The passage is both unbearably long and far too short. It's dark inside, even lit by the purple flame of Morrigan's staff, dark enough that it's hard to even see Abarie as she walks just in front of Talvinder. But at least, she supposes, it's also dark enough that she can't see the countless bugs that scurry across the dark, slightly damp stone, legs skittering and chittering. She tries not to think about it, to focus on what little she can see around her rather than the noises she hears. This passage seems to be even more ancient than the one that saved her and Sav at Highever Keep, far more ancient than the windmill that sits above its entrance. The stone walls are cut jagged and crude, and yet the steps down and back up are worn smooth by time and traversing feet. Deep mushrooms sprout here and there, iridescent blue, clinging to the rocks with more resilience than should be natural.
Behind Tali, Alistair trips and swears. Up ahead, Sten's armor catches against the side of the tunnel with a loud, dull clang, making him grunt in annoyance. Leliana's footfalls are the only ones that are truly silent, but they needn't be, not with the way they're obscured by the noise Ranjit makes as he follows behind Savreen. Tali can't see her cousin, but she knows that she and Sher are just behind Morrigan, moving carefully along. Quietly, unspeaking, they continue walking, and Tali dreads what they'll find at the passage's end.
"You alright?" Alistair asks as she stumbles slightly, and she mutters some barely verbal response, too tense to speak. She hopes he doesn't think her angry.
Eventually, the passage begins leading them more steeply up, suggesting they're close to its exit. Tali breathes as quietly as is possible, straining to hear anything of what's ahead, but it's all drowned out by the noise of their party. Nevertheless, she trails one hand along the wall for balance and keeps the other on the hilt of her sword, wanting to be ready, fearing being taken by surprise. Alistair has silenced behind her, but she swears she feels the ghost of the air around his hand, reaching out as though to steady her whenever she wobbles on the thin, treacherous steps.
When they do emerge from the passage into the crypts, shoving aside the carven stone panel that hides its door, it's silent. It's eerie, to see the cubbyholes and sarcophagi so empty, knowing that their inhabitants might be around any corner. Of course, they might just as well have been among the corpses they destroyed last night, still smoldering in the village square. As they creep through the winding tunnels and rooms, Tali thinks of the Necropolis of Nevarra, the way they leave their dead waiting to be re-inhabited. Unbidden, she wonders if they look just like the bodies shambling toward Redcliffe village did, wandering through the halls of their dead city. She wonders what inhabits them, spirits or demons or something else. It is not a pretty line of thought, but she cannot let it go.
There is a rustle somewhere, and Tali jumps, grabbing onto Alistair's arm, the closest thing within her reach. She curses herself for thinking of ridiculous horror stories when it turns out to just be a mouse, scurrying through the dust and cobwebs. Alistair says nothing, but his face turns reddish in the dim purple light, and Tali looks away. Despite her fear, nothing jumps out of the shadows at them, nor do any cubbyholes suddenly spew desiccated and decaying foes at them. It is silent as they all make their way through the crypts—even Sten seems to move as lightly as a feather, alert and delicate in his movements even while he stoops his head to keep from hitting the carved rocky ceiling.
At last, Tali sees the passageway open up into a long hallway ending in another staircase. Hurriedly, their group approaches, climbs the stairs, and finds themselves in a hallway with thin bolt holes for archers sliced into one side, looking out over the valley and back across the bridge towards the village. The other side of the hallway is furnished by cell doors concealing small rooms behind them, dimly glowing or extinguished oil sconces lighting the whole scene. Morrigan at last extinguishes the strange fire of her staff, leaving them standing in the mingled faint sunlight and yellow lamplight. It doesn't seem quite so bad as the crypts or the tunnel passage.
"Well, this is much more cheery than—" Alistair's quip is interrupted by the groaning wheeze of a corpse somewhere ahead, and immediately, they all draw their weapons.
"Do you ever stop to think before you speak, bas?" The irritation in Sten's voice might make Morrigan laugh were she not already lashing out with fire at the dead that come round the corner. As Tali runs forward, blade in her hand and shield on her arm, she has time to notice that these corpses seem ancient, almost mummified. They fall easily, brittle, dry remnants catching alight and crumbling into dust.
"We have found the inhabitants of the crypt, it would seem." Leliana's voice is strangely somber as she reflects on the ruined remains of long-dead Guerrin ancestors. When Tali looks over to her, panting slightly, she notices Leliana's eyes are downcast.
"You know they've probably been dead for hundreds of years," Alistair says, more than a little puzzled if the tone of his voice is any indication.
"Indeed, and their slumber with the Maker was disturbed by whatever plagues this castle. Is that not something I should be sad about?" The snap in Leliana's voice mollifies Alistair, and he mutters an apology, but Morrigan's attention has been grabbed by the developing spat, and her ears almost seem to perk up with the speed at which she looks in their direction.
She isn't able to join in the fun, though, not as a voice calls out, hesitant and weak, from around the corner, deeper into the dungeon.
"Is anyone out there? Can anyone hear me?" Sav and Ranjit are the first to run towards it, almost disappearing around corners, but thankfully the origin of the voice isn't too far away, locked in a cell next to what would appear to be another staircase up and out into the castle. Tali stands at the back of their group, watching as Sav approaches him cautiously.
"Who are you?" she asks. The man seems relieved. Tall, slightly gaunt, notably pale, with dark, lank hair just brushing his shoulders, he wraps strangely delicate fingers around the bars of the cell door. Faint and fresh, but clearly there, scars wind in a thorny lattice around every visible inch of skin on his hands.
"My name is Jowan," he says, and there's a frantic quality to the way he speaks, too fast and yet somehow still perfectly enunciated. "I work—I worked for the Lady Isolde."
"Why are you in the dungeon, then?" Hesitation hangs on the man's chapped and parched lips, and Tali wonders when he last ate, when he was last remembered. His eyes dart across all of them, piled together in front of his cell, and he takes a deep, whistling breath through his nose before letting it hiss out from between his teeth.
"You're a mage." Tali speaks the words as they reveal themselves in her brain, memories of Isolde's story twisting together, resurfacing. "You're the mage who started this all." In the cell, the man slouches, looking like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Yes, I am." Resignation drips from his voice, but what he says next is not what Tali expects. "I'm the one who poisoned the Arl."
Savreen looks Jowan up and down, trying to process what he's just said.
"Poisoned?" She looks to Tali, who seems just as, if not more, shocked, hanging at the rear of the group. Savreen watches as she shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders—Isolde hadn't said anything about this to her.
"I—yes. I thought you knew." When she turns back to Jowan, the man looks confused, angular eyebrows and somber expression almost mirroring an Orlesian pantomime mask.
"We know only that an evil stalks the castle, raising the dead, and that you raised it." Furiously, Jowan shakes his head, eyes wide.
"No—no! I would never—I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the demon!"
"So, 'tis a demon after all, then." Morrigan's observation is pointed, a little smug, but after her performance in the village square last night, Savreen is more than willing to let her get away with a bit of smugness. She does, however, take care to steer the conversation back to her questions.
"Right. So, there's a demon, and you aren't responsible, even though you did poison the Arl. But why are you here? Start from the beginning." With shifty eyes, Jowan seems to consider his options, but finally he sighs and answers Savreen's question.
"I suppose I should begin with the Tower," he says, and it seems that this is a far longer story than Isolde had indicated. "I made…mistakes, you must believe they were mistakes. They made the books so easy to find, and trapped in that tower, we had so few options. I-I dabbled in blood magic. There was no other way to escape, to survive." At the mention of blood magic, Savreen feels her stomach turn.
"Fascinating—you? A maleficar?" Morrigan seems hardly as disgusted—if anything, there is a note of academic curiosity in her voice. Savreen tries to ignore it, while Jowan seems unsure how to respond.
"Yes—I had intended to escape with another of my companions. A—friend. But she wanted nothing to do with me after we were caught—after I was discovered. I was to be made tranquil, cut off from my magic, the Fade, my emotions, everything. I couldn't stay, couldn't live like that. So I ran."
"You were able to escape after you had already failed once and been caught?" There is something about this that doesn't add up, doesn't seem right, and Savreen wants to know what it is. It feels like picking at a scab, insistent and itching.
"Well—when you put it like that, I suppose it does sound…strange. Truth be told, I didn't think about it that much. I saw a way out, and I took it—I had to leave my staff behind, though, and my magic backfired." He waves his scarred hands about for emphasis. "I was in pretty bad shape, and when the Templar found me, I couldn't fight back." Again, Savreen frowns. This is turning out to be a particularly winding story.
"If you were recaptured by Templars, then how did you end up here?" The shiftiness returns, and Jowan hesitates once more, chewing the inside of his chapped lips.
"There is not much time for you to waste ours." Sten's sonorous bass voice carries with it no small weight, and though he isn't harsh, still Jowan winces.
"He couldn't return me to Kinloch—apparently everyone had already left; the King needed mages for some battle in the south." A small flicker of recognition catches alight in Savreen's mind, and she shares a look with Tali and Alistair.
"At Ostagar?"
"Yes, that was the place. So, he brought me south. But we weren't even close when the Teyrn's men found us."
"What?" Without meaning to, Savreen finds herself sharply flinging the question at Jowan. "The Teyrn?"
"I—yes, Teyrn Loghain?" At the mention of Loghain, both Alistair and Talvinder rush from the back of the group to stand at Savreen's side. She can feel—almost smell, certainly taste—the tension in the air as she stares at Jowan, thinking about the timeline, thinking about Eamon, thinking—
"Why were they looking for you?" Tali asks, and Savreen is proud of her—despite her clear distress and frustration, Tali is more gentle, less brusque, inquiring rather than demanding.
"I think they wanted any mage, really, not just me." As Jowan answers, he seems to understand that something in the tenor of the questions has changed, and he glances quizzically between the three Wardens pressed up against the bars of his cell door. "They separated me from the Templar, told him that I'd been ordered on a special assignment, that he was mistaken and I wasn't the runaway mage he was seeking. I don't think he believed them, but I don't think he had much of a choice, either. They gave me a sealed dispatch, from the Teyrn himself, stamped with the King's seal. I had no reason not to trust them."
"Stamped with the King's seal?" Savreen has a feeling she knows where this is going, but she asks anyway, needing confirmation rather than suspicion. With a nod, Jowan continues, a note of pleading in his voice as he explains.
"It was a conditional pardon—you must understand: to be made tranquil, it's awful. Like part of you is suffocated, forever. It's as though you wake up one morning missing what makes you, you, and then you can never be you again, you're just a husk, always, unable to dream, to feel—"
"What did the dispatch say? What were the conditions?" Savreen knows. After all, Jowan has practically told them already. But still she asks, seeking confirmation.
"It said that Arl Eamon Guerrin was a danger to Ferelden, and that I was to pose as a tutor for his son, secretly. There was already an agent among the staff, but I was to get closer. I was to finish the work of poisoning the Arl. And then, after his death, I would be pardoned, and allowed to go free, by the order of the Teyrn."
"And when was all of this?" Eamon's mysterious ailment, his lateness to the field of battle, Loghain's retreat—they paint a troubling picture.
"About a moon past, two fortnights and change, I should think." When she turns to the others, the confirmation burned into her mind, ringing in her ears, Savreen sees both Tali and Alistair staring, mouths open.
"Loghain ordered you to poison Eamon?" Alistair's voice is almost shaky, certainly unsteady. "To—why?"
"Because he was dangerous, sowing sedition against the Queen and encouraging a bigamous marriage between the King and the Orlesian Empress." The tone of Jowan's voice, the hesitance in his words, the furrowing of his brows—all seem to indicate that he isn't sure of the truth of the allegations, that he has perhaps never been sure of them. But if tranquility is anywhere near as bad as he describes it, Savreen understands his actions, the lure of pragmatism and freedom over principle. She disapproves, but she cannot not say she does not understand.
"But I don't understand—why would Connor need a mage as a tutor? Why you?" As Alistair questions Jowan, Savreen watches realization seep into his eyes. A moment later, Jowan's words make Alistair squeeze his eyelids shut, rubbing his gloved and gauntleted hands into his face.
"Connor had started to show…signs. Arlessa Isolde was terrified that the Circle of Magi would take him away—I can't say I blame her."
"So, Eamon's son is a mage. But how did Loghain know?" Tali's question is a good one, and Savreen waits for Jowan's answer, another nail in the coffin of her hatred for Loghain.
"The Teyrn's agent, the one I mentioned before—she worked in the kitchens, listened to the Arlessa. She told her that she knew how to help, from what I know. She must have told the Teyrn."
"And the Teyrn found you," Alistair offers, concluding Jowan's statement. The mage nods.
"She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his magic." Savreen considers the situation—considers the poisoning, the corpses.
"You succeeded in poisoning the Arl." It's not a question, but Jowan nods as though answering, a look of guilt heavy on his face once more. "And you were discovered?" This time, it is a question, and again Jowan nods. "And you were imprisoned here, in the dungeon?" Another nod. "But what about the corpses?" The pleading tone is back in Jowan's voice when he answers.
"I know it looks suspicious. But I've told you everything that I did. I'm a blood mage and I poisoned the Arl—I've made terrible mistakes and I can't undo them—but I swear to you that I'm not responsible for the corpses and the demon. I was already imprisoned when it all began." He takes a deep breath and then continues, glancing between each of the Wardens once more, almost as though appealing to them for their pardon. "At first, the Arlessa came here with her men, demanding that I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning the Arl, but then she told me about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe, but I didn't—I just wanted to go free."
When Savreen looks over at Alistair, she sees him clenching and unclenching his jaw, staring at a stone near the back of Jowan's cell. He looks distinctly unhappy, and yet also conflicted. Jowan isn't finished, though. He continues, and his voice has begun to tremble.
"She had me tortured. She tried to starve me, and then when that failed, bribe me with food. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So she left me here, to rot." With a small scoff, Alistair finally looks up from the stone he's been fixating on. Savreen expects his expression to be anger, directed at Jowan, for the destruction of what had once been his family. But that's not the only thing she sees—instead she sees a contorted tableau, a mix of emotions, and perhaps strongest of all, pity. It disarms her slightly, and she stands, puzzled, but careful to keep her face impassive before turning back to Jowan.
"If it only began after you were imprisoned, and Connor is indeed a mage, then perhaps he is responsible for what happened." At this, Jowan nods emphatically.
"I thought that, too. Connor has little knowledge of magic, and the Fade is dangerous for those coming into their powers without guidance. He may have done something to tear open the Veil, likely by accident. With that done, there's no telling how many demons could come through." It is Savreen's turn to nod. She'd thought as much, but it makes her feel more confident that Jowan agrees. Connor, it would seem, is the source of it all. There is no other explanation, especially with Isolde's apparent fear for Connor's mind.
"We know—we must assume—that Connor is behind this, even if it's an accident." Tali speaks again for the first time in a while, and when Savreen looks over to her, she stands with one arm crossed across her stomach, the other propped up upon it, hand rubbing her chin. "But what do we do about it? How do we get rid of the demon?"
"Take me with you. I can help." Jowan is desperate, suddenly pressed tight against the bars as he begs.
"Absolutely not." Savreen is happy to free him, to have him run, far away, but the thought of working with a blood mage, working with a maleficar, goes against everything written and said in the text of the gurus. Next to her, Tali nods in agreement, but Jowan is not satisfied.
"I have to make things right!" His voice cracks with the force of his yell, and it makes Savreen pause.
"If he wishes to atone…" Leliana's half-suggestion is slightly hesitant, but carries with it all the conviction to be expected of a cloistered Chantry sister. Whether it's her words that make Morrigan laugh or her tone, laugh Morrigan does. Savreen watches as Leliana shoots a glare at the witch. "And what is funny about that?" she demands, causing Morrigan to shrug.
"Simply that, as I see it, he has nothing to 'atone' for, save for letting himself be caught."
"Yes, poisoning the Arl was nothing. Very small thing, that." The anger in Alistair's voice obscures most of his sarcasm, turning it bitter and biting.
"You forget that Loghain manipulated him into doing so." Morrigan's words stop Alistair in his tracks, and he goes quiet, turning back to Jowan and considering. "At any rate, I say he could be of use to us. But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"
"Wait, wait—let's not forget that he's a blood mage," Alistair grasps at an answer to Morrigan, but reneges on committing to it at the last minute. "You can't just…set a blood mage free, can you?"
"Better to slay him, then? Better to punish him for choices he clearly regrets? Better to kill a man who turned to 'forbidden' magic to survive only because he was forced to?" As she speaks, Morrigan's eyes flash, molten amber flickering within. But she isn't finished, landing one last barb in Alistair's flesh that makes him deflate, something like anguish joining the tapestry of emotions on his face. "Is this Alistair who speaks? Or the Templar?"
"I—I don't know—we don't know the whole story yet. Can we make this decision now?" Having been previously silent, it's a bit of a shock when Sten speaks up—he's seemed content to observe, for the most part, as though continuing to fulfill his role as a beresaad.
"This mage is volatile and unpredictable. He has already committed numerous crimes, regardless of his intent. I say either we submit him to judgement and execution here and now, or we let a tribunal decide."
"He doesn't…he doesn't need to die, surely?" Alistair's question seems to emphasize the shift of his position from his first outburst. "Like—like Morrigan said, Loghain is the one who ordered him to poison the Arl…"
"Indeed, I did say that. Good of you to recall." The two of them are a hairsbreadth away from another bickering match when Leliana interjects.
"If we were to judge him now without taking into account any of his desire to redeem himself…how would that be fair?" Sten nods, apparently appreciative of Leliana's point. An argument is averted, but still Savreen stares at Jowan, with the circular talk of all her companions chasing itself, an ouroboros in her mind. They continue talking, chattering, offering suggestions, meanwhile she looks into Jowan's eyes, wondering, her mind drawing a blank.
It is Ranjit's voice that cuts through everything, startling Savreen out of her daze.
"The only possible way forward is to free him and bring him with us." She blinks, looking at him. Gently, he presses the side of her arm, moving her to the side, and she steps away, freeing a path for Ranjit to approach the cell door. He continues to speak, reaching out and considering the padlock on the door, turning it this way and that. "We cannot judge him on what he hopes to do, we cannot judge him on those actions he claims are mistakes—not without witnesses or evidence. We can only judge him on what he does when freed." At last, he looks up at Savreen, tacitly submitting his proposal for her approval. Eyes locked with his, she nods.
"You will come with us," she says, "but you will use no blood magic." When she meets Jowan's gaze again, she finds him staring, open mouthed, dumbstruck at the turn of events.
"I—yes! Of course!"
"Leliana?" Silently, Savreen thanks Ranjit, thanks him for his clear head, thanks him for allowing her to make the final decision, thanks him for speaking up.
"Hmm?"
"Can you pick this lock?" It's a bit of a stretch, a question based only on the woman's Antivan steel blades and strange affinity for dead silent movement, but it's a correct assumption. Leliana nods, steps forward, and produces picks from a pocket somewhere in her armor. Within a moment, the lock is open, clanging to the floor, and the door to Jowan's cell swings open. He stands there for a moment, staring at all of them.
"I didn't think you were really going to let me out," he says finally. "I hate to ask, but do you have any water?"
Tali is glad, despite whatever other reservations she may have about working with a blood mage, that they needn't have killed Jowan. He's a bit slow at first, but after they give him some water from their flasks and a bit of stowed food, he speeds right up. He's not much help in combat, though, as he has to avoid injuring himself while not using a staff. Luckily, as they move up through the servants' quarters, there isn't much in the way of resistance, just two small pockets of ghoulish corpses. When the fighting is done, Jowan and Morrigan both stand over the remains, inspecting them, muttering half-audible phrases, then finally burning them with a snap of fingers.
"It's a demon for sure," Jowan offers.
"Most likely, 'tis a desire demon—of considerable strength." Morrigan's information is a bit more helpful than Jowan's, though it is good to have explicit confirmation of the source of the corpses.
"What does that mean for us?" Tali asks—she's never faced any demons in combat before, let alone been able to tell demons of hunger from despair from desire. She isn't even sure she knows all the types of demon. Morrigan speaks as they walk, Alistair and Jowan leading the way, the only two familiar with the castle's layout.
"It means we must be careful. As of yet, it does not seem that the demon is necessarily aware of us. The corpses have some other purpose—I would wager the demon preyed upon this foolish young boy—"
"His name is Connor," Alistair interjects, craning his head over his shoulder as they climb a thin staircase up from the sleeping quarters to the kitchens.
"Conrad, yes." The smile on Morrigan's lips matches the scowl on Alistair's as he turns back to face front. "At any rate, the boy likely dreamed, distraught about the fate of his father, and the demon, sensing his inexperience in magic, sought him out in the Fade and struck a deal with him. 'Tis predictably childish to fear the loss of a parent so much that one accepts a demon's bargain."
"Morrigan, he is a child." Tali doesn't want to sound judgmental or harsh—not as she notices the way that Morrigan puts too much effort into her snide comments. The witch doesn't look at her.
"Yes. 'Tis exactly as I said. Childish."
After that, Morrigan says nothing.
The kitchens are empty and quiet, dishes resting and bread moldering as though left in the middle of preparing a meal. They move through them quickly into a small vestibule, stacked full of wood and coal for the stoves. Alistair stops by the door, Jowan next to him.
"This door opens out to the main courtyard," he says. "We should be able to open the gate, let in Ser Perth and the others, and then enter the main living quarters to find Teagan, Isolde, Connor, and Eamon, if they're—well, if they're still alive. I suppose now's the time to ask if there are any questions, right?" Nonplussed, Tali blinks.
"Questions about what?"
"Uh, I don't know? Just…questions? Seemed the right thing to ask."
"Why would we have questions?" The snap of Morrigan's voice sounds like a band of fabric pulling taut, and it makes Alistair open his mouth, raising a finger as he prepares to sass her back.
"You two are incorrigible." Instead, Sav interrupts them, marching forward and opening the door, a sword already in hand.
The courtyard is bright with early afternoon sun, beating down on the flagstones and the carefully manicured gardens, now sprouting fresh weeds. As Sav leads them out from the kitchens, slowly peering around the space, Tali struggles to get her bearings. At her side, Abarie blinks, sniffing the air insistently. When she spots the gates leading to the bridge, Tali heads toward them at a slight jog, ahead of the others, Abarie at her heels, reaching for the wheel to crank them open. Just as her hand touches the wood, though, there's a whizzing shriek of air that passes her ear, suddenly visible as an arrow embedded in the wheel. With a bark and a snarl, Abarie turns, reacting too fast for Tali to match. Realizing what the arrow is a split second later, though, Tali recoils, spinning around and drawing her sword with her momentum. What she spots at the top of the stairs leading to the grand entry makes her heart drop.
Ten or so skeletons, bedecked in ancient armor, wreathed in demonic purple fire, watching her with more intelligence than any of the other corpses had. Half of them carry bows, equally ancient, strung with magic. What truly worries her, though, is the figure at their head, already charging her, weapons drawn. It's a mess of magical flesh growing out and around a long-dead skeleton, animating it with uncanny jerkiness, and yet deadly precision, moving like a bird diving for its prey. A Revenant, intelligent and powerful. And Tali barely has time to bring her shield around and raise it in front of her before its blade clangs down on its surface, sending shocks up her arm and into her shoulder.
The others spring into action. Leliana begins firing on the skeletons still flanking the stairs, arm moving almost too quickly to see. Ranjit, Savreen, and Sher bound up the steps two at a time, heading to cut off the other skeletons attempting to join the Revenant as it attacks Talvinder. Jowan and Morrigan both join Leliana, firing bolts of magic, while Sten and Alistair run toward Tali.
But it's difficult for either of them to get close, to break into the formation of the dancing duel that plays out in front of them. The Revenant moves so quickly and insistently that Tali struggles to get a hit back—in fact, she struggles just to meet and deflect its blows. Sten moves first, swinging his greatsword and catching the Revenant off-guard and off-balance enough for him to strike another blow. Alistair takes advantage of this, moving in and attacking at a weak spot in the Revenant's guard. Together, they take the pressure off of Tali and Abarie, enough so that they both can land a few blows, Abarie harrying the thing by biting at its feet and legs, ripping at the flesh and tendons that hold it together.
Tali thinks they might almost have it beaten back—she can practically see the killing blow, the opening to behead the Revenant—when it slams its sword down, spearing it into the stone with superhuman strength. She's running back towards it from where she had moved to avoid its reach, and it all happens too fast for her to stop and dodge. The Revenant roars, its twisted jaw opening wide, and swipes out with its arms, and a wall of energy slams Tali in the chest, catching her off balance and knocking her down.
She lays there, dazed, ears ringing, a dull ache in her back, the base of her skull. Things swim above her, the blue sky winking into darkness and then turning into a rippling pool of water. Something reaches down from the sky, a hand, gauntleted, huge. It wraps around her neck, pressing the collar of her gambeson and tunic into her skin, and starts to lift her. It's not coming from the sky, it's the Revenant, lifting her up higher—too high, unbelievably high—her toes scrabble at the ground and then clear it completely. She can't breathe, still her head rings, noises indistinct and muted. She's looking down into its eyes, holding onto its arm, trying to push herself up and relieve the pressure on her throat, and they are strangely alive, centered in stolen skull sockets, wreathed in writhing flesh, demonic, terrifying, mesmerizing.
Darkness flickers at the edge of her vision, and she stops fighting, staring into those eyes instead. They're almost calming. Someone yells something, somewhere. It doesn't concern her—how could it? The Revenant is speaking to her, calling to her. She has to focus, to listen, but it's so hard. Tali stares into its eyes, wheels of flaming iris wrapped around pupils of interminable emptiness, and she doesn't know when last she breathed.
And then, suddenly, the flames in the Revenant's eyes flicker and dim, sputtering out. It crumples, dropping Tali, and suddenly there's air in her lungs again, and her knees and elbow and her side and her head all hurt. She gasps, not really sure what's happened, what's happening. She lifts a hand to her head, half expecting blood, but her patka is dry, covering an already swelling bruise. Everything is too bright and she lays there, looking up at the blue sky again. Something licks at her face, but it's too much work to turn her head, and just the thought of it makes dizziness flood through her. A wet nose snuffles at her skin—it's Abarie, and when she's satisfied that Tali is alive, she begins digging her nose into Tali's side, trying to roll her off of her back.
The last of the noises, metallic and clanging, stop. There's a smaller noise, clanking, higher pitched, more muddled, and then someone in blue armor is in Tali's vision, obscuring the light. She blinks, once, twice, three times. It's hard to see who it is, backlit as they are, but the silhouette of unruly hair and faintly peaked ears finally stops swimming around indistinctly, and she recognizes Alistair. He's saying something, and there are another pair of hands at her head, emanating something cool and sharp and yet at the same time so relieving.
It's as though she comes up from underwater, the way that everything has sound again, the way that suddenly her vision clears. Alistair looks down at her, eyes huge, and when she looks up, craning her head, she sees both Morrigan and Jowan, each looking relieved as the last of their healing magic sputters from their fingers. Slowly, she sits up. Her balance still feels strange, but the worst of the pain is gone, and she doesn't see double anymore, so there's at least something to be thankful for. Abarie whines, jumping on her front paws before licking Tali's face again. It makes her smile, nervous laughter bubbling from her lips as she realizes just what's happened. She looks around for Savreen and finds her staring, fingers wrapped around Ranjit's wrist. When Tali's eyes meet hers, Sav rushes forward, falling to her knees and pulling Tali roughly into an embrace.
"You watch your guard better next time, Tali," she chokes out, and Tali can hear her breathing unsteadily in her ear, but she doesn't cry. Tali is suddenly aware that everything around her is crowded—Alistair is kneeling next to her still, and when she looks over Sav's shoulder at him, she sees him looking down, at his hands splayed out over his knees. His back is hunched, and there's an expression of suppressed panic on his face.
"I didn't die," Tali finds herself saying, not really thinking about the words, "just took a bad tumble is all." The reactions to this are varied, but all exhibiting no small level of scorn and distaste. Sav pulls back from the hug, glaring at Tali now, and it makes Tali smile—maybe it's cheeky, but she does find it a bit funny. Alistair, to his credit, scoffs out a laugh, raising a hand to his forehead, while Morrigan rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Ranjit's reaction is miniscule—a raised eyebrow, a faint twitch of his lip—unlike Leliana's. She wipes at faint tears in her eyes, lip trembling in relief, while Jowan looks on in slight confusion and alarm. Sten is the only unaffected one. He nods at Tali, and she would swear it's with respect, before he alone heads over to the gates, begins turning the wheel again—arrow still lodged in it.
"A bad tumble?" Savreen isn't over Talvinder's minimizing of the situation, even as Tali begins to clamber to her feet. "If that's a bad tumble, I'm going to be forcing you to wear a helmet from now on." Tali shrugs, finally standing once more. Her knees still hurt a bit, and she knows she's likely to be covered in bruises before long, even with the combined power of Morrigan and Jowan's healing.
"A helmet would be a nice addition," she admits, and Sav rolls her eyes.
"A nice addition. You test me every day." Tali wants to grin and bite back, but at that very moment, Sten finishes cranking open the gates, and Ser Perth and several knights approach. All seem relieved to find the party still alive, if also trepidatious at the sight of the burned corpses dispatched in their most recent fight.
"It is good to join you again," Ser Perth says to Tali, and for a moment she swears she sees Alistair roll his eyes. When she turns her head to him, though, he's studiously examining a bruised and bloody fingernail. "The castle…is anyone…do you know…" He starts and stops, unsure how to ask his question, hope and fear comingled on his face.
"We've not encountered anyone since Arlessa Isolde ventured out to speak with us this morning," Tali explains. Grimly, Ser Perth nods.
"All that is left is to enter the main quarters of the castle." He turns to Sav as she speaks, and then up at the doors at the top of the stairs. After a moment, he nods again.
"My lady Warden," he says, "lead the way."