Amell woke from her sleep in a remarkably good mood. Perhaps the rest had done her good, though she still felt her eyes fuzzy from exhaustion. She dressed and went down to look for breakfast, all while humming to herself a jaunty little tune.
The innkeeper was behind the tavern counter, muttering to himself about undesirable guests and Amell felt rather daunted by the task of asking for anything at all. Clearly, this was not a man in a very magnanimous mood.
"Excuse me," she said tentatively. "Good morning."
He glared at her.
"What?" the innkeeper groused.
"I don't suppose there's anything to eat...?"
"You're one of those caravan people," he remarked.
"Err... Would that preclude me from getting any food?"
He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes drifted at something over her shoulder and he grew pale all of a sudden.
She turned to see what had frightened him so.
"Oh! Sten, good morning," she said with a small grin at the corner of her mouth.
Sten nodded in greeting. He approached her and stood next to her. While he did not touch Amell, he did give the impression that he hovered possessively.
"I'll... I'll see that you get some grub," the innkeeper said faintly and disappeared into a back room.
"The caravan will not be leaving until noon," Sten told her.
"Noon?" Amell's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Any reason for that?"
"It is the estimated time around which Drust might wake up."
Amell suddenly recalled the warm welcome Drust received from the tavern wenches.
"Ah... so I guess I'll have time for a bath," she mused, not entirely displeased with this new development.
"There is also a curious rumor going around," Sten added.
"Hm?"
"It appears an entire field was found frozen solid last night."
Displeasure rose like bile to Amell's throat. She folded her arms, not looking at him.
"Since it is still summer, many people are speculating about what would have caused it to happen."
"Oh." She still looked down, trying to find the right words to explain.
"Kadan..." He grasped her arms and pulled her closer, drawing her gaze up to him. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm wrong," she blurted, almost without meaning to. "I'm... not right. I had lyrium overdose. It's-- It leaves mages different. Broken. I don't know-- I don't know how, or for how long, but I'm--" She sighed deeply, realizing she was not making any sense. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered miserably, looking away.
"Then you do not have to," he reassured and released her.
She only nodded, even though she wanted to thank him and hug him and possibly kiss him some more. But she was trying to gather her words again, knowing that next time, she had to explain, no matter what.
* * *
The bath had definitely been long overdue.
Amell could only sigh in contentment as she watched steam swirl up from the water. She'd also been provided with bathing salts and although the collection had been limited, it was still something uncommon in Ferelden and therefore exotic from Amell's point of view.
The warmth was also pleasant and she leaned back, staring at the ceiling and basking in the pleasant sensation of water cocooning her.
The ceiling had a rather impressive crack across it, with many smaller ones branching out from it, like little streams gathering in one big river. She stared at it for a long time, fascinated by its geography, and she did not even feel her lids grow heavy. She knew she fell asleep, however, because she saw-- or sensed, rather-- the Veil opening before her like a curtain. The smoke-darkened ceiling turned red and like an optical illusion, it transformed itself into an endless sky imperceptibly.
A dark shadow marred the red sky, its color singing madness in the distance; the Black City, like a celestial body made of nightmare, hanged above. The sky melted downwards in small rivulets of vivid color, settling into shapes of twisted trees and crumbled ruins.
The ground was unpleasantly organic--not like proper earth, not even remotely mineral--but like the back of a coiled creature, sleeping its millennial slumber. There were no straight paths, only twisting meanders and dead ends. Fleeting apparitions drifted to and fro, featureless and vague.
Amell hated the Fade. It contained too many unpleasant memories for her. Betrayal, when she was still a naïve apprentice, capture when she was a slightly less naïve Grey Warden, nightmares or tantalizing daydreams that she walked into, feeling awkward about knowing so much-- too much-- about the private hopes and fears of other people.
And she felt a pang of sadness for poor Niall, who did not deserve his fate. Oh, how she'd wanted to save him at the time! So, so few mages still remained and to have to witness the loss of another... The memory of Wynne's nightmare stung her for a long time after that.
But there was no reason for her to be here and she had no idea how she managed it. Usually, entering the Fade conscious required some sort of preparation or ritual, unlike during sleep. This development was slightly alarming.
So she retreated, making a metaphysical step back. She felt the Veil wash over her as she returned to the other side. Her perspective tilted upwards again and red skies receded, leaving behind only a cracked ceiling and a slight chill.
Amell realized suddenly that her water was cold. She jumped out of the bathtub cursing and grabbed a towel, drying herself off.
Usually, she liked reheating the water and soaking for a long time, but considering what had happened the last time she tried a spell, she would have probably ended up boiling herself alive. She was part way through dressing herself when a knock sounded on the door.
"Who is it?" she yelled, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
"May I come in?" Sten's voice came.
"Oh." In just a few seconds flat, she pulled her robe up, closed it and tied it halfway. "Come in," she called.
"If this is a bad time..."
"No, it's fine," she insisted, just as she was tying the last lace.
Sten entered and closed the door behind him. With one look, he took stock of the entire room and of Amell, who was still slightly damp, with the tips of her shoulder-length hair wet and her clothes sticking to her skin unpleasantly.
"The caravan will be leaving within half an hour," he announced.
"Alright."
"I trust your bath was pleasant?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly laden with implications.
Amell flushed. She had no idea what he meant by it, but after all that time spent traveling with Zevran, she knew an innuendo when she heard one. The thought that this was coming from Sten of all people sent her mind reeling, however.
"What does that have to do with anything?" she retorted.
"I knocked earlier, but received no reply," he clarified.
"How long ago was that?"
"An hour, at most."
"And what did you think I was doing, exactly?" she folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.
"It is not my place to speculate," he said evasively.
Amell snorted.
"Not your place... hmph. I think Zevran's rubbed off on you."
"Let us not speak of him," Sten muttered.
"Mm." She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, returning to the more urgent matter at hand. "I drifted to sleep, I think."
"Is that a reason to worry?" he asked. It was clear to him that Amell was perturbed by something.
"Not by itself, no," Amell replied. "But... there are these things happening to me that... I think you should know about."
---
Author's note: my schedule this semester is insane. Whoever made it clearly has a vitriolic hatred of students.