Ten felt a bit bad, taking the dog away from the kids, but having been recently reminded quite starkly of her physical inadequacies as a warrior, she felt much better having the enormous hound by her side as they burst through whatever magical barrier Wynne had been holding up between them and the rest of the tower.

"So what, exactly, is going on here?" asked Ten, "I heard word of a blood mage rebellion, which I have recently learned is a bad thing."

Wynne sighed, "They're not wrong. Per se. Just young and reckless. You young people see injustice where the rest of us have resigned ourselves to it, which is admirable, but you have no idea what to do about it."

"Oh I have a few ideas," Ten said.

"See, that there, that's what I'm talking about," said Wynne, "You've probably marched off to get yourself killed on more than one occasion for truth, justice, and liberty, and it's only pure luck that it hasn't happened yet."

Ten, knowing that the mage had a point, shut her mouth.

"Wait, wait, wait," Alistair protested, "Why did they think they could save the world with that?"

"It's the one thing the templars have absolutely no defense against," said Wynne, "To say nothing of more conventional mages. It was an act of desperation, for some of them. Probably megalomania for others."

"But… but it's blood magic. Only the worst thing. It's dangerous!"

The mage fixed him with a sharp brown gaze, "Nobody said it wasn't. What is your deal, lad?"

"He's a recovering templar," said Ten, "Don't worry, he's not going to gas anyone. Right, Alistair?"

"Of course not, Missus. I'm sorry for alarming you," said Alistair, "You have more to worry about from the dog in that department."

Pigeon made a noise that sounded a lot like "Hey!" and went to go piss in the corner.

"Ohhh, I remember you. Impertinent little thing," Wynne declared derisively. She turned to Ten, "He was here all of three weeks. Thought he was dreadfully funny, stealing all the templars' skivvies, hiding them in the Chamber of Harrowing up top. They all went commando for months, complaining the whole time, until the next mage was ready for the trial."

"How old were you for that one?" Ten asked.

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, "Twenty-two."

Ten stifled a giggle, trying at first to make it sound like a cough, and then a sneeze, and failed at both.

"You were not called upon to heal the chafing," Wynne admonished.

"So, what, was the plan just to have the whole tower overrun with demons and that would somehow accomplish…. what?" Alistair asked, changing the subject.

"I'm sure some thought that they could unleash the very worst the Fade has to offer and escape in the process. Others likely thought that they could use this ill-gotten power to take over, wrest control of the tower from the templars, and become a dominant faction in their own right," Wynne said, "A handful have already absconded in the chaos. The blood mage faction recruited whom they could, exterminated whom they couldn't. Some of the journeymen went to the archives on the third floor to see if there was any ancient magic that could help, while we we escaped with the wee one. You might know one of them, a journeyman mage named Niall, about your age, who had also fought at Ostagar. Did you ever run across him?"

"I don't remember any mages…. Wait, did he come out of the battle with about two dozen holes in his chest?" asked Ten.

"Why, yes," Wynne said, "I found him in the morning, he wasn't in great shape, but he hadn't bled out. He did say a Grey Warden medic had stopped the bleeding, bandaged him up. Was that you?"

"Yeah, that was me," said Ten, "Where is he now?"

"I haven't seen him. We split up when we realized there was no way to protect the children if we didn't hole up somewhere, and I was the only one with the wherewithal to construct that barrier," said Wynne. It struck Ten at that moment that Wynne had a good twenty years on any of the other mages she'd seen. Maybe they tend to die young as well.

"You know, it strikes me that it is awfully quiet in here," Alistair observed, "I see empty dormitories."

"Well, if you were a templar, then you know how demons operate," said Wynne, "I wouldn't doubt that more than a few of my companions are in thrall as we speak. Templars as well."

"So do we know where exactly the issue is coming from?" asked Ten.

"Knowing mage logic," said Wynne, "Probably the very top."

"Where the window blew out," Ten said, "Great. Fiery explosions. Who needs eyebrows, anyway."

"Fiery explosions means there's still someone up there to fight," said Wynne.

"Well then," said Alistair, "Guess we're running up another tower to our certain doom."

"I'll try not to put on that pincushion costume again," sighed Ten.

"Yeah, I doubt a witch of the wilds is going to do her little dea ex machina trick twice."

"You good with stairs, Wynne?" asked Ten.

"I can't tell if that was genuine concern or mockery," the mage said.

"The former," said Ten.

Wynne narrowed her eyes, and rushed ahead of them, taking the stairs two at a time as spryly as a girl half her age. "Do try to keep up." She proceeded to run ahead of them the entire way up, occasionally stopping to taunt them. It was all eerily silent, and no corpses were strewn about, though they didn't stop to inspect whatever rooms lay beyond the stairwell. As they reached the third floor, there was no cabal of maleficars waiting for them. Only a large, bare atrium with high ceilings and statues all around and… the mage from the Tower of Ishaal, sprawled out on the ground, breathing, but only barely.

"There's nothing I can do for him," said Wynne, who had rushed to his side and examined his face, "He's in thrall."

"To what?" asked Ten, "I don't see any of those creepy fire things around. What, exactly…"

Aren't you tired?

It sounded like the voice in her head she heard, not infrequently, that she was usually pretty sure was just her own mind cranking overtime. But this time, it probably… definitely… wasn't.

After all you have sacrificed, what has it gotten you?

She looked around. Nothing, but saw that Wynne and Alistair had started casting about. Evidently their own inner monologues had turned on them as well.

You have abandoned those who love you.

"It's a demon," said Wynne, "Don't listen to it!"

Wouldn't it be nicer if you could just… go back?

"If you fall asleep we're done for!" the elder mage cried, but her voice was going ragged around the edges with fatigue.

Aren't you tired?

Ten awoke with a start, sitting straight up. Gasping, she got ahold of her breath and heart rate.

"What is it, love, you have a nightmare?"

She looked over to see Nelaros beside her, as he always was, having commandeered half of the bed she had once slept in alone. He was propped up on one elbow, looking at her with concern in his eyes. The terror from the very dark and very vivid dreams she'd had had not quite left her breast. Must have been something I ate.

"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What, I thought that was one of the privileges of matrimony," he protested, "You get to watch the most beautiful woman in the world snore, drool, and talk in her sleep."

"Someone really should have warned me about that," grumbled Ten, "What time is it?" The light coming in the windows of her apartment was always a little dimmed from the buildings surrounding it.

"Almost seven. Didn't want to wake you, you had such trouble drifting off last night."

"I'm used to being tired."

"I know, that's not a good thing," Nelaros said, "You need to take better care of yourself." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, and got up, turning his back to her to get dressed.

"I've never been good at that," said Ten. She rose and went to put on her own clothes. Her favorite dress with the flowers and matching kerchief, all in a creamy blue. Shianni always said it didn't match her skin tone, but she liked it anyway. She laced herself up tight, enough to show a little cleavage to the customers who were inclined to spend more when they saw such a thing, but not enough to give them the wrong idea.

What is today? What do I have to do? Do I have any meetings? Was I plotting something? Or is it just a tend-the-shop sort of day?

"I admit I'm a bit jumbled," said Ten, "Did I tell you what I was doing today? Like anything important?"

"Nothing you mentioned to me," he said.

"And what are you up to?"

"Your uncle finally relented and is letting me set up at his forge," he said, "Which is good, because I, your humblest goldsmith, have gotten an order from the Arl himself! Guess he liked those bangles I put on the Arlessa's lady's maid."

"Guess he likes the Arlessa's lady's maid," Ten muttered.

"Well, either way, I quoted him an absolutely ludicrous price as a joke, and he agreed! Just like that! If this keeps up, we'll have our own place sooner rather than later."

"I like living with Shianni," Ten protested, "Got to keep an eye on her, after all."

"I don't think she appreciates us living here," Nelaros said, chuckling, "The walls being thin as they are."

Ten smirked, "All right. Well get your commission first and then we can worry about moving out. Then I suppose as the matriarch of the family I'll have to go about finding Shianni her own husband so she can scandalize the neighbors."

"Matriarch!" he exclaimed, "Does that mean you've come around on the dozen fat babies?"

"I never said no to that," she protested, "Just, not here."

"Well all the more reason to find another apartment!" he exclaimed.

"First things first," she said.

"Oh come on, they'll be so cute!" he exclaimed, "Of course they'll all look like me. They can have your curls though. Come on. Little babies on their little chubby legs running around with little bouncing curls. Don't tell me that wouldn't be just the most adorable thing."

"Sure, they're cute for a few years, then they'll be running the streets, getting in trouble, stressing us out!"

"Ah, that's why your dad is fully gray and not yet fifty."

"Oh you have no idea," said Ten, "The things I put that poor man through."

"Well it'll be payback for him, then. Ah, shit. Ten, I've buttoned myself the wrong way round, can you help me out here?"

"Me being here is not an excuse to forget all the things you learned when you were a toddler, love," she said.

"I know, but I like it when you do it."

She sighed, chuckling. It was probably going to become very annoying if he kept it up, but it had, after all, only been about a month and a half, and they were getting along so well she didn't want to spoil it by putting her foot down yet. She took hold of his shirt and, aligning the buttons at his throat, began fastening them, one by one.

She wasn't quite sure what happened then. There was a shift in the light, the air. She looked at her hands, on his shirt, and they were covered with blood. And the blood was his, flowing from a gaping wound in his chest. She jumped back, uttering a little shriek, covering her mouth.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked again and the blood was gone. Her hands, clamped tightly over her own mouth, were clean.

"Nothing," she said, "Something just reminded me of that nightmare."

"Well no worries on that account, I think I can figure it out."

"No," she said, "Let me."

She buttoned his shirt, her hands shaking, to be sure that whatever had just happened was just her maybe going a little bit off the deep end.

"There, all better," she said, running a hand through his hair.

"All right then, love, best get to it. I'll be down the street if you miss me, back before sunset." He gave her a peck on the mouth, and walked out of the door.

She went to the rat trap in the corner and found it full, of course. If there was one thing Denerim - and particularly the Alienage - never ran short of, it was rats. The Reverend Mother was going to have a fine breakfast. She dropped the tiny corpses unceremoniously in her cage, made a kissing noise at the black snake, and went to gather her things for work.

She went to the closet by the door where she kept the stock for her stall in a wheeled crate with a handle. She grabbed it and wheeled the awkward burden along the uneven streets to her stall. She put out the sample bottles that Shianni, who had always had better handwriting, had labeled. Where is Shianni, anyway?

And she stood there, nodding good morning to neighbors, waving to the Sergeant of the Guard, Enerys Welfeth, with whom she was fairly friendly, who always stopped by for a smoke and a chat. Something felt off, something in the light, like the sun was sitting too low in the sky for high summer. The wind was coming stiffly off the river, but the clouds were not moving. She checked a few times. They just sort of hung there. It's nothing. You're just out of sorts. You haven't been sleeping. Maybe you're already with child! How long has it been since you last bled?

She was contemplating closing up for ten minutes and going to grab something to eat at the baker's when a strange human man walked up to her stall. She immediately averted her eyes, and steeled herself.

"How can I help you?" she asked, eyes on the ground.

"Ten. You need to wake up."

"Do you need something to keep you awake?" she asked, not entirely understanding the statement, "I have a tincture that'll keep you up all night and the full day after. Tends to give you a headache, though." How does this shem know my name? Must be by reputation.

"No, you. You need to wake up."

"Ser I don't understand what you're saying." She glanced furtively over to Enerys, who was standing outside the sentry box, entirely unperturbed.

Wasn't there another sergeant? Or two? Did she really replace Kitheril? Of course she did. She's standing there now. Doing nothing. Useless coppers.

"Look, I know you don't recognize me, apparently you won't even look me in the face, but I know you. You're Teneira Tabris of the Denerim Alienage. You're a Grey Warden. And right now, you're passed out, a demon causing all of this, and you need to snap out of it."

"It's Kirianis," she said, "If you knew me, you would know that Tabris was my maiden name, which I have not used in more than a month."

"Well… shit, this is just way sadder than I was prepared for. I am so sorry, but it's not. You're still Teneira Tabris. And if you don't pull yourself together, you're going to be stuck here for good and you'll just waste away. Just think for a moment. How did you get here?"

What did I do yesterday? Why didn't I know what was happening this morning?

She started packing up her bottles to close and get something to eat, but her hands were shaking. "Look, Ser, there are fine alchemists in the Market District, I'd be glad to give you a recommendation, but you are going to have to leave."

Why isn't everyone noticing this? Nobody's saying anything. Someone should at least have eyes on him, they always do when one of them comes here. Where's Soris? Where's Uncle Cedrin with his blacksmith's hammer? And where the hell is Shianni?

"Teneira, you know I'm telling the truth," the human said, stepping closer. She flinched.

"Please, Ser. Leave me alone. I'm closing up. There's nothing for you here."

"Ten, you can't…"

"Leave me alone!" She left her things and bolted, gathering her skirts in one hand and sprinting up the street to her uncle's forge. She slammed the heavy roughhewn door behind her and bolted it.

Nelaros, who was at a corner, crouched at the forge with tongs and crucible in hand, looked up at her in surprise. He left it there, and rose, looking at her. To her horror, she could see that there was the hilt of a sword sticking out from beneath his sternum. She covered her mouth again. It didn't appear to bother him in the slightest. "What is it?" he asked, "You look frightened! What happened?"

She closed her eyes. Counted to three. She opened them again. Nothing changed. I can't unsee it now that I've seen it. The stranger was right. Something is wrong.

"Ten, are you all right?" he asked, but blood had begun to seep out around the blade in his breast. He rushed up to her, taking her in his arms, spattering blood over her blue dress.

"Love, I'm afraid this isn't real," she said, stepping back so the hilt wouldn't touch her, taking his face in her hands.

"No, this is real. You're my wife. You can't… you can't just say things like that," he demanded, gripping her shoulders so tight it almost hurt.

He asked me to tell his father he didn't die on his knees.

"I think you're dead, Nelaros."

"Ten, don't do this to me," he said. The flow of blood from his chest became a spray, completely soaking her clothes, "Don't do this to me again."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I know it was my fault. And I'm so sorry."

He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes miserable. Then he nodded, kissed her forehead again. She reached down and took the sword from his breast. He collapsed on the ground, his body crumbling into ashes before her eyes. She dropped the blade on the ground, let her face crumple, the anguish reaching up from her throat, and she sat with her back to the door, her head between her knees.

She didn't know how long she sat there, it seemed time had stopped, but eventually she looked up, and the forge, the street outside, the wall outside that, her blue dress, were gone. She was wearing padded leather armor, her hair up, the sun was still too low in the sky, the clouds still did not move, but the ground below her was soft and spongy, rising into stark canyon walls around her. It was familiar though. She was back where she'd been… when?

And then she remembered the Battle at Ostagar.

And then she remembered exactly what had happened to Nelaros, so soon after the wedding that she had never gone by his name.

And then she remembered Lothering, and Redcliffe, and … damn it all.