Authors Note: So sorry about the delay in chapters...Real life unfortunately takes precedence, but I have not forgotten, and this story is far! from over. As always, thanks to Princess_Fawna for beta reading this, as well as all those whose opinions I have sought. As always, please read and review, and I hope you enjoy the brief trip to the Fade!

Chapter 16

"Zevran?"

Again, more forcefully, "Zevran?"

His eyes fluttered open to find Sylrien looking over him, concern plain in her eyes. She gave him a sweet smile and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. "You're awake, finally. You looked so peaceful sleeping...I almost didn't want to wake you." She moved to lay down next to him, curling her body against his. She wasn't dressed in armor, but a plain white nightgown.
"We've got a long day ahead of us, Zev. You were supposed to be up hours ago...Today's the day you go out with your father to the woods." Sylrien nuzzled his neck slightly, taking his arm and draping it around her shoulders. Zevran frowned as she shook his head. All his thoughts seemed in to be shrouded in a fog.
"Wha...? What do you mean?"

She laughed and placed featherlight kisses on his eyelids, then his cheeks, before lingering at his lips and placing a deep kiss there.
"What do I mean? You're a woodcutter, like your father. You go out to the forests with him in the morning to work."
That didn't sound right. He sat up and looked down at her. "I have never been such a thing. I am a Crow...and you are a Warden."
She laughed as she got out of bed, tugging on his hand to follow her. "I have never been any such thing! But if you want to pretend you are a Crow...I have something you could assassinate." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, darting forward to steal another kiss from his lips before running out of the bedroom.
Their bedroom, it seemed.

Zevran tried to concentrate, tried to think, but it was like there was a wall in his mind. He vaguely remembered hearing her scream, but there were other memories, happier memories. There was a man that resembled Zevran, with dark eyes and blond hair bleached by the sun. There was a woman with pale eyes and complicated tattoos inked over her forehead and chin. He...knew them. They were his parents. There was more: a family. There was Sylrien, standing in an alienage, looking shyly at him and blushing whenever he spoke to her. He was...some sort of merchant. They had met in Denerim, he had been hired by a troubled looking human to do...something, and he had met her there.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something here was wrong. This wasn't...it was wonderful, but it wasn't right. Zevran stood, pacing around the room. All these items seemed familiar to him: A lone earring on the bedside table, boots in the corner of a room, a single rose in a vase by the window...They just didn't fit in a complete picture.
"Zevran? What's the matter?"
Her voice shook him out of his contemplative mood, and he turned to face her. Sylrien was the same. She was the only thing he knew for sure. He knew the curve of her neck, the way she bit her lip whenever she was unsure about something. He saw her lean on one foot, scratching an itch on the back of her calf with the other toe. Sylrien was real, and that was enough for him.

Zevran smiled and embraced her; he pressed his lips to hers in a deep kiss. "It is nothing. Let us go eat before I go out?"
She smiled again and nodded, pecking his cheek before heading to the far side of the room. He smiled after her, following dutifully. As he passed a mirror, something in his reflection caught his eye.

Two black marks that stood out like ugly scars across this perfect world. His fingers traced the outlines of the tattoos. The human had laughed as he winced, the blade at his throat. "You are a Crow now, boy. We will mark you as ours, so you never forget who you belong to."
The place had smelled of piss and fish and cigar smoke. He had to wear a bandage for weeks before the markings healed and settled.

The door suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall. Tamlen stepped through the doorway, sniffing and snarling, "This place smells like Shem'len."
Zevran could have kissed him.

After taking a good look at the interior of the house, Tamlen looked over at Zevran. "I don't think this is real," He frowned.
Zevran laughed, making his way to the elf's side. "Your talent for observation never fails to impress, my friend. I think we should be going, no?"

There was a sound coming from the kitchen. Both men snapped their heads in the direction of the sound.

The thing that looked like Sylrien was leaning against the table as she looked at the pair. She frowned deeply as she took a step towards them.
"Zevran, do you have to leave? We...we could be so happy here. This...this could be everything you've wanted, everything you dreamed of. Don't you want to stay here with me?"

Zevran felt his heart tug at her words. It would be so easy. Then again, this really wasn't Sylrien. He would always know it wasn't her. (It was a false love, a ghost of the real thing. She would never love him like this. This was too normal, too perfect. He didn't deserve the happiness this apparition promised him.)

"Zev?" She was so hopeful. Tears were beginning to well in her clear gray eyes.

It was too much, he couldn't bear this a moment longer. Stepping towards this Not!Sylrien, Zevran took her hand and kissed the top gently. "Dear Lady, we both know that this is just a fantasy, a beautiful dream. Do not cry for me, I will manage well enough. I thank you for this small taste of what the heavens surely promise. Farewell." He could never let Sylrien cry over him, even if she was just an illusion. She flashed him a shy smile as he stepped away, following Tamlen out the door.

There had been darkness. There had been sand everywhere and then light! Then warmth. Alistair opened his eyes slowly. He was probably dreaming. Then again, maybe he had been dreaming before, and this was real. It was certainly better than the nightmare he had been having, and the Fade was where dreamers went...It made sense enough that Alistair buried his face into his pillow, blocking out any sounds.

Then he felt a pair of soft hands stroking his arms.
"Wake up, my king. Morning has come and you must tend to your duties."

Nope, wasn't dreaming. He knew that voice. Alistair looked up at the woman sitting on the side of his bed. Her red hair was plaited into a braid. "...Valethe? What are you doing here?"
Yep, not dreaming at all.
The woman smiled at him. "Waking my dear king-brother. He's overslept again. Am I such a displeasing sight?"

"Not you, certainly. But I think he would find my presence rather surprising. Though I doubt he would find my company so unpleasant under these circumstances."
...This wasn't a dream. This was a nightmare, otherwise he knew no reason why that voice would on the other side of his bed. Slowly he turned his head, afraid of what he might see. She was there, with her eerie yellow eyes and her black hair falling in waves down her face. Alistair practically jumped out of his skin, starting back so violently that he knocked Valethe of the edge of the bed. Morrigan only laughed her bitter, sultry laugh.

"Hush, Morrigan. I will not let you have him. His heart, all he is...is mine. As my heart is his. As everything I am belongs to him." There another voice interjected, a voice Alistair found much more soothing.
Sylrien climbed up his body, the sheets pooling at her waist. She was laying on-top of him, and she wasn't wearing a single thing. He didn't mind that so much. She lowered her lips to kiss him, and those lips were so soft. It was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. Morrigan 'hmmpf'ed softly, finally getting out of the bed as Alistair wrapped his arms around the waist of the lithe elf atop him.

"What is this?" Alistair asked, looking up at Sylrien.
"Maker, this must be a dream. A rather crazy dream. A hot dream. Crazy hot. I mean, it isn't a bad dream, but this is certainly a-"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Ssshh. This is a good dream. Enjoy it, my love."
Sylrien successfully quieted him. All Alistair knew after that were kisses, and the sensations of her warm, pliant body against his. Time seemed to stand still, and he wasn't sure if several hours or several minutes passed. Still, there were questions. This couldn't be real.

"What about Morrigan? Why is she here? Why is Valethe...I mean, this is all very pleasant. This is more than pleasant, but-"
She chuckled, kissing his lips to stop his babbling again. "Don't you remember the ritual? You had to sleep with Morrigan so I would live. You've done that now, and the Archdemon was defeated. You had to marry Valethe, but she's more like your sister than anything else. We're together, just like I promised we would be. Nothing could separate us."

She leaned down to kiss him again. Maker, his head was dizzy from so much kissing. The taste of her lips was making his head swim and made it hard to think.
"But....what about heirs? I...Valethe..."

Valethe chimed in, her voice soft and almost purring. "Dearest Alistair, you have your children with Sylrien. Why would I want to come between you and the woman you love? You are both like family to me, my brother and my sister." She smiled softly at Sylrien and leaned over to stroke her hair. Sylrien smiled dreamily up at the human woman. "We're like a family. One big, happy family."

(But Grey Wardens can't have children. We have to end this. It-it would be easier to end this now, rather than later, I'm sorry.)

"What was that, my love?" Sylrien looked down at Alistair. "Did you say something?"

("But...Is...Are you trying to punish me for making you king? I...Don't you love me?" He turned away from her. He couldn't look at her; he had to have the strength to do this, and to see her fall apart would make him lose all resolve. "I do love you. But I have to be responsible. My death is assured, and I must have an heir.")

She looked down at him strangely, tilting her head to the side, "Alistair?"

("This isn't because of that, is it? It's because I'm an elf, isn't it? The King of Ferelden can't be beholden to an elf whore. Has to marry a pretty Shem noble, with round ears who...who..." Her voice was breaking. It was like a knife in his heart. He immediately turned toward her, catching her just before she crumpled to the floor. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks covered in glistening tears. Maker, he wanted to wipe her eyes, reassure her. He couldn't.
"You know that isn't true. I loved-I love you! This goes beyond us. This is not about what I want or what we want. This is about what Ferelden needs!"

"Then damn Ferelden! Damn it all! I can't lose you. I can't live without you, I won't lose you."

"I'm sorry. It has to be this way...I hope you can forgive me, one day."
He had helped her to a chair. When she sat down, he turned away from her. She was sobbing freely, and he was shaking. He was shaking from rage, from his own grief, from hating himself for doing this to her. Eventually her sobs faded, and he heard her step across the stone floor. He felt her lips press against his cheeks, felt her hands wrap around his shoulders.

"It doesn't...We don't have to lose each other. There is a way."
Was there? He opened his eyes to look into her own. "What do you mean?"

Sylrien slid down to her knees, lips pressed against his armor, her hands wrapped around his leg.
"I want to stay with you... let me be your mistress then, Alistair. Just please don't leave me. Don't toss aside our love." She begged, pleaded.
His hand found her hair, she turned her face in the direction of his palm, nuzzling it. He sighed. He wanted her, he loved her more than anything else in the world. It...it wasn't right, but she was begging him. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted to be happy with her.
But then she died, and he only felt emptiness, felt the whisper of the taste of her lips on his skin, the softness of her skin at his fingertips...)

This wasn't real. Alistair gripped the thing on top of him and threw her off of him with a roar. He quickly got out of the bed at the far side, putting as much distance between him and these...creatures. The two women sat on the edge of the bed, their arms wrapped around each-other as they whimpered and cooed in his direction.
"Come to bed, Alistair. Be happy. Don't you want to be happy?" "Alistair?"

Before he could answer, the door opened and in stepped Sadbh. Her bow was drawn, and she looked between the two women on the bed and the naked man in the corner. Her eyebrow arched inquisitively at the scene. Alistair just shook his head, barreling past her.
"Don't ask. You don't want to know."
The Dalish elf shrugged, and followed him out.

They were in the east balcony of the court at the Royal Palace. Or at least, something that looked like it. Except that there were no courtiers or nobles in the eaves, but figures alternately cloaked in shadow or light. It was like a supernatural Landsmeet. The same banners hung upon the walls as they did twelve years ago; they swayed slightly in some non-existent breeze. There was a steady hum of whispered conversation, though he could never exactly make out what the 'people' were saying. There was one major difference from the room he remembered; though, where the Throne had once stood, there was now a large statue of Falon'Dim. Zevran recognized the image of the god from the short time he and Sylrien had spent with the Dalish.

Why here of all places? This place was not important to Zevran, he never dreamed about this. Then he spied Alistair and the female Dalish making their way through the strange crowd and towards them.
"Lethallin!" Tamlen cried, rushing to the side of the woman. They embraced, kissed before exchanging words in their strange tongue. Alistair nodded to Zevran, he returned the gesture. It was a relief to see him...That was a rare sentiment.

But they were still missing a member of their party. Alistair spoke first, "Have you seen her? Did you...?"
Zevran shook his head. "Not our real Sylrien, I fear. But-" The words died in his throat as he looked over Alistair's shoulder. There was a woman in the corner of the balcony, leaning over the railing. She was an elf, from what he could tell. She had dark hair plaited in a long braid running down her back, and he recognized something about that profile...The two Dalish elves looked up at Zevran, and the small group followed him towards the familiar woman.
Well, not completely familiar, but Zevran recognized those features, even if he had never met her while she was living.

"Adaia?"

The woman looked up and nodded. She bore a striking resemblance to her daughter, except she had a series of marks that looked like lace over one side of her face. "I know you?" She tilted her head to the side, an eyebrow raised at the intruding elf. Zevran stepped back into a formal bow. "Let me say that I have heard much about you from your daughter." Alistair was taken aback at this, quickly looking Adaia over. "You're....you're her mother...?"

The elf laughed softly, giving the pair of men a smile that was achingly similar to one they had seen on another woman. "I am. Are you here to watch as well?"
Zevran quirked a brow, "Watch?"
Adaia gestured to the crowd that had begun to settle at the edges of the raised platform, looking down at something on the floor with great interest. "Yes, watch. See, we're all people from her past...memories of people. There's Nelaros, sweet Nelaros. It's hard for him to see her like this. Then there's the Teyrn over there; he's a strange fellow...very quiet. She grieves for him, for what he's become. And there's the Grey Warden, Duncan. And look! The witch Morrigan. And so many others. Faceless mobs of those she killed, the several thousands she could not save. We're all here."

Zevran only glanced in the direction she gestured. He didn't care about ghosts from Sylrien's past. He needed to find her. "What are you watching? Where is she?"

The woman shrugged. "See for yourself. We're here because she can't forget us. She's here because she can't forget her duty. Why are you here?"
Zevran was about to answer before Alistair interrupted him.

"We're here to rescue her."
He couldn't have said it better himself.