The air in the great hall began to thrum like a plucked lute string; dust fell from the ceiling and the flagstones reverberated beneath their boots. The candleabras, which hung from four great iron wheels, began to sway as though they were ships amidst a storm. Corrupted energy from the Fade rippled through the cavernous space in waves. Echoes of darkness billowed against the walls,visible only from the corner of the eye, or when the head was turning.

Connor Guerrin, or the demon that possessed him, let out a sound that was a mocking replica of a human laugh; it came out like the chattering of a beast. He lifted childish hands, the black seal over his pupils glittering. The arlessa's body canted reflexively towards her son; she was thrust back against the toppled throne as though shoved by some invisible palm.

The bann's face was slack and formless as he advanced towards the small party; he gripped his blade in a clumsy fist. Each limb seemed to move independent of the rest; he lurched like a drunkard, almost falling down the short flight of steps.

"Teagan," said Alistair, reverting to the familiarity of a decade prior. "Teagan, shake it off - fight it!"

There was a note of urgency in his tone. Flora wanted to tell him that there was little possibility of the bann being able to shake off a mind control charm. They were - naturally - proscribed at the Circle, but rumours of their illicit use arose from time to time. The bann turned his blank face towards the young man; who had inadvertently just made himself the focus of attack.

As Teagan advanced, now mere metres away, there came a yell of pain and shock from behind. The blade of one Rainesfere soldier fell to the ground as his arm hung limp; struck by his white-eyed, mindless counterpart.

Flora's brother-warden swore under his breath. He shoved his sword back into its sheath, retrieving the shield from his shoulders. The bann made a clumsy, vicious thrust with his blade and Alistair blocked it easily, using the shield to divert the blow to one side. Flora had already gone to the aid of the battling Rainesfere men, knowing Alistair would not need assistance against a lone foe.

Alistair then deflected a second clumsy thrust from the man he had once seen as - not quite a father, but perhaps an uncle. His sword remained in its sheath; he would strike no blow against the mind-controlled bann. Teagan's lips drew back over his teeth in a grimace; he lunged like a thrown doll and collided with a wall of metal. The bann staggered back, dazed; instead of pressing the attack, Alistair lowered his shield and waited, eyes keen as steel.

Several yards away an agitated Flora was trying to stop the mindless Rainesfere soldier from wounding his comrade, while simultaneously preventing the latter from dealing a death blow.

"Ooh, don't cut his legs off," she pleaded, pressing herself against a nearby table as the pair wrestled past her.

"The bastard tried to stab me!" The indignant knight made a flailing retort with his blade, aiming at the exposed part of his assailant's neck.

"He can't help it." Flora made a clumsy deflection, an arc of gleaming light cutting through the air. "If you just stand still, I'll shield you."

"And let him chop my head off? Andraste's arse I will!"

Beads of sweat broke out on Flora's hairline. She darted a glance towards Alistair, who at the same moment looked over his shoulder to her. Once reassured that the other was alright, both junior recruits returned their attention to their respective predicaments.

Meanwhile, the Qunari had no moral quandary over the fate of the possessed child. Like Flora, Sten was a pragmatist; unlike her, he was determined to resolve the situation there and then in the most efficient manner. The cruel edge of his ax led his charge: he hurled himself bodily towards the abomination. He barely made it onto the first step before the child noticed him. A high giggle slid from Connor Guerrin's throat, mouth twisting in contemptuous amusement.

"Foolish brute! You think I am as weak as this pathetic body?"

The abomination made a gesture and Sten recoiled as if he had collided with a wall of bedrock, the ax slicing through empty air. Connor gave a cackle of glee, the scorched eyes glittering. A half-dozen corpse-soldiers erupted into the great hall from some discreet servant's entrance; more bone than flesh, they left bloodied footprints in their wake.

"Entertain our guests!" ordered the possessed child, shrill with excitement. "Turn them inside out."

The furious Qunari redirected his frustration towards a more accessible foe. Retrieving his axe, he did not wait for the enemy to come within range; charging at them with an incoherent roar.

As the dead staggered between the long tables, the demon's magic loosened its grasp on the minds of the bann and the soldier. Teagan Guerrin, knocked to the ground by Alistair's shield, passed a gloved hand over his eyes and shook his head as though a wasp was circling. He looked exhausted, and every one of his four decades. Alistair, a natural defender, had already gone to the aid of the Rainesfere soldiers, who had been backed into the mouth of a dusty fireplace by three shambling corpses.

Flora reached the bann as his chin dropped to his chest; hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. Glancing over her shoulder at Alistair, she saw that he had dispatched two dead already. Her kind-hearted brother-warden showed no similar gentleness in combat: he wielded his bulk and brute might with ruthless efficiency, often over-excessive in force.

Now there's a warrior. A born fighter. Naturally, Flora's general was impressed. If only my army had been filled with men of that caliber. I could have taken the whole of southern Thedas.

It was rare for the spirit to use a singular pronoun: they very rarely made reference to their mortal life. Flora, however, was preoccupied. She had gripped the limp bann beneath the arms and was hauling him with difficulty towards the protection of a table. It felt as though she were dragging a boat up a rocky shore without the aid of rope.

Oof. A born fighter UNLIKE ME, you mean?

There was no response. Puffing, Flora hefted the unconscious man several more yards, wishing fervently that he was not clad in costly (and therefore weighty) chainmail. Crouching down, she managed to wrangle him beneath one of the elongated tables. Nowhere in the great hall was safe ; but at least the solid slab of oak would provide some protection. Leaving him slumped on his side, Flora sat back on her heels and exhaled.

A second later a discordant crash of metal sang out at shocking proximity. Alarmed and with ears ringing, Flora spun her head to see a breadth of battle scarred steel. It was Alistair's shield, thrust between her and the thwarted swing of a hammer. Her brother-warden had intercepted the corpse that had crept up on her; a creature which now twitched mindless on his extended blade.

Startled, Flora looked up at him. Alistair gazed back down at her, breathing hard; lowering his sword to let the twice-dead creature slide onto the flagstones. His mouth made the shape of her name, although no sound emerged. Instead of speaking, he reached down a gauntlet to bring her up; eyes set unblinking on her face. The still astonished Flora put her hand into his glove and he drew her up and towards him. She made no attempt to extract her fingers; he did not release them. When the thin and quavering voice drifted through the hall, they turned towards it with hands clasped.

"Mama…?"

Connor Guerrin was rubbing his eyes with his fists: a child roused suddenly from a deep sleep. He looked around in bewilderment, his irises once more the distinctive Guerrin green. The arlessa let out a muffled cry, taking a step towards her son. Her face bore a glimmer of tentative hope.

"Mama? Am I… am I awake?"

The boy was tearful in his confusion, his gaze darting across the dishevelled hall like a trapped rabbit.

"My son," breathed the lady Isolde, her fingers closing on his tattered sleeve. "Please, you must try and fight the demon! Be strong , Connor, you are the son of an arl- "

"I can't," the despairing child whispered, his chin dropping to his chest. "It's too powerful. I said yes once and now I can't say no- "

The bann stirred beneath the table; roused by the sound of his nephew's voice.

"Help me," pleaded the child to the array of strangers before him. "Please."

Alistair took an instinctive step forward; since their hands were still linked, Flora inadvertently accompanied him.

Before they could move any closer, the boy's face went slack and white; eyes closing as if someone had passed a finger over them. When he opened them next the irises were once more bottomless wells. The lips drew back over the teeth and the stance became animal, rage twisting the childish mouth. The arlessa let out a moan of defeat and fell back against the toppled thone, relinquishing her son yet again to the demon.

"I told you," bellowed the abomination, in the strange and horrifying duality of tone. "To GET OUT of my castle !"

The demon's fury contorted the boy's slight body; his head swayed from side to side like a snake poised to strike. The five intruders - the Qunari, the pair from Rainesfere, the tall, musclebound swordsman and the redheaded mage at his side - were scattered across the great hall, many yards apart.

"If you won't GET OUT," the demon warned, visibly agitated. "I'll crush you to pulp!"

The Rainesfere men spun around, expecting another assault from the undead. Instead, energy began to pool between the abomination's small palms. Dark and smoking; the boy's fingers were silhouetted by the sparking of violet energy.

Prepare yourself.

Flora felt Alistair's hand slide from hers. Her brother-warden reached over his shoulder for his shield, eyes fixed on the deceptive slightness of the child. She assumed that some sort of spell was about to be launched in their direction; her heart leapt forwards in panicked acceleration.

WHAT? PREPARE FOR WHAT? If you know, why won't you SAY?

There was no response. Then, with a groan of wood and a rush of acrid wind, the static contents of Redcliffe's great hall rose to the rafters. Eight vast

tables, each the length of a tree trunk; numerous benches and chairs; two dozen suits of armour and assorted weaponry; along with the other detritus of dining: all hovered in the air fifty feet over the heads of those below. It was a deadly arsenal: a single piece of Redcliffe oak could crush the bones of a man to dust, and pulverise the flesh beyond recognition. An incredulous Teagan Guerrin staggered to his feet, squinting up at the vaulted ribcage of the ceiling as though his eyes were deceiving him.

There was nowhere in the hall to hide; no place to take shelter from the storm. One of the Rainesfere men gasped a mangled prayer; at which the demonic child sneered.

Flora noticed that Alistair had raised his shield above her. There was little that one man's dented bulwark could do against the incoming onslaught and yet he still braced his warrior's frame determinedly against the stone. His eyes were no longer on the capering abomination, but resting on her face with calm resignation. Flora realised that he was convinced that they were about to die: crushed by the weight of a wood's worth of solid Fereldan oak.

"Farewell, dear guests," sang the boy, the deep wells of his eyes glittering. "Though I have a feeling you won't be faring too well in the near future."

"Flora, I- "

You are NOT the one who is shielded, observed Flora's general testily.

"Your brains will decorate my tiles!" gloated the demon, clapping sweaty palms.

The chaos of wood and metal tangled below the rafters dropped; plates and tankards sliding from tilting tables; cobwebs torn from loosened weapons. Suits of armours broke apart into a dozen dusty pieces as they fell. The noise was indescribable: a host of invading Qunari charging through the hall could not have made a greater cacophony.

In the Circle, Flora thought, somewhat irrationally. The other apprentices said that I didn't have a brain.

She stepped out from beneath the dented bulwark and lifted an arm with no coherent plan in her mind. Her shield flew upwards like a net thrown into the sea, then billowed outwards like the unfurling mainsail of a galleon. The barrier expanded as it ascended; anchoring to the walls in an impossibly huge net. In a heartbeat, the gilded mesh - each strand thin as a human hair - encompassed the entire vaulted ceiling, catching the falling missiles like a shoal of fish.

The great hall was silent for several drawn out heartbeats. Flora, astounded, looked up at the lustrous ceiling, and then at her outstretched hand. There was no internal sensation to accompany the extraordinary effulgence streaming from her fingers. Her stomach rumbled: it had been several hours since breakfast. It was the greatest single outpouring of magic she had ever achieved, and she felt nothing except for the faint urge to snack.

?!

Concentrate, came the irritated response. And close your mouth.

"What the fuck," said the bann from behind them, abandoning any pretence at eloquence.

Alistair, struck into silence, looked down at his sister-warden; then up at the suspended arsenal overhead; then returned to Flora. There was a small crease of concentration between her eyebrows. The air in the hall now pulsed with a different sort of energy; reminiscent of the languid beat of a heart. Tiny gilded flecks, like salt spray from the sea, drifted from the illuminated rafters.

The possessed child let out a howl of thwarted rage, but made no attempt to try and dispel the barrier. Overcome by a childish fit of temper, it stormed from the great hall; crashing through a side door that led to the kitchens. The lady Isolde hesitated - for a moment, it seemed as though she were about to follow her son - but then she sank down to her knees, bowing her faded face like a wilting flower.

No one spoke; though all registered the abomination's departure. All eyes were still on the fishing net woven from a skeins of light, which hung the entire length of the great hall like some earthly constellation. It gleamed so brightly that the furniture caught above it was cast into a silhouetted tangle. The wood's worth of weight rested easily on a trellis of gossamer thread.

Flora, who had no idea what she was doing, instinctively lowered her hand. The net dipped - clumsily - and several large tables collided in a succession of splintering thuds. Wanting the contents of the great hall safely on the flagstones as soon as possible, she abandoned any attempt at a neat landing: letting the furniture, armour and weapons slither in a series of crashes at the far end of the hall. Only when the last bench and discombobulated suit of arms had been dumped unceremoniously onto the flagstones did she release the air held in her lungs.

Alistair lowered his own shield, blinking. He looked at his sister-warden, whose face had returned to its enigmatic rule.

"Flora," he said, softly. Her pale eyes rose to settle on his, and he knew then that she was as astonished as he. After several months of sleeping twelve inches apart, he could translate her stoicism a little closer than the layperson.

"Eh," Flora replied, a faint line scored across her brow.

"Have you… have you always been able to do that?"

She paused, darting a bemused sideways glance at the tangled pile of furniture.

"Dunno."

There was movement to the side: the Qunari had entered the hall once again. Sten alone had made the attempt to pursue the abominable child; he returned empty-handed, unsuccessful and with frustration set in his jaw.

"Right."

The bann was making a valiant attempt to gather his senses, though he grimaced with each step he took towards them.

"Shit, I feel as though I've ridden a hundred miles in a day."

With some effort, Alistair removed his eyes from his sister-warden.

"The demon had you prancing about like a jester," he said, not mentioning that Teagan had also - in a mind-controlled stupor - attempted to kill him. "I'm not surprised your muscles are sore."

Teagan Guerrin stifled a groan, passed a hand across his face and took a deep breath. He then turned his gaze to the arlessa, who was still slumped on the steps with shoulders hunched to her ears. Her fingers twisted compulsively in her silken sleeves, the fine fabric shredded by the repeated worrying.

"Isolde and I had a brief conversation before Connor - before that creature - interrupted us- "

"He is still Connor," pleaded Eamon's wife, voice high and tremulous. "I beg you, Teagan! You are his uncle. Don't let these - these people hurt him."

The bann closed his eyes a moment, then turned to the pair of young Warden-recruits.

"Isolde has told me about the blood mage in the dungeon," he said, glancing up as a crash echoed from some distant part of the castle. "She insists that he was responsible for Connor's possession. Did you see him when you came in through the tunnel?"

"Yes," replied Alistair, tautly. "Jowan. He said - he claimed - that Connor fell victim to the demon himself. He said that he was only responsible for poisoning the arl. On Loghain Mac Tir's orders."

He swallowed the anger that rose in his throat like bile, sour and acidic. The mention of the traitor general's name unbalanced him: never before had he felt a contempt so potent, not even for his absent father.

Teagan's eyes widened for a moment; his nostrils flared and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. A spark of white hot fury glinted in his pupil; yet like Alistair, he set aside his anger for the more immediate concern.

"Can you cure poison, lass?" This was directed to Flora, who was biting off the fresh growth of her nails. Her fingertips stung as though she had pressed them for a single instant against a boiling stew-pot.

"It ain't a poison like you'd think," she said, tearing a soft piece from her smallest nail. "It's a blood curse. You can't mend a curse, you have to lift it."

This response had, word for word, been given to her by her spirits. Teagan exhaled a long breath, the faded streaks in his beard caught by the candlelight.

"If - when - my brother wakes, he can decide what justice to mete out to the prisoner. He is the arl. For now- "

The bann looked at the two Warden-recruits and their Qunari companion.

"Any ideas?"


AN: Ok so I wanted to redeem Flora a bit here - she's not exactly covered herself in glory re the combat situation since arriving in the castle, which is to be expected; as she says herself, she's not a fighter and has barely any experience. But here we see the raw potential of her shield, which she's only ever really used in small-scale ways before - and it takes her totally by surprise. Of course her shield is going to eventually need to protect her against the wrath of an Archdemon :P so it makes sense that it's more potent than she realises.

In other news, packing is so fucking boring I AM SO DONE WITH IT. All I own is clothes and books! Why do I own so many pairs of shoes?! Why does the baby have enough clothes to kit out a Primark? I should have just bought her three white babygros every month and rotated them! I've used all my bubble wrap to protect my library of Loebs and now I have none left for my crockery! Fuck me! Also I forgot to tell the removal people we're in an upper floor flat so they'll have a great time with the triple wardrobe and the full sized piano. Anyway! Never mind! In less than a week we'll be back in the beloved motherland and I swear I'm never leaving Wales again, hahahha