Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics, Dragon Age, Stephen King's Doctor Sleep, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or any of their related characters. Character Warjen Zevonishki or "Zevon" is an homage to my favorite musician, long deceased, no disrespect intended, I included him because King dedicated the novel Doctor Sleep to his memory. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Doctor Sleep, Dragon Age Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. May also contain spoilers for Marvelmovies, series, and/or comics. Song lyrics included herein were used without permission.
Chapter Two: Bitten and Bereaved
Early that morning, with the festival already well underway in Gwaren, Leonis Scientia and Clarus Amacitia offloaded their families from the small private airship that brought them to Gwaren Keep. In the Scientia family there was only Leonis, his wife Laira, and their young son Ignis, but the Amacitia clan was larger, with three children debarking with their parents. All the Amacitia children were boys. The eldest, Yew, had dark, curly hair cut short, like his father. The middle boy, Vine, had straight dark hair worn a little longer. The youngest boy, Gladiolus, probably a little more than fifty years of age (no longer considered a toddler, but not by much), had jet black hair worn shoulder length. Leonis Scientia was Royal Adviser to the King of Asgard. Clarus Amacitia was his Royal Shield, or personal bodyguard. Giving the two of them up for an unspecified length of time just so their sons could potentially be friends with Loki spoke to how much Odin cared about this child he couldn't raise himself.
When they presented themselves before Loghain Mac Tir and his family, Loki hid slightly behind Loghain's legs and peeked shyly yet fixedly. Not at any of the children, but at Andreah Amacitia, the mother of the Amacitia clan.
"Why, whatever is the matter, child?" she said, kindly.
Loki curled his left hand to his mouth and said, "The baby will be born early, but it'll be all right. It's a girl, like you wanted. You're going to name her Iris."
Andreah reared back and stared goggle-eyed at her husband. "Clarus!"
"We, we told no one that we're expecting again. Not even the boys. How could he know…?" Clarus Amacitia asked.
"Loki's a very special boy, he knows lots of things he shouldn't by rights," Loghain said, stooping down to smooth the boy's unruly black hair.
"Oh come now, you don't mean to tell me that a sensible man like yourself, Teyrn Loghain, believes in psychics?" Leonis said.
"I believe in things I've seen enough evidence to convince me of, yes. My daughter Frigga is psychic, as you should be aware."
"Oh come now, I know His Majesty claims to put stock in her so-called prophesies, but surely they are no more than the fanciful imaginings of an eccentric mind?"
WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY MOTHER?
Loki did not voice this shout with his mouth, but they all heard it nevertheless, and it knocked Leonis back and onto his ass. Shaken, he climbed warily to his feet.
"I see, my Lord, that he shares your biotic power."
Loghain shook his head and swiped at his mouth with his left hand. "That wasn't biotics. The healers say that Loki has no onset biotic powers as yet. We've had them check several times. And you know full well that biotics aren't passed down genetically anyway. He did that with his mind, but don't ask me how. He does lots of nifty things with his mind, though up til now we only heard him produce music from thin air. Didn't know he could actually push people around like that. Didn't know he knew we weren't his real parents, for that matter, although it honestly doesn't surprise me a bit."
"You're very calm about it, all things considered."
"I'm calm about most things. And Loki is smart. He knows he shouldn't be doing things like that, don't you, Pup?"
"Yes, Papa. I'm sorry," Loki said, head hanging.
"Don't apologize to me, Pup, apologize to Mr. Scientia."
"I'm sorry, Ser. I got angry. I lost control. It won't happen again."
"I certainly hope not," Leonis said. "I have to admit, though, the experience was… fascinating."
"Why don't we introduce Loki to the boys now?" Celia said.
Laira Scientia stepped forward then, hands on her son's shoulders. "A fine idea. Loki, this is our son Ignis. Ignis, say hello to Loki."
Ignis was about a hundred years old, still not much in Asgardian terms, but quite a sober young child. He held out his hand and Loki shook with him. "Nice to meet you," he said.
Clarus Amacitia took care of the introductions on his end. "This is our son Yew, our middle boy Vine, and our youngest, Gladiolus."
"Hello, Gladiolus," Loki said.
Gladiolus, dark eyes wide and staring, nodded back.
Leonis Scientia drew Loghain aside for a whispered conversation. "How… old is Loki? I know how old he's supposed to be, but… he couldn't be a year old, surely?"
"He isn't," Loghain said.
"I knew it!"
"He won't be a year until Octowber ninth. He's almost a year old."
"You're kidding."
"No I'm not."
"I know Nords develop quicker than other races, but isn't this… walking, talking – clearly, no less – a bit unusual, at his age?"
"Everything about the boy is unusual. He cut his first set of teeth at four months. Happened pretty much all at once, with very little fuss and bother."
"What do you suppose accounts for this accelerated development? Have you spoken to healers about it?"
"Yes, but they weren't able to tell me anything. He's a perfectly healthy boy, according to them. A bit on the small side for his age, but then, I was small too until I hit my two thousands."
"I find that hard to believe, my Lord." Leonis stood back to take in the full size of the Teyrn, well over eleven feet from foot to forelock, unusually tall even for a Nord.
"Four foot eight, until I started to grow. Odin used to call me 'Dwarfkin.' Then I grew, and he started calling me 'Hrimthurs.'"
"That's an odd condition. I would have to assume there's a medical reason behind it."
"Probably, but I'm healthy as an ox, so no one's any too worried what it might have been. If it looks like Loki's going the same way, I'll have healers check him out, just in case. Maybe they can fix it so he's neither dwarf nor giant. Neither condition is all that pleasant, honestly, though I suppose as long as he's healthy it doesn't matter much one way or the other."
"I suppose there are worse things."
"Indeed. But speaking as a man in excess of eleven feet in height, it really sucks to be taller than most doorways and a lot of ceilings. Almost makes me forget how bad it was to be shorter than most bars and store counters."
"What is all that hoopla going on outside?" Clarus Amacitia asked, peering through one of the Keep's windows at the festival in the village.
"Feast Day," Loghain said.
"You make it a town party here?"
"Most places do, at least here in Ferelden. Might be unique to the province, I'm not completely sure. How do you celebrate it in the Sacred City?"
"We kind of don't, honestly. A slightly bigger than average meal, maybe, but that's all."
"Ayuh, that sounds like city folk. Come on, time you learned how the other half lives."
He led them all outside. Loki had never seen the village in such a festive state, not that he'd been out and about in the village much in his currently short life. People had grills, firepits, and barbecues set up everywhere, and were cooking food right out in the open, at all times, and handing it out free of charge to passersby. Ale, mead, and beer flowed freely, despite the fact that it was still early morning, and people were singing the old songs, unaccompanied and slightly out of tune. On the docks, people were holding swimming races, diving in to the cold waters of the Frozen Sea, swimming a few laps back and forth in the relatively gentle waves, and then jumping back out and running helbent for the local hot spring to warm up.
"Isn't that… dangerous?" Leonis asked, looking at the swimmers.
"Sure it is. Frozen Sea is never what you would call good for swimming, but those men are clam divers. They've got to keep in training."
"Is clam important enough to the native diet to risk those frigid depths?"
"Somewhat, but more, there's a type of abalone down there in those waters that produces a fancy blue shell that people in the Sacred City and places like that pay a great deal of money for. Keeps the people hereabouts fairly well-set through otherwise lean times. So much so that they tend to refer to gold coins as 'clams.'"
"I notice all the clam divers are Nords," Clarus said. Nords tended to have a hard time acclimating to hot climates, but were highly resistant to cold temperatures.
"Most of Ferelden are Nords, Gwaren isn't much different on that score. But it's still a mixed village, and there are at least two Bosmer clam divers and a Redgard one. Look there, there's one of the Bosmer jumping in now." Loghain pointed at a wiry little fellow with pointed ears who went running for the end of the docks and dove off in cannonball formation, laughing wildly.
"How do they stand it?" Laira Scientia said.
"It's really quite invigorating," Loghain said. "Provided you survive the initial shock. Of course, no one goes in the water past Octowber. You'd never make it as far as the hot spring even if you managed to survive long enough to get out. Even Nords don't risk it."
"It's really a lovely little village, isn't it?" Andreah Amacitia said. "I don't know what I expected, but this is really quite picturesque. Are all the buildings built of stone?"
"Everything but the sawmill, and that partly."
"Mum, can we go join the party?" Vine said. "It smells so good!"
"Yeah, Mum, we're hungry!" Yew said.
"Very well, boys, go on."
"I wouldn't mind hitting up the local delicacies myself," Clarus said. "Traveling around the world makes me hungry."
"Everything makes you hungry," Andreah said.
"I'm a growing boy," Clarus said, with a grin.
"You're only growing out, not up."
"You should be hungry too, you know, love. You may not be a growing girl any longer, but you're growing one."
She laughed. "I suppose I could eat."
They waded into the throngs of happy villagers, touring the cook stands and munching on local delicacies like deep fried abalone (Clarus kept going back for more), boiled chicken feet, grilled wilds crawler (snake), and roasted rat kebabs. Everyone was brave enough to at least try all of it, and everyone agreed that most of it was quite palatable, even when it seemed as if it couldn't possibly be. Interestingly, the only thing that got a universal thumbs down was the boiled chicken feet, which were tough and gristly and had any flavor they might once have had boiled out of them. They were served by the cook from the local pub.
"I always heard such horror stories about Fereldan food," Clarus said. "It isn't true at all."
"Oh it is," Loghain said. "But it's only true of the pubs and taverns. This is mostly Fereldan home cooking. There's no comparison." He punctuated his words by ripping a huge chunk of wilds crawler off a larger portion with his teeth.
As the day wore on, feasting gave way to music and dancing. There was nothing so lofty as a "minstrel" in Gwaren, but several locals played a bit, and put together a passable band. They stuck to the old songs at first, tales of love and tales of chivalry and bravado mostly, but as the evening drew in they began to sprinkle in sprightlier tunes more suited to an alehouse. By the time dark set in the sort of songs they played were full-on bawdy. No one seemed any too concerned about their children hearing such songs as "Alehouse Lilly (She'll Bonk you Silly)" and "Dragon Spooge Befouled My Bonny Bonny Lass." Some of them even sang along.
"Is this… typical… of Ferelden?" Andreah Amacitia said, trying unsuccessfully to cover her youngest child's ears during the chorus of "Alehouse Lilly."
"It's typical of Gwaren. Gwaren is… fairly unique, I'd say," Loghain said. "You might almost call it slightly insane."
Loki did not see either the Drunken Man or the Blitzball Boy the entire day, which, in light of his broken sleep, was quite a long one. He did not feel a bit tired, however, and when Ignis suggested they slip away from the main crowd of festival goers for a private talk he went with no misgivings.
"My father says there are daemons in the forest here," Ignis said.
"That's what my Papa says," Loki confirmed.
"Have you ever seen one?"
"No."
"I'd love to. I want to know what's out there."
"My Papa says they're really dangerous."
"They're scared of light. How dangerous could they really be?"
"I don't know. I don't really want to find out, either."
"You took on my father this morning, a grown-up. I thought you wouldn't be afraid."
"Grown-ups are people. Daemons are literal monsters."
"Well, I'm curious, and I won't be happy until my curiosity is satisfied. I'm going to find a daemon." Ignis started for the treeline.
Loki grabbed his arm. "Don't!"
Ignis looked at him contemptuously. Loki thought quickly. "Listen, if I turn off a few of the lights nearest the treeline, maybe a daemon will come out of the trees and you can see it from the safety of the lights. Good enough?"
Ignis' blue eyes, already narrow behind narrow square-framed spectacles, narrowed still further. "Good enough. But I want to see one. If one doesn't appear, I'm going into the forest."
"All right all right, but get back here with me, in the light."
Loki closed his eyes and a quartet of the powerful village lights nearest the treeline flickered and went out. None of the festival goers, clustered in the village square for the music and dancing, seemed to notice.
"How did you do that?" Ignis said, rather admiringly.
"I don't really know how, I just do it," Loki said. "Now be quiet and watch, I'm sure it won't take long. I know they're out there. I can feel them."
A rustling of scales on the first dry leaves of autumn, and in the darkness beyond the protective halo of light there slithered a monstrous creature. It was not a snake, but it was snake-like. The body glistened blood red, with shining scales that appeared slimy. It was roughly thirty feet long, and quite massive in girth, so the fact that it was quite agile on solid ground indicated that it was tremendously strong. It was not so just in Asgard but in all realms; extremely massive, heavy-bodied snakes tend to let water bear their weight. It was not a universal rule, but almost. If it were merely a very large snake all would be well. Loki loved snakes, though he'd never seen one with his actual eyes, and he considered them beautiful creatures. This creature, as stated, was not a snake, and despite having a snake's body it did not truly look like a snake. An actual snake's scales were shiny, and to some eyes, tainted by fear, perhaps, they might appear slimy, but they were quite dry and Loki felt that he could tell as much just by looking at them. This creature's scales… he felt they were not dry. They were slimy, nasty, rotten… diseased, even. That wasn't even the worst of it. The creature's head was not that of a snake. It was a woman's. It had fangs and there was the flicker of a forked tongue, but otherwise the huge face was hellishly like any number of humes, mer, or even Nords.
Ignis took a step closer to the edge of the darkness. "What an astonishing creature!" he said. "I wonder if it's intelligent."
"Not so much as you or me, I think," Loki said. "Maybe smarter than the average beast, but it's mind is… twisted."
"I wish I could get a better look at it." Ignis said, and took another step toward the darkness.
"Ignis, no, get back!"
The snake-daemon alerted to his presence, and apparently the proximity of prey was more tempting to it than its fear of light. With hideous speed, it slithered near, drawing its great head high in the air and opening its fanged mouth wide. Where the light struck it, even though it did not yet enter the warm glow of the powerful lights fully, its skin sizzled and tendrils of smoke rose from it.
"No! Bad! Get away!" Loki said, stepping swiftly in front of Ignis with his hands raised. If he were any other child this would have only served to get them both eaten, but Loki was not without defenses, as he had proven that morning. The creature was knocked back once, twice, three times, and it shook itself irritably to recover from these invisible blows.
The festival goers were aware of the commotion now, and in the manner of Joe Public, particularly a largely drunken Joe Public, they promptly panicked and made a nuisance of themselves. Loghain, Clarus, and Leonis all tried to make their way through the screaming, milling crowd but found it hard going. The daemon, meanwhile, rallied and attacked again. Loki held it back with psychic force, but Ignis had other ideas. He grabbed Loki's arm and pulled him.
"Come on, run!" he said, and proceeded to suit action to words, pulling the much smaller boy off his feet. When he did, Loki broke concentration, the force holding the daemon back dropped, and the daemon struck out, getting one sharp fang in Loki's left shoulder. Loki cried out in pain, and the daemon exploded – which was not an effect of the light. Daemons overexposed to powerful lights burned slowly. The explosion was caused by something else, and Loghain at the least was in little doubt as to the exact cause.
If anything, the explosion caused even more panic and chaos, and Loghain was finally forced to do what he generally tried very hard not to do to his own civilian populace. He shouted.
When Loghain Mac Tir shouted, it was not merely loud. It was not a true Thu'um, for he knew nothing of Dovah zu'ul, the one sentient language that the Nordic genetic power of All Speech could not translate, but it was like a Thu'um, at least a force Thu'um, for he could easily knock people off their feet with his voice, and could do so even when he was still quite small. That power, which was "biotic," which was the word Nords used to make their native powers sound more scientific and less magical, and a surprising early gift for strategy had made him a lucky find in more ways than one when Odin and a young Prince Maric of Ferelden stumbled onto him, quite literally, after a nearly successful Thalmor ambush during their campaign to end the Thalmor Occupation of Ferelden some twenty-five hundred years ago. He'd been little more than a boy then, and was still rather young now, a fact that still had the power to surprise him when he thought of it. By the way he felt and the way his reflection showed in a mirror he'd lived a dozen lifetimes since those days.
In any event, his shout had the desired effect, and sent the scurrying crowd tumbling out of the way, clearing a bit of a path for himself and the others to plow through. He was at the children's side in an instant, and knelt down next to Loki, now covered in steaming daemon gunk.
"Pup, are you all right?"
"Papa, it hurts!"
Loghain bet it did. By the color of the scales and the sheer size of it, he had to figure that the daemon was a Marilith, about as bad as it got when it came to snake daemons. The only question was, if the boy was bitten, why was he still alive? Marilith venom was instantly fatal to an adult, Nord or otherwise. A child shouldn't have any defense.
As he looked at the child, wondering, he saw something strange happen. The boy's face underwent a hideous transfiguration, the nose widening and retreating, flattening out, his skin turning faintly green. Long, thin teeth, just the canines, poked out from beneath his lips.
Sometimes people changed, when attacked by daemons, but he'd never heard or seen that it happened so quickly. They got sick, infected by the disease the daemons spread. If they didn't die of it, and if they weren't able to get healing (which could only come from one person, the Oracle, a special Healer blessed by the gods themselves), they eventually turned into daemons themselves. But that couldn't be what was happening to Loki… could it?
He picked the boy up and got to his feet. Leonis had Ignis in his arms, comforting him. "What do we do?" he said.
"Take your children and get them settled in the Keep, get them calmed. I'll get Celia… and Reyne, doubtless. She'll never allow herself to be left behind. We'll go to Denerim. His healer is there, hopefully he can do something about the venom, and while we're there we can find out where the Oracle is currently located."
"Last I was aware, she was home in Tenebrae," Clarus said.
"That's a long ways off, but I hope she still is," Loghain said. "It would be easier than tracking her down while she's on pilgrimage, seeking the sick."
"Good luck to you, and… I'm sorry about this," Leonis said.
"It's not your fault. It's mine."
Zevon knew there was no great rush. It would take time for the kid's parents to bring him from Gwaren to Denerim, even if they had access to the fastest possible aircraft, which was unlikely given the rather… backwater… nature of Gwaren. And there was no fear of missing him, because there was only one proper Emergency Care hospital in Denerim, so there was only one place they would take him. He took a few moments to stop by his room at Heljen Rivensdottir's and restring his guitar. If he managed to talk his way into the kid's room, maybe he could play for him. If the kid was in any condition to listen.
He wondered how likely the parents would be to listen to this wild story he had to tell them. Probably they knew something was a bit "different" about their son, but if they didn't have the Shining themselves then how likely were they to really know what was going on? And how could he make them believe? He should probably stay away, because he was likely to be arrested as Chester the Molester if he got anywhere near this kid, but he had a strong desire to meet this little wunderkind that would not be denied. He'd never met someone so strong in the Shining. Never met anyone as strong as himself, for that matter. Of course it stood to reason there would be others just as strong, others who were stronger, even, but he'd never really given it a thought before.
He headed for the hospital, walking, even though it was dark and the streets weren't all that safe. They were well-lit, at least, keeping daemons at bay, but lights weren't enough to keep thugs away, and Denerim crawled with them. But it wasn't far from the hospice to the hospital, and he made it unmolested.
He expected a wait, but asked at the front desk anyway. He didn't know the kid's last name but there couldn't be more than one Loki in the hospital on a single night. To his surprise, he found that there had been an admission under that name.
"It turned out not to be as serious as it looked. They're in room 214, Pediatric Ward," the receptionist said.
"Not as serious as it looked? The kid was bit by a Marilith," Zevon said. He wondered how exactly the parents managed to beat him here, but there was no doubt in his mind it was the right Loki. There couldn't be two. Maybe there was another one somewhere out there in Asgard somewhere but there definitely couldn't be two in a place as small and rural as Ferelden. Every statistic in the book went against it. People didn't give their kids bad mojo names like "Tangled."
The receptionist just shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't a Marilith? Parents overreact, you know. His shoulder's boogered up but he's going to be all right, as long as the Starscourge doesn't take hold. Of course, I got a look at the kid when they brought him in. Kinda looked to me like he was halfway to daemonized already."
"Is it all right if I go up?"
"Visiting hours are over at twenty-one, so you've still got time. Just… prepare yourself. It's quite a sight."
Worried, Zevon headed for the pediatric ward. The door of 214 was open and the lights were on. He peeked in and saw three people seated next to the hospital bed, a blonde Nord woman, an elderly Nord woman who might have been her mother, and an absolutely enormous black-haired Nord man. He was surprised. In all his experience he'd never met a Nord with much in the way of the Shining. They had biotics, and that was powerful, but for all of that they generally didn't have much going on between the ears. Maybe he'd come to the wrong room. He double-checked the numbers and it did indeed say 214. He peeked in again.
"Ah, excuse me for intruding," he said. "I know you don't know who I am, but I believe I know your son. Loki, correct?"
The women and the big man looked up. They didn't look surprised in the least. "Yes, that's correct," the man said. His voice was a harsh growl, but despite his size it was still pitched somewhat higher than Zevon's unusually low voice.
Zevon came to stand more fully in the doorway. He ran a hand through his curly hair and smiled nervously. "I know this sounds kind of crazy, but your son has been in contact with me for several months. Nothing too personal, just a greeting here and there, and sometimes he kind of looks over my shoulder. I expect you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I expect we do. The boy is… unique, to say the least. The fact that you are accepting of this occurrence in your life suggests to me that you share some degree of his 'gift.' Am I correct?" the big man said.
"Yes, actually. The man who taught me about it – and a bit about how to control it - called it 'The Shining.' I've really never met anyone else who knew the first thing about it. You're aware of your son's… gifts, then?"
"Hard not to be. He's been making music out of thin air since he was a few months old, and that's not the strangest thing of which he's turned out to be capable."
"I've been treated to a bit of that ability of his. I have to confess I was only moderately impressed until today, when I discovered that he was communicating with me from a distance of over three hundred miles."
"Do you, perhaps, know why my son is asleep?" the big man said, waving both hands at the bed. "Healer Johann says it's not a coma, but he's been asleep since before we left home. He should have been screaming in pain, but he's sleeping peacefully, and cannot be roused. It makes no sense."
"Well, Ser, that's why I'm here. You see, that's my power, helping people sleep. I've kept Loki asleep and out of pain since he contacted me earlier."
"This is your doing?"
"Yes, Ser. And now I'm here to bring him around, with your permission. I've never done this part before, so I figured I'd better be close at hand."
"You put people to sleep but you don't bring them round? Just exactly what do you do with this power of yours, Ser?" the big man asked.
"I, uh… I work at a hospice care facility here in town. I help those who are ready to move on… do so in peace and dignity."
The big man seemed surprised, but not at all displeased. "All right, Ser. Healer Johann has done what he can for the wound and the pain should certainly be lessened, please bring my son around. But… do be careful."
Zevon stepped into the room and up to the bed. He was able to see the child now, at least in part, behind the big man. Loki was so tiny. He looked like no more than a baby.
"By Akatosh, how young is he?" he said. "I knew it was a kid, but that's… an infant."
"He'll be one year old on Octowber ninth," the younger woman said.
"He's not even one yet? Andraste's flaming ass."
"Less surprise, more action, please," the big man said. Zevon shook his head and reached out to take the child's hand. The big man put out his to stop him. "What do you think you're about?" he said.
"It's always easier to communicate if I'm touching them," Zevon said. "I don't have the strength your son does, I usually hold hands to reach out to people like this. I can't communicate long-distance like he can."
The big man regarded him steadily for a long moment, pale, star-filled eyes suspicious, but he finally withdrew his hand. "Very well."
Zevon took the tiny hand gently in his own. "All right, Loki, I'm here with you, now, right here beside you. I want you to come back from where you are, all right? It's time to wake up, little man."
"Is that all it takes? You just talk to him?" the big man said.
"I'm speaking out loud for your benefit. I'm communicating with him on a mind-to-mind level. At least I hope I am."
He continued, hoping for response. "Loki? You there? Come on back, buddy. Your folks are worried about you, and frankly, so am I. The Healer has fixed your shoulder, it shouldn't hurt anymore, or at least not so badly, so it's all right to wake up. Don't be scared."
He eyed the still form on the bed, wondering. The boy… did not seem to be a Nord, like his parents. He didn't really look like he was being daemonized, either, as the receptionist had suggested. Zevon had done a lot of traveling in his rather dissipated life, and had seen many different kinds of people, some of which were not common to this province he'd fetched up in at long last, and seeing the boy with his dragony features and leathery skin, he'd have to say that the boy looked an awful lot like a tiny little Bangaa, which were as uncommon in Ferelden as free-living open mages. It made a certain amount of sense, really. Bangaa were the only beings in Asgard with a strong resistance to all types of venoms, including that of the Marilith, which was typically lethal. But how would the child have known that, and more importantly, how would the child have managed to turn himself into one? Was this another weird manifestation of the Shining, a Nord's biotic ability, or was the kid a mage? Nords usually weren't but it did happen sometimes.
He had to ask. "How did he…?" he couldn't quite bring himself to say it, but the big man seemed to understand what he meant.
"Healer Johann is looking at charts and graphs from the Soul Forge to determine just that. He thinks it was a sudden onset of biotic ability. It was pretty damned fortunate, if so. No one could have foretold he'd be a shapeshifter, it's one of the rarest talents there is. How he knew what form to take I'll never be able to figure. I would have sworn he didn't know what a Bangaa was. I'm not certain I've ever seen one in person before."
"Is he going to be able to put himself right?"
"Good question, one that will be answered yea or nay when and if he wakes up."
"Right. On it."
Zevon refocused, and forced his consciousness deeper into the child's mind. He found him in the deepest recesses, and drew him out with caution. They both returned to themselves with a slight feeling of unreality, blinking. When the boy realized the shape he was in, it was only a matter of seconds before his face and body morphed not-quite-smoothly into a young Nord with curly black hair and astonishing green eyes.
"Well that's a relief," the big man said. "Didn't fancy having to explain how I ended up having a Bangaa as a son, though as long as he was alive I was fully prepared to stare down every idiot that looked at him funny."
"Papa?" the little boy said.
The big man stroked the boy's hair. "How do you feel, Pup?"
"Shoulder hurts a bit, but not too bad anymore. I'm relieved to be alive. I really thought I was a goner."
"You saved your own life with that little trick of yours, changing into a Bangaa. You nullified the Marilith's poison before it could kill you."
"I did?"
"You did. I don't suppose you can explain how you even knew to do that?"
"I… I read about them in one of Momo's books. When I was bitten it crossed my mind… it would be a good thing to be a Bangaa right now… and then I don't know what happened. When I woke up, all I know is that I didn't feel quite right, and then something weird happened, and now I do feel right again. I changed into a Bangaa?"
"And back into yourself again."
"Whoa."
"That about sums it up, I guess. Healer Johann is looking into whether it's your biotic power, shapeshifting, but it wouldn't surprise me any if it was another manifestation of your Shining, although how you could do that only through power of mind and will I'll never understand."
"I don't know how I did it, or even that I did it, so I couldn't tell you."
"I want to speak to you regarding your long-distance activities, Loki," the big man said, dark brows drawing down in a thunderous frown. "Why didn't you tell us you were communicating with another psychic?"
"I really wasn't, Papa, at least not really," Loki said, shamefaced. I said hello once, and I looked in on what he was doing now and then, because I was curious, but I didn't get too close. I knew you wouldn't like it if I did. As to how it started, I don't really know. I think the connection was just always there. Maybe because we are relatively close, geographically? I mean, Denerim and Gwaren aren't all that far away, and it's not like there's a psychic on every street corner."
"There's more than you might guess," Zevon said. They all looked at him and he blushed a bit. "I don't mean people who can reach out across miles and miles of open territory like the kid here, but people with more than the ordinary level of intuition are actually fairly commonplace. At least in my experience."
"But you yourself are stronger in the Shining than the average person, correct?" the big man said.
"As far as I've seen, yes, I would say so. I'm nowhere near as strong as the kid, though."
"Well, perhaps that is what drew him to you, like a lighthouse draws a ship to safe harbor."
"If we're talking lights, the kid is the lighthouse. I'm a matchstick by comparison."
"I am grateful to you for helping my son with his pain, but Loki, this could have gone much differently. If you ever find yourself touching another stranger's mind, I want you to think carefully before actually contacting them in any way. And tell your mother and I about it, first."
"Yes, Papa. I'm sorry."
"You are forgiven, but I expect you to use better judgment in future."
The big man stood up and turned to Zevon. He towered over him, not even able to stand fully upright in the hospital room. He held out one gigantic hand. "We are indebted to you, Ser, for your assistance. In all the flurry of confusion we did not get your name."
"Oh! Uh, well, folks just call me Zevon."
"Is that your name?" the big man said, with the quirk of an eyebrow.
"Well, no, but it's easier to pronounce. My name is Zevonishki. Sometimes names in High Rock are pretty wild." His hand disappeared into the big man's grip and he shook with him, but as he heard his full name something strange happened in the big man's expression. Shock, and consideration, and pain, crossed his features in quick succession. But he said nothing so Zevon didn't waste a lot of time wondering about it.
"Loghain Mac Tir, at your service," the big man said, once he had his composure back.
Zevon fairly lost his. He didn't pay much attention to Fereldan politics, and precious little to Asgardian politics as a matter of fact, but no one in the kingdom didn't know who Loghain Mac Tir was. He was Legendary. A peasant-born boy whose battle prowess and head for strategy was so impressive it had moved not just a Provincial King but the Alfadir himself to raise him to High Nobility for it. Upward mobility of caste system was not often done in Asgard. It was a realm mired in trillions of years of staunch traditionalism. Songs were sung about Loghain Mac Tir. Not great ones, it was a hard name to work into a lay, but there were songs, that was the point. Zevon had even written one or two himself, though he hadn't used the name. Loki lay in the hospital bed, looking back and forth from his father to Zevon and back again, and grinning broadly. It was a rather wolfish grin for such a small child. Zevon saw that grin and wondered at it. The boy only resembled his father a trifle, under ordinary circumstances, at least at this point of his life – the same color hair, the same Alamarri points of light in his eyes, and maybe, maybe, what was on the way to becoming a similar nose and chin – but that grin made their resemblance to one another absolutely eerie. No rosy cheeked infant should ever be able to look so dangerously feral. It was clear he found something in the situation funny, but what exactly it was wasn't clear to Zevon at the moment.
"You brought your guitar," Loki said, with something of a snicker in his voice. "Why don't you play Papa that song you wrote? You know, about that interview he gave?"
"Interview? I don't give interviews," Loghain said. "I'm not much of a talker, under ordinary circumstances, I leave that to the born politicians."
"Well, the… media uses your words anyway, when they can get them, Ser," Zevon said, aware that he was stammering but unable to help it. "You don't say much but what you do say is generally pretty pithy."
"And you turned one of these, what do they call them, 'Sound Bites,' into a song? You're a minstrel, then, or a bard, when you're not helping people make the Grand Crossing?"
"Yes, Ser." Sweating now, freely and openly.
"Well, I should love to hear it." He didn't sound as if he really wanted to hear it, though. He sounded as if he expected to hear something he didn't like. Zevon was terribly afraid he wasn't about to disappoint him.
"I… don't know if this is the time or the place," Zevon said, grasping for an out.
"You brought your guitar to the hospital, you must have thought it was the time and the place previously."
"For a song, yes, but not that song. It's not really kid-friendly, and Loki just had a near-death experience. It talks about… about killing yourself." He said this last in a low voice that was not quite a whisper, as if he could somehow keep the words from Loki's ears in that way.
"Loki knows of the song, I daresay he's already aware of the lyrics and knows precisely what they mean, as well. You might as well play it. There's really no sense in trying to shield the child from anything, because he's got his mind poked into all corners of everything anyway."
Zevon couldn't disagree with that assessment, and despite how frightened he was at the prospect of pissing off the very big, sword-wielding Nord nobleman, he was a brave man. He took his guitar off his back and began to play. It was not the typical Asgardian lay.
"So much to do, there's plenty on the farm.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
Saturday night, I like to raise a little harm.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Rivain gin
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
Straight from the bottle, twisted again.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
Oh well I take this medicine as prescribed.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
It don't matter if I get a little tired.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
I've got a thirty-eight special up on the shelf.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
If I start acting stupid, I'll shoot myself
Then I'll sleep when I'm dead!
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!
Saturday night, I like to raise a little harm.
I'll sleep when I'm dead!"
When he stopped playing he stood with his head high, a proud man awaiting sentence. Loghain just looked at him for a long moment, then said, "I have absolutely no idea what I ever could have said that would have inspired such a song."
"It was awhile ago, Ser," Zevon said, "and some news hawk had their microphone in your face after some battle or other, asking whether you had the energy to keep up the campaign against the Thalmor after so many years, or something like that. You did not even slow your stride, you simply snarled, 'I'll sleep when I'm dead!' and left them standing there."
"I admit, that does sound like me. I haven't much of an ear for music but from what I can tell you're a very good guitarist."
"Thank you, Ser."
"He plays the piano, too, Papa. And the mouth organ," Loki chimed in.
"Loki quite likes music. Perhaps that is what drew him to you," Loghain said.
"He wrote a song about werewolves in Gwaren!" Loki said, and laughed with delight.
"There are werewolves in the Brecilian forest, so you're not far off with that, but I've never actually had them come into the village, thank the Maker," Loghain said.
"Yeah, I took a lot of… poetic license… with that song," Zevon said. "A lot."
A Nord in white robes entered the room then, carrying something like a holographic tablet. "I have the test results, and – Zevon?" he said, surprised.
"Hey, Healer J," Zevon said, and tipped the man a salute off his brow.
"I was unaware you were a friend of the family," the healer said.
"I'm not, exactly, but… well, it's complicated," Zevon said.
"You two know each other?" Loghain said.
"We're… acquainted," the healer said, and dropped the subject. "As I was saying, I have the test results, all of them. It is unfortunately inconclusive as to whether the change in body form was biotic or magic or whatever, but the fact that there was no residual trace of magic is a good sign. I don't think you can expect a visit from the Templars, my Lord. A transfiguration on such a scale should have left some major traces. But I would have expected major traces of biotic power as well, and there's nothing, which is odd in the extreme. I honestly don't know what to tell you."
"Well, I don't find myself all that surprised," Loghain said. "It may have been biotics, but you know as well as I do, Johann, that the boy is… unique."
"That is true, I have seen ample evidence of his… special nature," Healer Johann said. "And that is why I am not overly surprised to see Zevon here. The two of them have a few things in common in that regard."
"You've seen enough of this kid to convince you that he could possibly shapeshift with his mind?" Zevon said.
"I've seen enough not to want to rule anything out. There is much about Loki's powers, and yours as well, that I simply do not understand."
"Johann was also familiar with Frigga, our eldest, who possesses these powers, to some extent," Loghain said.
"Indeed. I thought I would never see anyone more remarkable than Lady Frigga, but the young Lord is in another category of incredible entirely," Johann said.
He turned directly to the Teyrn. "There is another matter I wish to discuss, concerning the lad's heath. The venom of the Marilith is no danger, but unfortunately, signs are that the Starscourge is spreading swiftly throughout the boy's body as we speak. If you do not get him to the Oracle in good time, he will be daemonified."
"Do you have a line on where she is right now? Last I've heard she was home in Tenebrae," Loghain said, his face pale.
"We keep tabs on her around here, just for these cases. She is currently at her home, yes. A long distance, but easier to find than an Oracle on the move. Ordinarily I would want you to keep the boy here in the hospital for a day or two, to ensure that shoulder heals properly, but under the circumstances I'm not willing to wait. You should take him to the Aerodome and charter a flight to Tenebrae as soon as you possibly can. I'll sign the discharge papers immediately."
Zevon felt a tickle of premonition, nothing so clear as a vision, but he was moved to speak anyway. "I know we just met and all, but… something is telling me that I should come along. You might need my help."
"Can you cure the Starscourge?" Loghain said, hopefully.
"No, but I still may be able to help… in some way. It's just a feeling, but these feelings I have are…"
"The Shining, I understand. If you have nothing demanding your presence here in Denerim, we would be grateful to you for coming along, Ser."
"I am at your service, My Lord."
Loghain grimaced. "Easy on that shit. It's been almost two thousand years, and I still can't accustom myself to being referenced by a title."
Healer Johann scribbled a signature on his holographic tablet and sent the signature off into the system somewhere to be processed. "You are good to go. I wish you godspeed and the best of luck, all of you."
"Thank you kindly, Healer." Loghain shook with him, then picked up the boy and led the others out of the room and the hospital.
Zevon did a lot of traveling in his relatively short life (he wasn't much younger, in Asgardian terms, than Teyrn Loghain, really, although the Teyrn had clearly seen some hard years, but he'd never traveled in quite the way he did on that trip to Tenebrae. He was used to hitching rides on cargo ships and even stowing away. This was not the luxury of a private airship, but it was a splendid step up from what he knew. The airship was commercial but the family – and Zevon with them – were afforded a private cabin for the journey, and it was extremely comfortable. On the way he got to know the less forward members of the family, a little. The younger woman, who was quite pretty, was of course the Teyrna, named Celia, and the older woman was her grandmother, Reyne, whom the Teyrna and Loki called "Momo." Both of them were worried sick. Zevon felt that the Teyrn was also worried sick, but was trying very hard not to show it. The only person who seemed totally unconcerned was Loki himself, but seeing as he was so young that was perhaps to be expected.
He was very excited to be on a real airship, and wanted to know all about how it worked. The Teyrn explained about skystones and glossair rings, to the best of his ability, and Loki drank it all in with wide-open eyes.
"Sometimes the hum of the glossair rings draws a Deathgaze, but that's rare," Loghain said. "They're no threat to a ship this size anyway."
"What's a Deathgaze, Papa?" Loki asked.
"A type of dragon, much smaller than a High Dragon, more heavily armored."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"No, Pup, I haven't. I don't fly very often. But I've heard that those that do are likely to see one at some point."
"I hope I do someday. Do dragons attack airships often?"
"No, Pup, they don't seem to. Doesn't really seem to be any profit in it for them. Lot of work for not a lot of meat. And skiffs are speedy. Deathgazes are drawn to the hum of the glossair rings for some reason, that's why they attack, but they're not really serious about hunting or it would be a major problem."
"You've seen a High Dragon, haven't you," Loki said. It was not a question.
"Yes, Pup. It attacked the Orlesian and Thalmor forces at the Battle of River Dane."
"And the Orlesians and the Thalmor think it was you."
"Who told you that? No, now, never mind. Obviously no one had to tell you that, you simply know it, like everything else. Yes, Pup, some of them do."
"Was it you?"
"No, Pup, it was not."
"Hmph. Too bad. It would have been awesome if it were. Maybe someday, if I'm really a shapeshifter, I'll be able to turn into a dragon. Then I'll be able to back up your armies against the Thalmor at all times."
"The High Dragon at River Dane was the first seen in many millions of years. Everyone thought they were extinct. It had the advantage of surprise. Under ordinary circumstances, my boy, dragons make tremendous targets, even when they're on the wing."
"Then I'll wear armor! Big honking dragon armor!" Loki said, gesturing grandly.
Loghain chuckled and drew the boy onto his lap, but he seemed to have finished with everything he had to say on the subject of airships and dragons. He turned his head to look out the window at the passing clouds.
Silence spooled out for quite some time. Even the kid was quiet, and just watched clouds with his father. Silence was all right at times but in fraught situations it made Zevon more nervous rather than less, so he brought out his guitar and played. No songs, just notes, not quite randomly. Noodling, musicians called it. He played quietly, so as to annoy his cabinmates as little as possible. It was a long way to Tenebrae, although the airship ate up the miles swiftly. Before the sun rose they reached the continent of Eos, and only an hour or so later they docked at the aerodome of Tenebrae itself.
They debarked into the city, and looked around them. Loghain seemed especially restive and ill at ease.
"You don't like Tenebrae?" Zevon said.
"I've never been here," Loghain said. "The fact is I'm never particularly happy to be outside of Ferelden. I suppose that's just too dreadfully provincial of me, but that's just what I am."
A strange-looking man, tall and thin, with dark skin, fine features, short, rather shaggy white hair, and rabbit ears, stepped out of the crowds of people walking to and fro on the street and bowed before them. He was dressed in fine livery. "Teyrn Loghain? Her Ladyship the Oracle sent me to retrieve your party."
"How did she know we were coming? We did not send word ahead," Loghain said, eyeing the man suspiciously.
The man smiled, showing even white teeth with sharp canines. "The Lady always knows. Please, follow me."
Still eyeing the man very much the same way a feral creature might, Loghain gestured his party to follow, but he kept them close to his side. Loki snickered.
"She's another Shiner, Papa. Nothing to fear," he said.
"That just shows your naivete, Pup," Loghain said. "There is always something to fear when you're caught with your pants down, even by allies."
The liveried… person… led them to the street, where a large and luxurious skiff hovered at idle. He held the doors for them and they climbed aboard, then he got behind the yoke and they zoomed off into the air. He did not take them to a dour and practical Keep, but rather a lovely and elegant estate, far larger and grander than anything to which they were accustomed. A tall, thin, unusually buxom, dark-skinned, fair-featured, white-haired, rabbit eared woman awaited them just outside the front doors, wearing a lovely white gown that clung to her narrow frame. She seemed far taller than she was, thanks to her extreme narrowness and her tall ears. She wasn't anywhere nearly as tall as Loghain but she loomed as one of the tallest people they'd ever seen nevertheless. Even Zevon, who considered himself quite well-educated about Asgard's many different peoples and cultures, had no idea what kind of beings these rabbit-eared people were.
"Welcome to my home, Lord and Lady Mac Tir," the woman said, gesturing grandly with one sweeping arm. She had a lovely voice, Common faintly accented in some nearly undefinable way. "Come. We have much of which to speak."
Teyrna Celia shot a look at her husband, as if to judge his reaction to the sight of the exotic beauty, but he only eyed the woman narrowly, so the Teyrna subsided, satisfied. They followed the Oracle into the grand manor.
"I know why you have come," she said, wasting no time. "I can, of course, cure the child of the threat of the starscourge. But we have a larger issue, one that is not so easily defeated. The starscourge has, unfortunately, opened a pathway in the boy's mind for a daemon of the Fade to enter and take possession. It is weak, and has not made any overt move, for which we can all be grateful, but it will not remain quiescent forever. It will turn your son into an abomination. He has no defense against it."
"But… Healer Johann said he isn't a mage," Celia said, desperately clutching at straws.
"Mages are the most likely to be possessed, because they have the best connection to the Fade. It is very possible for anything and anyone to be possessed, however. Even dwarves can be possessed, and have been in the past. And your Healer did not say that Loki was not a mage, he only said that he saw no evidence of it. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. He is very much younger than most mages are when they present magical ability for the first time."
"Are you certain he has no defense against it?" Loghain said. "He blew up a bloody Marilith with his mind. Seems to me he could take a weak Fade demon pretty easily."
"Ah, but it is inside him. Would you want him to 'blow up' something that is inside his own mind? Could not the consequences be… catastrophic? I am sure you wouldn't want your son to be rendered brain dead any more than you would like him to become an abomination."
"No, I… suppose not. What then, can we do? Anything at all?"
"There is a way to save him, but you will not like it. It requires a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice."
"Are you suggesting blood magic?" Loghain said.
"Your Chantry vilifies it, but it can be used to save lives. Unfortunately, it often does so at great cost."
Reyne spoke up then, for the first time in Zevon's hearing. He had begun to think she couldn't speak at all. "This sacrifice… you require a life for a life. Use mine. Let me be the sacrifice."
"Momo, no," Celia said.
"Hush, child. You want the boy to live, yes?"
But the Oracle shook her head. "It is noble of you to lay down your life willingly, Elder, but I am afraid it is no use. Your spirit is strong, but your flesh is too weak. Your sacrifice will not be enough to rend the Veil."
"Then let it be me," Loghain said. "I'll die for Loki."
The Oracle shook her head again. "That would be a tremendous waste. You are too much. The ritual would undoubtedly kill you, but I do not need half your blood to rend the Veil. And with all that you mean to Asgard, that would be a terrible loss. I could not bring myself to do it."
"Then let it be me."
The voice was quiet. At first, no one knew where it came from, but then they all looked at Celia. She was pale but composed, gripping her hands together tightly. "Let me be the sacrifice."
"Celia, no," Loghain said.
"It cannot be Momo, and it could never be you. Who else could it be?" she said.
"It could be me," Zevon said, after swallowing his fear. "I'll do it. I'm kinda not doing all that much good for the world, anyway."
"No, good Zevon," Celia said. "You have no stake in this. And besides, you are needed to keep Loki asleep while the ritual is occurring. That's why you came along, isn't it? Maybe you didn't know what was going to happen, but you had an inkling. I don't want him to see what's going to happen. Keep him asleep, so his memories of me are not tainted by the memory of the manner of my death."
Loki was in tears. He said nothing, but he pressed his face against her shins and wept. She bent down and put her hands on his curly head and whispered words of love to him. Then she picked him up and handed him to Zevon. "Let's not waste any time."
"All right, Little Man, let's get you to sleep, shall we?" Zevon said. "Just relax, and let me take you down that long and winding road."
Loki seemed willing to sleep, and his eyes closed and his breathing evened out swiftly, but tears clung to his sooty lashes. Zevon looked miserable as he gave the go ahead for the ritual to proceed.
Loghain and Reyne said their goodbyes. Loghain in particular did not want to let go and step away, and seemed to be quietly trying to talk her around into letting him take her place, but by the firm shake of her head she was obdurate. Finally the Oracle said that they had no more time. Loghain shot her a hate-filled look and tore himself away from his wife, stepping back into the shadows of a nearby alcove.
"I will have to remain here, to hold the portal open. My daughter will enter the Fade and deal with the daemon," the Oracle said, and a young girl not very much older than Loki stepped forward from somewhere in the background. She was quite pretty, and dressed in a white dress not much plainer than her mother's.
"Isn't she a little young to be facing daemons?" Loghain said.
"She is young but competent. This daemon is fairly weak, as I said, and will prove no great obstacle for her. It would be no obstacle for Loki, if he were able to face it in a safe location."
"Is it safe for her to face it?" Loghain said. "She's not going to end up lobotomizing my son, is she?"
"Absolutely impossible. The daemon is in your son but it is also in the Fade. Sigyn goes not into your son but into the Fade to fight the daemon. Loki will be in no danger whatsoever."
"I will hold you to that," Loghain said.
"All right, now to the ritual." The Oracle raised her hands. In one, she held a wicked silver dagger. She cut her palm with the blade and a baleful purple glow rose up from the gush of blood. That glow surrounded Celia, lifted her into the air, and crushed the life out of her. Blood gushed from her eyes, her ears, her nose, her mouth, and everywhere else it could. Reyne moaned and put a hand to her mouth. Loghain fell to his knees with a strangled cry. Zevon struggled to keep sending calm thoughts to the sleeping boy in his arms. It was easier after he turned away from the grisly scene.
A rent formed in the air, roughly person-sized. The little girl with the rabbit ears passed through it silently, without tears or indeed any particular reaction to the ritual or the emotions of the people who witnessed it. She was back in a few minutes, and nodded to her mother.
"It is done. The daemon is dead."
The Oracle broke the magic holding the Veil open, and the rent closed. The Teyrna's limp, exsanguinated body fell hard to the floor. Loghain and Reyne both let out sobs, his louder than hers. A small bevy of servants came in to clear it away.
"We will hold a service for her, of course, with honors befitting both her station and her sacrifice," the Oracle said. "Cremation is the standard for your people, is it not? That can be arranged. Of course I perfectly understand if you wish to take her cremains home with you. An urn will be provided."
Loghain climbed to his feet. It seemed to be a struggle. Tears streamed from his unsettlingly pale eyes and he paid them no heed whatsoever. He seemed unable to respond in words to the Oracle's offer of courtesy, so he merely nodded curtly.
With the… the body… out of sight and the blood all used up in the ritual, Zevon made to waken Loki, but Loghain held out a hand. "Don't. This is likely to be the last decent sleep he has for some time. Let him rest."
"You have all had a hard day. I will have someone show you to rooms. You should all get what rest you are able," the Oracle said, and servants immediately arrived and began leading them onward. Zevon was grateful for the chance to sleep – he figured he might actually be able, though he expected a nightmare or two for his trouble – but Teyrn Loghain walked with his head hanging even though the clearance in the hallway was sufficient for him to stand at his full height. He looked… broken. Zevon suspected there would be a lot of sleepless nights in his future. He thought about offering his services, but he couldn't help being intimidated, both by the legend of the man and the sheer overwhelming presence of him. And, truth be told, by his grief. Seeing a colossus like that brought literally to his knees… that really shook a man. Zevon wasn't a native Fereldan but he felt that any Fereldan who witnessed it could easily be forgiven for feeling that the world was ending, seeing that. He felt a bit like it himself. What was it called in the old Nord stories? Oh yes, Ragnarok. When the Great Warriors fall. One Great Warrior had the blocks knocked out from under him today, that was for sure, though he probably wasn't down for the count just yet. After all, he still had a kid to raise.