Review responses

The-After-Smoke: I was presented with a very tempting idea from a kid of Alistair being dominated by a wolfish Hadrian. Nosebleed! Then again, Alistair being the seme (top) is just as hawt if not hotter. Plus, as pointed out by YoshisSupport, it would be a challenge to write Alistair being the seme when he's just so unsure of himself in the beginning and matures as the game progresses.

HollyIsMyName: I'm sorry for the cliffie! I thought everybody knew that Alistair and the PC survive the Battle of Ostagar. I assume wrong. Forgive me? Puppy dog eyes. Anyhoo, oh yeah, Hadrian is all man and Alistair is going to find out just how manly he can be, both in and out of bed. While I have read stories of either a female Cousland paired with Alistair, I've yet to come across a slash story with a girly male Cousland partnered with Alistair. Maybe that's a good thing?

a kid: You know, that sounds very, very tempting to me. However, the general consensus is having Alistair as top. The sweet and hot smexy scene won't be available until after the Circle quest and some sidequests (looking at my outline), which won't be for another few chapters. I want to develop their relationship first as well as flesh everybody else too in terms of characterization. Soooo, for all my other readers, there's still time to vote. Please? :D

YoshisSupport: I managed to write this chappie in a few hours. Yay for that! Thanks for voting!

Thanks to those who voted and who read the story, both with pennames and anonymous! Happy reading!

Chapter 16: Swooping is (not so) bad

-o0o-

Flemeth had seen many things, both the profound and the terrible. In her long years of existence, she had seen men kill for power, for love, or just out of sheer boredom. Thus, the scene of chaos, of men dying and being cut to pieces by their victorious enemy, came of no surprise to her. In fact, she expected it.

She saw the King die by an Ogre's brutal hand and she felt the passing of the Warden, who perished by a Darkspawn's axe. She even saw a rather large army moving northwards, the men marching at uniform speed while the cavalry sprinted ahead, acting as a vanguard to the weary men following it. With her keen eyesight, she had no trouble perceiving the leader of the army as Teryn Loghain and her heart grew troubled as one of her prophecies came to past.

A young man manifested itself in her mind. He bore similar resemblance to the now recently deceased King and such as it should be. He was King Maric Theirin, son of Moira, the Rebel Queen. She recalled warning King Maric that a Blight would come to pass after his death and that Loghain would betray him. Being a young King at that time, he didn't truly heed her warnings and, thus, Ferelden will be torn asunder by Loghain's act. Fortunately for her though, it was all going according to plan.

However, the Wardens play a crucial role in her plan; more specifically, Alistair played a large role in her plan. She wasn't sure on Hadrian. He had managed to block her mental probing in their first encounter and she was immediately intrigued by it. No man had ever accomplished that before and she was determined to find the root of it. If all of the Wardens in Ferelden perished now, the plan she worked for over a century would come to null and a certain someone would be irrevocably implacable. An old God was certainly not a forgiving type and the price of her failure would be her soul.

Thus, it was with great haste that she managed to fly to the Tower of Ishbal. The darkspawn screamed and grunted at the sight of her; arrows were let loose but she merely shrugged them away with her powerful reptilian wings. Somehow these darkspawn were able to discern that she was not the Archdemon. That also troubled her as did the sight of the two Wardens lying on the marble floor, once white but now a murky brown, stained by the blood of the dead.

They were dead, to all outward appearances but Flemeth sensed their life essence still flowing through their veins. Good, they're still alive. I made it in time. More darkspawn flooded the area, filling the room with their stench and their primitive sounds of communication. She knew that they were waiting for more ogres to barge their way in here and, while she was quite powerful, her magic was barred from her in her draconian form. She reared back and then roared out at them, a pillar of fire surging forth from her jaw and burning anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. Before they could recover their numbers, she hastily plucked the slumped forms in her talons, careful to ensure that her claws wouldn't rip the fragile mortals in half while doing so. With their bodies safely in her grasp, her wings heaved around her, knocking her assailants down. The air, hot from her fire, was pushed down and she used it to propel herself into the smokey night.

Time was running out for her but her hut was close by the battlefield and she hoped that Morrigan, for once, did as she was told. It took her only half of a candlelight to reach her home and she found a small lady waiting for her outside the door. There was a particular loud expletive and Flemeth knew from the person's voice that it was indeed her daughter, Morrigan.

"Mother! Was that really necessary?"

Morrigan was referring to her breathing down on her, the smoke drifting from her nostrils and absolutely ruining her fresh laundered clothes.

"Yes, child," Flemeth had reverted back to her true form and she found her daughter's look of disgust quite amusing. It wasn't the first time Morrigan had seen injured men but she was still put off by the smell. She stepped a little bit closer to the unconscious pair and Flemeth heard her make a 'tsk' sound, as if she was berating her for bringing home garbage.

"I would never have thought I would see them again, especially this blubbering idiot." Morrigan bent down and grabbed the senior Warden's shoulders while Flemeth took hold of his ankles.

"You speak so coldly of him, child, yet you scarcely know him." Flemeth's voice strained a little bit as the two Witches, so unused to lifting deadweight, struggled to carry their precious cargo into the hut. With great care, they laid him out on a little makeshift cot that Morrigan had put together just before her arrival. Once Alistair was settled, they went outside and then returned with another man in tow.

Since he was the more injured of the two, they had placed him on a bigger bed, Flemeth's to be exact, and laid him facedown. Together they took the armor off the both of them and Flemeth's head shook in dismay at the mottled torso of Alistair, the arrowheads still embedded in his skin as well as the large gaping slash on Hadrian's back.

"Well, I'll heal the more serious ones. Boil some water and ready some bandages, please." Flemeth heard her daughter stand up and exit the room. The older woman's hands positioned themselves on Hadrian's back and she concentrated, focusing her mind on the healing level rather than the destructive level that she intended to lean more on.

The candle that had been lit upon her arrival was half gone by the time Hadrian's back healed up. Flemeth felt generous enough to heal it all the way, leaving unblemished skin. As much as she desired power, she also appreciated the beauty of life and knew that Hadrian was scarred enough as it is. A huge scar disfiguring him would not help much and she wanted to spare him of that. Mental scars were distracting enough.

Her patient groaned and he shifted underneath her hands, which were still pressed against his back. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked dazedly at her.

"Sleep, Hadrian. You are safe," she whispered to him, ready to incant a sleeping spell on him if necessary. It wasn't for Hadrian's eyes became half-mast at first and then shuttered closed. He was more anchored to this world and the temptation to uncover what secrets he was hiding from her increased exponentially. He was utterly defenseless now and she had to find out exactly who or what he is.

Her lips moved to resound another spell, the spell of Knowing and the room darkened slightly only to glow in silver blue light.

Abomination, you are trespassing!

The voice hissed at Flemeth but she was not intimidated by it. She persevered until her hands burned from Hadrian's body that suddenly grew very hot. She was almost there, almost done uncovering his secret! She found herself trying to edge her way into the man's unconscious mind but again, her efforts were thwarted by that same presence, the one from before.

Asha'bellanar

She gasped and her hands jolted from her body. She cradled her burnt hands gingerly and discovered that her wrinkled hands were more exposed now, the muscles glistening in the soft glow of the candle and the skin no longer holding its insides anymore. Who was that? None but the Keepers of the Dalish Clans knew that name!

She made a sound of frustration at being thwarted again. Maybe she would have more luck with Alistair. Unfortunately, the same force that protected Hadrian also hovered around Alistair and again, her true name sung out to her. The idea of just letting them die was too good to pass up but someone more powerful than her would do more than just kill her; it would torture her soul for eternity.

Not wanting to risk the wrath of either entities, she let it be for now and let fate dictate its own path with these two men.

-o0o-

Was this death? It was unusually warm and quite cozy. Alistair opened his eyes and he found himself lying against an old oak tree, its branches hanging over him like a protective layer from the sun. He let out a quiet gasp when he discovered that this was the same oak tree he would find refuge under when running away from Isolde's scorching words. Only that tree had weird pink flowers when in full bloom and this very same tree bore the same fruits.

The Warden was too busy marveling at the beautiful flowers that he failed to see an amused male sitting over him. A giggle echoed around the man and Alistair's eyes darted around before finally focusing on the owner.

"A boy? What, how did you get up there?"

Indeed, the branch the boy was sitting on had easily been at least six foot from the ground and it was the first branch to sprout from the thick trunk. Either this little boy was amazingly agile and could scale a trunk without any help or he just merely jumped up to it. Seeing how this could be a dream of his, Alistair opted for the latter. Anything could happen in a dream, including a twelve-year old male 'flying up' to where he was currently at.

"War is coming, child," the young boy warned him and Alistair marveled at how profound the boy's eyes looked. Despite his appearance as a young adolescent, its eyes were old, very old. To Alistair, it felt wrong to have this little boy call him a childe Maybe it was a Desire Demon trying to trick him into letting his guard down. Demons were notorious for preying on people in their dreams, often coming to them as people they know.

"How do I know you're not a Demon? Am I that important to warrant even a demon's interest?" He didn't think so. All his life, he thought himself unimportant, discarded like a useless piece of baggage. First his own father didn't want him and Arl Eamon, tired of taking care of a rambunctious little boy, had him sent to a monastery at his wife's behest. Now, even Duncan had left him alone, leaving him bereft of an understanding companion.

The boy gifted him with another knowing look before hopping down from the branch he was sitting on. He landed with ease and took Alistair's hand in his tiny one. Alistair watched the boy flip his hand over and drew a pattern in it.

"The fires are burning him, Alistair. It'll consume everything." As the boy murmured, the lazy pattern he etched into the Warden's hand glowed hotly and Alistair let out a shriek of pain before sighing in relief as the boy ran another finger over it, cooling his palm.

"Why'd you do that?" Alistair asked him and the boy withdrew his hand from him, an almost sheepish expression on that young face.

"Innocence is the first casualty of war," the boy whispered softly to him, "and thus shall he take his vengeance."

"Who? Who are you talking about?"

This little boy was getting irritating but Alistair was scared. He was scared that he might have pissed off the wrong demon of the Fade and now he was paying for it. Oh, the Maker certainly loved to pick on him.

"You choose your own path, Alistair Theirin," the boy called out to him, eyes intense and aglow with blue fire. "and I am no Demon."

"Well, if you're not a demon, then what are you?"

"Spoilers," was all the boy said before vanishing and Alistair looked down at his palm, gasping at the mark left there.

The boy had traced a star into his pattern and Alistair wasn't sure on the meaning of it. The next time he blinked, the mark was gone and for a moment, he thought perhaps he was having a dream within a dream. A second later, he too was disappearing from the Fade and his body vanished underneath the oak tree he had been previously sitting against

.

-o0o-

Morrigan was just finishing cooking some soup when she heard a soft gasp from one of her patients. She turned and found that it was Alistair who had awakened. Of course, it had to be the one that was afraid of barbarians swooping down upon them. Couldn't that other man have woken up? He sounded more intelligent and Morrigan felt that she could get a decent amount of conversing going on with him than this dim-wit here.

"…w-where?" The man croaked, his voice all scratchy and hoarse from several days of disuse. She grabbed a wooden cup and poured some hot soup in it. The dark-haired woman knelt at Alistair's side and, with strange tenderness, she lifted the man's head up and placed the cup at his chapped lips.

"it's hot," she said and Alistair slowly sipped the drink, coughing as the hot draught made its way into his mouth and his stomach.

"For once, you actually listened," the woman chided the man and when Alistair shook his head weakly, she put the cup on the wooden shelf that was lying against the cot.

"You've been asleep for several days."

Alistair still stared at her stupidly, his eyes blinking rapidly. It looked like as if he was falling asleep again.

"Go back to sleep, dim-wit." Her harsh words were softened by her gentle tone and the man's eyes drooped closed. His breath evened out and the lines on his face relaxed as her patient went into a healing sleep rather than a pain-induced state. It was this time her mother entered the hut, a basket full of fresh fruits and some vegetables in her right hand. In her left was a small handful of hares, the blood still dripping off their feet.

"Mother, that's so disgusting!"

"Quiet, child! You're lucky that we have any meat at all. The darkspawn have overrun this area, their taint corrupts everything. I managed to secure one vital area from them but it won't be for long."

Morrigan grumbled about her mother's way of hunting but when Flemeth glared at her with sharp golden eyes, she stopped muttering to herself. The old woman set her items aside and approached the man.

"He was awake, though briefly." Morrigan reported to her mother. She wrung an old cloth over a pail that was located by the bed and placed the damp cloth over the man's forehead. "He is no longer feverish and should be up, about, and asking stupid questions in a day or two."

"It's better to have questions than to go through life wondering." Flemeth admonished her daughter. Her hand positioned itself on the man's chest and she felt that Morrigan was right in her estimation of the man's recovery. His stamina was back to normal levels and the wounds were virtually nonexistent thanks to her healing spells.

Unfortunately, she would have to render open another wound, one that probably won't go away for a long time and is harder to heal.

-TBC-

A/N: Anyone familiar with the term 'spoilers'? Hint: it's used quite frequently in a British tv show.

What's the deal with the little boy showing up in both Alistair's and Hadrian's dreams? And why was Flemeth fishing for information? Stay tuned for the next chapter!