Cyrus breathed in great, heaving gasps, fingers curling into the grass beneath his hands, knees pulled in to his chest. This—coming out of it—was the worst part of the whole thing. The magic was not familiar to him, not the kind of thing he'd ever tried to do before. His entire body ached, deep and throbbing in a way different from all the other stupid things he'd done or had done to him. The red lyrium had burned, savaged his insides. The blow to his chest from Faraji had lanced, flared too bright before mercifully allowing him to black out.
He choked in another gasp, rolling to his knees and retching. The taste of bile filled his mouth, but the heaves were dry—not eating before this was a lesson he'd learned the first time. The voices in his head were loud, all sure they knew what he needed to do, and all of them probably wrong. With a groan, he shifted, falling back down onto his shoulder and sprawling out onto his back. He felt like someone had jammed his entire body into a mold too small for it and left him there for ages, until the press of it was just intolerable.
Like he'd found out his soul was a whole lot bigger than the vessel it used to rest comfortably in.
Lifting one shaking arm to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth, he stared for some interminable time at the circle of sky above. Better to practice this here, he'd thought, where no one would see the result and panic. Or see what became of him after, when he trembled and ached like this. Weakness, some old vestige thought, and whether it was one of them or just a fragment of himself hardly mattered.
He blocked out the still-foreign thoughts—he was getting a little better at that now. For a while, he was blessedly alone, and he used the time to stare at the clouds drifting by, waiting for the ache to subside to some more manageable level. Today's pain had brought with it something he'd been seeking; some good news. It wasn't often he was responsible for that. Cyrus tried not to read into it—more often than not he was still telling people things they didn't want to hear, but... maybe if he could do this, he'd finally have that feeling he'd been seeking for so long. Like he'd really done good here. Like all the risks taken on his behalf, all the trust placed in him that he'd never thought to ask for, all of it was justified.
People believed in him now.
He wanted so badly for them to be right.
The summer sun filtered down into the little cavern, warming him where he lay. The pain was translating into exhaustion now, adrenaline no longer keeping him alert, and for a moment he thought of how sweet it would be, to let himself drift for a while. Dream for a while, as he had so often here. There wouldn't even been many other people dreaming, at this time of day; he could wander the places they'd made without interruption, explore the ever-changing contours of the fade around Skyhold.
But this was surely a sign that he was recovered enough to move, and so instead he pushed himself up, standing on slightly wobbly feet and stretching himself out a bit before he tried to walk forward. The ache was still there, but it was fading now, and he could ignore it the same way he was learning to ignore the whispers. Sometimes he wondered if Vesryn had ever felt like this, when Saraya had first entered his head and pushed him past his physical limitations. It seemed like an inappropriate question to ask, though. Perhaps in a year or so, when Corypheus was dead and the pain had passed, or at least settled, and grief would be lesser than the softer kinds of nostalgia.
Somehow he doubted it, though. Saraya had sounded a lot more distinct and... close, than the things that whispered at him. Not to mention she'd been nonverbal over the connection. Cyrus could barely feel anything from his passengers, but he could certainly hear them.
The trek back to Skyhold he passed in their company, untangling the unhelpful rebukes from the possibly-useful advice, and those from expressions of sympathy and those few particularly-strident voices that were still expressing their affront at being forced into the head of a human-blooded shemlen whelp. He had the sense that when and if he finally mastered the information he'd been given, the whispers themselves would go away. Frankly, he had plenty of motivation to try.
The climb to Leon's tower was spent organizing his thoughts somewhat more explicitly, a more difficult task against this background than it had previously been. But fortunately, the information he had to impart, while certainly arcane and esoteric, was relatively straightforward in terms of practical use. Cyrus knocked, waiting until the Commander bid him enter before opening the door and stepping in.
Only then did he consider what he might look like: hair askew, clothes rumpled, and probably vaguely like he'd just recently had a fever, pallid and a bit gaunt. Oh well.
Fortunately, Romulus was also present, which saved him from needing to impart this information a second time. “Ah, excellent. You're both here. I have information. About Corypheus."
"Hello, Cyrus," Romulus greeted him. "You're looking, ah... worse than usual. No offense." They looked to have been going over either scouting reports or the state of Skyhold's defenses themselves, judging by the maps laid out on the table between them. That would make sense; Cassius had recently finished work implementing magical siege defenses that would need placement on the walls somewhere. If they were going to be firing ballista bolts of arcane energy at their enemies, they needed to be able to hit them first.
But Romulus stepped away from the maps for a moment. "What's this about Corypheus?"
Cyrus laughed softly, almost under his breath, reaching up to push some of his hair back in something like order. “Ah. Yes. About that. I believe I've figured out—or rather, the vir'abelasan has provided—the secret to his immortality. That thing he does through the bodies of Grey Wardens? It's the lyrium dragon. It makes the transfer possible, somehow. The details are... less clear, as of right now, but the important thing is that killing the dragon first should make Corypheus vulnerable, too."
He'd have to figure out exactly how that connection worked at some point. No doubt the taint had something to do with it: Archdemons resurrected through the bodies of other darkspawn unless a Warden killed them. The mechanism had to be based in the same thing even if not identical. But for once the intellectual puzzle this presented was less important than the practical implications.
Leon leaned back in his chair, gesturing to another in invitation before folding his hands together under his chin. "That's... good to know. But if Corypheus behaves according to pattern, he won't risk the dragon dying. It'll fly overhead a few times, burn a great deal of our people and equipment, and then retreat again. I don't see us being able to force it out of the sky so we might have a chance with it." His eyes narrowed. "At least not until the battle is already well underway. By then it's hard to know how capable we'd be of killing it." No doubt he was thinking of the battle at the Arbor Wilds—as Cyrus had heard it told, they'd had to work almost past the breaking point to kill Corypheus once, and even if the dragon hadn't been as useful with all the trees in the way, it had also never been in any real danger. A disheartening truth, considered in this new light.
Cyrus, meanwhile, had settled into one of the chairs, draping his arms over the rests and trying not to wince at the residual jabs of his earlier pain. “If someone could bring it down, though, early in the fight maybe. Do you think that would be enough?"
Leon gave the question due consideration; though no doubt he was curious about the proposed method for achieving this aim, he'd been asked whether it would make a difference. A very different matter to ponder. He smoothed a thumb over one of the pages in front of him. Some kind of diagram of one of Cassius's machines, no doubt. The notes looked to be in different handwriting, though—perhaps additional modifications from either Rilien or the little dwarven engineer they employed.
"I'd say it would give us a real chance," he replied at last. "Which is more than we'd probably have without."
"How are we to do that, though?" Romulus asked, posing the question Leon had undoubtedly been thinking of. "No matter where the battle takes place, we can't afford to be shooting at the sky with our siege engines. Same with our mages. For the army to have any chance to hold, they'll need those groups targeting the ground troops. The dragon simply takes too many resources to deal with. The army would cut us to ribbons by the time we brought it down."
The funny thing was, a few years ago he'd have reveled in this, the ability to do something that would otherwise take siege engines or multiple mages to achieve. Now, though, Cyrus almost didn't want to mention it, because there was a very real chance he'd fail and then whatever disaster followed could be laid squarely at his feet. Not something he really wanted to risk, but there was hardly much choice this time.
“Well, the method is still... in progress, but I think I could do it. Perhaps I and one or two other people, for good measure. Mages, ideally, or at least someone with a ranged weapon. You'd just have to make sure not to shoot at me, as the magic would involve shapeshifting. Getting into the air with the dragon."
"I should probably be surprised, but at this point I think I've lost the ability," Leon said wryly, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I think I'll let you choose your associates for this; it's important enough that you can have anyone who isn't me or one of the Inquisitors, and it doesn't sound like we'd be ideal choices anyway." He arched an eyebrow. "Did you have someone in mind already?"
“I need a mage of considerable power who isn't afraid of heights or dragons. My options are limited." That said, he hadn't come here without giving it a bit of thought already. He'd briefly considered both Aurora and Asala, but neither had magic well-suited for this: Asala would be much more useful on the ground, and Aurora's best magic was within melee range. Besides, he didn't honestly feel comfortable enough with either of them for it. He didn't know that they were capable, psychologically in the one case and magically in the other, of doing what would be required.
Harellan he didn't trust enough. Stellulam would obviously be needed elsewhere. It left him with one real option, and while he was still a bit... concerned about the violence involved, he could at least ask. “I was planning to ask Astraia. If she's unwilling, I suppose it will have to be Harellan."
Romulus seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble following all of this, judging by the perplexed expression on his face. "So... you're going to be shapeshifting into something that can keep up with Corypheus's dragon, and somehow carrying one of our least-experienced mages to help you fight it." He fell silent for a moment, taking a seat on the edge of Leon's desk. "That sounds crazy enough to be one of our plans, sure. What, uh... what was in that water you drank again?"
Cyrus cackled, the laughter bubbling up and spilling out of him before he'd really had a chance to stop it. It wasn't that funny even, but so spot-on that he couldn't help himself. Incisive, even. “I promise I'm not any crazier than I've ever been." He paused, still smiling, then amended. “Ah, wait—not comforting. Let me try again: I'm fully aware of how insane this sounds. I wouldn't even be suggesting it if we had anything else that could do the job without leaving us too weakly-defended. And you don't have to worry about her, at least. Inexperienced she may be, but hitting large targets with powerful spells is something she does very well."
That much, at least, he was quite serious about. The choice was actually quite a rational one, from a strategic perspective.
"Considering our track record with your crazy plans in particular, I'm willing to take the chance." Leon was grinning as well, shaking his head faintly at the same time. "You know, some of what we've done is entirely textbook strategy. Other times... I feel like everything I ever learned about winning battles was entirely useless. Just add dragons."
Add dragons, indeed.
“Good." Cyrus expelled a sigh, his smile fading. “If anyone comes up with anything more sane in the meantime, please let me know. I'd be happy to cede the floor, so to speak."
He choked in another gasp, rolling to his knees and retching. The taste of bile filled his mouth, but the heaves were dry—not eating before this was a lesson he'd learned the first time. The voices in his head were loud, all sure they knew what he needed to do, and all of them probably wrong. With a groan, he shifted, falling back down onto his shoulder and sprawling out onto his back. He felt like someone had jammed his entire body into a mold too small for it and left him there for ages, until the press of it was just intolerable.
Like he'd found out his soul was a whole lot bigger than the vessel it used to rest comfortably in.
Lifting one shaking arm to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth, he stared for some interminable time at the circle of sky above. Better to practice this here, he'd thought, where no one would see the result and panic. Or see what became of him after, when he trembled and ached like this. Weakness, some old vestige thought, and whether it was one of them or just a fragment of himself hardly mattered.
He blocked out the still-foreign thoughts—he was getting a little better at that now. For a while, he was blessedly alone, and he used the time to stare at the clouds drifting by, waiting for the ache to subside to some more manageable level. Today's pain had brought with it something he'd been seeking; some good news. It wasn't often he was responsible for that. Cyrus tried not to read into it—more often than not he was still telling people things they didn't want to hear, but... maybe if he could do this, he'd finally have that feeling he'd been seeking for so long. Like he'd really done good here. Like all the risks taken on his behalf, all the trust placed in him that he'd never thought to ask for, all of it was justified.
People believed in him now.
He wanted so badly for them to be right.
The summer sun filtered down into the little cavern, warming him where he lay. The pain was translating into exhaustion now, adrenaline no longer keeping him alert, and for a moment he thought of how sweet it would be, to let himself drift for a while. Dream for a while, as he had so often here. There wouldn't even been many other people dreaming, at this time of day; he could wander the places they'd made without interruption, explore the ever-changing contours of the fade around Skyhold.
But this was surely a sign that he was recovered enough to move, and so instead he pushed himself up, standing on slightly wobbly feet and stretching himself out a bit before he tried to walk forward. The ache was still there, but it was fading now, and he could ignore it the same way he was learning to ignore the whispers. Sometimes he wondered if Vesryn had ever felt like this, when Saraya had first entered his head and pushed him past his physical limitations. It seemed like an inappropriate question to ask, though. Perhaps in a year or so, when Corypheus was dead and the pain had passed, or at least settled, and grief would be lesser than the softer kinds of nostalgia.
Somehow he doubted it, though. Saraya had sounded a lot more distinct and... close, than the things that whispered at him. Not to mention she'd been nonverbal over the connection. Cyrus could barely feel anything from his passengers, but he could certainly hear them.
The trek back to Skyhold he passed in their company, untangling the unhelpful rebukes from the possibly-useful advice, and those from expressions of sympathy and those few particularly-strident voices that were still expressing their affront at being forced into the head of a human-blooded shemlen whelp. He had the sense that when and if he finally mastered the information he'd been given, the whispers themselves would go away. Frankly, he had plenty of motivation to try.
The climb to Leon's tower was spent organizing his thoughts somewhat more explicitly, a more difficult task against this background than it had previously been. But fortunately, the information he had to impart, while certainly arcane and esoteric, was relatively straightforward in terms of practical use. Cyrus knocked, waiting until the Commander bid him enter before opening the door and stepping in.
Only then did he consider what he might look like: hair askew, clothes rumpled, and probably vaguely like he'd just recently had a fever, pallid and a bit gaunt. Oh well.
Fortunately, Romulus was also present, which saved him from needing to impart this information a second time. “Ah, excellent. You're both here. I have information. About Corypheus."
"Hello, Cyrus," Romulus greeted him. "You're looking, ah... worse than usual. No offense." They looked to have been going over either scouting reports or the state of Skyhold's defenses themselves, judging by the maps laid out on the table between them. That would make sense; Cassius had recently finished work implementing magical siege defenses that would need placement on the walls somewhere. If they were going to be firing ballista bolts of arcane energy at their enemies, they needed to be able to hit them first.
But Romulus stepped away from the maps for a moment. "What's this about Corypheus?"
Cyrus laughed softly, almost under his breath, reaching up to push some of his hair back in something like order. “Ah. Yes. About that. I believe I've figured out—or rather, the vir'abelasan has provided—the secret to his immortality. That thing he does through the bodies of Grey Wardens? It's the lyrium dragon. It makes the transfer possible, somehow. The details are... less clear, as of right now, but the important thing is that killing the dragon first should make Corypheus vulnerable, too."
He'd have to figure out exactly how that connection worked at some point. No doubt the taint had something to do with it: Archdemons resurrected through the bodies of other darkspawn unless a Warden killed them. The mechanism had to be based in the same thing even if not identical. But for once the intellectual puzzle this presented was less important than the practical implications.
Leon leaned back in his chair, gesturing to another in invitation before folding his hands together under his chin. "That's... good to know. But if Corypheus behaves according to pattern, he won't risk the dragon dying. It'll fly overhead a few times, burn a great deal of our people and equipment, and then retreat again. I don't see us being able to force it out of the sky so we might have a chance with it." His eyes narrowed. "At least not until the battle is already well underway. By then it's hard to know how capable we'd be of killing it." No doubt he was thinking of the battle at the Arbor Wilds—as Cyrus had heard it told, they'd had to work almost past the breaking point to kill Corypheus once, and even if the dragon hadn't been as useful with all the trees in the way, it had also never been in any real danger. A disheartening truth, considered in this new light.
Cyrus, meanwhile, had settled into one of the chairs, draping his arms over the rests and trying not to wince at the residual jabs of his earlier pain. “If someone could bring it down, though, early in the fight maybe. Do you think that would be enough?"
Leon gave the question due consideration; though no doubt he was curious about the proposed method for achieving this aim, he'd been asked whether it would make a difference. A very different matter to ponder. He smoothed a thumb over one of the pages in front of him. Some kind of diagram of one of Cassius's machines, no doubt. The notes looked to be in different handwriting, though—perhaps additional modifications from either Rilien or the little dwarven engineer they employed.
"I'd say it would give us a real chance," he replied at last. "Which is more than we'd probably have without."
"How are we to do that, though?" Romulus asked, posing the question Leon had undoubtedly been thinking of. "No matter where the battle takes place, we can't afford to be shooting at the sky with our siege engines. Same with our mages. For the army to have any chance to hold, they'll need those groups targeting the ground troops. The dragon simply takes too many resources to deal with. The army would cut us to ribbons by the time we brought it down."
The funny thing was, a few years ago he'd have reveled in this, the ability to do something that would otherwise take siege engines or multiple mages to achieve. Now, though, Cyrus almost didn't want to mention it, because there was a very real chance he'd fail and then whatever disaster followed could be laid squarely at his feet. Not something he really wanted to risk, but there was hardly much choice this time.
“Well, the method is still... in progress, but I think I could do it. Perhaps I and one or two other people, for good measure. Mages, ideally, or at least someone with a ranged weapon. You'd just have to make sure not to shoot at me, as the magic would involve shapeshifting. Getting into the air with the dragon."
"I should probably be surprised, but at this point I think I've lost the ability," Leon said wryly, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I think I'll let you choose your associates for this; it's important enough that you can have anyone who isn't me or one of the Inquisitors, and it doesn't sound like we'd be ideal choices anyway." He arched an eyebrow. "Did you have someone in mind already?"
“I need a mage of considerable power who isn't afraid of heights or dragons. My options are limited." That said, he hadn't come here without giving it a bit of thought already. He'd briefly considered both Aurora and Asala, but neither had magic well-suited for this: Asala would be much more useful on the ground, and Aurora's best magic was within melee range. Besides, he didn't honestly feel comfortable enough with either of them for it. He didn't know that they were capable, psychologically in the one case and magically in the other, of doing what would be required.
Harellan he didn't trust enough. Stellulam would obviously be needed elsewhere. It left him with one real option, and while he was still a bit... concerned about the violence involved, he could at least ask. “I was planning to ask Astraia. If she's unwilling, I suppose it will have to be Harellan."
Romulus seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble following all of this, judging by the perplexed expression on his face. "So... you're going to be shapeshifting into something that can keep up with Corypheus's dragon, and somehow carrying one of our least-experienced mages to help you fight it." He fell silent for a moment, taking a seat on the edge of Leon's desk. "That sounds crazy enough to be one of our plans, sure. What, uh... what was in that water you drank again?"
Cyrus cackled, the laughter bubbling up and spilling out of him before he'd really had a chance to stop it. It wasn't that funny even, but so spot-on that he couldn't help himself. Incisive, even. “I promise I'm not any crazier than I've ever been." He paused, still smiling, then amended. “Ah, wait—not comforting. Let me try again: I'm fully aware of how insane this sounds. I wouldn't even be suggesting it if we had anything else that could do the job without leaving us too weakly-defended. And you don't have to worry about her, at least. Inexperienced she may be, but hitting large targets with powerful spells is something she does very well."
That much, at least, he was quite serious about. The choice was actually quite a rational one, from a strategic perspective.
"Considering our track record with your crazy plans in particular, I'm willing to take the chance." Leon was grinning as well, shaking his head faintly at the same time. "You know, some of what we've done is entirely textbook strategy. Other times... I feel like everything I ever learned about winning battles was entirely useless. Just add dragons."
Add dragons, indeed.
“Good." Cyrus expelled a sigh, his smile fading. “If anyone comes up with anything more sane in the meantime, please let me know. I'd be happy to cede the floor, so to speak."