119: Half Awake

Kazar jerked awake and upright, and it was like reaching for something that was no longer there, except that you realized you didn't have a hand to reach with anymore, and instead of a hand it was your soul. Kinda.

Disoriented, he stared up at the big, shiny thing looming over him. It was making noises at him. Then another thing made soothing noises at the first, and a third, orangey one was directly in front of him, and there were hands on his face.

Right. Sense. It seeped into him slowly, names coming to objects, so that he could identify a battered, riled Alistair arguing quietly with a calm, reasonable Felicity.

And he'd just called Felicity 'reasonable.' Losing the demon had obviously broken his brain.

It took him another moment to realize that Meila was kneeling in front of him, turning his head this way and that.

"What are you doing?" he asked, because, yeah, that was a little weird. Since when did Meila touch people?

Was that a smile? Holy crap, that was a smile. "Making sure your eyes are tracking. How do you feel?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Like someone took sandpaper to my soul."

"It appears you still have one, at the least," she said, and the bald-facedness of it made him choke on a laugh. Wow, yeah. Okay, he'd missed that a little bit. She dropped his chin. "What is the last thing you recall?"

Kazar blinked, and was surprised when he had to actually think about that for a moment. His head was a clamor... like someone had gone through his stuff and thrown it every which way, taking some things and leaving other, new things in their place. That... was weird. This whole thing was weird.

Actually, now that he concentrated on it, something felt wrong. He didn't know what... but a deep unsettlement nagged at him, telling him something was very wrong, but he couldn't tell what that thing was.

"I remember... Flemeth. Clearly." He rubbed his head, because there was more than that, but the memories were distorted and alien, as if seen through a twisted, extraplanar lens. He could tell the others were listening raptly. "I... we..." the empty spot inside him gave a peculiar throb. Maker, was his soul throbbing? "...left Redcliffe alone. I remember that. Blasted through rock. Dead Trenches, archdemon." That part was a little more distorted than the rest. He'd been pretty high on power, or something... it was like remembering a taste; he could remember the impression of it, but it was hard to actually recall in full. "And something about a griffon? That's... weird."

Felicity stifled a laughing sound, and Kazar glanced over at her, only for his gaze to fall on Alistair. The Templar had decided he wasn't a direct threat and had put his sword way, at least, but he was bruised and burned ten ways to feast day, and Kazar had to assume this was after Amell had applied liberal use of healing tricks.

A flash of memory struck him... his hand, huge and black and spiked, yanking Alistair's shield around and back so hard that the attached arm popped out of its socket. The memory came along with an alien feeling of satisfied glee.

His stomach lurched, and Meila helped him bend over while he heaved. More impressions ran through him... blasting Felicity across the cavern, laughing as he encased Leliana in ice, looking up Meila's arrow and smiling as he tried to drag her down with him.

And Jowan. Wait, Jowan had been there?

His head snapped up, and he ignored his churning stomach to look around. All of them were huddled in an alcove in the rock. Alistair, Felicity, Meila, Leliana. No Jowan.

"Did I kill him?" he squeaked, and the sudden solemn look on their faces (and the fact they didn't even need to ask who he meant) made his stomach lurch again. "No! No no no... I wouldn't have... I... fuck..."

"It wasn't you," Leliana cut in gently. "You didn't hurt him. He made a choice to sacrifice himself to save you."

"How is that better?!" He shrieked. "Jowan, you idiot! YOU FUCKING MORON. I'M NOT WORTH THAT!" He slumped, and Meila held him up to keep him from falling into his own sick. "Jowan, damn you. I'm not worth that."

It was... a very strange feeling, new and painful and raw. And judging by the ensuing silence, they were all aware of it too.

A Pride Demon. He'd had a Pride Demon inside him. No... no, he'd been a Pride Demon. Welded to it with fucking fire. He'd done that. Despite all the years of warnings, the fact that he knew demons couldn't be trusted, he'd let himself be lured and courted and finally thrown into a melting pot with a personification of pure ambition, and he'd loved every moment of it.

And now Jowan was dead.

Maker, he was as much a menace as they had always said he was.

Meila rocked him gently, and before he would have insisted that he didn't need to be babied... but now? Yeah, he kinda did need it.

"Peace, little cousin," she whispered. "It will be all right."

He snorted bitterly, but didn't pull away. "People always say that."

Meila froze, and he heard something clatter to the ground in the direction of the bard.

"We..." Felicity said hesitantly, "...may have inadvertantly unearthed some repressed memories from his early childhood."

"He's Dalish?" Leliana asked, and Kazar couldn't figure out what was happening.

"He is," Meila said. She watched Kazar carefully, as she would a skittish animal. He was feeling a little hunted right now, so that worked. "Can you understand me, little cousin?"

"Yes..." This was weird. Something sounded different. He turned the words over in his head. Ena ar dirth'in, da'lethallin? ...wait. "I speak Elvish?" Apparently, he could. "Huh." Then, he blinked and glared up at Felicity. "What do you mean you unearthed repressed memories? What were you doing, putting a stick into my mind and swirling it around?"

"I'm sorry, really. But the demon was very pervasive. I had to do that just to reach a part of you that it hadn't already been tainted."

That one hit like a blow to the head. "You had to... wow."

"Bottom line is," Alistair said, "it worked. You're back to your usual, obnoxious, insufferable self instead of the crazy, power-hungry, homicidal self."

He'd... he couldn't even look at Alistair right now, because the Templar was right, and that was too much. "Fuck," he whispered. He planted himself back into Meila's arms, because she was offering, and that was rare enough.

A weight settled behind him, and Felicity's hand settled gently on his back. He knew it was Felicity's because she sent some sort of soothing spell into him, and he hadn't even realized he'd needed one. "I know you likely don't remember much of what happened in the Fade. However, what I said in there stands true. We're Grey Wardens, and that means we're family. We protect one another."

"Yeah," Alistair said. "You're like the obnoxious little brother everyone pretends not to like, but then everybody keeps spoiling with pasties."

"And Felicity is the nosy tattle-tale sister," Kazar grumbled, but he couldn't really muster much bite to it.

Felicity patted his back. "That is correct. And Alistair is the family dog."

"Hey!"

At this, Leliana said, "I always imagined him as one of those big shaggy golden ones."

Kazar laughed, though it was cracked and tired. He suddenly felt very tired, because he needed time to process the Jowan thing and Meila was comfortable, and for once he felt like he didn't have to stand up all by himself.

Hey, he'd just had his soul broken apart and put back together. He could get a nap if he wanted one.