They sweep the rest of the dungeons, fighting skeletons left and right. Marian's going to have nightmares, she just knows it.
"I locked myself in a cage once when I was a child, for an entire day," Alistair says wistfully after they put down a veritable pack of the things, glancing at a pair of hanging cages nearby. "Good times."
Marian's not sure if she's meant to be horrified or not, but when she stares at him, Alistair brushes off her concern with a laugh and something about being raised by dogs.
She tucks that away to ask him again later, when he knows her better, when he realizes that she's like a bloodhound: once she's hooked she doesn't let things go.
There's another staircase to a different floor, leading into the castle proper. She'd had an idea that perhaps the undead were confined to the ground floors, that there might be people somewhere holding out against the tide, but every room is littered with undead, and in one of the main halls a pack of weak shade demons nearly overwhelms them.
It's their first taste of demons. None of them are enjoying themselves.
Their path is easier once they get into the smaller rooms, where they can take advantage of close quarters and set up choke points, funneling their enemies into Marian and Morrigan's magic and Leliana's arrows.
That works until they stumble into the mabari kennel. They're not in their cages, they're loose, and as soon as Marian steps foot into the room, they start to growl in a way Marian knows is deadly serious instead of warning. She darts a panicked glance at Alistair, who is already bringing his shield around, and Cú, who is growling in her defense – but she doesn't want to fight this fight, she realizes, and silently waves her companions back.
She creeps backward, never taking her eyes off the mabaris, and the volume of their growling decreases with each foot she moves, until she's back through the doorway and in the hall.
Marian rubs her forehead and sighs. "Thank the Maker," she says in low tones. "I really didn't want to hurt them."
Leliana touches her shoulder, a small comfort, and they move on.
They fight for every step down the hall – there really are skeletons everywhere – until they reach the end. The smith's daughter is hiding behind crates in the last room, and she's easily persuaded to flee down the passage down to the village.
It continues in this way, with each step bringing more and more undead, until they reach a side entrance to the courtyard and they can spread out.
It's too quiet, Marian thinks, looking around. Even with what she knows about the fate of the people who live here, there should be nature sounds, birds, insects, the bloody wind. The air here is dead, and still, and the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand right up.
"'Ware," Alistair murmurs, holding his shield tightly.
Marian nods, and they fan out a little, looking for traps, surprises, anything that might explain why they're all so uneasy. Leliana is the first to spot the mechanism that opens the portcullis out to the bridge path, and she slips over to pull the lever. Marian hopes Ser Perth is paying attention.
Suddenly she feels... wrong. Not just uneasy, the way she had before, but like someone's got their fist around her spine, around her guts, and they're squeezing for all they're worth. She drags in a harsh, shuddering breath –
That fist pulls. Her feet leave the ground, and she flies, choking on her own breath, until she slams into something as unyielding and harsh as a wall and lands face-first on the ground.
She can't catch her breath.
Someone shouts her name, though she will never know who; she groans in reply, then cries out when an armored boot stomps down hard on her staff hand. She pulls as hard as she dares, but her attacker is putting all its weight on her hand, the small bones grinding against each other, and it hurts – Marian sucks her breath in, arching her back and pulls her chest in hard, creating tension and a small amount of space. Then she drags her other arm across, between her chest and the ground, and blind-casts a wave of pure force over her own shoulder.
Abruptly the pressure on her hand is gone, and she rolls away from the thing, clutching her abused hand to her chest. She has just enough presence of mind to keep rolling a little ways away, because that little bump won't put her attacker off for long.
Her hand is empty. She left her staff behind.
She needs to get up.
Marian rolls over one more time onto her front and uses her right elbow and uninjured left hand to push herself to her hands and knees, and from there she can get up without knocking her hand around more than she can bear. A persistent, throbbing ache is making itself known in her ribcage, but she puts that from her mind as best she can. She turns, and for the first time she confronts the thing that attacked her.
A skeletal face grins at her underneath a wicked, curving helmet, and the red eyes – revenant, her mind whispers. Oh Maker – blessed are they who stand –
Her darling, perfect mabari stands between her and the revenant, every muscle tensed to spring, showing every fang in her defense. A glance around tells her that the knights have indeed come to their aid; they're holding off a group of the undead on the grand staircase while Leliana supports them with her bow. Morrigan, Alistair, and Sten are bogged down in another group behind her.
Marian and Cú are on their own, it seems.
First things first, then: her staff. She has one idea, and it's a terrible plan and she's a terrible person for thinking of it, but...
"Come by," Marian shouts, and Cú begins to circle left around the thing, still growling, but he distracts it long enough for Marian to dash forward and snatch her staff out of the grass. She immediately switches hands, cursing herself for forgetting her injury, and renews her shield and armor spells.
All right, then.
She skips backward a few steps and opens up with lightning, then flame. The revenant turns away from Cú, snarling at her from under its helmet, and that's when she signals Cú to attack. It turns around again, frustrated, and stabs at Cú, who dodges at the last second and then lunges at the revenant's arm, biting down for all he's worth.
With Cú attached, she's forced to fall back on frost and arcane bolts, which she throws as fast as she can. It shakes her mabari off too quickly for her taste and comes spinning at her with a sword as big as she is. She stumbles backward, hoping desperately that there's nothing behind her to trip over, and tries the force wave again, which knocks it back several steps. Cú takes the opportunity to lunge for the hamstring, and Marian winces as his teeth clash horribly on the revenant's armored boots; but it stops going for her and turns back to swipe at Cú yet again.
An arrow flies by her ear and buries itself under the edge of the revenant's helmet; Leliana has joined the battle, and that means that the knights probably aren't far behind. Marian slaps a force field around the revenant and takes a precious second to glance over her shoulder at her other party members. No one is dying on the ground, but Sten is losing blood at an incredible rate and can hardly raise his greatsword. She flings a heal at him and turns around in time for the revenant to come unstuck. It sneers at her, stabbing its sword into the ground and reaching out an impossibly long arm for her. Again she can feel that bloody weird feeling of someone holding her insides in their hand –
"Warden!" Ser Perth is there, and she nearly sobs in relief as he wades in and takes on the revenant in her stead. The feeling is slow to dissipate, but she fights through it as two more of Perth's men arrive to help, and when Morrigan pitches in, the fight is soon over.
Leliana joins her, watching in concern as Marian tries to fumble one of the potions out of her belt. "May I?" Leliana asks, and suits action to words before Marian can agree. She pulls out the tiny stopper before handing the healing potion to Marian, who tosses it back. Instantly her ribs stop aching and her hand feels better. She thanks Leliana; then it's only the work of a moment to heal the rest of the damage to her hand with a spell, and another to heal the wounded among them – she's already done the bulk of it mid-battle, healing Sten.
Marian turns to find Cú lifting his leg against the gorgeous old tree on the other side of the courtyard. She narrows her eyes. "Bad dog," she scolds when he comes trotting back to her, though she doesn't mean a word of it and he knows it. He sits, tongue lolling from his mouth, as she carefully checks him for injury. She touches her forehead to his for a moment, smiling. "Good dog," she murmurs, and stands.
They head through the castle's main doors and after a moment's thought, Alistair points out the way to the main hall.
The last thing she's expecting is to find Teagan playing the fool for a young boy, who must be Connor. Teagan rolls around, turning at least one somersault before he leaps to his feet and sketches a bow. Connor is clapping. It all seems very normal. Perhaps that's what's wrong with it, she thinks. Where are the undead? Why are there guards here, instead of protecting the doors? Teagan might want to amuse his nephew, if Isolde was right and Connor was turning strange, but Isolde herself looks terrified, her body language tight and skittish.
The boy looks up as she approaches. His eyes narrow on her face. "So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?"
That's the first shock. Connor's voice is artificially deep, far too old for a boy of ten and nearly too deep for anyone to physically produce. Marian frowns.
Isolde swallows. "Yes, Connor."
Why is she treating him like he'll hurt her if she looks at him the wrong way?
Marian surreptitiously flexes her right hand to make sure it's fully healed and ready to cast. Something is very wrong here. She has an idea of what it might be, and she really, really wants to be wrong. Please, Maker, let me be wrong.
"The one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?"
"Yes," Isolde answers again. She looks at Marian, her eyes pleading. Marian holds her gaze for a moment and then dismisses her, turning back to Connor.
"And now it's staring at me." Connor sneers, narrowing his eyes and subjecting her to the most thorough up-and-down Marian's ever experienced. "What is it, Mother?"
Isolde hesitates, looking lost. "This is a woman, Connor. Just as I am."
Connor snorts dismissively. "This woman is nothing at all like you. Just look at her: half your age, and pretty, too. I'm surprised you don't order her executed."
Marian is content to allow this little shadow play to run its course. It gives her time to think of an alternative to what she knows must happen. It also wouldn't be a terrible thing if she can discover what kind of demon holds Connor in its thrall.
Isolde gives up on her and turns to Connor, her hands fluttering around him, but she clearly doesn't dare touch. "Connor, I beg you," she pleads. "Don't hurt anyone."
Connor very slowly folds in half, covering his face in his hands.
That's an odd thing to do, Marian thinks, her brows drawn together.
When he comes back up, there's real emotion on his face, terror, confusion; his eyes are soft and scared. "Mother? Wh-what's happening? Where am I?" His voice is truly child-like now, not that hideous thing from the depths. Is it a trick?
"Connor!" With a shaky, relieved laugh, Isolde drops to her knees, takes his shoulders and holds him there. "Thank the Maker – Connor, can you hear me?"
He opens his mouth, but then – he shakes his head, looking around as if he's lost. Connor shoves away from Isolde, slapping her hands aside. "Get away from me, fool woman!" He sneers at her and turns away, but not before he glances at her one last time – and it's not cruelty on his face, or that mocking jubilation that's so unsuited to a child, but genuine confusion.
Maybe it's not too late.
"Warden, please," Isolde begs. "Please, don't hurt my son. He's not responsible for this, for any of this."
Marian crosses her arms over her chest. She's no reason to love Isolde, or give her the benefit of the doubt, or believe a word that she says at this point. "I take it this is what you were hiding?" she asks, raising her brows.
"Connor didn't mean to do this. It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon – he started all this! He summoned this demon. Connor was just trying to help his father!"
"I spoke to that mage," Marian says, watching Isolde's face. "He said that he summoned no demon."
"The boy must have made a deal. Foolish child," Morrigan says.
"It was a fair deal!" Connor shouts. Isolde can't scramble to her feet fast enough, and she takes two steps back. Marian lets her arms fall, sliding her hand over her hip in what she hopes looks like an idle motion that really puts her hand in striking range of her staff. "Father is alive, just as I wanted," Connor goes on, his voice more unearthly than ever. His eyes are fever-bright in the light of the great fire behind him. His lips curve. "Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world. Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"
"Nobody tells him what to do!" Teagan breaks in with an insane cackle, and then keeps laughing even as Connor turns on him with vicious words and a threatening fist. Teagan quiets then, and Connor turns back to Marian, but Teagan keeps chortling under his breath.
She's really worried for him now. Earlier was... different, but this? This is blood magic.
"Let's keep things civil," Connor says, a gleam in his eye as he watches her watching Teagan. "Warden, was it? Why are you here, Warden?"
Marian shrugs, deliberately nonchalant. "Nothing you can help me with."
"Oh, my," Connor says, mocking her; the echoes in his voice are out of control, wavering with each word. She's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. She'd been trying to provoke him, but... "How rude! What shall I do, Mother?"
Isolde swallows. "I – I don't think – "
Connor scoffs, cutting her off. "Of course you don't. Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it's getting dull." He comes down the shallow steps to the rest of the hall, glaring at Marian every step of the way. "This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she'll repay me."
As one, the soldiers standing guard turn their heads to look at Marian. So does Teagan.
Oh, shit –
Connor dashes to a side door and slips out, leaving Marian and her companions facing Teagan and six bewitched soldiers who want to take their heads while Isolde flattens herself along the wall.
She calls the order to disable only even as she's whisking her staff out from behind her back, and while it takes longer than she'd like, they eventually manage without more than a long wound on Cú's side that Marian heals quickly.
She leaves Alistair and Leliana to tie up the guards and instead bends over Teagan. He's got a fractured skull from the butt of Sten's sword, but otherwise he's all right, and a healing spell or a potion will take care of that quickly. On the other hand, she's not sure if she should wake him up. He might still be enthralled, and she has no way of protecting or curing him except killing the abomination. Killing Connor.
The decision is taken out of her hands when Teagan groans. He's coming around.
"Teagan!" Isolde kneels on his other side, patting his cheek. "Teagan, are you all right?"
Teagan rubs his eyes. "I... " He opens his eyes with a sigh. "I am better now, I think. My mind is my own again."
Marian offers him a hand, and when he doesn't immediately slit her throat she allows herself to relax. A little. He takes her hand and levers himself up, with Isolde helping on his other side, and when he gains his feet Marian heals his cracked skull.
"I would never have forgiven myself had you died," Isolde tells him, tears in her voice. "What a fool I am!"
No one is arguing.
It's hard work keeping that behind her teeth.
Isolde turns to her, her eyes slightly wild. "Connor's not responsible for this. There must be some way we can save him!"
"Haven't you done enough?" It explodes out of her, and she's ashamed of the delivery, if not the content, but it keeps pouring out of her, like a well overrun. She can't stop, or maybe it's that she doesn't want to. "All these people – they're dead now, because of you. You tortured Jowan when he had nothing to do with the demon, the one living in your own son. You lied to us out on the bluff to get Bann Teagan in here, where a demon took over his mind with blood magic, and now you want us to save your son?" Marian laughs scornfully. "Your son, who's an abomination, who we should kill on sight? And you know what the worst part is?" She plows on, ignoring Isolde's pale, white face, Teagan's hand on her arm, Alistair's worried breath on the back of her neck. "The worst part is that we're going to save him anyway, because I refuse to kill a child – "
"Marian." Alistair pulls her around by the arm and gives her a little shake. His face is a priceless picture of baffled shock. Her temper drains right away, leaving only shame behind. Sorry, she mouths at him, to which he shakes his head, dismissing her apology, and lets go of her arm.
She takes a breath, and then turns around to face Teagan and Isolde. Teagan just watches her, his face entirely neutral, but Isolde clearly doesn't know whether to reproach Marian or allow herself to hope.
"I apologize for my outburst," Marian says, careful but sincere. "It was inappropriate, and poorly done of me."
To her surprise, Isolde waves it off, dismissing her apology. "We can discuss that later, if necessary," she says impatiently. "How may we save Connor?"
Marian takes a breath to think about how to phrase what she wants to say. "Connor is an abomination," she says, picking her words. "But the demon is not inside him. If it were, Connor would not have been able to resurface. Therefore, its true form is in the Fade; therefore, there is a link between your son and the demon, a link we can use to find it. And to kill it."
"How can this be done?" Teagan asks with furrowed brow.
"It would require a great deal of lyrium," Morrigan puts in. "And more mages than we who are here." Marian knows she's not imagining the stress in that sentence, which might as well be screaming I told you so. Morrigan still thinks they shouldn't have let Jowan go. It's too late to call him back, though, and she wouldn't in any case; and with that she dismisses it from her mind.
"You can find lyrium and more mages at the Circle of Magi – if they would even do it," Alistair says doubtfully. While she wasn't looking he'd come around her to join in the conversation, and she wonders again why he wants her to do most of the talking.
"We have to go there anyway," Marian points out.
"That is an excellent point," Alistair allows, sounding almost hopeful. "And it's not far from here, as the crow flies."
"No, only a day's journey across the lake," Teagan says.
"But what will happen here?" Isolde glances over her shoulder at the side door Connor escaped through. When she turns back her face is serene, but her hands are gripping each other so tightly that her knuckles stand white. "Connor will not remain passive forever."
"I'll leave one of my party here," Marian promises, looking over her shoulder at Morrigan, who glares at her almost as if she can read Marian's mind. "I'm afraid that's the best I can do."
"Then we have a plan?" Teagan asks with a slight smile.
Marian nods. "It certainly sounds like one."
She arranges for them to stay the night, and for supplies, and a guide whom Teagan says will cut nearly two days off their trip. They will have to help clear the rest of the castle, but tonight they will sleep in real beds, and eat food Alistair hasn't turned to mush over the campfire, and if she is very lucky, there might even be a bath.
Marian sighs wistfully and turns to finish clearing the main floor of yet more undead. Delightful.