It seemed that he only blinked, but the ceiling of the Inquisitor's room suddenly shifted into the greyish green, ever changing sky of the Fade in that split second. Cullen blinked again, hoping in his dreamer's logic to make himself return to the waking world, but instead it simply turned into a different sky, the Fade's attempt at twilight. He felt something tickle his ear, and turned his head to find that he was lying in a bed of mixed grass and flowers. Pushing himself up slowly, he looked around as a lush forest formed around him, deep emerald green mixed with the occasional flair of flowers.
As he brushed some stray seeds and petals from his hair, he heard a familiar voice behind him and turned to find Dorian standing in front of a large pair of stone doors inscribed with runes. Dorian's hands were raised, holding his staff aloft as he intoned mystical words in a deep, sonorous voice. When he finished, he brought his staff down in an abrupt motion, and a shimmering field of energy settled over the doors. As Cullen watched, the runes on them faded from sight, and Dorian set the butt of his staff on the ground. "And that, as they say, is that," he said with a weary nod.
From his right two elves formed out of the Fade mist, one of whom was Mailani and the other an older elf with white hair and a cluster of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. The tattoo on his face showed that he was a Dalish elf, with the staff in his hands indicating that he was a mage as well. "Thank you, my friend," he said, then looked to Mailani. "I feared the worst when Taven did not return from his search for Din'an Hanin. Though you could not save him, I thank you for cleansing the Tomb and bringing me the scroll. Too much Dalish history has been lost to Chantry lies. "
"To think that such an evil had invaded this place," Mailani said with a shudder. "Thank the Creators it is now gone."
"Due in no small part to your efforts, da'len," Hawen said, then smiled. "My trust in you is well placed."
"Then you will return to the Plains now?" Mailani asked him.
The older elf nodded. "My clan needs me, though I do not regret the journey. Taven and those with him deserved a true Dalish burial for their efforts to restore our past." He looked at the now obscured doors of the Knight's Tomb, a sad expression coming to his face. "Besides, this is the Emerald Graves, and that tomb was built to hold our honored dead. Those of my clan who have fallen will find good company here with the heroes of our past."
"These doors shall not open again, Keeper Hawen," Dorian promised. "The runes would need to be re-inscribed, and even I would not know how to do so."
Hawen smiled, though the sorrow lingered in his expression. "There are none living who do. Still, there is one more thing I can do." Hawen turned to the doors and raised his own staff, brow furrowing in concentration. The plants and vines around the doors seemed to shift into life, but Cullen quickly saw that they were, in fact, growing, extending and swelling until they covered the doors so thoroughly that it was difficult to imagine it had ever been anything but another wall of flowering vines.
"Clever," Dorian murmured. "I don't suppose you could teach me that trick, could you?"
Hawen chuckled. "Perhaps, after we all survive the trials that are to come."
Mailani nudged Dorian with her elbow as he opened his mouth - presumably to press the issue - and the mage quickly shut it again at her glare. "May we meet again when that has come to pass," Mailani said, bowing to the elf.
"Your way is dark, daughter of clan Lavellan," Hawen said gravely. "Know that you go with my blessing."
"Ma serannas, Keeper Hawen," Mailani said, her voice trembling slightly. "Dareth shiral."
"Dareth shiral, Inquisitor," the Keeper said gravely, then turned and left.
"That's it, isn't it?" Dorian asked. "We're done here?"
Mailani shook her head as she drew her bow and turned to where the door had been. Kneeling with the bow in her hands, she said, "I will keep a vigil tonight, as a final gift to the spirits of the fallen." She glanced up at Dorian. "You may return to camp. This is my choice."
Dorian paused, then gave her a smile. "And if a giant came along and squished you into Inquisitor paste? I would never forgive myself." Kneeling next to her, he held his staff between his hands and shifted a bit until he was comfortable. "There."
She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Dorian."
"Well, what in Thedas are friends for if not to commune silently with long-dead spirits now and again?" he replied. "Besides, I am a necromancer. This is practically in my job description, isn't it?"
With a little laugh, Mailani said, "That's one way to look at it." Turning to face the door, her face grew somber. "We should think of them, though. This is their night." Her eyes closed, and she bowed her head to fall into the stillness of the vigil.
"And yours," Dorian said softly. It was clear from the sorrow on his face that this was the moment when the dreaming Dorian overrode the Fade's script to speak his own mind, and that moment made Cullen's heart ache. An odd longing came to Dorian's face as he reached out to her, though his hand drew back before he made contact. Finally he took a deep, silent breath and wrapped his hand firmly around the shaft of his staff before bowing his own head.
Cullen didn't know how long he stood there watching them before he silently moved to kneel next to Mailani. A vigil was something he could understand, and paying his respects to the dead was also a familiar concept, though the exact circumstances of this vigil remained a bit of a mystery to him. He was touched at how readily Dorian acquiesced to the solemnity of the occasion, and couldn't help but feel as if their actions demanded a like response from him, even if it was only a dream.
As he knelt and bowed his head, however, everything changed. The gentle sounds of the forest around them abruptly altered to distant shrieks and a howling wind, and suddenly his body felt weighed down by a prison of metal. With a gasp, he raised his hand to his chest, his face turning pale as he found the Sword of Mercy on his breastplate. He looked around, eyes wild, and saw piles of bodies clad in Templar armor and Circle mage robes, blood pooling grotesquely underneath them. In the next breath, the red haze of a containment spell formed around him as two demons, Desire and Rage, pushed their way up from the ground and began to circle him, whispering and taunting him with hissing laughs.
"Get away from me!" he cried, hands rising to grasp the sides of his head. Dredging up the will from deep inside, he sent a smite out in a burst of energy, shoving the demons away to collapse in stunned heaps. With a roar he rose to his feet, a sword appearing his hand, and charged them in a mixture of fear and fury. Helpless as they were, it didn't take long to destroy them, and he whirled in a circle for a moment as he looked for other demons to appear. When none emerged, he collapsed to the ground, shaking from the jolt of adrenaline, and fought to clear his mind. Of all places, Kinloch Hold during the Blight was never a place to which he would wish to return, and it wasn't only the demons that were the reason why.
As if the thought had summoned him, a flicker of movement caught his attention, and Cullen looked up to see him standing on the other side of the confinement spell. A sneer twisted the massive burn scar which covered the left side of his face, and his crimson eyes seemed to glow with a cruelty which had only grown after joining the Grey Wardens, but there was no mistaking Jorath Amell. Those eyes had haunted his nightmares as often as any demon had in the years since he'd left Ferelden, and Cullen felt a shiver of helpless fear crawl down his spine as the man came to a halt on the other side of the containment spell.
"Amell," he grated.
"Cullen." The red hue of the confinement spell accentuated the man's already odd coloring, making his red hair and fiery eyes that much more sinister. After a moment where the man seemed to enjoy Cullen's discomfiture, Amell added, "You seem to have gotten yourself into some difficulty. Are your demons hounding you more than usual today?"
"I don't need your help," he said, voice cracking as he said help. It was hard to remember that this was a dream, that he wasn't truly back in the past, but he managed. Barely. He fought to push the fear away through sheer force of will, and his anger helped to remind him that this wasn't real, that this Amell was just a demon playacting one of his memories.
"Stubborn, stubborn Templar. I wonder if you will say the same when next we meet." Amell flicked his eyes over Cullen's kneeling form with a smirk. Cullen had to admit that whatever demon was portraying Amell even had his mannerisms down perfectly. "You look good on your knees, Cullen. Maybe when I've dealt with Uldred, you can demonstrate your thanks to me from down there. I'm sure I needn't elaborate, hmm?"
Cullen swallowed, but didn't deign to reply, and Jorath laughed softly, again clearly taking pleasure in a Templar's unease. Cullen remembered all too well what had happened when he'd pleaded for the mage's help before. The part of him which yearned for the oblivion of lyrium still wondered whether death itself would truly have been worse than the price he'd paid for the man's 'help.'
"Nothing to say? Pity." Amell blew him a kiss, then gestured to those with him to follow him up the stairs. Only the blond elf glanced at Cullen with anything approaching interest as the party passed him. The others had the blank look that Cullen had come to associate with the control of blood magic, including Alistair, though he hadn't recognized the man at the time. "Do give your captors my regards, Cullen. I look forward to killing them later."
As he disappeared, Cullen forced himself to his feet and took a deep breath. New demons - real or simply part of the dream, it didn't matter - were already prowling the space behind him, and he had to get out of there, out of both the confinement circle and the dream entirely. Squaring his shoulders, he tightened his grip around his sword and raised it high in preparation for a strike. It hadn't worked in the real world, but maybe in a dream...
Even as he swung, an arc of energy hit the confinement spell from outside, and it collapsed in a shower of sparks. As Cullen stumbled forward when his sword encountered no resistance, someone swooped in and caught him, drawing him upright. "Commander?"
Cullen gasped in relief as he dropped the sword to lean against Dorian. "Inquisitor." Letting the man lead him away, he concentrated on releasing the memory, hoping that the Fade would banish Kinloch Hold to where it belonged: the vaults of his mind.
"Who was that?" Dorian asked as the landscape melted around them and became neutral once more. "The red-haired fellow."
"Jorath Amell." Cullen shuddered as he fought to catch his breath.
"That was the Hero of Ferelden?" Dorian frowned, brow contracting in concern.
With a grunt, Cullen forced himself straight and nodded. "A demon pretending to be him, at any rate."
"I hate to tell you this, Commander, but that was no demon," Dorian told him.
Cullen's eyes narrowed, then widened as he realized exactly what Dorian meant. "Amell was here? In the Fade? How?"
"Oh, not in the flesh, of course," Dorian quickly assured him. "That hasn't been done since Corypheus and his fellow priests trampled over several rules of reality to walk the Fade. No, he was here as we are here. But that doesn't make it any less dangerous, if he's as... charming as he seemed to be."
Gut instinct told Cullen to run, but his first attempt left him swaying and wobbling like a fish out of water. "We must leave," he gasped. "Can't let him find us."
"Now, now," Dorian said, arm wrapping around Cullen to steady him, "I'm not entirely helpless here, you know. Don't worry. I'm here. I'll protect you."
Cullen stared at Dorian for a moment, then sagged into him and let his head fall into the crook of Dorian's neck. "Thank you." It wasn't so much the promise itself for which he was grateful as much as it was for the reassurance that he wasn't alone. Not this time.
"That's it," Dorian said in a soothing tone as his arm pulled Cullen closer. "Just relax. That will make this easier."
Thus assured, Cullen closed his eyes. For a moment, he dimly wondered if perhaps this was yet another demon pretending to be Dorian, then dismissed the thought immediately. This was Dorian, from the clicking of his silly number of buckles to the musky scent that always seemed to linger in his hair. This was his friend, as unlikely as that friendship might seem to others, and Cullen knew, deep down, that he could trust him.
The thought brought a smile to his face, even as a tickle of magic wreathed around them and Dorian's lips touched his ear.
"Wake up."