
"What was with that drunk look?" he asked.
But he could not further fathom the vision as he slipped, falling down a snowy hill. He landed, hitting his head, blood coming out of the wound. Daylen leant against his sword to pull himself up. There were trees on the path ahead. Trees with faces on them, actual flesh and blood faces that cried and wept. Daylen shook the bloodied snow out of hair and walked past the trees, ignoring the weeping faces as best he could. His sword fell out of his hand and looked at his hand, part of his glove had come off, revealing a decaying bit of skin.
Yet still he walked on.
Daylen dragged the sword behind him, taking a slash to his back. He grit his teeth together and looked towards what had attacked him. A massive wolf, a direwolf as he recalled. Only it had a sword in its mouth, and it was made of human skin. More came out of the snow and Daylen yelled as they howled. He swung his arms wildly but accurately, cutting every wolf that got in his way. One bought him to his knees, but with fire rising from his shoulders he generated a circle of fire that burned the wolves around him. Again rising to his feet, he cut through the last wolf's mouth, slicing it blade clean through the body.
"Connor," he whispered, reminding himself again and again of why he was here.
The city became more distant to Daylen. The path ahead seemed endless to him, it was no longer snow but water. He was walking across that water, and when he looked down he could see creatures beneath it. They were like men, but their skin was scaly, eyes and lips like fish with fins and gills on their necks. Then there was the tailed creatures, mer-'certainly not maids', just bloated, saggy breasted creatures with hair. A sharp pain surged across Daylen's left arm, he looked at his elbow and saw that the skin on it had fallen off like flakes of burnt paper.
"Move," he told himself.
When he took a step forward, men rose from the water. Men in robes, their eyes red and staring at Daylen. But the heads of the men were that of squids. Suddenly they rushed towards Daylen. He spread flames across his blade, but one of the priests extended tentacles from his hand, soaking the blade with water and binding Daylen's wrist. They slammed into Daylen, grabbing him by his arm, bringing him to his knees. One wrapped tentacles around his neck and grabbed him by the head, dunking it into the water. Daylen struggled, trying to swing his blade at them, trying to knock them back with his shield. The other creatures in the water tugged at his hair as struggled, trying to pull them in towards him.
The people in Connor's room looked at Daylen in horror. He was flailing, spitting water out of his mouth.
"DAYLEN!" Leliana screamed.
He yelled, the cry gargled like he was in water. Teagan tried moving Isolde out of the room, the woman had her hand to her mouth. Even in the past few days she had never seen a man suffer as Daylen was.
"What can we do? WHAT CAN WE DO?" Alistair yelled at Irving.
Irving seemed frozen, looking at Daylen's flailing and screaming form. Sten suddenly pushed past them and raised his great hands over his head. He slammed them into Daylen's stomach, making him vomit.
Daylen breathed sharply, bringing his head out of the water and yelling. Electricity surged through the wet priests, electrocuting them. One sizzled, another's head exploded when Daylen grabbed him. The electricity passed through the water, killing many of the creatures that had been close to Daylen at the time. He ran, as fast as he could across the water, not willing to waste another second in that drowned hell. The city, he could see the city in the distance, yes he was almost there.
'Connor,' again he reminded himself why he was enduring all of this.
He was almost there, the city was in his sight. One more step, and he fell. Fell off a ledge, down a waterfall.
"FUCK!" Daylen's scream echoed through the Void.
Daenerys raised her head, she could have sworn she had heard someone yell just now. But she continued on the path that the woman had made for her. Her help had allowed Daenerys to finally reach the city. It was a spectacular site, greater than Essos, and from what Fausten and Viserys had described, perhaps greater than King's landing. The spires were as grand as any cathedral, spires was something all of the buildings had in common, they all seemed other worldly, as if they had been taken from a time Daenerys knew she would not experience.
'So beautiful, yet so terrifying too,' she thought.
She walked through the streets, seeing market stalls with faceless merchants. They were offering rotten apples, maggots crawling out of them, skinned pigs, still wiggling on hooks, and goods like vases and pots made from human skin. Yet it was the faceless people on the streets that made Daenerys quiver, that made her afraid to walk into certain alleys and down streets. Faceless people, Daenerys wondered if that was how the nobles of Westeros, of the entire world saw their lowborn. She would listen to Fausten talk about the differences between nobility and commoners with such disdain. Clearly he did not see them as different from one another, men and women, creatures of blood and failures, bound by the same superstitions and limits. All of them could still burn, still die.
'Is that what you want Fausten? To break the wheel?' Daenerys looked up at the rooftops of the city.
A cloak fluttered in the distance and drew Daenerys's gaze. He was standing on a narrow bridge between two of the buildings. Leather boots and gloves, a black waist coat worn over a dirty white shirt. His outer coat was black and ran down to his legs, then there was the short cloak, worn around his shoulders and linked together by a silver chain. Daenerys could not see his face, it was covered by a black scarf and a hat. Such a unique hat, a tip that stretched past his head and the end of it curved, resembling horns. He held a scabbard with a sword sheathed in it. Daenerys took a few steps back as the man looked down at her. He tilted the tip of his hat, exposing glowing red eyes. Then, with a flap of his cloak, he disappeared.
'Such terrifying eyes, and a dreadful presence, as if I truly looked upon a devil in human form,' Daenerys put her hand to her heart as she walked.
Though the path to get to this city had been frightening, Daenerys felt true fear with each step she took. Rats scurried on the road, but they had the same eyes as that man. And they seemed to follow Daenerys. Droplets of a fluid began to drop onto the streets, pelting Daenerys like rain. When Daenerys looked at her hand, she saw that the rain was blood. A deluge that became more intense with each step Daenerys took. Rain was rare on Essos, it felt like it was going to overwhelm her, crush her. She looked up again and saw on the roof the red eyed man. His eyes flared through the darkness of the storm. Daenerys went into one of the buildings for shelter, looking at the blood that had stained her clothes. But slowly, the blood began to rise, to float to the ceiling. A sudden warmth enveloped Daenerys, and candles began to light up the room.
One by one the candles illuminated the cracked floorboards, the steps leading to the upper floors, chipped wardrobes and half broken tables. Then the fireplace glowed with green fire, revealing a chair sat beside it, and a hunched, cloaked figure. Daenerys could make out the withered features of a woman's face, and strands of white hair. Her bony fingers caressed the fur of a black cat.
"'Well, well', she said, 'what do we have here?' she asked," the woman spoke in her strange tone, and even stranger pattern.
"Who are you?" Daenerys demanded.
"The old woman was just another denizen of the darkness, where the princess treaded, ignorantly, her determination waning, 'You have come into my home, seeking shelter yes, you'll find only madness here little princess,' the old woman said!"
"I will not succumb to it," Daenerys retorted.
"'I will not succumb to it,' said Aegon, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Baelor, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Maegor, 'I will not succumb to it,' said Aerys. Yet they succumbed they succumbed, the madness set in their seed and their blood, a curse on the line, a curse on the family, yet always there is the choice. What choice will the princess make?"
"I will save a boy taken against his will," Daenerys said.
"'Oh a hero,' the old one said, 'Like Duncan, Arthur, Aemon, Fausten, Marric, Loghain, all just butchers, their achievements blood and widow's tears,' 'But they were heroes, the truest of knights, great warriors, protector of kings, kings themselves, kingmakers' , said the princess 'and what kings they had, what kings they made,' the old one retorted and laughed, 'HO, HO,HA!'"
"He was taken, by a woman in a white robe," Daenerys said.
"'Then consider the boy forever lost, and yourself too,' said the old woman, 'this place can insight madness, more than madness, darkness, it will fill you, it will consume you, you will become darkness,' she felt pity for the girl, for the boy too, and for the brave fool that dived into darkness, himself already falling victim to it,' said the old woman."
"You mean there really is another here?"
"'Oh yes, another, with an arm marked by the darkness,' the old woman said. She smiled and pointed to the back entrance of her house, it would lead to an alley the princess could take. And that alley, if the princess endured the horrors there, would take her to the grand cathedral, where the sister sits in wait, where the boy's soul resides, to be broken, to be taken, or to be freed, it is in the actions of the few that will decide such a thing!"
The old woman pointed her finger at a nearby door, and that door opened. Daenerys, despite her fear walked through, and stepped out into an alleyway.
Redcliffe
Irving stirred the bowl, filled with the crushed lyrium, mixed with the elf root and milk. It formed a paste, and with continuous stirring it became a smooth paint. Alistair and Leliana stood over Daylen and Connor. Joined by Zevran, they rolled up their sleeves as Irving dipped a brush into the bowl. He drew on their skin marks, runes for the spell he would cast.
"Short moments, that's all, we cannot afford to lose others, he needs a tether, we must provide it," Irving said.
"Daylen won't fall, he will endure, it's what he does best," Alistair said.
"But it helps when he has friends to pick him back up," Leliana smiled.
"Stubborn one that he is, sometimes he needs us to come to his aid," Zevran chuckled.
"What are friends for?" Alistair asked.
Irving smiled, his heart content that Daylen had good people to help him on his journey. As well as proud that he had inspired such loyalty from his party. But there was still that niggling fear with the First Enchanter, the fear that it would take great sacrifice to save Daylen. He wondered what would be lost in this gambit of theirs? Connor or Daylen, he didn't which one would last, but the chances of both surviving were slim. But if it came down to it, Irving knew whom he wanted to survive.
'Survive my student, my friend, my son!' Irving thought, and prayed.
Next Chapter 18: Darkness's grip
Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, I did some research for the denizens of the Void. They're not entirely original, but based on past figures in Westeros's history, and two deities.
Next time Daylen and Daenerys finally meet, and Viserys and Fausten explore the visions of the Undying.