Warlocke Chapter I: To Live Truthlessly, a dragon age fanfic

NOTE: If you have not read my other story, and the precursor to this one, Shadowbound, you will likely not understand much of the content herein. If you wish to understand properly, I highly suggest you read that first. If you have read Shadowbound, I grant you welcome and hope you enjoy.

Chapter I: To Live Truthlessly

(The Stone Prisoner Part 1 of 3)

"There are layers to understanding all things."

"The common man looks at a thing and fits it into a place in his way of thinking. Those skilled in the Subtle Arts, in the way of the magician, in Illusion, can see an object and identify it by its proper role. But one more layer is needed to be peeled back to achieve true understanding. You must identify the object by its role and its truth and interpret that meaning. You must imagine even mundane things in the realm of universal truth. Even these things have a unique resonance, as all things physical and spiritual do, a negative aspect, a duplicate version, relative paths, true meaning, a song in the cosmos, a texture in the fabric of space, a facet of being that always existed and will always exist. Know these things to be true, and replicate them truthfully. Otherwise, even a weak mind could find the holes in the lies you tell them with magic.– The Clockwork Man, Magic and Madness: A Study of Modern Magic in the Fifteenth Millennium

A week after leaving Redcliffe…

Song Choice: Come with Me Now – KONGOS

Here I sit, beside me, a woman—a witch on her own terms. She is Morrigan, daughter of Flemeth, the Witch of The Wilds. Behind me sits an elf, Zevran—the Antivan Crow—a famed assassin. And with him, Sten, a qunari vanguard, both concealed by tarp, as they needed to be. It was all as it needed to be for the plan to commence. Now all we needed was the target.

We press on, the hooves of the two horses drawing the wagon clacking on the compounded dirt. I look left. And then right. Nothing yet. But they'd be here, just as soon as the light dimmed a bit more, and twilight came upon us. I feel eyes on me, and my head jerks to my right once more, and I'm met with the cat-like pools of gold that are Morrigan's eyes. She breaks the gaze quickly, turning her head away to look in front of us.

"What?" I ask, finding her behavior at such a tense moment to be odd.

"If this weather holds, it might very well be a pleasant night, don't you think?" The witch replies, not turning to face me, nor I her.

I find it a curious thing to do, given the scenario, but I indulge her anyway.

"I hope so. Sten's feet get so bloody cold at night." I reply, reminiscing on the shocks of cold on my legs in the middle of the night. It was only to be expected. There were four of us, and at the brisk pace we'd been at for the past week since leaving Redcliffe… most nights were spent huddled in the back of the wagon.

She laughs, and I find myself realizing just how rare that is for her. "Don't they, though?"

"I just don't get it. It's supernatural. Like death, rubbing up and down my leg." I let off for a moment, listening carefully, and finding only the snap of a twig under the wooden wheels of the wagon. "Hell, he's more likely to kick the shit out of you in his sleep than he is while awake, I'd say."

"Quite. Even I would prefer not to be near to them… but alas, the man's long legs are inescapable." Morrigan carries on, doing her due diligence, and keeping watchful eyes… they always come at this time of night. "Do you think we'll make Honnleath before we lose the last of the light?"

"With a bit of luck. If this doesn't take too long." I reply looking lazily out onto the road, my arm resting on the back of the wooden bench.

"Would it not be smarter, then, to make more noise?" She asks, putting her hands in her lap.

I laugh lowly at her question. "No. They can hear us."

She sighs out loudly, rolling her eyes in impatience. "Then they had best speed this along. I grow wearier and hungrier by the minute."

I nod in succession of her complaint. "And I could use a drink… flask's gone dry." I look through the snow-covered trees and see the last of the light beginning to disappear over the horizon. Twilight is upon us. "It should start any minute now. Remember, let them get in close and get confident. We've got no Grey Warden with us so we've got to be careful."

"I know." She replied, drawing-out her tone as if it were an obvious fact.

First came the rustling of the leaves, and then I knew it was danger. Second came the inhuman growling from the shaded forest, and then I knew it was darkspawn.

"Here they come." Morrigan observes, seeing the figures stroll from out of the thicket. Genlocks and Hurlocks number among them. Ten, maybe a dozen dot the road beyond us, forming a formidable blockade. And she smiles slyly to herself, clearing her throat for her part. "Oh, dear! Darkspawn! Whatever shall I do, out here all alone in the forest, with only my brain-damaged servant who speaks of nothing but ale!" She exclaims, gesturing her arms to me, who still holds the reigns of the wagon in my hands. "I am certainly doomed."

"Oh, shit, not this again…" I mumble to myself, putting my eyes in the palm of my hand as she puts the back of her own hand to her head, as if she's about to faint from heat-stroke… in the dead of Winter…

"Doomed, I say!" She emphasizes, as the creatures begin motioning closer with little regard for her act. "I am surely defenseless and frozen to my seat with fear!"

"Laying it on a bit thick tonight, aren't you, Morrigan?" I speak up, lazily looking through the gaps of my fingers at her.

She simply turns to me with a soft grin. "It's always simpler when we let them get into range, wouldn't you agree?"

I hear rapid stomping at my immediate northwest, its heavy, that much was clear. Soon, in plain view, stood an Ogre. At least fifteen feet tall the beast stood, glaring at myself and Morrigan with primal rage.

"To business, then."

The snows stayed.

It felt like months since they started, but in reality, Winter was still in its infancy. Only a few weeks ago did the snows begin, and I remember where I was on that night. In Redcliffe, outside the tavern, Leliana there with me. I didn't know about the going's on in the Circle, I didn't know Azra had died, and I barely knew what to do about the possessed boy-demon. All I knew for sure was that I wasn't alone on the first snow of Winter. Life was easier then… I think.

Now, here I am, sitting in the back of a cloth-covered wagon, with an astoundingly annoying elf talking in my ear about how damned grateful he is that I cut his binds. And because of that I suspect I'll be dead within three days or less. Poisoned food? Poisoned drink? Or maybe an immaculately polished dagger in my back for tradition's sake. Ironically, I'd consider that death to be the worst of them all. I've always been one for a bit of flair. So, I'd prefer an exciting death as opposed to anything else. And maybe that's why I released him—cut his binds—deep down, maybe. Perhaps I simply trust his… imagination. Or maybe I just didn't want to have my face bashed-in by an angry Ogre. My thoughts disturbed, I begin to hear Zevran's voice taper into my mind, and saw he had his nose buried in my leather long-coat.

"What are you doing with my coat?" I ask, as he makes a noise of confirmation and his face turns a surprised look to me.

"The smell… Your coat, I mean."

"Yes, I know. It needs a wash—just haven't had the time lately. Also, careful not to put your mouth too close to it—its still got darkspawn blood on it."

"No, no… well… yes it does smell quite horrid but under that…" Zevran trailed with eccentric glee. "This leather… it's Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know it anywhere!"

I chuckle a bit, remembering where I first got the old thing. "Honestly? I have no idea. Got it from a peddler merchant not too far from where we're headed now. If it is… I wouldn't know."

"Ah! But I do! Yet another reason I validate my presence here. Proper clothing appraisal is very valuable… if a bit underrated."

I lean on the wooden barrier to my right and motion my hand at him. "Right. Now… give it back, if you please."

He grips it tighter in defiance, and takes a long intake of the scent of the coat. "But I'm not finished admiring it, yet! Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh. Just like back in Antiva City."

"Are you sure that's not the still-drying blood?"

He laughed and continued on. "Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home!"

The laughter quickly died off and he reluctantly hands me the coat. My eyes drift around the back of the wagon, quietly hoping something will catch my eye. I'm bored. On that, I catch sight of my new toy—my staff. I lean over as far as I could get and grope at the shaft of it with my fingertips for a few seconds before I ensnare it with a solid grip and drag the thing over to me.

"Aren't you a beauty." I say to myself, beginning to admire it. I acknowledge it. It's silver shaft, nearly six feet in length. The swirling strands of inlaid emerald that spanned the length of the shaft, like two green ribbons that flowed effortlessly together. My eyes move to the top, where three golden dragon's toes, tipped with claws made of equally solid gold, clutch an orb between them. The orb, easily the most interesting part looked like glass… or maybe it was metal. All I knew was that it was dormant. Its color was a deep gray, and it looked as if it was constructed in many parts by the way the ornate curved lines fit with each other. And that was not all, the orb was runed in a language I'd never seen before. It wasn't Old Tevinter, and it likely wasn't Elvehn, either. I knew little of it, save for the fact that it was the chief architect of the unique spells it was capable of.

I decide that I'd doted on it enough and find, in equal measure, the idea of sleep much more appealing than the waking world at the moment. I set aside the staff and bundle up my rank coat and place it behind my head to act as a pillow, pulling a blanket over me and turning over and away from the elven assassin to my left, and I let my mind take me away.

All the while, the orb glows softly…

Song Choice: The Downeaster 'Alexa' – Billy Joel

"Here, in my temple,

Here, in my shrine,

That you have forgotten.

Here, do you toil

That you might remember."

I ignore what I think are words, or maybe simply the draft, and awake to find myself… in a cabin made of wood. With the sounds of idle creaking and swashing coming from below me. The slight smell of salted meats and fresh fish tells me where I am. I'm on a ship, in the cabins. I hear stomping above me and I motion out of the small room and move upward to the deck.

I emerge to the main deck and am firstly met with the smell of salt air and cloudless skies. I look up, to the crow's nest, to see… Jowan… Dressed in sailor's clothes and a tie wrapped around his head. I recognize the man, but I can't place where I first met him, all I do know… is that he's on lookout duty—perhaps we find land today… far out in the Amaranthine. I feel it has been… four months, maybe five, out at sea. I wasn't sure, but I just hoped I wasn't on wash today.

I call up to him, and he smiles backs and waves, pocketing his spyglass and slowly shimmying down the mast to meet me.

"Nothing?" I ask simply.

"What?" He says exasperated, dismounting the mast and landing firmly on the deck.

"Land? Nothing?"

"Nah, I doubt we find land within the next two months, ask me." He responds gesturing for me to follow him to the starboard side of the ship. He leans over the barrier and I look out to the ocean beyond, just below me, a mile beyond, and on the horizon… it's all there is—the whole world is water from this view.

"What about you? How's the captain?"

I know what he's referring to without really knowing at all, and so I answer. "Her? She's doing well… frustrated… but good."

"Well, the cartographer told her that it could be a year before we make landfall." He pauses, looking out to deep azure waters beyond the tiny safe harbor of our ship. "But… surprise, surprise… she's impatient. Can't go but a day without interrogating either me or Hogarth on how far we are from land, as if we know…" He finishes frustratedly, and I spot his fingers scratching the wood of the barrier, but his frown quickly switches to a sly smile. "At least the frustration is sure to make for better nights for the two of you. Release all that built-up tension and all…"

I chuckle awkwardly, as I always did when the topic came up. "Yeah… you could say that."

"You!" A voice breaks in from behind us. We both turn to see woman, dressed in black, heeled boots, light-brown leather pants, and a tailcoat and tricorn hat that mimicked the deep blue of the ocean we sailed on. The coat was trimmed with gold fabric and equally gold buttons. Her hat was adorned with three large feathers that were a striking black and teal color, likely from some species of bird I'd never heard of. "Aren't you supposed to be in the nest today? You know, doing your job?!" She gestures to Jowan.

"I'm on break—"

"And who told you that you had one to spend?"

"I did." I spoke up, taking the chance to defend the man.

She regards me with the most expecting look that she could muster, as if she already knew the answer before she asked the question. "And who told you that you have authority on my ship?"

"You did." I replied flatly.

"Did not." She responded reflexively, sounding as if she was much younger and less mature than she truly was. I had a way of vexing her like that.

"Did too" I shoot back, and the faintest grin appears on her lips, before she sobered and turned to Jowan with a stern frown.

"You are to report back to your station. Consider this your break. Now move it."

He quietly walked off and grabbed a few pieces of jerky off the top of a barrel on his way up the mast.

"Do that again, and I'll be forced to put you on night duty." The captain says, approaching closer to me, her golden eyes feigning scorn.

"Mmm. How dreadful." I reply, taking her hand in mine gently, the sea spray from the waves climbing over the hull and hitting us both. We just sit there for a few moments, gazing at one another. Evaluating. Admiring. And I realize I know this woman, and not just in this life… in another—I've seen her. But she was not as she is now—standing here before me.

Her eyes catch something, and I think I've done something wrong, or that I somehow acquired an octopus on my face. And then I realize it's something behind me. And then I'm confused… there's only ocean at my back.

"What?"

"Storm." She points to the horizon and the dark clouds that sit there. "Look."

I turn, and a flash of lightning strikes the water far closer than should have been possible for a storm as far away as it is. It nearly blinds me, and stuns me for a few seconds as the world turns white.

I feel rain on my body, my back, my chest, my head—everywhere, and it's coming down hard. I open my eyes, and I first think it is night—but I am quickly proven wrong. The clouds had blotted out the sunlight. I can barely keep my balance as the waves seemed to become fifty-feet tall in an instant. I look around, the crew… their gone—slaughtered. And for a moment I wonder what I'd missed—how long I was out for. I want to throw up from the sight, and motion of the sea beneath me making an ill-fated concoction. I look behind me to see her, the captain. Its but a second more that I confirm she is dead through the veil of pelting rain. Her left arm completely torn away from her body—she bled out. I look to the masts. My eyes first notice the tip, the normally cylindrical shape of the shaft is shaped into that of a spire, and it is blackened—struck by lightning. On it, a corpse, that of Jowan. Dead, impaled on the spire, his blood flowing freely down to paint what was left of the tattered sails a grim crimson. I step back in horror, only to nearly topple off the boat, and I see that a massive, semicircular chunk was taken out of the hull—as if bitten out.

We hit another wave, and I fall on my face and to the deck, a repulsive mix of cold salt water and warm blood bathe my face. I push myself up and try my best to look for someone—anyone—to help me get this bitch of a ship to port. And then, on the horizon, I see it. I first think it's a wave, but it moves closer. My delusion is quickly swatted away when I notice it moves in an irregular fashion. No… this was no wave.

It was… oh, Maker, oh no…

A head, a neck, and then a body blast out from under the water to reveal a sea serpent as big as one could imagine, it's head had to be at least fifty feet long… Its body was scales, its mouth a gaping maw of rows of teeth. Its eyes were a killing yellow, and I it's prey. And it was now that I figure I've just found something that could best a High Dragon—and that this was surely the end for me. It rears back its serpentine head, readying itself for a strike as serpents do, before lurching at the ship, and then I close my eyes.

"Here, you reclaim

What faithless minds have stolen.

Far from yourself

I grow ever nearer to you."

Song Choice: Dawn – Jeremy Soule

Awake again, I open my eyes to be met with the view of Lake Calenhad. I see my mentor, Azra standing at my side, towering over me and my prepubescent frame. He looks out on the horizon as the sun's light just barely begins to peak over, and bathes the land in young light. He is still, and he is silent, and for a moment I think he's a statue—and then he begins.

"Do you know why I've asked you here, boy?" He says, not turning his head to acknowledge me.

"No." I reply simply, too anxious in his presence to do anything else.

"I see…" He trails, looking over and down at me. "Can you guess?"

I think for a moment, my hands wringing nervously around themselves. "W-was it about how I failed that last Entropy exam?" I ask, and there is no answer at first, and so I move preemptively to correct it. "No. About escaping? It was Anders' idea, promise!"

He shakes his head slowly, "None of those, no. And even if it was about the escape attempt, you still chose to take part in it. You must bear some of the responsibility on your own shoulders." He pauses taking his gaze back to the distance beyond them, to Lake Calenhad and to the line drawn between the land and sky. "But no, that is not what I asked you here for." He stops, collecting his thoughts. "I mean to speak to you of dreams… and of power."

"Dreams? You mean to tell me about demons, then? How they tempt you with power and bargains?" I ask, feeling I've heard this topic a thousand times before.

He shakes his head again, growing vaguely frustrated with my continued assumptions. "No, I merely wish to tell you about the power of dreams." He pauses, waiting to see if I if I interrupt him again or not. "When I was a boy… I had a gripping fascination with dragons. I wanted to know all there was to know about them. Their physiology, their intelligence, their language, if even they had one. Mind you, this was before the Dragon Age, boy. When I was young, like you, no one had seen those grand creatures in centuries, they were thought dead, and the passage of time scribed their names into legend."

"And…" I trail awkwardly, aware that he could very easily let his chain of thought run away with him, and never actually discuss the subject he meant to. "What do have to dragons to do with dreams?"

"Nothing… per say. But it does have everything to do with my dream." He smiles softly, his gaze locked onto the lake. "Oh, yes… old dreams… I used to dream of it…" He closes his eyes, letting the soft morning breeze rush through his generously greyed hair that had once been stark black, and long and luscious. Now short and oiled back, as was only proper of an old man like himself. "In the dream I was standing someplace high up. Far higher than you and I stand now." He pointed upwards, glancing to see my reaction as he did so. "A tower… or a mountain. It was always just before dawn when the whole world was in darkness. Then, came the flash of light." His eyes shoot open intensely. "Within the clouds that mark the border between worlds. Between the heavens and the Earth." His gaze stays stalwart on the horizon, turning quizzical. "It could have been lightning but there was no thunder. In the dream, the sense of foreboding grew, but I could never wake up…" He trailed off, cocking his head to the side, his eyes shutting with the motion. "Then, it came again. This time more distinct. Closer. Definitely not lightning, now it was orange. Brilliant orange, the color of hearth, and of dawn, and a sound, too, distinct and indistinct, not thunder, something else…" His expression strains visibly as he reaches back into his memory. Trying for the vivid detail he once experienced so long ago. "Something, err… I should recognize it, but in the dream I cannot place it. I want to leave my high place to seek shelter from what I… uh… don't yet know." I am subtly amazed at my mentor. Most men his age could barely remember what they had to eat for breakfast. But him, he was reciting a dream of his childhood like he'd seen it played out on stage just yesterday. "In the manner of dreams, I cannot escape. I'm forced to wait and watch. Then, finally… realization and horror arrive together. The orange is flame—heat—the sound, the roar. A challenge in their ancient way. But now it's too late for escape, the dragon's upon me, fire and darkness descending like a thunderbolt. And not just any dragon but one of the dragons, an Old God, an Archdemon! Urthemiel, dragon god of beauty to my people, the Tevinter. And then, I wake up, and hope that it was just a dream, but know… that it was not merely so." He finishes and turns to me. "I barely remember those old tomes I plucked to satisfy my curiosity on dragon-kin, nor do I remember what I was taught by my mentors of them, not really. But I remember this—the dream—I remember it so vividly it is almost as if I lived it. This is the power of dreams—they stay, and they never leave you, they become a part of you, they shape your desires, and your despairs. You, as you are now, are the sum product of your dreams, your hopes, and your fears."

I nod, suddenly having trouble absorbing all of his words. "I see, mentor."

He crouches down to my level and lays his hand gently on my shoulder. "I fear, boy, that there will be great pain in your future. Great hardship, and great terror. And—I am not bid to stop it, I don't think. For that, I shall apologize to you now, and forthwith."

"B-but you haven't seen it, right? You're not sure? You didn't read me, did you?" I question, and he smiles brightly, almost brighter than I'd ever seen him before. And for some reason or another, I know he's about to lie to me… though I'm sure I didn't feel that way the first time.

"No… No, of course not—I promised you, remember?" He hoists himself up using his staff and holds his hand out to me. "Come now, it's getting bright and the others will wonder where we've wandered off to, should we not be there when they awake."

We walk back to camp, and I let the morning air rush my face and my hair, and I close my eyes for but a moment…

I am at peace.

"Your eyes once were blinded."

Walking…

The endless walking…

I find it appropriate, seeing as the land itself is as equally endless as the walking. That's a lie. If that were true, I'd have fallen off the edge of the world by now. This land… it's endless… endless desert of all varying pigments and colors. Once, I walked a portion of desert that was green, for nearly a month straight. I don't mean to say that every square inch of the land is desert, there are rivers, and around them, plants, foliage and exotic flowers and flora grow. I like those places. The little places like the rivers are my favorite—and I don't like to move on from them. In fact, the last time I happened upon a river, I stayed there for twenty years, built a cabin and everything. It was nice… the river kept me fed and satisfied with all I could ask. I wouldn't have left at all if it weren't for…

"Now, through me, do you see."

The Tower…

The dark one…

That damned Tower. The black, dark tower that looms and taunts and goads me on to chase it down. No matter where I am in this land that seems to stretch on to infinity. No matter how close or distant I am from it, I can always see it. It reaches up to the sky and threatens the very heavens with its sheer magnitude. After nearly a century spent living here, an entire lifetime, I have a theory about it. It has gone through quite the metamorphosis since its inception but I think I'm sure, now. I believe that the Tower is what upholds this plane. It stabilizes the reality around it. If-when I get there, I'll find the map to the Castle at the end of time. Just as the oracle of the Old Manor led me to the Tower, and the cyclops of the crystal mountain led me to the oracle. It is fate that I find this place, you see. Fate. And once I find the place, I'll surely find this realm's creator. Then, I'll tear his heart out for what he has made for me to endure. But… I'm getting closer… I know it.

"Your hands once were idle."

Immortality…

A con for the ages…

I eat, I sleep, I shit. All these things are mortal, not im-mortal. In most ways I figure I am identical to a normal mortal man. But there is one key factor that separates me from the likes of men. I do not die. I feel the sensations of hunger, starvation, lust, sleep. But if I do not eat, I do not die from starvation. If I do not sleep, I do not die of sleep deprivation, I simply… solider on. I imagine that the creator of this place fashioned it in a manner that wouldn't allow any who were not immortal to survive. I only say this because it took me nearly a decade of walking day in, and day out, not once skipping a day, do find my first source of water. There are no fauna of any kind here other than me that I am aware of. It is completely desolate. Host only to the flora of the river banks, this place is uninhabitable by any natural standards… good then, that I'm supernatural.

"Now, through them, do I speak."

Four years later….

I see it.

I crest the dune and… I'm finally here. The Tower, only a day or two's walk away now. And I notice immediately something is… not amiss, but certainly different about this area. It is black sand, and the skies are dark—nighttime, stars and all… It's been so long since I've seen stars… Little bright dots in the sky. No moon though… Ah, well, it's been so long since I've seen night, maybe I just imagined the moon in a far-gone mirage. I walk down the slope and make my way forward, feeling truly elated for the first time in nearly forty years.

"And when the world shall listen."

Two days gone…

I am here, at the precipice.

Here I am, at the Tower. It is fashioned of black marble, but its veins are not white, but golden. It is truly a sight—impossibly tall and even more grand. I stand at the bridge that leads to its doors. The bridge… it is a draw-bridge, meant to clear the way across the moat. The water looks black as the night sky above, and I take my leave. Soon to enter and soon to find what I came for.

"And when the world shall see."

Steps…

More steps than I imagined could ever exist in one Tower.

I've been climbing these steps for nearly a month now—just climbing. Not once have I stopped to gaze into the many rooms and galleries that stood immaculately kept, despite not a soul walking the halls with me. Not once have I lost my way down the many branching corridors that tempt me to walk down them every time I happen upon them—not once. I've come too far for that, after all. To throw it all away because of a pretty ballroom would be insane.

"And when the world remembers."

Doors…

The Doors of Oblivion…

Another week and I am here… The doors of the uppermost chamber. I have arrived. Finally, I have arrived. I breathe for a few moments, steadying my nerves that are all too ready to leave this horrible place. I push open one of the doors, it is stone, and it feels as heavy as a boulder, but I am determined. I push with all I have left in me… all those years of walking, all those years of repression of my emotion, of my anticipation… let loose. I make a crevice between the two doors just big enough for me to squeeze through. And I stand in a chamber. A very large one at that. Built almost entirely out of the same golden-veined black marble as the rest of the structure. I reckon it is nearly a dozen royal ballrooms large. And in the middle, sits a pedestal, and on top of it, a rolled piece of paper. I unroll it and find the oracle was telling the truth… it was indeed a map. But it didn't make any sense. Where it told me to go was… the moat. But to do so by jumping off the tower… I ready myself, breathing heavily as I open the much smaller door off to the left side of the room. But there is no balcony to catch my foot. It is simply a drop. I feel the racing winds pierce through my clothes that had long since gone ragged with the passage of time, despite my best efforts. I let my right foot dangle off for a moment and then retract it. I lose my nerve. But I reassure myself… I cannot die, but I can feel pain. Hitting the water from here would surely kill any mortal man, but I would simply float there for years, waiting for my body to regenerate to a point where I could walk. It was risky, yes, but necessary. I needed to find whoever did this—put me here—and I needed them dead. And this was the only way. I close my eyes and let gravity take me down, the rushing wind muting all else around me, except for the sound of my pounding heart in my skull, I count the seconds. About thirty go by before I hit the surface… only to find that the 'water' was no water at all, it was another night sky. I fall into the pool of stars… down… and down… and down… and then, I feel the call of sleep. I am tired… and I answer.

"That world will cease to be…"

Song Choice: In Temeria – Adam Skorupa, Krzysztof Wierzynkiewicz

I open my eyes, and I am standing. I look around me and gaze upon a hall of white stone. I think it's marble, but I'm not sure, as something far more interesting catches my eye. A man, tall and sitting, in a throne of stone, it looks raw. As if the stone was simply taken out of the mountain that way. Halfway melted candles adorn the tiny outcroppings on it looking more like ornamentation than for any practical reason. I try to keep looking, but I feel a rush. It was all coming back, all the places, all the dreams. I know I am dreaming, that this is not actually reality. For a moment, I feel the sea breeze out on the water, the faint sunlight of the dawn on the cliff overlooking Lake Calenhad, and the weight of all those hundreds of years spent in that… bleeding desert. All at once I am assaulted, unable to completely comprehend it all, a smell here, a feeling there, nothing solid. I feel it all—it's excruciating, but I can't wake up. I am helpless, and I am angry. I look back to the man in the throne, heaving, hyperventilating, trying my best not to faint on his floor, if even that was possible in dream. He looks at me with eyes that give me nothing… all my life, I've been perceptive enough to tell a man's first three intentions with me as soon as he sits down, but him… nothing. And the thought of him being the greatest Wicked Grace player Thedas had ever seen flashes in my mind for a brief second.

I observe him now, my breath beginning to even out, coming to terms with what I'd just gone through. He is a thin man, with skin as pale as falling snow, under a mop of white hair. His eyes, even from this distance were… brilliant. They were like perfectly polished gemstones, placed over candlelight, and dropped into a starless night sky. I glare at him, with the best I could muster, and he doesn't react… just sits there… watching. I grow impatient and I want answers. If this was a demon, it was like none I'd ever seen. It must be extremely powerful to pull the wool over on me that far.

"Hey, you! Arsehole! What's goin' on? What've you done to me?" I yell up at him, he sits high above me, the steps leading to his throne are many. I know the words reach him, but he does not move, not even his lips. "I've entirely run out of patience. What did you just put me through? I feel I've just lived too many lifetimes for one man, but this is just a dream. I demand you release me. Now!" I expect a 'why should I?' But all I get is a cock of the head, as if he doesn't understand the situation. "Did you not hear me?! I said, let me go! Let me get back to the land of the waking. I don't belong here! And… by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin… if you don't, if you deny me, I'll turn you to sand and throw you into that blasted desert… savvy?"

"Threats?" I hear him finally say. But it is only that-nothing more. And that only frustrates me more.

I hear stomping… no… banging. I know its banging, but it feels like an earthquake. The walls and ceilings of the hall begin to crumble and fall before me. And within my mind, I hear him again, clearer than I'd heard anything else before, and I know what he says, he says to himself…

"Patience."

The banging wakes me up. I'm awake. I'm in the land of the living. And then I hear a voice from behind me.

"Mage, wake up. We have arrived." It says, and I know its Sten.

I look to my side and the elf is not there, he must've already gone ahead. Its dark outside, so I must've been asleep for a few hours, at least. I pull myself out of the cart, my muscles aching, I stretch some of them out—other stay. I see the woman, the witch, some fifty meters ahead of me on the road ahead, just standing on the threshold of the town line. I find it curious and I walk up to her, Zevran at her side.

She turns, hearing my sleepy, heavy steps behind her. "I can assume you enjoyed your rest, then?"

I contemplate telling her about it for a second, and then I stop myself, rather wanting to appear sane as opposed to a lunatic madman. "Mmm… more or less." Sten appears beside us, his sword strapped to his back, ready for anything. "How long was I out, Sten?"

"Five hours and thirty-seven minutes…" He regards us, and our questioning glances of him, wondering just what goes on in that brain of his. "To be precise."

"You know, I always say beauty-sleep is just as important as sufficient fitness to win a battle. Of wit or of blade." Zevran chimed in with his signature Antivan wisdom. And I'm actually surprised it wasn't about concubines or how best to poison a man's drink.

"I doubt you'd be able outwit a rock, elf." Morrigan fires back without even a second's pause between the end of Zevran's statement and the start of her own.

They begin to go back and forth, and I tune them out taking a small walk ahead of them. I listen, and I hear… nothing at all, only the soft winds of Winter.

"Something's wrong… very wrong…"

Chapter I Ending Song Choice: Beautiful Dreamer/ The Last Rose Of Summer – Bing Crosby