58. What Might Have Been
They didn't find five pounds of lyrium. As it turned out, the storage tunnels had been completely overtaken by abominations. This was to be expected, Alistair supposed, because one couldn't have a proper quest without slaying a dozen monsters on the way. They only managed to get part of the way in before they had to call it a loss and head back.
Still, Felicity took what little lyrium they had scrounged up with pursed lips, and Alistair felt a bit like he was back at the Chantry, forgetting parts of the Chant again. "This is enough for one of us," she said, her gaze flicking between the two of them.
"You should be the one," Alistair said. "Since you, you know, actually know what you're doing."
She smiled bashfully, and he stifled the urge to reach out and touch her. He was having the strangest impulses lately. He'd already given into that one once… no need for an encore. "No, it is probably best if I remain outside, so I can continue to sustain your material bodies." She looked up at him. "It should be you, Alistair. Your Templar training already gives you a natural mental resistance to demonic control… the ritual will be able to build upon that."
Alistair glanced over at Percival, who nodded. "I agree. When it comes to demons, I do not have the… best defenses." There was bitterness in his comrade's tone, and Alistair thought it best not to ask.
They were huddled in a side room off the main chamber, Hugo occasionally growling in the direction of the door. Felicity took the lyrium and dipped a broken quill pen inside. Then, using it like a brush, she started drawing fancy designs on the floor, and an old, Chantry-trained part of him started to spike in nervousness.
"So… this isn't going to hurt, is it? Or turn me into anything… warty?"
Felicity smiled teasingly. "You still think being turned into a frog is the worst thing a mage can do to you? After this?"
Alistair shrugged, but returned the smile. "Not the worst, no. But that doesn't exactly make it pleasant, now does it?"
Her soft laugh was musical, and Alistair again wanted to reach out and touch her. He seemed to be a bit muddled lately.
She gestured for him to stand on top of one of the runes. Obediantly, he did so, even offering her a mocking salute. He was rewarded with another chuckle. Then, Felicity stood on another rune she'd drawn and started chanting something. Alistair bit down a spike of anxiety as he felt magic begin swirling around the both of them; everything in his Templar training told him to disrupt the spell, but he suspected Felicity would be a mite miffed if he did so.
That Templar voice became ten times stronger as he felt the magic seep into his mind. Calm, he reminded himself. You know this. Discipline. Mental fortitude. He closed his eyes and sought the old meditations, even as the magic wrapped gently around his mind. It didn't intrude, as he'd worried it might, but rather wrapped around his mind like a shield. It almost tingled, actually.
From somewhere far away, above the magic and the sound of Felicity chanting, Alistair heard Hugo start barking. Then, there was the hiss of Percy's sword leaving its sheath, and Felicity's chanting stopped mid-word.
There was a long sigh, deep and echoing with a sibilance that set Alistair's hair on end. "Certainly, mortal, you did not expect this to work…?"
He opened his eyes, and he froze when he saw the demonic creature. It towered over all of them, regarding them with tired, fathomless eyes.
Felicity didn't look up, but the manner of the spell she was casting abruptly changed, and he felt something like a tether join the shield around his mind, connecting him to her.
Percy stepped between the pair of them and the demonic creature. "Get back, demon!" he growled. Hugo braced himself next to his master, hackles raised at the creature.
"How bothersome," the creature sighed, and Alistair felt lethargy descend on his mind.
"No… no!" Percy said, his voice thickening. "We won't submit, demon!"
"Somebody pinch me…" Alistair murmured, his eyelids drooping.
Felicity continued chanting, even as her head started nodding.
Percy was the first to drop, his hound collapsing beside him with a whine. The room swayed around Alistair, and he fought to keep his grip on those meditations. However, they slipped away, buried under the realization that this was a perfect place to take a nap. Yep. Naptime.
Felicity mumbled one last thing with a flash of light flying between them, just as Alistair spiraled down into slumberland.
He was therefore rather surprised when he opened his eyes a moment later, and realized that he was still in the Circle Tower.
He sat up, rubbing his head where he'd hit it when he'd fallen. Something was different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. At least he'd fallen on one of the soft carpets that the mages decorated their tower with.
Wait, why had he fallen, again?
He climbed to his feet, dusting off his armor. He paused in confusion, his fingers lingering over the Templar logo on his chestplate. That… wasn't right. Was it?
"Alistair! Dozing off on the job again, are you?" One of his comrades laughed, poking a helmeted head into the room. Strangely, his fellow Templar's name escaped him at the moment.
"Honestly, I'm feeling a bit muddled," Alistair said, rubbing his forehead.
"Some apprentice's prank, no doubt. By the Maker, the little terrors should all be made Tranquil."
"That's an awful thing to say!"
His friend laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. "I know, I know. Alistair, defender of the weak and obnoxious, and all that. Now come on, the Knight-Commander will have your head if you're late to your post."
Alistair nodded and followed his fellow Templar out of the room, though he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He was supposed to be doing something, wasn't he? Maybe he was just late for his post, as his friend said.
They wound through the corridors of the Circle Tower, weaving around the mages that scurried to and fro like rats in a larder. Most mages avoided the pair of them, many pretending they didn't exist. This was normal; a Templar got used to withstanding their contempt. Most Templars returned that contempt tenfold, but Alistair had never really been able to hate the mages on principle like that. Just a few in particular.
Though he did have a healthy fear… erm…respect for their spells. He had a distinct memory of being fried by a fireball once, though he couldn't recall for certain when that had actually happened.
He followed his friend through the corridors and down a level, to a small study that was often used by the enchanters to get work done when they didn't want the lesser mages and apprentices bothering them. He hid a smile as he saw just who was making use of that study.
Felicity sent him a pointed glare over her book, then turned nonchalantly back to whatever paper she was currently working on. Alistair bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from grinning like a moron as he took up his post by the study door. The Templar he was replacing saluted, and both other Templars marched off, leaving him alone with the mage.
"Honestly, Alistair," Felicity tutted, snapping her book shut and sending him a withering glare. "You couldn't be any less subtle if you painted a sign in the great hall."
Alistair shrugged, unrepentant, and allowed his grin free rein. "Not my fault I like watching you. Even better that I'm duty-bound to do it."
She just rolled her eyes and shuffled through her papers. "I don't see what could be so interesting about watching me pore through old books."
He closed the door quietly, then wandered over to the table she had commandeered. "Well, for one thing, when the others ask me what the Tower's newest enchanter is up to, I can answer them."
She smiled up at him teasingly. "So you're spying on me? I should have expected as much."
"Nah, I just like to sound smart. I don't get to do it all that often, you know."
Her dark eyes softened. "Oh, I think you're plenty smart about the things that matter."
He once again felt that urge to reach out and touch her. This time, he gave in, running one gauntleted hand over her cheek. "Yes, but you, my dear enchanter, are unashamedly biased."
"Hm, I do believe you're correct." Her eyes sparkled, and she carefully set her papers down. She stood up, and something about the enchanter robes she wore seemed strange… well, she was still recently promoted. He hadn't gotten used to seeing her out of basic mage robes yet. That had to be it. "Is something wrong?"
He glanced up, startled, to see her watching him with concern. Seeing no point in hiding it—she'd ferret it out anyway—he rubbed his head and admitted, "I've been feeling a bit muddled. The other Templars think an apprentice must have cast a spell on me as a prank."
"Hm…" she placed a hand on his shoulder and sent a burst of magic through him. From anyone else, he would have been nervous, but this was Felicity. Then, she smiled teasingly again. "Well, I don't sense any entropic spells on you. What I do sense, however, is that you have a bruise on the back of your head. How might that have come about?"
"I…fell?"
"Mm-hm. You know, for a trained warrior, you are awfully clumsy." She reached up to run a hand through his hair, and his breath hitched. She whispered a healing spell, and the ache in the back of his head abated. When she started to pull away, he caught her arms with his own.
"I do it so that you can have a reason to heal me. We both know how much you like taking care of me."
Her eyes sparkled, and Alistair's heart skipped in his chest. Her fingers smoothed over his scalp. "Yes, almost as much as you like protecting me."
He grinned in defeat, and she pulled him down into a kiss.
His heart pounded as their lips met, and confusion roiled through his mind. Her lips were soft and warm, and he felt a headiness come over him like he'd never felt at the mere touch. But that couldn't be right… this was hardly their first kiss. Was it?
He stiffened, confused, and Felicity drew back with a furrowed brow. She studied him for a moment. "Perhaps it wasn't the bump on your head after all. Are you still feeling off?"
"Something's wrong," Alistair stepped back, his hand dropping to his sword as he looked around the study. For the briefest of moments, he had a bizarre double-vision experience, where he spied, instead of the Circle Tower, a twisted plain scattered with gnarled plants. A nightmarish world.
Wait… nightmare. The Sloth Demon. Oh Maker.
That magical shield around his mind flickered into feeble existence, and his true memories resurfaced in a tidal wave. His first action after recalling just what was going on was to stare at Felicity and blush so badly that he feared his face might combust.
Felicity looked worried, now. She took a step toward him, and he stepped back. "Alistair? Are you all right?"
Oh Maker. He'd… and she'd… and they'd… He might faint, he really might. He couldn't say he regretted it, and it did make certain things make a lot more sense… but by Andraste, what a way to figure it out!
"Alistair?" Now she looked hurt, and that made him regret his hesitation.
"This isn't real," he blurted unceremoniously.
Okay, now she looked really hurt. And a little pissed off. "Is this your idea of calling this off?"
"What? No! That-that's not what I meant! Primarily because there's nothing to call off, but that's not the point-"
"Nothing to call off?" She now looked furious. "Alistair, I'd have at least thought you'd be a gentleman about this! I thought you different from other Templars!"
"That's not—by the Maker!" He reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, even as she tried to back away. "Felicity, you are the most brilliant person I know. Just think for a minute. This isn't real. You're not an enchanter; you're a Grey Warden. We both are!"
"A Grey Warden?" Her brows knit in confusion. "Why would I become a Grey Warden? I'm perfectly content here, at the Tower. With you."
Again, he felt himself blush. "Right, yes. Remind me again, then, how exactly we got together."
"Is this supposed to be funny? You know that."
"Maybe I hit my head harder than we thought. Humor me."
She rolled her eyes, then froze, her brows again knitting in confusion mid-roll. "We… met when you came to the Tower…"
"When? What did I say?"
Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Something about… lyrium. About not having completed your vows. But that can't be right… you wouldn't have been allowed into the Tower if you hadn't."
"Right, because we had that conversation on the bridge at Ostagar. Do you remember Ostagar?"
She blinked. "I… do. We fought darkspawn… and there was some kind of ritual? But how could that be? I've never been out of the Tower."
"Yes, you have," he assured her earnestly. "You know something feels wrong. Trust that feeling… or failing that, trust that this place obviously follows no rightful rules of logic. Just look at me… could you really see me as a full Templar?"
Felicity bit her lip in thought. "You'd probably go mad and take your sword to the nearest Chantry podium."
"Exactly, because I'm much happier as a Grey Warden. And until a couple minutes ago, I thought you were too." He couldn't hide his disappointment.
She stepped away, running her hands over the books on the desk. "I suppose… I would be more productive as a Warden, at least," she said ponderously. "An enchanter's life would be nice—I'd get full access to the vaults, and I think that I would love teaching the apprentices—but to what ultimate end is such a life? You make small difference to anyone outside the Tower, which exists as an island by itself."
"Compounded by the fact that it is, in fact, on an island."
She smiled, but it was a sad one. "I might have ended up like this, had Duncan not asked me to come with him. In the Tower. Continuing to my studies. Idle." Her brows knit. "Which would explain why a Sloth Demon would put me in this dream, to keep me complacent and to feed upon my unproductivity."
"And so why would I be here, then?" Alistair said, tapping the Templar crest on his chestplate. "I can't say I ever dream of Templars, except for the occasional one about smacking my old trainer in the face with a shovel."
She turned to look at him, as if for the first time, and he knew the moment when everything finally snapped into place by the blush that shot up to the tips of her ears. "Oh Alistair. I'm so sorry! This isn't your dream… it's mine." Her eyes dropped, and her shoulders hunched up in embarrassment. "It must be horrifying, to have been caught in such a compulsion, to correspond with the dream like that."
"Wait… a compulsion?"
"Well… this dreamscape is designed to follow closely with my deepest desires… or something else that would provoke an entropic response, I suppose. When the Sloth Demon discovered us, I realized I wouldn't have enough time to finish the ritual to make you completely immune to its effects, and so I switched the spell to one that linked us psychically. As such, it seems you were pulled into the same reality as I was, and were thus forced to live out the reality of my dreams."
"…you dream we're having a secret affair in the Circle Tower?" His head spun.
She still didn't look at him. "Well, me being an enchanter was certainly something I used to aspire to. And as for you… it's an obvious holdover from Cullen, isn't it? Following my brief involvement with him to the logical conclusion. Thus why it was projected onto you, as an obvious substitute."
"So… you thought I was Cullen?" He winced… that thought hurt.
"Well, it makes the most sense, don't you think?" She met his gaze, eyes hooded. "What else could it be?"
He sighed, feeling an ache in his chest he wasn't sure what to do with. All that had just been part of the dream? The feelings he was having for her weren't real? No, that couldn't be right. He'd been feeling this before the Sloth Demon had come along.
But it was obvious that the same wasn't true for her.
"No, you're probably right. As usual." He couldn't look at her, instead electing to look around the room. He didn't want her to see his disappointment. "So now that we're both 'awake', so to speak, how do we get out of here?"
"There should be a portal connecting this area of the realm to the others that the Sloth Demon holds, for ease of transit. We'll be able to see it once I dispel the illusion… give me a moment."
She closed her eyes, and Alistair felt free to look at her again.
She wasn't beautiful in a classic way, he supposed, but something in his heart still tugged as he watched her, biting her lip in concentration and with her brow furrowed. She had long, silky black hair that he just wanted to run his hands through, because it looked so soft. Her figure was equally soft, and Alistair mused that it might be rather pleasant to hold such gentle curves at some point when their lives weren't at stake. And her eyes, when they were open, had such spark and wit in them, hinting at the ever-active mind behind it.
It was smart of the Sloth Demon to try to trap her in a Tower full of books, because nothing else could have possibly distracted an ever-curious mind like that of Felicity Amell.
After a minute or two, the Tower around Alistair started wavering, the walls becoming transparent to reveal that nightmarish landscape behind them. After another minute, the Circle Tower disappeared entirely, and they were standing in a barren, gnarled area. Alistair looked up into the sky, and shuddered as he spotted a city on a distant crag.
The Black City, the source of all this corruption and the reason why mages were so dangerous. He may not have paid too much attention when the sisters tried to teach him the Chant as a child, but that, he remembered vividly.
"There are some indications, you know, that the Black City was corrupted before the Tevinter magisters got there," Felicity's voice said, and Alistair glanced over at her, trying to hide his nervousness. "As opposed to it being the golden seat of the Maker, that is. Some accounts claim that it was the city that corrupted the magisters, rather than the other way around."
"The Chantry lets such stories into the Tower?"
"Not directly. But when under such an obviously-biased thumb, one learns to read between the lines." She sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter what corrupted what, in any case. The result was the same, regardless." She turned away and started walking up a sloping ravine. "Keep an eye out… there will likely be a couple lesser demons around to keep an eye on us."
Alistair dutifully put a hand on his sword, but nonetheless tried for a smirk. "So our babysitters don't look kindly on us breaking out of our cribs? Pity. I was looking forward to snack time."
She chuckled, and he felt a bit of that hurt from earlier fade. "Do you think dream cheese is as good as real cheese?"
"Why does everyone pick on that? So I like cheese; it's not unusual to have a favorite food, you know. Unless you're some sort of undead, I suppose. You know, I never really thought about that. Do walking corpses need to eat?"
Felicity, to his amusement, treated it like a real question. "No. Not in the way we do, anyway. Such undead are the result of lesser demons possessing the newly deceased. As such, it is the demon that must sustain itself, and they are perfectly capable of eating off strong emotions. Often in the most unproductive ways, actually, as that usually means they provoke such emotions from unwary mortals by attacking and killing them. A somewhat short-sighted means to go about it, come to think of it."
"Well, no one ever accused the dead of having good foresight."
There was a cry from up ahead, and Alistair's Templar friend from earlier rounded into view in the path. There was no fun banter this time, more's the pity, as the Templar raised his sword to attack.
Alistair wasted no time in drawing his own blade and stepping in front of Felicity, even as she started casting. The charging Templar demon bounced off his shield with a clang, and Alistair's sword swooped in, cutting through the Templar's armor like butter.
"That's an illusion too?" he muttered as he neatly impaled the creature on his sword, and the Templar faded in a gush of brimstone-scented smoke. More Templar-shaped demons were pouring in from around the landscape now, and Alistair charged up to meet each in turn. He felt the hum of magic wrap around him, and for a moment panicked, looking for an enemy mage… but then realized it was bolstering his strength.
He cast a grin back at his own personal support mage and cleaved a circle of demonic death around her. A dozen demons surrounded them, Templar- and mage-shaped alike. The former charged at him with swords swinging, while the latter stayed in back to sling destructive spells at the pair of them. Felicity constructed a glowing ball around herself that deflected the magic attacks, leaving it to Alistair to slice through the creatures one-by-one. He trusted his body to her healing as he felt demonic swords slice into his back and legs. When a fireball caught him clear in the face, a burst of healing immediately afterward made him grin and smash the offending mage to the other side of the Fade with his shield.
It was rather cathartic, honestly, to bash his way through the evil creatures that took such forms. Stabbing Templars proved a good release for old frustrations accumulated from years of enduring the scoldings of the lay sisters and the harsher punishments of Templar training. And as for the mages… well, it became a great deal of fun to knock them down, as he imagined one had Jowan's face… then Morrigan's… then Kazar's… then back to Jowan's.
Percy had a point. The only decent mage was Felicity.
After a frantic five minutes or so, things settled down, and Alistair was left panting and grinning on a field devoid of any more enemies. He met Felicity's gaze to find her face glowing with victory. Their eyes met, and Alistair was overcome with the desire to march over to her, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her.
No, definitely not the work of the Sloth Demon, that.
He broke his gaze away before he actually did something so monumentally stupid as that. Because, really, things were awkward enough already. So he cleared his throat and put his sword away. "Such a fuss kicked up over little old us. You'd think we'd kicked their dogs, or something."
Felicity started leading them up the path again. "Maybe you did, in a dream, and simply don't recall it."
Alistair fell into step beside her. "What? I'm insulted! I have never kicked any dogs, imaginary or otherwise, and I am hurt—no, heartbroken—that you would accuse me of something so awful."
She arched an eyebrow, eyes sparkling. "Says the man who just wiped a good dozen sentient creatures out of existence."
"You've obviously never learned the Templar code of honor. Stabbing and killing things—especially mages—is honorable and a matter of duty. Hurting a cute wittle puppy is a thing worthy of scorn and as such will not be tolerated. Expecially in Ferelden."
"Ah, I see. One must never dare harm a dog in Ferelden, after all."
Alistair nodded sagely. "They're practically avatars of Andraste, if you ask the nobility." He paused, smirking as a thought came to him. "What do you suppose Percy would do if we erected an altar for Hugo? Like, put a crown on him and started worshipping him as a god? Would he find it funny, do you think, or would he murder us all in a fit of rage?"
Felicity laughed, and he forgave her, then and there, for any pain he'd been feeling about her not returning his feelings. "I suspect he'd primarily be confused, and ask whether we'd lost our minds."
"Well, that question would have been far more timely earlier. Say, about the time we accepted Morrigan's help. I personally started suspecting around then that we were all crazy."
"Speak for yourself, Alistair!" she laughed.
"Right, because there's nothing mad about walking into a Circle Tower on lockdown because it's invaded by powerful demons and blood mages, knowing full well that there was no way out again, should you even survive and not be captured. Yep, that sounds like a perfectly sane course of action."
"And so where does that put you, who did the same without even any prior experience with the Tower?"
He grinned. "See, I'm the big dumb sword jockey, so I'm allowed to do crazy stuff like that. You're brilliant, so you should know better."
Her face went red, and she looked away. He wondered if he'd said something wrong. After a moment, she mumbled, "You're not dumb, Alistair."
He shrugged and now it was his turn to look away, because he didn't want her to see how much hearing that from her meant to him.
They walked in awkward silence for a couple minutes. Then, they turned a corner and came upon a shiny portal in the middle of the path.
"This must be it," Felicity said. She stepped up to it and ran a hand along the twisted frame. "This will take us to another part of the Sloth Demon's realm, though it's impossible to guess where."
"So… we just step through? Like it's not all glowing and creepy?"
"Unless you wish to stay here for the rest of eternity, yes."
Alistair glanced behind them, back over the cracked, twisted landscape. "You're the mage. Lead the way."
She nodded and stepped through, disappearing into it with a flash of light. He swallowed a lump in his throat and quickly followed.
It was like being dunked into a tub of cold water—an abrupt, encompassing sensation that seemed to seep chillingly into his bones. But a moment later, it had passed, and he was standing on solid ground that looked a great deal like the place they'd just left.
There were two exceptions to that, though. One was a glowing podium with an open book on top of it. The other was a man in ragged mage robes slumped against it, his head dropped into the cradle of his arms in apparent despair.
Felicity stood next to Alistair, also getting her bearings. She cast an assessing gaze over Alistair, as if to make sure he was all right, and he couldn't deny that he quickly did the same for her.
Then, Felicity turned, spotted the mage, and said, "Niall?" Slowly, she started toward the podium, and Alistair followed right on her heels with his hand on his sword, in case this was just another demon.
The man at the podium slowly raised his head and blinked at them with deadened eyes. "Wha… Felicity Amell?" he said thickly. "What are you doing here? You weren't in the Tower…"
"I came back." Felicity's steps sped up, and she was soon standing next to the other mage, examining him with that healer's eye of hers.
"Felicity, who is this?" Alistair asked, not sure whether he could take his hand off his sword yet.
"Oh, right. Alistair, this is Niall, one of the Tower's more advanced mages. Niall, this is Alistair."
The mage used the podium to stand up straight… relatively anyway—even upright, he seemed to sag. The mage looked at Alistair, perplexed. "A Templar? I was under the impression you'd all either been ensnared or had left."
Alistair was confused for a moment. Then, he realized that he was still in the Templar armor, just as Felicity was still wearing the enchanter robes. "I'm not actually a Templar. Felicity, why am I still a Templar?"
"It's the manner of the Fade, Alistair. It's all about what mental image you project. You could likely change it if you wanted to… but it can be difficult, especially for non-mages. Unless you want to risk running around in your skivvies for the remainder of our stay, it may be better to leave the armor as is."
Alistair tapped the steel chestplate, then shrugged. "At least it's protective."
"I still… don't understand," Niall said, looked between them. "Felicity… you should not be here. You left the Circle… why would you come back?"
"I couldn't simply let demons destroy the Tower," she said.
"She's a little bit of a busybody, like that," Alistair added lightly.
"And now you're trapped here." The mage sighed and looked down at the book in front of them. "I suppose that explains the new additions to the nexus. You'll find no exit this way, I'm afraid. Not one that's easy to decipher anyway…" He trailed off and looked at Felicity for a moment. "Though I suppose if anyone can find a way to use this, it would be you."
Felicity blushed but nodded and stepped up to peer over the book. "What is this?"
"It's a map, as far as I can tell. It keeps moving and shifting, and spots keep appearing and disappearing, I can only assume as different dreamers are captured in the case of the former… and then, for the latter, when they die." He frowned and pointed to a blank spot on the map. "There was one there a couple minutes ago… that one must have been yours."
"You've been studying it, then?"
"Not much else to do. I… can't say how long I've been here. Far too long, I fear. I feel so weak… so tired." He drooped a bit, then seemed to shake himself awake. "But at least I managed to free myself of its illusion... that would have drained me far faster, I suspect."
"You mean like the illusions the others are caught in?" Alistair asked worriedly.
"That's what I was afraid of," Felicity whispered. She cast an anxious glance back at him, and he wanted to kill anything that would frighten her like that. "The others have been in the Sloth Demon's control for days. I managed to sustain their bodies, but their minds were being fed off of this entire time."
"So I guess there's no chance of them breaking out on their own, then?"
Niall was the one to answer, shaking his head sadly. "If your friends haven't broken the illusion by now, then they probably never will. I'm sorry."
"I probably wouldn't have broken it either," Felicity sighed, "if not for you, Alistair."
"Goody. Obviously, you just need to plop me in everyone else's dreams like you did your own. Maybe give Marnan and Percy a couple kisses, to shock them awake."
To his surprise, Felicity froze. Abruptly, she spun and enveloped him in a hug. "Alistair, that's brilliant!"
He blinked, very aware of her body pressed against him. Suddenly, when she smiled like this, he took back his previous thoughts about her not being beautiful. She was bloody gorgeous. And now her arms were wrapped around him, her weight pressed against him like she belonged there. He swallowed. "You… er… want me to go into their dreams and kiss each of them?"
"Perhaps… kissing wouldn't be necessary," she said, pulling back. Now her face was a little red, but she was still smiling. He couldn't resist reaching up to caress her cheek, because she was so beautiful like this it actually hurt not to touch her. She didn't seem to notice, as caught in her thoughts as she was. "We can go into each dream and dispel the illusion. That will gather more forces for us to face the demon with, as well as force it out of hiding to reclaim its captives. We will then be able to confront Sloth directly and break the spell! It's perfect!"
"Well," he said softly, "you did say I'm not as dumb as everyone thinks. Guess it was inevitable that I'd prove you right. You're always right, after all."
"Not always." Her face flushed, and she stepped back. Alistair sighed at the loss. "But in this, let us direly hope that I am." She turned her attention to the podium. "Niall, explain to me everything that you've discovered about this book, and this realm in general. We need to use this map to link the portal here to each of these locations, and I suspect it will not be an easy task."
Niall's smile was tired, but hope sparked in his eyes. "No, probably not. But… it's not as if we have much else to do, is it?" He and Felicity leaned over the podium and began talking about 'vertices' and 'essences' and other things that went right over the ex-Templar's head.
And so, he found a twisted tree to lean against and relaxed, watching the mages. Or rather, he watched Felicity, in her element solving an impossible puzzle. An amazing woman. Intelligent. Caring. Lovely. Even her occasional bursts of self-righteous temper were only proof that she was fiercely passionate about what she cared about.
Even if she didn't return his feelings, he was honored to be able to fight beside her. To protect her. Anyone who tried to hurt his mage would have to answer to his Templar-trained sword first.
Even as the mages cast some sort of spell and Felicity beckoned Alistair back through the portal, he was chuckling at the irony.