Cyrus leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His workshop was only barely big enough for the four people in it, but part of that might have been because Leon was one of them. Zahra and Romulus were also present, the three of them being Asala's choices to aid her in her endeavors. As far as he knew, she had told them that she needed their help in something relating to her attempts to better her skills at healing. He would have to do the rest.
The spirit was on the finicky side, which just figured, but it also had a more definite shape and personality than many of its kin, which would be of great help to Asala in the learning process, if she could prove herself to it. Something which it seemed he was now partially responsible for trying to ensure.
He cleared his throat softly. âThank you for coming. No doubt it has struck you that Asala is not present, despite being the one to ask you here. That is quite intentional." Cyrus crossed one of his legs in front of the other. âWhat she is about to undergo is a trial, of sorts. A test, laid out by a spirit that she'll be forming a bond with, if successful. All of you will have a part in that, as well, and it's important that she not know what that part is." He paused a moment to let that sink in. âSo first I must ask: are you willing to deceive her for a short period of time, for the purpose of the trial? No one will be in any danger from the deception, but I am aware that she is rather... endeared, to you, and you may not want to participate for that reason."
Leon looked immediately uncomfortable, but he didn't decline. Instead, he shifted a bit in his chair and tipped his head to the side. âWhat, exactly, are we to deceive her about?" The question was delivered with careful neutrality.
âThe level of danger." Cyrus pressed his lips into a line momentarily, then elaborated. âShe is going to believe that we are fighting demons. In fact, we will be fighting illusions that are made to look like demons. The crucial element of the trial is that she continue to believe they are as they appear. Equally important is that she be the one to decide what becomes of them. That is, she decides whether or not to 'kill' them, and we do as she asks. None of us will be at any risk, but she needs to think we are."
Romulus looked thoughtful, and certainly not comfortable, but that was not a new phenomenon for him. He stood rather than sat, hovering somewhere near the door. "If there is no danger to her if she fails the trial, I'm willing to deceive her."
âThere isn't." Cyrus confirmed it with a half-smile. Of course, the trial was posed by a Compassion spiritâthe very idea of putting the subject of the trial in actual peril was likely anathema to it. But of course, such knowledge was elusive; he certainly didn't expect Asala would think about it quite that way in any case.
Zahraâs look was one of reproach, though⊠she clearly understood that this was important to Asala and Cyrus both. Itâs why sheâd come, after all. Sheâd taken a spot beside Leonâs chair and had her hands planted on her hips. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she studied Cyrus for a moment, âWell, as long as sheâs safe. Iâm game then.â
Cyrus nodded slowly. âAll right then. The rest of this is quite easy, for you. All you have to do is go to sleep as normal tonight. I will link everyone's dreams, and we'll proceed from there to the spirit." At that point, Asala would receive her task, and the deception itself would begin.
It was around two hours after midnight that Cyrus allowed himself to slip into the Fade, dozing in one of the chairs in his workshop. He'd told everyone else to be asleep by then, naturally or otherwise. As soon as he was there, he took a moment, extending his senses to feel out the dreams in Skyhold. There were hundreds of them, but it wasn't too difficult to find the ones he wanted. The commander was closest this evening, so he struck off in that direction first.
The Fade around him began to shift almost as soon as he decided what he was seeking. It rippled, turning a healthier shade of green, the ground blanketing itself in jade-hued grass. A soft dirt footpath spread beneath the dreamer's feet, almost as if inviting him forward. White-wood gazebos and planter boxes sat in orderly rows in front of a modest home made of the same, each host to little plant-shoots. Herbs and vegetables, from the look of it.
In front of the house itself, a bare patch of grass played host to a pair of young children, both platinum-blonde, with eyes of pale violet. The little girl chased the older boy with a toy sword made of polished wood, both of them laughing, the sound twining with some unseen breeze and the rustle of leaves into a subtle song, light and silvery on the ears. Sitting in a sturdy wooden chair, more relaxed than Cyrus had ever seen him in life, was an unarmored Leon, garbed simply in a loose white shirt and tan breeches. A pipe rested in his mouth, fragrant smoke curling into the air to be carried away on the wind. He looked older, perhaps in his forties, but Cyrus could see the true Leon underneath it as well, a strange double-image.
The older man's hands were bare, his scars long healed over until they had almost disappeared. He did not seem to notice Cyrus at first, his attention split between the worn book in his hands and the children running about the yard.
He'd always suspected the commander would prefer a life of this kind. It was obviously not something that had already come to pass, based on Leon's own appearance. But though he could have made a snarky quip about the domestic life, he held his tongue. Even to him, there was something about it that was... he sighed under his breath. The hazy halcyon filter over the scene was as much a product of Leon as anything. Cyrus was filled with a sort of warmth utterly foreign to him. Well, noânot quite foreign. Sometimes, in Estella's company, he felt thus. When nothing else was complicating matters.
âLeon." He said it softly, omitting the other man's title. Even to Cyrus, it was clear he was not a commander here. Nor a seeker, for that matter.
That drew his attention, both the commander and the middle-aged man that overlaid his image turning towards the source of the voice. It took a second for recognition to spark in his eyes, but it did, almost immediately. The light level seemed to dim a few notches in the same moment. He removed the pipe from his mouth, lowering his hand to the armrest of the chair. âAh. Cyrus." He smiled slightly, but it was a little sad. âMay I have a few more moments, before we go? I don't get this one often." His gaze shifted to the children.
Cyrus nodded, perhaps needlessly. The commander's clearheadedness extended even here, it seemed. Some people had much more difficulty realizing that a dream was a dream. With a thought, he produced a second chair next to Leon's and took it. His own familiar pipe was in his hands a moment later, and he lit it with a flame over his fingertip, sitting back and inhaling deeply. He exhaled through his nose, gesturing to the kids with his chin.
âAre they yours?"
âI would that they were," Leon admitted, his tone fond. âEven my dreams can't ever quite conjure the faces of my own children. Nor a mother for them. Perhaps even I find that too unbelievable." His smile was a little self-deprecating. âMy niece and nephew, when last I saw them. My brother Gerwulf's. Cristofer and Alarica." Not unexpectedly, the children continued to chase each other around as though the adults weren't present at all. Already the world around them was slowly dissolving, returning to the Fade-realm it was underneath.
Abruptly, Alarica turned, flouncing over to them and reaching out a hand. Leon lifted his to meet it, scoffing softly under his breath when the touch went right through her fading form. She and her brother vanished, leaving Cyrus and Leon standing alone on yellowed-brown Fade dirt.
âShall we go, then?"
Cyrus cleared his throat. He'd seen all kinds of dreams before, but... rarely did he intrude on those of living people. Especially not people he knew. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Let's."
The Fade rippled and shifted around them as they stepped away from Leonâs dream space. The remnants of greenery dropped away like a velvet curtain to reveal a starker image. It bloomed into the interior of a home, stacking up wooden walls to form a large living room. One that might have belonged to someone who lavished in wealth, of what Zahra might have perceived to be Tevinter decorum. The colors were vibrant: painfully so. Absent was the feeling of serene repose. Instead, there was a pervasive sense of dread.
There was an unnatural silence settling among the extravagant furniture like an unwanted audience. Every other noise sounded augmented. Impossibly so. The rattling of a door handle, and the stomping of approaching footsteps. One sounded much softer, slighter by far. The other was much more aggressive, stomping rather than walkingâchasing at the smaller steps. The furthest door burst open and slammed against the adjacent wall, nearly clattering against the diminutive woman who was pushing her way into the room.
She appeared smaller than Cyrus or Leon remembered. Both in spirit and physical stature. A younger image of Zahra, reflected against herself: dripping in gold and rubies, eyes cast down and shoulders bunched. There was an anger there, resonating in the furrow of her brows. Her hair was bound in an unusual fashion. No longer wild and free. She wore an equally unusual dress, imprinted with fish. It was ripped and frayed at the edges, tattered and stained with mud.
The second personâman⊠entered only seconds after her, grappling at her slender shoulders, fingers digging and turning her around to face him. Dark-haired and handsome, if his face wasnât contorted. Betrayal dripped from his eyes as he shook her, gripping her chin and holding her in place, âFasta vass.â
She cowed under him, eyes watery and mouth pinched. Though she said nothing.
âYou abandoned me, you bitch. Me.â He drew her face closer to his, still pinched between his fingers, before exhaling sharply through his nose. There was a feral look that shifted and pulsed across his face, as if there was a double-image of a much more placid man underneath. âThat was a mistake. One youâll regret.â
Cyrus had considerably less trouble interrupting this. "Zahra. Captain Tavish. Yours is the power, here." He gave her title the emphasis quite on purpose, crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him, Leon scowled and mimicked his body language.
âCaptain?â It was the first sound Zahra had made so far. Confusion tinged her words, as if she werenât quite sure what to make of it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, which were still bound in the manâs handâthough not for long. The man growled and shoved at her hard, causing her to trip up on her dress and fall onto her side.
He took a step forward and smothered the hem of her dress under his dirty boots, eyes glowering towards the interrupters, âWho the hell are you?â A sneer curled on his lips as he turned his attention down at Zahra, âIs this how you repay me? Whoring yourself out to whoever would take you?â A hand feathered over the pommel of a blade, hanging at his hip. Whether he was too much of a coward to actually use it, he didnât immediately pull it free.
There was a moment of silence that stretched between them before Zahra shifted at his feet. She moved a hand across the surface of the floor and appeared as if she were trying to regain her feet. A cold, curt laugh cut through as he ground the heel of his boot into her fingers, causing her to cry out, "She is mine. You understand? Mine to do as I wish. Get out, now. Before I call the guards."
Cyrus made a sound approaching disgust. Most of the people he knew treated their slaves better than this, and that was quite the low bar to be using. "Commander, if you would be so kind as to keep this rancid pustule out of our way?" He smiled sharply at the man in question then stepped around him, crouching in front of Zahra, though at a respectable distance, draping his arms on his knees.
âWith pleasure," Leon rumbled, one hand reaching out to take hold of the man's collar. He bodily lifted him off the ground, and consequently off Zahra's fingers, walking them both out of the room with an even, unhurried stride.
"Now what's all this?" Cyrus tilted his head at Zahra. "You've never struck me as the type to let some fool tell you what to do, Captain. You'd have stuck an arrow in his eye, no? That sounds more like you, don't you think?" He supposed he could force the dream to vanish, but there was a grain of truth in his words. He didn't think she needed rescuing from this, not really. She was more than capable of taking hold of the dream herself, if she could recognize it for what it was.
A trembling sigh sounded as the pressured released from Zahraâs fingers, which she snapped up and held tight to her chest. She hadnât tried to stand once more, though sheâd turned to regard the man in front of her. There was the briefest flash of recognition, as if a veil was being pulled off her face. It took her a moment before she wiped at her red-rimmed eyes with her palms, knuckling the tears away.
âCyrus,â spoken against her fingers, which she dropped back down to her lap. A laugh crooked its way out of her throat. Self-inflictive and bitter. In that moment she looked much more like herself. Bedraggled hair and all. âYouâre right. I would have.â She blinked once more, warding the last remnants of something away before looking down at her dress.
âI was hoping youâd of walked in on a much different dream. A brothel orââ she shook her head and kicked at her dress with her bare feet. She stared at it a moment longer before swinging her gaze back to Cyrus, holding one of her hands out, âHelp me up?â
"Admittedly, I also would have found the brothel dream more pleasant. Though I wonder about the Commander." That was an entertaining thought, actually. He smiled broadly at her and clasped her hand in his left, rising to his feet and helping her to hers. Leon entered again; no doubt the fellow had faded out. The rest of the dream followed, and he fixed his attention on the direction he could sense Romulus, leading them down another Fade-path.
"Two down, two to do, I suppose."
The Fade next gave way to a dark city at night. Dark mostly because the towers, spires, and lesser buildings on all sides of them were indistinct, shadowy shapes. Unimportant, irrelevant. The general shape, though... Cyrus did not have to strain to figure it out. Minrathous, and not a particularly desirable part of it. Every city had its underbelly, and they were standing in this one. More shadowy forms passed them by, paying them no mind, going about their imagined days. Before them was the only well-defined building. A blocky-shaped tavern, warm light flooding out from the inside. It was no Herald's Rest, that was certain, but it didn't lack for personality.
There was little to do but head inside. The room inside the front door was a bland entryway more akin to a closet than anything, and they were immediately drawn to the light and noise and heat emanating from downstairs. A few shadows of shapes passed them on the way down, slowly starting to form faces. Wisps of memory, people that were only vaguely remembered. They headed down the stairs into the tavern proper.
A heavy warmth greeted them, along with ceaseless, jovial noise, punctuated by the odd bit of drunken anger. It was more akin to a basement than a proper place of drinking and socializing, but the people made do. The patrons of the establishment were humans and elves. One Qunari who sat in the corner, keeping to himself and drinking away. All of them, the dregs of Tevinter society. The lowliest of swill drinks for the lowliest of servants and slaves that had saved or stolen enough coin to pay for it. There was one notable exception, however.
Khari sat at the bar, her bastard sword displayed proudly across her back, and prompting everyone nearby to give her a good deal of room. That said, she was commanding attention with a story. No matter how closely they listened, they couldn't make out any of the words. The only thing that seemed relevant was how clear and in focus she was, dressed in her cobbled-together armor she'd worn all the way back in Haven. The clearer voices came from the opposite corner of the tavern from the Qunari. At a table where two men sat.
"I've taken care of everything, Rom. C's never gonna know. C'mon, man, it was a lot of trouble and you're just sitting there." This came from a young, boyish looking elf, with shaggy, dirty blonde hair and dark green eyes. He didn't sit still in his chair for more than a few seconds at a time.
"She always finds out," Romulus answered. By contrast, he wasn't moving at all, just sitting perfectly still, a near empty tankard held loosely in one hand. "And besides, what am I supposed to say?"
The young elf made a pfft sound in disapproval. "How about, 'hi, I'm Rom, the Herald of fucking Andraste and the man who walked the Fade, twice. Please follow me to the place my best friend secured for the night so we can work on our wrestling?'"
Romulus slowly turned his head to look at the elf. "You're an idiot, Brand." The elf shrugged, not bothered in the slightest.
"That may be, but sometimes idiotic ideas can lead to very good things. In this case... tender sexy times with the fiery elf girl." He admired her from afar. "Rom, her sword is way bigger than yours."
A snort sounded at Cyrusâs right side. Hidden behind one of Zahraâs hands. Perhaps, a poor attempt to smother it back in. Whatever plights sheâd faced only moments ago seemed to sizzle away into a glowering smile, eyes luminous in the dank lantern light. She appeared to be drinking in her surroundings with interest. It didnât take her long to take actionâone she hadnât discussed with the others, because she was already elbowing her way to Româs table.
She plopped down into the empty seat to Româs left and draped an arm around his shoulder. She arched an eyebrow at him and crooked her chin towards Khari, âI couldnât help but overhear you talking about my good friend over there.â There was an allowance of silence, stretched between them for dramatic effect. She spared the elf a glance, then released Româs shoulder. âSheâs rather captivated by men with balâcourage, you see. So, Iâd say if you wanted the chance, youâd have to march right up to her.â
Another grin lit up her dusky features, âand challenge her to a sparring match. Or offer her food. That seems to work.â
About halfway through Zahra's first sentence was when Romulus first seemed to comprehend what the situation was. His lips contorted to start with, and he sort of stared blankly down towards the table while he waited for her to finish. Eventually he started nodding, having come to acceptance of what had just happened.
"Oh ho," the elf said, grinning at Zahra. "I like the way this one thinks. But come to think of it, you can't be too subtle, right? She's thicker than her sword when it comes to this. Just man up and say it. That'll go well, right?"
Romulus's eyes found Cyrus. "I don't suppose you could just make us all forget this ever happened?"
Zahra patted him on the back and leaned in to whisper, âI will not.â
"Alas. Memory modification is not within my repertoire. But the sooner we leave, the sooner something else might distract our dear Captain here." Cyrus knew he didn't sound very apologetic, but the suggestion at least was genuine. They needed to find Asala herself next, and get this event properly underway.
The Fade shimmered and fizzled out, and once it reformed they were presented with an exceptional horizon. The ocean stretched out in front of them as far as the eye could see. The sand of the beach shifted gently beneath their feet, and palm trees rustled on either side of them. In spite of the wind blowing on the palms, the oceans waters were both unnaturally still and clear, giving it a serene crystalline blue appearance. A quirk of the Fade, no doubt.
The scenic view was not the reason they were there however, that would be because of a Qunari woman who stood ankle deep in its waters. Or rather, in this case, Qunari girl was the more apt phrase. She lacked her usual height, her budding horns barely even reaching Cyrus's waist. This Asala couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve at the most. Notably, she wasn't alone. Beside her another Qunari child knelt, half of him submerged in the crystal waters. This child possessed the same hair color as Asala, and recognition would reveal him to be Asala's late brother, Meraad.
They were giggling, or rather, Asala was while Meraad attempted to do something in the water. A moment later, and a boat created from ice from the water. Well, it had a general approximation boat shape, but possessed no refinement. It floated though, and that as enough to make the young Asala coo with awe.
A moment later, a barrier formed behind it, clearly of Asala's make. It had her signature color, but it too was rough around the edges and shimmered unpredictably. It was enough however to gently guide the ice boat out to sea. Once a suitable distance, Meraad finally stood and crossed his arms, seeming rather proud of the boat... Until he turned toward Asala, revealing that it was her that he was proud of. She turned to him as well, a large smile on her youthful face before she leaned over and playfully jostled him with her shoulder.
Cyrus smiled, shaking his head slightly. It wasn't his memory, nor his dream, but it felt more like ones he'd had than any of the rest. He was almost loath to interrupt, but he supposed he could rebuild the dream for her later, if she liked. "Asala. It's time to go."
"Cyrus?" she asked, even her voice carrying a youthful inflection. "What..." she began to ask before she stopped herself. Her eyes closed, giving them all a clear view of the spattering of freckles across her face before she sighed and nodded, slipping into understanding herself. She turned toward the vision of Meraad, as her gaze either expectant or asking--it was difficult to tell. In answer, Meraad smiled widely and nodded vigorously before eagerly tilting his head toward Cyrus and the others. "Go ahead, it will be an adventure!" he urged, making Asala smile before she began to giggle again.
"Well... I don't think he's wrong." But the adventure still lay ahead. At least he could take them to the spirit's domain now.
What happened afterwards would no longer be any of his doing. As it should be.
The spirit was on the finicky side, which just figured, but it also had a more definite shape and personality than many of its kin, which would be of great help to Asala in the learning process, if she could prove herself to it. Something which it seemed he was now partially responsible for trying to ensure.
He cleared his throat softly. âThank you for coming. No doubt it has struck you that Asala is not present, despite being the one to ask you here. That is quite intentional." Cyrus crossed one of his legs in front of the other. âWhat she is about to undergo is a trial, of sorts. A test, laid out by a spirit that she'll be forming a bond with, if successful. All of you will have a part in that, as well, and it's important that she not know what that part is." He paused a moment to let that sink in. âSo first I must ask: are you willing to deceive her for a short period of time, for the purpose of the trial? No one will be in any danger from the deception, but I am aware that she is rather... endeared, to you, and you may not want to participate for that reason."
Leon looked immediately uncomfortable, but he didn't decline. Instead, he shifted a bit in his chair and tipped his head to the side. âWhat, exactly, are we to deceive her about?" The question was delivered with careful neutrality.
âThe level of danger." Cyrus pressed his lips into a line momentarily, then elaborated. âShe is going to believe that we are fighting demons. In fact, we will be fighting illusions that are made to look like demons. The crucial element of the trial is that she continue to believe they are as they appear. Equally important is that she be the one to decide what becomes of them. That is, she decides whether or not to 'kill' them, and we do as she asks. None of us will be at any risk, but she needs to think we are."
Romulus looked thoughtful, and certainly not comfortable, but that was not a new phenomenon for him. He stood rather than sat, hovering somewhere near the door. "If there is no danger to her if she fails the trial, I'm willing to deceive her."
âThere isn't." Cyrus confirmed it with a half-smile. Of course, the trial was posed by a Compassion spiritâthe very idea of putting the subject of the trial in actual peril was likely anathema to it. But of course, such knowledge was elusive; he certainly didn't expect Asala would think about it quite that way in any case.
Zahraâs look was one of reproach, though⊠she clearly understood that this was important to Asala and Cyrus both. Itâs why sheâd come, after all. Sheâd taken a spot beside Leonâs chair and had her hands planted on her hips. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she studied Cyrus for a moment, âWell, as long as sheâs safe. Iâm game then.â
Cyrus nodded slowly. âAll right then. The rest of this is quite easy, for you. All you have to do is go to sleep as normal tonight. I will link everyone's dreams, and we'll proceed from there to the spirit." At that point, Asala would receive her task, and the deception itself would begin.
It was around two hours after midnight that Cyrus allowed himself to slip into the Fade, dozing in one of the chairs in his workshop. He'd told everyone else to be asleep by then, naturally or otherwise. As soon as he was there, he took a moment, extending his senses to feel out the dreams in Skyhold. There were hundreds of them, but it wasn't too difficult to find the ones he wanted. The commander was closest this evening, so he struck off in that direction first.
The Fade around him began to shift almost as soon as he decided what he was seeking. It rippled, turning a healthier shade of green, the ground blanketing itself in jade-hued grass. A soft dirt footpath spread beneath the dreamer's feet, almost as if inviting him forward. White-wood gazebos and planter boxes sat in orderly rows in front of a modest home made of the same, each host to little plant-shoots. Herbs and vegetables, from the look of it.
In front of the house itself, a bare patch of grass played host to a pair of young children, both platinum-blonde, with eyes of pale violet. The little girl chased the older boy with a toy sword made of polished wood, both of them laughing, the sound twining with some unseen breeze and the rustle of leaves into a subtle song, light and silvery on the ears. Sitting in a sturdy wooden chair, more relaxed than Cyrus had ever seen him in life, was an unarmored Leon, garbed simply in a loose white shirt and tan breeches. A pipe rested in his mouth, fragrant smoke curling into the air to be carried away on the wind. He looked older, perhaps in his forties, but Cyrus could see the true Leon underneath it as well, a strange double-image.
The older man's hands were bare, his scars long healed over until they had almost disappeared. He did not seem to notice Cyrus at first, his attention split between the worn book in his hands and the children running about the yard.
He'd always suspected the commander would prefer a life of this kind. It was obviously not something that had already come to pass, based on Leon's own appearance. But though he could have made a snarky quip about the domestic life, he held his tongue. Even to him, there was something about it that was... he sighed under his breath. The hazy halcyon filter over the scene was as much a product of Leon as anything. Cyrus was filled with a sort of warmth utterly foreign to him. Well, noânot quite foreign. Sometimes, in Estella's company, he felt thus. When nothing else was complicating matters.
âLeon." He said it softly, omitting the other man's title. Even to Cyrus, it was clear he was not a commander here. Nor a seeker, for that matter.
That drew his attention, both the commander and the middle-aged man that overlaid his image turning towards the source of the voice. It took a second for recognition to spark in his eyes, but it did, almost immediately. The light level seemed to dim a few notches in the same moment. He removed the pipe from his mouth, lowering his hand to the armrest of the chair. âAh. Cyrus." He smiled slightly, but it was a little sad. âMay I have a few more moments, before we go? I don't get this one often." His gaze shifted to the children.
Cyrus nodded, perhaps needlessly. The commander's clearheadedness extended even here, it seemed. Some people had much more difficulty realizing that a dream was a dream. With a thought, he produced a second chair next to Leon's and took it. His own familiar pipe was in his hands a moment later, and he lit it with a flame over his fingertip, sitting back and inhaling deeply. He exhaled through his nose, gesturing to the kids with his chin.
âAre they yours?"
âI would that they were," Leon admitted, his tone fond. âEven my dreams can't ever quite conjure the faces of my own children. Nor a mother for them. Perhaps even I find that too unbelievable." His smile was a little self-deprecating. âMy niece and nephew, when last I saw them. My brother Gerwulf's. Cristofer and Alarica." Not unexpectedly, the children continued to chase each other around as though the adults weren't present at all. Already the world around them was slowly dissolving, returning to the Fade-realm it was underneath.
Abruptly, Alarica turned, flouncing over to them and reaching out a hand. Leon lifted his to meet it, scoffing softly under his breath when the touch went right through her fading form. She and her brother vanished, leaving Cyrus and Leon standing alone on yellowed-brown Fade dirt.
âShall we go, then?"
Cyrus cleared his throat. He'd seen all kinds of dreams before, but... rarely did he intrude on those of living people. Especially not people he knew. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Let's."
The Fade rippled and shifted around them as they stepped away from Leonâs dream space. The remnants of greenery dropped away like a velvet curtain to reveal a starker image. It bloomed into the interior of a home, stacking up wooden walls to form a large living room. One that might have belonged to someone who lavished in wealth, of what Zahra might have perceived to be Tevinter decorum. The colors were vibrant: painfully so. Absent was the feeling of serene repose. Instead, there was a pervasive sense of dread.
There was an unnatural silence settling among the extravagant furniture like an unwanted audience. Every other noise sounded augmented. Impossibly so. The rattling of a door handle, and the stomping of approaching footsteps. One sounded much softer, slighter by far. The other was much more aggressive, stomping rather than walkingâchasing at the smaller steps. The furthest door burst open and slammed against the adjacent wall, nearly clattering against the diminutive woman who was pushing her way into the room.
She appeared smaller than Cyrus or Leon remembered. Both in spirit and physical stature. A younger image of Zahra, reflected against herself: dripping in gold and rubies, eyes cast down and shoulders bunched. There was an anger there, resonating in the furrow of her brows. Her hair was bound in an unusual fashion. No longer wild and free. She wore an equally unusual dress, imprinted with fish. It was ripped and frayed at the edges, tattered and stained with mud.
The second personâman⊠entered only seconds after her, grappling at her slender shoulders, fingers digging and turning her around to face him. Dark-haired and handsome, if his face wasnât contorted. Betrayal dripped from his eyes as he shook her, gripping her chin and holding her in place, âFasta vass.â
She cowed under him, eyes watery and mouth pinched. Though she said nothing.
âYou abandoned me, you bitch. Me.â He drew her face closer to his, still pinched between his fingers, before exhaling sharply through his nose. There was a feral look that shifted and pulsed across his face, as if there was a double-image of a much more placid man underneath. âThat was a mistake. One youâll regret.â
Cyrus had considerably less trouble interrupting this. "Zahra. Captain Tavish. Yours is the power, here." He gave her title the emphasis quite on purpose, crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him, Leon scowled and mimicked his body language.
âCaptain?â It was the first sound Zahra had made so far. Confusion tinged her words, as if she werenât quite sure what to make of it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, which were still bound in the manâs handâthough not for long. The man growled and shoved at her hard, causing her to trip up on her dress and fall onto her side.
He took a step forward and smothered the hem of her dress under his dirty boots, eyes glowering towards the interrupters, âWho the hell are you?â A sneer curled on his lips as he turned his attention down at Zahra, âIs this how you repay me? Whoring yourself out to whoever would take you?â A hand feathered over the pommel of a blade, hanging at his hip. Whether he was too much of a coward to actually use it, he didnât immediately pull it free.
There was a moment of silence that stretched between them before Zahra shifted at his feet. She moved a hand across the surface of the floor and appeared as if she were trying to regain her feet. A cold, curt laugh cut through as he ground the heel of his boot into her fingers, causing her to cry out, "She is mine. You understand? Mine to do as I wish. Get out, now. Before I call the guards."
Cyrus made a sound approaching disgust. Most of the people he knew treated their slaves better than this, and that was quite the low bar to be using. "Commander, if you would be so kind as to keep this rancid pustule out of our way?" He smiled sharply at the man in question then stepped around him, crouching in front of Zahra, though at a respectable distance, draping his arms on his knees.
âWith pleasure," Leon rumbled, one hand reaching out to take hold of the man's collar. He bodily lifted him off the ground, and consequently off Zahra's fingers, walking them both out of the room with an even, unhurried stride.
"Now what's all this?" Cyrus tilted his head at Zahra. "You've never struck me as the type to let some fool tell you what to do, Captain. You'd have stuck an arrow in his eye, no? That sounds more like you, don't you think?" He supposed he could force the dream to vanish, but there was a grain of truth in his words. He didn't think she needed rescuing from this, not really. She was more than capable of taking hold of the dream herself, if she could recognize it for what it was.
A trembling sigh sounded as the pressured released from Zahraâs fingers, which she snapped up and held tight to her chest. She hadnât tried to stand once more, though sheâd turned to regard the man in front of her. There was the briefest flash of recognition, as if a veil was being pulled off her face. It took her a moment before she wiped at her red-rimmed eyes with her palms, knuckling the tears away.
âCyrus,â spoken against her fingers, which she dropped back down to her lap. A laugh crooked its way out of her throat. Self-inflictive and bitter. In that moment she looked much more like herself. Bedraggled hair and all. âYouâre right. I would have.â She blinked once more, warding the last remnants of something away before looking down at her dress.
âI was hoping youâd of walked in on a much different dream. A brothel orââ she shook her head and kicked at her dress with her bare feet. She stared at it a moment longer before swinging her gaze back to Cyrus, holding one of her hands out, âHelp me up?â
"Admittedly, I also would have found the brothel dream more pleasant. Though I wonder about the Commander." That was an entertaining thought, actually. He smiled broadly at her and clasped her hand in his left, rising to his feet and helping her to hers. Leon entered again; no doubt the fellow had faded out. The rest of the dream followed, and he fixed his attention on the direction he could sense Romulus, leading them down another Fade-path.
"Two down, two to do, I suppose."
The Fade next gave way to a dark city at night. Dark mostly because the towers, spires, and lesser buildings on all sides of them were indistinct, shadowy shapes. Unimportant, irrelevant. The general shape, though... Cyrus did not have to strain to figure it out. Minrathous, and not a particularly desirable part of it. Every city had its underbelly, and they were standing in this one. More shadowy forms passed them by, paying them no mind, going about their imagined days. Before them was the only well-defined building. A blocky-shaped tavern, warm light flooding out from the inside. It was no Herald's Rest, that was certain, but it didn't lack for personality.
There was little to do but head inside. The room inside the front door was a bland entryway more akin to a closet than anything, and they were immediately drawn to the light and noise and heat emanating from downstairs. A few shadows of shapes passed them on the way down, slowly starting to form faces. Wisps of memory, people that were only vaguely remembered. They headed down the stairs into the tavern proper.
A heavy warmth greeted them, along with ceaseless, jovial noise, punctuated by the odd bit of drunken anger. It was more akin to a basement than a proper place of drinking and socializing, but the people made do. The patrons of the establishment were humans and elves. One Qunari who sat in the corner, keeping to himself and drinking away. All of them, the dregs of Tevinter society. The lowliest of swill drinks for the lowliest of servants and slaves that had saved or stolen enough coin to pay for it. There was one notable exception, however.
Khari sat at the bar, her bastard sword displayed proudly across her back, and prompting everyone nearby to give her a good deal of room. That said, she was commanding attention with a story. No matter how closely they listened, they couldn't make out any of the words. The only thing that seemed relevant was how clear and in focus she was, dressed in her cobbled-together armor she'd worn all the way back in Haven. The clearer voices came from the opposite corner of the tavern from the Qunari. At a table where two men sat.
"I've taken care of everything, Rom. C's never gonna know. C'mon, man, it was a lot of trouble and you're just sitting there." This came from a young, boyish looking elf, with shaggy, dirty blonde hair and dark green eyes. He didn't sit still in his chair for more than a few seconds at a time.
"She always finds out," Romulus answered. By contrast, he wasn't moving at all, just sitting perfectly still, a near empty tankard held loosely in one hand. "And besides, what am I supposed to say?"
The young elf made a pfft sound in disapproval. "How about, 'hi, I'm Rom, the Herald of fucking Andraste and the man who walked the Fade, twice. Please follow me to the place my best friend secured for the night so we can work on our wrestling?'"
Romulus slowly turned his head to look at the elf. "You're an idiot, Brand." The elf shrugged, not bothered in the slightest.
"That may be, but sometimes idiotic ideas can lead to very good things. In this case... tender sexy times with the fiery elf girl." He admired her from afar. "Rom, her sword is way bigger than yours."
A snort sounded at Cyrusâs right side. Hidden behind one of Zahraâs hands. Perhaps, a poor attempt to smother it back in. Whatever plights sheâd faced only moments ago seemed to sizzle away into a glowering smile, eyes luminous in the dank lantern light. She appeared to be drinking in her surroundings with interest. It didnât take her long to take actionâone she hadnât discussed with the others, because she was already elbowing her way to Româs table.
She plopped down into the empty seat to Româs left and draped an arm around his shoulder. She arched an eyebrow at him and crooked her chin towards Khari, âI couldnât help but overhear you talking about my good friend over there.â There was an allowance of silence, stretched between them for dramatic effect. She spared the elf a glance, then released Româs shoulder. âSheâs rather captivated by men with balâcourage, you see. So, Iâd say if you wanted the chance, youâd have to march right up to her.â
Another grin lit up her dusky features, âand challenge her to a sparring match. Or offer her food. That seems to work.â
About halfway through Zahra's first sentence was when Romulus first seemed to comprehend what the situation was. His lips contorted to start with, and he sort of stared blankly down towards the table while he waited for her to finish. Eventually he started nodding, having come to acceptance of what had just happened.
"Oh ho," the elf said, grinning at Zahra. "I like the way this one thinks. But come to think of it, you can't be too subtle, right? She's thicker than her sword when it comes to this. Just man up and say it. That'll go well, right?"
Romulus's eyes found Cyrus. "I don't suppose you could just make us all forget this ever happened?"
Zahra patted him on the back and leaned in to whisper, âI will not.â
"Alas. Memory modification is not within my repertoire. But the sooner we leave, the sooner something else might distract our dear Captain here." Cyrus knew he didn't sound very apologetic, but the suggestion at least was genuine. They needed to find Asala herself next, and get this event properly underway.
The Fade shimmered and fizzled out, and once it reformed they were presented with an exceptional horizon. The ocean stretched out in front of them as far as the eye could see. The sand of the beach shifted gently beneath their feet, and palm trees rustled on either side of them. In spite of the wind blowing on the palms, the oceans waters were both unnaturally still and clear, giving it a serene crystalline blue appearance. A quirk of the Fade, no doubt.
The scenic view was not the reason they were there however, that would be because of a Qunari woman who stood ankle deep in its waters. Or rather, in this case, Qunari girl was the more apt phrase. She lacked her usual height, her budding horns barely even reaching Cyrus's waist. This Asala couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve at the most. Notably, she wasn't alone. Beside her another Qunari child knelt, half of him submerged in the crystal waters. This child possessed the same hair color as Asala, and recognition would reveal him to be Asala's late brother, Meraad.
They were giggling, or rather, Asala was while Meraad attempted to do something in the water. A moment later, and a boat created from ice from the water. Well, it had a general approximation boat shape, but possessed no refinement. It floated though, and that as enough to make the young Asala coo with awe.
A moment later, a barrier formed behind it, clearly of Asala's make. It had her signature color, but it too was rough around the edges and shimmered unpredictably. It was enough however to gently guide the ice boat out to sea. Once a suitable distance, Meraad finally stood and crossed his arms, seeming rather proud of the boat... Until he turned toward Asala, revealing that it was her that he was proud of. She turned to him as well, a large smile on her youthful face before she leaned over and playfully jostled him with her shoulder.
Cyrus smiled, shaking his head slightly. It wasn't his memory, nor his dream, but it felt more like ones he'd had than any of the rest. He was almost loath to interrupt, but he supposed he could rebuild the dream for her later, if she liked. "Asala. It's time to go."
"Cyrus?" she asked, even her voice carrying a youthful inflection. "What..." she began to ask before she stopped herself. Her eyes closed, giving them all a clear view of the spattering of freckles across her face before she sighed and nodded, slipping into understanding herself. She turned toward the vision of Meraad, as her gaze either expectant or asking--it was difficult to tell. In answer, Meraad smiled widely and nodded vigorously before eagerly tilting his head toward Cyrus and the others. "Go ahead, it will be an adventure!" he urged, making Asala smile before she began to giggle again.
"Well... I don't think he's wrong." But the adventure still lay ahead. At least he could take them to the spirit's domain now.
What happened afterwards would no longer be any of his doing. As it should be.