I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.
I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story.
As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!
DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 16
DA:O
The endless gray surrounding her went on forever, never changing. Had the blue glow ahead not appear to be growing larger, the elf would never have known she moved at all.
Finally, she stood before the blue glow. It wasn't a doorway, more of a veil or a curtain through which she needed to pass. She could not see beyond it, to see what lay on the other side. But it was the only thing different in the great vastness. She felt certain that if she did not pass through this veil, she would forever traverse the endless nothing.
Gripping her daggers (she had to tell herself to relax, but she found her fear too great), she stepped through.
Blue lights dazzled her eyes, and she found herself standing in a courtyard of an ancient ruin. Surprised, she turned, taking in the features of the new environment. She did not recognize this place, nor the young man dressed in mage's robes standing to the side, watching her with great curiosity.
There was something familiar about the young man. His features were rather nondescript, being typical for a Fereldan man: brown hair, dark eyes, wide open face and narrow chin. Despite that, however, the elf was certain she had seen this man before, and fairly recently.
Still holding her blades before her, she approached the mage. He watched her approach carefully, almost seeming ready to bolt.
Speaking calmly, she introduced herself to the mage. He seemed to relax at her words and told her his name was Niall.
"Niall?" she asked, recognizing the name. "Are you the mage that took the Litany?"
Eyes widened, he nodded. "How did you know?"
"The tranquil, ahm…Owain, told us that you retrieved it." She grimaced, "I presume it must still be on your…body." she hesitated.
Eyes shifting to the surroundings, the mage nodded. "You are aware you are in the Fade, correct?"
Letting out a breath, the elf shrugged, "I had suspected, but I wasn't completely certain. I mean," she frowned, "I'm awake, as far as I know, right? I had heard that only mages can enter the Fade awake?"
"You are correct about the mages. However, I doubt you are fully awake. The demon," he grimaced in memory, "has kept a portion of your mind active so that it seems as though you are awake here in the Fade. That is how it draws power from you. Your activity here, trapped, 'feeds' it, until you finally die in the real world."
Frightened and concerned, she glanced around her. "Is there a way to find my companions?" She looked at the mage. "They must be here as they encountered the demon at the same time as I."
Niall frowned. "There may be a way; however, I have not been able to find it." He scratched his chin. "I went through the portal over there," he pointed to his right to a small blue curtain of shimmering light. "And found a mouse darting in and out of mouse holes. Perhaps you can learn how to move from one Fade portal to another, you may be able to find your friends." His frown intensified. "However, you may just as well resign yourself to the fact that you shall die here."
Giving him a look that told him clearly what she thought of that idea, Adela moved to the Fade portal, and walked through.
DA:O
The young elf leaned against the stone wall of the room. She had just defeated the final demon and felt that the domains where her friends were trapped were open. She ached, and was almost out of healing potions and poultices. She had met with four different souls trapped in the Fade, each of them teaching her a new shape to transform into in order to avoid the various traps within this part of the Fade: a mouse, a golem, Spirit and Burning Man. And, she had learned the name of her nemesis: Sloth.
She looked over to the Fade portal that had formed after the last demon, one of pride, had died. Pushing herself from the wall, she advanced, hoping that she was not too late to help her friends.
DA:O
The landscape was reminiscent of that at Lake Calenhad, the area the Sten had pointed out as where he and his fellow Qunari had battled the darkspawn. Frowning, staring at the blue sky, bluer waters and green trees, the elf followed the sound of the deep, male voices.
Sitting next to a small campfire were two heavily armed and armored Qunari warriors. She noticed that their features, while obviously Qunari, were blurred, undefined, as though the artist who painted them were unsure of how they truly looked. Perhaps they appear this way because I don't know them, the elf thought.
These two were joking, jovial, nudging each other while eating their meal. The third was a very familiar, stoic figure. The Sten turned toward her as she approached and she noted that this features were very well defined. Could still be a trap, she reminded herself as she cautiously stepped forward.
"Warden."
"Sten."
One of the Qunari turned to them. "Who's the little one?" he asked of the Sten. Ignoring his fellows, the Sten kept his attention firmly upon the small elf. She looked at the other two, who were watching her with mild interest.
"You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?" she informed the giant, thankful yet again for her meeting with the mage, Niall. She would never have guessed that was where she was if he hadn't told her.
The Qunari warrior nodded his massive head. "Indeed, Warden. I am aware. You may leave now."
Her brows shot up at that remark. "Leave?" she glanced around in confusion. "Not without you, Sten."
"Ha! This little one wants you to go with her, does she?" one of the other Qunari quipped. Adela looked at him, confusion on her face. These others were nothing like Sten!
The Sten merely scoffed at the Fade Qunari. "They are undisciplined."
"I thought all Qunari were disciplined."
The Sten stared at the elf. "Why are you here, Warden?"
"I'm here to rescue you, Sten."
"Pashaara!" a huge hand cut through the air. "I do not need to be rescued, Warden. Leave me in peace."
"You actually expect me to leave you here, Sten?" Adela asked disbelief in her voice, on her face.
"I have failed in my duty. Leave me here for atonement."
She stared at him for many moments, ignoring the joking and laughing of his fellows. Did he really expect…? "No," she took a step forward, glaring into his face. "You swore an oath to me, Sten, one sworn seeking proper atonement" she jabbed a slender finger into his chest. "If you break that oath where then is your honor?" She met his eyes, unflinching. The Sten growled deeply in his throat.
"You question my honor?" he demanded, glaring down at the much smaller elf.
"Yes," she glared right back, "If you break your oath to me, the oath you swore when I released you from that cage." She rose on her toes, maintaining eye contact. "The oath to end the Blight, to return to your country with the Arishok's answer to the question…"
"I know the question asked!" the Qunari roared.
"Then answer it!" the elf shot back hotly, not backing down, heat rising to her face. She hoped the huge man would not notice her hands were trembling.
The Qunari warrior stared down at the tiny elf, amazement on his stony face. Taking a deep breath, the warrior stepped back, backing down from the resolute elf. He nodded. "I will honor my oath to you, Warden and to the Arishok."
"Wait there," one of the other Qunari rose, his hand going to the greatsword strapped upon his back. "You can't go anywhere, especially not with that tiny thing."
"I go where I am needed," the Sten advised, almost impatiently. "I swore an oath."
The other warrior rose, his axe in his large hands. "Sorry, but we cannot allow you to leave us again, brother."
"We will need to fight them, Warden, in order to leave this place," the Sten calmly said as he pulled his Chasind greatsword from his back.
"Of course we do," Adela whispered sarcastically, drawing her daggers. The Sten glanced down at her before charging to meet the Qunari.
Brute strength against brute strength. That was how the Sten fought. His massive sword swung in, intercepting the swing of the axe wielding Qunari. Focusing his power, the Sten brought his sword up, altering its course to swing out to the side. The other could not bring his axe up quickly enough, and the Sten easily took his head off.
Adela ducked beneath the heavy swing from the greatsword, diving in and driving her daggers between the plates along her foe's stomach. The false Qunari growled out in pain and anger, drawing back on his sword for another swing. The heavy two handed style was not effective against an agile elf, and he found himself swinging at empty air as she danced around to his back. Bringing her hands together, she drove both daggers into his back, slipping into the overlapping plates, through the flesh beneath and into one large kidney. The Qunari howled in pain as the Sten's sword swung in, piercing through the plate and out through the chest. Gasping, the Qunari fell to his knees, and then flopped to his face.
Breathing heavily, Adela resheathed her weapons. "I hope they were not so easily dispatched in real life," she muttered, trying to catch her breath. The Sten merely scoffed at that notion.
"Let us leave," he demanded, putting his sword back in its scabbard. "Wait! What trickery is this!" he demanded as his form faded away.
"Damn!" Adela thought, kicking at the ground, watching as the trees, blue sky and bluer water of the Lake vanished, to be replaced by the grayness of the Fade. Searching, she found another familiar blue glow, indicating another section of the Fade. Scowling, deciding that she really hated the Fade, the elf stomped off in search of her other companions.
DA:O
Weariness threatened to overtake the elf as she continued her journey across the Fade. She hated it here; the endless gray landscape revealing no detail until almost upon a ledge or under a crag made her nerves more on edge than she already was. She had met and faced many demons since entering this part of the Fade, some taking on Loghain's form, others her family, still others made no attempt at subterfuge and merely attacked her on sight. She had numerous injuries detailing each battle. Her hands hurt, she had a headache, and her concern and worry for her friends nearly grounded her.
But it was for her friends and the knowledge that they had to get out of here that pushed her along, kept her feet moving. Because of the lack of distance, her bow was nearly useless here, so she had to rely upon her daggers. She grumbled, wishing she had allowed for more time with Leliana to further train in their use.
She faltered, bringing a hand to her forehead. This part of the Fade was very draining on her physical and mental resources. She had to consciously keep herself moving. She looked up, trying to discern anything - a path, a horizon, a ledge - but still was greeted with only gray fog and incomprehensible shallowness. She was surprised and alert immediately when a familiar figure emerged from the fog, staring down at her.
DA:O
Loghain blinked, staring down at the elven woman with clear disbelief in his eyes. But there she was, weary looking, dark circles under her eyes marring her fair skin. She was dressed in leather armor and holding her daggers - he recognized them as Adaia's daggers - tightly in her hands. He reached over to grasp her shoulders, but the elf backed up, her daggers up and ready to strike.
"Hold right there, demon!" she all but snarled. "Trying this trick again, are we?" she tilted her head. "Not too original now, are you?"
Realizing that he was unarmed and dressed only in trousers and a light shirt, Loghain stepped back, astonished by the hostility with which he was greeted. A realization that this was not Adela came to mind. After all, he had encountered many strange things here, not the least of which were demons posing as a more supplicant Adela.
He wondered why they would incarnate her as battle weary.
She was watching him, those fathomless blue eyes scrutinizing every move, ready to strike. He had told her once she was no warrior, but watching this Adela he doubted his words. She was battle weary and covered with numerous wounds, many still bleeding. The sight hurt him, even if he did not believe that this was his Adela. Despite that doubt, he spoke, "Adela, it is me, Loghain," his voice rasped out, as though he had not used it recently. He shook his head, trying to clear out the confusion that fogged him mind. It usually took him a while once he was here, but eventually his senses would return.
For now, his focus was on the elven woman before him.
"I know who you are supposed to resemble," the elf said, taking another step back, frowning severely at him. "But I've met other Loghains here as well. I could just kill you as I have the others."
Loghain stopped, listening to her voice, taking in the sorrow, the fear, the weariness that exuded from it. "How long have you been here?" he asked, for some reason feeling concern for this pseudo-Adela.
She shook her head, "I have no idea," her eyes looked up, seeming to try and pierce the gray veil about them. "A while." Her eyes closed, and she shook her head. "Too long," came the whispered reply.
Never would I imagine her this way, the man thought, staring at her. The other…perhaps. But, not this. Loghain knew where he was, in a portion of the Fade where he had been trapped, time and time again. His own little hell created by an unknown captor who would dig deeply into his mind and psyche and pull those elements he kept only to himself. Adela's image was one that was used more than any, more than his wife Cecile, more so than even Rowan. The one who had created this tiny corner just for him had also attempted using Maric's image once. But, those had always failed; the images of Adela, however, had always caught him, at least for a while.
Perhaps they are changing their tactics, he thought, continuing to watch the wary elf. A sense of sorrow came over him as he thought of her, dead on the field at Ostagar. Too soon, he thought, staring at her. And he had never been able to tell her…
"So," Adela spoke, breaking into his thoughts, "do we fight or can I just continue on my way?" She frowned, "Because if it's all the same to you, I would rather avoid a fight and just keep going."
A dark brow quirked up at that. Now that sounded like Adela. "Where are you going?" he asked, curious.
There was a tilt of her head, and he could see she was debating answering him. "I search for my companions. They are lost…" she swept her hand out "…here, somewhere. I keep running into resistance," her hand waved vaguely at him, "and I am certain they are in need of help."
The way this Adela spoke was more like the real one, even if the image of her did not fit. "Adela," he spoke her name, gaining her attention. She turned her face back to him, an inquisitive look upon her fair face. He reached a hand to her face and this time she did not jerk back or retreat. Her eyes fell closed for a moment, but shot open quickly before she allowed herself to relax against his hand. "I am sorry we never were able to speak after the battle." He watched as her eyes widened, and her hand reached up and took hold of his. She stepped forward, her blue eyes on his, searching…for what? He wanted to say more, started to, but then felt that familiar tug at his consciousness, the forceful pull that would rip him from here back to himself. With a growl, he fought against it, and Adela stepped back, wariness in her eyes. One final pull and Loghain was gone, the last sight of Adela's face being one of confusion and despair.
DA:O
She was shaking. The gray fog that permeated this part of the Fade had vanished as did the doppelganger of Loghain. Why was she shaking? She was tired, hungry, and afraid. And the only one of her companions, the Sten that she had been able to find and rescue from his current imprisonment had vanished.
And then to encounter a Loghain that was so very much like Loghain…She feared that too much longer here and the next time they tried to entrap her they may well succeed. She had to find the others, and quickly.
Resolutely, she forced strength through her limbs, and jogged away from the area.
DA:O
Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto her clasped hands. Kneeling in the great chamber, among the bodies of the young, her white head bowed, Wynne prayed to the Maker, asking for deliverance, wanting an answer.
She heard the light footfalls approaching, but she did not look up from her misery to see. It didn't matter. Death would be most welcome to the elderly mage. Her eyes lifted and her vision skimmed over the bodies of the young apprentices - children she was sworn to protect. And, she had failed them. All of them dead.
Leather clad legs stepped to the mage's side. A voice, carrying its own sadness, called out to her, "Wynne?" the booted figure knelt, "Are you alright?" A small, concerned hand lay on her shoulder, squeezing it.
"Leave me be," the mage whispered, tears in her voice. "I have failed them." She looked up into the concerned face of the young elven Warden. "Why was I spared if not to protect them?" Her blue eyes, usually so sharp with wisdom, were pale with age and sorrow, "Leave me here to build their pyres, scatter their ashes and mourn their deaths." Her head drooped again to her chest. "And then I, too, shall die, and be grateful for that."
"Wynne," Adela spoke again, her voice low and soft, giving her shoulder a bit of a shake, "You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?"
The mage lifted her head, eyes narrowing at the elf. "I am a mage, am I not?" she asked indignant. "I would know if we were in the Fade!"
She glared at the elf when Adela shook her head, "Your grief, your fear, is making it difficult for you to see the truth," she sighed, her eyes skimming over the corpses. "Wynne," she turned back to the mage, "Please, think. Put aside your grief and fear and just think for a moment."
Wynne shook her head, a slender hand to her forehead. "Why do you persist?" Anger formed in her heart and her head snapped up. "And where were you! I trusted you as an ally and…and you were no where when this atrocity occurred!" The mage rose to her feet, looming over the smaller elf, her staff in her hand. "Have you no regard for the dead?"
With a sigh, the elf pushed herself to her feet. "Wynne, please," she tried again, putting up her hands in a placating manner, "just do whatever you mages do when you're in the Fade," she grimaced, "just look around, push aside the grief for a moment."
Pale blue eyes stared hard into the depths of Adela's eyes. "Alright, if it will make you feel better," the mage conceded, her eyes darkening in concentration. "I have always had…" she paused, frowning, "Wait. My mind is…unusually foggy." she shook her head, "I don't understand. I have always had an affinity to the Fade, yet now I cannot concentrate…"
The elven corpse rose, causing both women to jump back, "Please Wynne, don't leave us," it pleaded, the words erupting from torn lips.
"No, no!" Wynne shouted, raising hand and staff, "Get away foul demon!"
As the other corpses arose, each calling out Wynne's name and pleading, Adela spoke, "We have to defeat them, Wynne," the mage turned and noted the sad look in the elf's eyes. "It is the only way we will be able to leave this part of the Fade." Adela pulled her daggers out. "We still need to find Alistair."
Nodding the mage set about casting her spells, tossing one of rejuvenation upon the weary looking elven Warden. Adela moved gracefully, cutting into an apprentice that had raised his staff to throw a spell at her. Wynne closed her heart off, reminding herself that these were not the children she had sworn to protect; these were demons and needed to be destroyed.
A rock fist smashed one apprentice down, elven daggers cut the throat of another. Wynne cast healing spells upon the elf before turning and freezing another of the corpses. From the corner of her eye she saw Adela spin, her daggers back in their sheaths, her bow in hand. If she hadn't been pressed with a skeletal apprentice snarling in her face, the elderly mage would have been impressed with the rapid shooting the elf displayed as she took out the two skeletal archers on the rise.
Wynne smashed her staff into the face of the apprentice before her, staggering back from the impact, almost falling. A cry came to her lips as the thing grasped her by the throat, squeezing, leering into her face. Then the grip eased, and the apprentice-thing fell. Staggering upright, the elderly mage saw that Adela stood there, pulling her daggers free of the corpse. She saw the concern in the elf's eyes as she turned her attention back to the mage.
"Wynne, are you okay?" the elf stepped over, eyes skimming over her, searching for wounds. Appreciative of the honest concern she saw there, the woman shook her head. "More frightened than hurt, my dear," she replied in her warm tones, allowing a nervous chuckle the form. She placed a reassuring hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. "We must leave this place and find our missing Warden."
Adela nodded, obvious relief on her face. The room began to fade, taking on a grayness Wynne hadn't seen before. "Wait?" she was confused, and looked to the elf, who was fading from her sight. "Where are you going, Adela?" she moved forward, reaching for the startled elf. But, then, she was alone, Adela was gone.
DA:O
"Damn!" Adela cursed as Wynne vanished from her sight and her surroundings took on the familiar and hated gray nothingness. She bowed her head briefly, then lifted it to skim the horizon, looking for that blasted blue glow…ah, there it was. Sighing, keeping her bow in her hand, the elf began to trudge toward the glow, hoping that she would find Alistair soon.
DA:O
She found Alistair, standing in a garden, a small, neat cottage behind him. Children of various ages raced and played, giggling, laughing and shouting in the background. Alistair stood, speaking with a woman whose hair was the same color as his, but with the same blurred features of the other denizens of the Fade she had encountered. The children as well. She paused, frowning, at the three masculine figures that stood back, watching the scene. Those figures were distinct and she recognized: Duncan, Maric and Cailan. Why would Alistair be envisioning them here?
"Adela!" came Alistair's happy shout, and then she found herself scooped up into his arms, pulled tightly against him in a hug. "I was wondering where you were!" His happy amber eyes gazed down at her, his affection for her shining very clearly. "Don't you know that Goldanna has supper nearly ready?"
"Goldanna?" the elf asked, letting Alistair put her back down on the ground. The man took her hand in his and pulled her toward the cottage.
"Silly," he teased, tugging her hand. "My sister." He looked down at her. "The kids have been waiting for you to return." He sighed, happily, as his gazed swept over the playing children, settling upon the men it the back. "Of course, my father and brother kept telling me that you would arrive soon, but…" Wait? Father? Brother? The elf peered up at Alistair as he chattered away, glancing back at the dead kings. She almost wanted to slap herself in the head. That's why Alistair had seemed so familiar when she first met him! Now was not the time to discuss that little omission on her friend's part.
"Alistair," she said gently, pulling him from his rant.
The look he gave her nearly caused her heart to break. "Come on, Adela," he said, his voice softening as he turned, pulling her into his arms. "We can be one big happy family." He smiled, and the look of pure happiness she saw there made his handsome face just shine. "I have my brother and sister, my father, Duncan, and…" he bent his head down, so his words were only for her, "and you. The family I want."
The sting of tears formed behind her eyes, and she felt her face tremble. Alistair's dream was for a family. How did he grow up that this is what he would want the most? She looked away from him, toward Duncan and the kings. They each were watching her, and each nodded to her, Cailan with a wide grin on his face. The children's playing noises increased, and Goldanna scolded the children cheerfully to wash for supper. All the while, Alistair just gazed at her, holding her, wanting this so badly she could feel it.
And she had to break his dream. "Alistair…" she started, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "No, Adela, please, let me say something…" that wistful look on his face returned, but she couldn't let it remain.
"No, no, Alistair," she shook her head, pulling away from his grasp. She noticed that the others were watching more intently now, even the children had stopped their play. "This," she thrust her hand out, sweeping over the scene around them, "this is not real." She lifted her sad eyes to him, truly wishing she did not have to do this. "This is just a dream," she stepped forward, maintaining eye contact. "A dream you can never have."
"Wha…what?" he frowned, "No, Adela." He shook his head. "This is real, a family, just as I've always wanted. And, you, by my side, always," he bowed his head, "I lo…"
"No!" she shouted, pushing him back. "Alistair! Duncan, Maric and Cailan are dead!" She pointed to the men, who were now glaring at her. "They died, Alistair. And I don't…" Alistair was shaking his head, pleading with her as he stepped forward to take hold of her again. She backed off, "No, Alistair." her voice lowered but remained firm, "I don't love you." She shook her blonde head, "Not the way you want me to."
His face cracked, and his head bowed. "You could learn to," he said in a soft, broken voice.
Biting her lip, she stepped forward, keeping an eye on the demons that surrounded them, still watching. "Maybe," she admitted, wondering if she had just lied to him as she pressed a hand to his cheek and smiled at him when he raised his head. "But, not here and not now," she stated firmly. "This is not real, and we have to leave."
Alistair stood there for many moments. His pseudo-family remained impassive, still, as though awaiting a move or word from the quiet Warden. He raised his face to her, and although sadness remained, there was a determination as well. The demons masquerading as his family began to change and twist and the three men at the back pulled their weapons and advanced.
Sorrow in her heart, knowing how much it would hurt Alistair to have to kill these things, Adela pulled up her bow, notching an arrow, "Be ready, Alistair," she commanded, relief sweeping over her as the ex-Templar pulled his sword and shield from his back. An arrow flew, striking the false Duncan in the chest. Although she knew this was not real, it still hurt to have to fight - to kill - those who looked so much like men she had cared for in life. Alistair turned, a war cry issuing from his lips, as he smashed his shield into the face of his 'sister'.
The fake Duncan staggered, glowering at the arrow protruding from his chest. She let fly another, and then a third. A sob escaped her throat as she let loose a fourth arrow, this one embedding solidly in one eye. A raging inhuman roar issued from the not-Duncan's throat and it fell over, clutching at the offending arrow.
Alistair bashed and stabbed at the demon posing as his sister. It snarled at him and, his face grim and determined, he stabbed forward, his blade cutting through sternum, slicing upwards further, cleaving the monster. Its agony escaping its lips in a ragged snarl, it fell over, convulsing to the ground.
Adela spun, arrow already notched to bowstring, turning to face the image of Cailan bearing down upon her. This is not Cailan, she reminded herself, keeping her eyes from the enraged blue eyes of the fiend that dared take the face of her friend. Growling, she let the arrow loose, not even watching as it slammed into the creature's throat. She pulled another arrow, notching that and letting it fly, and another in rapid succession. The creature wearing Cailan's face continued onward, ignoring the arrows protruding from its chest, and it took a swipe at the small elf with the greatsword she recalled Cailan carrying into battle. She raised her bow, catching the heavy sword against it, twisting the blade away as she danced to the side. With a viscous yank, she let go of her bow, causing the Cailan double to stumble. She stepped aside, drawing her daggers, as the demon regained its balance and advanced upon her.
Alistair fought through the throng of demonic children, swiping each aside with great sweeps of his blade. He could see Adela battling the false Cailan, but a movement to his right caused him to turn. Just in time, he raised his shield to deflect the blow from Maric's longsword. Alistair stared for a moment into the reflection of his father. He knew this was not the man who had sired him, the one who had abandoned him as a babe, left to the care of another. And, yet…he felt that pang of regret and longing, and he had to fight hard against it, knowing that if he faltered he was doomed, and so was Adela. Hardening his heart, refusing to think of this creature before him as anything other than a demonic evil, he pushed against the creature with his shield, thrusting the creature away. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" tumbling from his lips, he brought his shield back and then smashed if forcefully into the handsome, snarling face. The creature staggered back, swaying slightly, and Alistair brought his sword up and swung in an arc, hitting it again in the face with its pommel, and then twisting the blade to bring the blade itself sweeping across the fiend's neck. Foul air hissed from the wound, and the thing stumbled, tripping backwards, and Alistair took advantage and plunged his sword deep into the demon's chest. Kicking the creature from his blade, the Warden spun about, racing to finish off the Cailan duplicate.
The heavy greatsword swooped down at her; she barely danced aside, feeling the rush of air the weapon created in its passing. She didn't recall the real Cailan being this adept with the sword, but then she had never really seen him in a real fight. She doubted, however, that these doppelgangers mirrored the men's battle prowess as they did their appearance. Duncan's duplication, after all, had fallen very easily.
She stepped to the side, bending backwards to avoid another powerful sweep. She ducked and rolled under the blade, coming up to the side of the creature. She slashed out with one blade, trying to find a weakness in the ornamental gold armor the thing wore. There were no seems that she could find, no place to drive a dagger. She bent down at the waist, moving again beneath the blade, to the back. Ah ha! She jabbed her blade into the back of one knee. The thing lurched forward, loosing its balance. Another jab to the other knee, and it fell to the ground.
Alistair arrived, shouting at the Cailan-thing lying on the ground. In one fluid motion, his sword descended, easily swiping the head from its neck, sending it flying away.
They stood, breathing hard, trying hard not to look at the corpses that had yet to fade away with the cottage and cheery surroundings. Then Alistair moved, gathering Adela into his arms, holding her tightly. She returned the hug. He started babbling an apology to her and she shook her head, pushing him away enough so that she could look into his face. "Alistair, not now," she gave him a small smile. "Later, we'll talk. Now we have to get out of here."
He nodded, releasing her, rubbing his hand over his short hair. "Okay, so now what do we do?"
She was biting her lip, watching him closely. "Well, if this follows true to form, you will disappear and then I'll probably end up having to find you all again."
"What?" he asked incredulity overriding sadness in his voice. And, as before, the cottage and surroundings faded to gray, and Alistair, with a final cry out to Adela, vanished as well.
Adela hung her head, her eyes closed, fighting the tears. Will this never end? She wondered. Raising her head, she gasped in surprise.
The grayness remained, but instead of an empty landscape she was surrounded by veins of lyrium jutting from the gray ground, and ahead stood a tall figure, reminiscent of the demon they had encountered back in the Tower. She was shaking, but resolved. Hoping this was not a battle she had to endure on her own, she approached the creature.
DA:O
It had promised to make her happy; it had promised to give her everything she desired. Wynne scoffed, telling the demon that they would not be swayed; the Sten stoically faced the creature and said not a word; and Alistair merely quipped about how stifling hot the countryside had been and so not thank you. Adela smiled, replying that her happiness could only be found in the real world and not some fantasy derived from avoiding life. The thing sneered at her and raised a hand. And a bolt of cold lightening struck it from another corner. Adela turned and there was Niall, fire in his eyes as he began casting his spells. Wynne's voice joined in and the Sten and Alistair rushed forward, each striking at the Sloth demon.
Adela danced back and away, scooping up a handful of gray dirt and tossed it into the demon's eyes. Snarling, momentarily blinded, the two warriors were able to gain significant hits. She could feel the buzz in the air as the mages cast their spells, causing further injury to the monstrosity. The elf ran to the back of the thing, stabbing it as she made her way there. The creature's form blurred and vanished, to be replaced with another, larger form. Three times the thing changed, three times the Wardens and their companions defeated it. Then, as its final reincarnation vanished, the five of them stood, standing in the field of gray and lyrium. Niall, breathing hard, had a smile on his face.
"Well," he said, the smile in his voice, "That was invigorating." He turned to Adela, his face becoming firm. "Now, you must awaken and remove the Litany from my…body." his head drooped slightly at that.
"Body?" Adela questioned, stepping toward the mage who had helped her through the Fade. "What do you mean?"
The young mage shook his head. "I've been here too long," he replied, lifting his head, looking into her eyes. "The demon was feeding off my life energy to fuel the dreams of you and your friends," he frowned. "I doubt there is much left of me…"
"No," she said firmly, grasping his arm. "I don't believe that. We will heal you, Niall. You've done too much for the Circle and the mages to just be left to die."
He smiled at her, this elf who was a stranger but also a friend. "Thank you, my friend." He looked at Wynne, who was watching him with kind eyes. "You should be prepared to use the Litany against Uldred. He is a blood mage, Wynne. He is the one who summoned the demons and caused the abominations." The elder mage nodded; she had suspected as much.
"Now, my friend," he placed his hands on Adela's shoulders. "All you have to do now is wake up."
DA:O
The four awakened by the body of the abomination that had hosted the Sloth demon. Next to it, lay an unconscious (but still alive) Niall. Adela sent a pleading look to Wynne, who merely nodded as she stepped beside the young man's body. She began casting, a deep, penetrating blue light erupting from her hands. Adela noted the frown on the older woman's face, but saw here, too, determination. "It shall take some time," Wynne gritted out from between her teeth as the casting began to take more power from her.
"Take the time you need, Wynne," Adela said, determined that this man's bravery not be rewarded with death. She knew the Sten was looking at her disapprovingly, but she did not care. He had pledged to follow her lead; if he did not like where she led, he was free to go. She was determined not to become so hardened that one life meant nothing to her.
Wynne's efforts took the better part of an hour. Although not completely healed, the young mage now slept in a natural sleep. Alistair and the Sten had cleared out an adjacent room and carefully placed the young man within. Wynne cast a glyph on the doorway, offering the slumbering man a modicum of protection.
The group passed through several hallways, fighting a few straggling abominations. At the foot of a flight of stairs (Wynne told them that they led to the Harrowing chamber), they found a young Templar knight, kneeling in prayer. Surrounding him was a nimbus of white light, obviously a cage of some kind.
The young man looked up, noticing the small group before his cage. He murmured something about not falling for more of the demons' tricks. His eyes, glazed from lack of sleep and worry, settled upon Adela's face for a moment, and his face crinkled in thought. Shaking his head, he rose, demanding to know what they wanted.
"Calm yourself, Cullen," Wynne spoke in soothing tones, stepping forward. "The Wardens are here to help."
"Help?" the young man - Cullen - croaked out in disbelief. "There is no hope. The mages…" his voice faltered. "He's torturing them. Making them change, into those abominations." His eyes hardened, and he glared at Adela. "You have to stop them! Stop them all!" A gauntleted fist punched at the barrier, and a spark flared.
Staring at the ruin of the chamber they stood in, Adela turned back to the Templar. "Don't worry," she assured him, "We will stop Uldred."
"You have to stop them all!" he insisted, his mind obviously close to breaking, the pain of what he had endured and seen too fresh for him to deal with. "Kill all of the mages!"
Shocked, the elf stepped back, bumping into Alistair, who placed a hand on her shoulder. "No," she said with a shake of her head. "I'll not kill everyone up there." She frowned, staring at the enraged Templar, very glad he was in his cage. "I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands!"
"Innocents?" the Templar raged, rushing at the barrier, pounding at it to escape. "Mages are not innocent! They are abominations, waiting release! They must all be destroyed!"
"Cullen…" Wynne began, but the Templar cut her off with a snarl, and began pacing his cage.
Seeing he was too far gone at this point, knowing that he would not - could not - comprehend, Adela began leading her group up the stairs. She turned as she felt his eyes upon her back. "Be well, Cullen," she said quietly as the Sten and Alistair passed her on the steps. "We'll finish this and come back to help you."
His eyes, a reddish brown, stared into her for a moment, and then, with another cry of rage, he turned away, and resumed his pacing.
With a sigh, the elf turned and watched as the Sten pushed open the heavy doors.
DA:O
The smell of fear, human waste, and lyrium assaulted Adela's senses. Standing in the center of it was a smug mage, one she recalled from the meeting she attended at Ostagar. So this was Uldred? She thought. She recalled his arrogance at the meeting, the sneering looks he had tossed her way. Some how, she was not surprised that he was the one responsible for the destruction and death at the tower.
He had actually thought she would want to become one of those things? Was he mad? Well, she took a look at his face and thought, actually, he is. She calmly pulled her daggers, and she heard the Sten pull his massive sword and Alistair set his blade and shield before him. Uldred continued to rant and Adela reminded Wynne to make use of the Litany. The mage nodded and, without another word, the three charged at the mage before he could come back to any semblance of coherency.
The bald mage snarled at the warriors and elf, crying out in the ancient Arcanum of the Tevinter Imperium. His form changed, grew, and all semblances of humanity vanished, leaving in its stead a huge, ogre-like creature with bladed arms. The Sten and Alistair continued their assault with blades and shields; Wynne kept both warriors on their feet by casting healing and rejuvenation spells. Adela, dancing behind the mage-turned-abomination felt a sudden chill to the air. Wynne cried out a warning, and then Adela heard the elderly mage's voice lift up in song, singing from the scroll she held in her hands. The chill vanished with a burst, and she heard the Uldred-monster snarl, trying to swipe at the annoyingly efficient mage. Wynne, with agility that belied her age, dashed away from the huge hand, and ran to where a group of stunned mages lay.
The thing was huge. Adela concentrated on bringing it down, and so stabbed continually at the backs of its knees and ankles. It would swipe out as though to swat at an annoying gnat and the elf would simply dance out of its reach. When it was distracted, the Sten and Alistair would push their assaults harder, digging their blades deeply into muscled chest, stomach and thighs. When it would turn its attention back to the men, the elf would dash back in, resuming her stabbing assault.
And so it continued; every now and again Wynne would need to sing out the Litany, and the mages continued to lie on the floor, each in a stupor of some kind. Adela's arms ached, and then she would feel one of Wynne's rejuvenating spells wash over her with a cool heat.
Uldred bled for numerous wounds, the Sten and Alistair managing to deal it many serious wounds. A fisted rock spell cast from Wynne finally toppled the beast over, and Alistair stabbed at its neck with his blade. The Sten, snarling in his native language, took a running charge and drove his greatsword deeply into the abomination's chest. Pushing at it with arm and hip, the Qunari drove it deeper and upwards, slicing into the great heart behind the massive ribcage. Blood spurted from the jugular Alistair had severed and, with a great sighing groan, the abomination lay still. Wynne cast a quick healing spell over the two men, and then turned her attention to the mages.
One of the mages, an elderly man with a great, bristling beard of gray and white, rose unsteadily to his feet. "Ah, Wynne," he spoke in a gravely, deliberate voice. "I see we have you to thank for our rescue."
Wynne smiled graciously, then pulled Adela closer with a friendly hand. "Oh, I don't know, Irving," her warm voice met his with obvious amusement. "I had some help you see." She nudged Adela affectionately, turning her eyes to encompass Alistair and the Sten, both of whom were walking - Alistair with a slight limp - over to the group.
"And, so I see," the man's gray eyes settled upon Adela. "And whom do we have to thank for such a timely rescue?"
Bowing slightly, Adela introduced herself and the others. "Gray Wardens?" Irving asked a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Ah, so it is a Blight after all?" Adela and Alistair both nodded. "Then you are here to see to it that the Circle honors it's obligations to the Wardens." Again they nodded. A knowing smile crossed the man's face. "And, of course, you shall have it." He grunted, taking a small, unsteady step forward. Alistair gripped the older man's arm and Irving gave him a thankful look. The other mages rose unsteadily to their feet as well. Adela was pleased to see that so many had survived. The look of relief upon Wynne's face said much the same thing. The elderly mage turned her smile to the young elf.
"Thank you, my dear," she whispered as the two followed Irving, Alistair and the Sten from the chambers. "I am so pleased that the Maker saw fit to send you our way."
Adela accepted the praised with a bow of her head. "I came here for the Circle's help, Wynne," the elf reminded her. "I'm just glad that we were able to help out."
"The Circle owes you much, Warden," Irving had called from the front of the group as they made their way down the stairs. "And we will see to it that our obligation is met."
DA:O
The group gathered Cullen (who stared suspiciously at Irving's back) and Niall (who had awakened and, with the Sten's assistance was able to walk), and walked slowly down to the ground level where awaited Gregoir and his Templars. The rest of their group followed quietly, although they were curious as to what had happened, they knew they would have to wait until they were away from the Tower before their questions would be answered.
Adela could not shake the anger she felt toward the Knight-Commander. It had taken their small group of four (along with the four they left to guard the children) to defeat the evil that had swept through the tower. The Templars, who were trained to combat magic and abominations, and far more numerous, could have easily taken care of the evil within, and without the need to kill every living soul they encountered. The Knight-Commander had seemed genuinely relieved to see Irving alive, and had reprimanded the still exhausted Cullen when he had spoken against the First Enchanter. Still, looking at the older Templar, Adela could not shake the dislike she had for him. He had been far to willing to destroy all of the life within the tower, as though the life of a mage was not worth fighting for. She felt he was abominable himself and a coward, and she held no respect for him or his station.
Her thoughts turned back to her companions as she heard Wynne speak with Irving, requesting permission to go with the Wardens. Her dark mood brightened. Morrigan was a wonderful mage for damaging things, but she was no healer, at all, on any level. And while Adela was a fine non-magical healer, having a mage who could just cast a spell while in battle and keep the combatants on their feet was definitely an advantage. Both of the Circle mages turned to the elf, and she quickly gave her assent for the elder mage to join them. Adela pointedly ignored Morrigan's scoff at that.
With final farewells, and a promise from Irving to be ready when they were needed, the group left the Tower. Adela was very much looking forward to a night sleeping in a bed, and a hot bath.