I have always considered myself confident and self reliant, one who could survive on her own wits and put fools to shame. Today, the Tower has shaken that belief. In order to save the pathetic Arl Eamon and his dolt of a son, I came with the Grey Wardens, thinking that I would just scoff at the plight of the mage sheep here and play out my antipathy with the Templars. However, I found great and terrible power here, much to my surprise. I had seen death and destruction before, after the Battle of Ostagar, but the vile horrors here made my skin crawl. T'was as if the very walls themselves were made of decaying flesh and oozing sores filled with feeding maggots. Though a cold pit grew in my gut, I put on a brave face. I could not show the Wardens that I had any fear or they might not respect my power and that would be dangerous.
But, let me tell you how it all began a few days ago. After clearing Redcliff Castle of the droll undead, I kept my cool sense of insouciance the whole ride up to the Tower, even enduring the mindless chatter between that stupid former Templar and that blathering Chantry girl. If she were to speak of shoes and ribbons once more, I swore, I would have electrocuted her. Then, that big, yappy mutt of the Warden's…he just had to put a dead chicken in my unmentionables…. A gift, Alice said. I'll gift that dog's mouth shut if he doesn't stop barking at night. At least that Qunari, Sten, knew how to keep his mouth closed and mind his own business. I liked that. And Alice too…. I think that she understands true power. She wields her sword with single-minded determination for vengeance and lets nothing stand in her way. I believe I can find respect for that.
So, we arrived at the lake and entered the tower, only to find Templars cowering in the corner like children. T'was amusing to watch them quiver in terror. Maybe they could gain some empathy for the lives they snuffed out merely because someone might want to cool some porridge without a helmeted goon looking over their shoulder. But, somehow, I doubted it. Then, that Greagoir fellow went on and on about how the mages were all dead and about rites and other meaningless things. In essence, he was going to cleanse the Tower. Now, I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for the mage sheep that reside here, but they should at least be given the chance to live and run away at some point. I'm not a heartless shrew, you know.
I was impressed when Alice backed him down and we were allowed to retake the Tower. Not that he could have stopped us, mind you. And, the fact that not one Templar volunteered to accompany us solidified my opinion of them – little people in suits of armor that are far too big for them. So, we sauntered on in to find an old woman and a bunch of children fending off a demon. I watched for a moment to see the old woman's technique. I could grudgingly admit that she wielded some power and she flattened the demon into the floor with a sweep of her staff. When we approached, she seemed suspicious, but wisely accepted our offer of help. The mage, Wynne, seemed the sort that will grow to annoy me, but for now, I shall consider her an ally.
Wynne led us up through the Tower where we encountered a man, still alive and unharmed by the rampage around him. This man, Owain, was like a talking statue, no more than an animated corpse. In a zombie-like monotone, he droned on about some Niall and a book. I asked him what was wrong with him and he told me he was a…Tranquil, a lobotomized freak from the sounds of it. I would hurl myself off of a cliff if such a thing should happen to me, but from what he said, I t'wouldn't care at that point. Wynne gave me a disapproving look when I turned my nose up at him. Yes, she will annoy me.
The way up through the Tower brought a few satisfying frays. We abolished an abomination and rended a revenant. My personal favorite was when I infected the mind of a blood mage and caused him to run out of the window of the tower. T'is a long way down.
But, from then on, the way became increasingly uncomfortable, like teeth that are clenched too tightly. T'was as if there were the sound of roaches constantly scurrying beneath the floor, skittering and chittering and I could not shake the feeling of dread that was building with every passing step.
T'wasn't that I was unnerved by any of the demons or silly abominations that the mage sheep had become because they were distracted when heating water…t'was the Fade. Let me explain here. We came upon a Sloth Demon, a grotesque caricature of a person that seemed to be a pulpy mass of scaly and rubbery flesh with sleepy eyes. It stood over a man that lay at its feet, holding a book. T'was that the book that the zombie man spoke of?
My mind immediately grasped a spear from a statue and I thought to impale the demon with my magic, but my vision became hazy as it spoke. His words resonated through my head and the weapon clattered to the ground. I shook my head, but cotton seemed to fill my ears and my mouth. Though I could hear the demon's voice, I could barely understand him as I sagged to my knees. That fool, Alistair, toppled over and began snoring while Cyrano whimpered and settled down on his hindquarters from his fearsome stance. Even the great Sten leaned against the wall and then slumped over, cradling his massive sword. Nearby, Wynne and Leliana was already dozing…no wonder there. I tried to get up, but it felt as if I were wearing the heavy armor that encased the warriors. Ahead of me, Alice stumbled, the metal of her poleynes and greaves clanging on the floor. She looked at me as if to ask something, but her eyes rolled back into her head and she slid to the ground. Ah, I had the satisfaction of being the last to succumb to this dirty trick. That satisfaction soon faded as I felt the cold tiles pressing on my cheek. All became dark.
Then, I felt fine. T'was as if I had woken from a gentle nap on a summer day. I knew that something t'was amiss, but I couldn't quite place it. I was back in my bed, but the sheets were fine cotton and warm. I narrowed my eyes and looked around to find myself in our measly shack, but the pelts were fresh and clean and I could smell a rich broth bubbling on the stove. I know the Fade…I have been there many times and, as a mage, can maintain my wits there. But, this was different somehow. I felt…good.
"Ah, you're awake, dear daughter," a voice said from the shadows. I began to formulate my usual sarcastic response, but this voice, the voice of my mother, was kind and without guile.
"I…uhhh, yes, I am." I thought the cautious approach best and slowly placed my feet on the floor. It felt real enough.
Flemeth emerged from the darkness and her eyes were full of light with a smile on her lips. I almost laughed from the ludicrousness of the image, but I found I could not. I…liked seeing her this way. She sat on my bed, next to me and held out a bowl of hearty broth, which I took with a little wariness. I took a sip and found that it was not too hot and not too cold, but just right. I turned to see Flemeth still smiling, not a hint of deception behind it. She ran a hand down my face to cup my chin. No one had ever touched me that way, not even the captain of the caravan that I now kept hidden away in my mind. No one had ever looked into my eyes with any warmth or a reassurance that nothing was wanted from me where all I needed to do was exist and I would be appreciated. I was speechless. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to run into the wilds, change into a bird and fly away, but my head slowly slid into the crook of my mother's neck and I closed my eyes and let her stroke my hair.