Chapter Text
Katz placed the vial of sacred ashes into Bella’s hand, and all was quiet in the Arl’s bedchamber as she walked to the mortar and pestle at the dresser and began to work. Will was standing by the door, torn between staring at the father, still lying in his comatose state, and the daughter, kneeling at his beside, her eyes glistening with hopeful tears. Abigail squeezed the Arl’s hand and then her gaze slowly fluttered upward, beneath curled lashes. Her sigh was a delicate thing, and when she stood, her silk gown fell in modest drapes down her body. Will could detect her lingering weakness as she walked toward him, the cautiousness of each step, and the anxious pout of her lips, but when she stopped before him and smiled, she seemed an ordinary young woman. For that, Will was grateful. Abigail was grateful, too. It showed in the way she shyly took his hand, just like she had taken her father’s, and squeezed.
Beyond Abigail, Will spied Bella returning to the Arl’s bedside with a concoction of the ash. Everyone waited on tenterhooks as the cure was brought to his pale lips. The first drops went down his throat and Will held his breath. When the Arl groaned softly and his head rolled on his pillow, Will exhaled.
“The effects won’t be immediate,” Bella said quietly, easing more of the cure into the Arl’s mouth. “But he should wake up soon.” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and Will thought it might be infectious, because he felt his lips spreading wide in sympathetic happiness. Katz, too, was grinning, and even Alana’s mouth was crooked with a smirk of pleasure. And then, of course, there was Hannibal. His face was stoic and unfaltering until Will glanced at him over his shoulder, and then the templar tried on the smallest of smiles. But it did not quite reach his eyes. Hannibal was worried, Will knew. He could tell in the way he held his head and the tension in his shoulders. Will’s smile fled and his eyebrows cinched together in concern, but then Abigail’s hand squeezed Will’s once again, stealing back his attention. He turned to her.
“While my father’s health improves, I’d like to see you all in the throne room,” Abigail implored.
Will nodded, and after glancing again at her father, Abigail walked from the bedchamber.
“I will let you know as soon as the Arl is awake,” Bella assured them, and they quietly slipped from the room and followed Abigail down the hall.
Redcliffe Castle was a pretty cozy place when there weren’t dead bodies strewn about or possessed girls bent on humiliation punishments, and when they entered the throne room, Will was startled by the contrast from their last visit. The fireplace crackled, warm and roaring, the carpet had been changed, and it was soft and expensive and definitely not soaked in human blood.
Abigail was already sitting in her chair when they entered, a smaller throne beside her father’s larger, empty one. She looked pretty in the firelight, soft and untarnished. Will tried not to look at her and see Desire staring back, trying to lure him with the thing he wanted most of all. When they had lined themselves up respectfully before her, she took a deep breath, looking as though she might cry, but after a moment, the threat of tears passed, and she gazed at them each with a heartfelt smile.
“You saved my life, as well as my father’s” she said, and her eyes came to rest upon Will. “I remember you. You came into the Fade and killed the demon.”
Will felt a flash of apprehension at the news of her recollection. If Abigail had seen him kill Desire in the Fade, what else had she seen? He had kissed his demon before it had the wherewithal to bring them to their private Fade space. A prickle of nervous sweat formed at Will’s brow and he wiped it away with a labored sigh, trying to discern the gleam in Abigail’s eyes as she looked at him. But if she knew anything of Will’s demon, she didn’t let on.
“I want to thank each of you,” Abigail continued. “It would have been easier to just kill me after what happened.” She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “After what I did…I know it was wrong.” She looked truly distressed, and Will thought it a reasonable reaction. Though not exactly herself at the time, Abigail had killed many while she’d been possessed. Innocent people. The guilt must have been crushing. She sniffled. “But thanks aside, there is another reason why I wished to speak. I’d like your advice in dealing with a certain matter.” She snapped her fingers, a gesture Will had seen when she’d been possessed, and three men entered the room: two guards with a prisoner in-between, cuffed and gagged.
“I believe you remember Master Sutcliffe,” Abigail said.
Will stared at his old Circle Master. He looked even worse than he had when they’d left a few days ago. The dark circles beneath his eyes were darker. He looked so tired, so weak…and he looked dehydrated. Will cut his eyes at Abigail and wondered if she’d permitted him any food or water since she’d woken. Judging by the callous expression on her face, he doubted it.
“As you know, he is the mage responsible for all of Redcliffe’s recent tragedies,” Abigail began. “Not only is he guilty of poisoning my father, he is guilty of being a blood mage. I thought I might ask your opinion of what should be done with him.”
Again, she was staring right at Will. He glanced between her and Sutcliffe, whose eyes were blank and bleary.
“Obviously, I can’t let him go,” Abigail remarked blithely. “But there are a few options concerning his future.”
She seemed to be waiting for Will to comment, and with a careful voice, he asked, “What options did you have in mind?”
“He could be handed over to the Circle of Magi to be dealt with. I am told they could perform the Rite of Tranquility. That’s like castration for a mage, right?”
The mere mention of Tranquility – and with such nonchalance! - made Will twitch, and he welcomed the weight of Hannibal’s hand on his back. “That is an apt comparison,” he said slowly. “He would be cut off from the Fade forever. He would no longer…be himself.” Will couldn’t meet Sutcliffe’s eye as he spoke. Even for a blood mage and an attempted murderer, no one deserved to be made Tranquil. “What is the other option?”
Abigail shrugged. “We could just kill him.”
Will looked at the young woman sitting on her throne and wondered if, maybe, more of her personality had shone through the demon’s possession than he’d initially thought. She appeared unconcerned with the fate of the mage in handcuffs, at her feet and at her mercy.
“I think you should decide,” Abigail finished.
Will bit at his lip and looked to Hannibal and the others. Katz and Alana looked as mystified as Will, but Hannibal…he was wearing that same small smile, the worry still plain in his body language. Will swallowed and returned his gaze to the Arl’s daughter.
“If you would leave this decision in my hands, Abigail,” Will said, “then I would ask you not to submit this man to Tranquility. It is a cruelty no mage should be made to suffer.”
Abigail nodded. “Thank you, Grey Warden,” she said, “for your wise council.” Again, she snapped her fingers and the guards pushed Sutcliffe to his knees before her. “Remove his head for me, please,” she requested with a casualness that chilled Will’s blood, and before he could turn away his eyes, one guard held Sutcliffe in place while the other unsheathed his sword, and within a breath and a single sweep of a blade, the blood mage’s head was lopped clear off his shoulders. It rolled to Abigail’s velvet slipper, and she inched her foot away with a disgusted curl of her lip. “Good,” she said, and then she stood from her throne. “Now we need only wait for my father to wake. Allow my guards to show you to your rooms. We can wash up and relax in the interim.” She smiled warmly and sauntered from the throne room.
Will stared at Master Sutcliffe’s head, still teetering back and forth. He frowned at the carpet, for it would need to be changed again.
--
It was strange to be alone. Will couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such privacy. He stood in the guest room Abigail had bestowed and stared into the mirror hanging on the wall. The sight of his face, when he had first caught his reflection, had shocked him, and he inspected the details now with a grim curiosity. So much had changed.
He recalled his last glance into a looking glass. It had been in First Enchanter Bedelia’s chamber, and he had thought himself so grown up in his sleek, black, Full Circle robes. Will thought the worn leather he wore now suited him better, complemented the dirt beneath his nails and the cuts on his face. How long had it been since he’d seen himself so clearly? Will brought his hand up to his cheek and traced its unfamiliar planes. Where once his face was well-fleshed, now it was lean. The lines of his square jaw were sharper and stubbled with growth. There were so many small details that changed the way he saw himself. His hair had grown longer. His pale skin had warmed and tanned from his time beneath the sun. But the biggest change, what startled him the most, were his eyes. They were the same dark blue with hints of gold that, in a certain light, made them flash green. They were the same size, big and bold and lined with lush, black lashes. But they were different. They no longer sparkled with naïveté, but held harsh memories, reflecting them relentlessly, forcing Will to remember. Only a month or so had passed since he’d stolen a glance at himself in the First Enchanter’s mirror, but his eyes…his eyes had aged years.
A soft knock on his door made him blink, and he turned from the mirror. It was just as well; he had seen enough. He ran a hand through his untamable curls before he opened the door, knowing exactly who it would be, and when he saw him there, Will stepped aside to let him in, and then he closed the door.
The templar’s attention was immediate. “How are you?” he asked, guiding Will by the elbow to sit on the bed. He sat down beside him, their knees almost grazing. Will looked at him and saw the same small smile from earlier, coupled with the lingering uneasiness of his shoulders. And Will realized, with a flash of understanding, that he had been the cause of Hannibal’s concern, both before and now. The templar had not released Will’s elbow, and he stroked his thumb across the soft fabric of Will’s shirt, tickling over the bend in his arm. “Will?”
Will licked his lips and tried to think of what to say. His first instinct was to lie and say that he was fine, but he knew Hannibal wouldn’t believe it. His distress in the Gauntlet had been obvious. And embarrassing. As Will recalled the way he’d clung to Hannibal and buried his face against his chest as his father’s ghost berated him, his cheeks grew red hot. He wasn’t fine and Hannibal knew it. But still, Will knew not what to say.
The hand left his elbow, trailing instead to cup his face. Will shivered from the comforting warmth of his fingers as they smoothed across his cheek. Hannibal had removed his armor for once, and his plainclothes stole Will’s attention, drawing his eyes down to the man’s broad chest and muscular thighs. He licked his lips again.
The templar shifted closer, his head canted with worry, a worry he only ever allowed Will to see. “Tell me,” he said.
Will couldn’t help but turn his head into Hannibal’s warm palm and was rewarded with a gentle caress across his earlobe. “The things my father said…Hannibal, it’s my fault he’s dead.” His words broke at the end of his sentence and he shut his eyes.
“Why do you think it’s your fault, Will?” Hannibal asked softly, his other hand coming up to wipe the escaped tear from Will’s cheek. He settled it over the back of Will’s neck, scratching gently with careful fingers.
Will groaned beneath the comforting touches and kept his eyes closed as he continued. “Because he drank himself to death.” His breath hitched. “And I wasn’t there.”
“Your father sent you to the Circle when you were six,” Hannibal said. “Is that true?”
Will nodded, eyes squeezed tight.
“He sent you away, so how could it be your fault? Look at me, Will.” Will shook his head and Hannibal, hands framing his face, said again, “Look at me.”
Will opened his eyes, ashamed as fresh tears fell. Hannibal was leaned in close, and their foreheads almost touched. Suddenly, Will felt impossibly warm, held as he was in the templar’s hands. He swallowed hard and tried to look straight into Hannibal’s eyes without shying away. Hannibal seemed to appreciate the effort, and he smiled.
“Few of us are blessed with families worth our love. Your father did not deserve your love, Will,” Hannibal whispered, “and you do not deserve to harbor the guilt of his death. You were only a child. The blame is his alone. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” Will breathed, and he did understand it, when the words came from Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal’s smile broadened and, as he stroked Will’s hair, his shoulders began to relax. As Will studied his face, a new memory surfaced. “The Guardian said you were alone and always would be.”
Hannibal’s smile did not falter and he mumbled a soft “yes,” as he continued to stroke Will’s hair.
“I just…” Will’s words abandoned him as his eyes roamed over the templar’s face.
Hannibal dropped his hands from their languid strokes and crossed them over his knees. “Yes, Will?”
“I thought,” Will began, stopping and furrowing his brows. He took a deep breath and tried again to put into words the things he’d been thinking, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with Hannibal as he spoke. “This Blight won’t last forever,” he said. He stopped again, looking down at his hands.
“No,” Hannibal agreed. “It will not last forever.”
“You know I don’t have any family,” Will continued hesitantly, his cheeks blazing. “And…you don’t either, do you?” He felt a stab of fear that maybe his assumption was incorrect, that maybe his entire line of thinking had been stupid and wrong, but Hannibal only nodded and politely waited for Will to continue. “When this Blight is over, I was wondering if, maybe, you would want to…” Maker, he was an idiot. He couldn’t even complete a sentence.
“If it’s no bother,” Hannibal interjected helpfully, “I thought I might like to remain with you after the Blight.”
“Oh?” Will asked, as if that wasn’t the exact question he had been on the precipice of asking.
“That is, unless you find the idea objectionable.”
“No!” Hannibal’s mouth twitched in amusement and Will wished he could sink into the floor and disappear. “No,” he repeated, with less crazed vigor. “I was thinking, now that I’m not sworn to the Circle Tower anymore and the future of the Grey Wardens is up in the air in the worst kind of way, I don’t really have a home. But it feels, almost, like I don’t need one,” he forced his eyes up, “because you feel like home to me. Erm, I mean, you and Katz and Alana. Feel like home. It’s stupid.” Will bowed his head, horribly embarrassed by his confession. He had not actually intended to voice any of that aloud. Ever. He was trying to brainstorm a way to suitably backtrack his words when Hannibal’s fingers hooked beneath Will’s chin and tilted up his head.
“It’s not stupid.”
Will’s heart was racing. “It’s not?”
“It is how you feel, and your feelings are never stupid,” Hannibal whispered, his hand holding Will’s chin reverently. “Never feel like you have to hide yourself from me, Will.”
“Oh,” Will sighed. “Okay.” He stared at the man in front of him, the man so close and warm, the man he was slowly leaning into as his breath grew shallow and his heart grew fluttery and wild in his chest. How did he feel about Hannibal? Will let his eyes close as he thought about it. The fingers at his chin caressed across his jaw and glided, firm and purposeful, around the column of his throat and Will sighed into the templar’s touch. How did he feel? He leaned closer, pushing into the strength of Hannibal’s hands. He wet his lips with his tongue and left them parted on a tiny sigh. How did he feel?
“Will,” Hannibal whispered, and he was so close, his breath fanned lightly across Will’s face.
Will opened his eyes, and Hannibal was there. He was right there, face close to his, and Will knew exactly how he felt as he began to close the distance between them.
“THE ARL IS AWAKE!”
Will jumped back as Katz pounded violently against the door. He pressed his hand over his heart to calm its manic beating. “Be right there!” he hollered, standing up. He looked down at the templar still sitting on his bed, his eyes nearly glowing as he stared up at Will through a soft cascade of silvery blond hair. Will exhaled roughly and rubbed his hands over his face. What had he been about to do? His eyes cast over the plump bow of Hannibal’s lips and he had to turn away. “We should go see the Arl,” Will said. He could hear the mattress squeaking as Hannibal’s weight lifted from it.
“Very well,” Hannibal said, walking up behind Will and stopping close at his back. For a few moments, Will didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could only stand exactly as he was and breathe in and out, feeling the heat of Hannibal’s body as he crowded into his space. When Hannibal spoke again, it was right at his neck, and Will’s eyes shut, and he tilted his head towards the sound. “After you.”
Will counted to three before he forced himself free of Hannibal’s hypnotic pull, and he practically ran to the door, opening it wide and stepping quickly into the exposure of the hallway. He turned back to Hannibal, who was appraising him with dark, curious eyes. Will raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming?”
Hannibal’s answering grin brought a blush to Will’s face, and he hurried down the hall. After a moment, he heard the templar following him, close behind.
--
The Arl of Redcliffe was an odd man, Will thought as he shook his hand. On the surface, his face was kind, almost sweet, kind of like Abigail. But also kind of like Abigail, if you strained too hard to see beneath that sugary top layer, darkness gleamed. Will shook the man’s offered hand and caught a flash of that darkness. It made the smile on the Arl’s face seem that much stranger, and Will was glad when he got back his hand. He glanced at Katz, wondering if she, too, had sensed her uncle’s oddities. Will couldn’t help but think that maybe Katz being sent to the Chantry when she was younger was for the best.
“I missed a lot while I was sleeping,” the Arl said. After shaking all of their hands, he took a seat in his throne and leaned back, clasping his hands beneath his chin to casually survey Redcliffe’s – to be assured – respectfully honored guests. “Bann Bella has filled the dots in for me, and my Abigail has had nothing but praise to sing of your names.”
Will glanced at the Arl’s daughter, who was propped beside him in her smaller throne. She met his eye and smiled.
“Uncle,” Katz said, stepping forward, “if you know what’s happened, then you know why we’re here.”
“I do,” he answered, his expression dour. “I never liked Teyrn Mason, but I never thought his madness would reach to such degrees as this. I had word awaiting me when I came out of my sickness, from my allies in Denerim. Mason is acting a tyrant, and it’s all Queen Margot can do to keep him from taking on the Blight today.”
“Today?” Will asked, horrified.
“Apparently he can’t wait to handle this on his own.” The Arl shook his head. “Just like King Frederick, he wants all the glory for himself. And he’s calling for your execution, Beverly. And yours, as well, Will.”
Will and Katz exchanged knowing glances. “That, at least, is nothing new, Uncle,” Katz replied.
“Mason is a powerful man with many connections throughout Ferelden,” continued the Arl, reaching out to take his daughter’s hand as he spoke. “What you have accomplished so far outside his reach is miraculous. How close are you to confirming the agreements of the Warden treaties?”
“We have only the mages left to secure,” Katz said, and Will’s stomach did a flip. There would be no more stalling.
“That’s good news. You’re headed to the Tower next?”
“We are,” answered Katz.
The Arl nodded his head, his eyes far and calculating. “Then I will gather my troops tomorrow night and we will be waiting for you in Denerim, for the Landsmeet.”
“Landsmeet?” Will asked, in surprise rather than ignorance. He had studied Landsmeets in the Circle. He knew what they were. The gathering of the highest ranking Lords in Ferelden. There, they could resolve the matter with Mason once and for all. “Mason will agree to hold one?”
“Mason will have no choice. Besides, it’ll be a clear shot at the two of you, and he won’t be missing that opportunity.”
“Okay,” Katz said. “So we hit up the mages for help and then meet you in Denerim, handle Mason. Then…” She looked at Will with her eyebrows raised.
“Then we take our fight to the archdemon and end this Blight, once and for all,” Will answered. He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Because before the darkspawn and the giant, killer archdemon dragon, they had to go see First Enchanter Bedelia at the Circle Tower.
And Will really, really wasn’t looking forward to that.
--
There was a pretty good chance he was going to throw up; his shoulders hunched miserably and his head leaned out over the side of the rickety old rowboat taking them across Lake Calenhad. The Tower loomed, like a maleficent mountain, and every time Will caught its rippling reflection in the water, he was punished with a brutal set of dry heaves. Hannibal was holding back his hair and trying to shove his canteen of water to Will’s lips, while Alana and Katz busied themselves awkwardly with the rowing of the boat, trying not to make a big deal out of Will’s panic attack.
It’s not that Will was afraid of the Tower. He wasn’t afraid of First Enchanter Bedelia or the templars. Not really. It was the idea of willingly walking into a prison cell and closing the door. And the more time Will had spent outside of the Tower walls, the more of a prison he began to view it. Almost fifteen years he had been trapped within the cylindrical stones. Fifteen years! Will’s life had been a structured, carefully guarded, slow torture. He didn’t want to go back to that place, certain that once his physical self returned, his mind would revert to the boy he had been when he’d lived there, too, and that was his greatest fear. Will didn’t want to revisit who he had been. He didn’t want to lose the scraps of power and resolve he had gained as a free man. Every time he imagined it, his insides revolted. Will shut his eyes and concentrated on the two things that didn’t make him feel sick: the hand rubbing small circles over his back, and his demon. He tried to think of what it would say, hoped that, perhaps, it would whisper into his ear if Will wished it hard enough. But he only felt Hannibal’s hands. And that was enough to get him through the boat ride.
After what felt like eons, the boat pushed up against the sand, and Hannibal stepped out first, taking Will’s hand and leading him to solid ground. Katz and Alana tied up the rowboat while Will proceeded to hyperventilate, but only for a moment, because then Hannibal was holding his face in his hands and demanding Will’s eyes.
“Will, I need you to relax,” he said, and though his words were a command, they were kind. “You are not the mage you were when this Tower was your home. Nor am I the templar.” Will nodded shakily. He kept forgetting this might be strange for Hannibal, as well. Suddenly, a new fear struck and before Will could stop himself, his hands flew up to wrap around Hannibal’s wrists, his fingertips sinking in hard enough to bruise. As though Hannibal could read his mind, he smiled at Will and said, “Please do not agonize that I will leave you here. I have no more love in my heart for the Circle than you do.” He lowered Will’s hands to his side and squeezed gently before releasing him. “I am yours, Will. Not theirs.”
That was what did it. Those simple words from Hannibal were what helped Will to stumble, shocked, through the Tower doors. There was, for a few moments, no room in Will’s mind for anything but those words, and they echoed in his head as he walked into the ground floor foyer. ‘I am yours, Will.’ He rode the high of those words all the way up to the second he spotted a woman standing in the center of the room, her back turned to him. Petite. Blonde. The air surrounding her practically swirling with snow.
“First Enchanter Bedelia,” Hannibal said in greeting with a polite head bow.
The First Enchanter spun around, her face ghostly white when her eyes landed on Hannibal and Will.
“Not a lot surprises me,” she said in that strange, lazy cadence, and Will’s ears burned from the memories that voice brought back. “But today,” she drawled, “has been nothing but one surprise after another. Hannibal. Will. What are you doing here? I thought you were most likely, well-”
“Dead?” Will asked. To his divine relief, his voice did not crack or crumble, and when the First Enchanter turned to glare at him frostily, he did not avert his eyes or hide behind Hannibal, despite his urge to do so.
“I should have had more faith, possibly,” she admitted resignedly.
“No, we probably should be dead,” Katz added, sauntering between Will and the First Enchanter with her hand already digging in her pack for the treaties.
The First Enchanter eyed Katz suspiciously, taking note of the griffin etched into her leather armor. “Grey Wardens.” She cocked an eyebrow at Will. “So you passed the Joining.”
Upon being asked a direct question, Will’s confidence began to falter, but Hannibal answered for him before his wilting could be detected. “Will has survived a Harrowing, a Joining, and more than you could possibly imagine,” he said. “Not quite the weakling you had diagnosed.”
The First Enchanter’s gaze left Katz and fell to the templar. “Hannibal, it is most surprising to see you here, considering you declined to respond to any of my messengers.”
Will cut his eyes at Hannibal. The Circle had been trying to contact him this whole time?
Hannibal stepped forward, his demeanor borderline threatening. “I am fulfilling my duty to Will.”
“And disregarding your duty to the Circle,” she countered.
Katz’s hand finally stopped its rummaging, pulling from her pack the treaty, which she waved in front of First Enchanter Bedelia’s face. “Oh, what’s this? Oh yeah. A treaty.” After thrusting it in the First Enchanter’s face, the woman snatched it from Katz’s fingers. She read quickly, icy blue eyes darting back and forth until she was finished.
“The rumors of the Blight are true, then,” she said, shaking her head. Her perfectly curled hair hardly moved. “Jack Crawford was right.”
“Of course Jack was right,” Katz said with a scowl. “The Blight is coming, and we have to stop it. But we need the help of the Circle.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the treaties. Jack mentioned it to me when he was last here,” her gaze floated once more to Will, “recruiting.”
“Then you know what’s riding on this battle,” Katz continued, rolling up the treaty and returning it to her pack. “You’ll help us.”
The First Enchanter’s eyes suddenly narrowed as she looked past Katz to the previously unnoticed member of their party. “Did you bring an apostate into this Tower?”
They all turned around to look at Alana, who was tapping her foot behind the others. Her weight was shifted to one side, her hip jutting out, her arms crossed, wearing an expression of boredom. Her leathers and furs seemed wilder when considered through the First Enchanter’s eyes and Will wondered if they’d just accidentally led Alana to her death. The Tower was full of templars, whose job it was to hunt apostates. And most templars were not Hannibal. Will’s grip tightened on his staff and he closely watched the exchange. Alana sighed and the First Enchanter stared frostily, and then she turned away.
“Like I said, this day is full of surprises,” she said. “I never thought stopping an apostate would be anything less than top priority, but today your friend is the last thing on my mind.” She stopped, seeming to consider something for a moment, and then she began to walk. “Follow me, if you would.”
Will was frozen in his boots until Hannibal nudged him, and the four of them followed the First Enchanter into the main room of the first floor. And erected in the center of the space, stretching from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, shimmery and blue, was a magical seal of protection.
Will looked up at Hannibal in panic and received an encouraging smile. ‘I am yours, Will,’ he had said. Will took a steadying breath and returned his attention to the First Enchanter and her mysterious, shimmery wall.
“What has happened here?” asked Hannibal.
“An abomination has happened,” she replied. “Lots of them.”
Will’s heartbeat was racing again. “Abominations?” he asked, his mind going back to Peter slicing open his skin and opening his mind and body to the demon that had destroyed him.
“It’s unclear exactly what happened, but the Knight Commander is convinced everyone in the tower has been lost. The Chantry of Denerim has already been notified and they’re sending reinforcements for the Rite of Annulment.”
“The Rite of Annulment?” Will gaped. “You can’t!”
“Wait, what’s the Rite of Annulment?” Will heard Katz whispering to Alana.
“It is a purging,” Hannibal answered, hand steady and sure against Will’s back. “The templars will go into to Tower and kill every mage they come across. They will leave none alive.”
“What?” Katz exclaimed. “You can’t do that.”
“It isn’t my preference, but there can be no chance a demon is allowed to escape from this Tower,” the First Enchanter said coldly. “It is a sad reality of a mage’s life. Sometimes we have to die. Sometimes it’s necessary to protect those around us.”
Will stared at her, and for the first time in his life, she looked helpless. Her fingers flexed and he looked down, noticing the poorly concealed flask up her sleeve. She was scared. She needed their help, and she would never admit it. Will closed his eyes for a moment, mustering his courage, thinking of his demon telling him he was powerful, thinking of the solid heat pressed to his back. “First Enchanter, you can’t kill all the mages. We need them to fight for us.”
Her icy eyes found his. “I wish I could help you, Will.”
He breathed in sharply and glanced up at the magical barrier. “You’ve sealed off the first floor from the rest of the Tower?”
“Yes.”
“Can you take it down for a few seconds and let us through?”
She actually laughed, and it was worse than her glares. “You want to go into the Tower full of abominations? You? A vulnerable mage made more vulnerable by your Dreamer status? Have you lost your mind?”
It was a valid question, and maybe he had lost his mind, but he hadn’t lost his gauge for good and evil yet. And the arguments couldn’t be clearer. Abominations were evil, corrupt, should be put down. But there was no way every mage in the Tower had succumbed to the attacking demon force yet, and it would be evil for the templars to ravage the inhabitants, striking down even those who had been strong enough to resist the demon’s call. Will knew which evil he couldn’t live with, and if that made him insane, so be it. “I’m not afraid of a couple of abominations,” Will lied. “Besides, I come with my own templar.” He looked at his companions. “I’m going to try and save the mages that can be saved. It will be dangerous.”
Katz spoke first. “I hope so.” She frowned. “I think I might be addicted to adrenaline, you guys.”
Alana rolled her eyes. “We’ll get you some help when this is all over.” She looked at Will. “I’m with you.”
He didn’t even need to look at Hannibal, but he did anyway, because he wanted to hear him say it. “Hannibal?”
The templar smiled. “I am well acquainted with following you through these halls, Will.”
Will nodded and turned back to the First Enchanter. “Please. Give us a chance to save the mages. If we fail, well, the templars will be here soon anyway, right?”
She fixed Will with an expression he’d never seen on her face before. “You are different,” she said slowly. “Stronger.” She took a step towards him, tilting her head in appraisal. “We will see if you are strong enough.” Her hand lifted and the blue wall came down. “Go. Hurry.”
Will had only a brief moment to look at the First Enchanter in shock, and then Hannibal and the others were hurrying him across the room. As soon as they crossed the line, the wall shot back up into the air.
Will gulped. They were trapped inside the Tower with abominations and Maker knows what else. But he had spoken to the First Enchanter and not fainted. And that was something.
--
They did not come across an abomination until they rounded the corner of the circular hallway, headed for the steps. And at first, she only appeared to be an ordinary apprentice. Will stopped walking when he spotted her, standing in the center of the hall. She was crying.
“Hello?” Will asked. She looked familiar. He thought he might remember her name and decided to try it. Maybe she could still be saved. “Molly?” he asked. Her shaking shoulders stilled at the sound of her name. Encouraged, Will took another step forward. “Molly, are you okay?”
It was when she lifted her face from her hands that he saw her grinning face. He gripped his staff and stepped away as she threw her head back and laughed, revealing to Will and the others her bloody palms. The thing before him wasn’t Molly. Not anymore. She changed before their eyes, her skin turning red and orange with flame, her body hunching and mutating, until she had become the abomination.
“A rage demon,” Hannibal said, and he grabbed Will’s waist, moving him out of the way. The monster would be immune to Will’s fire spells, so all he could do was stay behind Hannibal and watch Katz and Alana strike it down. It screamed like Molly when it died.
Katz turned around, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “So that’s an abomination.”
“One of many forms,” Hannibal answered.
Before they reached the stairs, they encountered three additional lesser rage demons that used to be Will’s fellow apprentices. None had been his friend, of course. He had only had one friend, and that was Peter. But it was still a difficulty to see them die, bodies and minds destroyed. Thankfully, they were all relatively easy to kill. Perhaps because, so far, the abominations had all been former apprentices. With skinny hope, Will thought that maybe the Full Circle mages had been strong enough to resist the demons. Perhaps the second floor of the Tower would yield more answers.
The second floor certainly yielded more memories. Though the hall’s atmosphere was plainly disturbed, and several bodies of resisting mages lay strewn in their path, it was the same hall Will remembered walking. The same old path daily traveled, from his shared apprentice quarters to the library, a templar shadow always at his back. Will glanced to his side. His templar no longer stalked in the shadows, but remained a stalwart presence beside him. Not a shadow, but a comforting extension of himself. It was surreal, to walk down the hall with Hannibal, and Will felt a jab of déjà vu when he saw the templar’s face lit in torchlight.
It was not long before they stood outside the apprentice quarters. Will knew they should go in and search the space for abominations and possible innocents. But he hesitated.
“Will, what is it?” Alana asked.
“I don’t know,” Will replied. “For some reason, this all feels familiar to me.”
“Well, it’s not like this is the first tower we’ve stormed,” Katz said.
“That’s true.” He shook his head, gripped his staff, and after reaffirming his confidence with a glance at Hannibal beside him, he led the way into his old quarters. There were no abominations and no mages in sight.
But there was something else. Something Will recognized immediately, and suddenly the familiar feeling in the air made sense, because sitting in the center of the apprentice quarters was a giant, bear-like creature, and Will had met him before.
Sloth.
He held his staff before him and heard the others draw their weapons in kind. But Sloth looked unconcerned, lifting his deceitfully sleepy head and blinking lazily in their direction.
“Ah,” it sighed. “You again.” Its mouth spread into a tired grin, presenting Will with all his pointed, blood-stained teeth. “I told you I would wait and eat the next apprentice.” It licked its chops. “Mmmm. Delicious.”
“Will, you know this thing?” rasped Katz beside him.
He muttered his response under his breath, eyes glued to the Sloth. “He was one of the tests in my Harrowing.”
“It appears someone’s skills did not live up to your own, Will,” Hannibal said.
“No,” Sloth said sleepily. “I hitched a ride out of the Fade in a supple, tasty body. And then I ate him. I bet you,” Sloth said, leering at Will, “would have tasted even more sweet.”
Will slammed down his staff. “You won’t be eating any more mages, Sloth. And you won’t be making any more abominations either.”
Sloth yawned. “So lively, you are, when you know you are awake. Let’s see how you fare in a world not your own.”
Will only had time to feel Hannibal’s hand gripping his wrist before Sloth roared and a bright flash swept through the room.
--
When Will’s eyes cleared, he was no longer in the apprentice quarters. Sloth was nowhere to be seen. He looked around anxiously for his friends, but they, too, had disappeared. The ground beneath his feet was slightly misty, and the air had taken on a greenish tint. Will knew exactly where he was. The Fade.
Of course, it was not a space of the Fade he was familiar with, and he supposed that was the Sloth’s point. He was positive his body, and the bodies of his friends, were lying on the floor in the waking world, asleep. Meanwhile, their minds had been separated in Sloth’s domain. Will sighed, but did not feel hopeless. He was a Dreamer, and that meant he could negotiate this unfamiliar Fade space and find his friends. All he had to do was concentrate.
“Will!” called a familiar voice, and Will turned around, the scene around him shifting into something different.
He was on the grounds of a mighty fortress, dressed in official Grey Warden garb, and Jack Crawford was walking towards him with a large smile and jolly chuckle. He slapped Will on the shoulder and couldn’t have looked happier.
“Jack,” Will said. He knew the Warden wasn’t real, knew it was a trap laid for him by Sloth, but he was curious nonetheless, and, real or not, it was nice to see the man’s face again.
“Don’t look so sad, my friend,” Jack bellowed in his deep tenor. “This is a celebration, after all!”
Will could hear cheering and triumphant horns. “What are we celebrating?”
“The death of the archdemon and the end of the Blight! It’s all over, thanks to you and Katz.” Jack placed both hands on Will’s shoulders. “You saved Ferelden, Will.”
“But Jack,” Will reminded him, “you died in the Battle of Ostagar.”
“No, I survived that battle, and I’ve retired happily in Weisshaupt. Since you saved the world, we’ve all been here, studying and sharing history. The Grey Wardens have never been more respected. You’ve never been happier. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Will smiled sadly. “It would have been wonderful,” he said. “I wish it were true. But you’re not Jack Crawford. Show yourself, demon.”
Jack’s face faded away at Will’s words, and was replaced by the face of a lesser Shade. It lunged at Will with its long arms, and he jumped out of its reach, holding out his own palm and releasing a strong blast of fire. The Shade screamed and burned until all that remained were floating bits of ash.
Will shook his head, wishing he had his staff, because now he had to go searching for his companions, and he had no idea where Sloth had placed them or what he would face when he found them. But he would deal with that after they were found. He wanted to find Alana first, as she was the most susceptible to demon corruption after himself. Shutting his eyes, he focused all of his powers on finding her, picturing her face, willing his Dreamer’s mind to hone in on her energy. It was difficult and his brain felt strained, working so hard in the unfamiliar landscape, but after a few minutes, he felt the air around him shifting. When it settled again, he opened his eyes.
“I’m telling you, darling, Ferelden, precious as it is, stinks of dog.”
Will was in Alana’s one-room hut in the Korcari Wilds. Dimmond was stoking the fire and Alana was lounging on her bearskin rug beside him, a mug of dwarven mead in her hand.
“Shut up, Dimmond,” she said, knocking back her mead.
“Alana?” Will asked, approaching her cautiously. He was a bit embarrassed to have caught her in such a domestic scene. And with Dimmond, of all people.
But when Alana turned her head and saw Will, she sighed in relief. “Oh, thank goodness.” She stood from the bearskin and approached him. “The Sloth demon couldn’t even drudge up a decent impersonation,” she whispered behind her hand. “His accent is way off.”
Will looked past her with alarm at the fake Dimmond warming his hands over the fire. “You know he’s not real?”
Alana looked offended. “I’m a mage, you know,” she said. “I might not be a Dreamer, but I know when I’m in the Fade. And that,” she said, pointing at Dimmond, “is not our elven assassin.”
“Right. No, it’s not. You know what we have to do.”
Alana crossed her arms and nodded. “It’s too bad. I almost wish I could have believed it. Oh well.”
Will lifted his palm, letting his mana gather. “Show yourself, demon!”
Dimmond’s smile instantly faded as his body morphed into its true shape, another Shade. Alana helped Will vanquish it, her energy blasts combining with Will’s fire and trapping it in a fiery whirlwind until it burned and curled away into a plume of ash. But once it was gone, Alana’s body began to fade, as well.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Why am I disappearing? Will?”
“Alana!” Will cried, reaching for her, but his hand went straight through her body, and then she was gone and Will was alone again. He could only hope Alana had been returned to her body after vanquishing her demon.
“Okay,” Will said, trying to calm himself. Now was not the time to panic. He still had Katz and Hannibal to find. And while he didn’t doubt Katz’s skills or strength of mind, he did rationalize that she would be more vulnerable to a demon’s influence than a templar. Hannibal would be able to recognize, better than Katz, the signs of a demon. It was a templar’s job, after all. Will shut his eyes again and thought of Katz. Her short bob of hair swinging in her eyes. Her laugh. Her fingers clasping her Warden’s amulet. The air around him shifted, and when it stilled, he opened his eyes to a new scene.
At first, Will was confused, because Jack was there again, but this time it was different, and he remembered that he was seeing Katz’s fantasy. He just waited silently for a moment, watching.
Katz was holding a wooden sword and Jack was holding one, too. He sliced it through the air and brought it up to block across his face. Katz mimicked his motion, but it wasn't exactly the same.
“If you can’t block, you can’t fight,” Jack scolded. “Try it again.”
Katz breathed in deep, returning to her former position, and then she repeated the blocking motion Jack had shown her. This time it was perfect, and Jack laughed, patting her on the shoulder, smiling proudly.
“There you go. That was perfect.”
“It was?” Katz asked. Her voice sounded younger than Will was used to, but she looked the same. “Does that mean you’ll let me go with you to Ostagar?”
Jack arched his eyebrow.
“Oh, come on, Jack. You said so yourself. If I can block, I can fight. I’m ready for this.”
“I don’t know, Katz.”
Will decided he had seen enough. He wanted this scene to stop before Katz became too engrossed. Or he did. He stepped forward. “Katz?”
She swung around to face him, smiling broadly when she recognized him. “Will! Hey! Look, Jack, it’s Will.”
Jack smiled at them both. “Hi, Will. Here to practice?”
“Erm, actually, I wanted to speak to Katz in private,” Will explained. He took Katz by the arm and led her a few feet away, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Katz, listen to me.”
She laughed, looking back over at Jack and shrugging. “Why are you acting so weird, Will?”
A part of him hated to do this. “This doesn’t seem strange to you?” he asked, knowing it would go easier if she figured it out herself.
“Why would it be strange?” she asked. “We always practice together with Jack.”
“Do we, Katz? Think. When did we ever practice together with Jack?”
She squinted at him, tilting her head in question. “All the time.”
“Be more specific,” Will prompted.
“W-well,” she stammered.
“When did we meet, Katz? Do you remember the day? Why it was important?”
“Of course I remember. I met you in Ostagar,” she said. And then her eyes narrowed. “Wait…that’s not right. Jack hasn’t said I can go to Ostagar yet.”
“No, Katz, it is right. Do you remember?” He pulled out his Warden amulet to show her. “You gave me this. And then we had to light the signal fire.”
Her face fell. “And Jack died in the battle.”
Will nodded, carefully tucking his amulet away. “Yes.” He was relieved when Katz’s eyes began to clear, could see the moment that clarity reclaimed her mind.
“Sloth,” she groaned. “It’s a trick.”
“It’s a trick. That’s not Jack.”
Katz sighed, strengthening her hold on the wooden sword. “He’ll pay for wearing his face.” She turned, Will holding up his palms beside her, and yelled, “Show yourself, demon!”
For the second time that day, Will killed Jack Crawford. And for the second time, he watched his friend disappear before his eyes.
“Will?” Katz asked, looking down at her misting body.
“Don’t worry,” Will told her, and then she was gone. He hoped she didn’t need to worry. He hoped she was back in her body in the waking world, the same as Alana. But he couldn’t be sure until he went back himself. And he only had one more person to find in the Sloth’s domain before he could. He closed his eyes.
Summoning thoughts of Hannibal was easy, and his relocation was instantaneous as he pictured the man’s face in his mind. But when he opened his eyes, it was all wrong.
Will was standing in a grand hall, where torches lined the walls and the marble was smooth beneath his feet. He had visited this place countless times before, but not with Hannibal. Will frowned, sweeping the space. He was beginning to think he had simply shifted into the wrong place, when he finally spotted Hannibal. The templar was standing by the wall, almost hidden completely by shadow. But Will saw no one else around. No fantasy playing out before his eyes. Only Hannibal.
Will stepped towards him, softly calling his name.
“Will,” the templar answered. He walked into the light of the torches and smiled. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Will answered, studying the templar’s face. Something was different about it. He took a step closer. “Are you okay, Hannibal?”
“I am perfectly fine,” he answered. “One moment I was standing with you in the apprentice quarters, and the next I was here in the templar barracks beneath the Tower. I assume this is the Sloth’s doing?”
“Templar barracks?” Will asked.
“Why, yes,” Hannibal said. “Don’t you recognize them?”
Will stared at the man in front of him, and then he took another step closer. “Hannibal?”
Hannibal tilted his head, such a familiar gesture, one Will had seen before from Hannibal. And from another. In this same hall. “Yes, Will?” the templar asked, stepping nearer until they were only a foot apart.
Will saw a flicker of a shadow moving on the wall behind Hannibal. He stared at that shadow, at Hannibal’s shadow. Tall and black and lean, with spiking, sharp antlers spiraling into the darkness.
“Is there something you would like to say?” Hannibal asked, wrenching Will’s attention away from the wall.
Will looked up into Hannibal’s eyes. He didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. When Hannibal smiled at him encouragingly, Will shook his head.
“It’s okay, Will,” Hannibal said gently. “You can say it.”
Will sucked in a panicky puff of air, and then softly, slowly, he whispered the words. “Show yourself, demon.”