Genesis of a Dragon

by InkInThePen

A dwarf denied the throne, a noble bent on vengeance, a tainted Dalish hunter, a mute carta enforcer, a one-eyed elven criminal, and an arson-prone mage from a different reality all walk into a bar. The bar is Thedas and Blight is on tap and it's happy hour. The script is broken, ignored, or occasionally set on fire as the Wardens forge a new path to the future of Thedas.

27. Nightmares and Daydreams (Part 1)

PARALLEL CONTENT: TALES OF A DRAGON CH 1

Rosaya turned the rod over in her grip. Light reflected off the crystalline surface and the runes flickered with light. If nothing else, it would be curious to get Sandal's read on the magical artifact. Though she suspected his appraisal would range to an enthusiastic "Enchantment!" and little else.

The father/son duo of dwarves had accompanied them again as they set out from Redcliffe and were in the middle of trading with the merchant Felix who'd all but begged them to take the control rod off his hands. The pair now seemed a semi-permanent fixture attached to their group, trailing after in the safety of their wake as they cleared the dangers they encountered on the road.

"Where is Honnleath?" Rosaya asked, peering down over Aothor's shoulder as he studied their map. She knew the wilds, but villages and settlements were beyond her.

"A few days south of Redcliffe, between the Western Hills and the Hinterlands," Cousland answered first, without even glancing towards the map. "Even if we weren't rushing against the clock to save Connor I'd say it's a bit far out of our way to double back for."

"Not to mention dangerous," Aothor added thoughtfully. "That far south it's bound to have drawn in a lot of darkspawn after Ostagar collapsed."

"It's worth it," Edmund added. The mage eyed the rod she held in her hands with transparent excitement. "A walking, talking battering ram? Yes, please."

Aothor glanced up at him and frowned. "Golems can't talk."

Edmund only shrugged. "Eh, there's exceptions to every rule. Trust me, with the kind of trouble we'll be getting ourselves into making a trip to recruit a heavy hitter like this golem is going to be worth it."

"Even if we don't get out there for some time we might as well just keep the control rod in case we do later. Better to have and not need than to need and not have, right?" Isefel shrugged.

"Let me guess: one of your old elven proverbs?" Rosaya asked dryly as she tucked the control rod into her pack.

"No, just something my mother always said," Isefel said with a small smile then paused, considering. "So, actually yes, it is a bit of an old elven proverb."

Edmund waved back at Felix as they once again set off on the road. "Thanks for giving us your rod. Good luck finding your ass!" He paused as Liri laughed and he chuckled, shaking his head. "Hm. Phrasing. Right."

The sun lowered across the sky as they left Sulcher's Pass behind them. They were moving fast, but the hours of travel were starting to wear at them. And Warden's endurance or not, they would need to sleep soon. Rosaya could only imagine the fatigue their non-Warden companions were experiencing at this point.

Rosaya walked in step with Liri, Isefel, and Leliana as the minstrel put the hours to good use learning the sign language the dwarven woman used to communicate. It was something Leliana had picked up in her own travels alongside her musical training. By now they'd gotten down all the relevant swears and insults, as well as the signals associated with everyone's names, and were now on to essential phrases and directions, so that was progress.

They were a long ways off from being able to seamlessly communicate the way Edmund, Aothor, and Leliana could with Liri, but Rosaya was determined to learn as much as possible even if it was slow going. It struck her as the basic decent thing to do. And it was fun.

The blue sky turned yellow with afternoon light as they crested a hill and caught their first glimpse of the circle tower. Lake Calenhad's waves glittered through the layer of mist clinging to the horizon, the shoreline stretching out and away to reveal what even at this distance was a structure of impressive height.

What would have otherwise been an impressive view was undercut sharply by a disparaging sigh from their resident witch.

"How very fitting that they would build a prison for mages in the middle of a lake… and make it look like a giant phallus," Morrigan said, hands on her hips and altogether unimpressed.

"Makes you wonder what they're compensating for, right?" Edmund mused, brow raised in amusement. He turned back to the path behind them a moment, a frown on his face. "Hm. No assassins on the way here, so far… probably after, then."

"Excuse me, what?" Alistiar asked, appropriately taken aback. "Did you just say assassins?"

"Oh did I forget to mention that?" Edmund drummed his fingers against his staff absently. "We should expect some assassins to come hunting us, probably sooner rather than later."

"I suppose that's not entirely unexpected," Isefel said with a pointed glance at Cousland. "You did basically send a 'fuck you' message to Loghain back in Lothering. If word's reached him that we're alive then it makes sense he'd send specialists after us."

"True," Cousland said. "But hopefully that means his information's bad and he's only expecting three Wardens and perhaps one or two more companions, not a party of… ten? Eleven? Are we counting Jory?"

"For now, no," Aothor said, tone stern at the mention of the human knight. "Besides, we left him behind in Redcliffe to keep an eye on the situation there, so if we encounter the assassins before we get back he's not part of the count."

"We actually don't need to worry about it too much." Edmund said, starting down the road again. "These are friendly assassins. Well. One of them is friendly. Very friendly, possibly too friendly for some. But I'm looking forward to it."

"What kind of crazy person looks forward to assassination attempts?" Cousland wondered aloud, shaking his head.

"Uh, this kind of crazy person." Edmund gestured up and down the length of his person with a sarcastic flourish. "And think of it less like an assassination attempt and more as… as a chance to make a new friend."

"He's got a point. You'd be surprised how charming killers-for-hire can be overall, if you give them the chance," Liri added.

"Are you using yourself as the example here?" Aothor asked.

"Aw, are you saying I'm charming?" Liri smirked, nudging him with her elbow.

"If the obvious needs stating, yes." the dwarven man said simply, following Edmund's lead down the path to the shoreline.

The massive structure of the Circle only loomed higher in the sky as they neared. The golden hour of sunset had passed and now a blue dusk rolled in accompanied by a layer of clouds—the air smelled of rain, but this night they'd have the warmth of an inn to keep any weather at bay instead of the tarps of their tents.

She could see the building now… illuminated by lantern-light and nestled just off the King's Highway by the water. It was no aravel, but it would do.

The shems kept their mages as slaves locked away in a dreary tower. Even from a across the shore the structure was even more imposing than her imaginings had conjured. The harhens and the Keeper told stories of the human's mage prison. Of how they were forced to submit their gifts to the Chantry's whims. How if they were ever to spot a templar anywhere near their camp, they would need to clear the vicinity immediately or risk the safety of their Keeper and First.

Edmund didn't often speak of this place. In fact, if it weren't for the fact he threw fire at darkspawn on a regular basis it would almost be easy to forget he was a mage of the tower. But Redcliffe had been a window into his past with the Circle, particularly that it was something sour.

But this place was where he'd come from. Even if he claimed to have no love for the Circle, it'd still been a part of his life.

Rosaya fell in step with the man. Now nearer to him, she could hear him humming quietly to himself.

"That's a nice tune. Though I don't recognize it."

"I don't imagine Dalish music would have much overlap with human songs," the mage shrugged. "Leliana's the closest thing we have to Spotify these days and, no offense at all to her musical ability, but she doesn't exactly have access to my playlist. Which is annoying, because I can't for the life of me remember the words to this song but it's still stuck in my head."

Rosaya looked forward again at the looming shape of the tower. "How does it feel, coming home after being away for so long?"

Edmund gave her a puzzled look, like he couldn't quite understand what she meant.

"That isn't home." The answer was immediate once he understood though, and almost flippant, like he thought it was a silly question.

"Then… what is it?"

"On good days, a school. On bad ones, a prison," he said. "I didn't spend as long a time there and compared to how things could have been I had a pretty good situation… but even then, that was never home."

"How young were you when you were taken?" Rosaya asked instead. "I know many mages show their talent when they're just small children. Our First, Merrill, she was only four when her clan realized she had the gift."

"I was young-ish, but not as young as others," Edmund answered. It didn't take a genius to determine he was being evasive on purpose, as he often was, but this was probably for a different reason than usual.

The Dalish elf realized that perhaps this was a painful topic for him. Templars weren't known for their gentleness when taking mages to the Circles.

"I… I'm sorry." Rosaya said, more gentle now. "Do you miss your family?"

The mage was quiet. But he was smiling, even if it was a heartbroken sort of look. She followed the focus of his eyes and found them resting on Liri as she walked ahead of them, signing animatedly with Aothor.

"Yeah. Yeah, I miss them."

Even though he was standing right beside her, Amell suddenly seemed an entire world away.

Rosaya fumbled with her thoughts for a moment, unsure what the right thing to say was. She wasn't like Isefel, who always had a measured word of comfort to offer someone who was distressed or despondent, or Aothor who could reassure by way of innate confidence.

So instead of trying to wrestle with sentiments she would surely butcher, she walked by him in silence, simply listening both to the tune Edmund hummed to himself and also the subtle sound of the Grey Wardens walking around them… and the odd way it echoed off the mage.

Another puzzle they had yet to solve. One of many.

They arrived at the shore once dusk gave way to proper night.

"There's no lights in the tower," Edmund observed.

"It's late," Cousland said shortly.

"There are always lights in the tower. Even in the dead of night." Edmund shook his head. "It's started already."

Abominations and demons waited for them in the mages tower. And if they failed here there would be no help for Connor back in Redcliffe. So no pressure, or anything.

"We're not going to be able to do anything about it tonight," Cousland said evenly, turning towards the inn and waving the rest of the party after him. "Come on, lets see if we can't arrange for some ale and rooms. We could all use a break from the endless camping."

Most of the team followed after the warrior to leave the night behind and take a welcome break from travel. Rosaya lingered outside as did a few others, watching a scavenger dig through a pile of rotting remains not that far away.

"This is where you said you lost your sword?" Aothor asked, glancing upwards at their local stoic giant.

Sten only nodded in the affirmative. Rosaya recalled he'd mentioned something of the sort—one of the many snippets of conversation she'd overheard floating across the group.

"I think our guy here can give us an idea where it might be now," Edmund said with a pointed sort of look. It reminded Rosaya of the very unsubtle way he'd mentioned they should check the storage shed in Redcliffe for useful supplies and then happened to find barrels of oil.

Aothor, Sten, Liri, and Edmund approached the scavenger, who nearly leapt out of his skin at the sight of them as they started asking about dead qunari and a sword. That, at least, seemed well within their capable hands. If anyone could get information out of a slimy corpse-picker it would be those four.

Rosaya stood at the edge of the water, waves lapping gently at the toe of her boots. They'd need to get across in the morning and swimming wasn't going to be much of an option. She eyed the shoreline down a ways and spotted a dock with only a single boat anchored at it's side. A templar stood on duty there, leaning against a post and staring blankly at the tower beyond.

"Wow, I've never seen one of you knife-ears dressed like the queen of Ferelden before." The unwelcome remark came from a older human man who emerged from the boathouse. "You made good for yourself, eh?"

"... excuse me?" Rosaya turned slowly in place with her ears pinned back and eyes narrowed. She glared at him, daring him to repeat himself.

"Oh, I don't mean no offense. I know I shoot my mouth off… I'm just not used to your kind trussed up all fancy." The man gestured widely to her weapons and armor. She would have hardly considered what she wore 'fancy,' but compared to the city elves she'd seen so far it was at least different.

'Your kind,' he'd said. Rosaya brushed her fingertips across her brow for a moment and wondered if her kaddis-vallaslin had worn off since the last application.

Then, more cynically, she wondered if it would have even made a difference.

"You mean you're used to seeing elves as servants or slaves." Rosaya said flatly, arms folded as she continued to stare the man down. At her side Barkspawn growled lowly.

"Oh, there I go again. I don't mean nothing by it, I swear," the man said quickly, hands raised and backing up a step. Funny that even in his apology she was still insulted. Like he found his ignorance an appropriate excuse and not, in fact, the core of the problem. "I should… I should start over. I'm mighty pleased to be making your acquaintance, ma'am. I'm the ferryman, leastwise I used to be. Poor old Kester, out of a job."

He at least had the decency to be embarrassed. Or maybe he was just scared of the large wardog she had with her. Cousland had said there were a lot of perks to being partnered with a mabari, but she hadn't expected baring teeth at racists to be one of them. A surprise, but a pleasant one to be sure.

"A ferryman out of a job? How's that work exactly?" Rosaya glanced back towards the dock. She'd thought it was weird for a templar to just be standing there, but…

"Greagoir just came down and said, 'Don't you worry, Kester. We've got it all under control, we do.' Didn't say nothing else," Kester said, pitching his voice in a gruff imitation of someone else. "And then he puts Carroll in charge of my boat, Lissie! Names for my grandmum, she was."

"And Greagoir is…?" Rosaya prompted.

"Knight Commander of the templars." It wasn't Kester that answered, but Edmund. Whatever discussion he'd been having with the dwarves and Sten by the bodies and the scavenger was apparently over and the four of them had come to join her. "He's the bigshot in charge, basically."

"Well, look at this! I remember taking you across when you left with that fellow, Duncan. And now you're a Grey Warden… my pap used to tell me stories about them."

"How much do you know about what's happening in the tower?" Aothor asked with a sideways glance across the water.

"Like I told her, they didn't tell me nothing. And if I know them mages, I'm better off keeping out of their business. If I had to guess it has to do with magic. But the tower's always got something to do with magic."

"It's almost like it's full of mages. Shocker," Rosaya deadpanned. "We already know more than he does. We can handle getting across in the morning—in the meantime, I'm looking forward to eating something I didn't have to shoot."

"You're Dalish. Don't you always shoot the food you eat?" Liri asked as they collectively turned to ignore the ferryman and enter the inn. "I thought that was like, your whole thing."

"There are a lot of people in my clan, you know. Odds are most days you're eating a kill brought in by a few different hunters. Or sometimes fruits and greens gathered in the wild," Rosaya explained. "And this time of year most everything we eat was dried earlier in the season anyways. So no, we don't always shoot what we eat."

"Stone, I miss roasted nug," Liri said despondently.

"Here, here," Aothor commiserated.

"You know, I wasn't so much a fan when I tried it," Edmund added. "I don't think dwarven cuisine agrees with me."

"Dwarven cuisine doesn't agree with anyone. That's part of the charm," Liri said. "If your dinner's not so tough it's offering you out for a fight, you're not doing it right."

Aothor laughed and opened the door of the inn, leading them inside to join the others. "I think we might have very different experiences when it comes to Orzammar's food culture. Because that is not at all what it should be like."

"Maybe that's because you never had to actually make your own food like I did."

The rest of the team had claimed and spread out over a series of tables in the inn's interior. There were few other patrons and they largely had the place to themselves, save for a sour-looking innkeeper behind the counter. But the food had arrived and there was ale on the table, which seemed to do a lot to raise morale. Leliana was even strumming lightly on her lute, something soft and upbeat.

"So… you're saying you suck at cooking?" Rosaya said as she sat down across from the dwarven woman.

Liri frowned and pulled a plate of potatoes and roast in front of her. "I'm saying… that I have a very specific skillset."

"No kidding," Edmund snorted a laugh. "Liri was banned from making food for the camp a long time before we even picked up the rest of you. Doesn't matter what you give her to work with, everything she makes comes out borderline toxic. "

"I'm just impressed she figured out how to turn wild hare into a biohazard," Aothor mused. "If we ever need to poison someone, all we need to do is have Liri make them dinner."

"Shove it, I'll make you dinner." Liri said, and strangely it did seem like a threat.

"You're no better, Aothor. You're almost as bad a cook as Alistair." Edmund added, gesturing sideways to where Alistair was rejoining the table with more drinks.

Alistair didn't even protest, he just nodded sagely and shared a commiserating look with Aothor like they were enduring some cruel persecution.

"Says the mage who burns everything he touches," Cousland added pointedly.

"God, sear one rabbit and they never let you forget it." Edmund said with a long-suffering sigh. "At least I know what seasonings are, unlike some of you. Let the record show I have yet to torch dinner to the point it's completely inedible."

"'Yet' is operative there, I think." Rosaya quipped.

"Cousland, you are a bad influence on her. She used to be so nice."

"You make it too easy." Rosaya shrugged, and Cousland laughed.

Creaking wood caught her ear and Rosaya glanced back to see Isefel slipping in from the night and it suddenly occurred to the Dalish that this was the first she'd seen of the older elf since they'd arrived at the docks.

"Where've you been?" Rosaya asked. She'd thought Isefel went into the inn with the others on first arrival, and now she just felt bad she hadn't noticed she wasn't among them until just then.

"I took a walk."

"We've been walking all day," Cousland said incredulously.

"Mhm," was all Isefel deigned to offer in elaboration. Instead she walked past their table and picked up a room key from the innkeeper. "I'm turning in. Remember to drink water with all that ale or you'll have a headache tomorrow."

"Yes, mother." Alistair said brightly, raising his cup in salute in her direction.

"Your ears are a bit round to be any child of mine," she said with a flippant wave their way. "And sit up Rosaya, slouching like that's bad for your back."

Rosaya rolled her eyes forward and slumped forward even more, resting her forearms on the table.

"Tel'dirth ma ahn'ajuel, ane tel'din ma vind'mamae."

"Nuva mar something." Isefel replied.

"Doesn't apply here." Rosaya shook her head.

"And I'd know that, if you'd ever tell me what that means."

"Nah. I think I'll indulge in the Dalish superiority for a while longer." Rosaya said as the older elf waved them off and climbed the stairs to the floor above where their rooms were.

"Huh. That was weird. What's up with her?" Edmund wondered. Which was strangely amusing coming from him, seeing as how when someone was being obviously evasive it was almost always the mage.

"She probably just wanted some time alone," Rosaya shrugged, turning away. "Can't exactly blame her—being around the lot of you can be a bit… much… sometimes."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alistair asked with just the slightest quirk of a smile.

"You are all very challenging people," Rosaya deadpanned.

"What can I say? Hanging out with us builds character." Liri said.

"And in just these few months I think I've developed enough character for a lifetime," Edmund chuckled.

"Edmund, you were the first one Duncan recruited," Aothor asked after a quiet moment of observing the mage. "Given what the rest of us experienced, odds are you didn't leave that tower without incident."

"Good point," Liri said, "How much of shit-show are we going to be walking into by bringing you in there? Aside from the demons and blood mages, but we knew about those already."

"What makes you think it's a shit-show?" Edmund asked, just a little on the defensive side. "For all you know they could be very glad to see me again."

Cousland laughed loudly. "Please, you're a walking hazard. They probably couldn't wait to get rid of you."

"Ouch." Edmund deadpanned. "All things considered I'm certain my recruitment was probably the most mild out of our bunch. No kidnapping, no murder, no dark artifacts, no death. I guess there was some betrayal, but I wasn't the one getting betrayed."

"Let me guess: you were the traitor?" Cousland asked flatly.

"From a certain point of view," Edmund shrugged. "I helped Jowan escape the Circle."

"Please tell me you didn't know he was a blood mage when you helped him escape," Alistair said tiredly.

Edmund smiled, the pleasantness in his expression dripping with sarcasm. "Okay. I didn't know he was a blood mage when I helped him escape."

"Bullshit," Cousland said.

"Bingo," Edmund said brightly. But that thin veneer of mocking cheer melted almost right away. He sank back into his chair, shaking his head slightly. "I helped Jowan with his half-baked, idiotic escape plan. I won't pretend to be apologetic about it, because I'm not."

"So much for hoping for a warm reception tomorrow, then." Cousland said, shaking his head and standing up from his seat at the table with a long sign.

"... yeah, I'm not exactly popular with the local authority figures."

"But if the situation's as bad as we're expecting, they won't turn away our help, no matter how they may feel about Edmund," Rosaya said, offering a little bit of hopefulness in her voice.

"Feels strange, hoping for the worst case so we're forced to be needed. But that's the Warden's whole arrangement in a nutshell." Aothor remarked. "Not the most cheerful notion to end an evening on, but that's where we are. I think we should all try and get some rest before sun-up."

Rosaya stood with the rest of them as they started to leave the table and all turn in to their rooms. But instead she gathered up the table scraps—Barkspawn and Lady would appreciate something extra as a treat.

Chill had well taken the air when she stepped outside. She glanced across to the tower again—dark in the windows all the way up until the summit, the windows of which flashed occasionally with eerie purple light.

Rosaya turned away—there was nothing to be done about it tonight. If they stormed the tower in exhaustion they'd only succeed in getting themselves hurt or worse.

The mabari were dozing on piles of hay in the small barn behind the inn. But she no more cracked the door than they snapped to attention and focused their keen eyes on her and the two plates of food she carried for them.

Lady padded towards her and sat patiently as Rosaya set the scraps out before them, waiting patiently for the go-ahead before indulging in the snack.

But Barkspawn ignored the plate Rosaya set down for him, only glancing at it in passing interest before he stepped over it and nuzzled his face into her and whined loudly. That hour or so of dinner in the inn was probably the longest they'd been separated since she'd taken him in and he was obviously displeased.

"You know, for a fierce war dog you are awfully needy," she remarked, bending over and scratching at his ears

Barkspawn huffed, somehow simultaneously conveying embarrassment and a need for more attention.

Lady eyed his behavior like she found his composure unprofessional before turning back to her plate and licking up a puddle of gravy.

She didn't think the innkeeper would particularly mind the mabari staying in the inn with them—this was Ferelden, after all—but Rosaya and Cousland had decided to have them stay out in the barn out of mindfulness to Isefel.

Rosaya stood there with him for just a moment, stroking her fingers through his short fur and listening through her connection to the Blight as her fellow Grey Wardens moved about inside the inn. She was just this side of being able to differentiate them from one another, she could just feel it. Two then three filtered out of the main room, then another and another until just one was left.

She wondered how far away she'd be able to detect them if she really tried. Would it be the same range as when she sensed actual darkspawn? It would be a handy thing to test, in case they ever got separated. There was something eerie and strange about being able to tell where some of her companions were without even seeing them. Maybe even invasive.

"I gotta go to bed, soun dhar," Rosaya said, finally lifting Barkspawn's head away and stepping away from him.

Barkspawn inflicted her with puppy-eyes. Rosaya mustered all her will power to fight against it and go inside.

"You're just breaking my heart, aren't you?" she chuckled, shaking her head. "Eat your snack and you'll feel better, I promise."

Barkspawn gave her a disbelieving look, but did finally indulge in the chicken she'd specifically saved for him.

The only one still in the main room of the inn when Rosaya re-entered was Alistair. He leaned against the bar, speaking to the innkeeper who seemed more than a little annoyed. Whether the annoyance was directed at Alistair or at life in general was unclear.

"Making friends?" Rosaya asked, walking up beside her fellow Warden.

The barkeep grumbled something, accepting a few coins from Alistair before trudging off to the back rooms and leaving them to themselves.

"Had to grab some more coin for the barkeep. Turns out feeding a party of ten, seven of which are Wardens, plus two mabari, isn't exactly cheap," Alistair explained.

"Good thing Liri's been stealing from every-other passerby, then." Rosaya glanced towards the back room where the owner had gone. "Wouldn't be surprised if she's already robbed this place, even."

Alistair blinked a moment before he realized she was not at all kidding. "She has? Really?"

"Well I haven't seen her do it. But that only furthers my suspicion that she has." Rosaya shrugged. Backwards logic? Maybe. But in the case of the lady dwarf it was best to assume chaos first and ask questions later.

"It would be on theme for her, wouldn't it?" Alistiar chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "She's a little bit scary sometimes. But she has the skills, so it makes sense she got picked for the Wardens."

"Hey Alistair, how'd you join? You've been a part of this before even Edmund," Rosaya asked, moving to lean on the counter beside him. "How did you become a Grey Warden?"

"Same way you did. You drink some blood, you choke on it and pass out," He said with a flippant wave of his hand. "You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

Rosaya rolled her eyes. "If you don't want to answer, then just say so."

"Aw, you're cute when you get all irritable, you know that? You get this little knot right between your—"

"Nuva mar'av aria ma."

"Oh, nevermind," he said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Let's see, I was in the Chantry before, as I've mentioned. I trained for many years to become a templar, in fact. That's where I learned most of my skills."

"You don't really seem like the religious sort." Not like the Sisters she'd seen in the Chantry. Not like the templars she'd seen in Lothering. Not even like Leliana, who despite her obvious devotion wasn't quite a typical Chantry priest herself.

"I guess that means you've noticed I'm not exactly the Chantry type." Alistair laughed like she'd told a joke instead of stated an obvious fact. "The Grand Cleric didn't want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did. I thought she was going to have us both arrested. I was lucky."

"Guess that would explain that Chantry Mother's attitude toward you in Ostagar, back when we met at the kennels." Rosaya said. It was a funny moment, looking back on it now. Even if she'd been sat full in the dirt while he got shouted down by an old lady in a silly hat. "I think being a Warden suits you. It's better than being a mage-hunter, at least."

"I suppose the Chantry life is good enough for some," he shrugged. "But out here we have a chance to fight against the Blight, to actually do some good instead of sitting in a temple somewhere. It's an opportunity to make a real difference in the world."

There was a conviction in his voice as he spoke, this passion firing him up in a way that little else could. It was inspiring just by proximity. That kind of infectious excitement brought a warmth and light to him that reached out to her. But that light died quickly as something sad entered his eyes.

"I'll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me. If it hadn't been for him, you know, I never… I would never… I wouldn't have…" Words failed him, and he looked away.

For the second time that day Rosaya found herself fumbling for what to say. Simple condolences didn't seem like enough; an offer of sympathy felt so small in comparison to the pain bleeding from him. So rather than try providing any insight of wisdom, Rosaya reached out and held onto his hand with one of her own.

"Ir abelas… he was a good man," Rosaya said after a moment, finally finding something worth saying after a few heartbeats of silence.

"He was. A good man who didn't deserve his fate. That much, I'm sure of." Alistair reached up, whipping away the quick tear that had escaped before taking a deep breath and turning away. "I think I'm done talking. We… we should both get some rest."

"You're probably right," she said. She retracted her hand and walked past him to the room she'd share with Isefel for the night. "Goodnight, Alistair. I'll… see you in the morning."

Isefel was already in her cot. Rosaya couldn't be sure if the older elf was asleep already or not; she was always so quiet, both waking and not, that it could be hard to tell. But as she busied herself with removing her gear and sorting things so they could leave quickly in the morning.

Rosaya once more brushed her fingertips against her cheeks. The kaddis was surely all but faded by now. She could have asked Alistair to help with it again, she supposed… but she hadn't thought about it until then and she wasn't going to go ask him about it now.

She looked across the small room and saw a mirror. It was a grimy little thing hanging above a basin of water. The moonlight from the open window reflected off it and provided the room with a soft pearl glow. Good, she wouldn't need to wake Isefel to help repaint the kaddis, she could simply do it herself in the reflection—

Rosaya stepped in front of the mirror… and froze as every center of panic in her body fired off at once. Her nerves seized with mixed signals, fight and flight colliding violently into freeze.

She met her own terrified gaze in the glass as the memory struck her. Silver glass surrounded by runes, the surface reflecting everything and nothing at once. Pressure on her skull, drumming in her brain. The phantom sensation of an itch in her skin seized her, the recollection so sharp it almost felt real.

The silhouette of Tamlen stark against blinding light. She reached out, her hand couldn't grasp him. Bitter acid swelled in her throat.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, Creators, she couldn't breathe—

"You're okay."

The voice outside her own thoughts was so sudden, so abrupt, that it shocked enough sense into Rosaya that she was able to claw back the vaguest awareness of her present self.

She was on the floor. When had she sat down? Had she… fallen? And Isefel held her while her body shook with staggered tremors.

"You're okay," the older elf said again. "You're safe. Breathe with me. In… and out."

Rosaya blinked, forcing her lungs to operate in tandem with Isefels. She opened her eyes and saw the room darker than before. The mirror wasn't on the wall anymore. It was shattered into shards on the ground around her. It was broken…?

Rosaya blinked once more, glancing down at her trembling fist slick with blood from cuts along her knuckles.

Ah.

"You're safe," Isefel said once more right as Rosaya's heart rate started accelerating once more. "I've got you, da'len."

"I… I don't know what happened, I was suddenly back there, and I…" her words were thin and strained, her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth.

Isefel shushed her gently, one hand gently combing through Rosaya's hair. "It's okay. You don't have to explain it to me. I understand."

"I was fine, I've been fine for weeks. I thought the Joining was supposed to fix this, I…" Rosaya shuddered with a heavy intake of breath, leaning forward into the arms that held her and allowing the pressure of the embrace to ground her back into herself.

"This isn't something that cup can fix, kid."

She'd been naive for thinking it could. The ailment to her body was cured but there was still something sick and hollow inside eating her alive that had absolutely nothing to do with the corruption.

She hadn't fallen apart like this since that first night camping with Duncan and the others, and a distant portion of herself stung with a prick of shame that she was succumbing to this feeling again. One little mirror and she slid right back to that terrible moment… there was no strength in that. Where was that resolve she swore to herself she would hold for Tamlen's sake?

Sitting here in the dark that courage felt so small and far away.

"I just wish it hadn't happened. I wish I'd payed attention to the danger, I wish I'd dragged him out of that bloody ruin, I wish I wasn't here, I wish I was home." The confession flowed from her like water from a spilled cup. "I wish it hadn't happened."

"It happened, but you're okay. You're alright."

No. She wasn't.

. . . . .

Tic… tic… tic…

The sound found him before the shifting landscape of the Fade fully assorted itself.

Tic… tic… tic…

There was water. A lake stretched out before him… Lake Calenhad, maybe? Reflected from the physical world to the realm of dreams? The water, dark and completely still, stretched out as far as he could see on all sides. Confused, he turned in place before looking down and realizing he was standing on a stretch of ice.

Tic… tic… tic…

The sound echoed from across the water. Or maybe from under it? It was hard to tell.

He was alone from what he could see, but he knew by now that didn't necessarily mean he was. He half expected to find Pride here—they were on the literal eve of their bargain being completed. It'd have made sense if the demon intended to check in on him and make sure he still meant to follow through on his end of the deal.

Or maybe take it as an opportunity to try and tear him apart again.

He flared his aura out from his body to try and detect anything lurking nearby and was met only with quiet emptiness. He couldn't bring himself to be relieved. Normally he'd be glad for the chance to be by himself and just think without any demons bothering him or trying to kill him or feed off of him… but the Fade wasn't a place he could relax.

This was not a safe place to let himself hurt, even if he really was alone.

Tic… tic… tic…

More sheets of ice drifted across the misty surface of lake than just the one he was standing on. Though they slowly slid across, no ripples broke the water's surface. One passed by and he leapt onto it. He slipped slightly but braced himself enough not to fall. He looked back—even with the disturbance of his movements, the water remained eerily unaffected.

Huh. Well, this certainly wasn't the weirdest dream he'd ever had, but it was pretty up there. Weird Fade shit, after all.

Tic… tic… tic…

"What is this place?" He wondered aloud, turning in place as he puzzled it over in his mind.

"A resting place. Home for the haunted, hungry, hollow."

He nearly leapt out of his skin, turning in a wild 360 on the ice to try and find the source of the voice. At first his eyes lead him to believe he was by himself, but by now he knew that what he saw here was often deceiving.

He flared his aura out from himself again, concentrating on a smaller radius around his body. Still, there was nothing. He pressed harder, condensing the energy into a ring of light like veilfire that pulsed out from him like a sonar.

Tic… tic… tic…

The water stirred as the blue flame passed over it. And from the depths shadows rose and warped into an all-too-familiar shape. A cloaked form, withered and cold, the dark contrasted by an expressionless white mask.

"You again," he sighed, a bitter irritation rising in him. Of course this little fucker showed up… though maybe it wasn't quite so little anymore. When first encountered it'd been the size of a small child… now it towered nearly two heads taller than him.

Isolation did not move, but rather remained fixed in place as it hovered over still shifting waters. It's head cocked to the side as it considered him.

"You asked. I answered. Questions, queries, quandaries, was not this the purpose of tasking with teaching?"

"Alright Alliteration, I get it. I don't really need anymore lessons from you at the moment. So you can fuck right off, thank you," he said.

He thought he'd been specific enough when he set up the terms of his agreement with this demon… but maybe he'd underestimated exactly what this thing was about. Pride more or less kept to it's word because of it's, well, pride… up until the point it'd tried to possess him anyways. But even after their violent reunion he'd been able to bait it into a form of compliance by appealing to the core of it's nature.

But Isolation was still much more of an unknown. And more dangerous because of it.

"You have kept me well fed. But there is more yet to taste," it said in an eerie hiss.

"Last I checked you were a variation of Despair, not Gluttony," he said, crossing his arms and narrowing his gaze as he inspected it.

Yeah, it was definitely bigger than before. Probably stronger, too. Perhaps he should have realized it when he first made the deal, but trading music might not have been the best idea. Especially when he had the soundtrack for the major important story moments playing in the back of his mind as he actively lived through them. Or when he got songs stuck in his head while they traveled on the road and…

… and he couldn't recall the words anymore…

Tic… tic… tic…

Isolation wasn't just drawing power from the songs he recalled. It was… eating them. Consuming his memories of music and using that to strengthen itself.

The icy dread he felt had nothing to do now with the frigid of the frozen lake. He wound his power tight within himself.

"I don't have anything for the likes of you, and if you're aiming to take something you'll sorely regret it," he said, the challenge carrying clear in his voice.

The demon did not move, didn't even say anything, but something about the shift of energy rippling across the dreamspace made him think it was… amused.

The dread he felt increased. Always Isolation had seemed… not docile, but hesitant at least. Diminutive, a shadow more likely to flee from a fight than pick one. For Isolation to feel so confident before him… that couldn't be a good sign.

"Taking? How tedious. I've not taken anything more than what was agreed. The rest… the rest is given. Generous and grievous. Pains, plans, perceptions, promises. Given to them, to yourself, but always to me."

Isolation did something then it had never done before. It moved towards him.

"Carve a lie, burn a bridge. Achieve an end, end escape." It's head tilted sideways as it surveyed him. "You've set yourself on fire. Can't you smell the smoke?"

Now he was the one maintaining the distance, backpedaling a step as it glided smoothly over the unaffected surface of the water. He couldn't put a coherent reason to why, but he did not want that thing near him.

"I think I'd notice if I was burning," he said indignantly, shuffling back another step as it continued it's slow but insistent approach. "And I don't have anything to give you. You've gotten all you'll have from me, so leave before I decide to make you leave."

It held up a glass bottle in long, bone-thin fingers, manifested from the shadows of it's robed form. "My hunger is unchanged. The bottle fills, ever closer to capacity."

He recalled sharply it's parting words the first time he'd met this demon. Everyone breaks, eventually. But he was fine. All things considered, from a certain perspective he was doing great. So far the things that he'd changed in this world were all changed for the better and none of his companions were dead.

He was fine.

Tic… tic… tic…

The repetitive noise was now nearly as annoying as the demon prying at his psyche. He glanced around, once more trying to find the source of the sound without success.

He was backed up to the edge of the ice. There was no where else for him to go and the demon was still drawing steadily nearer. He looked back at it and—

"Where did you get that?" he asked, disbelieving of what was before his eyes.

"I found it. Dropped, discarded, derelict."

He stared in disbelief. The watch—his watch—was so small in those alien fingers that curled around it like a cage. Why did Isolation have it? It'd disappeared when he'd been attacked by Pride, vaporized into the ether or the Fade.

"Give it back."

It cocked it's head the other way. "Why should I?"

"It's mine, asshole." He stepped forward, holding his power ready as he stared it down.

It's voice dropped lower, almost mocking. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It was a gift, it was given to me by… by…" His words failed him. It had been a gift… hadn't it? But for the life of him he couldn't remember who had given it to him. Why couldn't he remember?

Panic rolled slowly over his mind as he found the only logical conclusion. Isolation hadn't just been feeding off his memories of music. It'd taken the memories he had associated with that watch as well. And that might not be all.

There was nothing to gain by allowing the demon to remain, not like with Pride. With Isolation he would only ever be a target, and there was nothing more it could give to him.

He had to get rid of it now. Before it took anything more from him.

"Give it back," he said, his voice colder and harsher than the frosty dreamscape around them. "I won't ask again."

"What will you trade? What is it worth to you, that it should be returned?"

He didn't think a watch could be taken hostage. But stranger things had happened to him—and frequently did, these days.

"You're asking the wrong question," he stalked forward another step, standing so close to the demon now he could lean forward and kiss it if he wanted to. "Ask instead: is it worth you dying horribly for?"

"You will not destroy me." It said.

"Bet."

He wreathed his fist in fire and electricity as he pulled it back and swung it at the demon's face. It screeched horribly as the elements burst on impact, crashing back into the surface of the ice. He pulled his hands together and gathered a lightning bolt between his fingertips, but when he looked back to cast it at Isolation to finish it off he froze. The spell sputtered into smoke.

The mask was cracked at the corner. A chip had fallen away on one side of the face.

Brown eyes stared back at him.

His eyes.

Creak… creak… crack…

A spiderweb of cracks blossomed on the surface of the ice. The breaks popped and snapped, and before he had time to brace himself the frozen surface broke under him and he plunged down into the abyss of water below.

The cold was biting and venomous, seeping into his bones. He pulled at the water around him and kicked to propel himself towards the surface but the more he struggled the deeper he sank. His lungs burned, fighting to keep the air in, but eventually they gave out in a burst of bubbles and a garbled scream of pain.

As he sank deeper the sound became louder until it bordered on thunderous.

Tic… tic… tic…

Wake up, wake up, wake up!

The morning light was grey and dim. There was no bolting upright, no violent shaking to his body as his mind reconnected to reality, not this time. Instead he drowned into waking… the energy of the Fade clinging to him like thick tar as he pulled through it and into consciousness.

Edmund blinked away the sleep from his eyes and rose. All his extremities felt cold and numb, like they belonged to a corpse instead of a living body. He flexed his hands; a small spark flickered and wove into a wisp of flame that wove between his fingers. Both the warmth of the fire and the flow of magic through his body warmed him enough that he felt alive—or at least, something like it.

He tried and failed to shake the dream away from him. He didn't need to be dwelling on his own personal inner demons when soon enough he'd have to deal with all the ones in the tower. There was a limit to how much weird Fade shit a person could take, he thought, and he had to be approaching that limit by now.

He was so tired.

He held his face in his hands for a moment and quietly debated trying to get more sleep but eventually resolved that staying awake was probably for the best. Edmund was used to being an early riser these days, anyways. The benefit of a few extra quiet moments before the others roused gave him a chance to collect his thoughts in the aftermath of whatever demons visited him in the night or brace himself for what he knew the day might bring.

But despite the pre-dawn hour the other cot in the room was already empty.

Edmund frowned, extinguishing the fire he held and inspecting the bed Aothor should have been in. Most of his equipment was still there, but the blanket was cast aside on the ground and sheets cold to the touch.

Looks like he wasn't the only one having a rough night.

He found Aothor down in the main room of the tavern working the edges of his blade with a whetstone, and he wasn't alone either. Liri accompanied him at the same table the group had shared last night mixing suspicious looking ingredients together into some vials. They both looked about as tired as he felt, which was impressive and also concerning.

"Didn't think I'd find anyone else up this early," Edmund said, glancing around the barely lit room. The innkeeper wasn't even behind the bar at this hour, and only a few other bleary-eyed travelers sat scattered at other tables in the far corners of the room.

"What's that charming saying you surfacers have?" Aothor wondered aloud. "The early nug gets the worm?"

Edmund shrugged. "Bird, but otherwise yeah."

"Why would a nug eat a bird? How would a nug even catch a bird?" Liri asked, genuinely confused.

"No, it's…" Edmund started, but shook his head and just gave up. "Nevermind."

Edmund sat across the table from them, kicking one leg up idly onto the unoccupied seat beside him. The three of them sat in the quiet for a while, nothing really to say and each attending to their own thoughts.

He thought of Isolation, what it said and what he'd seen at the end of that dream. It was probably just fucking with him. It didn't mean anything. Yeah, probably. And it wasn't even right—he wasn't alone. He had Liri and Aothor and the others. That stupid demon didn't know what it was talking about.

His quiet self-reassurances were interrupted by Liri tapping the surface of the table so he'd look up at her from where he'd been staring a hole into the wall.

"Hey, mages know stuff about dreams, right?" she asked.

"We're generally considered the experts, yeah," Edmund said. "Why?"

Liri didn't answer right away, but shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat and shared a meaningful sort of look with Aothor.

"How… how can you tell they're not real?"

"Why are you asking? Dwarves don't dream…" Edmund said slowly.

"... unless they're Grey Wardens, apparently," Aothor finished the thought grimly. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "And now what used to be peaceful nights of rest are punctuated with visions of the monsters that threaten the collapse of my peoples home."

"Oh." Edmund said at the sudden realization. "Wow, that's kind of fucked up, when you put it like that."

"I hate it. When you see darkspawn in real life you can, you know, stab them, and they go away. But when they're just in your head you can't do anything about it and…" Liri cut herself off and waved her hands in vague exasperation.

"If your Joining didn't go through, do you not get nightmares?" Aothor asked.

His heart sank a little bit. There it was, all over again, that funny feeling that he was undeniably an outsider. Staring through some invisible barrier he couldn't quite pierce.

Edmund shook his head, pulling loosely at a loose threat in the cuff of his sleeve. "No, I get nightmares. Just not ones about darkspawn," he said, trying and failing to not think of the demon that had stared at him with his own eyes.

"Lucky," Liri said, but he couldn't bring himself to feel like he was.

He should be able to relate to them about this. Not that he wanted to have darkspawn dreams, really, because it sounded like it sucked. But the fact that he'd drank the Joining cup and didn't have them meant he wasn't really one of them. Not like he should be. And even if he knew why it hadn't worked, which he still didn't, he probably wouldn't be able to tell them without disclosing everything else. And that wasn't really an option at this point. Maybe it was just the fomo getting to him, or just a desire for at least something to make sense like it should.

But he wouldn't admit that the demon had a point. He wouldn't, that would only give it more power. But… it wasn't entirely off the mark, either. He didn't fit here, and even the corruption that tortured this reality seemed to know it.

"Liri and I had the same darkspawn dream. Woke us up and we both happened to come down here at the same time to clear our heads," Aothor explained. "And neither of us could tell it wasn't real until we were awake. It's… distressing, to say the least."

"So is there a way to tell? You know, that it's all just in your head and not real?" Liri asked.

"For normal dreams, probably, yeah. But that's the funny the about the darkspawn dreams, though." Edmund shoved his own disparaging thoughts away as best he could. His own personal issues weren't important, not now. "Technically they are real."

"Not helpful," Liri said, borderline pouting.

"Don't shoot the messenger. There's just a lot about being a Grey Warden that's a major bummer." Edmund held his hands up in surrender. "Probably why they don't do advertising. It'd be like the disclaimers at the end of medication commercials: Cures heartburn! May cause heart attacks, depression, sudden liver failure, or death."

"Well, are there any other unpleasant side effects we should be aware of?" Aothor asked, and despite the slightly sarcastic edge to the query it was a genuine question.

"Actually, yeah, there's kind of a lot." Edmund said. He reached into the satchel he always carried on his person and dug out his notebook and started flipping through the pages looking for where'd he'd written down all the known effects. "We should probably go over it with the rest of the group too so everyone gets the update on what they're in for—"

He stopped mid thought, pausing as his eye caught a passing page about the Urn of Sacred Ashes and his train of thought was hijacked in an entirely different direction.

"This is the Spoiled Princess, right?" Edmund asked,

"Yes…?" Aothor said apprehensively.

Edmund turned over his shoulder to survey the rest of the room. Two, no three other non-descript travelers sitting by themselves at separate tables around the room. But if his hunch was right, those weren't simple travelers.

There were cultists from Haven watching this inn, intercepting people who came here asking about Genitivi. Maybe… he could use this.

He already knew the general location of Haven, though not the specifics. He knew what'd happened to Genetivi and the Redcliffe knights that'd gone looking for the urn only to disappear, there was no reason to go on a goose chase when he knew where the trail would inevitably end.

They could bypass Denerim altogether and save weeks of travel.

"Hey, I'm gonna do a thing, and I could use some help."

Liri brightened immediately and reached for her bag as Aothor sighed.

"Context, please?" Aothor asked tiredly.

"I'm going to intentionally bait cultists into jumping us." Edmund said oh-so helpfully.

"... why?"

Edmund shrugged idly, standing and twisting his staff in a wide arc. "To save time, mostly. Hopefully this'll give us a jump-start on finding a cure for Eamon."

"I fail to see the connection between curing Eamon and cultists that just so happen to be… here, apparently." Aothor said skeptically.

"Who cares? Sounds fun, I'm in," Liri said, then grabbed her weapons. "Where are the cultists?"

"We're about to find out." Edmund said, starting towards the counter where the innkeeper was now turning idly through a records book. "Just follow my lead."

The dwarves shared a look, one part excited and one part confused, before following after him to the counter. That was something Edmund was coming to really appreciate about the pair—Liri was always down for shenanigans, and though Aothor always had misgivings, if they were going to cause trouble he was at least going to make sure they weren't unnecessarily stupid about it.

"Is there something I can get for you?" The innkeeper asked tiredly as the three of them approached.

"Has a man called Brother Genitivi stopped by here recently?" Edmund leaned forward onto the counter and drummed his fingers on the wooden surface. "Older guy, balding?"

"Brother Genitivi?" The innkeeper stilled, eyes darting over them before returning to the record book in front of him. "… No. Of course not. I've never heard of him."

"You're sure?" Edmund pressed.

"Positive," he said just a bit too quickly. "I know everyone who's stayed at my inn and… and I've never heard of this man."

"What about knights from Redcliffe? A few of them must have come through here recently as well, yeah? Maybe asking about the same guy?"

"N-no."

Edmund shared a look with the dwarves. He could see them picking up the pieces of what was going on here, and they were quick to back him up.

"Sounds like you're not telling us everything," Aothor observed, just this side of casual.

"Nonsense. Why would I lie to you?" The innkeeper said with a nervous laugh, backing up a step and eyeing the door to the back room like he was inclined to retreat behind it. "Listen. The person you're looking for isn't here. And you lot should be on your way as soon as possible."

"He's either been bought or threatened into compliance. Probably threatened." Liri added. "Skittish isn't exactly a hard look to spot on a guy like this."

"Looks to me like you've found yourself in a little bit of trouble. We can make that trouble go away for you, if you just tell us what's wrong," Aothor said, pushing just a bit more.

And apparently that was all it took for the innkeepers resolve of silence to break. "... They've been watching the inn. People who come around asking about Genitivi, they disappear. I'm telling you for your own sake, don't ask about that name here."

Edmund glanced back again at the rest of the room. Those few other travelers had conveniently vacated the space. Yup, his hunch was right on the money.

"Thanks, you've been a big help. Have a nice morning, we'll try not to get blood splatters on the outside of your building." Edmund pushed away from the counter and turned towards the exit.

"Should we get the others?" Aothor asked, unsheathing his blade.

"Nah, I think we got this."

"Famous last words," Liri snickered.

"Oh ye of little faith—" Edmund started, but was cut off as he opened the door and ducked to avoid an arrow aimed straight for his head.

He did a quick count—the three supposedly simple travelers stood armed with bows and daggers, and three more men heavily armed warriors flanked them and charged as he and the dwarves emerged.

"For our Lady Andraste! Strike down the heretics!"

Edmund gathered fire along his staff, but even as he watched Aothor block a number of blows against his shield he couldn't bring himself to cast it at the cultists. So he morphed the magic, changed it to something else, and gave the dwarves flaming blades instead as they moved to engage the enemy.

Being an accessory or assist was one thing. But he still didn't have the stomach to be a killer himself. Even now he remembered the screams of that templar in Highever and—

He shut down that train of thought as one of the warriors broke away from Liri and Aothor and came charging at him instead. But before Edmund could even react the cultist in heavy armor seized and became sluggish and slow as a dark miasma clung to his form.

Edmund blinked a moment in confusion before he glanced back and saw Morrigan standing in the open doorway casting malignant magic.

"Hey, welcome to the party! Glad you could join us," he said brightly, wrapping a barrier around himself and her as the archers shot in their direction.

"'Twas difficult to ignore the shouting," Morrigan said. "I expect the others are equally alarmed and will be joining shortly."

Slowed and confused by the witch's casting, the cultist failed to realized Liri approaching on his flank and was taken by complete surprise when she cut him down. Edmund looked away at the spray of blood, fighting back that queasy feeling in his gut.

He looked away from the dead and cast fresh barriers over the dwarves as they made short work of the remaining fanatics.

"You know, these fights would be a lot quicker if you'd stop pulling your punches." Liri said pointedly after wiping away some blood splatter on her cheeks after the last cultist fell.

"Who says I'm pulling my punches?" Edmund asked innocently.

"I do. I saw what you did to those undead; you could have cooked those guys in like, two seconds flat if you wanted to."

"What, and steal all your kills? You looked like you were having so much fun."

"I was. But that's not the point," Liri gave him an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. "Stone, what's the point of being able to cast lightning if you don't actually shoot it at the bad guys?"

"Hey, do you want barriers and a fire knife, or not? Because I can only multi-task so much," Edmund said, and to punctuate the point he dismissed the flame blade spell. "Also, last I checked, dwarves are still flammable. You were right up on those guys, and last I checked people get pissed at me when I cause this little thing called 'friendly fire,'"

"Fine, whatever you need to tell yourself. I stand by what I said, though." Liri said, looking disappointed at her now not-flaming weapons.

"Well. Looks like you've all had a productive morning."

Edmund looked back again—the door to the inn was open again and the rest of the party was filing out to join them, lead by a very unimpressed looking Cousland.

"I know, right? Not even eight in the morning and already my kill count's at four. Not a bad start," Liri said, nudging one of the limp bodies with her foot.

"I'm going to assume they deserved it?" Rosaya asked.

"As much as most assholes we kill deserve it." Aothor said simply. "You said these were cultists, Edmund, but they said they were doing this for Andraste. Isn't that just garden variety religious on the surface?"

"Nah, different Andraste. Their version has way more teeth," Edmund said.

"Then their version sounds at least more interesting than the one the Chantry sisters sing of so incessantly." Morrigan mused with dry humor.

Edmund chuckled, strapping his staff back on his back and adjusting his bag. "That's one way of putting it. Though you may not think it's such an upgrade once we finally meet her."

Aothor had already gotten the rest of the crew to form up around him and had given them a loose overview of what'd lead to them killing six people outside the inn.

"Riiight. So aside from six dead cultists, what exactly did this get us?" Alistair asked, largely confused by what was going on as he often seemed to be.

"Well for one, we know they've been killing Redcliffe knights that are searching for a cure for Arl Eamon, which leads to the likely conclusion that they are hiding said cure," he said, counting off on his fingers. "Second, it makes sense they have Genitivi, who was also searching for the Urn. We find him, we find their base, we find the Ashes."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Cousland asked. "We don't know where that is. You clearly didn't have the sense to keep any of these cultists alive to interrogate them, which would have been helpful if this is indeed the lead we need to save Eamon."

Edmund glanced at the corpses and as his stomach flipped again he had to concede that the warrior had a point with that one; it would have been the smart thing to do. But he'd rather eat leather than admit that to him, so he didn't.

"That's the thing about fanatics—usually that zealotry keeps them pretty tight-lipped about secrets of their order. It's kinda the thing they're known for," Edmund explained instead.

"You sure? You could have tried convincing them you're one of them," Cousland asked. "You do play the part of a lunatic convincingly on a daily basis."

Edmund rolled his eyes and turned away from him. "I already have a vague idea on where they're village is, enough to start with at least, but if we can find more clues that'll help even more. Liri, check the bodies and see if they have any—never mind, you're already doing that."

He left the bodies to her—she was always the first one looking for loot anyways, and if they had anything useful on them she was sure to find it.

Moments later she walked up to him brandishing a slip of parchment.

"Not a map, but a few written instructions to help them find their way home. 'Continue a league past the cliff shaped like Our Lady's face,' and shit like that. I take it these guys don't exactly get out much." Liri said, also pocketing all of the cultist's gold.

"That's convenient," Edmund said, accepting the paper from her and looking it over before passing it over to Aothor. "Not as good as a map, but probably enough to help us get to Haven."

"I take it Haven is where we should head once we're finished dealing with the mages then?" Aothor asked, tucking in in his pack along with their party's map.

"Maybe Honnleath first and then Haven, but yeah. I think it makes the most sense," he said, "Saving Connor means destroying the demon that's currently keeping the Arl alive. Which means once that's done, we'll still have to move fast or risk losing him to the poison." Edmund said.

In the games Eamon was just comatose and unaffected until such a time as the player healed the Ashes quest and healed him—but this wasn't a game anymore, and there was no mechanic in place to conveniently keep him breathing. He didn't know how much plot armor carried over into real life, but there was only so far he was willing to risk it.

"Finish one race only to start another," Isefel said, shaking her head but mostly at herself. "That does seem to be the way of things these days."

"Yeah," Edmund shrugged. "But with this information we already have a head start. Otherwise we'd have to backtrack all the way to Denerim and that would take ages."

Isefel didn't say anything, just stared at him for a moment as something like betrayal flashed across her expression.

Ah. He had the distinct impression like he'd picked the wrong dialogue option. It made sense she wouldn't be super down with that. Denerim was her home, of course she'd want a chance to visit back there. And by eliminating the need to go to Genitivi's house he'd taken away any rush to get to the city.

"We will go back to Denerim eventually—"

"It's fine. You said it yourself: this saves time." She waved him off and instead stooped over the corpses, hoisting one of the bodies over her shoulder. "Come on, we should probably dump these in the lake. Dead men outside the front stoop are probably bad for the inn's business."

Isefel, Liri, and Sten started the process of dragging the bodies to dump them in the water, and Edmund was left still feeling like he'd made a blunder he didn't know how to recover from. But Isefel was the reasonable type, she'd understand. Aside from Aothor she was probably the most level-headed of the entire group. And they'd go back to Denerim eventually, and if he had his way they'd get a jump start on helping the alienage with the problems there as well.

With a last minute check that they had everything and everyone they needed, they made their way to the docks. And his anxiety started skyrocketing once again as he realized they were about to walk right back into the mages tower.

Where he'd first entered this world.

He was stopped from falling into that downward spiraling train of thought by the nasty glare a particular templar by the ferry was giving them, like the whole group of them smelled awful even at a distance.

"You!" Carroll shouted and pointed at them as they approached. "You lot aren't looking to get across to the tower, are you? Because I've got strict orders not to let anyone pass!"

"We are Grey Wardens, and we're here to seek out the assistance of the mages," Aothor said.

"Oh, Grey Wardens, are you?" Carroll sneered and glanced across their ragtag number in equal measures of disbelief and amusement. "Prove it."

Aothor rummaged in his side bag briefly before procuring one of the treaty scrolls. "I have these documents here, I believe that should be a reasonable amount of proof," he said, and though it was well covered by a diplomatic tone it was plain to those who knew him that their dwarven leader was quickly growing annoyed.

"Yes? Oh, a Grey Warden seal. Ah ha. So you're claiming to be one of those," Carroll said, barely glancing at the documents for even a second before disregarding them entirely. "You know, I've some documents, too. They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?"

"A queen? My, and me without my curtsey," Rosaya deadpanned.

"Last I checked, queens were normally women." Isefel said. "But time are changing, I suppose."

"Don't question royalty!" Carroll snipped, nose in the air with posh affect that rivaled even Isolde. "Anyways, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way. Right now. Go."

"Come on now, be reasonable," Cousland said tiredly. "Surely we can work something out."

Carroll inspected their number once more, lingering lecherously on Isefel, Rosaya and Leliana a moment before resting Morrigan and the display that was her outfit. Edmund groaned inwardly—he'd forgotten about this particular attribute of this NPC.

Nope. He was not in the mood today to endure whatever ill-conceived proposition the templar was about to spew. There was a persuasion line here that could get Carroll to comply, but he couldn't remember what it was… so he decided to improvise. And his most recent nightmare gave him a convenient idea.

Edmund folded his arms, taking a step forward and crowding in on the templar's personal space. He made a pointed show of meeting Carroll's eyes and then glancing past him to the dark ripple of the lake below the dock. Waves lapped cold against the rickety wood.

"You are wearing an awful lot of heavy plate for a man standing over deep water." Edmund said. Despite the observational nature of the statement, the threat was transparent.

"Oh. Amell?" Carroll said, blinking abruptly as if just now recognizing him. "You… you're back?"

"Are we stating the obvious now? Yes, I'm back, and water is wet. Speaking of water…"

He watched as the not-too-bright templar did some quick mental math. Ten of them, one of him, a deep lake below… finally it was starting to sink in.

Heh. Sink.

Carroll gulped loudly. He turned abruptly, bending and working the ropes fastening the ferry to the dock. "So you said you wanted to get across? Maybe we should go now. Right now. NOW," he said, gesturing frantically towards the boat.

The ferry was by no means a small boat, but with ten of them plus their templar guide it was a tight squeeze, and not all of them were easy passengers. The dwarves in particular were not fans of the crossing. Aothor cursed loudly any time the boat tipped this way or that with the bouncing waves and Liri's maintained death grip on both Edmund and Aothor's arms that would probably leave bruises.

"I've we sink I'm at least taking you fuckers down with me," she'd signed quickly before latching on once more.

Edmund just tried not to look at the water, because every time he did his lungs burned with the phantom memory of him drowning in the Fade just that morning. But that just left him staring at the tower, which left him feeling equally queasy.

Carroll was all too glad to be rid of them once they reached the docking area on the other side, pushing off just as soon as they'd disembarked. Edmund wasn't so sure how they'd signal him that they were ready for pick up, but that was a problem for later.

"There's not a templar standing guard out here. Seems like there should be one," Isefel observed, voice quiet and barely carrying above the splash of waves against the rocky shore as they approached the tower's exterior door.

"Probably because they're all guarding the interior doors instead. They're not trying to keep people out right now—containment is their priority," Edmund explained lowly.

The relative stillness of the early morning outside gave way to mayhem as soon as they stepped inside.

Templars were braced with their backs pressed against the doors while others moved what heavy furniture was available into position as a barricade. The Knight Commander himself stood amidst the chaos, giving orders regarding the injured and organizing the frantic chaos.

"... and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open those doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" The templars at attention saluted before breaking to follow Greagoir's commands.

"Now we wait, and pray."

Greagoir looked much the same as when Edmund last saw him. A bit more worn around the edges, but still the same old devout Knight Commander. Little things like that staying consistent gave him peace in the face of all the other unpredictable stuff happening lately.

Their presence in the entrance hall didn't go unnoticed. Greagoir noticed them immediately, and when he turned to face them his eyes focused in on Edmund with a mixture of surprise and disappointment he was becoming unfortunately familiar with.

"Well, look who's back. And a proper Grey Warden now, are we?" He said, crossing his arms in front of himself.

Edmund put his hands on his hips and looked around and shook his head. "My, my. A few months without me and this whole place falls apart. Miss me that much, did you?"

"Hardly," Greagoir said stiffly, but something around the edges of his eyes softened. "It's good you're not dead, Amell. I hear the Wardens' losses at Ostagar were significant, and it is encouraging to see you were not among the fallen."

"We understand you have a situation on your hands, Knight Commander," Aothor said, eyeing where the templars were reenforcing their barricade. "Perhaps the Grey Wardens can be of assistance to you."

"Unlikely. I shall speak plainly: the tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower's halls. We were too complacent. First Jowan, now this." Greagoir eyes hardened once more, any fondness they might've held decidedly replaced with steel. "Don't think I've forgotten your role in Jowan's escape."

"Jowan's escape is small time compared to what's happening here now," Edmund said, knowing without looking he was likely receiving some pointed looks from the more disapproving members of the squad. Which was most of them, when it came to this particular issue.

Greagoir sighed, the weight of his years settling on his shoulders as they slumped. "True enough."

"Just how bad is the situation?" Cousland asked. "Is this all the men you have left?"

"The only survivors we can be sure of are the ones you see here on this side of the door. As for the rest… well, to be honest, we don't know." The older man started to pace now, almost just to give himself something to do. "We saw only demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee."

"So your plan is to… what? Hold the door shut and pray demons don't knock it down?" Liri asked.

Greagoir gave Edmund then Liri a curious look and then shook his head. "I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment."

"You bastard," Isefel cut in with near breathless anger, and Edmund looked at her and was surprised to see the shock on her face give way to open rage as she stepped forward to stand directly in front of Greagoir. "You bastard! There are children in there!"

Though momentarily surprised by the elven woman's outburst, Greagoir held his ground even as the rest of them took a surprised step back.

"The situation is dire," he said evenly, recrossing his arms and staring her down. "There is no alternative—everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again."

"Maker's tits, they're mages. They're hardly defenseless, there must be some left who've managed to survive."

"If any are still alive, the Maker himself has indeed shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find…" his voice trembled before he steeled himself, but still spoke with sorrow. "... nothing."

Isefel laughed, but it was a venomous sound. "Then you're a coward as well."

"Isefel, that's uncalled for—" Cousland started, but when she rounded on him the look in her eyes made him physically flinch back. Edmund almost felt a flash of pity for poor Vaughn and what he must have faced in her before his well deserved death. Almost, but not quite.

"Annulment means killing everyone. All the mages, down to the youngest apprentice, no one left standing. Even if they're an innocent caught in the crossfire." She explained it plainly, the rounded on the Knight Commander with renewed fury. "And it's your fault they're trapped in there in the first place! Now you want to kill them all? When if you'd done your job properly none of this would be happening in the first place?"

Greagoir's patience was visibly wearing thin at that. It was one thing to insult him, but another to insult his duty, apparently. "If I'd done nothing, the tower would be compromised with demons and abominations pouring into the countryside unchecked! I do not need to justify my actions to you or anyone, not when I have done my duty to protect this Circle. Do not cast your judgements where they are baseless."

"... Baseless?" Isefel repeated the word like it was a challenge. "... you said you're protecting this Circle? All you've done is protect templars." She turned in place, eyeing the knights who were beginning to slowly encircle them because of the disturbance. "How many mages did you manage to save from the chaos, hm? Because I don't see a single one. If this is the measure of your great protection, then I'd rather we all take our chances with the demons."

"I think what Isefel is trying to say is that you should let us help," Edmund cut in, partially inserting himself between Greagoir and the elven woman. It was a surreal position to be in, because usually Isefel was the one stepping in between arguments and keeping the peace. "We can clear the tower of demons and save the mages and templars trapped inside, including Irving, and then we all work together to stop the darkspawn. You don't lose any more of your people, no more innocents have to die, and we earn an ally against the Blight. Everyone wins."

"I assure you, an abomination is a force to be reckoned with, and you will face more than one," Greagoir warned severely.

"And I'm a force to be reckoned with, too," Isefel bit back, something dark in her eye. She then turned back to the rest of them, an expectation written across her face. "This is what we came here to do, right? Slay the demons and retake the tower? Otherwise known as: do the templars job for them?"

"Of course," Leliana said, a hand placed over her heart determinedly. "We will not let the darkness prevail."

"We're goddamn heroes, and we're going to save the day," Edmund added, projecting confidence into his voice hoping it would stick with the others.

"Ah, that arrogance hangs about you like some fell cloud, doesn't it?" Greagoir said tiredly. He'd gathered that the original Edmund had somewhat been a thorn in the Knight Commander's side, but he wasn't sure exactly to what extent. "If you succeed, I would owe you much, enough that I would pledge my templars to your cause. Without word from Denerim, I must determine our course. Surely destroying darkspawn is a worthy goal."

"Then we have an agreement," Aothor said decidedly. Though not exactly pacified, that seemed to be enough that Isefel backed off the Knight Commander and moved back to stand with the rest of the group.

"A word of caution," Greagior spoke after them as they moved past him and towards the doors, "Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen… then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide."

The great doors closed behind them with the same finality as when he'd been on the other side leaving for the first time. Standing in the Circle again… it wasn't so much nostalgia he felt as uncanny deja'vu. He'd spent so much of those first weeks here trying to convince himself it wasn't real that even in hindsight it still felt like a horrible hallucination.

"Isefel, are you oka—?" Rosaya started to ask, placing a gentle hand on the older elf's shoulder, but cut herself off when Isefel sharply pulled away.

"Not now, Tathas." Isefel bit back. The words left her lips and both elves froze. A beat passed, then another, then Isefel continued wordlessly down the hall.

There was an air of awkwardness accompanying the looming dread now as they followed after her, but no one was willing to poke the bear and try and break through it. Except for Cousland, who Edmund managed to hear quietly chuckling to himself.

"Dude, timing," Edmund muttered to him. Laughing in uncomfortable situations was something he understood—he did it frequently himself. But from Cousland it was somewhat uncharacteristic.

"I just find it curious," Cousland said, looking at him somewhat distantly, "This is your home, not hers. But she's the one who seems the most determined to save it."

"That's one way of looking at it," Edmund shrugged, "Or maybe I just have the benefit of knowing it's all going to be okay in the end."

Edmund took the lead of the group, being the one with any familiarity with the location. But even that familiarity made him feel strangely like an outsider. And now, returning to it like this, it pressed upon him exactly how unreal his whole situation was.

He felt like he was sleepwalking. The shadows seemed too long, the curve of the hall distorted just this side of unnatural. The flickering fires in the wall sconces seemed to whisper eerily as they passed. He lingered in one of the doorways that lead to the apprentice's quarters. The inside was in complete disarray. Desks spilled over, bodies on the ground, bunks broken.

Something inside him ached at the sight—a hollow pain that wasn't even his echoing all around him without really touching him—but not for the reasons anyone would think it should.

This was Edmund's home.

But it wasn't his home.

It'd just been where he woke to an impossible reality. And nothing had been the same since.

They rounded the corner in time to see a creature of rage, towering and molten, bearing down on a small group of survivors. But before they could even rush to engage, a tremendous burst of ice sank into the demon and sundered the element of it's being.

Wynne didn't waste a moment turning from her fresh kill to face them with steely determination as the demon diminished into a harmless puddle behind her.

"Stop right there! Take another step, and I swear I will strike you down where you stand!" Wynne shouted, staff outstretched and crackling with power. She took them in a moment and blinked in surprise, and though her eyes lit with recognition she did not lower her guard. "Amell? You've returned to the tower? Why did the templars let you through? Are you here to warn us?"

It was his first time seeing Wynne here, in the flesh. And he was strangely surprised—in the games the other characters had always addressed her as if she was some decrepit old lady, but looking at her now there was no way she was over fifty yet. Older, sure, but hardly a wisened grandma.

He glanced quickly over the assembled mages Wynne protected and frowned when he saw Surana wasn't among them. She was somewhere in the tower, surely, and if she was half as competent as he figured she was then she wasn't dead. Somewhere further ahead, then.

"We were in the area. Figured we might stop by, see if there was any evil than needed vanquishing. Typical hero stuff," Edmund said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to where his companions were filing into the chamber behind him.

Wynne nodded, retracting her staff but not dismissing her power. "It is good to see you still care about the Circle. Unfortunately, the tower is in grave danger."

"Yes. From the templars," Isefel said, the icy bite to her tone still very much present from before. "They're planning to Annul the Circle."

Wynne hung her head low a moment as she processed the revelation, but to this at least there was no real shock in her eyes. "They have the Right of Annulment."

"No, but I think your Knight Commander expects it to arrive soon," said Aothor.

"So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead," Wynne shook her head sadly. "They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If the Right arrives and they invoke it however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"Then it's a race against time. Again. Because why would it ever be anything else," Isefel said with a tired sort of laugh. "Let's not waste time here when there are abominations that need killing."

"If you are here to kill abominations, let me help you," Wynne beckoned them closer and turned to face the magic blocking the way forward. "I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join me to save this Circle."

"We must avoid a needless slaughter," Cousland said with a sad sort of look to where the children stood watching them from a distance. "Will the children be safe here?

"Petra and Kinnon will watch after them. If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten them." Wynne nodded, turning slightly and offering those young apprentices a warm and reassuring smile. "Even if we cannot eliminate all the demons and abominations, together we could lead the survivors out. Once Greagoir sees we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable."

"Hold on, you want to come with us?" Liri asked. "No offense, but this is probably going to get ugly. Maybe it'd be better if you stayed behind and kept an eye on the kids."

Wynne straightened her posture to something resolute. "I'm not in my grave just yet. I refuse to go down without a fight and I will do my best to protect my home."

At that, Cousland smiled. "Saying things like that, I think you'd have gotten on well with my mother."

"This woman fought at Ostagar." Aothor said with a nod. "And apparently survived the deteriorating battle to make it back here alive. I'd guess she can more than keep pace."

"Exactly. Plus, you know how you're all always complaining that I'm shit at healing?" Edmund added. "Wynne's probably one of the most powerful spirit healers around. If she wants to help, then we're lucky to have her along."

Wynne looked at him in confusion, and he realized his mistake—he didn't know if the original Edmund was a good healer or not, but that didn't mean Wynne didn't know. Shit.

But the question the older enchanter was prepared to pose to him was cut off by dirisive laughter from a certain golden eyed witch.

"You want us to assist this preachy schoolmistress? To rescue these pathetic excuses for mages?" Morrigan scoffed in disbelief. "They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them and I say: let them have it."

"Ah, and there's the scorn," Edmund said, leaning against his staff and half-turning to give Morrigan his full attention and hope that others would do likewise and miss the missed beat between him and Wynne. "Was wondering when that would kick in."

"Look at how they live, servants of the Chantry," Morrigan gestured offhandedly to the other mages gathered to the side who still watched them all with open fear. "They lack respect for themselves and their own power. Why should I respect them?"

"That doesn't mean we should leave them to be butchered. You could've been one of them, if events in your life had played out differently," he said. It was a funny thing, picturing Morrigan in Circle robes. It was one thing for her to wear the gear as an in-game model, but in real life it would have been borderline comical. The look did not suit her at all and he almost laughed imagining it.

"Hardly," She said with a scornful look to where the children cowered with the other mages and brought her hands to rest proudly at her hips. "I would have thrown myself from the top of the tower before suffering such disgrace."

Edmund had a retort ready, but he let it fall silent as he looked at her carefully for a moment. Morrigan was… well, scared didn't fit, but it was closer than anything else he could think of. And why wouldn't she be? She was an apostate in the mage tower with templars between her and the only exit. On top of that, in her eyes these Circle mages before them were everything she feared the world would try to make her: docile and compliant.

This witch wasn't wired for captivity. She knew that. And she wanted everyone else to know that. But in her haste to prove it she'd exposed a layer of vulnerability that he was probably the only one to pick up on through her—admittedly thick—layers of cruel disregard.

"You just said it yourself—you couldn't have survived this place. It would have broken you. Which is exactly why these mages are worthy of respect," he said evenly, not sugarcoating the truth of his thoughts.

"'Tis not a matter of survival, 'tis one of valuing one's true worth, to choose death before indignity," the witch said defensively.

"Sure, but aren't you the one who says survival is what matters most?"

Morrigan glared at him but said nothing, likely because she couldn't find the words to refute him because it was truth by her own admission.

He took advantage of her pause and gestured to the mages and the barrier protecting them from the threats beyond. "They have survived it. Are surviving it. It speaks to strength, even if it's a different type of power than you'd normally think of. And that has to be worthy of at least some respect, even from you."

She scoffed, turning her nose in the air and looking away. "Very well, have it your way."

"I always do," Edmund said brightly. He probably netted some disapproval from her for that… but that was probably for the best.

"One day I shall make you eat those words," she said, giving him a heavy side-eye.

"Looking forward to it." He smirked, unable but to help a wink as he swung his staff and moved to stand beside Wynne before the barrier. He might pay for that later, but the surprise and amusement on Morrigan face almost made it worth it. So, maybe not too much disapproval from that.

He fed his mana towards it, curiously inspecting the arcane components of it's construction. He knew simple barriers from Pride, and his own modifications both accidental and intentional that turned them explosive when broken. But this was on another level of casting altogether.

Wynne gave last minute instructions to Petra and Kinnon, who then voiced their concerns for Wynne and her wellbeing. She was dead already, of course. And there was nothing he could do about that. But the thought gave him an uncomfortable revelation, and he watched the older enchanter a moment as a strange revelation came over him.

If spirits and demons could tell he wasn't from Thedas, and Wynne was possessed… would she be able to tell…? Shit. This could be problematic for more reasons than he'd thought.

"Here we are," Wynne said, pulling him from his thoughts. "I am somewhat amazed at myself having kept it in place this long."

"And how long has it been?" Edmund asked.

"Two days," Wynne replied somberly. "It made me very weary at times, but I had to stay strong, to keep us safe. Be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of beasts lurk beyond this barrier."

"Then let's not keep ourselves in suspense. Let's go find out, right?" He glanced back to make sure everyone was gathered up and ready. "Destroy the barrier."

. . . . .

The stress was making her eye ache. Isefel rubbed her palm roughly across the patch, like she could somehow brush the irritation away, but the dull prodding continued.

She took a slow breath to compose herself, to reign in the temperance that was so important to keep in situations like this and she'd let momentarily slip away from her. She'd known going into this that it would be hard.

But this was also a chance. And Isefel wasn't about to waste it by letting herself get distracted by her own emotions.

Shades stalked forward but were no match for the number and skill of their party. Especially since they'd recently had experience fighting such creatures in Redcliffe. But if Wynne and the templars were to be believed, these shadows were the least of what lurked in these halls.

Truthfully she didn't know what to expect when it came to the abominations in the tower. Connor was an abomination—a mage puppeted by a demon and just as dangerous for all it's madness and cleverness. But at the end of the day he was still very much a human.

There were bodies in the library. Dead strewn about in robes and armor alike. And standing over them were creatures only fit to be described by one label: abomination. Twisted forms of mutated flesh that radiated destructive magic with every movement, eyes snowblind but still staring straight at them as they moved across the room.

Isefel raised her blades, and with the others behind and beside her they rushed the monsters.

There was something disconcerting about these abominations that even the darkspawn couldn't match. Because no matter how twisted, how demented they might appear… they were once people. And she wondered if there was a piece of who they once were locked away somewhere deep inside, helpless to what they'd become.

"The bodies explode after they die, get back!" Edmund called, but the warning came too late.

Isefel pulled her blades free of the abominatin's face and backpedaled as it fell, but she wasn't quick enough. The blaze scorched her skin, but just as the pain flashed a power cool and soothing like water washed over her—healing from Wynne that repaired the damage almost instantly. Isefel blinked and looked at her arm, which by all rights should be cooked beyond all recognition, and found not even the faintest scar left behind.

This. This is what she remembered real healing magic feeling like.

"Where were you when I was getting my eye clawed out?" Isefel asked with a small laugh.

Wynne offered her a small smile in return and also gave her a look of consideration. "When were you injured? If you like, I can attempt to repair the damage."

"It's an old wound now; I don't know what more magic could do for it. But maybe later, once we've dealt with the demons." Isefel stopped briefly by the smoldering remains but rose again after only a moment; there was no way to tell who these mages might've once been.

The first floor was clear of threats. So long as they kept this same pace and continued to be thorough, they were on track to—

"Please," a calm voice spoke as they crossed the central chamber, startling Isefel out of her thoughts. "Refrain from going into the stockroom. It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen."

Her weapons raised on instinct only to be lowered as she realized there was no threat. Just an empty-faced man standing before a ransacked stack of goods. She frowned, about to question what he was doing standing out here in the open instead of hiding like any sane person would surely do in this situation, but then she saw the sunburst brand on his forehead.

Ah.

"Good to see you in one piece, Owain," Edmund said brightly, stepping right past the man and inspecting the contents of the stockroom for anything useful.

"Yes. It is I, Owain. You remember. I was trying to tidy up but there was little I could do," he droned.

"Owain, you should get out of here and to safety," Wynne urged, like she was chastising a child.

Owain shook his head. "I tried to leave, when things got quiet. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work."

Wynne tutted, shaking her head. "Owain, you should have said something! I would have opened the door for you."

"The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here."

"You haven't come across any abominations?" Cousland asked skeptically. He watched the doorways, ready for anything that might hear them and come looking for a fight.

"No. I suppose I should count myself lucky," he said.

"I admire your level head, but how can you be so calm about this?" Rosaya asked.

"He's Tranquil," Edmund answered before the man could. "Templars strip mages of their power, emotion, personality, agency, and independence if they step out of line."

"Creators, that's awful…" Rosaya said, a bit more pale in the face as she took a hesitant step away from Owain.

"I've seen them sometimes in Denerim. Working in enchanter shops, or sometimes even attending templars and clergy at the Chantry," Isefel said. "They're always… uncanny. It just seems so sad."

"I do not mind. I am content. I work, and am at peace." Owain said simply, taking up a broom in his hands and sweeping the floors.

"It is an unpleasant reality, yes, but it is a last resort," Wynne said with gentle firmness. "Some mages even request Tranquility rather than endure their Harrowing. And in the cases where it is enforced as a punishment, often it is to ensure the safety of the individual and those around them." The older enchanter levied Edmund with a heavy look then. "As you should well know, Amell."

But Edmund barely glanced her way and rather openly rolled his eyes. "What do you want from me? An apology? I won't apologize, because I'm not sorry. Whatever you've heard, Wynne, and whatever happened after, I stand by what I did."

"You helped Jowan escape because they were going to make him Tranquil," Cousland said, frowning at the mage as he often did but this time like he was putting together an errant piece of a frustrating puzzle.

Edmund didn't answer right away, but when he did there was something hesitant about the way he held himself. "No one deserves to have this done to them."

"I get it. I don't agree with it, I still think you were wrong for helping him escape here and then giving him a chance in Redcliffe…" Cousland trailed off, frowning as he watched Owain mindlessly sweep the floor. "But I get it."

"No," Edmund replied immediately. "If you still think I was wrong, then you don't get it."

"Alright, pack it in right there. We need to get moving, or we're all probably going to die here." Aothor said tiredly, motioning for them to form up and follow him.

"I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if the tower returned to the way it was," Owain added. "Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all."

"Oh? And what's this Niall trying to do?" Isefel asked curiously.

"I do not know. But he came here with several others, and took the Litany of Adralla."

"But that protects from mind domination," Wynne said, "Is blood magic at work here?"

"Wait, you didn't already know that?" Edmund asked with thinly veiled sarcasm. "Huh. Thought it was obvious."

"I had a suspicion, but all I had seen were demons and abominations…" Wynne shook her head sadly. "Blood magic… Niall would know, he was at the meeting. I was afraid of this."

The group of wardens shared a look—their mage had warned them there would be blood mages in the tower along with all the other terrors, and having that reality confirmed wasn't exactly comforting. If anything, it meant their fight was going to be a lot harder.

"Then we need to find this Niall," Isefel resolved, "If this Litany protects against blood magic, we need it to protect us form the blood mages using us against each other."

"I wish you luck. Perhaps this will be over soon and things will return to the way they were."

Unlikely. Nothing ever returned to the way it was, not ever, and it certainly wouldn't here. But maybe for a Tranquil, something as simple as peace would be enough for him.

Aothor divided them into two teams and they split off in opposing directions of the hall to clear the threats. He took Liri, Edmund, Morrigan and Sten one way, and Isefel led the rest in the other.

"Bodies," Cousland intoned softly as they entered a hall littered with corpses. It normally wouldn't have been something worth warning about, but after an all-nighter of fighting undead it was best they kept their guard up.

Isefel checked their faces and wounds as they passed. A human man, probably a teenager, his chest torn open with clawmarks. An elven child with half their face missing. An elder woman cut down by… blades. Longswords, not knives, the cuts were too wide. No abomination or blood mage had ended her life.

For every three mages killed by monsters or blood magic, there was one cut down by a templar. But there were a lot of dead templars, too.

The dead didn't stand, but they haunted just the same.

Isefel signaled to the others she was going to scout ahead, then flipped up the hood of her coat and melted into the shadows. And soon, she heard voices, but not distinct enough to determine what they were saying. With a blade ready she crept closer to the source of the sound.

Survivors, like Wynne's group? Or…

There were corpses in the room with them. Red pooled on the ground, and one of the four mages standing around them held a bloodied dagger in her hand.

Not survivors, then.

Before Isefel could get any closer to investigate, the mages startled at the sound of Alistiar's clanking armor drawing nearer. Isefel cursed under her breath and withdrew into the shadows as the mages all picked up their staffs and turned, spells building in their hands. She remained undetected, but as the others rounded the corner the group of mages attacked them on sight.

Spells flew only to be denied by Alistair's templar abilities, and for a moment Isefel had a concern for how they were fairing without their mage counter. They had two mages in their group though, and two dwarves who resisted magic, so Isefel pushed away her concerns and leapt from the shadows with her blades bared like fangs.

The mages fell quickly, struck one after another until the last mage—the one carrying the knife, dropped it in a panic and took one of Rosaya's arrows to her abdomen before she could summon magic to defend herself.

"Please…" the mage whimpered, dragging her injured form across the ground away from them. Isefel lowered the tip of her sword to her neck and the woman froze with fear. "Please, don't kill me."

"Did your victims make the same request before you killed them?" Cousland asked, cleaning the blood from his blade as he looked over the mess of their ritual in disgust. "From the looks of things, I think we know what your answer to their plea was."

"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn't mean for this death and destruction." She hung her head in shame, "We were just trying to free ourselves. Uldred told us the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry. You don't know what it was like here. The templars… watching. Always watching. Surely you understand."

The mage sought from her sympathy, understanding, connection. Edmund hadn't told them much about his experience here, and to her that silence told a story enough. But even if it wasn't enough, Isefel had other accounts to base her evaluation of this place on.

"I won't go back. If they come for me, kill me, because I can't go back."

The memory echoed on and Isefel only shook her head. "I'm not here to judge whether what you've done is justified or not. I'm just here to put a stop to it."

With that lifeline of sympathy severed, the mage's shoulders slumped forward and she instead turned to entreat the older enchanter. "We thought… someone always has to take the first step… force a change, no matter the cost."

Wynne shook her head, the disappointment in her eyes somehow more damning than any rage could be. "Nothing is worth what you've done to this place."

The mage laughed miserably, tears now streaming from her eyes. "Now Uldred's gone mad. And we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs…"

"And here you are. Wallowing in self-pity," Cousland said cooly.

"What else can I do? I'm trapped here."

Isefel looked away from the wounded mage to the butchered bodies they'd been standing around on the ground. An adolescent elven man and a mid-aged human woman. Both with sunburst brands and an emptiness in their eyes that pre-dated their deaths.

"So were they."

Isefel made it quick. Quicker than what the bloomages gave their victims, likely. A flash of steel and spurt of blood and the wounded mage lie dead on the ground beside her victims.

Protests from the other erupted behind her.

"She was defenseless!" Leliana cried, "She had surrendered, and you still strike her down?"

"Oh?" Isefel said, turning slowly and flicking the blood off her blade. "And what should I have done instead?"

"She could have made amends for what she did," Rosaya said, also frowning in disapproval. "I don't know, repent, have a second chance to make things right?"

"The Chantry accepts all, regardless of what they've done." Leliana said, looking sadly at the dead woman on the ground.

"You and I know very different Chantries, I think," Alistair shook his head.

"The Chantry makes mages Tranquil," Isefel said flatly. "And unless any of you plan on making Wynne stay silent on the matter, my guess is they would've figured out this woman was involved with Uldred eventually. Her days were numbered either way."

"She gave herself to a dark power and to Uldred's schemes—it is a shame it came to this, but there could be no trusting her words, no matter what she said,'' Wynne said sadly.

"But maybe we could have given her a chance," Rosaya argued. "She could have joined this supposed army we're building and fight against the darkspawn. Wouldn't that be a more purposeful death than just… being struck down on the floor?"

Isefel pulled the arrow from the dead woman and passed it back to the Dalish elf who'd fired it. "It's not so easy when you give them a chance to beg for their lives, is it? Next time, make sure all your shots are killing."

"Come on, we should get moving," Cousland said, hefting his weapon over his shoulder and setting his face something grim. "I have a feeling there'll be a lot more dead mages before this is through."

Unfortunately for the residents of the tower, Cousland's intuition was more often accurate than not.

She continued to check the bodies of elven mages as they passed them. She didn't know what she'd do if she found the face she sought among the dead. Each time she turned a cold face to her Isefel's heart welled with dread she would find familiar silver eyes staring back at her, and each time she failed to find them she failed to be relieved.

What if she was one of them, the blood mages responsible for this? Another question she dreaded receiving an answer for.

If she could find her… if she was even still here… well, she didn't know what would come after that, but surely something.

Or maybe he was here. Her hand tightened around her blades at the thought. He hadn't been with the Knight Commander at the tower's entrance, she'd have seen his face among the templars gathered around them if he was. But that didn't mean he wasn't somewhere else in the tower. He hadn't been at the Chantry in Denerim—and this was the largest congregation of templars in the country.

The odds were more than fair. And what was it that Tathas would always say? A small chance was still a chance?

Isefel winced inwardly and spared a glance back towards Rosaya. The Dalish elf was still determined and on guard of possible threats around them, but there was something in her expression as their eyes met once again that reminded Isefel sharply of a kicked puppy.

She sighed and looked away, bracing her blades in her hands again. She'd need to apologize to Rosaya later. She shouldn't have snapped at her, not when she was only trying to be kind. Not when she was coming off an incredibly vulnerable moment of her own.

Maybe that's why Isefel had slipped on the name, and in that moment last night all she could see in the Dalish was her troublemaker of a cousin. How many nights had she stayed up holding Tathas when night terrors didn't let her rest? Too many to count.

But that was no excuse. Really, the two were nothing alike. Both were clever and strong, but there was a hope and gentleness about Rosaya that had died in Tathas long ago. She saw the value of every life, and though she took it she did not take it recklessly.

It was a brave thing, to be kind in a world this cruel. But as her father often said: the world was not kind to brave elves.

They found the others standing in a long hall that was likely either a lecture hall or a chapel, or possibly both. Statues were toppled and crumbled, reanimated corpses lie on the ground likely torched by the magic of a particular mage, and the rest of their companions stood around a massive suit of armor as it crumbled and fell to pieces on the floor.

"These chucklefucks summoned a demon," Aothor grumbled, wiping a smear of dark ichor off his face as their half of the squad approached and took in the damage. "I think I made it a group rule back in the Wilds that you two were expressly forbidden from summoning demons."

"Oh no, I've been so bad, I should be punished," Liri leaned in and smirked.

"Oh?" Aothor raised a single brow, tapping her arm with his shield as he walked past her. "Fine. You're on latrine duty."

Liri's mouth fell open and she gaped at him. "You monster."

"You asked for it."

"For the record, I did not ask for it." Edmund slowly raised his hand. "Also, that was technically a revenant, not a demon."

"Too bad and don't care. You summon evil things that attack us, you get shit camp chores," Aothor clipped. The troublemaking pair groaned loudly. "Everyone, take five, catch your breath, then we're moving up to the next floor. If you're hurt badly see Wynne about it, otherwise grab a bandage and a potion if you need it."

The break was welcome; they'd been moving pretty fast through a series of encounters with magical enemies. But if they kept pace they should be able to reach the top before the end of the afternoon. It was hard to be here, but at least it would be quick.

The third floor was eerily empty. They split into two teams again to sweep the level aside from a few stray demons, their most frightening thing about it was the silence of it all.

But there were also a lot of important looking offices.

Isefel motioned to the others she was going to scout ahead again and slipped into the shadows, working her way along until she found a room that had to be the First Enchanters. Curious gizmos sat decoratively on pedestals and tables, but most of them looked partly destroyed. Shelves stacked full of books and scrolls lined the walls, though it looked like the space had been ransacked and much of the contents was currently spilled out on the ground. Papers stacked high on a magnificent desk at the back.

If there was any information about Lastara in the tower, it would be here.

She pulled scrolls out and scanned them, trying to find familiar names and dates. The First Enchanter was clearly a thorough record keeper, but she had yet to find what she was looking for and the chaotic mess of the place was not making what she was after any easier to find.

Giving up on the shelves for now, Isefel instead moved to the desk and started searching through the drawers. It was filled with curious odds and ends, some of which were surely magical or valuable, but it wasn't what she was after so she left them alone.

"Huh, didn't think I'd find anyone else in here." Edmund said. Isefel glanced up to see the mage striding in, surprised to see her there but more interested in the contents of the room than her. "What're you doing in Irving's office?"

"Where are the others?" She asked instead of answering the question.

Edmund shrugged, lazily eyeing the contents of the shelves as he passed them by. "Liri found a mage hiding in a closet. They're all having a moment about it; I think she's offering to smuggle drugs for him and Aothor's turning it into a business deal."

"Those two are scary when they work together." Isefel chuckled, shaking her head at the mental image of the exchange. But then she frowned, eyeing the mage carefully. "And you're not usually one to miss out on whatever they get up to. What brings you over here?"

"I'm exercising my library card," he deadpanned, pulling a book off a shelf and flipping through it briefly.

Isefel raised a brow skeptically. "The library is two floors below us."

"Then call it gift shopping. It's not Barnes & Noble, but it'll do." He closed the book and tossed it over his shoulder onto the floor and pulled out another one. He frowned suddenly and sighed in annoyance. "Aw, damn, I never got to use that gift card."

That didn't really make sense to her, but usually not much of what he said ever did. Edmund tossed that book as well and then knelt in front of a locked trunk at the end of the row of shelves. He fiddled with the lock briefly before glancing up at her expectantly.

"Do me a solid and pop the lock?"

Isefel shooed him to the side and readied her tools at the mechanism. "Why would mages use mundane locks?" she wondered aloud as the pins shifted into place and slid open.

"How else do you stop people who have magic from getting into something? Make the magic meaningless. See these runes in place on the lid?" He tapped a finger, tracing the intricate carvings laced across the top. "There's a door down the repository with the same ones. I couldn't cast magic on that chest even if I wanted to. Which means whatever's in there is something they really don't want just anyone getting their hands on."

"And yet you're here, trying to get your hands on it?"

"Well, I'm not just anyone, am I?" He lifted the lid.

Isefel sighed. "No. You certainly are not."

There wasn't much inside the chest. Most it was books, a few jewels, maybe a vial or two of suspicious glowing liquid. Edmund rummaged with the contents for a moment before procuring a dark tome with a tree embossed on the cover.

"Jackpot," he grinned. But the smile disappeared as he looked at it momentarily like it was going to bite him, or he was considering throwing it back in the chest and walking away. Instead he just sighed, shaking his head at himself and tucking the book away in his bag.

Maybe if they were anywhere else Isefel would have misgivings about the already shifty mage getting his hands on what was probably a book of dark secrets. But they were in the Circle, and she had other priorities. If that was going to be a problem later, then it could be dealt with later. Besides, even when Edmund was weird it was often to their benefit.

Isefel moved to resume her search of the desk and her eye caught curiously on a slip of parchment cast carelessly on it's surface.

Written approval for the release of Nira Surana, pending approval of Knight Commander Greagoir — First Enchanter Irving.

She blinked, unsure she'd read right, but even as she rubbed her eye and looked again the script was clear.

Surana. Surana?

Her heart skipped a beat. The first name was unfamiliar to her, but if this was who she thought it was—

"What are you looking for?" Edmund asked, drawing her back out of her thoughts and into reality.

Isefel took a half step away, bracing her weight on the desk and scanning it quickly for anything else related to that note. "Ah. I was just checking if there was anything useful in here. More information about what happened here."

She cringed inwardly as she spoke; the words left her too quickly, and it was surely obvious that there was more going on. And from the look of realization on the mage's face, he knew it too.

"You have family in the tower." Edmund said with the look of a man who was mentally kicking himself. "Shit, I completely forgot, and that was one of the first things we ever talked about. Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's okay. I told you to put it out of your mind, so please, just forget about it," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"It's not okay that I forgot. It's important to you, isn't it?" Edmund insisted. "Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find them. Or find someone who can find them."

Isefel adjusted her eyepatch absently. Was this how he felt? When the others bothered him about things he would really rather not talk about? If so, then he had her most genuine sympathies.

"My aunt. Lastara. She was my mother's twin, they were inseparable, she helped raise me, and… well." Isefel said as she relented. Better to give him something than have him try and snoop into her affairs of his own accord. "They took her for the last time over fifteen years ago. I just… I want to know what happened to her. I thought there might be some records in here that would help."

And there were. Just not records that helped find Lastara. This Nira, though…

"We could ask Irving about it once we rescue him," Edmund offered. "He'll owe us at least a few favors, after all this."

"It doesn't matter. There's nothing here." Isefel said, deftly slipping the parchment from the table and pocketing it without the mage noticing. This was her problem, her burden—she wouldn't let it be anyone else's. She could carry it fine on her own. "So, please… just forget about it."

"Too late. I think I've just unlocked your personal quest, no way that's getting skipped over." Edmund said with an annoying sort of resoluteness.

"I miss talking to normal people," Isefel said tiredly. "Let's just join up with the others, they've probably cleared the rest of the floor by now."

Her assumption was correct. They joined the others at the base of the stairwell, after they'd apparently had to put down a mad templar controlled by a demon of desire while she and Edmund had been investigating in the office.

"Oh hey, before we advance any further, Wardens & Co. group meeting really quick." Edmund said.

They all groaned, because that was a sentence that was quickly becoming synonymous with "we're about to walk into a giant shitstorm."

"Okay, what is it this time?" Alistair asked, stretching out a shoulder to to get rid of some lingering soreness. "More psycho bloodmages? Angry abominations? A dragon?"

Edmund laughed and shook his head. "No. Well, yes, there's a dragon later I think. Technically a drake. But that's not the point."

Everyone groaned again.

"We're not splitting up, this time," Edmund said as they gathered at the base of the stairwell. "On the next floor there's a powerful demon of sloth, and we need to stay together."

"How powerful are we talking here?" Cousland asked, arms crossed in front of himself.

"Powerful enough to put us all to sleep and drain our life force," Edmund said, all humor fading from him in an instant. "We can try and kill it before it puts us under—between Alistair, Morrigan, Wynne and I, along with the rest of you, we might even have a decent shot at it. But I wouldn't count on it."

"So if it puts us to sleep and kills us, what are we supposed to do?" Liri asked.

Edmund looked them all over carefully, something calculating in his eyes that reminded Isefel that as much as he was weird but generally harmless, he was potentially the most dangerous one among them.

"It's going to trap us in dreams. It's going to seem real, so real you won't be able to—or won't want to—wake up," he said lowly. "So stay on guard, keep fighting, and no matter who or what you see… remember that none of it is real."

"Sound wisdom," Wynne nodded determinedly.

Edmund shrugged once more, casual demeanor returning almost instantly. "Of course, if we can kill it before it puts us to sleep, then none of that will matter and we'll get to skip right on by all that. So how's that for motivation, eh?"

He said the words with confidence, but Isefel could see he didn't really believe it. They would be doing this the hard way—just like always.

And as life often did, it proved the mage right. The demon of sloth awaited them on the fourth floor. It looked like an abomination, but somehow more grotesque, and it towered over them from it's place on the dias in the center of the chamber.

"Oh, look. Visitors," The demon drifted eerily in place, tiredly waving a hand and deflecting the arrows and spells flung at it with power of it's own. Even as they raised their blades to it, it spoke slow and slurred. "I'd entertain you, but… too much effort involved."

"Kill it, quick!" Edmund shouted.

Isefel threw one of her daggers, but her hand felt so heavy the movement died halfway and the blade fell to the floor harmlessly at the demon's feet. Try as she might, she just… didn't have the strength…

"But why?" The demon said, words stretched as it all but yawned. "Aren't you tired of all the violence in this world? I know I am. Wouldn't you like to just lay down and… forget about all this? Leave it all behind?"

"Fight it… don't… give in…" Aothor struggled with the words, already dropped to one knee by the demon's power and the rest of them weren't far behind.

Isefel blinked—since when was she down on all fours? She grabbed another blade and drug herself forward but stumbled over something and lost her momentum. No, not something, someone. An elven circle mage with fair hair was spilled at the feet of the demon before her, lying completely still on the cold stone.

"Why do you fight? The world will go on without you… you deserve to rest…"

No. That was a lie. Rest was a luxury she'd never had and never would.

But even still… she couldn't keep… her eyes… open…

…