61. Your Best Nightmares
Marnan sighed, trying her best to stand still. Her legs ached and her entire body thrummed with restless energy; it felt like she'd been stuck in her father's throne room, standing dutifully between her brothers, for days.
"My Lady, you're fidgeting again," Gorim murmured in her ear, and she turned enough to glare back at him, only to meet with his laughing eyes. The three siblings stood beside their father's throne, watching their father hold court, and watching the deshyrs watch them, and her bodyguard and friend stood right behind her, as always, ready to guard and to chide as the situation required.
Still, there was something off about his eyes. What was off about his eyes?
Wordlessly, she turned her attention back forward, and she heard Gorim chuckle. She hated these functions; he knew that. Even worse when she wasn't allowed to attend them armed or in armor, as was the case now. No, this was a formal civil court. That meant she had to wear a dress like a proper lady of House Aeducan.
The bodice itched, and she didn't like how her blasted skirt tangling around her legs when she moved. Worse, without the weight of a weapon on her back, she felt naked and vulnerable… though that was a strange anxiety, here in the safety of Orzammar. No one would dare touch King Endrin's beloved daughter in his own palace; she knew enough about politics to know that much.
"…to excuse Lady Helmi's conduct in the Assembly, my king," one of the deshyrs was saying. "It is unbecoming of anyone, least of all a woman of her… reputation."
"I will not stand for such slander!" said lady shot back. "You will do well to recall, young man, who signed over the permit to your southern mines some years back."
"Only because you owed my father a debt, Lady Helmi. It was hardly a matter of honor."
"Even if that were true, it still speaks poorly of your own honor that you would denounce your business partner so."
King Endrin nodded along to all of it, allowing the drama to unfold as he always did. He enjoyed the games the Houses played, and encouraged his offspring to try their hands at it themselves.
Marnan hated it. She always had. But she could not disobey her father—thus, if he wanted her to stand in the throne room while he held court, then she would stand in the throne room while he held court.
"Do try not to get too far behind, dear sister," Trian's voice hissed in her ear. "I know how anything more subtle than a Proving bout confuses you."
Her spine stiffened. "The Provings are plenty subtle, in their way. Not that you'd know of that, having never fought in one."
"And why would I need to, when I have plenty of brave warriors who are honored to fight for me? A concept that you have never been able to grasp."
"Perhaps my warriors find honor in fighting beside me, rather than under me, Trian."
"Brother, sister… this is not necessary," Bhelen's voice said smoothly from her other side. "We should be enjoying the opportunity to stand in on this, not digging up old arguments."
Marnan sighed, because their little brother was right. Baiting Trian never did any good anyway. Despite the fact that he was the eldest and therefore the one traditionally voted heir, everyone liked Marnan better. That would be a sticking point between them until the day one of them died.
Something in her heart tugged at that, but it fluttered away, taken by the mind-numbing drone of the deshyrs delivering economic entreaties.
And then, something new happened. One of the heralds scurried into the room, announcing that they had visitors. Endrin stood, and the hundred deshyrs followed his example at the tables and benches throughout the hall.
Marnan's eyes widened as, of all things, humans walked into the throne room. She had seen humans once or twice, in the occasional traders that ventured into the city. However, none would have been so bold as to interrupt the king's court, and the deshyrs' disapproval was evident by the roll of whispers that echoed around the chamber.
Leading the way was a man in Templar armor (and something in Marnan paused in confusion, because she should not know what a Templar was). When the guards by the door reached for his weapons—after all, one must remove one's weapons in the presence of the king as a sign of good faith—the blond man merely frowned and shooed the guards away empty-handed.
Behind him were three women in robes: two in mages' robes and one in the uniform of a Chantry sister… and it again occurred to her that she should not know what such things were. She frowned, confused.
"Who are you, strangers," King Endrin said slowly, "that you come into my hall thus?"
To Marnan's shock, the man completely ignored the king's question. His eyes roamed around the hall for a minute. Then, they landed right on her, and they widened a bit. "Marnan? Wow, I didn't even know you owned a…" he trailed off, obviously noting Marnan's confusion. "Never mind. Let's just get out of here."
And suddenly, it came to Marnan that she much preferred to be with these strangers than to stand in her father's court for the rest of eternity. She nodded and took a step off the dais. "Let's go."
Tension thrummed through the deshyrs and her father frowned at her. "Daughter, what are you doing?"
She paused, though from respect for her father rather than uncertainty over her choice. "Leaving."
"In the middle of royal court? How then, will you ever learn to hold it yourself, if you never stay for one all the way through?"
Marnan fought down her annoyance. Again, this was her father; she had to be respectful. "I have stood here for long enough to get the gist, Father. Now, I wish to leave."
Trian growled, "See, Father, the contempt she holds for the throne and all it stands for!"
"Oh sod off, you nug's hindquarters."
"Marnan!" King Endrin rose to his full height, his mien regal, imposing, and not a little terrifying. "No daughter of mine will disrespect the matters of the deshyrs in such a way. Whether you like it or not, Daughter, this is where you belong… not out on the field with your Warrior playmates."
Marnan felt her face grow hot. Something in her quailed at having these humans present for this, but she was determined to hold her ground. Even against her father. "You think you are grooming me for the throne, but I've never wanted it! It's Trian's by tradition, and we both know he wants it a great deal more than I!" She turned to her elder brother, who glared back at her through narrowed eyes. "You want it? It's yours. I will gladly abdicate any right to it. If you want to squabble over that damned chair so badly, squabble with Bhelen."
"Daughter, you have a duty—"
"Sod your duty!" A rumble of disapproval went through the deshyrs. "My duty is to my men. Those who live and die in the Deep Roads every day so that we can continue to exist. And if being an Aeducan denies me the right to do so, then perhaps it is better that I no longer am one!" She wasn't sure why she spoke that strange last line, but something in it rang achingly true.
To the roars of the deshyrs, she turned and took another step toward where the humans waited, wide-eyed. However, the hiss of steel sounded behind her, and a cold metal blade pressed against the back of her neck.
"I am sorry, My Lady," rumbled Gorim's voice. "We can not let you leave."
Alarm bells were ringing in truth now in her head, because Gorim had always had her back. Slowly, she turned to look at him—really look—and she realized what was off in his eyes. In a flash, she realized that there was none of that which had prompted so much unwavering loyalty over the years… none of that silent yearning that she had long ago come to accept as a necessary part of his service.
He had never said it out loud, of course, but she'd known. All her life, she'd known. And he'd never asked her whether she felt anything in return, because he already knew what her answer would be. And yet still, it was there, down all those years.
Except not now, and that was when Marnan realized how wrong everything was. This whole thing was… off. Her standing side-by-side with her brothers. Bhelen's neutral smile. The human strangers who she wanted more than anything to leave with and never come back.
She frowned, grabbed Gorim's sword arm, and twisted it until he released the sword into her grip. Then, she punched him in the face.
The throne room was suddenly filled with monstrous shrieks and growls as chaos broke loose. Deshyrs grew claws and fangs (just another day at court), and threw themselves on her and the humans alike. Now armed, if perhaps wearing less protective armor than she would have liked, she turned to meet her attackers and rammed each of them through as they came.
She waded through the crowd, the deshyrs disappearing in puffs of smoke on her blade. She took blow after blow from the creatures, but a few bruises were nothing (especially when she felt a rush of healing magic go through her), and she swiftly retaliated and smashed through the shades in turn. Most of the deshyr-demons were weak enough that they poofed apart after one blow.
Soon, she found herself back-to-back with the blond man. Alistair, she recalled.
"I'm sorry to say, Marnan," the man said through a grin as he swept a pair of the creatures aside with his shield, "that you can't really pull off the docile lady-of-court look."
"You, on the other hand," she rejoined, "make a quite convincing Templar. Is there something you've neglected to mention, Alistair?"
"Why yes, actually. I've been a Chantry spy this entire time. Leliana and I are going to convert all you heathens to the faith, and then bring Morrigan in for apostasy. Oh, and we'll probably also lead an Exalted March at some point… haven't decided what against, though."
Marnan sliced the head off a guard, memories returning to her with each swing of her stolen sword. The Wardens. The Circle Tower. Bhelen.
Marnan cast around through the carnage for the demon who had been unfortunate enough to pick that form. The fake Trian was carving his way through the crowd toward Alistair with his maul, while the false father disappeared in a puff of smoke with an arrow through his throat even as Marnan noticed him.
But then, she spotted Bhelen, and the demon who wore his face got one thing right: this Bhelen was staying back from the fighting, obviously waiting for the opportune moment to make his move. It was so like the Bhelen who had betrayed both her and Trian that Marnan felt rage unlike any other spike through her.
She shoved through the line of clawing deshyr-demons, cleaving a path with her sword straight toward the likeness of her treacherous younger brother. A claw bit deep into her shoulder, but she ignored the pain and kept toward him.
She remembered when he'd fallen into that deepstalker pit when they were kids. He'd cried for days after that.
She remembered when he'd talked Trian and her into sneaking into Dust Town… 'just to see it'. The guards had been forced to intervene, but their younger brother had been so thrilled that they couldn't stay mad at him.
She remembered a dozen times that she and Trian would have torn one another apart, either by words or with hands, had Bhelen not stepped in and cooled both their heads.
But most of all, she remember Bhelen looking her in the eye and smiling as he condemned her to death in the Deep Roads.
The false Bhelen drew his sword and shield as Marnan approached, but she was not deterred by any demon's stolen skills. She knocked the weapon and shield out of its amateur grip and reached forward with her free hand. Gripping his chestplate, she lifted him onto his toes.
"You picked the wrong dwarf to impersonate, demon," she growled, and plunged her sword deep into the simulacrum of her brother's heart.
It was over far too quickly. Bhelen dissipated, and then so did the other deshyrs, and the very walls around her. She was left on a desolate, cracked landscape with the others staring at her.
And by the Ancestors, she was still wearing that Stone-awful dress.
She sighed and turned to fully face her companions, reading the shock and awe in their eyes. She would not lose her courage; not now. "I suspect that I owe you an explanation."
"You're… a child of King Endrin of Orzammar, aren't you?" Leliana breathed. "You're a princess!"
Marnan winced and snapped her "No!" a bit too harshly. Calming herself, she walked over to the humans. "No," she said a bit more gently. "I was a princess. But my brother Bhelen betrayed both myself and my elder brother Trian, and I was stripped of my title and exiled as a result. Now, I'm a Grey Warden, nothing more or less."
Leliana still looked like she'd found a particularly delicious piece of chocolate. Felicity, too, regarded her with bright, curious eyes, and Marnan guessed it was only a matter of time before the intrusive questions flowed out of her. At least she was holding her tongue, for now.
Wynne, at least, regarded Marnan with solemn sympathy. An expression that was matched, oddly enough, by Alistair.
"Andraste's knickers," the ex-Templar breathed, shaking his head. "Garott's nickname… I thought it was sarcastic, but he knew all along, didn't he?"
She nodded. "I don't know why he never let it slip. He certainly had plenty of opportunities."
"Maybe he figured it wasn't his secret to tell?"
Marnan could only shrug helplessly to that.
"Is it true that the dwarves vote on their kings?" Felicity burst out, seeming unable to contain it anymore. Marnan sighed. "Is that the reason for the hostility we witnessed with your elder brother? He was afraid that, if it came down to a vote, you'd receive more than him? And those were the deshyrs, weren't they, the ones who would have voted? I thought most of their meetings were done in an Assembly hall, not in a king's throne room! Just how symbolic is the king, anyway? What kinds of powers does he hold over the nobility?"
"Felicity," Alistair said gently, "enough."
And, to Marnan's shock, the mage fell quiet. The dwarf turned a startled look at Alistair, who was displaying a rather unexpected amount of sympathy. No wisecracks or indignant sputtering at having been lied to.
"You're taking this quite well," she observed carefully.
He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Let's just say… there's something I should probably tell you guys. When this is all over."
Marnan nodded, and Felicity started leading them through the landscape. After a couple minutes of walking, they found a round portal and stepped through.
There was a run-down mage waiting for them on the other side, huddled over a glowing book. He offered them a tired smile. "You're getting faster at that."
"I should hope so, Niall," said Wynne. "We certainly have little time to spare."
Felicity asked him, "Any sign of the Sloth Demon yet?"
Niall shook his head. "No. I don't know what he's doing… there haven't been any new dreamers since you came, and he doesn't seem to be resisting your release of them all that hard."
"I suspect that we will find out one way or another soon," said Wynne.
Felicity moved over to Niall's side and peered over at the book. "This last one must be Percival, then."
"Which begs the question," Marnan cut in, looking at Alistair. "Just what are you and Percival doing here anyway? Should you not be at Redcliffe, trying to cure Arl Eamon?"
"We… ran into a bit of a snag," Alistair hedged. "Seems our dear Circle Mages aren't the only ones getting possessed by demons these days."
"Oh dear," Wynne sighed.
"We may have a bit more trouble with Percival," Felicity broke in as she and Niall wove some sort of spell over the book. "There's a reason I kept this vertex until last… it's centralized, and there seems to be a great deal more entropic energy flowing from it than the others."
"Meaning…?" Alistair prodded.
"Meaning that whatever dream the demon put him in, he wants to stay there. Very, very badly."
No one had the heart to respond to that. They may not have known the details, but it was obvious some sort of tragedy had occurred in the nobleman's past. It seemed they would soon learn a great deal about the manner of that tragedy.
Marnan gripped her sword—how she wished she had her axe—and followed Felicity and Alistair through the glowing portal.
They emerged into a sun-filled courtyard. The grass underfoot was surprisingly soft, and lush greenery surrounded them. Creatures that Marnan understood were called birds perched in the trees above them, singing. Even the stone walls surrounding the courtyard were lined with vines and flower-colored trellises. It was all a sharp contrast to the nightmarish wasteland they had just left.
Across the courtyard was a practice pitch occupied by a dozen people. Men and women, old and young milled around the pitch while a pair of men sparred. One of those men, dressed in little more than cotton breeches, was Percival, and he was laughing.
It wasn't the dark laughter that she'd seen him occasionally partake in, nor even a lighter chuckle. These were the full-blown belly laughs of one who was thoroughly enjoying life, passionately and without reservation, even as he parried and riposted against the other man's blade. Marnan had never thought that Percival Cousland could laugh like that.
Leliana made a sad sound. "He looks so happy, doesn't he?"
"Remember, this is all the Sloth Demon's trick," Felicity said uncertainly. "We are doing him no favors by allowing this to continue."
"It is likely as you observed, Felicity," Wynne said. "This is the scenario with the most entropic energy because the dreamer will genuinely not want to leave."
Alistair sighed. "I, for one, can't wait to see how he reacts when we try to wake him up. Anyone want to take bets on whose head he tries to cut off first?"
"It may not be pleasant," Marnan said. "But it must be done." She started toward the pitch, and the others fell into step behind her.
She could see the gathered humans a bit better now. Percival and the young, dark-haired man he was sparring with (also shirtless) were centralized. Watching them from off the pitch were a pair of women—one older and one younger—and an older man. The man grinned and shouted teasing encouragement at the fighters while the elder woman alternated between scolding him for slips of the tongue and joining in the heckling herself. The younger woman, meanwhile, winced every time the dark-haired man got hit.
There were a handful of armored men on the other side of the pitch, also watching and laughing. Near them, a boy played with a practice sword, obviously mimicking the elder men. An elderly woman kept an eye on the boy with a sour expression, muttering to herself while she took a paring knife to a pile of potatoes.
Farther back, against the wall, was a gaggle of female admirers, whispering among themselves and watching the fighters with hungry eyes. What in the Ancestors' name would possess Percy to dream that?
It took a moment for Marnan to spot Hugo. The dog was off to one side of the pitch, alternating between growling at anyone who got too close and whining anxiously in Percival's direction. Could it be that Hugo was genuine?
"Only more proof," Alistair said, following her gaze, "that Hugo's smarter than the rest of us."
At hearing his name, the mabari's head swiveled around. He barked and bounded over, sitting in front of them with a whine.
"Aw, poor puppy," Alistair said with a small smile "Don't worry, we'll slay those nasty demons for you."
Hugo barked, his tail wagging.
"Well of course you can join in!"
Hugo stood and bounded around them, as if urging them on.
Wynne gave Alistair a quizzical look. "Are you honestly having a conversation with a dog?"
"In my defense, the dog converses back."
Leliana giggled.
It seemed the dog's barking had drawn some attention, because the boy came running over. Hugo's hackles went back up, and he turned to rumble a menacing growl at the child.
"Hugo! What are you doing over here?" The child turned wide eyes up at them, and Marnan almost believed the innocence there. "Who are you people? Are you friends of my grandfather's?"
"Oh do stop this charade, demon," Wynne sighed. "It befits none of us."
"What? What's a 'charade'? Is that a kind of wine? My uncle Percy likes wine, but he says it's better when its shared with a close friend. I tell him I'm his close friend, but he just laughs and says I'm far too young for that."
"And that you are, Oren!" came a voice, and, for a moment, Marnan didn't recognize it. The cultured accent was the same, but Percy's voice had never held such… energy. The blond nobleman came up behind the boy and ruffled his hair fondly. "Too young for both wine and close friendship."
"At least 'close friendship' as Percy defines it." Percival's sparring partner laughed. He had his sword slung across one shoulder. Both men were sweating and breathing hard, but had the exhilarated glow of exercise that Marnan was rather familiar with herself.
Percy turned his smile to them, and Marnan caught her breath despite herself. Percy was actually… quite handsome. She'd never realized it before, because the gloom and bitterness that accompanied him everywhere was ugly in itself. But now, his features were finely carved and golden, and his bare torso showed off an athletic, warrior's physique that any Warrior down in Orzammar would have envied.
"Welcome, my friends," Percy said warmly. "I have to say this is a pleasant surprise." He cast his gaze around them, finally resting on Marnan herself. There was a strangely enticing glint in his eyes as he bent down and took her hand. "I must say, Marnan, you are quite the stunning woman without all that steel plate masking your beauty." And, much to her shock, he raised her hand her his lips and kissed it. Then, he winked.
Caught between being outraged, embarrassed, and flattered, words completely fled her.
"Did he… did he just do that?" Alistair whispered, apparently just as shocked.
"Percy, do you know who we are?" Felicity asked carefully.
"Of course I do." Percy dropped Marnan's hand and stood up straight again. "I can't say I ever expected to see you here in Highever, but it's good to see you nonetheless. Come, you can meet my family!" He waved at the crowd behind him. Most of their eyes were now trained on the newcomers.
"Your family?" Leliana asked weakly.
The dark-haired man laughed. "Come, brother. Introduce us! Or have you now forsaken all propriety and manners altogether?"
"Only in matters where it doesn't suit me," Percy rejoined. To the Wardens, he said, "This ugly lout is my brother, Fergus." Fergus barked a laugh and swiped at the blond man. "And this scamp is his son, Oren." Again, Percy's hand ruffled the boy's hair.
"Hugo once had louts," the boy said sagely. "We had to bathe him in special soap sent in from Orlais to kill them all."
"That's lice, Oren," his father corrected with a laugh.
"You don't still have lice, right boy?" the boy asked the dog, stepping closer.
Hugo barked and snapped at the child, and only his father's timely grip on his shoulder yanked him back.
"Hugo!" Percy said sharply. "Bad dog! Really, what's gotten into you?"
Hugo whined, head low, and hunkered down beside Alistair.
"Is everything all right, Pup?" This was the old man. He and the two noblewomen were within speaking range now. The younger woman quickly gathered the boy protectively into her arms.
Percy frowned at his dog. "Something's wrong with Hugo."
"His stomach is probably just upset," the older woman tutted. "Small surprise, with what you let him get into."
"Mother!"
"Oh, hush. I don't believe for a second that him tearing up Lady Ellia's dressing room was an accident. Some of those cosmetics were likely toxic, you know. You only have yourself to blame."
The older man laughed. "Still, that one was damn creative of you, Pup. Getting into her skirts by having your dog rip up all her skirts?"
"Bryce! Don't encourage him!"
"All I mean, Eleanor," the man chuckled, "is that if he devoted that much thought and creativity to everything else, we would soon be the proud parents of the ruler of all Thedas!"
"Father," Percival groaned fondly.
Marnan couldn't find the heart to interrupt such a domestic scene. And, looking back at the others—Leliana was near tears—they couldn't either. Percy was happy, for the first time that she had ever seen him… well and truly content.
"This isn't right," Alistair managed thickly. "Percy, you must feel that this isn't right."
"What isn't?" the young noble asked a bit too quickly. "That's ridiculous, Alistair. You've obviously been hit in the head one too many times."
He turned sharply and walked back to the pitch, his 'family' turning to follow.
The Wardens and their companions exchanged looks among themselves.
"This is going to be more difficult than I'd thought," Felicity sighed.
"How can we convince him to leave," Leliana asked, "if he refuses to disbelieve?"
"Perhaps we should simply begin taking out the demons without his permission," Marnan suggested.
They all stared at her wide-eyed.
"Uh, Marnan?" Alistair said. "You know Percy, right? You've met? Because if we even attempt to attack one of those creatures, he's going to go into one of his rages and use us for sword practice."
"Not to mention," Wynne said softly, "such actions would obviously break the boy's heart."
"Agreed," Felicity said. "We must somehow convince Percival to remember on his own." She glanced down at Hugo, who quirked an ear up at her hopefully. "Perhaps if we can convince one of the demons to reveal itself, it will be enough to snap him out of it."
Alistair's face brightened. "Felicity, that's brilliant. He'd never hurt Hugo, even in a dream."
Felicity reddened and nodded. "A demon would defend itself." She looked across the courtyard. "Hugo, go for one of the women in the corner. They're unarmed and thus will be forced to manifest something, but they're not as emotionally charged as his family members."
Hugo barked, tail wagging, and sped across the yard. Growling, the hound barreled into the women, sending them scattering, shrieking.
"Hugo!" Percy's voice cried. He broke away from his family to chase the dog. "Hugo, heel!"
The hound ignored his master's commands, chasing one of the young women halfway across the yard before he caught her and barreled her to the ground. Sure enough, as he tore into her, her fingers elongated into claws, which dug into the dog's neck. Hugo howled in pain.
Percival stopped about ten feet from the scuffle, staring in obvious confusion.
Leliana leapt forward and tackled another of the 'women' as she came near them, and this one wasted no time in hissing a curse and freezing the bard where she lay. Marnan stepped up and kicked the creature away, before it could hurt her companion. Her feet promptly got tangled in her skirts, and she growled and used her sword to cut the damn things off at the knee.
"But… what…?" Percy's voice was thick, torn. "What's going on?"
"It's a dream, Percy," Felicity said in her most reasonable tone, even as she cast a dispelling spell on Leliana. "You're under the spell of the Sloth Demon."
"No… no, that can't be." Something haunted flashed through his eyes, before he turned an angry gaze on them. "Maybe you're the trick! You're trying to confuse me with these illusions!"
"You know that's not true," Felicity plead.
"Lies!" Percy pointed his sword toward them. "Leave now, demons. I won't tolerate you hurting my family!"
"You'd best do as he says," a silky, sibilant voice said, and Marnan shuddered to realize that it was coming from the child, Oren. "He's ours, and he will fight to protect us. Even if it means killing all of you." Percy didn't seem to even hear the demonic voice.
"Percy…" Alistair said, his voice breaking. "Percy, you've got no family to protect. They're dead. You know this."
"LIES!" Familiar rage flared in the man's eyes, and he leapt forward at them.
Alistair stepped up to meet him, blocking each furious blow with sword and shield but not striking back. "Fight it, Percy! You're letting the demon win!"
"The only demons I see here are you," the nobleman growled, and smashed a particularly vicious blow into Alistair's guard. The Templar grunted and stumbled back a step.
With alarm, Marnan noted that the rest of the 'family' was circling around them, obviously anticipating a fight, but none making any moves yet. Most had manifested weapons, even the older woman with the paring knife looked demonic and deadly.
"So much for ending this peacefully," Wynne sighed, and cast a spell that threw a stone fist into the cluster of guardsmen.
Marnan didn't waste any time springing into action. She followed that fist to the downed guardsmen, using their stunned states to stab one with her sword and then take his maul out of his hands.
Much more satisfied now that she had a decently heavy weapon to bear, she brought the maul around to crush in the spine of another demonic guard. It disappeared with a blast of smoke.
The battle was joined, now, though it was dangerously precarious. Marnan had no armor, so her dress tattered away under blow after blow… at least she had two healers behind her, because that was the only thing that kept her on her feet.
Leliana wasn't much better than Marnan in her Chantry robes. But at least she'd gotten a bow from somewhere, and wasted no time in returning fire to the demon in Percy's mother's form.
"NO!" Percy howled, breaking away from Alistair to charge at Leliana. Marnan was too caught in trying to smack a knight into oblivion to get there in time. Fortunately, Hugo met him halfway, barreling into the nobleman and pinning him to the ground with his bulk.
Percy struggled viciously, but Hugo just whined and pressed the man into the dirt. With every demon that dissolved into a cloud of smoke, his struggles became more half-hearted, as if the reality of the situation was finally winning out. At about the time that Marnan smashed the child-like demon's head in (demon or not, that image would follow her forever) Percival fell limp and silent. Hugo whined again.
Finally, the last of the demons were vanquished, and the sunny courtyard around them began to dissolve back into the twisted landscape of the Fade. Marnan's dress was in tatters, but at least she wouldn't have to wear the thing for much longer.
"Percy?" Felicity's voice said hesitantly. Marnan turned to see the others circling around the nobleman. "Percy can you hear me?"
"Hugo, get off him," Alistair grunted, and dog obediently lifted from off his master's back.
Marnan joined the circle around the noble, and she immediately saw why the others were so concerned.
Percival remained where he'd fallen, motionless. He didn't acknowledge any of them; instead, his eyes were clouded and distant—mad, a part of her squeaked—and filled with such consuming despair that Marnan almost regretted what they'd just done.
"He's in shock," Wynne said gently. "It's not uncommon, after a traumatic experience."
Alistair knelt down next to the other man, hesitantly reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. Percy blinked.
"Percy, you have to snap out of it. We've got a demon to kill… and then another demon to kill. And then, when we get to Redcliffe, another demon to kill. That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"
Percival let out something like a whimper, but at least that was a response.
Marnan settled at the noble's other side. She and Alistair pulled Percival up into a sitting position. Percy blinked, his eyes still clouded, but he seemed to register their presence.
"Kill me," he whispered, and Marnan's heart stuttered, certain that she'd heard that wrong.
"What…?" Felicity said, leaning over them. "What did he just say?"
"Kill me," and now it was more of a growl. "Please… I can't…" His voice cracked, and a sob wracked through him. "I can't lose them. Not again. Please… please just kill me." More dry sobs shuddered through his form, and Marnan could only hold onto him while he crumpled. Alistair's worried eyes met hers.
"You did not think it would be so easy, mortals?" the Sloth Demon's voice spoke up. It formed about twenty feet from them, all sharp angles and darkness. "That I would let you roam my realm, tearing down these dreams I put so much work into constructing? I made you happy, and you went and knocked down my gift like spiteful children."
Percival's form wracked again, and the Sloth Demon groaned in something that almost sounded like pleasure.
"It's feeding off this young man's despair." Wynne's voice sounded horrified.
"Indeed," the demon purred. "Such a font I've found, in this one. So eager for nothing more than that everything stay the same. No progress. No future. Only the still, unchanging past." The demon glided closer, and Percy keened as it neared, his body drooping. "And now that you've shattered that… oh, his anguish is a banquet before me. Such hopelessness. Such… despondency."
Leliana raised her bow, standing protectively over them. "We won't let you take him, demon!" Marnan was surprised to hear such a hard voice out of the bard.
The Sloth Demon chuckled, and it was the oiliest sound she'd ever heard. "Foolish mortal… he is already mine."
Percy slumped in Marnan's arms, weeping, and even the dwarf could see the dark magic emanating from the nobleman. Skin-crawling shrieks pierced the air, and five creatures appeared in a circle around them.
Marnan and Alistair both stood and drew their weapons, and Percy fell limply to the ground at their feet. "You guard him," Alistair said to her. "I'll take ugly over there."
Marnan nodded, standing over the noble's shuddering form and raising her maul to the monsters around them. Her companions followed suit, circling around their comrade's prone figure. The demonic summons closed in.
The gaunt, twisted form of an abomination threw itself at Felicity. Meanwhile, Leliana kept interrupting one Desire Demon's spells with a constant stream of arrows, while a second Desire Demon circled Wynne, cackling.
It was the ogre-like demon that leapt straight for Marnan, and it was all she could do to keep the hulking creature from tearing her to shreds. She was hardly inexperienced with such creatures, but that did not make the fight easy. She met one swing of its powerful fists with her maul, jarring her already-aching shoulders, and then slammed her weapon into the monster's knee. It stumbled back.
It might have been a victory, had the last monster, a Rage Demon, not come around behind her and lunged for Percival.
She swept her maul around to meet it, batting it away and placing herself as a shield between it and its prey. The Rage Demon roared and spat fire, and she stood her ground, feeling her skin char under the onslaught.
She didn't have time to retaliate, because the ogre was nearly on top of her, roaring in triumph as it raised its arms to deliver the killing blow. She turned back around and slammed the pummel of her maul into its gut, then swept the weapon low to take out the ogre at the knees. It toppled.
The Rage Demon slammed into her back, and she stumbled forward. It again lunged at Percival, but she caught it with her maul and turned it aside. It stumbled away, and she stepped in and swung the hammer up into its belly. It toppled backwards, and she raised her hammer and slammed it into its head in a final, killing blow.
Concerned, she turned her attention back to the ogre, only to see it stumbling to the side, three arrows protruding from its neck. A fourth hit into it in the side of the head, and it disappeared with a roar.
Leliana smirked. "I said you wouldn't win, demons."
Marnan nodded her thanks and turned her attention to the others. Wynne seemed to have shaken off her Desire Demon with Hugo's help. Now, the elder mage was concentrating on healing Alistair, who was getting shoved around by the Sloth Demon something awful.
Felicity, however, was hunkered in a magical shield while the abomination tore at the invisible wall between them. Each blow made the mage flinch, and Marnan wondered how much such a shield was sapping her.
Marnan wasted no time stepping in to meet the abomination, even as Leliana's arrows soared past her to collide into it. A moment later, her maul took the creature through the chest, and it disappeared.
Felicity smiled at them, drooping as the shield dissipated. "Thank you… I fear I'm rather hopeless in single combat."
Marnan shrugged. "You're a healer. If you're in single combat, I'm not doing my job." The burns on her face made it sting to talk, but it was ignorable. She swung the maul up onto her sore shoulder, and turned to face the Sloth Demon.
It was running Alistair ragged, now, and Marnan was rather impressed that the ex-Templar had lasted so long alone against it. The Sloth Demon kept raising his arms in spellcasting, but Alistair was quick to leap in with a particularly vicious attack as soon as it began—Templar training, in this case, proved quite beneficial. Wynne seemed to be quickly tiring, behind her constant stream of healing magic.
"Felicity," Marnan said, "can we kill that thing in here?"
The mage hummed in thought. "Theoretically, yes. This being its realm, it may be more difficult than merely damaging it, but it would hardly be invulnerable."
"What happens if we kill it?"
"We should be ejected, once its hold on us is broken." She paused thoughtfully. "Either that, or the realm would collapse and we'd be spat deeper into the Fade, stranded and doomed to wander the dream realm for the rest of eternity."
"That is… not very comforting," Leliana said.
"Perhaps it isn't comforting," Wynne said tiredly. "But we do not have much of a choice either way."
"Agreed," Marnan said. "Hugo, guard your boy. Ladies, cover me." The mages and bard nodded, and Marnan hefted her maul and attacked.
Alistair stumbled back from a vicious blow and took a blast of cold for it. Marnan was on the creature a moment later, swinging the maul into its back. The weapon seemed to pass right through the demon's form with only some resistance, as if it were passing through gel. It turned ponderously to her and raised its arm to cast at her, and she ducked to avoid a wintery blast of her own.
Alistair's sword darted in, slashing into its stomach. His weapon, too, did not seem to do much damage, passing through the form as if through a ghost.
"Incorporeality!" Felicity gasped, and Marnan didn't have the time to ask what in the Ancestors' name that word meant. "It's not entirely manifested, to protect itself from us!"
"Always figured a Sloth Demon would cheat," Alistair panted drily between swings.
Marnan got sideswiped by one of its arms and stumbled back. "Feels manifested enough to me."
"It's fading in and out!" Felicity called. "We need to find a way to keep it here!"
"Allow me to help with that," said Niall's voice, and the demon began to glow and shimmer. It stopped fighting and turned its ponderous gaze on Niall, and so Marnan did too.
The mage was heading toward them from a portal up a nearby hill, the large book from before clasped open in his hands. He muttered to himself, and each word seemed to strengthen the glow around the demon.
"You expend so much effort, human," the demon cooed at him, and Niall's eyes squinted in resistance of whatever the demon was doing to him. "Wouldn't you prefer to rest?"
"Do it… quickly," Niall gasped. "I can't hold it for long!"
Alistair was the first to move, stepping forward and plunging his sword into the demon's back, and it shrieked in earnest as the blow finally did some damage. Marnan followed suit with her maul, taking out its legs. It toppled, and Alistair made short work of it with a slice across its throat.
Niall collapsed and then the world around them wavered nauseatingly. Marnan felt like her footing was slipping, even though her feet were solidly planted. The wasteland of the Fade turned to white nothingness, and Marnan knew no more.