9:31 Dragon, Spring
That is my not ceiling.
I sit up, and there is a very strange sensation when I do because my body doesn't feel attached to me. I feel... I would describe it as numbness but it's not that, it's just that somehow everything is muted. Being aware that you are dreaming is weird enough, but being aware that you are dreaming inside someone else's head is beyond description.
Maker. The things I do for… His Highness. It's hard for me to look at him and see him as prince sometimes, because he's not very princely. Well, whatever.
I am sitting on a stone floor in a small stone room. There is no bench, no chair, and no window. Water drips from somewhere. Before I can venture a guess about where I am, an unnaturally loud thunderclap shakes the floor. I hop up quickly, and am pleased to discover that I am wearing my armor, my sword is sheathed on my hip, and my shield is slung from my back. This is what I was wearing before I entered this dream. I spin in a circle before I see the dark wooden door. If not for the strange shadows of this room, it would have been obvious. I reach for the latch only to discover that there isn't one. The door is a solid plank of wood and when I push against it, it doesn't move. I push again, but it doesn't give.
What vile trick is this? Calm down, Keis. It's just a door, and it can be broken.
I brace myself against the walls of this room, for if I stretch my arms wide, I can touch the opposite walls, and I give the door a solid kick. It rattles, but stays shut. This is starting to irritate me. I bring my shield from my back, and brace my body behind it, ramming my shield-covered shoulder into the door, popping it off the stone as the latch on the other side has been loosened from its hinge. Another kick flings the door open, and a rusted iron lock bounces off the opposite wall.
I emerge into another small chamber with at least a dozen wooden doors lining the grey stone walls. There's a staircase at the far end, and I rush to it, climbing the steps two at a time, running my hand along the curved wall because of the pitch.
At the top of the staircase, I am surprised by a pair of shades. They hiss in the way nightmares do, breathing out smoke and fury. Their bodies are like open furnaces, and the fuming heat instantly makes me start sweating. One of them lashes out at me, its long limb grazing my shield, and I move back, flush against the wall, wresting my sword from its sheath. The other one lunges for me, and I slink sidelong against the stone while swinging my sword upwards and into it. I don't meet much resistance as I slice through its smoldering interior, and it whooshes backwards against the wall, dissipating into nothing. Barely a moment passes before, from the corner of my eye, I see the second one moving. I swivel my hip and we dance for a moment, moving around each other like a game of hunter and prey until it moves to strike again, and I pivot on my toes, driving my sword into its side when it slides in front of me. It shrieks before folding over on itself, the blackness clearing out of the corridor in seconds. For all their power, it's amazing that these creatures are mostly smoke.
Already exhausted, my breath comes in heaves, and I want to take off my armor to cool down, but I have to keep moving. I have to find Lady Samantha.
I feel like I'm in a maze. I turn this way and that, up another set of narrow stairs, down a long darkened hallway, moving upwards all the while. The further I travel, the more lamps and light I see, which must be a good sign. Finally, I crash through a set of grand double doors and enter a room that causes my stomach to clench with dread.
The plush rug. The bookcases. The walls that stretch up into darkness so thick that one has to travel three floors to see the painted ceiling. I am standing in the main library of the Circle Tower of Starkhaven. It's currently on fire, and at any moment, it's all going to come crashing down.
Another loud boom shakes the area, and I stumble to my knees, unable to keep my balance. The burning books shuffle in their case, many fly forward from the shelves, sailing through the air and leaving trails of ash behind them. The candles rattle in their fixtures, the streaks of old tallow on the sconces cracking and I cover my head when some plunk down to the plush rug around me. Smoke is gathering near the ceiling, and if I don't get out of here soon, this thing is going to collapse on my head.
I don't know whether it's luck or chance that a group of mages burst through one of the adjacent corridors. The noise surprises me because it's so sudden, and a man in a robe nearly runs me over in his escape. He is followed by two women, and one of them is holding a little boy. I call out to them, but they don't answer. Am I not really here? Seconds later, another group clamors through the library; two Templars and one guard, and I recognize all three of them. Sers Langley and Traven, and me.
It's funny to see yourself when you don't realize you're being watched. There is a momentary lapse in my judgment as I give in to vain fascination, watching myself run and jump from the room.
It only takes a second to regain my senses, and I scramble to my feet, chasing after both groups through the darkened hallways of the Tower. The mages blast the Western Doors off their hinges in their escape, leaving a smoking hulk of splintered wood that Ser Langley drives through with determination, parting the red-hot embers with his black-bladed sword. The rest of the group is right behind him. I leap over what's left and stumble into the street.
The scene outside greets me with nightmarish familiarity. I halt in my tracks as the smoke-filled air chokes me nearly to tears, and I cough reactively. My pause is short, because my foreknowledge of what is coming pulls my gaze to the west. The mages have taken a turn, heading towards the Western Gates where Clive and Bryn, two Starkhaven guards, cut them off, effectively surrounding them.
The mages have to stop running now, but in that moment when they decide to fight back, their fates are sealed, and I hate them to this day for it. There is yelling, and this is where the Templars are trying to convince the mages to give themselves up, but they won't. Certain that the Templars will fry them for trying to escape, the adult mages start throwing fireballs and juts of ice. The little boy stumbles back... I feel sick to my stomach. I don't want to stay here for this.
It takes considerable strength to turn away, blinking back the burning in my eyes and that's when I hear it. Laughter. It's so faint, barely there, but I hear it. It's coming from someplace far away, and I can almost pinpoint the direction, but the streets are in chaos. Men and women are running through the wafting haze, and I can hear cries and screams for help in the distance. Small children, orphans most likely, huddle in darkened alleyways, playing wide-eyed possum. Templars rush past me, bustling to get inside the Circle Tower and I want to scream at them to stop, to run the other direction, but it's futile. All of this has already happened.
Separating myself from this place is difficult. At every turn, I see something that pulls me, that makes me want to anchor myself here, to help those around me, but I am harshly reminded that this is not real. I am not here. This is only a memory, even if it is one that burns.
I wonder how Samantha knew all of this was going on, since she was in her home for most of this night, but perhaps the magic that brought us here has something to do with it. Briefly, I wonder if this is my dream, too. Magic; it has never made any sense to me. I know only what they teach in the Chantry, because my parents were farmers and books were not part of my daily routine. This whole dream-land is definitely beyond my experience, but I do know that demons cannot create. The Chant of Light says so. They can only tap into what is in the dreamer's mind. And from now on, this is my dream, too. And I need to find the other dreamer. I need to get to the Mayweather Estate.
I manage to take three steps before the roar assaults me. Every muscle in my body freezes. I know that sound, because I was there when the demon made its appearance.
My eyes are open but what's in front of me is stained red. I try not to think about those mages who transformed into monsters. I try not to think of how the ridges that lined their backs cut into my hands as I feebly tried to pull the beasts off of Clive, whom they ripped open at his throat. I try not to think of how Bryn screamed when one of their pincers lanced her in the gut. But mostly, I try not to think about that little mage boy who couldn't have been older than ten. He never tried to fight us. He was trying to flee the violence, but Ser Langley ran him through anyway. Hugh, my brother and fellow guardsman, never saw that. If he had, he might never have joined the Templars. He might never have moved away to Kirkwall. I never got a chance to tell him about that little boy. About how he died. Warriors aren't supposed to cry. I turn away from the gates.
With a deep breath, and this time there is no coughing, I sprint through the smoke that blankets the streets like a winter's fog; visibility is half a block at best and I reach the Mayweather Estate by memory alone instead of by landmarks. It's not hard to find if you know the granite path.
I arrive at the estate in time to see Corbinian standing on the doorstep. His sword hangs loosely from his fingertips and the tip of it is oddly split in two. When the door swings open, I see her. Lady Samantha. Her hands grip the doors, her face is streaked with tears, her eyes are wide and frightened and her hair is a tangled mess. She wears nothing but a short nightdress and her locket. Her bare feet are small and she looks younger than usual.
But there is another in this little scene, and it is most definitely a demon. Its swaying body is many shades of purple, its fingers are long with four-inch claws, but aside from its—her?—blatant nudity and that long tail, it's the horns that make the creature intimidating. They stretch backwards off her head like bigger Qunari horns, curving around to fine points and are engulfed in purple flames that don't reach any great height. She is giggling – the laughter in the wind – and in an instant, Lady Samantha's jaw goes slack.
A boy appears behind Lady Samantha, his face crumpled and his voice anguished when he wails, What did you make me do?
The demons speaks. Her voice is soft like velvet yet flat as stone, and it reverberates a little, almost like it's amplified by something inside her. She says, What you most desired.
Let her go! he cries.
The demon turns her horrible eyes, metallic and swirling, to Corbinian as she says, I can give her everything she desires and more. Their desire is so strong… so pure… they will be so happy.
Samantha starts to make these noises, like the kind my mother made whenever she ate chocolate cake, and Corbinian moans a little, too. It's startling to see their expressions change so completely. Moments ago, Corbinian was staring forward like a suit of arms and Samantha still has tears dripping down her cheeks. But now they both moan in pleasure.
The boy grips his staff, it's a strange stick with two globes of glass on either end, one black and one white, and he says, I won't let you! The deal was just for my parents – not her!
She turns those horrible eyes to the boy that I now recognize as Innley, but only because of the drawings of him from the Knight Commander's Most Wanted List.
She says with her terrible voice, There are so many who have wronged you, forgotten about you as you withered away in that dungeon. Has this girl not been one of them? Did she not go on with her own selfish existence while you were chained to a wall in that prison cell?
Innley's face twists with many so things; a combination of confusion, rage, and doubt.
The demon runs a hand over her breast, purring, Your freedom is waiting for you. Just beyond those gates. Your beloved sister will feel only happiness for the rest of her life.
Innley seems dubious but he's eyeing the gates. He looks worried about getting captured, but I know better. I know that right now in the streets of Starkhaven, the blackness and smoke cover everything so absolutely leaving nothing but confusion.
And right on schedule, the tower collapses. All of them, me included, stumble to the ground. Instinctively, I scramble around to see the top of the tower in all its fiery inferno, the smoke trailing upwards as the Tower silently sails downward behind faraway buildings until moments later when a loud boom shakes the ground and the walls and the trees and rattles everyone down to the marrow in our bones.
I remember this moment. When this happened, I was holding that small boy's body just outside the Western Gates. I think about him a lot. His little hands and feet, his big, brown eyes. Help me, he said as the blood seeped out from his belly and into his clothes and then onto me and all over my hands and my armor and in my hair and on my cheek because I lifted my finger up to brush away stupid tears. Warriors aren't supposed to cry. I turn away from the tower.
Fine, Innley says, but there is a growl underneath those words. His eyes burn a strange green for only a moment, and I know then that he is an abomination. Maleficar.
Let us go then, the demon sings. She nearly floats behind Corbinian and Samantha who move like… people who are possessed, I guess. They move without personality, stiff like wooden boats on a river.
We exit through the Eastern Gates and the cobblestones on this side are jagged. At one time, there were plans to relay these stones, to make them smoother. After the Vaels died, those plans got delayed. My father once said to me that some things take precedence over laying stone into the earth. He was talking about building me my own room. That was the day we burned my mother on a pyre. I was eleven.
Why are these thoughts coming to me? I am following Corbinian, Samantha, Innley, and this truly heinous demon and I am thinking of my father. I shake my head, trying to clear away the rubble but there's so much, and it's piled so high that I just want to stop. I just want to stop.
Eventually, we do stop underneath an enormous sycamore tree. Innley leans against the trunk and stares at Samantha and I can only imagine that she thinks that she and Corbinian are having some pretty hot sex back in her bedroom. Maybe that is a kindness. Maybe I am outside her subconscious and that's why I see this instead of that.
Innley looks to Corbinian and with considerable effort, he pushes himself off the trunk of the tree and removes the sword from Corbinian's hand. I watch him as he stares at it. He looks at the bent-back tip and the demon giggles. She lifts up her palm where there is a gash oozing some black paste, and she extends her tongue, long and silver like her eyes and she licks her palm like an ice cream cone, savoring it. I am wondering if that is her blood as she says, He is such a fighter, so full of passion and strength.
Did she split the tip of his sword with the palm of her hand?
Keep her happy, Innley mumbles and he sounds resigned, like he cannot fight this demon. Then he turns and walks away.
I watch him go and the hate fills me up, surging through my veins, and I swear to the Maker himself that I hope I never come across that boy. I will surely commit the gravest sin a woman can commit if I do.
Sitting against the tree, Samantha's head is propped on Corbinian's shoulder and his arm is around her protectively. I wonder if the demon made them do that or something else inside them just did it. The demon is swaying gently nearby, her eyes closed as if she is deep in meditation. Every once in a while, she murmurs something, a giggle or a moan just as they make similar sounds, as if they are sharing in the experience and I think about how perverse this is.
I turn my head to look at Starkhaven in the distance. Maker in the heavens… we are so close. So close and no one found them out there. Four days will go by and we never looked out here? My mind wants to blame someone, but it's no one's fault but Innley's that they are out here, vulnerable and alone, the feast of a demon in heat. We are supposed to protect the citizens. The nobles, the peasants, the elves, the mages. All of them. I think of that boy again. Warriors aren't supposed to cry.
Luckily, some group of jerks interrupts this little scene. There are four of them, and they look surly. The kind of men that take whatever fancies them and enjoy the taking as much as the possessing and they are eyeing Samantha hungrily.
Oh, Andraste's favor. Please, no.
The demon opens her eyes with a start, her body's sway ceasing immediately and she is between the pair of lovers and the men faster than I have seen anyone ever move. The group of men seem disturbed at first, but the way they look at Samantha, I can't even stand it. I almost wish I were really here and that I could kill them. I would. With my bare hands.
The tallest of the four speaks, Looks like we got a souvenir, boys.
The demon giggles, speaking in her terrible rhythm, Such a strong man. Such intent. But you are only an ant in servant to a queen. Wouldn't you prefer to be king?
What? he asks, confused.
You could be a leader, she purrs. The men would follow you and all the spoils would be yours.
The man is mesmerized by her voice, but one of the others seems irritated and says to the tall one, What's wrong with you?
The tall one shakes his head fervently and says, Hand over the girl and this can end all peaceful-like.
This isn't your affair, the demon says, darker this time.
All four of them draw their swords; apparently, they are so single-minded in their quest, as short-term as it is, that her charms don't work.
I feel panicked, because I can do nothing. Nothing at all. The demon looks at them intently, but even I know that she may not survive their onslaught, not with Corbinian and Samantha taking up so much of her energy. She is feeding on them, it's true, but it must take considerable strength to keep them under her influence and she can't possibly control six people. But she surprises me – she does me one better, because she turns to Corbinian and shrieks like a little girl.
Papa! Papa! There are men here! They want to harm mother! They want to harm us!
NO! Corbinian shouts, and I can see his skin turn red with rage but his eyes are strangely devoid of anything. Like white marbles that someone painted with little blue circles.
He leaps to his feet, and I feel some relief that he is at least wearing his armor. The Vael armor is the best there is – I know, because His Highness, Prince Goran, commissioned me a set. The golden plate pieces are as strong as ten men and they cover Corbinian's chest, legs, shoulders, and arms in several pieces, all held together with a fine chain mesh that is enchanted to be as strong as plate. He wears it like a glove and when the tall one thrusts his sword out in front of him, Corbinian hops to the side, grabbing the man's wrist so fast that I can't believe it. He yanks the sword from the man's hand and in a single motion, flips it around, and runs it through the man's stomach at an upward angle. The man gasps repeatedly, blood shooting out from his mouth – Corbinian has sliced open his lungs. As the man is falling to the earth, Corbinian pulls the shield from the mercenary's fingers and turns to the other three.
They seem hesitant at first, but the fact that there are three of them gives them some kind of confidence and I find myself wincing when two of them lunge at Corbinian, who pushes both of their swords away in a single motion with the shield. The third man is the smartest of the bunch because he goes for the demon who is still screaming like a child.
Samantha remains slumped against the tree, her eyes now open but vacant, and I pray to the Maker that she can't really see this.
I stumble backwards, trying to get a better view as Corbinian deflects a sword with his sword, blocks the other weapon with his shield, swivels his hips and turns his shoulder into each movement, so graceful and practiced. He is obviously more skilled than ten of these idiots put together. The pair of attackers manage to maneuver around Corbinian so that they are on opposite sides of him, and this isn't the best position, but they don't know him. I've seen him fight. It's like he's dancing.
Corbinian thrusts his shield out, and the first man's head flies backwards and I can see little white bits flying away, remnants of his teeth; Corbinian turns his shoulders and brings his sword upwards which vertically slashes open the belly of the second man, knocking him back in a bloody, disgusting mess; Corbinian turns his head but keeps his body sideways as he kicks out, his boot hammering into the stomach of the man with the broken teeth who stumbles backwards to the ground. There are horrible sounds then, gurgling and spitting, a wailing cry that dies away as the second man falls over to his side, ceremoniously dead.
Corbinian then turns to the man with the broken teeth who is still on the ground and holding his stomach.
But something happens because the demon cries out. I've been watching Corbinian masterfully cut down two men but the third is on the demon and he must have got her with his sword, because her chest is oozing a viscous, black liquid. He has cut open her breast. Corbinian shakes his head, removes his helmet, and looks around dazedly.
My mouth drops open, because I recognize that the demon, in her injury, has lost her grip on Corbinian.
He mumbles, staring at his surroundings, clearly confused while looking at the sword and shield in his hands, recognizing that they are not his own, seeing the dead men on the ground. In the confusion, the man with the missing teeth scrambles through the tall grass to Samantha, wrapping a thick arm around her body, his hand clamping down on her upper arm. He is holding his a newly drawn dagger to her belly. She is a rag doll in his hands.
My breathing is ragged even though I know that she lives through this. I know it, but that doesn't mean I don't still burn for her safety. I have kept her alive for two years now, and it shocks me to see firsthand how close she actually came to death.
The third man is pointing his sword at the demon as he says, Now call off your dog.
My gaze darts over to Corbinian who regrips his sword and finally speaks: I am Marquess Corbinian Vael, nephew to the Prince of Starkhaven. Lower your swords or I will kill you both where you stand.
Oooooh, the one holding the sword to the demon says, You're a Vael, are you? Then, you get to die before we take this little pretty with us!
The other one, the one who holds Samantha, snickers. These must be some of Flint's men, finished with their contractual deed back in Starkhaven. Corbinian doesn't know his family is gone…
The demon hisses, and it was wrong for the mercenary to hold her without killing her because the Chantry teaches us that demons don't feel pain like the rest of us. She lunges for him, her four-inch claws sinking deep into his chest but he stabs back at her, sinking his sword into her side. It doesn't go very far. Viciously, she drives her claws downwards, crunching through bone and muscle, a wicked sneer across her lips as she does it, enjoying every last moment of this man's life which she clearly devours as he gasps his final breath. She is injured, but quickly recovering.
Corbinian holds rigid, licking his lips as his gaze shifts from the demon to the man who is still holding on to Samantha. The last of Flint's men seems startled, scared even.
The demon gives Corbinian a sickening smile as she says, You love her. It pours from every inch of you. You desire nothing more than her safety.
I will kill you, Corbinian swears.
Not today, she stretches out the words like a promise.
Let her go.
No.
The mercenary shifts, clearing his throat and says with a new lisp because half of his teeth are chipped or missing, Eh, excuse me. If you two haven't noticed, I have the girl.
Corbinian grinds his teeth, staring at the demon with a fury that I've never seen, and at first I don't understand. Why is he waiting? But then I remember my lessons from the Chantry: the demon has Samantha under her influence, and so she can take Samantha's life with merely a thought. But she also needs Samantha to live outside the Fade. Corbinian is educated, raised in a palace with books and tutors and he understands volumes of things that I don't even know exist. But we all learn about demons. The Chantry sees to that.
He has a choice to make, and it's now obvious to me what choice that is. If he goes for the demon, the man will either take Samantha and run or slice open her belly and she will wake up, completely aware of herself before she bleeds out in all its agonizing glory. Just like that little boy. If he goes for the man, the demon will kill Samantha with a thought. Maybe she can then take Corbinian back under her influence just as she did before, maybe he can fight her off, but Samantha will be gone either way.
She lives, Corbinian grinds out.
The demon is breathing heavily, holding onto her breast when she says, You'll take her place?
It takes all he can muster to force the word through his teeth: Yes.
The demon giggles girlishly, and Corbinian no longer needs the demon to propel him into motion. He moves quickly without reservation or remorse, flying towards the man who has Samantha wrapped up in his dirty vice-like grip, and he sinks a dead man's sword deep into the toothless man's shoulder. The man's arm flies out wildly and the side of his dagger cuts into Samantha's arm, leaving a long gash. Blood leaks out from her wound in tiny trails of red as she slumps to the ground, still unconscious.
But before Corbinian can finish him off, the man scrambles to his feet and takes off, running like mad into the enormous field. Samantha is still out cold and her wound looks superficial, but I notice that her necklace is gone – that little weasel ripped it from her neck as though he knew he was going to make a run for it. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. A murderer and a thief.
The demon's hands smooth over the skin of Samantha's shoulders as she lifts her up to her feet and says, A bargain is a bargain.
But I know that Samantha is not safe yet.
Corbinian looks over his shoulder to Starkhaven, which is smoldering in the distance, and he's breathing hard, his hands gripping that sword and shield so tightly that I can see his knuckles turning white. I can also see his pain; it twists his face and hardens his whole body as he shakes with it. It is agonizing to watch.
She'll be safe here? he asks, still concerned of course; that mercenary could come back when they're gone.
She will be, the demon promises. No one will see her. She will wake up when it's safe.
Will she… remember?
His voice is so heartbreaking. Warriors aren't supposed to cry.
Nothing, the demon promises.
These are the choices that love forces us to make.
With a last lingering look to Samantha, he says, Do it.
There is a blinding flash and an explosive wind, both so bright and strong that I am knocked to the ground, shielding my eyes as the world around me turns white and noisy. When I open them next, I see the demon sauntering away, Corbinian at her side, his gait calm and stiff. Samantha, I can't see. She is gone. I scramble around but I can't find her until I literally trip over her, but she is not there. She must be invisible, I think. I reach down, and sure enough, I feel her arm, soft and pliable like a lady's should be.
I look back up to see the two figures turning black in the distance as they disappear on the northern horizon.
And just like that, Corbinian Vael has broken the Oath of Starkhaven.