Notes: Thank you for reading! This one required some significant thought and reworking.
Chapter 24: A Collective Nightmare
Before heading for the Grey Warden holding at Adamant Fortress, they had to travel through desolate desert land. This region had been absolutely blasted by the ancient Blight, and it had never recovered. Plants were few and far between, except in very isolated spots, yet dangerous predators found enough to eat that they could grow quite large. It was strange to Max that there could be so many apex predators in the desert like lurkers, varghests, phoenixes, quillbacks, and so on—to say nothing of High Dragons. What were they eating to grow so big and so numerous? The sparse habitat could not support this.
Solas suggested that there could be a magical anomaly in the region that encouraged their growth. "Beasts of old grew far larger," he said. "Great Dragons, for instance."
"Those are legendary," Cassandra dismissed. "The Nevarran dragon-hunters never found any evidence of them."
"No, they aren't," Iron Bull objected. "The Qunari have records of them."
"In this particular instance, the Qunari are correct," Solas said. He gave the Tal-Vashoth a wry smile. "That is quite uncommon, but so it is. And I think a similar phenomenon may be occurring with these desert creatures."
But whatever magical well that the predators were tapping into could not feed or water the Inquisition party. By the time they reached the heart of the desert, they were almost out of supplies. They took a brief detour to check in on the nearby holdings at the Forbidden Oasis, where several ancient demons had been imprisoned long ago by the elves of Elvhenan. This small area had plenty of clean water, fresh vegetation, and edible meat such as fish, nug, and tusket.
Anders was enchanted at the sight of the oasis's intrinsic pool. He had been growing increasingly dour and silent as the party advanced, but this place lit him up like a candle. For that matter, even the party members most likely to retain command of their emotions, such as Vivienne and Cassandra, were pleased at the beautiful sights of this place. And Sera could not help but make a joke about the fact that the ancient elven city of Solasan was there, asking Solas if his namesake was something he had seen in the Fade. The question made him somewhat uncomfortable, Max noted, but nobody pressed it.
The next stop on the Inquisition's route was Griffon Wing Keep, a fortress in the Western Approach of Orlais that the Inquisition had taken from the Venatori. Long ago it had been a Grey Warden stronghold, and the Inquisition had managed to establish supply lines of a sort there. It was a good resting and restocking point, the only one in this desolate area for miles and miles.
After restocking and getting the lay of the land, the Inquisition party headed for Adamant Fortress. The Grey Wardens of Montsimmard—no, at this point it was the entire Order in Orlais, plus, most likely, some of the Anderfels Wardens—were under the sway of Magister Livius Erimond, up to no good in their desperation to deal with the false Calling.
Why they could not put two and two together and realize that it was indeed a false Calling, neither Max nor any of his friends could figure out. As Warden Sidona Andras had said when they had first found her in Crestwood, "What are the odds that Darkspawn Number One returns at the same time that every Warden in Orlais coincidentally feels the Calling?"
Andras herself had fallen into the role that she had insisted in Crestwood she hadn't been fit for: leading the Wardens. Max and Dorian observed the dynamic as their carriages and wagons rolled down the Orlesian roads toward Adamant. Carver Hawke and Darrian Tabris were deferring by choice, the two men noted, but that was because they were Fereldan and knew that they would not want to be reassigned to Orlais. The new Wardens, Rainier and Felix, were following Warden Andras.
Anders, the other Grey Warden in the party—though one in retirement from active duty—had become troubled in his visage as they approached the region of northern Orlais where Adamant was. His expression grew darker and more worried as night fell, and finally, Max had to ask him about it.
"Is the false Calling getting to you?" he asked in a low voice. "Or disturbing—him?"
Anders gave Max a quick shake of his head. "I know what that is," he said quietly, "and, although it is getting worse, I'm still able to keep it at bay with my reason. The problem is... something else." He gazed ahead, his brows furrowing.
Max waited to see if he would say what troubled him. After a pause, Anders finally continued. "My wife has had a dark dream for a long time. Ten years, at least. And most of it has come true."
"Do you think it's a sending, then? A spirit imparting knowledge to her about the future?"
Anders shuddered. "I don't know. There are some parts of it that she should not have been able to predict or even fear." He took a deep breath. "Some parts, yes. She dreams of herself wearing a crown—the diadem of Kirkwall—with blood dripping from it, her footprints leaving a long bloody trail behind her. So far, nothing too alarming, right? She knew from the beginning that the fight for mage rights would be bloody. But then... there are other elements." He drew his coat close and stared hard at Max. "She also dreamed about a bright green rift in the sky."
Max shivered. "And this has been happening for ten years?"
"Yes. She had this dream for the first time in 9:32 Dragon. Now why would she have a recurring dream of the Breach, or a rift, starting ten years ago? That's not something she would have anticipated or feared." Anders steeled himself. "In the dream, she continues to walk this long path, with that rift overhead, until at last she sees a fight against a terrible, monstrous demon, the biggest one I've ever seen. I am fighting it. The figure of me alternates with someone else, someone she's never been able to identify. A man, though."
Me? Max wondered.
"And whoever is fighting this demon is killed by it," Anders concluded darkly. He gazed ahead again. "She didn't want me to leave Kirkwall, and it wasn't because of political reasons. It was because of this. And I've just felt, all this time, that... that whatever we are facing at Adamant Fortress is related. That Adamant Fortress is where this fight will take place." He gazed out bleakly. "I feel like I'm about to meet my doom. And I feel like I've betrayed her and our children by venturing forth like this, knowing that she'd dreamed this."
Dorian and Max were silent. Max didn't know what to say. He had watched as the envy demon's predictions almost came true.
But they didn't, he finally realized. "I think I mentioned the visions that the envy demon showed me at Therinfal Redoubt," he said. "They didn't come true, because I was able to stop things from reaching that state. So what we see in the Fade, even if it is a possible future, doesn't have to be a prophecy."
Dorian agreed. "The Fade is a realm of possibility, potential, and above all uncertainty," he said. "Nothing is fixed, and that definitely includes possible futures. They're all probabilities, Anders. They're not visions of the inevitable."
Anders nodded. "I just hope I make the right choices when the time comes... and I do think it is rapidly coming."
At those words, the torchlight of Adamant Fortress finally came into view.
The entire Inquisition party was present for this fight. Anders had been very insistent that they needed a large party for it, and Max had not questioned him. Max himself, all nine of his combat companions, Leliana, the Wardens, and Anders faced down absolute madness.
Clarel de Chanson, the Warden-Commander of Orlais, had abased herself at the feet of a Tevinter magister. The Wardens, who supposedly bowed to no king and had been able to defy the Divine herself for ages with regard to blood magic, had disgraced themselves by putting themselves under the command of a servant of Corypheus—their archenemy.
Max stole a glance at the faces of the Grey Wardens as the party approached Clarel. Every one of them was enraged at this betrayal.
"Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear," the magister called out, still oblivious to the Inquisition's approach.
A Grey Warden on his knees pleaded. "This is wrong!"
Max quickly exchanged glances with Dorian and his own Wardens. We may have allies here.
"Remember your oath," Erimond sneered. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."
"You have no right to utter those words," Carver Hawke growled.
The magister finally looked up as another Grey Warden cut the throat of the first one.
"It's blood magic," Anders snarled.
It certainly was. Erimond summoned a demon at the blood sacrifice. He smiled evilly at Max, then turned to the Warden in his service. "Bind it, as I showed you." He gazed at Max as the Warden obeyed. "Inquisitor, What an unexpected pleasure."
"The sentiment is not returned," Max sneered. "Stand down, Magister."
"You have no right to command the Grey Wardens!" Carver snarled.
"Oh, but I do. The Warden-Commander of Orlais has allied with me. These Wardens must obey her orders... or be guilty of mutiny and treason."
Sidona Andras stepped forward. "Fuck you!" she snarled. "The only traitors here are the ones kissing your ass! You work for Corypheus!" She turned to the other Orlesian Wardens, some of whom looked horrified or doubtful about what was happening. "You know, Corypheus? Darkspawn the First? That's who the Inquisitor's fighting. He's our enemy! He's the one who started all the fucking Blights! Any Warden who sides with him and his servants is the real traitor—including you!" she roared at Clarel de Chanson. "Have you totally taken leave of your senses? What the fuck is wrong with you lot?"
Erimond cackled evilly. "No matter how many vulgarities you utter, elf, it makes no difference. Wardens," he called out to the assembled Orlesian Wardens, "hands up!"
Max, Dorian, and the others watched in horror as the Wardens—some quickly and eagerly, some forced against their will at first—raised their hands.
"Hands down," Erimond said gleefully. The Wardens lowered their arms. He turned back to Max and the Inquisition. "You see?"
"You've enslaved them!" Warden Andras roared. "Corypheus controls them all through the Taint!"
"They did this to themselves," Erimond said. "The Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help."
"It's not the Calling!" she shouted. "You Maker-damned, thrice-buggered, addlepated fools—it's not the Calling! Do you really think it's a coincidence that you all got the itch to go to the Deep Roads at the same fucking time Corphy turns up?"
"Corphy?" Dorian muttered under his breath.
"Corypheus is dead," Clarel de Chanson announced. "Viscountess Hawke killed him years ago."
"He's back, you fool! He hitched a ride in a Warden like a fucking Archdemon can do to darkspawn! Who do you think blew up Divine Justinia and attacked Haven? Who do you think opened the hole in the sky? Who do you think the Inquisition's been fighting all this time? His asshole identical twin brother?" Sidona mocked.
"You are annoying me, elf," Erimond said to her with derision. He turned back to Max and continued speaking as if she wasn't even there. "I came to Clarel with sympathy, and together, we put together a plan. We would raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the last two Old Gods before they wake."
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Carver Hawke cut in, "and I've heard some stupid shit in my life. If you wanted an army to march into the Deep Roads, why a demon army? Why not, oh, a human one? Why not Tevinter's? Or the dwarven armies of Orzammar and Kal-Sharok? They're already there!"
The other Wardens agreed. To Max's surprise and pleasure, it was mild-mannered Felix Alexius who spoke up next. "You disgrace Tevinter," he spat. "And the rest of you disgrace the Grey Wardens! Do Wardens outsource their work to demons? We don't let anyone else kill Archdemons for us! We do it ourselves, because we are the only ones who can! It is the reason we exist! Did you all forget that?"
Carver Hawke blinked. "He's right," he said, glaring at Erimond. "How was this demon army going to kill the Old Gods and make it stick?"
Some of the Wardens of Adamant seemed to snap out of their enthrallment at this logic.
"If someone killed the Old Gods before the darkspawn could reach them and corrupt them, there would be no more Blights," Erimond said. "Wardens do anything to stop Blights, don't they, Clarel?" he asked her with a smirk.
"That is absolute rubbish," Anders then spoke up. "All evidence is that the Old Gods are already corrupted while they sleep." He glared back, angling his staff. "I defeated the Architect, Corypheus's comrade in evil, who woke up the Archdemon Urthemiel. He wasn't trying to start a Blight, and he was a scientist, of sorts. If any darkspawn could be careful enough to interact with a being without Tainting it, it was him. But the Fifth Blight still happened, didn't it?" He scoffed. "Wardens—use the brains that the Maker gave you! How do you think the Old Gods draw the darkspawn to them to wake them up? Through the Taint that they already share."
"The only reason this Venatori Magister wanted a demon army was to have it serve Corypheus," Max announced. He turned to the Wardens. "And he has manipulated and enthralled you into doing the same—serving your greatest enemy. Don't do this. Turn against him, fight with us, and we will show you mercy where we can."
"But... the Calling," Clarel de Chanson murmured.
Sidona Andras stepped forward. "I fucking told you, it's not the Calling! And you want to know how I know that?"
Carver, Darrian, and Anders bristled, guessing what she was about to blurt out, but unable—or perhaps unwilling—to stop her.
"Because the Fereldans don't have the Calling anymore!" she roared, pointing to them. "They stopped it! This is some shit that Corphy is doing!"
At this revelation, numerous Wardens blinked, breaking the enthrallment that Erimond had on them. "The Hero of Ferelden has stopped the Calling?" someone murmured.
"And yet we can sense that you are still Grey Wardens," someone else said.
"We are!" Darrian Tabris said. "We can control the Taint enough not to have the Calling anymore. We do sense this... compulsion, but we know it is a deception of Corypheus. Stand with us, fellow Wardens!"
"Stand with us and regain your honor," Sidona Andras added.
Several Wardens subtly shifted.
Erimond's gaze hardened. "Whatever puppet-show shamming the Fereldans have devised is just that. The Elder One is the only one who truly commands the Blight. He is not commanded by it like mindless darkspawn. It is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is merely a tool."
"You're a tool," Warden Andras snapped. "Are you listening to this shit, Wardens? Your new best friend just said he's serving the master of the Blight!"
"As for you," he said to Max, ignoring her, "the Elder One showed me how to deal with you. The mark you bear, which lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."
Max saw Solas shift angrily out of the corner of one eye.
"When I bring him your dead body, his gratitude will be—"
Max did not let him finish. As the Wardens took their sides, he attacked.
The Wardens who remained on Erimond's side—or enthralled to his service—formed a protective shield around him as the cowardly magister scampered through the crush of people with Clarel de Chanson. The Wardens who switched sides began battering the shield with everything they had. Carver, Darrian, Andras, Rainier, and even Felix Alexius took charge of these Wardens naturally, without being told, and the Orlesians acceded to command without complaint. Max quickly made note of this. His plan was to replace Clarel with Andras, but that had depended on the latter being able to command Wardens. It appeared that she could.
As Max and his companions fought, he considered his options. Cullen would have been ideal to lead the Inquisition soldiers that accompanied their convoy, but he was back at Skyhold. He made a quick decision. "Cassandra," he shouted in the din of combat, "lead the troops! Templars and regular soldiers! Vivienne, you command the Inquisition mages!" He turned to the other companions. "Varric—fight with them. The rest of us—after that magister!" He knew that Varric would not forgive Max easily if he separated him and Cassandra and anything happened to her. With an understanding smirk, Varric tipped his hat and shot a bolt into the nearest traitorous Grey Warden.
Max hated leaving those three behind, and it was even more painful to him as Merrill, Felix Alexius, Darrian Tabris, and Sidona Andras got caught in the crush of Grey Wardens. But they were well protected by the Wardens who had switched sides, and Max noted as he bounded up a set of stairs that Sidona Andras was, with a mix of vulgarities and oaths peppering her speech, commanding the true Wardens against the traitors. Rainier and Carver remained with the main party as they pursued Erimond.
Anders' expression was becoming concerned again as the Inquisition party dwindled in size. They were now just ten in number: Max, Dorian, Iron Bull, Solas, Sera, Cole, Rainier, Carver, Leliana, and Anders himself. The Healer steeled himself as he kept up with the party. Max was sure he knew why Anders was getting worried: He was probably wondering how on earth a party of ten people could defeat the monstrous demon that Caitlyn Hawke had seen in her dreams. Max wondered at the fact that they had not seen any sign of such a demon yet. He supposed, as he ran up the castle ramparts and shot spells at enemies, that Livius Erimond would probably summon it. All the more reason to get to the magister as soon as possible. If they could just do that, maybe that was the key to making sure Hawke's dream didn't become true.
Erimond's Wardens were slaughtering their fellows and summoning lesser demons everywhere, and it was perfectly clear now that the "demon army" was—as Max had known it would be—being used against the Inquisition rather than the Old Gods. He gritted his teeth as he cut down a pride demon before it could grow to its full strength. His hand ached from use of the Anchor.
But at last, after his legs felt like they were ready to give out, Max's party found themselves in the inner courtyard of Adamant Fortress. Leliana and Anders paused, blinking. Here, Max realized, was where the mages of the White Spire had mustered. Here was where Divine Justinia's research program into Tranquility reversal had occurred. And now, this site that had such significance for the Free Mages was being defiled.
Clarel de Chanson's brief moment of illumination had passed, and she was now thoroughly in thrall to Erimond again. She held a ritual knife before the throat of a fellow Warden. "It has been many long years, my friend," she said.
"Too many, Clarel," the other Warden said in a dull voice. "If my arm can no longer serve the Wardens, my blood will have to do."
"It will."
Max tried to get there in time, but he was too late. The Warden-Commander cut her comrade's throat. Blood poured to the ground. The air began glimmering green. Even as he shot spells at these enemies, Max steeled himself for the emergence of the monstrous demon that Anders had told them about—
"Stop them!" Erimond shouted. "Complete the ritual!"
This is the moment, Max thought. He raised his marked hand and slammed the half-open door to the Fade shut. There, Anders, he thought. Now it won't happen. He gave the other mage a pointed look, but Anders still appeared very concerned. Max could not waste time, though. He turned to Erimond. "You're going to lose, Erimond! You're no match for the powers that I carry."
Erimond's eyes twinkled. "Oh, no, Inquisitor. You are no match for the powers my master carries!" He grinned. "And he has sent aid just in case you decided to show up!"
A piercing shriek broke the air, a ferocious gust of wind nearly knocked the Inquisition over, and to Max's horror, a dragon soared through the air. And not just any dragon. That would have been bad enough, but this was the High Dragon that had attacked Haven. This was the monster that Corypheus had contaminated with red lyrium.
They all ducked and scattered as the thing sent a volley at them. The blast rocked the courtyard, shattering pillars and sending stones everywhere.
"Kill them all!" Clarel de Chanson screamed.
Max gritted his teeth. There were not that many Wardens in this part of the castle, but they still vastly outnumbered the Inquisition, now that this group was separated from its soldiers—and then there was the dragon. And Erimond was getting away. All it would take would be for him to sacrifice another Warden and summon the demon.
The mages did what they could to throw out barriers between the running Inquisition party and the enemy Wardens. Although it was utter agony, Max used his Anchor again and again to call down the raw magic of the Fade whenever he encountered a cluster of demons. It destroyed them like nothing else could do. He knew Solas and Anders were not happy, but survival was paramount at the moment. He would face the long-term consequences later, if there were a "later."
But at last they reached an almost impossibly high bridge in the castle. Anders' face was fixed as one who was staring his own death in the eye. Max gulped as they faced down Erimond and Clarel.
And then he realized what he was actually looking at. The magister had her holding a knife to her own throat.
"In war, victory," Erimond repeated again, relishing the corruption of the Wardens' words.
She closed her eyes and pressed the blade against her skin.
"In peace, vigilance."
The red lyrium dragon landed on the tower opposite Max's group. We're trapped, he realized. We can't get down.
Unless...
"In death, sacrifice!"
The dragon raised its Tainted wings as the Warden-Commander of Orlais cut her own throat. Erimond laughed, raising his staff to use the power of the blood sacrifice to open a rift. The dragon kicked off, beat its wings ferociously, and made to launch itself at Max. Erimond prepared to jump on its back.
No, Max thought. No.
They could not survive the assault of the dragon and a demon, but he had one last card to play, and he played it.
"Everyone, jump!"
The Inquisitor and his companions all jumped from the bridge. Max opened a rift below them, his hand feeling like it was on fire. The shock wave of tearing the sky apart threw Erimond off the bridge and knocked the dragon's flight path askew. You aren't getting in, Max thought as he and his companions, reaching for each other's hands, tumbled into the Fade.
He closed the rift behind them, leaving Erimond to fall to his death at Adamant Fortress. Max and his friends fell into the Fade bodily.
"Shit."
Max glanced up at Sera, who had spoken. She was utterly terrified, and the expletive was rapidly followed by several more. It would put Warden Andras to shame.
"What she said," Iron Bull said, gazing around warily. "I'll fight anything we come across, but nobody said a thing about getting dragged through the ass-end of demon town."
Dorian was gazing around in interest, as the magical scholar he was. "The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Obviously you didn't let him, but I have to ask, in exactly what fashion did he attempt the—"
"Right," Leliana said, cutting that off. "Perhaps a conversation better suited to—afterward?"
The two men chuckled, as Max realized that he was trying to make light of it—and focusing on Dorian—because accepting the reality, that they were in the Fade physically with no clear way to get back out, was too awful. But he could not ignore it forever, he knew.
Dorian smiled. "As you wish. In any case, this is... rather bleaker. Perhaps the difference is that we are here physically. This is no one's dream."
"What do you think, Solas?" Max asked. "Cole? Does this look familiar?"
"It is wrong," Cole said. "I should not be here. Not like this! Not like me!"
"It's all right," Solas tried to reassure him. "We will make it right." He turned to Max. "I never thought I would find myself here physically. The Black City is almost close enough to touch!" He gazed out at the said city, which was indeed larger and more ominous than anyone had ever seen it in dreams. "What spirit commands this area, I wonder?"
"I know."
The speaker was Anders, and his voice was as grim as Max had ever heard it. He gazed up uneasily at the blond Healer.
"I don't know what specific spirit it is," Anders clarified, "but... it's that one. The one Cait has seen in dreams." He breathed heavily, steeling himself. His expression was a curious admixture of fear, resignation, and despair.
After all that, there was no avoiding it, Max thought miserably. I thought that it was a demon we would encounter as the Wardens or Erimond summoned it. I didn't even think about it when I opened the rift. We just had to survive.
"We have to get past whatever demon that is, then?" he managed. "Well—you aren't alone, Anders. There are ten of us. Your wife's dream is already changed."
Anders looked bleak. "I wasn't alone in her dream. There was someone else, someone who might choose to fight the thing instead of me. Now that we are all here... yes, this is that moment. And I'd rather not say who I think that person was, now that I know the possibilities." He shuddered, looking down rather than at any specific person. "But... yes, let's keep going. The Wardens were opening rifts to summon demons. We need to get past the one in charge here, and then find a way out."
"The demon in charge of this region is very powerful," Solas observed. "A fear demon, perhaps."
"No," Cole protested. "No. It's not. It's—it's wrong wrong wrong. Wringing me out. Can't relax—"
"Are you saying it is not a fear demon, Cole?" Max asked for clarification.
The boy just shook his head ferociously. "No no no. It's wrong. So wrong."
Max gave Solas a querying glance, and the elf shrugged. "It was only a guess. He may be right."
"There are many spirits here," Anders intoned, and Max and the others glanced sharply at him. He almost seemed as if Justice was on the verge of bursting out. "Some of them are fear demons. But not all."
"What is the big one? If you can tell?"
Anders' face darkened as he gave Cole a quick look. "I don't want to guess until I know for sure. But I will say this. Its purpose has become corrupted almost beyond recognition."
They continued, encountering—sure enough—numerous demons. Max recognized most of them as fear or despair demons. Finally, though, there was a lull in fighting, at which point they realized that a human-like figure was glimmering nearby. Leliana gasped.
"It can't be," she breathed. She almost got on her knees, but stayed upright, wobbling. "Divine Justinia?"
They gazed upon an entity that appeared to take the form of that deceased woman, though she was as a pillar of white light.
"I greet you, Wardens. And you, Champion."
Max was confused for a moment before he recalled the fact that Grand Cleric Petrice of Kirkwall had named Anders Champion of Kirkwall after his explosive had broken the Siege of Kirkwall. He and his wife both bore that title.
"I need the truth," Max said, addressing the entity. "Are you the soul of Divine Justinia? Or a Fade spirit?"
Leliana gazed pleadingly at the being as well. "Please do not lie to me, whatever you may be."
"You think my survival impossible, but here you stand in the Fade. Proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."
"You don't need to prove your existence," Max said. "We can see that you exist. We just would like to know who you are."
"Does it matter? I have the memories of Divine Justinia. You can interact with me as if I were she... and perhaps I am, in a way. If I have her memories and personality, am I not she in every way that matters? I am here to help you."
"You may or may not be here to help, but unless you are the same person who walked the earth with Cassandra and me—not just remembered it because you saw and imbibed her memories, but, in the passage of time, experienced that yourself, then no, you are not Divine Justinia. You are a spirit with a copy of her mind," Leliana said. She seemed disappointed, but Max could tell that she had not lost all hope or faith yet in spite of everything. "Cassandra's people, the Nevarrans, believe that when a person dies, a Fade spirit is displaced as the soul passes through the Fade to the Maker's side, and that is why they must have necromancers house that spirit in the body of the deceased," she said, gazing at the being. "Perhaps they are right in some cases."
"We are running short on time," the spirit said, though it inclined its head in respect to Leliana's deductions. "I had thought you would need to believe I was her soul. But you are wiser than I knew. You have grown since her death, Nightingale. You think you have not, but you have. But you still have growth to achieve yet." The spirit smiled, then turned back to Max. "Inquisitor, your memories were stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. I can restore them. I can show you the truth of what happened at the Conclave of Haven. You will remember it again."
"What demon serves Corypheus?" Max asked. "What are we up against?"
"It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking," the spirit—a Spirit of Faith, Max suspected—stated. "It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat on terror. The false Calling is its work."
"So it is a fear demon?"
"No," Anders said quietly, understanding. "Fear demons create fear. They don't take anyone's fears away for their own food. They don't need to."
"So what kind of demon is it?" Max asked.
Anders closed his eyes, sighing. Solas suddenly looked appalled as something hit him.
The Spirit of Faith gazed at Cole. "It was once a Spirit of Compassion."
"No, no, no," Cole whimpered.
"It wanted to help the Grey Wardens. To take away their terrors of the Blight and the Calling, so that they could do their duty without fear. But it took so much darkness into itself that it changed its very nature."
Cole had known it all along, Max realized. He shook his head, but it was not in denial. "It's wrong," he whimpered. "So wrong. Wrong. Wrong."
Carver, Rainier, and Anders exchanged dark looks. "Then I think we Wardens should pay this Nightmare a visit," Rainier said.
"You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place is its lair."
"Why has this demon, if it's so powerful, aligned with Corypheus?" Max asked Faith.
"They have become natural allies. Corypheus was one of the magisters who first unleashed the Blight on Thedas, and Nightmare... well, every child's cry as the Archdemon circles, every Warden's terror of the Calling, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads—yes, even the dwarves have just enough of a connection that it can feed. And it has fed well."
"And this Nightmare demon is the one Erimond was trying to bring through?" Max asked. He supposed he just wanted to have been on the right track with his thought of preventing Caitlyn Hawke's nightmare for Anders.
"An Aspect of it, yes. An Aspect of the Nightmare." Faith gazed at Max. "When you entered the Fade at Haven, Nightmare took this from you. I restore it to you now. Take back your memories, Inquisitor."
Max reeled as Faith infused his mind with the memories he had lost.
Divine Justinia was held in a magical bind as the Grey Wardens of Orlais approached menacingly.
"Now is the hour of our victory," intoned a dark voice that Max now recognized as Corypheus.
"Why are you doing this?" Justinia, the real Justinia, cried. "You of all people?"
"Keep the sacrifice still," Corypheus snarled.
"Someone help me!"
Max turned the corner and entered the room. Outrage and indignation flooded him at the sight before him. He saw Corypheus, and he was afraid, but he was also brave. "What's going on here?" he demanded.
Corypheus turned around, and Max grabbed the elven orb as Divine Justinia knocked it out of his hands.
Max realized that, even as the Spirit of Faith had re-inserted the memories back into the stream of his mind, everyone in the party had witnessed them too.
"Herald of Andraste," he muttered. "I knew it. I knew it wasn't Andraste."
Leliana sighed. "Divine Justinia once told me that Andraste was a mortal woman. She was not perfect, nor all-seeing. She was just a mortal woman that the Maker could use for His greater purposes." She gave him a sad smile. "Perhaps He felt the same about you, Max."
Max gazed at his Anchor. "I didn't see the Maker's hand in any of that. It just looked like Corypheus always said it did—an accident."
Leliana rose to her feet. "But who is to say that the Maker could not use an accident? If He exists, He can use anything we do."
The Spirit of Faith agreed. "Yes. Perhaps you were precisely where the Maker needed you to be, Inquisitor."
"But why me?" Max asked.
Anders chuckled to himself. "Haven't I asked the same thing? And Cait."
"And Elissa," Leliana murmured quietly.
"And Andraste," Faith replied. "You are not the first to ask this question, any of you. Did Andraste not question when the Maker charged her with an impossible task? Did she not feel unworthy? Her questions did not lessen her heroism."
"You think I was meant to become the Inquisitor? And Anders was meant to lead the Free Mages with Hawke, and Elissa Cousland was meant to defeat the Blight, and Leliana..." He broke off.
"You believe in your purpose. All of those you mentioned did, and do. Even you, dear Nightingale." Faith gazed fiercely into Leliana's blue eyes. "You believe in your purpose, and that is good."
"And our purpose right at this moment is to slay the Nightmare that has corrupted the Orlesian Wardens," Max remarked.
"And the Anderfels Wardens," Faith said. "Yes."
"You said it began as a Spirit of Compassion," Max said, even though Cole cringed and shuddered again. "What happened? I know that some kinds of spirits, like Wisdom, become demons of Pride. Did Compassion become Fear?"
"No. It is not simply fear. It is 'related' to demons of Fear now, but it is not a Fear demon. This is the terror you cannot remember, the horror that your mind erases to protect you. It is Nightmare. What, after all, are dreams, but the mind disposing of its detritus? That is what this Nightmare began as, a spirit that took the detritus away."
"So it really did begin by trying to help the Grey Wardens."
"Perhaps it meant to," Faith said, looking pointedly at Cole, "but now, it helps none but Corypheus. Robbing people of their fears is never a kindness. You are afraid of things for a reason, and sometimes that reason is rational and sensible. Having a certain fear may keep you safe. At worst, taking those fears away is deadly. At best, it is a mistake borne of compassion, if a fear is irrational. You cannot grow until you recover all that was taken from you."
"It isn't like me," Cole insisted, shaking his head. "I make people forget to help them. It eats their fears to help itself."
"No one here mistakes you for Nightmare, Cole," Solas tried to soothe.
Max and Dorian, however, had exchanged quick looks. Cole did not need to let Solas convince him that somehow it was "different" if he did the same thing Nightmare did. To the person robbed of their memories or fears, what did it matter whether the spirit who did it fed on them or just felt good and self-righteous about having "helped"? In fact, Max could easily see how in time, the latter could become the former for the spirit. He had certainly known mortals who needed others to feel pain because it enabled them to feel "compassionate" and "kind" to "help the sufferers and oppressed." It translated to this type of person not wanting the sufferer to ever truly heal, but instead to stay mired in trauma, because healing would destroy the "helper's" purpose. It ultimately became all about the "helper's" sense of self-righteousness rather than anything to do with the sufferer's well-being. The danger to Cole was altogether too apparent to both Max and Dorian, so Max stepped in at once.
"It thought it was helping them originally too. But because it decided it liked what it did—because it made Nightmare feel good—its purpose changed. Remember what this spirit has said, Cole. Taking away fears is not a kindness, and neither is taking away most other kinds of unpleasant experiences. People need to work through whatever happened to them."
Cole closed his eyes. "I have hurt people by making them forget."
"I'm afraid you may have," Max admitted quietly. "But now you can learn from the wisdom of this spirit and try not to do it again."
The boy nodded silently.
As they continued on their way, Leliana spoke up again. "As you said, Max, you knew it was not Andraste who had marked you. Now you have the proof. And because you knew, you have lost nothing with this confirmation."
"But you...?"
"I advised you to claim the title of Herald of Andraste for cynical reasons," Leliana said. "But seeing the truth has given me hope, actually."
"Hope for what?"
"Corypheus did not corrupt the Ashes of Andraste. They were nowhere in sight, Inquisitor. They were not there when he tried to sacrifice Justinia and the explosion destroyed the Temple and left a crater of red lyrium. Wherever they were, they were not there." Leliana beamed like the shining sun. "Perhaps they are yet safe. But what I now know is that he did not destroy them."
"Maker's breath," Dorian observed. "You're right."
"Years ago, Most Holy mentioned wanting to secure them," Leliana continued, still smiling. "Perhaps she did. When we return, I must seek the truth. I must find out. I must face something I have avoided for all these months and look at Divine Justinia's personal effects and papers." She laughed. "The ashes were not there!"
Max, Dorian, Anders, and the others exchanged looks. This seemed like the Leliana she must have been years ago, before the darkness took over her life. That was a good thing, a happy thing—but they could not share her joy just yet. They still faced the rest of the demons, culminating with the Nightmare.
Anders' thoughts were also on their ultimate nemesis—well, ultimate nemesis until Max met Corypheus again. He had made a deduction that, when he stated it, was rather enraging to everyone in the party.
"This is why the Wardens never tried to stop the Calling until Avernus, in Ferelden," Anders said blackly. "Because this demon took away their fear of it." He clenched his fists as blue lightning crackled over his skin. "This is why thousands of Wardens over the ages have died needlessly, overcome and hacked apart by darkspawn in the Deep Roads, far from everyone they loved. This is why they have refused to accept what a horrible, atrocious death that is, and do something about it, and instead have devised this myth about how 'heroic' and 'dutiful' it is to be beaten into Taint-infused dust by monsters! Because that thing has taken away their completely natural and rational fear of it!"
Carver was snarling to himself as Anders raged. "You're right," he said to his brother-in-law. "I'd wondered what in the Void was wrong with the Wardens all these years, until Avernus invented his potions. Why did they have no will to survive? To have decent deaths? This sure explains a lot!" He clutched his greatsword. "I want to hack this thing to pieces for all the Grey Wardens."
Anders suddenly fell silent at this threat. His spirit subsided, and his anger gave way to that bleak look that had filled his face all along.
The Aspect of the Nightmare did resemble a Fear demon, arachnid-like, horrific, flashing in and out of existence, appearing suddenly in a vastly different location than before.
"Ah," it intoned deeply, its voice seeming to come from everywhere. "We have a visitor. Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from their 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. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten."
Another wave of demons, some of them appearing in spider form—Max wondered at that—popped into being. They tried to swarm the group. In this moment, every person in the party experienced something different, as the spidery Fear demons forced their victims to relive their very worst fears: not something so childlike as a fear of spiders, but fears far more terrible.
"Do you think you did good things for the world, Anders?" it taunted. "The Inquisition can undo all your good works! The Inquisitor allied with your enemy, Sebastian Vael! With the Templars! What do you think that means?"
We have made peace with the Inquisition about that, Anders told himself as he fought the demon. We've made peace with Sebastian Vael. He is an ally now. Alliances change. Enemies can become friends, and this has happened for us.
"Your victory for mages will mean nothing. It will be unraveled. Mages back in Circles. All you have done is unleash terror and a kind of war that will make all of Thedas curse your name! The legacy of you and Caitlyn Hawke will not be mage rights. It will not be a unified Free Marches. And when Corypheus invades Kirkwall, your children will die. They will not be your legacy either!"
The demon displayed to Anders horrible images of his son and daughter, bloodied and battered, their little bodies lifeless and gray with death. He shuddered, but told himself again and again that this was not real.
"No, Anders, your true legacy, your only legacy, will be weapons of mass destruction! That is what you have given Thedas! That is how you will be remembered: as the world's greatest war criminal!"
As the thing shouted at him, Anders had felt a growing pounding in his ears and a vibration over his body like the percussive beat of a drum. Anders closed his eyes as the thing screamed its final insult at him—just as a flash of white and then green filled his field of vision. The Inquisitor, Carver, and all their companions were flayed bloody by the poison gas, skin melting off, eyes dissolving in their skulls, mouths agape in agony—and then they blew apart in a horrific splash of blood and gore.
Anders opened his eyes, and they were all alive and fine—but he still saw, superimposed translucently, a map of Thedas, with city after city blowing up in a mushroom cloud like the one that had exploded over Kirkwall Harbor to end the siege. The very beginning of the use of black powder in the south. The blast that had started it all. First Kirkwall Harbor, then Tantervale. Next would be Val Royeaux in the war Briala would declare for the Dales, then Halamshiral, Lydes, Denerim, Weisshaupt, Minrathous, Qunandar—
No, he decided. I will not let it be.
Leliana faced down the flayed, decaying, skeletal form of Divine Justinia. "You hang your faith on what, Nightingale?" it taunted. "Some ancient magical dust that you forced down the comatose throat of Eamon Guerrin years ago? The love of a woman who abandoned you when you needed her most? Those are your signs that the Maker is real?" It smirked darkly. "But they are as logical as a flower on a shrub in Lothering, aren't they? Your faith is a farce and you know it!"
"My faith is based on more than that," she said through clenched teeth, fighting the demon. "Those are merely hopeful signs for me, not the sum total of my relationship with faith."
"Oh indeed," the decayed corpse of Justinia cooed. "Your relationship with faith is far more complicated than that, true. You fear having no faith—but you also fear what you will be, what kind of Divine you would become, if you do embrace faith. If you let go of your bard side, your side as a player, a strategist, a spy. That is the side that helped you survive, isn't it, Nightingale? You would be dead without it! As dead as I am! And how long will you stay on the Sunburst Throne, rather than the pyre, if you embrace faith and don't play the Game hard and cynically?"
Leliana glared as she shot an arrow directly into the thing's maw. "I am both a person of faith and a bard. I let go of neither."
"Carver Hawke," the demon chortled. "Junior. Hawke the Lesser."
"Is that the best you've got?" Carver snapped back, swinging his sword. "Pathetic."
"You would know. One sister a mover and shaker of Thedas. The other, dead as a hero. Because of you. Because you couldn't save her. The strongest person in the party, the only man there still in good health. You let your younger twin sister die instead of taking the blow yourself! Loser. Lesser. Pathetic."
Carver roared in fury as he slammed the blade against the thing, hacking off leg after leg. The demon continued to taunt him. "A Grey Warden now, after the Blight ended. After the Architect was dead. Always too late. Always a footnote. You couldn't even slay Corypheus. It's not your sister's fault he's back. It's yours. Whose responsibility is it to slay darkspawn but a Grey Warden's? You were there and you failed. You are useless, Carver Hawke! A failure at life. Your father and Bethany would be so disappointed..."
That was when the demon made its fatal mistake with him. In a sudden rush of fury, Carver swung his blade around, beheading it with one stroke.
"How's that for useless?" he growled.
Dorian attacked the demon, which had taken the form of a magister in senatorial robes.
"You are me, Dorian," it said. "You never had a chance not to be. A thousand years of breeding to make you what you are. Did you really think you could escape that? This is your future, Dorian." It grinned, blood dripping from its mouth. "Your little excursion will end, as will your little fling with this southerner. And then you will find the place, the role that all of your ancestors filled before you. Embrace it and thrive in it... or continue to fight it, and die in ignominy."
"I have never rejected who and what I am," Dorian retorted, shooting spells at it. "Not once. Not in any respect. I know I am Tevene and an altus mage. I just want to change what that stands for. And I have accepted everything else about myself too. That is more than I can say for you."
"You will not escape your family legacy, Dorian, no matter how hard you try. You have no choice but to follow the road that the Pavuses before you laid out for you."
"I know I travel that road. But I am not a passive follower. I forge, clear, and pave the next part of it—because I am a Pavus too!"
Max stared the thing down. Somehow, he knew what his fear would be. It was the fear he had grappled with, not entirely to his satisfaction, for months. Before he had become Inquisitor or Herald, the fear would have been that his life would have no meaning: a life of futile captivity, a death in the Circle. Now it was almost the opposite.
"You still have no idea what you're doing, do you, little mage?" it taunted. "Big ideas, grand plans. An organization to carry out your will. It is your Inquisition now, Trevelyan. Not Nightingale's, not the Seeker's, not the Ambassador's. You took it back from them. Wiser and cooler heads, who know how the world works, and but you took it from them because you got lucky in the Free Marches! It was pure luck that you were able to capture those agents, but your Inquisition rewarded you as if you had anything to do with it. You are a child who has been given live steel to play with, and you are going to..." It paused menacingly. "Cut your arm off!"
The utter juvenility of this taunt was too much. Max actually laughed mockingly as he attacked the thing with the Anchor. "You must have lost your touch if that's the best you can do, Nightmare," he taunted back. "What's next, my teeth are falling out? I'm giving a talk before the war table and I suddenly realize I'm naked? I'm back in the Circle and about to fail a test?"
The winged arachnid demon leered back at him. It said nothing. Max's laugh faded away as the demon glared at him in ominous silence.
"Perhaps this bothers you a bit more?" it murmured—and then, suddenly, the surroundings of the raw Fade vanished. Max gazed out at a fully three-dimensional version of the war table map. His vision stretched across the entire continent of Thedas as if he were an eagle soaring above the mountains.
Max's sight focused, as it familiarly would, on the south: on Orlais and Ferelden. He noticed the Dales aflame. The Winter Palace was a smoking ruin, and Lydes was besieged by Imperial troops with bloodied gleaming steel. Briala's agents popped in and out of magical doors, knifing Imperials and human civilians alike in the back. Troops in the mabari livery of Ferelden stomped into the green fields, defiling them with blood yet again, as they... shot miniature handheld Qunari cannons at the Orlesian troops? Max focused harder on the battlefield outside Lydes. Yes, these were Fereldan soldiers, and they were shooting weapons that Max had never seen or even heard of. Kirkwall didn't have whatever these were. Was this real?
He blinked, then forced himself to look away—just as the shadow of a many-eyed wolf appeared in the sky over the Dales. Other than its many pairs of eyes, it was markedly similar to the form of Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf, the elven trickster god who had been carved in unchanging rigid stone throughout the ancient elven lands.
Max forced his gaze upon Val Royeaux, where a large group of people gathered for a grand funeral. A woman in a tall headdress and ornate white and gold Chantry robes lit the pyres, where the bodies of Celene and Gaspard both lay. Max did not recognize this Divine. She was definitely not Leliana, but neither did she resemble the paintings of Kirkwall's Grand Cleric Petrice that he had seen. Who was she? Some reactionary Orlesian priest who could emerge in the ruin of Thedas, where both VMTO and the Inquisition were reviled?
And what would come of the Free Marches? Not entirely wanting to know, Max nonetheless glanced east. The map of Thedas shifted rapidly, mountains and seas flying past, as the tall dark cliffs of Kirkwall came into sight. The Keep sat atop the mountain. Viscountess Hawke sat on a dark throne, alone, dressed in black. Anders was not there. Two children sat at her feet, and it was apparent that she was not letting them out of her sight. Behind and beside the dark throne stood numerous weapons, both magical and mundane.
A woman entered the throne room, and there was the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. She was dressed head to toe in blood-red... and to Max's shock, was announced as "Divine Vindica." "We have surrounded them, Your Grace," the priest intoned. "All the cities in the Free Marches except your original allies of Markham and Hercinia. The holy united army of loyal Marchers, mages, and the true faithful stands ready." She held out what Max realized must be an elven Sending-Stone. "We can give the command here."
Hawke clutched the armrests angrily. "Obliterate every one of them. Make them suffer before they face the Void. Ostwick first." She smiled vengefully.
Petrice—Vindica—nodded in approval. "Now that the puppet-show in Skyhold is revealed as the fraud that it always was, I think we must accept that you were the real Herald of Andraste all along. You carry her legacy. We bring fire, blood, and the wrath of the Maker to an ungrateful, undeserving world."
With a shudder, Max then turned northward to Minrathous. Surely all would be well there. He saw the Circle of Minrathous, elevated far above the common streets by levitation magic, as Dorian had told him it was and he had read in books before. He saw the gleaming, colorful streets and braced himself for the sight of slaves.
Instead, he saw the Antaam of the Qunari marching through the streets. A hornless Arishok stood up and roared out a fierce command, or triumph, in Qunlat. The soldiers raised their weapons and stamped their feet.
Dorian, he thought, focusing on Qarinus—or Ventus. That was where Dorian's friend and ally Maevaris Tilani had a stronghold. Surely he would be safe there. He shifted his gaze...
The city was occupied by the Qunari, and from how it looked, it had been for years. Dorian was bound as a Qunari Saarebas, chained and confined, as he was force-marched by a handler through the street.
"This is what will come of your ignorant, arrogant meddling," the demon sneered. "This is what will happen because you have refused to listen to people who know better than you, and you have bent the Inquisition and all its power to your foolish, ill-informed will!"
Max took a deep breath, trying to force the horrible visions out of his mind. I've been through this before, he reminded himself. The envy demon showed me a horrific Inquisition, and I prevented that from occurring. This is not real. This is not inevitable. As Dorian said, everything in the Fade is an uncertainty.
"You're wrong, Nightmare," he said quietly as he continued to fight. "Your dead comrade, Envy, showed me its view of what would happen if I—or, rather, if it posing as me—did 'listen to people who know better.' That was a world in ruin too!" He managed a scoffing laugh. "Of course leaders fear failure! Of course we fear that we will make the wrong decisions and others will pay the price for it. That's what we're always going to fear, no matter what we do!" He shot a blast of magic at the demon from the Anchor, weakening it greatly. "Unless we are arrogant beyond words, every leader will have that fear. And we should have it!" He slammed the Aspect of the Nightmare yet again, reducing it to a crawling spider. "We need that fear. We need to face what could go wrong if we get too sure of ourselves. You can't use that fear to scare me. That fear is what has saved me from making those very mistakes!"
He blasted the demon again and again, relishing it, feeling the truth of his own words. Finally, Max embraced the lurking fear of leadership. It was not a fear to cast out as the enemy, after all. It was not one of those irrational fears that the Spirit of Faith had spoken of. Instead, it was a rational one, a useful one. It was the kind of fear that made him step back and reconsider a major decision. It was the sort of fear that saved the one who held it.
I don't need to destroy my fear, he realized as the Aspect dwindled. I don't need to cast it into the far corners of my mind to surface in a dream. I don't need to give it up to this demon. Instead I need to accept it.
The visions vanished with the defeat of the Aspect, and the Inquisition members and companions all faced each other again. Max realized that every one of them had faced something different. And he also knew that there was no time now to talk about it. They still had to get out of the Fade.
The spirit of Faith, which Max realized had been there along—fighting off lesser demons for them as they took on the Aspect in all its facets—lingered, weakened from the fight, but Max knew it still had more to tell them. More to give, he realized with a pang. Faith gives everything it has.
"The Nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger."
Max's tension suddenly boiled over at these words. "Then what are we still doing here?" he exclaimed. "We need to get out! Do you know a way?"
"The way is beyond—"
The spirit never finished this sentence. As it spoke, a horror far greater than the one unleashed by the Aspects took shape around them. "Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the Veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!"
"I thought we killed the thing?" Sera exclaimed in outrage. "Why is it still there?"
"It was just an Aspect," Anders said darkly. He glared out at the Fade, expecting the demon to assume its full form and show itself at last. "The demon itself has fed off the horrors of five Blights and the long suffering of the dwarves in between them. It is far vaster than anything we have seen so far."
Carver gave Anders an uneasy look. "Then how in the Void are we going to get past it?"
Anders did not answer.
The Spirit of Faith reappeared. "If we banish it, we banish the demons. Stay with me! I will show you the path."
They continued through muddy, wet, smelly terrain. A swamp in the Fade! But, Max supposed, why shouldn't there be? Anything could exist in the Fade. He scowled as he continued to fight off more lesser demons. "Come out, Nightmare!" he roared. "Stop hiding behind your lowly minions! If you want to face me, show yourself! Or are you too afraid? Eaten so much fear that it's now all that you are too?"
"Don't be so eager," Anders muttered.
"You must get through the rift, Inquisitor," Faith intoned. "Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength."
"What?" Carver exclaimed. "And just leave the Nightmare in the Fade? What's to stop it from continuing to harass and corrupt the Wardens? What's to stop it from using them to raise its demon army?"
"I think it will banish the army of demons if the Inquisitor does this, and banish Nightmare to the far reaches of the Fade," Faith said.
Anders and Carver exchanged dark looks. "Well," Carver said, hefting his blade, "I think you're wrong. Faith, right? That's why you believe this. But we need more than faith and hope here. We need certainty! We need evidence. We need the bloating, dissolving corpse of Nightmare!"
Anders' expression was becoming as dark, bleak, and resigned as Max had ever seen it. It was if all his life had been heading toward this moment. "Carver is right," he declared. He addressed himself to Faith, and Max realized that it was Justice speaking now as much as Anders. "I am sorry, Faith. But you are wrong. We must fight Nightmare and destroy it utterly!"
"Yes," Cole agreed. "It would be... justice."
Anders blinked. "Yes," he said. "And... compassion for the Wardens."
The spirit was conflicted and agonized. "Inquisitor?"
Max was not about to second-guess them. "It makes sense to me," he admitted. "I agree with Carver and Anders. We have a chance to end this demon for good. We have a chance to be sure. I will not throw away that chance on the hope that all will be well if I just slam the door in its face. There is a time for faith and hope... but there is also a time for certainty."
The spirit was silent for a moment. "Then if you are set on this course, I stand with you as long as I can."
At this moment, a deep bass laughter filled the cavern. The Spirit of Faith quailed. Nightmare finally appeared in its full horror, and Max felt doubt almost overcome him at the horrible sight.
It was a demon so vast that it seemed to fill the entire space. The rift did lie just beyond, gleaming green, but there was no way they could get to it without being caught by this monster. It was like a hideous mix of the biggest cave spider Max could ever imagine and the legendary kraken of the northern seas. Beige and slimy, its tentacles and pincers writhed in the swampy Fade air, and its stench polluted the area. A multitude of eyes dotted its vile hide, each one a window into the tortured soul of some poor Grey Warden or Blight victim on Thedas.
Faith stared back at the creature. "'I am sorry, Leliana. I failed you too.' That was her final message for you."
"Wait!" Leliana called out. "Do you know where the Ashes—"
But Faith was already heading for Nightmare, and it could not answer the question. Leliana cried out as the spirit bearing the memories of Divine Justinia collided with the thing. A blast of white light that reminded her of the death of the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon issued forth. The spirit was gone. The monster swayed, blinded by the light and unable to act—briefly. But it was fully intact.
"Faith can incapacitate a Nightmare for a time, but it cannot banish one," Solas intoned. "Ultimately, to end a Nightmare, we must indeed have evidence that material reality is different from the terrible dream."
We have to do that ourselves, Max thought. But as he stared back at the monster, all his optimism seemed to flee him. How?
Nightmare began to stir again. Faith's sacrifice had bought them precious little time. It seemed so pointless... so futile... and would their own efforts prove just as useless?
"Let mine be the last sacrifice," Andraste supposedly said, thought Max. He gazed out at his companions. Does Faith have a place after all? "The rift is just ahead!" he managed, pointing at it. "Some of us might be able to get through if it's..."
"I will stay and fight the thing to its death, or die trying," Carver Hawke declared. "Grey Wardens began this. Now a Grey Warden will end it."
Anders took a deep breath and resolved whatever conflict yet plagued him. He stepped forward. "No!" he roared. "You will not! Think of Caitlyn!"
"You think of her!" Carver retorted. "And your children! You think they'd want to lose you? I'm the person who should stay!"
"That Aspect got to you, didn't it?" Anders replied. "It preyed on your fear of being unimportant."
Carver scowled. "Like you want to die heroically to avoid the legacy 'bringer of death'? It got to you too. But this is a waste of time. Just let me do it!"
"It damn well is a waste of time!" Rainier said. "If we need a Grey Warden to do this, let it be me. I can truly atone this way."
The Nightmare began swaying again as it came back to consciousness. Max's heart sped up. "Enough!" Dorian roared. "We are—"
Anders slammed his staff to the ground, and a wave of magic erupted from it. "We fight together!" he shouted. "All of us! One person will fall against it, but all of us together may have a chance!"
"Anders is right!" Max called out, raising his marked palm. The Anchor glowed green as he prepared it for attack. "We stand or fall together!"
"The rift—" Leliana began.
"Will not shut!" Although it was agony, Max wrenched the Veil apart beyond the monster, slamming it wide open. "Now, everyone together—attack!"
Anders made a quick decision. "I am a Spirit Healer," he said. He crouched behind a bubble of magic shield that he put up around himself. "I will heal you all every time you need it, and I will not run out of mana. I'll fight too when I can—"
"He's right!" Iron Bull called out, racing ahead. "We've fought bloody dragons before. Let's do this!"
"You will die against me!" Nightmare rumbled as the Inquisition team, minus Anders, all aimed at it.
It was a nasty, reeking, filthy fight. The thing's bloated body was filled with a sort of ichor that somehow smelled like all the foulest things on earth mixed together. Max wondered for a moment if the demon might have also imbibed the Taint, before dismissing that. Spirits could fight that. Its hold over the Grey Wardens was through their memories and fears. Unlike an Archdemon, no part of this thing was a physical being; it could not bear the Taint.
But that was not much of a relief. Max grimaced as he narrowly dodged a tentacle. Dorian was bleeding from where it had lanced him, until Anders sent a blast of healing magic at him to seal the wound. We would not be able to do this without a Healer, Max thought. This thing would have taken us all out very quickly if not for a Healer... specifically a Spirit Healer... and perhaps even this specific one, who shares his very body with a spirit who can renew him again and again.
Nightmare was targeting the mages and ranged fighters, since the melee warriors were wisely attacking its many eyes and pincers at very close range, too close for it to counter them effectively. It was death by a thousand cuts, but perhaps it would indeed be death, and not for the Inquisition group.
They continued to tear at the foul thing. As they broke parts of tentacles, pincers, eyes, and exoskeletal tissue away from the thing, these fragments dissolved into the ether of the Fade. The stench remained. But they were slowly whittling away Nightmare's bulk, and by targeting its senses and weapons in its bizarre anatomy, they were having more of an impact than they would if they had just hacked, shot, and blasted wildly at its mass.
But finally, the foul thing, noticeably weakened and wounded, collapsed into a steaming pile of its own shredded exoskeleton, loathsomely squishy flesh, and rank ichor. They waited for it to reconstitute itself—but instead, it was disappearing, seeping into the substance of the Fade.
No one is dead, Max realized. We all made it. The demon appears to be gone, but we have to get out of here. Nature abhors a vacuum and we do not want to face whatever spirit decides to take over this area of the Fade now.
"Let's go!" he shouted, gesturing with his glowing hand at the rift.
They were battered, wounded, and tired, Max most of all—his hand was burning in agony—but they were alive. He shot a glance at Anders and Carver in particular, neither of whom quite seemed to believe that they were indeed both still alive. They both had the look of a person who had just escaped the gallows by an unlooked-for act of mercy. Anders was almost ready to laugh as Leliana had done when she had realized that Corypheus had not destroyed the Ashes of Andraste. His eyes were alight with giddy disbelief.
Max led them through the rift, back into the dark rainy sky over Adamant Fortress. As they landed, he hoped and prayed that the Wardens were now free.
Notes: I know that was not Clarel's canon outcome. I cannot forgive her, though. So here she reaped what she has sown.
Anders' Nightmare vision is rather heavily inspired by Oppenheimer.
I must give credit to Gene Dark for the idea that Nightmare actually is/should've been a Spirit of Compassion originally rather than a Fear Demon. The game is so very insistent that Cole is different, so they were aware of the similarities, but I frankly don't agree with the pleading (it isn't even logic, IMO; it's just pleading). I think it would have enhanced Cole's arc more if he in fact had to face the horrible reality that this is what he could become. But that's what fanfic is for. Gene and I had discussions about this in her fic Veins of Blue Lightning and concluded that, if this spirit/demon did take Wardens' fears away, maybe that's why nobody has made a Calling cure in canon after twelve hundred years. Fear serves a natural purpose, survival, and the Wardens' lack of interest (minus my Fereldans, or Avernus and a living Hero of Ferelden in game canon) in surviving the Taint/ending the Calling is very unnatural. It's like if we never tried to find cures for cancer, keep HIV in remission, etc., and instead invented a morbid mythos of "valorous sacrifice" that even denied the person the peace of a deathbed with their loved ones beside them. Maybe this is why.
I also think it's a plot hole if the false Calling can end while Nightmare itself remains alive. I can accept that the Aspect created the false Calling, but what's to keep that demon from making another Aspect? Between what (in this AU, and Gene Dark's) it is doing to Wardens to... well... blight their lives, and the fact that I really don't see how the "conclusion" of this quest in canon is a conclusion at all, I think the demon itself has to be destroyed.
