Uhm, sorry for the long delay in updating, guys. I've been sick, still am, but my meds finally started working. This is the first day I'm not running a fever and it's the best feeling ever. The only reason I can update is that I had the chapter almost done when it hit me, so it needed just a few more tweaks (which is sad news for whoever reads the other story, too, because I haven't even started writing the newest chapter. I'm sorry.). Anyway, so much for my apology. Now the story. It's a little bit longer, sue me.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own DA.
The mass of dark clouds veiled the entire city, the roar of heavy rain buzzing tirelessly. Columns of smoke rose high up to the clouds, black and acrid, the fires all around the city only slowly succumbing to the beating force of the downpour. The air smelled of water, but felt more like an ice as cold as it was, making everyone's breaths a puff of fog in front of their pale faces.
Cullen was shivering in his full plate armour, but it wasn't from cold. His fingers had gone numb long ago, and were sore from holding the hilt of his sword for so long. His arms trembled, remembering the powerful slashes they had parried. His drenched hair was plastered to his head, cold trickles running down his face and neck. The woman he watched looked just as miserable. Her chest rising and falling quickly as fingers slowly put the black strands of her hair from her pale face.
Her armour was slick and soaked, her bare arm bristled with goose bumps. Her eyes were fixed on the body at her feet, her face was a mixture of repulsion and relief. Leaning on her staff, she bent to wrestle the sword from the dead woman's iron grasp. Meredith's blackened fingers cracked audibly and Kaileena whimpered, turning her head away as she shut her eyes close. The sword pulsed in her hand, glowing as red as the blood the rain was slowly washing off her skin and armour. Sparks flew off the tip of the sword as she dragged it across the ground, backing from the carcass, the sound of scrape accompanying the spray.
"We need to go," a soft voice whispered, and a tanned hand reached to take the sword from Hawke's trembling hand. The Rivaini pirate Hawke fancied then passed it on to the tattooed elf, both frowning at the lyrium-cursed sword darkly.
"It should be destroyed," the elf mumbled.
"Can you?" Cullen asked, stepping forward. The clothes under his armour stuck to his body, drenched with sweat and cold rain.
Kaileena's blue eyes found his and her eyebrows knitted together. "We'll find a way," she replied, her voice low and hoarse. "But not here." It wasn't a question and it worked just the same. She wanted to know if they could leave or...
Cullen's eyes fell on the blood on her arms. He'd noticed not all of it was Meredith's. He'd felt it when the power of blood magic surged across the square. And he finally understood the clawed gauntlet Hawke wore; to tear at her own skin and veins, to draw her own blood, to weaken herself, just to power up her magic.
Be it any other mage, Cullen wouldn't have hesitated. But Hawke was different. And she did save them. When the lyrium magic in Meredith's sword woke the statues, Hawke's blood magic disintegrated them. Cullen had no idea how else they would have defeated stone.
"The templar order needs to take care about the situation in the city," Cullen gestured towards the Hightown standing not so proudly on the hill above them. "We can't waste time chasing after an apostate, or anyone associated with her."
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and for a moment she looked just like the Hawke he knew, all mischief and impishness. "Congrats on the promotion then. Perhaps," she paused for a moment, "we'll meet again."
"Sister..." A man appeared by his side, making a step forward. His outstretched arm reached out for Hawke, but the mage was already at the gate, never sparing the young templar as much as a glance.
Another person stood by his side suddenly, and this time her presence felt...strange. Queer and yet it felt more real than anything else. Another mage, but one Cullen hadn't seen accompanying Hawke before. She stood next to him, her sad eyes watching Carver as he hung his head and dropped the begging arm. Her robes were of a dark blue colour and supple leather protected her torso, climbing up her chest to embrace her neck, too. Her shoulders were bare, the soft fabric of her sleeves covering her arms only half way up. Her hair was dark brown, just like the wistful eyes, and cascading down her back. Despite the downpour, there wasn't a single drop glistening in them, nor a thread of her robes damp.
"Why didn't she say goodbye?" she whispered, the eyes finding him. She knitted her eyebrows together, turning towards Cullen and simply waiting. She smiled when his eyes widened with recognition at last.
"Serah Trevelyan?" Cullen breathed, taking a step away from her. He felt baffled and confused as his eyes scrutinized her to make sure he wasn't imagining her. And then he remembered. "You're in my dream."
She nodded, magically procuring her staff to lean on it from somewhere. "Just as you asked before you retired. Remember?" she reminded him softly.
Cullen looked around. The templars all around faded into black silhouettes. He could still smell the rain, but the drops weren't beating against his armour anymore. Suddenly, it was just him and Anastasia standing together, and nothing but vast plane around them. "What...is this place?" he asked, whirling. There were strange, blue veins emanating a soft, dim glow nearby. It pulsed like it was alive. "Lyrium...?" he mumbled and his eyes fell on a distorted, dead tree towering above them. He blinked when he saw a chair balance on its branches. They never lowered under its weight either.
"Lyrium veins are all over the Fade. Highly convenient for such as me. Though overdose of raw lyrium is rather dangerous. Instant kill, to be frank," she said, her voice thoughtful. "And this place is..." her eyes scanned their surrounding, "just a minor part of the Fade."
"Fade..." he whispered in awe. "I've never...seen it before." He lifted his head, watching the whirling black sky. He sucked in the air quickly when he noticed a floating mass of earth above them. "What in the name of the Maker...!"
"Don't," she warned him gently, placing her hand on his shoulder briefly. "Lest you'll get a headache. Fade is just a cheap reflection of our world, twisted and warped. Its creatures do not understand the purpose of many things they glimpse in our realm and often place them in the most peculiar places."
His eyes returned to her face. It was tilted up, watching the same island he'd just studied. She was smiling softly, looking calm and serene like she was watching stars and not a floating piece of earth. She slowly lowered her eyes to him again. "That dream...is this how it happened in the Kirkwall?"
Cullen frowned and looked away from her, his eyes slowly sliding across the nothingness around them. The air seemed to shimmer in the distance, just like it did at deserts and parched plains in hot summer days. "Yes," he said tersely.
"Why didn't Hawke say goodbye to her brother?"
"She never forgave him."
"But...Varric said she loved him," Anastasia frowned, her eyes darting aside to examine something on the horizon. There was nothing, at least nothing of interest, just a tall wall of rocks in the distance.
"She did, but...ask Varric. He's better at this. Is all of the Fade so dull?" he asked.
She smiled widely, obviously pleased by his curiosity. "Come," she said simply and set off, her robes flapping behind her, leaving him little choice but to follow. He ran to catch up with her, the dry land crumbling and slippery under his feet. She set up a brisk pace, making long swift strides, and seemed to have no problems with it.
"Where are we going?" he asked. Glass chinked as they went, her staff stabbing the ground with her every second step. "Someplace safe," she said. "To pick up Solas."
"Solas is here?"
She gave him a lopsided smile. "He's even better at this than me, but his modesty won't let him admit it."
"He's this...this...Fadewalker, too?"
She shook her head slightly. "He can be here, but he's not like me if that's what you ask."
They neared the rocky wall and soon it towered above them, impenetrable and threatening. "Dead end..." he mumbled, turning to the woman by his side questioningly.
She seemed unperturbed. Her eyes searched for something, or examined something he couldn't see, and then she made a move to touch the solid stone in front of her. She took a breath and when Cullen blinked, her staff was gone. She hid the stick into her robes and reached out to him. "Take my hand."
He frowned at her palm.
She let it drop. "There's a door right in front of us. I can get us through, but I need to use magic. However it only covers me and so I need to pull you in behind me."
He still glowered at her. "What kind of magic?"
She rolled her eyes. "Fade magic. I need to, well," she paused and shifted her weight nervously, avoiding his eyes all at once, "let's say I need different eyes to see the door and different hands to unlock it. I am not sure I could persuade you to touch me after I change. Solas called me creepy," she smiled at him tentatively. "Only he used some more sophisticated word," she added, still bashful.
"Are you going to change shapes?" Cullen drawled. He wasn't sure he liked the idea.
"Yes, but it's not dangerous. I've done it a thousand times before." She reached out again. "Trust me."
"I've got bad feeling about this," he uttered, still glowering distrustfully, but he did obey. Her hand was soft and warm as his fingers closed around it, and she squeezed tightly.
"You're cold," she mumbled with a smile and closed her eyes. And then...something happened. First, her shape grew blurry, like she was just a reflection in a misted looking glass. Then her skin paled and begun to emit a dim white glow. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, a blast of white light blinded him.
In his palm, her hand changed. It wasn't soft and warm anymore, but dry, freezing cold and bony. He wanted to let go, repulsed, but the gaunt fingers held onto him with surprising strength.
The light faded away, revealing the most hideous creature. A tall, skeletal figure clad in torn rags flowing around its bare feet despite the lack of wind. Its eyes aglow in its ashen, dead face, watching him from under a tall, golden helmet. Its shrivelled lips were pressed together tightly, but they parted when the creature took in a breath, the air wheezing loudly.
Frozen on the spot, Cullen stared at the ugly creature, searching for anything that might indicate what had happened. Was this a demon? Did he fall prey to one of them without noticing? Was he really that easy to fool? All it took was a change into someone he had just begun to trust?
Oh, but what a fool he was. They'd done it before. They'd came to him in her form, too, like she was still alive, seducing him with promises of what might have been.
He wanted to wriggle his hand free, but the creature's hold was too tight. Its other arm moved in an elegant arch, but not towards him. He blinked when he finally noticed something he hadn't seen before. A gateway leading through the rock.
The wraith moved, and Cullen gaped when he realized it was floating above the ground. He watched, mesmerized, as the spirit touched the door with one long finger and it opened slowly. On the other side, there was no rock, no vast plain. It seemed to lead into a room. He could see a small portion of it, just a couple of bookcases and a table with several chairs. There was a hooded person with their back to the portal sitting on one of them.
Then the spirit tugged at his arm and he followed, wide-eyed. He held his breath as he walked through the gateway and suddenly the air grew warmer.
The person stood up, whirling to welcome them and Cullen stared when he recognized their elven companion Solas. His hand was suddenly free and when he turned to gaze at the spirit, it was Anastasia who stood in front of him again, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I warned you I wasn't exactly pretty and I know touching me couldn't be pleasant," she said in low voice, hands playing together nervously. "But I wouldn't be able to guide you through the portal otherwise."
Solas approached the pair and rested his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "Impressive magic, isn't it?" he asked quietly, smiling at the young mage. "Shame it cannot be practiced in the realm of men."
"What was that thing?" Cullen asked, not sharing Solas' enthusiasm in the slightest. The memory of the cold, dead hand clutching his made him shudder.
"A spirit," Anastasia replied hesitantly. "One of the many forms I can transform in. This one allows me to see things hidden in the Fade," she explained and waved her hand to the portal. But there was none when Cullen spun to examine it. They stood in a middle of the room he'd seen through the opened gateway, but the door was nowhere to be seen. It was just an ordinary room, a study. Only the strange blur at the edge of everything around him suggested something was not as it should be.
"This place is where we can dwell undisturbed by any creature of the Fade," Solas explained, gesturing around.
"What is this place exactly?" he asked warily.
Solas gazed at Anastasia. The younger mage cleared her throat. "Well, it's my corner of the Fade, if you pardon the expression. It took me years to build it and only thanks to generous help of my Spirit, I'm afraid. She warded the place and made sure there was no other way in, but the ghost passageway," she pointed at nothing behind Cullen's back.
Solas nodded. "I am always brought here the same way you were. Only I dare to say I took it in stride." The elf was smiling.
"Of course you did, you have some experience with the Fade," Anastasia shrugged and headed to the table. It was an old thing, plain and simple, made of wood and nothing else, just like the chairs around. She sat down into one, not bothered by them looking like they could crumble under her weight. She put her staff on the table, rolling her neck.
Solas motioned Cullen to join her, and headed to the last chair, sitting on it so gracefully and elegantly as if it was a throne. "Not as grand as yours, I'm afraid. I still do not understand all the tricks you can perform."
"Like I told you, it's Spirit, not me. I cannot cast even the stupid wards and that's the least difficult magic around here," she explained to Cullen, adding it obviously just for his benefit.
"But...at the camp...didn't you...?"
She bit her lip sheepishly and dropped her eyes. "Empty threats. I mean...I could ward the tent if I called forth Spirit, but she's not interested in such mundane problems."
"Is she not?"
Solas answered. "That's the point of benevolent spirits. They have little interest to enter our world beyond a mere curiosity. Their attention is scarcely destructive and never forced upon anyone not willing."
"I...cannot wrap my head around it," Cullen mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Only now, when he didn't feel the cold of his metal gauntlets, he realized the armour he'd worn in his dream had vanished. Instead, he wore simple breeches and a linen shirt he remembered putting on before retiring to bed.
He frowned and glanced at Solas. He wore attire similar to what he might wear at day. Anastasia on the other hand had never donned armoured robes of a battle mage. She was rarely engaged in combat from up close, and she had a few tricks up her sleeve to protect herself as well as the people around her.
"So..." he took a deep breath, carefully leaning back. When he didn't hear any cracks or squeaks foretelling his chair might fall apart, he grew more comfortable. "Do you two spend every single night like this?" he asked slowly, gesticulating to the room around them.
"No," Solas shook his head. "Often we are out exploring and battling scores of demons."
Anastasia was slightly frowning when Cullen looked at her expectantly. "Not scores," she corrected him. "And while I'm not limited, Solas still can continue his dreams if he wishes to. If so, then I roam this place with none other but my Spirit." She paused and as Cullen started looking around, she added. "You don't have to look for her. She's right here." Her delicate hand patted her chest.
"Didn't you say you are not one person in the Fade?" the ex-templar asked back promptly.
"You...paid attention. I mean, yes," Anastasia straightened and smiled softly, something warm and pleasant spreading through her stomach. He had listened to her and moreover, he had remembered. She wasn't sure she understood the sudden feeling, but it meant something to her. "I did," she replied, drawling the two words as she tried to fight the smile. She failed, but strangely enough she didn't mind that much. "But I meant that we can be apart should we choose, not that we are forced to. Unlike in our world, where Spirit can never leave the limitations of my body."
"Which is the difference I was talking about," Solas finished meekly, patting Anastasia's hand on the table.
"So you're not always together here?" Cullen asked after a short silence while their words about spirits and worlds sunk in.
Solas leaned back, fingers running over the edge of the table slowly. "No, we are not," he replied, narrowing his eyes at Cullen. Then they flicked to the other mage for a fleeting moment, and back to the advisor, knowing expression settling on the elf's face. Cullen glowered at him.
"Solas is quite capable of handling himself, and so am I even without the help of my Spirit," Anastasia replied, oblivious to the silent exchange. "Also, even if we wanted, Solas is still bound to disappear from time to time," she added with a smile. "When his sleep catches up with him and his dreaming ends. Just like it will with you in time," she replied nonchalantly.
"Wait. What?" Cullen blinked, breaking the eye contact with the elf to gaze at Anastasia.
She shrugged, smiling softly. "Well, I've noticed a pattern. People sleep in phases. One of them is when I can meet them here, the other...well, they are asleep," she broke off, shrugging again, "but they are not in the Fade. This happens several times a night. Each time they appear, they have a different dream. And they can remember only the first, or the second, or the last, or none. It's...fascinating," she smiled broadly.
Cullen just stared with incredulity.
"I would believe her. She's studied sleeping people for years," Solas replied calmly. His chin rested on top of his joined hands as he watched the ex-templar. "Either way. We can sit here and admire this beautiful room, or go out," he gestured to the door that wasn't there. Cullen still wasn't sure he understood this.
"Ooh," Anastasia started in high voice, all excited like a child, "we could go talk to that riddle spirit!"
"R-riddle spirit?" Cullen echoed weakly.
"Yes!" she nodded. "He's a very entertaining one and we often exchange riddles. He's always glad to see me," she added.
"And if we fail...?"
"Nothing," Solas drawled. "It's a spirit. Not a demon. It's more entertaining for him anyway. He has little to pass time in the Fade unlike us."
"Unless you want to go find some Shades or Wisps, of course, but I'm not in a mood for more killing," Anastasia offered, frowning.
"He doesn't have a sword," Solas reflected patiently.
"Oh, right..." Anastasia mumbled and rose to her feet. "Then it's the spirit first, and then...we'll see," she smiled. Her eyes found Cullen and the smile slid off her lips. "You need to hold my hand again, I'm afraid."
She was surprised when he offered her a ghost of a smile. "It's not holding your hand that worries me, Serah Trevelyan," he replied, already reaching out.