1
"Alistair! It's a demon!" Ellyn was running as fast as she could over the halls and down the steps into the great hall that was more Ostagar than Weisshaupt. She could see he was being swarmed, even at a distance.
Ellyn stretched out her hands, called on a glyph of repulsion and drew it under him, adding a paralyze spell as soon as she saw the glow from under his feet. The magic moved outward, paralyzing the shades. While they were still stunned, she ran to his side and plastered herself against his back.
For a split second, Alistair wished he wasn't wearing plate mail. "Great, we're both surrounded. Now what?"
"They can't get inside the glyph, but if we get out of it we're both dead." She was a little too close. He must have been imagining that he could feel her warmth through the heavy plate mail. "I'm standing as close to the middle of it as I can, since you should be noticing that I'm not wearing any armour."
Alistair took the hint and backed off to the edge of the glyph. The shades in the shapes of Grey Wardens were beginning to stir, eyeing them hungrily. "I can't fight them all, you know. I'm not invincible."
"The only one you have to kill is the one that looks like Duncan. That's the demon who summoned the shades." Ellyn drew a warding glyph under him, "he's not Duncan. It's a demon."
"Aren't demons women?" Alistair read about them before in his studies as a templar. They had breasts, purple skin and were usually mostly naked. This one looked like an older man with a beard.
"You're thinking about desire demons. This one is sloth." The shades were creeping in toward her, swords out, and the glyph under her was beginning to fade. "Stop asking questions and just kill it!"
Alistair rushed at 'Duncan' with his shield out, ramming him to the ground, and with one quick motion - his eyes closed, the thought of killing Duncan was hard to reconcile, demon or not - he pushed his sword down hard through chain mail. When he opened his eyes again, the sword was stabbing into the ground at nothing, and all the shades were gone.
"Thank the Maker." He mumbled to himself. "Now what?"
"Now I need to sense a way out. Give me a minute." Ellyn closed her eyes and felt the fabric of the Fade. The Fade was shaped by spirits, and they were not the best of craftsmen. There were seams and holes, and always with doors they built in, because no one understood the meaning of games better than spirits. They loved games. There was always one single exit, and there was always a way to get to it. It existed as hope for ones trapped in the Fade.
Demons would be powerless if the trapped souls were not able to dream of freedom.
A mage was trained to find these ways out, and those who did not know how by their harrowing failed their test and perished. Ellyn technically passed her harrowing by all appearances, but truth was, this was the first time she had to personally brave the Fade. She brought six templars with her - seven, if one counted Alistair as well - and any of them could be watching. Calling on Mythal was not an option, as both her voice and appearance gave her away, but that sure would make things so much easier.
"Down the hallway, through a small hall closet, through a disused lavatory door labelled 'beware of giant rats?'" Ellyn had to laugh. Spirits did have a sense of humour.
"It's always about the giant rats. An adventure is not complete without giant rats. Do you think they'll lead us to giant wheels of cheese?" Alistair laughed with her and it occurred to him that it had been two months since they truly laughed together. He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
They stumbled through the door and didn't find any giant rats. Instead, they found themselves back in the Circle Tower. Ellyn reached out and touched the stone. It felt real enough, but one could never tell with the Fade. "We're probably still in the Fade."
"You're not sure?"
"The only thing you can trust in the Fade is yourself, Alistair. Remember that, in case we get separated again." They were in the senior enchanters quarters. Ellyn took in the sight of it all - more dead bodies. They were real enough.
Alistair pointed ahead at a templar who was standing up, unlike the rest. "Is that one of ours?" To his astonishment, Ellyn let go of his arm and ran.
"Cullen!" Ellyn stopped in front of the templar. He looked a bit haggard and tired, but in much better condition than everyone else on this floor. "Do you need healing?"
"No, I … I'm fine." Cullen took a step forward, wincing a little at the pain in one leg. "There are blood mages on the floor above. I escaped."
"Have you seen Ser Clara?"
"She was just ahead of me. I think she went down the stairs. You need to get out of here … it's dangerous. I heard that the Knight Commander was going to seal off the tower."
Alistair felt himself rooted to the end of the hallway, watching them. The way her eyes went soft at the sight of him, the familiarity with which he spoke to her, and he wanted so to grab her and run. Maybe this is why she never paid attention to me. He knew there might have been someone else, but this was just too fortuitous for her. An entire tower of dead templars, and the only one alive was the one she wanted? Suspicious.
He wanted to warn her and remind her of what she just told him, but the hallway between them was infinite. When he walked forward, he walked in place. When he spoke, the sound reverberated between his ears and travelled nowhere.
"They're all dead. There's no one here left to save. Come with me." Cullen reached out and held onto her shoulders. "Three years, Ellyn. Three years of wishing I could be with you. We can run away and no one need know who we are …"
In one end of an infinite hallway, Alistair watched as Cullen leaned in to kiss her. He watched as Ellyn reached out with one hand to draw a glyph on the ground. He watched as 'Cullen' flew across the room, hit the wall and slid down, changing as he did so.
"How dare you use him against me." Alistair added 'seethingly angry' to the list of Ellyn expressions he knew. "Cullen would never say that. He's responsible. And he has a sense of duty. He has honor. And you have none." Ellyn punctuated each of her accusations with a debilitating spell.
The hallway was passable again. Alistair closed their distance and plunged his sword into the weakened desire demon. "Boyfriend?"
"No." Ellyn gave him a levelled look. "Templar. A very good templar."
"Well, he sure looked like a boyfriend to me." He kept his tone casual. Just curious.
"I'm a mage, Alistair. He's a templar." Ellyn had a wistful look in her eyes, "it can never be."
"So? What's the plan?" Her tone definitely said 'drop it' so he dropped it.
"We're still in the Fade. The longer we stay, the weaker we get in the real world. Let's try to get out of here alive."
2
Wynne enjoyed teaching the apprentices.
They came to her all very young. She was not always so good at this, but years of experience taught her how to be patient with her students. She never snapped, never hurried, and she was so kind to all of these children.
Creation classes were her favorite. It was a gentle discipline; the art of healing and protective glyphs, of defense bolstering auras. Students who specialized in it often had the kind of personality that reflected the traits of the spells. They were wonderful to work with.
It was a horrible thing to have watched them die.
That never happened though, did it? After all, they were all here, sitting in front of her, listening to her lecture with smiles on their faces. The faces with a red, sinister glow under them, powered by blood magic...
Oh, very well. Wynne had quite enough of the spirit's prodding. She wanted so to stay and just enjoy this for a little while, this almost harmless play of make believe. Spirit healers were unable to stay in charades like these for long, however. They were too aware of the demons behind the illusions.
Stonefist hit one of the students square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. A demon materialized from its form, turning into smoke as it rose into the air.
"Good of you to join us," Wynne turned to Alistair and Ellyn, who were just walking into her class. "But I'm afraid you're a little late."
"Mages." Alistair stuck out his tongue at Wynne, "they think they're so clever."
"We are." Ellyn made a face, "who was having a party in Weisshaupt again?"
"I was going to leave anyway. But somebody has the hots for a templar," Alistair gave Ellyn an exaggerated frown, stretching out the word 'templar,' "but not this templar. My one feeling is hurt."
"Quiet."
"Children." Wynne stepped in. "Let's stop bickering with each other. Where's Leliana?"
Leliana was in the Chantry, praying. Alistair didn't wait this time. He simply walked up to the 'Revered Mother' and stabbed her in the back with a long sword. Leliana screamed and lunged at him, but by the time he pushed her off of him, the demon was smouldering on the ground.
"Oh. Wow. I can't believe I was that easily fooled." Leliana blinked rapidly as her chantry robe drifted into leather armour, and she patted it just to make sure it was real. "I mean, I'm in a stone tower and the Revered Mother was the one from Lothering."
"We want to be fooled, Leliana. It's the nature of the illusions." Ellyn gave her a little pat on the back. "Let's go find that sloth demon and get out of here."
3
Wounds sustained in the Fade were not carried over to the real world. There might be phantom aches where pain seem to snap at him from nothing, but they were like a stitch one sometimes received from running after a meal. They meant nothing and did not last.
Of course, that also meant that healing magic did not make this phantom pain go away. Alistair laid on the ground next to a rotting corpse of an abomination, and thought of the many other things he would rather be doing. Ellyn explained that the ache would go away eventually, but right now, it bloody hurt.
The battle was a long one, and it was made harder by the fact that they had two healers, one of which couldn't defend herself if you handed her a shield the size of a door. She wasn't hurt, of course. Alistair took all her hits. Ow.
Ellyn stacked her auras again, and once the pain was gone - the ache was there, but it was bearable - they moved on. The other templars slept through the whole thing and did not speak of it once they were up. Probably really shameful dreams. Consorting with mages and such.
That was petty. She was a beautiful girl, living in a tower full of men. Of course she had history with men. If she didn't … well, if she didn't she would be dating Leliana. The two were close. He had a mental image of them together and shook it off. No. Definitely not. Ellyn didn't seem like the kind of girl to have any kind of history. Matter of fact, she was the kind of girl that radiated historylessness. Was that a word? Historylessness?
Alistair really wanted to ask about this Cullen, but it was probably a bad time. Yes, locked inside a tower with blood mages and abominations was definitely a bad time, wasn't it? Curiosity could wait.
4
"She's close by, isn't she?"
"Over there." Mythal pointed to a distant island. Distances were hard to judge in the fade; the black city could be seen from anywhere, but could be reached from nowhere. This island was either a week's walk or a stone's throw away. It looked an awful lot like Kinloch Hold.
"A copy of the Circle Tower?" Anders stared out over the cliff face that bounded their part of the Fade. "Let me guess. Fade templars torturing fade mages with fade feathers and fluffy restraints?"
"Ellyn may be in danger."
"Is she being tortured with fluffy fade feathers by a desire demon dressed up as Cullen? Good. That girl needs to get out more." He returned his concentration to the apples he was juggling, or more precisely, learning to juggle.
"I'm saying she is in danger. As in I'm not there to help her."
Anders dropped the apples. They floated an inch above the grass. "That's not funny."
"It wasn't a joke."
"So stop sitting here wasting time with me and go help her! What's wrong with you?"
"There are seven templars with her. If I don't help her, she may die. If I do help her, she will most surely die." Mythal had not changed her expression at all. Anders wasn't sure it was concern or self-preservation that drove her. "Possible death by demons or definite death by templars. What would you have me do?"
Anders threw up his hands. "How should I know? If she dies, I'm stuck here forever. I'm not exactly unbiased here."
"Don't you care what happens to her? I noticed how you just shifted the topic to yourself."
"I'm vain, or haven't you noticed already?" Anders ran his fingers through his hair, as if to prove a point.
"You did not answer my question. What would you have me do?"
"Dead is dead, spirit. If you don't do anything, those templars are there to protect her, right? I'm sure that's the only reason she'd be travelling with them."
5
Ellyn was the perfect kind of daughter. She was sweet, obedient, and she loved getting her hair brushed. She would tip her head like so instead of crying out in pain like other little girls when there was a snag. Clara would work out the knot carefully so as not to hurt her.
She was glad to have left the Templar Order so long ago to raise these children.
Her husband was at work. The pounding of hammers outside reminded her that he was a smith; a safe profession, with no real danger hanging over them all the time. Not like being a templar at all.
She had time to do some baking this afternoon. Ellyn loved her breads with raisins, Anders probably wanted the ones with the cinnamon sugar again, and his clothes needed mending. The boy was always running about putting holes in the things he wore.
What was she going to do with that troublesome child? He was skipping school again, she knew, but no amount of scolding seemed to work, not even when she told of how much Ellyn missed him when he was gone. Always making promises he couldn't keep, that boy.
Ellyn sat reading a picture book at the dining table, and every so often she looked up to give her mother a smile. What a sweet girl. "Didn't you say you were going to go fishing with your brother today?"
"No, mama. He's busy with some friends." Little Ellyn flipped a page. Light streamed through the window, glinting off her long golden lashes. "They think he's too old to be playing with me."
"I'll have to talk to Anders about keeping promises. He's always doing this to you." Clara busied herself kneading dough. It was almost enough to set to rise. "Are you okay about not going fishing?"
"Yes, mama. I'd rather stay here with you," and she said this all nice and prim, her mouth curling in one corner with a smile.
"You're cute to say that, sweetheart." Clara thought she was never so happy in the Order. There might be no glory in this life, but it was safe, and there was love.
"Will you stay with me forever, mama?"
"Of course, darling. I'll be with you as long as you want me." Clara meant every word. She wanted to treasure every moment with her daughter. One day, she would grow up and fall in love and not want mother anymore.
Clara heard the sound of a large oaken door opening; a familiar sound, from a lifetime away. Doors in the Circle Tower sounded like that. She turned to look at the door, a plain cottage door that squeaked on its hinges, and saw that it was closed. She was just hearing things. It happened a lot. It took her a while to overcome her addiction to lyrium, and she still suffered from some side effects. Earlier on she thought she heard screams, but there was nothing then either.
There came the sound of an argument, and her little daughter was by the door, talking to a group of strangers, some of whom were templars. Had the Order changed their minds about letting her resign? The discussion became heated and they began yelling and her daughter turned with her face all unhappy, "mama, they're here to take me away! They said that I'm a mage and I have to go with them! Help me, mama!"
A man standing at the head of the group wearing plate mail drew his sword, and a blond woman in front of them, with a staff in her hand, held his arm. She looked exceedingly familiar. Maybe she was a mage in the tower she used to guard. She was trying to stop this man from taking her daughter - of course, she was a mage, she wanted freedom for little mage children, did she not?
"No one is taking my daughter!" Clara fought against her templar instincts, the ones they hammered into her about mage children belonging in the Circle. She knew it was true, but this was her daughter and she would fight these templars, fight them, and run away with her little Ellyn. She needed a distraction.
The blond haired woman and the man with the sword was fighting and Clara took a chance. She picked up the sword she always kept by the stove, her old templar sword that was the memento from her old life. She took it and ran toward the door into the middle of the group, with her voice she bid her little daughter to run, out the back door, out anywhere, your mother would be meeting you later …
As the sword plunged into the blond haired woman, she locked her eyes with Clara, and there was recognition there, a lifetime of wants and wishes. A voice seemed to speak to her from an old memory, one she had not recalled in years. Are you going to be my mama?
She heard a wail from the man beside her, a murderous intent rose in his eyes, his sword flashed across her peripheral vision and Clara saw the glint but felt nothing, only that the sound of her voice asking her daughter to run was silenced.
And Ser Clara dreamt no more.