HAWKE
"Serena!" I shout as Anders, Fenris, Varric, and I burst through the estate's front door.
Blue and purple lightning bolts bounce off the main foyer's walls and ceiling, striking down at a horde of shades, clustered together by the foot of the stairs. Serena peeks out at us from between them.
She's hunched over on the ground, her entire right side soaked with blood.
"Hawke," she whimpers, gawping up at us.
The lightning dissipates.
Fenris and I both charge forward, slashing at the shades with as much strength and speed as we can muster. Anders and Varric shoot at the ones closest to Serena, firing distant blows in rapid succession.
Serena attempts to stagger onto her feet to join the fray, but swiftly collapses, her hands grasping at a bloody claw-like wound, stretching across her right shoulder.
"Stay down, Twinkle Toes! We've got you!" Varric yells over the din.
Serena doesn't try to argue with him on it. She simply slumps forward until she falls completely flat on the ground.
The last of the shades drop soon after that, disappearing in a thick puff of pitch-black smoke, just like the rest.
"What in Andraste's name happened here?" I shout as we all run up to Serena.
She's covered in sweat and cuts, the worst one across her shoulder. Anders cradles her head in his lap, while quickly casting a healing spell on her.
"Lilies . . . White lilies. This morning. That man." She glimpses over at a fallen, human man, lying in a pool of blood by the foyer entryway.
Varric walks up to him, kneels, and presses two fingers to the side of his neck. After a brief moment of silence, he stands back up with a slow shake of his head.
"That's enough. You don't need to say any more," Anders hushes Serena.
Serena's eyes close, her body submitting further to Anders's fretting grasp.
"She's lost too much blood," he whispers, still waving his hands over her for his healing spell, "and her fever is spiking too high. We need fresh water, lyrium, healing potions, bandages, and a rag. Fast."
Varric and Fenris both run out of the room, toward the kitchen. No doubt to retrieve the requested supplies.
But I can't move. I'm frozen stiff. All I can do is stand there, staring down at Serena. Her torn, leather armor. The blood seeping from her massive shoulder gash. It's all too much. Too fast.
Bile rises into the back of my throat.
I'm going to throw up.
"My room?" I somehow grit out in whisper, holding it down.
Anders nods and puts one hand to Serena's cheek. "Serena, can you hear me?" he asks.
Her eyes flutter open, but they look glazed over, unfocused.
"We're going to try to move you upstairs now . . . It's going to hurt."
Serena doesn't respond, merely blinks once and closes her eyes.
Anders looks up at me, and with as much delicacy as I can manage, I hoist her up into my arms. Serena grimaces and lets out a loud hiss; her whole body tensing and curling against my chest.
I halt.
Every part of me goes rigid.
"Keep moving," Anders insists, still casting his spell.
I gulp and hurry up the steps, Anders trailing alongside us. Serena doesn't react again. Not until I place her on top of my bed, when she winces once more. But a part of me hesitates on release, seeing her pain, but I also don't want to let her go.
Maker, I don't want to move a step away!
Anders disregards my reluctance and forces his way between us, making me step back. Fenris and Varric both rush into the room a moment later, carting a large basin of water and an armful of potions and bandages.
"Here. It is the only one I could find." Fenris hands Anders a small kitchen rag from his pile.
"It'll do." Anders takes it from him. "Now out, everyone! I need space!"
FENRIS
Dread. Anger. Despair. Worry. Confusion.
All such powerful emotions bear down on me, as Hawke, Varric, and I sit in a breathless silence outside Hawke's shut bedroom door.
I currently sit crouched beneath the nearby window sill, moonlight beaming in on us from overhead, unable to stop my arms and legs from shaking.
How could we have let this happen? We shouldn't have left Serena alone to guard the others in the first place! If we hadn't, then maybe . . .
I gulp down the pointless argument and rake my fingers through my hair, clutching at the strands in tense desperation. Fighting to not just rip them out.
Hawke's door finally clicks open.
We all jump up.
The abomination hobbles out, looking even more ragged and pale than usual.
"The worst has passed . . . for the moment," he says with a wide sweep of his wrist across his brow. "She'll need another few bouts of healing. But there should be no lasting damage."
All three of us release a collective breath we must have been holding, lightening the overall tension on our shoulders. Although, not by much. Not until we see her alive and breathing ourselves.
Hawke puts one hand to his lips, a thoughtful look now overtaking his expression. "I still don't understand," he whispers, spinning in a short semi-circle. "How did this happen? How did she know it was him? The white lilies couldn't have been enough to start all this."
"Perhaps . . . I can explain that," a familiar woman's voice speaks up from the nearby stairwell.
We all look over to find the blood mage approaching us with wide, wary eyes, like a lone doe knowingly walking into a slaughter.
"Daisy? What are you doing here?" Varric asks, uncrossing his arms.
"I ran into Bodhan and your mother inside the Hanged Man." She flips a hand toward Hawke. "They told me what happened, and I figured you might need more help."
She steps closer to our group, her head and shoulders slumped low. The posture of a rat, harboring a guilty conscience. But why? I don't know.
"You . . . remember how I told you Serena's strong connection to the Beyond is the main cause of her fits, yes?" she asks.
None of us respond.
The blood mage shuffles her feet. "Well . . . there's more to it than that. Whenever she collapses, she'll . . . she'll see things. Events from the past . . . and some that have yet to come to pass."
"You mean . . . like visions? Of the future?" Hawke's voice rises with noticeable incredulity.
Merrill nods. "Yes. They've plagued her ever since her magic first manifested as a child. It's perhaps the sole reason she avoids using magic to begin with. That, and . . . well, the voices." She shrugs.
My body stiffens. "Voices?" I scowl at the now smiling mage.
Her eyes flare wide open. "Oh no! Not demons, if that's what you're thinking," she says with a quick shake of her hands. "They're spirits! Friendly ones. Or so she says . . ."
She trails off. Only making me more suspicious. More frustrated. And more desperate for the truth. For many a reason.
Hawke sighs. "Okay. Let me get this straight," he says. "So, Serena's not only a Dreamer, with a strong connection to the Fade, like Feynriel. She also has visions of the past and future? And can hear spirit voices?"
Merrill flashes us a gentle, knowing smile. "None of the clan could believe it at first, either . . . After all, it does seem a tall tale, now doesn't it? But when what Serena saw started happening, it was hard to ignore her claims any longer. As I'm sure you all might understand now."
She pauses again; this time to fidget with and wring her fingers back and forth.
"The Keeper believes her visions may be prompted by her strong connection to the Fade—that she's somehow tapping into a lost, forgotten power, beyond our current realm of understanding. Others theorized she might've been chosen by one of our gods, like Dirthaman, our Keeper of Secrets and Knowledge. But when that flat-ear betrayed us . . . None of that mattered anymore. Her gift turned into a target on her back. One that's hunted our clan from one end of Thedas to the other."
A lump forms in the back of my throat.
The magister's hunters . . .
Could this be what they were after her for then? Not for her Somniari abilities, but these so-called visions?
The prospect's unnerving.
After all, the ability to see into one's past or dreams as a Somniari is one thing, but to perceive the future as well? The magisters would pay anything to possess such power. Which would explain their persistence.
Hawke pinches the bridge of his nose. "I need some air," he whispers. He stomps over to the stairwell and points back at the rest of us. "Can you all keep watch here? I need to go inform the city guard, then go fetch Mother and the others from Lowtown."
"We're on it, Hawke." Varric salutes him.
I turn around and force the window open, my body feeling too tight. Suffocated. A bitter gust enters and nips at my exposed skin.
Yes. Perhaps some cool, night air would do us all some good.
SERENA
A green fog swirls around me. Through its dense walls, I spy a faint glimmer of golden light, like a lone firefly, flickering at dusk. I reach out to touch it, and a spectral woman appears—the same robed one from my vision at the coast. A spirit that's haunted countless of my other visions before.
She's talking to me in what appears to be a small, wooden structure this time, in the middle of the forest. I'm lying down on a pile of scattered leaves and branches, gazing up at her, while holding something small tight in my arms.
But I have no recollection of this time. This place. And I don't quite feel like myself at all.
My body feels . . . foreign. Different. Strange. Too tight and weighed down by something I can't understand.
The robed woman, structure, and thing I'm holding vanish in a puff of green, whirling smoke. Flemeth materializes from their remains. But I feel . . . smaller in front of her now. Shorter?
Tamlen rises from his seat next to mine, on the other side of a glowing campfire.
But no, this can't be right. He's just a child! A young boy, not even tall or strong enough to wield a bow! Why would Flemeth be with us at that time? We never met before the blight.
Flemeth steps closer with a mysterious, knowing smile, her golden eyes gleaming with calculating, prophetic guile.
A log cracks in the fire between us.
Bursts of red-hot embers shoot high into the night air. My surroundings fade with them, washed away again with a gust of green swirling smoke.
New figures form out of the mist. A grown Tamlen reaches out for the eluvian now, in the ruins—bright and handsome as the first day I lost him, sporting our clan's customary leather armor and his typical teasing grin. Ripples form across its surface at his touch. Growing. Spreading. Like raindrops dancing across a still pond.
I try to reach out to pull him away, just as I had in the past. But then there's a bright flash of white light. I'm flung back, landing hard against the stone floor. Again.
My head aches.
Everything blurs.
'Wake up. You must wake up,' Tamlen's voice calls out through a green, distorting haze.
But no, that's not right. That's not what he said that day. Back then, he was screaming. Screaming for help. About something seeing him. That he couldn't look away!
My head throbs.
A high-pitched roar rings in my ears.
In an instant, I'm standing back up, but not from my own effort or will.
Tamlen, the ruins, and the eluvian are gone. The archdemon soars under a rocky ceiling overhead. It lands on a nearby stone bridge with a loud fracturing thud, its clouded white eyes shifting downward, overlooking a miles-long trench below. A horde of marching darkspawn trek through its perilous depths, the stark glow of their torches lighting up the surrounding cave walls and abandoned ruins.
No. No. This is from the past. The blight is over. That much I know for certain.
So, why? Why am I remembering this here? Now?
The archdemon bellows again. But this time, it comes out like a song. A beautiful, tempting song, performed by the most celestial bard in all of Thedas.
It calls to me. Beckons me. Calms me.
Urges me to venture deeper into the abyss.
The pull tingles like a fiery, icy torrent spreading through my veins.
I want to listen to it.
To heed it.
To find it. That . . . song.
'No, Lethallan!' Tamlen's voice hollers out again.
My surroundings go pitch-black. The song ends.
A green fog rises up around me once more, enclosing me in a green, swirling globe. The wind picks up, spinning faster, and faster.
"Tamlen, where are you?" I shout over the twisting gale, my voice and body shaking.
Something burns inside me. Scorches beneath my skin. It's like my whole body's expanding, being stretched too thin, in far too many directions.
The fog barrier bursts—disperses. This time transforming into a dim darkness.
Someone's cradling me on the ground now. Someone much bigger and taller than myself. Their careful touch warm and familiar.
Ashalle? From when I was a da'len? I can't tell. It's a woman, that much I know from their figure in our embrace. But we're surrounded by . . . smoke? And . . . and fire! The forest! The aravels! They're on fire!
The flames eternal crackling echoes in my ears.
It's too hot. Too loud. I can't breathe. I can't see! Ash burns in the back of my throat, in my eyes.
Three men in robes approach us from the other end of the blazing glen.
Their blurry faces sneer over at us, and my heart drops.
'Serena.' A grown up Tamlen appears between us, blocking off all sight of them.
He kneels down in front of me and smiles, looking just as perfect, clear, and healthy as I try to remember him.
'You need to wake up, lethallan.' He reaches out to touch my forehead. 'Wake up.'
"Lethallin!" I gasp, lurching forward, my eyes flaring wide open.
"Whoa! Nice and easy!" Hawke's voice calls, somewhere off to my right.
I glance around at my surroundings in a panic. Everything blurred. Not making sense.
I'm lying . . . in a red, canopy bed now. In Hawke's room.
Hawke sits in an armchair off to my right, one hand pressed firm against my lower back, while Fenris walks over from his standing spot on the opposite side of the quarters.
"What-What happened?" I ask between pants, my mind and heart still racing, caught between the past and the present. "Where am I?"
"You're alright. Your safe." Hawke withdraws his hand from me.
My memory slowly returns, assuring me that what I saw earlier must've been a dream.
Reminding me of earlier: the mage, the fight in the foyer, the shades!
"Leandra! Bodahn! Are they—" Burning, stinging pain rips through my right shoulder, dropping straight into my chest. I wince and suck in a deep breath through clenched teeth, my right hand clutching at the forgotten wound, only to meet unexpected silk.
"They're both alright," Hawke says, reaching out but stopping himself upon seeing me settle. "We're all safe. Thanks to you."
I look down at the mysterious clothing covering me now.
I'm wearing some type of long, oversized, red, silk top. Too fancy and loose for my taste, but typical of Leandra, Bethany, or Hawke. Beneath it lies an endless trail of binding bandages, stretching from one part of my shoulder, down my torso, all the way out to my palms.
Fenris pours me a glass of water on the adjacent nightstand. "Here, drink," he passes it to me.
I gulp it down gratefully, not sparing a single drop. The cool liquid washes away a scratchy dryness, aching in the back of my throat. One I didn't even realize existed.
"Where is everyone?" I ask, slouching forward, burying my face in one hand—my mind still fuzzy, struggling to catch up.
"Waiting downstairs, talking to Aveline," Hawke answers.
I sigh.
At least that's one bit of good news. If the city guard are here, that means everyone really is safe. For now.
I grimace as another jolt of pain wracks through me. This time concentrating along the base of my neck and back of my skull. The aftermath of using my magic no doubt. "Ugh. My head's killing me," I grumble, digging my fingers deep into my tangled hair.
"I can imagine." Hawke chuckles.
But his humorous expression fades. Far faster than usual.
He looks straight at me, radiating unforeseen seriousness. "Serena," he whispers in a low, clipped voice. "Can you explain how you knew he was the murderer?"
I stop breathing.
All thoughts cease.
Hawke and Fenris both watch me. Waiting. A solemn aura surrounding both of them.
They know.
They must. Something here doesn't add up. Something that doesn't make sense. There's no point trying to hide it now. But . . . But . . .
I gulp and take in a deep breath.
No. No more running. No more hiding! It's time I tell them. They deserve to know. They need to know.
"I-I can see things sometimes . . . about the past . . . and the future," I start in a slow, shaky voice, resigning myself to the task and its consequences, as terrifying as it is to do. "And . . . when I collapsed a few weeks ago, I saw your mother, Hawke. It looked like her, but it also . . . didn't. She was hurt, mutilated, sick. I got worried, so that's why I asked if I could stay, to keep watch over her just in case. And when I saw that human at the door, I-I saw that same scene again, but with more clarity. I saw him . . . killing Ninette . . . and—"
The vision returns.
Brief glimpses of the shem flash before my eyes—of him cornering and strangling poor Ninette, chopping off her hands, and . . . and . . .
I shudder and shake the disgusting memories away, then peek over at Hawke and Fenris.
Neither have moved or changed expressions. But I see it in their eyes. Their stiff postures. The alarm. The confusion. The fear. I've seen and heard it so many times before. Before I learned it's better for me to keep my mouth shut. Before I could shrug off the hurtful accusations.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I know you probably don't believe a word I'm saying, that you must think I'm crazy. I-I don't blame you, but I-I—"
Tears well up in my eyes. Everything hurts now. Not just my wounds.
I just want to curl up and die. Pretend this never happened.
Hawke grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into a firm but careful embrace. "Thank you," he whispers, cradling the back of my head. "For looking after my mother. And for telling us the truth."
My tears fall.
I glance over at Fenris. His expression has softened as well, hinting now at one of his rare smiles.
"You-You're both not angry at me?" I stammer as Hawke pulls away. "Why? Why wouldn't you be? I've kept this a secret from both of you for so long! I—"
Hawke puts a finger up to my lips. "It doesn't matter." He gives me a relieved grin. "We all have our secrets—you probably more so than others. I think that's fair to admit . . . But what matters is that you're telling us now."
He grasps on tight to my good shoulder.
"You saved my family, Serena," he says, looking straight at me. "Perhaps the last bit of it I have left. I can never repay you for that. So, who am I to get angry over how you've done it?"
All the wind gets knocked out of me.
I can't move.
I can't breathe.
" You . . . You don't think it's strange?" I choke out, my internal barriers slowly cracking, breaking within. "You don't think I'm some . . . some monster?"
"You are no monster." Fenris sits down on the bedside. "You are a hero. A warrior. A blessing. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."
The dam of tears I've been holding back crumbles. Shattered to smithereens. His words breaking a spell—a curse—that I've held onto for so many years. With a quiet, stuttering breath, I lower my head and clutch tight onto the silk blankets in front of me, letting the tears finally flow free. A release I haven't felt since the blight, when I last felt comfortable enough to share the truth. My truth.
"Thank you," I whisper without looking at either of them, the sobs coming forth stronger now, breaking past my lips.
I no longer can suppress it. I lean forward and openly weep. Fenris and Hawke both scoot closer and wrap their arms around me. Their gentle comfort welcome, unexpected, and perhaps the first real sign I've ever truly recognized that I might finally be on the way to moving forward, in the arms of a new family. Without fear. With acceptance. And love from all.
