Notes:
The Inquisition finds itself in the Fade - things get weird and then get stabby. And then the Inquisitor has a very, very difficult decision to make...
The ground is in the wrong place. Or rather, maybe the ground is in the right place, and Alistair is not. Except the ground is to the side and not below and he would have assumed that the ground is therefore not the ground but in fact a wall, except Eleri is standing on the ground and it looks like he is not.
Alistair is confused.
"Where are we?" he asks, and the question seems laughably inadequate given the circumstances.
"We… were falling," comes Hawke's voice from beside him, except she's not really beside him because she's upside down. She's both standing beside him and standing upside down at the same time and Alistair's brain knows that that's not possible but his eyes are seeing it nonetheless.
And there's something a little… off about Hawke as well. She looks around her with a perplexed furrow to her brows but her face holds none of the sheer panic that Eleri's does. Alistair can't help but wonder what monstrosities Hawke has seen for her reaction to be so understated; he probably doesn't want to know.
"Did we… land?" asks Eleri, and she sounds so hopeful that Alistair doesn't want to judge her too harshly for having asked such an obviously foolish question. Because of course they haven't just landed – the sky is a swirling vortex of colour and mist, there are hulking mountains of rock littering the horizon, and Hawke – Hawke is upside down. Wherever they are, they are no longer in the Keep.
"No, this is the Fade," says Solas, and there's something about Solas's voice that puts Alistair on edge, and not just because what he's saying is utterly terrifying but because he seems almost… pleased?
We're in the Fade – we're in the fucking Fade?
It's not possible, not possible. Not since the Magisters turned the Golden City to Black – not since then has a human being stepped bodily into the Fade.
"The Inquisitor opened a Rift. We came through… and survived," Solas explains and there's an odd evenness to his tone, as if he were simply describing the weather or explaining the rules of Wicked Grace. Alistair's teeth crawl. "I never thought I would ever find myself here physically. Look! The Black City – almost close enough to touch." His tone has shifted, each word now laced with growing excitement – and Solas joins Erimond on the list of people that Alistair would like to punch.
"This is – I don't… incredible? Terrifying?" Eleri says, head snapping from side to side as she drinks in this new, bewildering environment.
"What spirit commands this place?" Solas asks, and he's presumably talking to himself now since it's obvious that none in their group could possibly know the answer to such a question, "I have never seen anywhere like it."
"I don't understand," snaps Hawke, and Alistair can tell that his old friend is finding Solas's exuberant tone just as irritating as he does, "I've been to the Fade before. It didn't look like this."
"Perhaps it's because we're here physically," Bron suggests, "we're not just dreaming." Bron turns to face Eleri, face thoughtful and full of curiosity (if she is afraid, she is hiding it well) "You said that you walked out of the Fade at Haven, Eleri, was it like this?"
Eleri looks discomfited by the question, suddenly dipping her eyes and working at the ground with the toe of her boots.
"I… I don't know," she admits with an awkward shrug, "I still can't remember what happened the last time I did this."
The group falls silent. Lost in their own worlds of thought, they each take a moment to search their surroundings and try (in vain) to come to terms with their current predicament.
The Fade – to be physically in the Fade.
"Well… whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now," says Hawke, rolling her shoulders in a gesture that Alistair immediately recognises. It's her 'time to get shit done' gesture – the one that tells him she is through with merely standing around and looking lost; she's going to try and fix things. "There was a demon on the other side of the Rift that Erimond was using. And there could be others."
He can see the others nodding in agreement, checking to see that their weapons are in hand, their armour in place. Whatever internal worries are plaguing people's minds, it's clear from everyone's increasingly determined expressions that it's time to push them aside in favour of doing something - anything.
"In our world, the demons came through the Rift in the main hall of the Keep. Can we escape the same way?" Alistair asks, and he'd intended it as a question for himself more than an actual suggestion. He's surprised when Eleri nods at him.
"Well… there's one way to find out," Eleri replies, pacing passed him and looking out across the horizon. "There!" she cries, pointing to a scar in the sky that could resemble the one they saw in the Keep's hall, "that's the Rift – let's go."
It's not much to go on – certainly not enough to quiet the roiling panic in his mind. But it's something. It's a destination, it's a goal. And surely it's better, he reasons, to walk toward a goal, however tenuous, than stand around, wondering why the ground isn't where he wants it to be and trying not to cry.
Bron walks closer to Alistair, and he's not sure how she got to be so lucky but she appears to be standing on the actual ground rather than his sharply angled rock face. She holds out a hand to him and he takes it gladly. He jumps at the same time as she tugs and there's a strange moment of weightlessness before he lands unsteadily on the ground. It's nice to be back the right way up again.
He's surprised when she steps in close to him, even more surprised when she raises both hands and places them on his gore-covered chestplate. He expects her to say something but she doesn't. Instead she just stands there silently, head slightly bowed and eyes glassed over in deep thought.
His immediate instinct is to hug her, to pull her flush against his chest and hold on tight until he's sure that she's real and alive and unhurt. When they'd fallen from the Keep, he'd been so certain that that would be their demise. They would hit the ground, bones would shatter, their lives would come to an abrupt end and that would be it. So to see her standing before him, breathing, moving, living – it's more than he'd hoped for.
He wants to hold her close, to hold her close and not let go until he's absolutely sure that she really is alive. But then he's wearing heavy splint-mail armour, and they're both covered in blood and gore and things he'd rather not think about, and while he desperately wants to hold her, now is probably not the time.
Perhaps he should make some sort of grand declaration. After all, he'd thought them both on the brink of death mere moments before. Perhaps he should admit his feelings for her now before death catches up with them again. But then this doesn't really seem like the time or place for grand romantic declarations so instead he settles for a simple, "thanks," then adds, "you all right?"
It's hardly the most heart-wrenching declaration of sentiment.
"I'm not hurt," she says, "but I'm not sure any of us are 'all right'. Not as long as we stay here."
He nods in agreement then reaches out to give her shoulder a squeeze, trying to satisfy himself with this fleeting moment of physical contact. It's not a hug, but it'll do for now.
Over Bron's shoulder, Alistair watches as Hawke jumps from her upside-down position on a floating rock and lands on the ground with a thump and a string of colourful expletives. Varric lets out a snort of laughter before helping her to her feet.
"Very smooth," Varric drawls.
"Shut up, dwarf," she replies, though mainly affectionately.
They all gather around Eleri before, without a word, she starts leading them through the arches and spears of rock toward the jagged hole in the sky. Eleri walks at the front of their little pack, Solas right beside her, followed by Cassandra, then Hawke and Varric, and finally Alistair and Bron at the rear. Even from the back of their odd little team, Alistair can hear Solas talking excitedly about the Fade, and how it's jut so thrilling to be trapped here.
"Concentrate on the task at hand," he hears Cassandra reprimand, "there is nothing more dangerous than this place."
Alistair is grateful for her words; Solas may be enjoying himself but this is no happy jaunt through dreamworld – this is the Fade. It is a forbidden place, weird and twisted. Stone juts out of the ground in unnatural shapes. Rocks hang from the sky as if carved out of thin air. A mist pervades everything, but it is somehow a living and breathing entity; it reacts to their presence, leaving a path for them as they walk. There are clusters of candles resting on the rock formations, as if some thoughtful soul has tried to spruce up the place for visitors. Occasionally they come across a number of chairs arranged in a semi-circle, or a cup and saucer carefully positioned on a table, like a tableau from a play eerily devoid of actors.
Alistair doesn't think anything could possibly make the Fade any weirder.
And then they meet the Divine.
Or at least she looks like the Divine, although Alistair knows it can't possibly be her.
"By the Maker," he breathes in disbelief, "could that be…?"
"I greet you, Warden," she replies, her voice calm and measured. It is not a familiar sound, after all Alistair never met the Divine when she was alive, but it is strangely comforting.
"Divine Justinia? Most Holy?" says Cassandra, and there's such hopefulness in her eyes that it's almost painful for Alistair to look.
"Cassandra," the Divine says warmly, stepping forward as if to greet her but then stopping when Cassandra recoils slightly.
"Cassandra – you knew the Divine – is this really her?" asks Eleri.
"I… I don't know," replies Cassandra, sounding uncharacteristically small. "It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but… we know that spirits lie." She quickly marshals her face, any trace of hopeful yearning immediately banished, "be wary, Inquisitor."
"You think my survival impossible," the Divine continues, "yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."
"Then simply tell us what you are," snaps Hawke impatiently.
"You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor," the Divine says to Eleri, ignoring Hawke's terse interruption.
"How do you know I was made Inquisitor?" Eleri asks with a suspicious lift to her brows, "you died long before we found Skyhold."
"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? That is the Nightmare's work."
Now that peaks Alistair's interest. He'd assumed that Corypheus himself was behind the Calling, some peculiar blood magic perhaps, or something darker that only the Magisters of old could know. But if the Divine is right, that means that they finally know how to bring an end to the false Calling, how to free the Wardens from the madness that has consumed them. This demon, this Nightmare – it is the key to everything.
"I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare has dealt upon the Wardens," says Alistair darkly, "we must destroy this demon."
"You will have your chance, brave Warden," assures the Divine, "this place of darkness is its lair."
"How does Corypheus command such a demon?" asks Eleri, and Alistair can't help but think that that's the wrong question. Who cares why the Nightmare serves Corypheus? Alistair only wants to know how to defeat it.
"The Nightmare serves willingly," the Divine answers, "for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. He was one of the Magisters that unleashed the first Blight upon the world. Every child's cry as the Archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads – yes, the Nightmare has fed well."
"Great…." Hawke drawls with growing impatience, "but how do we kill it?"
"You hurt it by escaping the Fade and leading your people against Corypheus," replies the Divine, though she never takes her eyes from Eleri.
"Well that's grand and all but – right now – how do we kill it?" Hawke asks again, this time over-enunciating the question as if talking to a petulant child.
"That is the best answer I can give you," the Divine retorts with a smile.
Alistair wants to scoff at that – that's her best answer? It's hardly an answer at all. And that's what they desperately need right now – answers. How to escape the Fade. How to defeat the demon. If the Divine does not have those answers, then Alistair is not sure what hope they have of succeeding.
But while the Divine does not know how to defeat the Nightmare, she does know how to restore Eleri's memories from Haven. And Eleri seems much more at ease once her memories have been returned (or at least as at ease as one can be when lost in the Fade). Eleri has always made it clear that she does not believe that she'd been saved by Andraste, or that the mark on her hand was a gift from the Maker. Indeed, Alistair had noticed the way she flinches every time someone calls her the Herald of Andraste. Now that she knows the mark on her hand is from Corypheus and not Andraste, she seems quietly pleased – like her convictions have finally been proven right.
"Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the old gods – but for himself," the Divine explains once Eleri has her memories back. "When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor on you instead."
Eleri nods in understanding.
"You have reclaimed that which you had lost," the Divine adds, "but now the Nightmare knows that you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."
And then the Divine is gone. There's no flash, no spark, just one moment she is there and the next she is not. Alistair finds it unsettling.
"Was that really the most Holy?" Cassandra asks, and it's clear from her tone that she desperately wishes it to be so.
"Well… we have survived in the Fade physically. Perhaps she did as well," reasons Solas, "or perhaps if it is a Spirit who identifies so strongly with Justinia that it believes it is her, how can we say that it is not?"
Alistair knows bullshit when he hears it. Solas is merely indulging in speculation – and speculation cannot help them now. He doesn't know why the mage is causing him such irritation. Perhaps the Fade has an aggravating effect on the mind. Or perhaps Solas really is that irritating. Either way, Alistair wishes Solas would just own up to his ignorance and keep his mouth shut.
"Whoever she is, she seemed to want to help us," Alistair says, and he's pleased to see most people nodding. Despite their reservations, everyone seems buoyed by the prospect that at least something in the Fade is on their side.
The Divine had indicated to a path before she'd vanished, a twisting path seemingly carved into the misshapen landscape of jagged rocks. Without any other apparent alternatives, they decide to follow it.
They walk for… well, Alistair's not sure for how long. It could be hours; it could be a matter of minutes. Nothing is certain when the Fade seems to be always shifting. The Fade almost seems alive, its landscapes twisting and changing with every passing moment. For a time Alistair thinks that they're going uphill but when he turns to look behind him, the path appears to be curving upward. It's disorientating, a little nauseating even, that there appears to be no sense of direction in the Fade. The view from the top of a staircase is the same as the view from the bottom. No matter how many times they turn left, the path never seems to cross over itself.
Occasionally they are attacked by wraiths, wailing, glowing spirits with outstretched arms that paw and scratch at the air. They're quickly dispatched, proving only another nuisance to add to the growing list of things that make the Fade so eminently uncomfortable.
"I expected worse," comments Hawke as they deal with another handful of wraiths.
"These are just minor servants of the Nightmare," responds Solas smoothly.
"Pity… and here I thought the Fade was going to be a piece of cake," snarks Hawke in return.
Hawke is quickly proven wrong.
"Well well well… what do we have here?" comes a voice, both soft and booming at the same time. It's not clear where the voice is coming from; it seems to reverberate through the air but also murmur at the back of Alistair's skull, like a secret whispered just for him. It's deep and warm, almost comforting in a way, but it makes Alistair's spine shiver and his hairs prickle. "Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear that I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears – is me."
Eleri mutters something in elvish and while Alistair cannot parse the exact meaning, he can tell from her tone that it is not complimentary. He shares her feelings.
"Oh great – a disembodied voice," drawls Varric, "because this place isn't freaky enough already."
"Is this the Nightmare's welcome?" asks Bron, looking at Solas expectantly.
"He feeds on our fears, remember. Through our fear, he is made stronger. It is in his best interest to… unsettle us," Solas explains.
Eleri huffs at that. "I am many things but I am not… unsettled," she snaps, "I am tired, I am sore, I am hungry. If he is trying to scare me then he has made a grave error – I'm not afraid; I'm pissed off."
Eleri's irate outburst stuns everyone into silence. She's normally so collected, so patient, so unrelentingly chirpy – Alistair is surprised to learn that she has a temper too. It's a welcome revelation though. Alistair's glad that she's angry; he's angry too.
With a stormy expression, Eleri marches forward with renewed determination and everyone falls in line behind her. They continue along the path, fighting wraiths and minor demons as they go, and it's not long until they fall into the same practiced strategy that served them so well at Adamant. Cassandra, Bron and Alistair charge forward while Eleri, Solas and Varric keep their distance, striking at their enemies from afar with ranged attacks. Alistair is almost feeling hopeful. Compared to the chaos of Adamant – the mages, the demons, and the air thick with the smell of lyrium and blood – this seems relatively easy in comparison.
The path suddenly opens up into a circular clearing, lined with jagged rocks and with what appears to be a broken mirror standing at its centre. Alistair feels like the mirror should be familiar, though he can't quite figure out why.
Eleri walks toward the mirror, gripped with her unshakeable curiosity. She raises a hand as if to press her fingertips to the few shards of glass still holding to the frame but before Alistair can call out to stop, a ring of rage demons spring from the blackened earth.
Alistair immediately charges at the nearest demon, knocking it off balance with his shield before bringing his sword down cleanly into its neck. The demon roars as it bucks back then bellows again as it dives forward to attack him. He lifts his shield in time to block the attack but he can hear a searing sound as the flaming creature pushes against the metal and his arm is beginning to feel uncomfortably warm as the shield heats up. He pushes hard, swinging his shield upward to strike the demon in its ghoulish face, then pushes his sword deep into the demon's chest. There's a sigh as the demon's flames turn to black and then it crumbles into a pile of ash, extinguishing almost as quickly as it appeared.
He pivots in search of his next target when the voice returns.
"Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition," laughs the Nightmare, both bellowing and softly lilting at the same time.
The demon taunts them in turn – tells Cassandra there is no Maker, reminds Hawke of the people she has failed to protect, blames Varric for atrocities outside of his control. They try to ignore it, try to push the words aside and focus on defeating the horde of rage demons that surrounds them. It's hard though; these aren't just the childish jeers of a schoolyard bully. The demon doesn't cackle or jeer. Its words are precise, measured. Words are wielded like a weapon – every insecurity tugged from each victim's subconscious, the unspoken fears they try not to admit, even to themselves.
"Did the King's bastard think he could prove himself?" sneers the Nightmare, "it's far too late for that. Your whole life, you've left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden – who will you hide behind now?"
Alistair shivers, a sharp chill rolling along his spine, as he stabs his sword into one of the last remaining rage demons. He's trying to pretend that he didn't hear the Nightmare's mockery, that he's too preoccupied with watching the rage demon fizzle into oblivion. But it's hard to ignore the Nightmare's words. It's hard to ignore them because they're true, of course, every single one of them.
His exile after the Landsmeet meant he never actually confronted the Archdemon, and he never, ever wanted anything to do with his tenuous claim to the Ferelden throne. Even with his most recent efforts to help the Inquisition find the Wardens, there had been many times when he'd thought Hawke far more suitable for the task, when he'd wanted to return to his life of aimless mercenary work and let the Champion of Kirkwall play the hero once more.
But he hadn't given up – he'd persevered and succeeded – he'd found the Wardens, even if they were in a sorry state when he did. Surely that counts for something? Surely his efforts had not been in vain.
"Is that all it's got?" he scoffs, eager to show that he's not fazed by the Nightmare's taunts. And the more he thinks about it, the more he starts to believe it. Because while the Nightmare's words are true – that doesn't mean they have to stay true. Alistair is not ruled by his past; it is what he does in the here and now that defines him.
Fuck the Nightmare.
"And little Bronwyn… what are you doing so far from home?" asks the Nightmare, gently, almost amiably. "You thought you were too smart for the provincial life. You thought you were destined for greater things. You were wrong; you are destined only for failure. Your mother would be so disappointed in you."
Alistair hears Bron's sharp intake of breath at the mention of her mother. Her face wears its usual mask of calm indifference but he can tell from the tightness in her shoulders that the Nightmare's words have not gone unheeded.
"Bron?" Alistair prods cautiously, trying to subtly express his concern without openly asking how she feels. If she is upset, she won't want Alistair drawing attention to it.
Bron just shrugs, nose curled disdainfully, "I have three older brothers – their taunts are far more inventive than anything this creature can come up with."
He can't tell whether she's bluffing – whether she really is as unconcerned with the demon's taunts as she appears to be – but decides not to push further. If she wants to tell him how she feels, she'll do it when she's ready.
"Do you think you can fight me?" the Nightmare continues, "I am your every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear at Adamant? They are bound all through me."
Eleri stops in her tracks then, ears twitching with interest. She turns to look at her small band of followers and Alistair is intrigued to see a small, pleased smile twist at her mouth.
"Excellent," Eleri practically purrs, pitching her voice loud enough so that the Nightmare can hear her, "so if we banish you, we banish all of the demons at Adamant. Thank you, friend, for your kind help."
Her tone is cloyingly sweet, clearly enjoying this chance to strike back at the Nightmare, to taunt him as he has taunted them. The demon responds with a mighty roar, a burbling snarl that makes the very ground beneath them shake.
His anger only serves to spur them on and Eleri leads her team out of the small clearing and through the Fade's twisting path with renewed fervour. They've achieved only a small victory against the Nightmare but it's enough – enough to make them believe that the monumental task ahead of them really isn't as impossible as originally believed.
The fighting gets more intense as they travel further into the Nigthmare's lair. It is no longer just wraiths they face but an assortment of powerful demons – snapping, clawing, seething masses of hunger and death.
While Eleri and her companions take the lead, Alistair and Bron stick together at the rear of the party to stop the demons from routing their position. They wheel around each other, ducking when the other thrusts, twisting when the other slices. And moving, always moving, never giving the demons a clear shot. It's exhausting work and Alistair doesn't know how much longer he can last or how his failing strength will measure up against the Nightmare itself.
The path leads them into a tunnel and as they reach the end of the tunnel, Alistair can see the swirling vortex of the Rift just ahead.
"The Rift!" Hawke shouts enthusiastically, "We're almost there!"
Hawke is only vocalising what they are all thinking but Alistair wishes that she'd stayed silent. Voicing such optimism seems like too much of a temptation, an invocation for something truly terrible to happen.
"You must get through the Rift, Inquisitor," says the Divine spirit, appearing just as suddenly as she had disappeared before, "get through and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons – and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade."
Encouraged by the Divine's words, Eleri leads them at a punishing pace to the mouth of the tunnel and then out into a wide, round basin. Alistair can see the Rift just up ahead, a swirling tear in the sky through which he thinks he can make out the clear night skies of the Western Approach and a few twinkling stars. It's probably his imagination but the sight is enough to make him quicken his pace against the angry protest of his legs.
"Stay alert," warns Cassandra, and Alistair finds himself almost resenting her for advising caution (as childish and petulant as that may be). He wants to be optimistic. He wants to believe that salvation is close at hand, that they just need to reach the Rift and then be free of this wretched place. But the more rational part of him knows that Cassandra is right. He's felt the prickle of suspicion at the back of his neck since they emerged from the tunnel into the wide, suspiciously empty basin.
There's a sudden screech and the rattle of movement, and then Alistair sees it. At the edge of the basin, between them and the Rift, emerges a creature, a huge, seething tangle of tentacles and long spindly legs. There's no face, just a gaping maw lined with sharp, curved fangs. Tentacles hang from a large, pendulous body, which is held aloft by a dozen, insectoid limbs.
It is the most repulsive creature Alistair has ever seen, more hideous that anything he could ever have imagined. It's huge – filling his field of vision like a great writhing mountain of flesh. He remembers vaguely his encounter with a High Dragon near the Temple of Sacred Ashes during the Blight. He'd been so afraid then, had thought the dragon larger than any beast he would ever face.
Oh, how he would scoff at a High Dragon now.
Everyone stands locked in place. Against a creature of such enormity, surely there is no strategy or tactic that could possibly lead their paltry group to victory. He's not even sure where they would start. With concerted effort, they might be able to sever one of the massive, gangly legs. But then what of the others? What of the whipping tentacles, the snapping mouth? What can arrows and swords do against such a mountainous monstrosity?
The spirit wearing the Divine's face hovers into view, her façade dissolving and shifting until she appears as only a luminous figure of light and gold. It's an oddly encouraging sight, this golden lantern standing radiant against the encroaching darkness.
"If you would, please tell Leliana, I'm sorry; I failed you too," says the Divine spirit to Eleri before turning, swooping through the air and darting toward the Nightmare.
There are sparks, a great golden canopy of magic that envelops the whole basin. Alistair can't really see what's going on but he can see a bright whiteness slamming into the Nightmare, can hear it's muffled, animalistic cry. There's a flash, a sharp ringing, and then when everything clears the Nightmare appears gone.
At least that's what Alistair thinks.
As soon as his traitorous brain has had the temerity to celebrate the Nightmare's seeming defeat at the hands of the Divine, he hears a skittering; an erratic scuttling that seems to be getting louder. That's when he sees it, a demon crawling along the pocked ground toward where Eleri and her companions are standing dazed and disorientated.
It has a man's body, though its limbs are impossibly stretched and grotesque. It's dressed in rags, tattered and torn, giving it a ghostly, almost ephemeral appearance. A sharp ridge protrudes from its spine and eight massive spider's legs carry it along the ground. It reaches forward with its impossibly long arms as it scurries toward them, grabbing and snatching at the air with narrow, clawed fingers.
Suddenly it jumps, and Alistair braces himself for when it comes crashing to the ground. But it doesn't land, instead floating in the mist-filled air with its spidery legs scrabbling at the air.
Hawke is the first to react, sending a ball of sizzling fire that bursts into the demon's chest. The effect is minimal, the demon shuddering slightly but looking mostly unaffected, but the flash of magic is enough to pull everyone out of their frozen stupor and there's a sudden frisson in the air as the Inquisition charges to attack.
Eleri unleashes a volley of arrows, firing in startlingly quick succession. Varric follows suit, firing slowly but methodically with thick bolts from his crossbow. Some of the projectiles find their mark but too many are merely batted away, plucked from the sky by a wave of magic unleashed by a casual wave of the demon's hand.
Cassandra, Alistair and Bron surge forward with their blades held aloft but the demon deflects their attack with frightening ease. He pushes a wave of magic into the ground, manipulating the very earth through sheer force of will and causing it to roil and buckle beneath their feet. All three are sent tumbling to the ground, falling in twisted heaps.
It's not a particularly impressive beginning.
Bron is the first to regain her footing (and Alistair curses his cumbersome armour as he struggles to pull himself upright once more) and she immediately darts forward, skipping across the misshapen ground as she attempts to circle behind the demon. But the demon will not be routed and with a great crack of its fist, great spikes of rock erupt from the ground, forcing Bron to dive out of the way.
This isn't working, Alistair thinks, someone needs to draw the creature's attention – someone needs to direct the demon's magic so that the others can land a hit.
"Oi!" Alistair shouts, falling into a low, grounded stance in preparation for the inevitable magical onslaught, "I'm not afraid of you – give me all you've got!"
The demon's face contorts in what might be a smirk but looks too inhumane to really resemble any recognisable expression. With a shuddering scream, the demon swoops low to the ground, outstretched fingers grasping and grabbing in front of it as it reaches for Alistair.
Alistair stands his ground, long-sword held low to his side and shield raised before him. The air buzzes with magic as the demon nears and Alistair takes that as his cue to duck, rolling away from grasping hands, thought not before he feels something sharp claw along his scalp. With the demon within reach, Alistair strikes out, jabbing his sword downward, catching the demon's tattered robes and pinning them to the ground. There's a ripping sound as the fabric snags on Alistair's sword but the fabric holds; the demon is trapped.
His companions waste no time. Cassandra and Bron both dash forward to hack determinedly at the demon's spined back while the others unleash a steady onslaught of ranged attacks. The demon bucks and rears under the assault, wailing pitiably, until the fabric of its robes finally splits and the creature can take to the skies once more.
Alistair starts to feel a little more hopeful; they'd landed a good number of hits.
But that optimism is soon quashed as the demon lets out a reverberating scream, a call to arms, that brings forward a swarm of shades. Their dark figures crowd the battlefield, their shuddering, squalling forms surrounding the Inquisition from all directions. Alistair lunges at one, pierces it with his sword before turning and bashing another with his shield. Bron is at his back, twisting with him every time he moves, ducking under his arm to strike, wheeling behind him when he leaves his back exposed. But there's so many of them – too many of them – and Alistair is so distracted by the shades that he doesn't see the demon unleash another wave of magic until it's too late.
A surge of magic shudders through the air and Alistair and Bron are both sent flying, skidding to the ground a few metres away and bouncing along the rocks like a skipping stone on water. It hurts – a lot – and Alistair can't stifle a pained groan as he drags himself reluctantly to his feet. At his side, Bron is somehow still managing to mask her discomfort under her usual calm façade but there's a tremble in her legs and a bow to her back which betrays her own pain and exhaustion.
"Hawke!" Eleri's voice cuts across the madness of the battlefield, "we need to thin the herd!"
Alistair doesn't hear whether Hawke says anything in response but he does hear the boom of thunder and the crackle of electricity as Hawke unleashes a storm of lightening across the field. The shades hiss and buck as they're struck with each lance of lightening and though their numbers are not completely diminished, Hawke has successfully managed to significantly reduce their numbers.
It's enough to keep the Inquisition fighting, to stave off what might have otherwise been inevitable defeat.
Alistair and Bron charge back into the fray, hacking and stabbing with their blades to finish off those shades left alive but severely injured by Hawke's magnificent feat of magical destruction.
It's then that Alistair notices the demon cowering. One of Hawke's branches of lightening had struck one of its spidery legs and that leg is now hanging scorched and lifeless at the side of its body. The demon is listing, flying unevenly as its useless leg pulls it off balance.
Is that it? Could lightening be the demon's weakness?
"Hawke!" Alistair calls, "Your lightening! Use your lightening!"
Hawke turns her head at the sound of her name but she can only shake her head wearily in response to Alistair's instruction. She looks exhausted, her face drawn and gaunt and her body trembling with exertion. Her staff is held in a white-knuckled grip of desperation and it's only then that Alistair realises what a sorry state she's in. She simply can't unleash another field of lightening so soon after the last attack.
They need to buy Hawke some time.
Alistair runs at the demon with an a roaring battle cry that borders on the maniacal – if his friend needs more time, then that's what he'll get her.
"Cassandra!" he shouts, "take the right, I have the left." He turns to look at Bron over his shoulder, "Bron, can you-"
"Yes," she snaps back before he can finish his question, "I've got this."
Alistair charges forward, weaving between the constantly erupting pillars of rock, and skirts around to the demon's left. He can see Cassandra on the other side of the battlefield, doing the same as she approaches the demon from its right. When they're both close enough, they engage the demon at the same time, dividing its attention as they hack and slash from both sides.
Bron meanwhile runs at the demon head-on. Arrows and magic sling through the air mere inches from her head but she's pushing all distractions from her mind, concentrating only on the demon before her. When she's close enough, she dips into a skid, sliding along the floor, just below the demon's reach. She raises her rapier, pierces flesh, and draws a jagged gash of red as she slides under the demon's body.
A curtain of blood bursts in her wake, coating the rocky ground in a puddle of glassy crimson. Alistair is so busy watching Bron, delighted that she'd been able to land such a damaging hit, that he doesn't see Hawke charging forward, doesn't see her unleash her magic with an enraged snarl. He does see the flash of light as a burst of powerful lightening is sent hurtling toward the demon. Her magic is a concentrated spear of power, a great sparking mass of light and heat. It burns with a searing white, popping as electricity burns across the demon's ashen skin.
Alistair jumps back instinctually as Hawke's magic consumes the demon with a crackling shower of energy. The demon is screaming, a high, desperate wail as the lightening burns from within and without. Alistair would have expected the sound to be satisfying but it's too piercing, making his eardrums ache with its high-pitched keening.
With a final, anguished cry, the demon finally collapses, its body disintegrating into smoke and dust as it hits the ground. They all stand and watch as the whorls of ash flurry and shake before finally settling into a sad heap on the ground. It's as if they expect some trap – for the demon to burst to life once more – and no one dares to move until they are absolutely certain that it is dead. There's a moment of strange stillness as they wait. But it is dead – it is dead. Alistair lets the relief wash over him; they've won.
"Quickly!" Eleri barks, interrupting the silence, "to the Rift!"
Eleri rushes forward as her companions follow close behind. She's less graceful than usual, stumbling over cragged outcroppings as she tears up a steep incline toward the Rift. Normally her steps are light and fast but exhaustion is pulling heavily at her feet. Only her desperation is forcing her onward.
Alistair can feel the ground rumbling beneath his feet as he follows and he's not sure whether the floor is shaking or whether his legs are simply trembling from exertion. But then the rocks seems to pitch and roil and Alistair knows then that it's not just him, something really is causing the ground to shake.
Then he sees it, a giant insectoid limb emerging from the mists and stamping on the ground between their group and the Rift. The Divine might have kept the Nightmare occupied for some time but it appears now that their luck has run out. Eleri only just manages to avoid the leg at the last moment, rolling to the side before quickly back-tracking. It seems somewhat futile; with a creature of that magnitude, there is nowhere safe for her to run.
The Nightmare is now looming above them, the Divine spirit nowhere in sight. The Rift is so close – so fucking close – all they need to do is run for it. But with that lumbering demon in their way, there's no way they'll make it.
"We need to clear a path!" Alistair shouts.
"Go!" Hawke shouts, "I'll create a distraction."
"No," Alistair says, raising an arm to Hawke to block her path, "the Grey Wardens started this. It should be a Grey Warden who-"
"A Warden must help them rebuild!" Hawke retorts, "that's your job!"
"You're the Champion!" Alistair insists, "I'm nobody."
"You're not nobody!" Bron says urgently, sensing the direction that the conversation is going and strongly vocalising her disapproval.
Eleri looks between them, utterly torn and broken. She's tired – they all are – they've been fighting non-stop for hours, maybe even longer (who knows how time works in the Fade?) And he knows she wants to save everyone, knows she wants to lead everyone home to Skyhold. But there's resignation on her face. She's not naïve; she knows that what she wants is often very different from what needs to be done.
She throws him a pitying look, laced with apology and regret and a hundred other unspoken thoughts.
"Alistair," she says, "Alistair stays."
End Note:
Hah - sorry about the cliff-hanger ending. Luckily, I actually wrote the next chapter at the same time as I wrote this one. So I only need to do some editing before that one is ready to post. So not TOO long to wait!