(This is the longest chapter by far. Settle in with cup of cocoa and hire a sherpa: this one's going to be a journey.

Warnings: harsh language and implied triggery content. If you want to pass it, the scene's pretty short, so just skip about ten paragraphs down when you hit the use of blood magic.)

117. Pride Before the Fall

The first thing she did after opening her eyes was breathe a sigh of relief.

The landscape was twisted and cracked, alien formations rising and falling in a sea around her. And there, in the distant sky, was the Black City.

It had worked. She was in the Fade.

She took a deep breath (trying not to consider the fact that she wasn't actually breathing; it was more akin to a memory of breathing) and did a quick inventory of what had been transferred with her. Staff. Herb and poultice pouch. Not her codex, but she hadn't brought that with her into the Deep Roads anyway.

She had to quash the voice that told her she wasn't strong enough for this. That her offensive magic was weak, and Morrigan or Kazar were far more qualified to combat a Pride Demon.

This was the Fade, she reminded herself. In the Fade, it wasn't strong magic that mattered, but strong will.

She doubted it would be all that easy. Out-stubborning a Pride Demon? Well, perhaps Morrigan was a better pick for that too. Alas, Felicity was what they had, so she would have to do.

The first order of business was to locate Kazar. A brief sweep of the area made his location apparent enough: the floating Fade island had only one unusual feature, and that was a spire that appeared to be a copy of Kinloch Hold. Simple enough.

Or perhaps not so much. Felicity hiked toward it, only to realize that there was no door where the original's was. A brief walk around the perimeter confirmed it: there was no entrance. Understandable. The Pride Demon would be keeping Kazar in as much as it would be keeping anyone else out.

Felicity tried to think... she had to be quick about this. Every moment she spent in here was a moment the Pride Demon could wake up and begin tearing apart her companions in the real world. And with Alistair down and Felicity herself otherwise occupied... well, it did not bode well for any of them.

She had to try not to think about that, either. Focus on the problem: an impassible wall. What were the solutions?

Kazar would probably have just blasted it down. Shaken it apart, like he did to the Dead Trenches.

She still couldn't believe he'd done that. It seemed... surreal, that a single mage could simply crush an entire army of darkspawn like that. And yet, it hadn't been enough. The archdemon had somehow survived having an entire cave crashing down upon it, and was loose once again. If it could survive that, how could they hope to defeat it?

That was another thing she must set aside for the moment. Concentrate on the task at hand.

So, regarding the wall... Kazar would break it down, but Felicity did not see the benefit of that. Kazar was undoubtably inside the tower, and upsetting the structure would only tumble it, hurting the mage in the process. Assuming physics worked here in the Fade the same way iit did in the real world, anyway.

Perhaps it was scaleable? Except that she couldn't see any windows either. The face of the tower was perfectly smooth.

If not above or through, what about under? Did this impenetrable wall extend underground? Then again, she doubted she'd find a convenient hole in the masonry large enough for a human to slip through.

Unless she needn't be as large as a human. This was the Fade, after all.

An idea took hold, and Felicity scanned the base of the tower. There: a small mound of dirt, upset by whatever Fade critter had dug it. Did it lead inside? She saw no other outlet nearby.

Morrigan had never buckled down and taught her shapeshifting, but she understood the theory well enough from the woman's descriptions of it. One merely had to use one's magic to shape oneself, rather than the world around oneself. She made an attempt, trying to use her magic to shrink her size, to change her anatomy. She could see clearly in her mind the array of bones of the creature she sought.

In the end, all she had to show for her attempts was a tingling sensation in her skin.

She took another breath to steady herself. She was over-thinking this. How had Morrigan described it? When she studied a creature, she wasn't looking for the way its thigh bone connected to its pelvis or its species indicators. She was looking at the way it moved. The jerk of its head when a predator was nearby. Its mental acuity. Its essence.

A nebulous concept, but perhaps that was what made it perfectly suited to the Fade.

Felicity closed her eyes, imagining the creature she sought: scurrying along the edges of the floors, freezing at every movement for fear of predators. The Circle Tower had plenty of them, to the point where the instructors often used them as convenient dissection subjects. Their tower's mouser had been fattened by their overabundance... until the cat had turned into a demon, anyway.

(Come to think of it, that really should have been an indicator of trouble at the time, but Anders had been the only witness, and the Templars had learned not to trust his wild stories sometime after the fourth successful escape attempt.)

The point was, Felicity had seen plenty of mice at the tower, and could well imagine what it must be like. Scurrying across the stone floor, sniffing through the apprentices' packs for the treats some had managed to sneak from the kitchens.

She imagined that she was that little creature: meek and quiet and ideally suited to wiggle into small spaces. Small and unassuming, she could be a mouse. She was a mouse.

She waited to feel a change, but nothing came. With a sigh, she opened her eyes...

...only to see that the world around her had multiplied in size. She checked herself over, finding herself suitably furred and murine. She squeaked in surprise—literally squeaked. She lowered herself to all fours and took a couple stumbling steps before figuring out the mechanism of four-legged travel. It was strange, yet intensely fascinating. When next she saw Morrigan, her questions about shapeshifting would be far more educated.

Filing that away for later, she set about finding the hole and slipping inside. It was indeed some sort of tunnel: a path burrowing into the Fade earth varying from just barely wide enough for her to pass to positively cavernous. Its slope leveled out for a length, then angled upward again.

She came out into darkness, only aware that the tunnel had ended because she was climbing down another small hillock like the one around the first hole. She had no way of knowing where she was, nor how big the apparent room she was in was. The ground was packed earth underneath her claws.

Darkness was all around her, but sight wasn't the only sense a mouse had. She became aware of sounds, soft and distant as if heard through water. There were leaves rustling, and animal noises, and voices speaking in a language that Felicity couldn't place. Her nose picked up scents: wild dampness, fur, herbs... one of the distant voices started to sing, and Felicity realized what language it was. Elvish.

This was a memory; it had to be. But was it from Kazar's time recruiting the Dalish for the Blight, or was it something else?

Felicity moved forward. It was all she could do. Eventually, she ran into a wall, and followed it up a long, earthen corridor. As she rose up, the sounds around her changed. They grew more frantic, the song changing to shouts, then screaming. Battle overlaid the forest sounds: clanging armor, and thrumming of many bowstrings. Burning wood. Somewhere, a small child was crying.

She hurried on, not wanting to hear this. She could sense a shift in the air up ahead: the familiar stuffy books-and-slight-burning scent of the tower. She followed the smell to a heavy metal door.

Light spilled out from underneath it, and it only took her a moment to squeeze under it.

She emerged in a familiar hall. Or at least, it was a very similar facsimile to the first floor of the Circle Tower. Apparently, Felicity had just come up through the basement, and she had a feeling the door she'd just bypassed was as locked as the basement door at the Tower had always been. Curious.

Shadows milled around her, faceless entities wearing mage robes and Templar armor alike. Whether they were memory constructs or demons given form, she couldn't say. She deemed it wise to remain in her mouse form for the moment.

If she were Kazar's subconscious, where would she be? Perhaps his room? Except he had been barely Harrowed when Duncan had recruited them, so he hadn't really had time to grow attached to his new quarters. So perhaps his old space, in the apprentice quarters? Yes, that was as good a place to start as any.

Decided, Felicity turned left, heading back toward the apprentice quarters. She hadn't really cared much about Kazar during her tenure there (other than an occasional ire or annoyance that came with so many young people packed into such a small space), so didn't know for certain which bed was his. However, a quick peek through the open doorway of the far dormitory made it quite apparent.

There was a young boy sitting on one of the beds in the far corner. Dainty, blond hair, and elven, it was clearly Kazar... except for the fact that he couldn't have been older than six, and his head was tilted down with shoulders slumped.

Felicity padded around for a better view, fascinated despite herself. She barely recalled when Kazar had been that young. She'd been brought new to the Tower herself at eleven years old, but the little elf had already been a fixture, lurking in corners and taking an inordinate amount of adult attention, merely because he was young and prone to fits of pouting and tantrums in turn.

Except there had been one thing that everyone knew could calm the little boy down, and here it was now.

A figure appeared, taking form from a wispy shadow into the shape of a dark preteen boy with a nervous smile. Jowan.

The elf looked up, startled by his approach. He stared up at the human with wide grey eyes, freezing like a deer in the sights of a hunter. He was afraid, Felicity realized. Of Jowan? Why would anyone be afraid of Jowan?

Because he's human, her mind supplied.

Jowan's smile wavered, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, hi," the older boy said, his voice echoing hollowly in the Fade realm.

Kazar just stared for another minute. Then, his head tilted upward and his eyes narrowed into a nervous look of challenge that was far from the combative look he'd perfect in years to come. "What?"

"Um..." Maker, Jowan. He's six. You don't have to be afraid of him. It struck Felicity that they didn't seem to know one another in this scene. That was confirmed a moment later when Jowan said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just... that fire during dinner. That was you, wasn't it?"

"I didn't do it. You can't prove it."

Jowan shook his head. "I'm not going to tell. It's just... it was funny."

Surprise. Guarded surprise, as if he'd never been reached out to like this before, and wasn't entirely sure what was going on. "It was?"

"Right on the Knight-Captain's skirts? Yeah, that was funny!"

"He was being mean. I don't like it when he tells me what to do."

"No one does. They were all just too afraid to laugh."

A slow smile cracked over the boy's face, tentative and uncertain, as if he didn't smile much. "Yeah?" He sat up straighter. "Yeah. It was funny!" He smiled up at Jowan, and Jowan smiled back. Then, the scene dissolved, both boys disappearing into the mist.

Felicity stared in shock. If that wasn't Kazar, then what was the point of replaying the memory?

No further visions were forthcoming, so she turned and scurried back out of the dormitory, avoiding the boots of a dream-Templar on her way out. She took a quick detour to the front hall, just to make sure... no door. There was no front door.

She turned and headed in the only direction left to her: deeper into the Tower. She supposed it had been too much to hope that the real Kazar would be so easy to find.

She hugged the corridor wall until she hit the library, where ghostly mages shuffled to and fro. There, she heard voices, and the sound of spellcasting. She recognized Enchanter Sweeney's crackling voice and sped up.

She scurried to the last row of shelves, which had an area cleared for practical classes. Sure enough, a familiar scene played out in front of her. The Senior Enchanter stood in the middle of the class, facing off against a nine-year-old Kazar. As Felicity came upon the scene, Kazar coiled up and unleashed a torrent of lightning against the elderly mage, who built an anti-magic field around himself.

Lined up along the walls to watch were a number of other apprentices, all older than he was. Jowan was easy to spot, watching his friend with mixed awe and amusement. Amusement, especially, when the lightning bounced off the shield and struck at the stacks around them, though most of the other apprentices ducked with the fast reflexes of habit.

And there, because Felicity was looking for it, she spotted her teenaged self. Her counterpart watched the pair with arms crossed, even as paper flew everywhere around them and some of the other apprentices chuckled.

Sweeney dusted himself off and quelled the sparks on the shelves with a wave of his hand, generating frost to snuff it. "Yes, well," the Senior Enchanter said. "That was a bit more enthusiastic than I was expecting, but you get the point." He turned a look to the young elf. "In the future, young man, I'm sure the Templars would appreciate it if you didn't try to burn the Tower down."

Kazar's arms went across his chest, his pointed chin rising. "They're stupid for not making the mage tower fireproof."

The apprentices sniggered, except Felicity's counterpart. Her teenaged self only pursed her lips in disapproval. Maker, had she always been so... serious?

"Yes, well," Sweeney said, "Best not to say that in front of any of them." Even so, Sweeney turned to the rest of the apprentices. "You see what I mean? It's all in the form. Young Kazar here is quite excellent at elemental spells. You would all do well to emulate him in the future."

Kazar practically glowed, his petite body puffing up. Felicity remembered this, and a glance at her own form made her own feeling at the time painfully clear: she was glaring in thinly veiled envy.

Maker, no wonder Kazar thought her insufferable. If this was how she remembered herself, she'd be forced to agree.

Sweeney continued talking after that, but the voice and vision dissipated into nothing, the important part apparently done.

Pride, Felicity realized. First, Jowan approaching him because he was impressed by a prank, then showing off in front of the other apprentices. The Fade is dwelling on memories of Pride. It made sense: how better to keep the Pride Demon strong?

If this was Pride, she had a feeling she knew where another of the visions would be. Maybe even the real Kazar?

She headed out of the library and up the stairs, to the second floor. She made a beeline through the storeroom and headed toward the First Enchanter's office.

Sure enough, there was another vision waiting for her there. This Kazar was a bit older than the previous, perhaps ten. He stood in front of Irving's Desk, while the First Enchanter engaged in a heated, whispered discussion with some of the other older members if the Tower, including a rather irate Wynne and a far more irate Knight-Commander Greagoir.

The discussion finished, and Greagoir turned a nasty look at Kazar, who just stared back defiantly. "One wrong move, elf," the Templar hissed menacingly, and stalked out. The other mages filtered out with him, leaving just Kazar and Irving.

The First Enchanter settled into his desk, running his hand through his beard. "Well, that was certainly...bracing."

"It's not my fault," Kazar blurted. "He started it."

"You nearly paralyzed him, young man."

"He kept pushing me down. I pushed back."

"With magic."

"It was just a little zap. Not my fault a Templar can't handle a little lightning. Just means he's a bad Templar."

A smile played on Irving's lips for just a moment, but then he schooled his face to stern disapproval. "Alas, it isn't that simple. my boy. Even if we can use magic to exact revenge, that does not mean we should."

"Why not? He's way bigger than me. Magic works."

"That it does. It also scares a good many people, merely for its existence."

"So I shouldn't use magic, just because it scares people?"

"Not to bully others, no."

"But that's not fair!" Kazar slammed his hand down on the desk. "I'm younger than everyone, I'm an elf, and I'm small for my age... everyone picks on me. But I'm good at magic!"

"You are."

"So why can't I use it to defend myself? That's not fair!"

"I'm afraid, my boy, that our lives are never fair."

Kazar pounded his fist against the desk again, this time in defeat.

"You are a very talented young man, Kazar." The words seemed to soothe the elf. "I'd go as far to say that you are the most talented mage of your generation." The elf's head snapped up. "But, alas, that intimidates many people. It is for that very reason that you must keep control of yourself."

The boy's brows wrinkled in confusion. "Because I'm talented?"

"Many fear a mage who cannot be controlled. I daresay that, one day, you may fit that profile."

Kazar bowed his head in thought, and the memory faded.

Kazar had often said he was the most talented mage of his generation... that must have been where it came from. It would certainly follow the theme of Pride.

Felicity turned and headed for the stairs to the third floor. She noticed that the memories seemed to be getting more recent the deeper they were in the tower. It stood to reason that present-day Kazar would therefore be at the deepest part. The top: the Harrowing Chamber.

She hopped up the stairs to the third floor and scurried past a couple classrooms. However, her sensitive mouse nose smelled something strange up ahead: the tang of blood. She hugged the edge of the wall and hurried forward. Did Kazar learn blood magic this early, or was Kazar's true consciousness around?

She rounded into one of the classrooms, dominated by a front desk and a couple rows of chairs behind it. Two people were in the room, already playing out their scene. One of them was a twelve-year-old Kazar.

The older was Enchanter Malorn, one of the element-specialized teachers, which an elementally inclined apprentice like Kazar would have likely found a mentor, just as Wynne had been a mentor to Felicity.

At least, that was her line of reasoning, right until she noticed him magically healing a gash in his palm, and her stomach twisted. The enchanter fastidiously pulled his sleeve over the healing cut, flicking drops of red liquid from his hands as any other might flick water after washing their hands.

Felicity took another look at Kazar. The boy was sitting on the enchanter's desk, very still and eerily blank-faced. His apprentice robe was askew.

Malorn hummed pleasantly, then turned to bend over Kazar. The palm that had been cut ran through the elf's hair in a familiar, possessive gesture. "Until next session, my pretty little elf." Then, he turned and walked out, and Felicity fought the urge to run from the blood mage.

Maker, she'd had classes with him. Immediately, she tried to recall what had become of the enchanter. Had he been at Ostagar? Had he come back? Had he been killed during their fight to or against Uldred?

No, no. There was something far more important going on than even that.

Kazar continued to sit on the desk as the man left. Then, once he was gone, he jerked and slumped, like a puppet clipped of its strings. The elf slid to the floor, where he spent an inordinate amount of time staring blankly at the wall.

Felicity approached, aching to comfort the boy. Twelve. He was twelve, and she couldn't see how this could be more awful than that. But what good would comforting a memory do? Could she even interact with these visions?

She jerked back as Kazar suddenly jumped up, his expression darkening into anger. He lashed out, casting lightning and fire and ice at the walls, and floor, and anything that, surprisingly, didn't cause permanent damage. He was holding back from destruction... why? To make sure the enchanter didn't get caught? She couldn't understand why he would do that.

"I'll show him fucking pretty!" He growled, lobbing a fireball up at the ceiling. "One day, I'm gonna 'prettily' burn his fucking face off!" He panted, deflating, and whispered. "One day, I'll be strong enough to fight the fucker."

And just like that, he slumped to the floor, looking lost and defeated all over again.

Was this... the source of Kazar's power-lust? No, no that wasn't quite fair. Kazar had always simply enjoyed the trappings of power, as evidenced by the six-year-old from the first floor willing to set the Knight-Captain's skirt on fire just because he could.

But this couldn't have made such a climb seem any less urgent. And all the cynicism and bitterness, from a boy so young... it was beginning to make sense.

Kazar seemed to be near tears, now, rubbing at his face as if that could take back his trauma. "'Pretty little elf'... what the fuck does it matter if I'm a fucking elf, huh? Bet he wouldn't think I was so fucking pretty if I marked up my face like the Dalish supposedly do." Kazar paused and lowered his hands, his brows knitting together. Then, slowly, a grin stole across his face.

Felicity realized that this was why this memory was here: that look of empowerment right there. Victory tugged from defeat.

Felicity could remember, now, the fits that the enchanters had thrown, when Kazar had shown up to lessons one morning with fiery tattoos drawn on his face. They'd scrambled to figure out how he'd done it (when asked, one of the Tranquil said that the boy had been quite adamant, and so he had done it to prevent further disturbance), and, perhaps more curiously, why Kazar had done it.

Felicity, herself, had freely shared her opinion that it was another of the elf's bids for attention. Just like his show-boating in class and his frequent explosions (sometimes literally) of temper. But all of those... she now understood that none of it had been a bid for attention. Kazar could not help but attract attention; it was merely who he was.

Was her conviction that Kazar sought attention nothing but projection?

The memory had moved on, she realized, with the boy running out the door toward the storage rooms, where the Tranquil worked. However, Felicity decided not to follow. She couldn't waste any more time on these phantoms.

She scurried toward the stairs to the next level, now certain that she would find the real Kazar in the Harrowing Chamber. As she made her way up the tower, she passed more scenes, as Kazar got older and stronger and bolder. In one scene, she heard Duncan's voice. In another was Marnan's. Close. She was getting close.

Finally, she climbed the last stairway and squeezed under the door. When she saw what was in the Harrowing Chamber, she stopped short with a squeak.

Scales. A wall of violet scales, spanning from one side of the chamber to the other, and rising far above her in a mountain. A reptilian scent filled her nostrils, and accompanying that was the dark, acrid scent of darkspawn corruption.

Felicity remained still for a minute. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the wall of scales wasn't moving, not even to breathe. Something, however, was. A sigh gave away her quarry's position, and she carefully worked her way around the scaly form.

Only as she rounded the front of it did she get confirmation as to its identity: it was a dragon. And not just any dragon: the Tainted aura surrounded it could only mean it was the archdemon... or at least, a facsimile.

There was a frustrated mumble, and only then did Felicity see the small elf sitting in the crook made by the dragon's shoulder-blade and wing. He seemed to be lost in thought.

This, she was pretty certain, was not a memory.

"...not like I need anyone anyway," the boy was muttering. "It's fine. It's fine. Bigger picture..." He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers curling to tug at his hair. "It'd happen no matter what. They'd try to stop me eventually. Better now, while they're separated. Shit." The last word was accompanied by a half-hearted burst of fire against the dragon's flank.

Kazar swallowed and stared at the scaled form he sat on. There was nothing prideful in his expression; it was conflicted, and he was just too young to wear an expression like that. But now, Felicity felt like she understood why.

"It's good. It's fine. The archdemon's gone," he breathed. "That's the important thing. That's... dammit!" He threw both hands wide and lightning arched up toward the ceiling. "It's their own faults!" He screamed, his voice echoing dully in the arched chamber. "They shouldn't have followed me!"

Dust and pebbles fell from the ceiling, and Felicity squeaked in startlement as one landed on her. The pebble was the size of a gold piece; it hurt!

Kazar's head snapped around, his eyes focusing on her. "Mouse?" he sounded confused. Then his eyes narrowed. "You fucker. You never said we were going to take Meila too. Enslaving a Dalish? Do you know how much of an insult that is, you ass?"

Felicity froze, not quite sure what was going on.

Kazar sighed and leaned back against the dragon's wing. "Not that I'm surprised, because. hello, demon. At least it worked. At least it was worth it." Kazar tapped a finger against the scales and frowned. "Right?"

Felicity's mind circled, piecing together his words. He thought she was his demon? Whyever would he think a mouse was a demon?

Kazar leaned forward. "Right? It did work, didn't it? I mean, its body is right here. It's dead, right?" He shook his head. "Of course it's dead." His hand scratched along the violet scales. "We killed it. It was worth it."

He'd sold his soul to kill the archdemon? That was the reason? Oh, Kazar.

Apparently, that thought was too much Felicity and not enough mouse, because the world abruptly sprang back to its normal size (or rather, she did).

Kazar's eyes snapped wide. "You're not..." Then, they narrowed. "What the fuck, Felicity? What are you doing here? Get out."

She swallowed, not able to defend the fact that she was pretty blatantly violating a very private moment. "Kazar, I'm here to help you."

"The fuck you are. OUT!" Kazar raised his arm and sent a fireball at her, but she cast an elemental shield and stood her ground. She took a step toward him, and he sent another spell at her. It, too, was absorbed by her shield.

This, she knew. This, she could do.

Kazar scrambled to his feet, balanced precariously on the dragon's back. "You know-it-all, interfering bitch!" He punctuated the words with another volley of slung spells. She kept her shield strong, but he kept trying. "What gives you the right?! What is it that goes through your fat head that makes you think you know at all what's best, for anyone, huh?"

She had reached the dragon's side, standing just below the enraged elf. "I don't," she admitted, and that did make him pause, startled. "There's a lot I don't know... the more I learn, the more I realize that. Especially about you."

The boy scoffed, but he'd stopped shooting spells at her, so that was an improvement. "Going to ask me why I did it, are you? Go on, ask. You're dying to know."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't understand it. It may be that there's no way I could. But I'm not going to let go, Kazar. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself."

"I won't be coddled just to soothe your guilt," he sneered.

"Not guilt," she said, then paused as he rolled his eyes. "Okay, a little guilt. But not for what you think!"

"Oh, please."

"I'm sorry, okay? That I never gave you, or anyone else I didn't understand, a chance. I'm sorry I was so quick to judge." His sneer settled into a frown. "And most of all, I'm sorry that I was too jealous of you to see how much you were actually hurting."

"You... were jealous?"

She attempted a wry smile. "You were the most talented mage of our generation, right? As far as I could tell, everything came so easily to you."

He didn't even preen about that, and that told her how much he'd changed. After a thoughtful moment, he said, "It didn't."

"Well, I know that now..."

A dry chuckle escaped him. "Growing up in the Circle Tower sucked."

"It did. I missed my family so much sometimes that the only thing I can do is bury myself in facts and theories."

Kazar was still for a moment. "Where did you grow up?"

She was so startled by the question that she almost forgot to answer. "The Free Marches. I had a little sister, and two dogs, and a gambling second uncle who kept writing us to send him money."

A small smile stole across his face. "Dogs, huh? Must be why you like Alistair."

"It may be at that." She paused, looked over at the dragon. Since Kazar was reaching out to her... "I met a spirit of my own once."

Kazar blinked. "What?"

"In the Fade. When I was eleven. My powers had barely manifested, not even strong enough to alert my parents, much less the Templars. I couldn't do much more than make a spark of light if I really, really concentrated. But at night... at night I explored the Fade."

"And you met something."

"Lucky for me, a benevolent something. A spirit of Curiosity. A spritely little thing, all light and fluttering. We would sit for hours, asking one another questions about each other's worlds. Once, she asked me if she could ride with me, to experience the mortal realm." She swallowed, looking up at Kazar meaningfully. He looked rapt. "I said yes."

Kazar sat down hard. "You became an abomination?"

"Not... technically. Not a full one, though when we tried to separate the next night... it proved... problematic."

Kazar nodded in agreement. He'd conjured a ball of lightning, and was juggling it idly between his hands.

"It went like that for a couple weeks. My family was traveling at the time, and we made the best of it, the spirit learning everything about the world that it could. But... it was so..." She sighed, remembering the increased feelings of confusion and distress as the ordeal went on. "A being of the Fade isn't meant to be in the material realm. They cannot comprehend a world that is not driven by concepts. They do not understand a world as gray and uncertain as ours. Every new thing that the spirit learned drove it slowly mad, and it couldn't stop learning. Such a thing was not in its nature."

"What happened?"

"I turned myself in." She sighed. "We were in Amaranthine, and I walked to the Chantry and told a Templar that I was a mage, and I needed him to smite me. And he did, and that finally broke the spirit's grip on me. It went screaming back to the Fade. A couple hours later, I'd been bundled onto a carriage heading for Kinloch Hold."

"Did you ever hear from it again?"

She shook her head. "I've never looked, and it never sought me out. The whole experience hurt too much."

Kazar flipped the ball of lightning he was toying with around his hand a couple times. "I can't believe you've been possessed before. I can't believe you turned yourself in." He wrinkled his nose down at her, indicating just how stupid he thought that was.

She shrugged. "What could I do? It was that or hurt the spirit further."

He rolled his eyes and dispelled the ball. "Even when you were eleven, I bet you were insufferable."

She smiled. "I don't think anyone is very sufferable at that age."

"Just say it. I was a whiny little brat a hundred times worse. Since when are you diplomatic?"

"Since I realized that my previous assessments of you were likely erroneous and unfair."

"I'm an elf mage. Nothing about my life is fair." He paused, staring at her. Then, abruptly, he stood. "You have to get out."

"I'm not leaving without you. I said that before, and I meant it."

"And I mean this. If Mouse finds you here..."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Uh... you do realize I'm talking about my Pride Demon, right? Giant, spiky? One of the most powerful kinds of demons in the Fade?"

"I'm not leaving without you."

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Aren't you the smart one?"

"I'm also told I'm rather mulish, once I get my head stuck on an idea."

"Why? Why am I worth this?"

"We're Grey Wardens, Kazar. Some of the last in Ferelden. That means, whether you like it or not, we're family."

"I can do fine on my own. Just look." He waved down at the dragon. "We don't need the Grey Wardens anymore. I killed the archdemon."

"That, there, is not the archdemon. You know that, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Maker, don't you dare turn this into a lesson on the nature of the Fade. Of course it's not the actual archdemon."

The singing of the Taint was getting more noticeable, now that she concentrated on it. "It's a representation of your current Pride. But the thing is, it's not actually warranted. Don't you remember?"

His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? If you're trying to say something, just spit it out!"

"Just listen to what the Taint is telling you, Kazar."

"What are you..."

"For the love of all things holy, Kazar. Just shut up and listen."

Kazar glared for a moment, but then, surprisingly, did as told. He closed his eyes with a sigh and an eye roll.

She could tell when he noticed it. His brow furrowed. "The song. It's still there."

"The archdemon survived, Kazar. It woke up while you were fighting Alistair."

"How is that even possible?"

"I imagine your memories must have blacked out once the-"

"Well duh; I'm not stupid." Kazar's eyes snapped open, and there was fear in them. That, in turn, frightened Felicity. Kazar didn't do fear. "I mean, I pulled a mountain down on this thing, and it's still alive? How is that possible?!"

As if in answer to his fear, the beast he was sitting on stirred.

Felicity stepped back as the violet dragon twitched to life. Kazar, it seemed, could only cling to one of its wings as it rolled onto its stomach and huffed a breath.

"Felicity...!" The fear had leeched into his voice. His wide eyes snapped up to hers. "Get out now."

"It's just an illusion. If you just concentrate..."

"No, it's not." The dragon's aura was turning less Tainted and more demonic. "It's not an illusion, Felicity!" The dragon's head rose and its eyes opened, glowing red. "It's Mouse!"

The dragon lunged at her, trapping her in its front talons before she could escape. The beast's head was easily large enough to swallow her whole, but that wasn't the real danger as it loomed over her. The danger was in its eyes, which peered into her soul. She could hear whispers, promises of power, and glory, and knowledge beyond her wildest dreams. She could be a queen, a magister, a commander of armies. She could know everything. Save everyone. Each whisper was more enticing than the last.

Willpower. Her weapon was willpower, and she wielded it, stubbornly refusing the siren call of the Pride demon pinning her to the floor.

"Very good, mage," the demon purred, its voice rolling across the realm. "And yet, what arrogance, to think you can stand against us now. You?" It laughed, low and rumbling. "You cannot even defend yourself in battle without a suit of armor to hide behind, and you come here, alone? You are proud, but a fool as well." It breathed a puff of acrid smoke around her, and she coughed.

No, it wasn't real. She didn't need to breath. So, she stopped.

The Pride demon laughed again. "Such a waste. On any other day, I would enjoy toying with you. But not today." It started to pull its head back.

"Because you failed," she tested.

That made it pause. "What?"

"The archdemon is still alive. You weren't powerful enough. You failed."

The demon was taken aback by that. It turned to look at Kazar, who was still clinging to its wing. Kazar, if anything, looked miffed.

"Yeah. What the fuck, Mouse?"

"It's just a set-back," the demon growled.

"I'm beginning to think that maybe we can't bring it down." Kazar met its eyes steadily. "That you lied to me about how powerful you are. Or I was. Maybe both."

"Why you insignificant little... I made you what you are, mortal. I could destroy you just as easily."

"And forgo your free ride?" Kazar scoffed. "Doubt it."

"Not your body, mortal. Your soul. We are entwined, and even this form you take now is just a projection of a memory of what we used to be, existing purely because I will it."

Kazar stiffened, his knuckles going white against the wing he gripped. "That's a lie."

The rumbling laugh filled the room. "Do you truly think that I would make it this easy? This obvious? For either of you?" The demon looked between the two of them, dark eyes grinning. "Your mind is mine, little mage. Everything that you were and are is mine. All your magic, all your talent, all your glorious, glorious power. I control you completely, because I am you. And to prove it, you are going to kill this meddling little insect."

"No..." Kazar gasped, but Felicity could see the red cracks breaking through his skin. Could see the panicked way he stared at Felicity as a demonic aura seeped up from within him. "No! NO! We were partners! Equals!"

"Foolish mortal. You should have listened to your betters." Kazar's scream rocked the chamber as the demonic aura overtook him, and was engulfed in darkness. "Pride Demons play to win."

The aura faded, and where Kazar had been a moment before, a shade slid off the dragon's back. Felicity struggled, still pinned to the ground by the demon-dragon's talon. The demon, for its part, just watched gleefully as the shade floated toward her.

Her mind was spinning. Had the demon just destroyed Kazar's soul? Was this now a hopeless fight? Did that mean that, even if she somehow defeated the demon, Kazar would only wake up Tranquil?

The questions swirled around in her head, even as she struggled against the dragon's talon. But no, it was too strong.

No, it wasn't! This was a dream. The dragon was not there. The floor was not there!

She concentrated very hard on that fact, and just as the shade swept an ethereal claw down at her, she slipped right through the masonry and landed hard on the floor below.

The Tower had changed. Instead of ghostly mages and Templars, shades and demons roamed the halls. They noticed her immediately, and she did the only thing she could think to do: she transformed into a mouse (very easy, given all the insignificance and fear she was currently feeling!) and scurried through the nearest hole in the wall.

She tunneled through the tower for a time; she could hear the scratches and hissing of demonic beings behind ever wall and door, so she hugged the corners and used every mouse tunnel she could find.

She had to think. That had been Kazar up there, she was sure of it. But at the same time, it had been a facet of the demon. What did that mean? Were the two really too entwined? Was this connection irreparable, or was there some infinitesimally small speck of Kazar uninvaded that they could use to pull him out?

She tried to think. All those memories she had passed on the way up... those had been aspects of the Pride Demon. They were moments of strength, of victory. All those belonged to the demon, obviously.

Except for one.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she took off, making her way down the tower. As she crossed a corridor, a demonic version the old mouser came running at her, and Felicity had a brief moment where she feared she would end up in the cat's stomach. But she found a mousehole downward, and the cat was left yowling and spitting fire at the entrance.

Finally, she reached her destination: the locked door into the basement. She squeezed under it, and it was just as dark and terrifying as before. The smell of smoke stung her nose, and an oppressive aura of fear and misery filled the Fade air.

This was not strong. This was weak. That's why it was locked away... to keep it from mixing with what the demon deemed worthy. That meant that this was Kazar's own.

She changed back to her normal form, knowing she was safe from the Pride Demon here. She took a moment to get her bearings in human form, then carefully made her way through the darkness, toward the sound of crying.

It was like breaking through a fog: there was a little glow of red firelight up ahead, the source of the crying as the screams and burning continued all around. It seemed to take more steps than it should have to reach the light, as if the Fade were stretching the source away from her.

Finally, she broke through, and saw the source of the crying. A tiny figure no older than four sat curled up on a carved wooden bench, a single standing torch set crooked in the ground beside it. He hugged his knees and buried his head in them while he wept, so all Felicity could see was delicately pointed ears and messy blond hair streaked with soot. His clothing—stitched together with the flourishes and craftsmanship of the Dalish—was equally stained, with some blood in the mix as well.

The healer... no, the person... in her went out to the boy, each soft, whimpering sob wrenching something out of her.

"Hey," she whispered softly as she approached, not sure whether she would get a reaction.

She did, and immediately too. His head shot up, revealing wide, tear-streaked grey eyes. Those eyes widened further when he saw her. "Shemlen! No! Go away!" He jerked back so quickly that he fell off the bench. His eyes popped back up a moment later, hiding behind it.

She needed to do something to comfort him. She tried to recall what little she knew of Elvish, mostly from what Meila had taught her. "Atisha," she said soothingly, slowly kneeling down. "It's all right."

The boy asked something in a voice that warbled too much for her to catch. She fought not to show her frustration. "It's okay," she said. "It's safe. Reth."

The boy sniffled. He slowly pulled himself up from behind the bench, watching her with wide, guarded eyes, and she could very easily see hints of the tightly-wound boy he would become. He asked "Who ...?" and that furrow on his brow was exactly as it would be twelve years later.

"I'm a friend," she said, staying on her knees and keeping her voice soothing. "Falon." She opened her arms in what she hoped as a good 'I'm unarmed and won't hurt you' gesture.

Instead, he took it as an invitation, launching himself into her arms for a desperate clinging hug. His little form was shaking, and he mumbled into her collar. "...didn't mean to..." She hugged him and rocked him.

Looking at the burns on his fingertips (a common injury for people using fire spells for the first time), and listening to the background noises of terror and burning, it was not hard to put the clues of the situation together, and what a horrible picture it painted. She rocked him back and forth, knowing she could not hope to soothe his grief and fear. It was the worst nightmare for mages and Templars alike, and it had happened when he was four.

No wonder Kazar had never been able to remember anything from before the Tower. He'd repressed it, and she didn't blame him.

She cradled the child as his trembling eased. Carefully, she lifted him up so that he was sitting on her hip.

So. She had him. This was one piece of Kazar that the demon hadn't touched. Couldn't touch.

"All right," she whispered, her arms already aching from the child's unfamiliar weight. He was clinging tight, though, so she couldn't let go if she wanted to. "I know you don't understand what's happening on a conscious level right now, Kazar, but I know you're in there. We're going to stop it, but I need your help."

The child looked up at her with a distinctly confused expression.

"We need to go out there, and we need to beat the big bad demon. That tower, where all those memories are feeding it? It needs to go." She craned her head down to look into grey eyes. He watched her steadily, no longer afraid. That was good, probably. "It's all symbolic. The Fade is all about symbols and ideas. We need to enact your will on the landscape, instead of his." She glanced around... it was so dark. "Light." She reached over with the hand not holding Kazar and picked up the flickering torch. "Can you light this?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. "No... no no! Didn't mean to! Nuvenan'din! It hurts!" He started wiggling, trying to get out of her arms, but she held on.

Once he'd stopped struggling, she asked. "You want me to make it not hurt?"

He nodded hesitantly.

Slowly so as not to startle him, she took one of his hands and sent a gentle heal into it, and the boy's eyes widened in awe and wonder. Then, she healed the other.

He smiled, and she smiled back. "See? It's not all scary."

He nodded, now in full agreement, and turned his attention to the torch. His tongue stuck out in concentration (and that was just adorable) as he raised his hands and blew a puff of magic at it.

The reaction was immediate... the fire caught on the torch and roared to brightness, and suddenly they weren't standing in a dark void. They were in a forest, overlooking a pond, and it was as bright as day. The only indication that they were still in the Fade was the Black City hanging in the distance.

There was a roar of rage in the air above them, and Kazar's hold became a clinging deathgrip again.

"No, we will not fear him," she told him, pushing his head back from her collar. Into his eyes, she said, "We are going to be carelessly stubborn about this."

A shadow swooped overhead, searching for them. The demon was still in dragon form, and it did not look happy that the tower had disappeared.

That still left the problem of how a healer and a small child were going to fight a dragon.

Well, a healer who, in this realm, could shapeshift. An idea took form in her head.

Carefully, she set the boy down onto his feet. When he looked up at her questioningly, she smiled and pulled her staff off her back. "We're going to play a game."

His expression brightened at that. "What?"

"We're going to hit the dragon with this." She showed him his staff.

He looked at it doubtfully. Maker, she was being given a dubious look by a four-year-old.

As a means of explanation, she aimed the staff at a nearby tree and shot it with a puff of spirit magic. "You know how to use it, you simply do not know that you know."

His eyes lit up, and he held out his hands expectantly, and that was enough to make her chuckle as she handed it to him. This wasn't technically giving a staff to a small child (so against the rules, so very very against the rules). He waved it around a while before he figured out/remembered how to use it, and a ball of spirit energy puffed into the nearest bush. He whooped at the discovery.

This freed her up to commence her part of the plan, and not a moment too soon, as she heard the dragon roaring above them, having heard the child's yell.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. This time, she wasn't small. No, she was large. She was graceful, and powerful, a creature of nobility and ferocity both. Fur and feathers, mixed together, and a wicked, hooked beak for devouring prey. Talons in the front for carrying it off, after she had swooped down upon them, because she had wings. Oh yes, couldn't forget the wings.

She opened her eyes, and found the Kazar-child staring at her with unbridled awe. He pointed and said a word in Elvish, and she chirruped in response.

Interesting. Apparently, griffons chirruped.

She walked over to the boy, reveling in the power of her limbs. Cat-like, in many ways. She crouched down, and he seemed to understand what she wanted. He climbed onto her back, clutching the staff in front of him, and she carefully stood. She took a couple cautious steps, making sure that the boy was secure. Then, she crouched down and took off.

It was amazing. Flying by the power of one's own huge, feathered wings was a thrill that words could not describe (though she may make the attempt later, once she had her codex again). Kazar apparently shared the sentiment, because he was laughing as she swooped and flapped up into the air.

The dragon saw them, of course, wheeling around toward them with a roar. She screeched back, and Kazar's voice joined in.

It was... a surprisingly brief battle, all things told. The two winged things circled one another, the dragon releasing a burst of demonic fire with each pass, while Kazar returned it with a blast from the staff. And each time the staff hit its mark, the weight of him on her back got heavier and heavier, the elf regaining more and more of himself with each pass, while the dragon started to decay before their eyes.

By the last pass, Kazar was sixteen again, and now wearing robes that he had never actually owned: shining blue and emblazoned with griffons. A mighty Grey Warden astride a griffon in flight, battling an archdemon.

Symbols. The Fade was all about symbols.

One final blow from the staff sent the dragon careening to the ground, the scales and flesh bursting off of it to reveal the diminished demon within. That, too shrank, until it was nothing but a ragged little mouse, sitting on a boulder. Felicity took them down to it.

"You are making a mistake, mage," the mouse said. "Without me, you will never defeat it."

Kazar hopped off Felicity's back, tossing the staff aside. "We couldn't defeat it with you. But you know what has taken down archdemons before? This." He motioned between himself and her. "Grey Wardens. Plural. I'm pretty sure that's the point."

"You are throwing away all that power? No one would ever be able to oppose you again!"

"No, they wouldn't be able to oppose you. I'm nothing but some dumb puppet. You made that pretty clear."

"You simply don't understand the intricacies of it! You will be immor-"

"Mouse." Kazar held a hand up to the sky. "Shut. Up." Thunder cracked overhead, and a bolt of lighting blasted out of the clear sky, striking the diminutive demon directly. It shrieked and crackled into silence, but Kazar held the spell for a good twenty seconds before letting it drop.

By the time Kazar turned away from the lump of ash where his demon had been, the Fade island was beginning to shake and fracture around them. Kazar turned and looked at Felicity, his expression masked. Then, as their souls started to be tugged out of the Fade, a small smile cracked the elf's mouth.

She chirruped, and the world disappeared around them.