She could smell the stench of death and decay. It hung, all but visible, in the air and clung to every surface. Maly swallowed against the acrid bile in her throat and slowly turned to face her dream.

The Brood Mother chittered, suggestively running her tentacles over her massive, fleshy body. She tilted her head, studying Maly intently and then opened her mouth.

"This is what you will become, Warden," the creature chuckled softly, tentacles flowing endlessly over and around pasty flesh. "You have none to go with you, none to give you that final blessing of darkness."

"I did what I had to do," Maly threw back her head in challenge, not bothering to question why the beast could speak, "I kept them safe."

"Really," the soft laughter seemed to boom in the chamber, teasing the hem of Maly's robes, "Was it for their safety or yours, Warden?"

"Look at you," tentacles erupted next to her, stroking the fine wool of Maly's robes, "What are you now, Warden? Are you even a Warden, or did you run from them too? Warden, Mage, Hero," the Brood Mother's tentacles continued to stroke Maly's robes as a few moved to her hair, "You were everything and now? Nothing."

Maly stepped back, shaking off the seeking tentacles. Pulling on her will, she forced the scene away from her mind. She was, if nothing else, a mage still. She would not allow the Fade to control her. Tendrils of images flew before her eyes as she stood straighter. The years fell beside her as the whirlwind of images continued. After all, she could control the Fade, why not remember herself as she used to be?

"Shall I make the rude joke about being happy to see you, or will you," the voice whispered beside her right ear. "And no, that's not a dagger in my pocket."

Maly's lips twitched as she turned, facing the Antivan elf who rarely was without words. She arched a brow and assumed her most prim expression, "You are a wretch."

"I, of course, know this," Zevran perched on a stone wall as the scene shifted. It was a pretty stretch of Fereldan road. Maly remembered it well. They had stopped for lunch and the companionable teasing had deteriorated into a fight with the remains of the meal. She sighed and leaned against the wall beside her old friend.

"Why are you here, Zev," Maly asked sadly, "I've already seen the Brood Mother and been reminded of my fate, I spent the day regretting everything I have done. Are you here to torment me too?"

"My dear Warden," he laughed, reaching up to pull on a curl that had escaped from its pins, "I am here to remind you of the good times. You forget them so easily."

"I had to," Maly shook her head away from his fingers, "If I let myself remember," her voice trailed off, "It hurt too much."

"You did not let us see that," Zevran's voice was accusing and Maly realized the light-hearted banter was not to continue, "You did not give us the chance to help you. All we saw and felt was your anger. Shall we speak of hurt, my dear Warden? The tears that Leliana shed from your sharp and hateful tongue? The way the years seemed to pile on Wynne's shoulders because she was not allowed to comfort someone she considered a daughter?"

Maly reeled back as struck, but Zevran continued, "How about Sten and Etzian, banished from the sight of someone they both loved and respected. Banished without even a thought to what such a betrayal would do to their spirits? As for Oghren, I believe you remember how that went."

She shook her head, hands balling into fists at her side, "No, Zev, I beg you, stop."

Any thoughts of controlling the Fade flew through her mind as the assassin stalked over til he was but a breath away, "I would have helped you piece yourself and your heart back together," he whispered, his fingers trailing up her arms til he gripped her shoulders. He shook the tiny mage until her eyes met his, "We all would have helped you, but you shoved us away as though we meant nothing to you."

His eyes burned into hers and his fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, "Were we nothing but tools to you? Perhaps the Crows misjudged you even more by not seeing how much like them you operated, dear Warden," he twisted the familiar endearment into something hateful. Maly struggled, but he only gripped her tighter.

"Please, Zev," she hated how her voice rose, how tears clogged her throat and swam in her eyes. "I never meant it like that."

The elf pushed her away, staring down at her impassively as she stumbled and fell, "Pity it is too late for you to tell us this, Malaya. For your friends went to their graves thinking only of your hatred."

The fire had died down, casting only a rosy glow over the room. Shadows danced in the corners. The old mage lay in bed, her eyes open and her cheeks wet. Had her friends truly believed that she hated them? Maly struggled to sit up, scraping at the tears on her face. She had not cried in decades. She leaned back against her pillows and tried to remember when… Ahh, yes, the night she had visited Avernus in his tower. The pain had been more than even the Joining. Tears had fallen then but for honor not pity. Maly pressed her fists against her eyes, willing the images form her dream to go away. Damn her honor.