Demon

by SkyeMarsters

Summary:

Will Graham is an apprentice mage awaiting his Harrowing, but is he strong enough to conquer his demons? A Dragon Age AU for the prettiest boy or girl in the Circle Tower of Ferelden.

Notes:

I love Hannibal. And I love Dragon Age. So it was only a matter of time before this happened. I have quite a chunk of the story already written, and I hope to have it finished and posted in its entirety before the end of November (which is a bit ambitious, but it's for the Hannibal Creative Amnesty November Challenge). Hope you enjoy!

I am my own beta. :)

Chapter 1: The Apprentice

The view through the narrowly cut window was beautiful, and Will pressed his face against the cool stone, lining his eye up perfectly with the thin arrow slat. From the nook in the library where he currently resided, Will could spy the full northern expanse of Lake Calenhad, and the little dock village beyond. The ground past the shoreline was obscured with early morning mist rolling up from the lake, but he could make out the humble Inn, where visitors of the tower often stayed, and the templar on patrol beside the rickety rowboat, and the rather dilapidated old man whose job it was to carry folk back and forth over the water.

He squinted at the sun’s reflection; it dazzled brightly on the lake’s smooth surface, like diamonds shattered, brilliant and blinding. Would that the pane of glass separating Will from the cool breeze was gone, for it had been such a long time since he’d breathed fresh air. As recently as a few years ago, he would have had an hour or so to spend, once a week, to roam about outside - under the watchful eyes of a dozen templars, of course, but that was no bother. It was only after the escape attempt of a fellow apprentice that outdoor privileges had been revoked. Now the rule was strictly enforced: no one not yet made a full circle mage was allowed to go outside. And the apprentice who had tried to escape? He had been made Tranquil.

Will shuddered. As much as he yearned to feel fresh air on his skin and sunshine warming his face, as long as the threat of Tranquility hung over his head, he would swallow the desire. Nothing was worth the threat of Tranquility. Not freedom. Not anything. Will could stand the isolation of life in the Circle of Magi. What he could not abide was the idea of being lobotomized, cut off from the Fade, from his dreams, from his sole source of happiness. A world without sun he could take. A world without his imagination…he would rather be dead.

And death, it seemed, more and more apparent to him each day, was a solution with a growing likelihood, especially as Will was passing more and more birthdays with no clue as to when he’d be summoned for his Harrowing. He was twenty now, and the only mage apprentice he knew his age, besides Peter, who had not been called for the test. Without the test, he could not become a full member of the tower. That’s if he passed it at all, he reminded himself, not without an edge of grumpiness. If he did not pass his Harrowing, he would either die or be made Tranquil.

A bird swooped low over the lake, and Will followed its graceful dip with wide, envious eyes. What would it be like to feel so free? He sighed and took his face away from the window, slumping pitifully against the stone wall at his back. His fingers idly traced the leather-bound tome in his lap. It was useless to think of such things. Freedom was nothing more than a fantasy for most mages, for a mage like Will Graham in particular. If he had to harness a guess as to why he’d not been summoned for his Harrowing yet, he would liken it to the pity of the First Enchanter, who surely anticipated his failure, and thus was keeping him from it for as long as responsibly possible. Hadn’t he seen it in her icy blue eyes, that pitying sorrow? Didn’t Will consistently discern a similar gaze from everyone in the tower, apprentice and full-fledged mages alike? He sighed, glancing back down to the yellowing parchment of the spell book he’d been studying that morning. He should not feel so eager for his Harrowing, he supposed. Dreamers almost never passed; they were too susceptible to demon influence. But he’d like to know his fate, one way or another, regardless of his Harrowing’s outcome. If he were to die, or be made Tranquil, he’d like to know. Let it happen, he quested inwardly, his eyes focusing on the inked cursive of the tome. Let it happen and be done.

His mind wandered thusly, adrift between spellwork and unknown fates, until his attention was grabbed by a newcomer to the library. Will lifted his head and swept a loose curl from his eyes in time to spot the First Enchanter entering the circular tower level, and an unfamiliar man he’d never seen following closely. He lifted the tome to partially hide his face, his clever blue eyes peering around the worn page edges, and he watched them move amongst the walls of bookshelves. First Enchanter Bedelia was a small woman, but, to Will’s perspective, terrifying. Frosty, Peter always said. And there did seem to be a chill that accompanied her everywhere she went. Today, she wore a tidy smile on her porcelain face as she led the stranger through the library. Will’s eyes narrowed on her company: a man, muscular, dark, in his fifties, maybe. His strides were confident, and strength was a promise in every movement of his body. His clothes were strange, but Will was so accustomed to the long robes of the mages that anything else always looked strange to him. This man wore armor, but it was unlike the armor of the templars. Sleeker. The man turned as First Enchanter Bedelia introduced him to the Inventory Master, and Will could just make out a griffin printed on the back of his leather chest piece. Will’s lips parted in a silent gasp. And he was not the only one caught by such surprise.

“Will?” came a small voice at Will’s elbow.

He turned his head, still hiding behind his lifted tome, and saw his only friend standing next to him in his reading nook. That Peter had managed to sneak up on him at all was proof of the extent of Will’s distraction. After offering the slight apprentice a toothy grin of greeting, Will alerted his eyes back to the First Enchanter and her curious guest, who was apparently, to Will’s great astonishment, a Grey Warden.

“D-do you see what’s on his tunic?” Peter whispered at Will’s ear. “I-is that w-what I think it is?”

Will shifted over on the nook and patted it. Peter sat beside him and Will lowered the cumbersome tome across both their laps. He tried, nonchalantly, to lower his head as if reading, while continuing to stare through his curtain of curly hair.

“W-will?” Peter asked, and Will shushed him with a breath of laughter.

“Pretend we’re studying,” Will murmured, digging an elbow into his friend’s side. “I don’t want them to catch us looking.”

“Is that a-a-,” Peter stumbled over his words, as he so often did, and Will waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts. “Is that a-a Grey Warden with the First Enchanter?”

“I think it might be,” Will answered in a soft whisper. He turned a page in the tome for authenticity. “But why would there be a Grey Warden here?”

“M-maybe he’s friends with the First Enchanter?” Peter ventured.

“Maybe,” Will agreed, but he didn’t mean it, not really. Nothing about the First Enchanter’s demeanor was necessarily friendly. Her body language screamed with tension and her smile was a study of patience and skill, nothing more. She did not want the Warden there, that much was obvious to Will, but there he was all the same. The question was why? People did not just come to the Circle to visit uninvited. In fact, people seldom came at all who were not mages or templars. The little rowboat across the lake and the man who rowed it hardly had occasion to do such work. People didn’t like to visit; it was an unusual occurrence. But the strange man, the Warden, he walked with such authority that Will could only assume he belonged exactly where he wished to belong. At present, that was directly at First Enchanter Bedelia’s side, speaking low with the Inventory Master, a Tranquil. Will was studying the griffin etched across his back when the man suddenly turned, looking right at him.

“Peter?” Will muttered under his breath, heart racing beneath the attention of the Warden’s dark eyes. “Is he looking over here?”

The tremor in Peter’s voice was answer enough as he whispered, “Y-yes. Oh, M-maker. They’re w-walking over h-here.”

Will’s eyes were huge as he watched, horror-stricken, First Enchanter Bedelia saunter in their direction, the Warden following close behind. Time slowed down as Will’s anxiety built up, and he thrust the tome into Peter’s lap entirely and stood, straight shouldered, upon their approach. His sweaty palms smoothed down the creases in his apprentice robes. There was nothing he could do to fix his hair, he well knew, but he tried anyway, fruitlessly running fingers through it, only to have them tangle at his crown. So it was that he was trying to escape his own wild tresses when the First Enchanter and Grey Warden stopped in front of him.

He could practically feel Peter shrinking beside him, and he wished he could do the same, but two stern sets of eyes were already fixed upon him, and he knew no spells for disappearing or magically jumping inside study tomes. He ripped his fingers free of the knots, untimely ripping a few strands from his scalp. His eyes watered, and he was blinking rapidly when the First Enchanter nodded in his direction, her icy eyes cutting back and forth between the Warden and Will.

“I’d like you to meet one of our apprentices,” she said. Her voice had an oddly languid cadence. She looked straight at Will and he thought he might burst into flames, his face was burning so. “This is Will Graham. Extremely bright. Will,” she said, her hand sweeping to her side before the Warden, “this is Jack Crawford.”

“A Grey Warden,” Will whispered as he bowed politely.

The Warden, Jack, let out a hearty laugh and bowed in turn. “My reputation precedes me,” he said.

“We have an extensive collection of Grey Warden lore in the library,” the First Enchanter explained drily, eyeing Will suspiciously, “and our apprentices are well-versed in the Blights. Will, especially. Isn’t that right, Will?”

At being asked a direct question by the First Enchanter, Will nearly choked on his next breath. He could hear Peter fidgeting uncomfortably behind him. “I have made it a goal of mine to read every book the tower library has to offer, ser.” He hoped his voice sounded stronger to them than it did to his own ears.

“It’s nice to meet a young man with an interest in history,” Jack continued. His expression was one of warmth and, after Will had mustered the courage to truly look at him, he found his eyes were bright and welcoming.

Will swallowed hard and tilted his head, curious. It was not every day he had an opportunity to speak with someone who lived outside the tower, let alone a Grey Warden. “Would you call the Blights history, ser? Something only belonging to the past?”

He heard Peter’s stifled moan from behind the pages of the tome, and he saw First Enchanter Bedelia arch her perfectly plucked eyebrow disapprovingly in his direction. But Jack Crawford, the strange Grey Warden, merely smiled and nodded his head.

“Some think the days of Blights and darkspawn are behind us,” Jack said. He glanced at Bedelia. “Some are not so easily fooled.”

“There must be a continuous threat,” Will continued cautiously, “for the need of Grey Wardens to remain. Is it not your only purpose? To end Blights and keep Thedas safe from darkspawn?”

“Many assume darkspawn are a dwarven problem only,” said Jack.

“Pardon me, but I think if that were true, you would much more likely be in Orzammar than here,” Will said. “Unless, of course, you're here recruiting.” A long pause followed these last words, and Will could hear his own voice echoing in his head.

Jack laughed and turned to the First Enchanter. “It’s too bad we’re not allowed to recruit apprentices, Bedelia,” he said slyly.

“You’ve come at an opportune time,” the First Enchanter said, crossing her arms across her chest. The bracelets at her wrists jingled together musically. “Will’s Harrowing is tomorrow morning.”

The light in the room seemed to dim, and Will nearly lost his balance as Peter tugged at his sleeve excitedly. He jostled his arm out of Peter’s grasping fingers, and then took a step forward, his face shockingly white, his eyebrows high on his forehead. He looked at the First Enchanter, amazed.

“My H-Harrowing?” he asked dumbly, so nervous he sounded like Peter. “It’s tomorrow?”

Jack looked amused as he watched the exchange, but Will only had eyes for the First Enchanter. She nodded slightly and blinked slowly, looking rather like a cat. “Tomorrow at dawn, in the Harrowing Chamber. A templar guard will escort you, and then,” she said, with an ease that set Will’s teeth to grinding, “we will see the stuff you’re made of, once and for all.”

The stuff Will could possibly be made of seemed suddenly ominous. His heart raced. His Harrowing. It was finally happening. Why now? Had he been in his right mind, he might have connected the dots and assumed it had everything to do with the Grey Warden’s arrival, but he was so utterly flustered by the whirlwind of life-altering news, Will could only think of one thing. Harrowing. His Harrowing. Tomorrow. Finally.

Through his haze-shadowed vision, Jack and the First Enchanter were watching him closely. Scrutinizing him, he realized. With quite a lot of effort, he stood himself as straight as he could and gave them each a graceful nod of his head.

“I look forward to it, First Enchanter,” Will said, trying his hardest to muster some confidence.

“I, as well,” the First Enchanter said. She placed her hand on the Grey Warden’s elbow to stir his attention. Jack tore his eyes away from Will at last, and smiled at her.

“I also find myself looking forward to it,” Jack said. He turned back to Will, smiling. “Good luck."

“Thank you, ser,” Will said, and then the First Enchanter was leading the Grey Warden away. Jack looked over his shoulder at Will one final time before they exited the library. Only when they were completely out of sight did Will collapse onto the cushions.

Peter bounced from the weight of Will’s exuberant plopping, and grabbed at his robes earnestly. “D-did you hear that? Y-your H-H-Harrowing is t-tomorrow!”

“I heard, Peter,” said Will, leaning his head back against the stones, drained and more than a little shocked.

“Y-you know what this m-means,” Peter said, his voice nearly a whimper. Will looked at his friend, concerned by the angst in his words. Peter was shaking. Tears welled in his eyes. “I’ll be the o-oldest apprentice h-here who hasn’t h-had their H-Harrowing.”

Will bit at his lower lip, unsure of what to say to comfort his friend. If anyone was more worried about becoming Tranquil than him, it was Peter. Even now, his eyes were terror-bludgeoned and wet.

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Will tried, placing a soothing hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’ll be summoned for your Harrowing soon. I’m sure of it.” He wasn’t sure, of course, and as he looked at his friend, practically in pieces, hunched over the tome, he wasn’t sure the result of Peter’s Harrowing, when it did come, would be a favorable one.

They had arrived to the tower, the both of them, around the age of six, within a week of one another, and they had been fast friends. Maybe because they were both shy, both more than a little strange. But Will knew, as he had always known, that Peter didn’t entertain the same strengths of mind as Will. Peter was –and he hated to say it, for it sounded cruel – weak of body and, worse, of mind. Will had always feared his own Harrowing, because he was a Dreamer, and everyone had taught him he should fear it. Dreamers were weak-willed against demons. But Peter? If Will wasn’t supposed to have a chance at passing with his life, what was expected of a gentle soul like Peter when his time came?

“It will be fine, Peter,” Will said, squeezing his friend’s trembling shoulder. However, as much as he wished him comfort, Will was decidedly more concerned with his own problems at the moment. Like his Harrowing being tomorrow, and the stomach acid quickly rising in his throat. He stood abruptly from the seat cushion, feeling more and more positive he was going to both vomit now, and die tomorrow. Well, one thing at a time. “I’ve got to take a walk about,” Will muttered in the general direction of his cowering heap of a best friend, and he dashed from the library in a blur of swishing robes and bouncing curls. He was vaguely aware of the metal-plated figure that followed him out of the library as he headed swiftly for the apprentice’s quarters.

The heavy step of the templar tracking him drowned out the slippity-slap of his own soft-soled boots as he half-ran, half-walked down the torch-lit corridor. When he entered his dormitory, shared by nine other apprentices, he was relieved to see no one there but him. The bathroom, also, was blessedly unoccupied, and he bent over it with gusto that wracked his ribs and set him to gasping helplessly into the toilet bowl.

Thank the Maker he could be sick in private, for he did not relish the usual sneers and smirks customary of his fellow apprentices. It was true that Will’s only friend in the tower was Peter. To most everyone else, Will was a time bomb. It was only a matter of time - or so they whispered loudly behind his back - until he succumbed to his innate weaknesses and become an abomination. Ever since they’d discovered he was a Dreamer, which had been very early on, he’d been leprous. Even a few teachers made sure to keep their distance, and the templars seemed to eye him more determinedly than anyone else in the tower. Even now, Will could still hear one lurking behind him. But it didn’t bother him overly much. Templar shadows were another element of tower life, and nothing else. They were necessary, Will had been taught, in case a mage became dangerous. Templars were there to keep them in check. To kill, if need be. If Will didn’t pass his Harrowing tomorrow, it would be a templar that ended his life. Unless he was made Tranquil. Will shivered and heaved anew into the ceramic bowl.

He heard the templar move closer, heard the creak of his armor as he kneeled. Will shuddered when he felt a cool hand press against his forehead. It wasn’t unusual to be followed so closely by one of the tower guards, but to actually interact with one…that was decidedly less usual. So when the hand pushed back the curls from his damp skin, Will turned his head weakly to see the templar beside him. It was the one he’d expected to see, the one that normally shadowed him. He blinked, but did not speak. Apprentices were not supposed to fraternize with the templars, just as the templars were advised against speaking with the apprentices, the full mages as well. It could make things uncomfortable later, if the templars had to kill them. So Will did not thank the templar, only blinked in a way he hoped conveyed thankfulness, and then he resumed to dry heave into the toilet.

The templar remained at his side until he felt well enough to stand, and then he handed Will a cool washcloth for his face. Will couldn’t help but smile as he accepted it, pushing it over his sweaty brow. The part of his mind that was not consumed with panic and fear hoped this templar was the one present during his Harrowing, for he had a kind face, and if it was to be the last thing Will saw before he died, he supposed it could be much worse.

Chapter 2: The Harrowing

Will spent the night certain he’d never fall asleep, so he was considerably surprised when he woke up to the soft rapping of knuckles against his bed post. He cracked open his lids and blurrily made out a looming, armored figure, and, for a few moments, he had no idea what was happening or who was leaning over him in his bed. It was early, so early the apprentice dormitory was still dark, and the only light in the room was the flickering flame of the candle held before a stoically familiar face. Will did not need long, after making out the shining templar’s eyes, to remember why he was being woken at such an unseemly hour. His heart hammered in his chest as he sat up in bed.

The templar opened his mouth, forming words he never managed to utter. Instead, he handed Will a candle of his own, and his other hand he held out for Will to grasp. Will accepted it and allowed the templar to help him from the bed. He needed the extra help, it turned out, for when the templar released him, Will was shaking so hard he nearly collapsed. As his knees threatened to buckle, the templar took a step toward him immediately, his arm extended, but Will waved him off with an anxious smile. He would not be so terrified that he could not walk to his own Harrowing.

Showing he understood Will’s hesitance, the templar retreated back a few steps and waited. Will breathed in several deep, slow breaths. His hands were shaking, and his poor candle flame was dancing frenetically about, casting mad shadows on the wall. But after taking a moment, his knees regained their strength, and his head felt less unbalanced, and his inhales were drawn with less noticeable tremors. He looked at the templar and offered him a miniscule head nod, and the templar’s mouth curved into a thin smile. He took a step, stopped, and looked back at Will questioningly.

“I’m right behind you,” Will answered quietly. The templar turned and walked slowly to the doorway, leading out into the tower corridor. Will followed behind. He had that specific, heart-racing feeling beneath his skin, when it is too early and one is too awake and the nerves are especially distressed. He shook, but he walked all the while, his eyes fastened to the back of the templar’s head as he led the way up one set of stairs, then another, then another, until they were at the door to the top floor of the tower.

The last door, the one they paused in front of, was thicker than the others, with a daunting iron lock that the templar took his time opening. His hand hesitated over the knob, and he glanced at Will huddled at his back. Again, he parted his lips as if to speak, and then thought better of it. Will squared his shoulders, took a deep, unsteady breath, and nodded. Appeased, the templar nodded in return and opened the door. He held it open for Will to walk through first, and then entered behind him. Will started slightly when he heard the door close with an echoing thud. He looked about him, no longer tired in the least, and saw for the very first time since he’d arrived at the Circle of Magi, the Harrowing Chamber.

He would either leave it as a full mage, or as a dead one. Or, he need not remind himself as he glanced around nervously at all the templars in the room, he would be made Tranquil. The worst of the fates, he thought, and one that must be avoided at all costs.

Will was so distractedly worried that it took him quite a bit before he noticed the First Enchanter at all. But there she was, standing in the center of the chamber, staring straight at him with those icy, frosty eyes. He was drawn to her, or maybe it was the light touch of the templar behind him that pushed him gently in her direction. Either way, he arrived before her, and she greeted his nearness with a grim grin. Her hand swept over the podium standing between them, upon which rested a glowing blue object Will instantly identified as lyrium.

“You know what this is,” she said, the abrupt sound of her speech jarring to Will. No one had yet spoken, and her voice was crisp and, in Will’s state, alarming.

He swallowed hard and nodded. He knew what it was. He knew what it did.

“As a Dreamer, you don’t need this to enter the Fade,” First Enchanter Bedelia continued. “But you’ll find, during a Harrowing, it is best one sticks with tradition. Also tradition? A templar chosen for the killing blow,” she said. Will’s eyes widened, and she flashed her teeth at him and held out her hand, motioning someone forth. “If need be only, Will,” she said.

The templar who had led Will to the chamber took his place beside him. Will cast him a sideward glance. It was who he’d suspected to be selected for such a thing. His eyes fell down to catch the templar’s fingers tightening over his sword hilt, and Will was hit with a sudden awareness, an assuredness he’d never felt before, that he was going to fail his Harrowing. And the man, the templar at his side, was going to deliver unto him his death. He knew it. He knew. But when the First Enchanter stepped around the podium and placed a delicate hand over his wrist, he met her eyes full on. He stared at her defiantly.

“Will, it is forbidden for you to have any details about the Harrowing before beginning, and there is a chance you will not make it. Are you ready?” She quirked her blonde head at him, and he felt her fingers tighten around his wrist.

He felt the panic rising inside him. What did it matter whether or not he was ready? Was he not to be forced into the Harrowing regardless? He cut his eyes quickly to the templar beside him, and became unsettled to see him already gazing in his direction. Will directed his attention back to First Enchanter Bedelia and nodded.

“I need a vocal verification,” the First Enchanter said briskly, “for the records.”

Will saw the Tranquil mage standing by the wall with his little notepad and quill, his face blank and his stance stupidly relaxed. All around the rest of the chamber, lining the walls, were dozens more templars. Will was unsure which made him more anxious.

“I’m ready,” Will finally said, thankful when his words escaped with no breaks or quavers.

“Then let us proceed,” she said, beginning to guide Will’s hand towards the lyrium. “May the Maker bless you.”

The skin around Will’s fingers lit up bright blue as they grew closer and closer to the lyrium, and then they connected with the magical vein and the world around him flashed with a blast of white light.

 

--

 

It was not his first journey into the Fade. As a Dreamer, Will was not a mage that required lyrium to enter. He could lucidly enter and exit the Fade at his will. It was why so many feared him, why everyone assumed he would fail his Harrowing. His presence in the Fade attracted spirits. And demons. He was a beacon to them, or so he had been taught. Most Dreamers, rare as they were, became abominations. It was only a matter of time, they said.

Will looked about himself at his surroundings. He saw no demons at the moment. No swarms engulfing him with evil demands. He appeared, strangely enough, to be standing on an island of sorts; a pedestal, suspended in a hazy sky that was not a sky at all, but a greenish grayish makeshift sky. The ground beneath him was solid enough, and he glanced down at his feet. That’s when he saw the cat.

It stared at him with owlish eyes, large and round amongst thick ginger fur. Will cocked his head at the cat. The cat blinked at him.

“Wotcher,” it said.

Unused to speaking felines, Will did not respond immediately. The cat swished its tail at him, and Will knelt down to meet it eye to eye.

“Hello,” Will said slowly. The ginger tabby nuzzled Will’s knee, set its front paws upon his thigh and hoisted itself into his lap. He could feel it purring.

“Are you one of them?” the cat purred, nuzzling once more against him. Will felt the urge to pet the cat, but he felt a stronger urge to push it from his lap. Finding it difficult to do either, he sat there in the Fade, in an awkward squat, while the cat began kneading its claws into the flesh of his leg.

“One of them?” Will asked.

“From the Circle of Magi,” the cat hissed. Its eyes flashed angrily. “This is your Harrowing, isn’t it?”

Will felt his brow furrowing of its own volition, though he agreed entirely. With a frown at the cat, he answered, “Yes.”

The cat jumped from his lap with another hiss and began winding around Will’s feet. Will straightened and looked down at the fretting animal.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently, looking over his shoulder anxiously. He didn’t have all day to make friends with talking cats, after all. He had a test to complete.

“I used to be an apprentice of the tower,” the cat told him. “Just like you.”

“You did?” Will asked, intrigued. “What are you doing here?”

If it was possible for cats to laugh, this one did just that. It was a queer, raking noise that sent a chill down Will’s spine. “I took too long finishing my Harrowing, didn’t I? They decided I’d failed and killed me. I’ve been trapped here in the Fade ever since.”

A cold dread flooded Will’s senses as he peered at the fluffy creature. “Why are you a cat?”

“I’ve been here so long,” the ginger cat lamented, “I learned how to shapeshift. Demons are more likely to leave you alone if you are a cat.”

“And if you’re – uh – human shaped?” Will asked.

“Oh, demons love human shaped things,” the cat answered. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a human. You’re a nice looking one too. What’s your name, I wonder?”

“I’m Will,” he replied. “What’s your name?”

“My name was…” the cat’s eyes drifted, as though looking back a considerable distance. After a moment, it refocused and answered brightly, “Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Will repeated. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The cat butted its head against Will’s shin. Its tail vibrated with delight. “You can help me.”

“Can I?” Will asked. “How?”

“Take me with you. I’ll help you pass your test and you can help bring me back. To the other side,” said Freddie the cat.

Will wasn’t sure that was possible, but then, he knew next to nothing about the Harrowing. What if this was what happened to every apprentice? What if it was a part of the test that he help a fellow mage escape the Fade? For now, he decided, he could use all the help he could get, and so he nodded at the little cat.

“Oh, thank you,” Freddie said. Will shuffled his feet for a second, unsure of what to do next. Freddie meowed plaintively at him and began walking. “This way, I think.”

Will watched the cat saunter a few feet in front of him before following.

They walked together across the floating island, Freddie leading the way and Will keeping close behind her. All the while, his mind felt atomic. The Circle of Magi had abandoned an apprentice to death without proof she’d been made into an abomination? He imagined the First Enchanter motioning to the templar to strike Will’s unmoving, unconscious body. The fact that his corporeal form was vulnerable in the Harrowing Chamber, with a templar’s blade inches from his throat, or so he imagined, was terribly disconcerting to him. Would his fate become tied with Freddie the Cat’s? Would he be killed for taking too long and never able to return to his body or the waking world? Had he already taken too long, talking it up with Freddie as he’d done? Were most apprentices finished by this time? These were the thoughts Will had as he followed Freddie through the Fade. His hands were sweating, and he felt sick. His nerves were so horrifically wrought, he was on the verge of asking Freddie if they could sit down and rest for a moment, but just as he was opening his mouth to pose the question, the cat’s hair stood up on its back and it yowled threateningly.

Will looked ahead on the narrow, dusty path. There, straight ahead, were floating, wispy wraiths, and they were zooming quickly toward them, little zaps of lightning shooting from their shadowy cores. If Will had never been to the Fade, never read so many books about the Fade, he might have been so frightened and uncertain that he’d try to hide himself behind the cat, but Will knew exactly what was zeroing in on them. And it was exactly as it appeared. Wisp Wraiths. Nothing more. Will could handle Wisp Wraiths. They were one of the smallest threats to him there. He stepped in front of Freddie with a smooth confidence that had the cat eyeing him suspiciously, and he lifted his hands in front of him. Admittedly, this would go better with a staff, but not having one, his plain mage’s hands would have to suffice.

When the Wraiths, two of them, were close enough to threaten hitting him with their little lightning bolts, Will sent a blast of flame in their direction. The fire engulfed them; they made a slight screeching sound, and then poof! They vanished.

Will exhaled heavily and lowered his hands before he looked back at Freddie. His first challenge and he had vanquished it with ease. The fact made him smile, and he offered it to the cat, which was hiding behind him with a slinky back. “That wasn’t so bad,” Will said.

“There are far worse villains ahead than wraiths,” was Freddie’s haughty reply.

He was about to ask Freddie what, exactly, she knew to be ahead, but before he could speak, a new voice entered the arena of his consciousness, booming and vigorous.

“YOU!” the voice yelled, and Will spun on his heels. Standing on a hill, off the main path, was a spirit. It was tall, humanoid, and its voice was thick with authority. Will glanced between it and Freddie. The spirit rumbled impatiently atop the hill and crooked its finger at Will, summoning him forward.

“I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL,” it commanded.

Will bit his lip and looked back at Freddie, whose hair was, once again, standing on edge. “What do I do?” he asked the cat.

“It’s a spirit of valor,” answered Freddie. “Look, it has weapons.”

He looked and saw Freddie was correct. Just beyond the spot the spirit stood, a weapons stand was sturdily settled, and on that stand, Will noticed with keen interest, was a magical staff. He stepped toward his challenger, eyes on the slick, ebony weapon, with intricate curves and curls embedded up and down its length, carved deep and lovely. It was a beautiful staff. He wanted it.

“COME HERE AND FIGHT ME, IF YOU HAVE EYES FOR MY PRIZE,” the spirit of valor bellowed.

Will cocked an eyebrow and set his eyes to Freddie. “What are my odds here?”

The cat shrugged its shoulders, as much as cats can, and Will rolled his eyes. Very helpful. He took a steadying inhale and turned his head upon the spirit awaiting him grandly at the top of the hill.

“Hello, spirit,” Will began as he took a few small steps up the hill. “I’m a mage apprentice from the Circle of Magi, and I’d appreciate your help, please.”

“I’M A SPIRIT OF VALOR, NOT OF BLINDNESS, BOY,” boomed the spirit, “AND I CAN SEE PERFECTLY WELL YOU WANT MY STAFF.”

Will continued cautiously up the hill. “You’re very astute,” he said. “And it’s true my task would be easier if I had your staff to help me.” He paused when he was only a few yards away from the spirit, whose misty sword was raised high in challenge. “But I cannot accept your challenge, Valor.”

The spirit scoffed loudly, and Freddie the Cat mewed in frustration, but Will brushed the hair from his eyes and took another step in the direction of the weapons stand.

“You see,” Will continued, “this is my Harrowing, and I have a test to pass.” The spirit’s eyes were watching him closely, very closely. “My test very well might be succumbing to your challenge, only to discover I’ve made a deal with a demon.”

“DEMON?!” the spirit of valor cried. “HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A DEMON. I AM A SPIRIT OF VALOR.”

“With all due respect,” Will said with a sigh, only half-feigned, “that’s exactly what a demon would say, isn’t it? I feel like, if you were really a spirit of valor, you wouldn’t challenge me in a duel, but aid my way in defeating the true demons ahead on my path.”

“I AM NO DEMON,” the spirit yelled, horribly insulted, to Will’s delight. “COME HERE AND I’LL PROVE IT.”

Will suddenly realized the risk of his bargain. That staff would be an immense help to him, but was its attainment worth his life? The cat pawed at his ankles and he reminded himself that he didn’t have much time, didn’t have a choice, and would either die now at the hands of this spirit, or die a few minutes later, by demon or templar hand. So he continued the few yards up the hill until he was standing directly before the spirit of valor. The spirit huffed at him in frustration for a minute, and then extended his hand behind him, his transparent fingers closing over the ebony staff.

“ACCEPT THIS GIFT, APPRENTICE,” it said as it placed the staff in Will’s hands. It felt heavy and surprisingly cool against his skin. “AND KNOW I AM NO DEMON, BUT A SPIRIT OF VALOR. GOOD LUCK TO YOU ON YOUR QUEST.”

Will smiled at the spirit. “Your tale of valor will live on in my memory. Thank you.” He bowed respectfully, and, staff in hand, made his way back down the hill and onto the dusty Fade path, Freddie swishing around his feet.

When the spirit of valor was out of earshot, she applauded him. “Very well done,” she said. “Most everyone else fights him for the weapon.”

He looked down at her, eyebrow arched. “Have you met many apprentices like me here, Freddie?”

Ginger fur ruffled with an invisible breeze that roused goosebumps on Will’s skin. “I have been here for a long time,” was Freddie’s morose reply, but her cat eyes twinkled mischievously in the next heartbeat as she looked up at him. “But I’ve never met an apprentice like you before, Will.”

He smiled at the cat, though the worry continued to bloom deep in his chest. He tightened his fingers around the staff, felt his skin warming the sleek ebony. He had just avoided one fight, but he wasn’t confident he could avoid another, and, this being his Harrowing, he was positive there was more danger on the horizon, or, as it turned out, just around the corner.

This time, Will spotted it before Freddie, which was astonishing, really, since it was so huge. But he was walking ahead of her, and when he stopped abruptly, her little ginger head rammed into the back of his calf, and she hissed in annoyance before looking around his legs and seeing what it was that had stilled his movement so quickly.

“Uh oh,” she meowed softly. “Sloth.”

Will looked between the ginger cat and the giant, bear-like creature curled up in the road ahead. He squinted, frowned, and said, “That doesn’t look like a sloth to me.”

“Sloth demon,” Freddie verified. “Very dangerous. But lazy.”

It’s true that the Sloth was lazing sleepily in the false sunshine of the Fade, but Will did not question its strength for a second. Beneath its mat of thick fur, he could see its muscles rippling, promising brute strength. The tips of his furry paws were clawed with sharp, dagger-like talons. The demon sighed sleepily, and Will couldn’t stop himself from taking a precautionary step back. He gripped his staff exceptionally hard. The demon didn’t move, just burrowed its giant, bear-likened head into the pillow of its crossed paws.

“Can we go around him, do you think?” Will asked Freddie.

“You can try.”

Will jumped, eyes darting frantically to the demon, for it was the demon that had spoken. Its voice was a low, baritone rumble, slow and melodic. But Will noticed as he inspected the monstrous thing in his path that its eyes were still closed. Was it sleeping still?

“I might be sleepy,” grumbled Sloth, “but I am not asleep. My teeth are just as sharp, and my claws,” it paused to let out a great yawn, “are lethally long.” Now it cracked open one of its eyelids and perused Will with a steady, sleepy glare. “You may pass. But I will shred you, make no mistake.”

Will had no doubt that, if provoked, the lazy demon would have no trouble shredding him, killing him, eating him. Was this the test, then? Avoid being eaten by a sloth demon? It seemed a bit crass for the tower, but according to Freddie, the Circle wasn’t exactly rooting for his survival. His staff tingled in his hand. He had to get around this demon, one way or another, and standing in front of it wondering wasn’t going to help him or Freddie. So he tried to feel brave, squared his shoulders in mock confidence, and addressed the demon.

“I’m sorry to disturb you from your rest, Sloth,” Will said in what he hoped was his most polite and respectful tone. “But I need to get by you. I am taking my Harrowing, you see, and I must continue down this path.” He felt Freddie rubbing against his ankles.

At the mention of his Harrowing, the demon opened its second eye. It was becoming more and more awake, and Will didn’t think that was especially good news.

“An apprentice, then?” Sloth grumbled. “Why didn’t you say so? I will, of course, let an apprentice pass by unharmed.”

Will ignored the instant swell of hope in his heart, for he knew there was a catch. In the Fade, wasn’t there always? He waited, holding tight to his staff, and sure enough, the demon spoke again, arching its menacing back in a stretch as its words were expelled on a yawn.

“If you can answer a few questions for me,” it said.

“I answer a few questions for you, and you’ll let me by?” Will asked.

“Riddles, he means,” Freddie meowed.

That widened Will’s eyes a tad. “Riddles?”

It was Sloth who answered him. Sloth, the demon, who was now sitting back on its haunches and staring with eerie golden eyes at Will. “Answer my questions and I will let you by unharmed. Answer incorrectly, and I will enjoy eating you.” It licked its chops and Will gulped. “You look…very tasty.”

“Oh,” said Will helplessly. Riddles sounded like something that might be included in a Harrowing, he supposed. He glanced down at Freddie, who was, not helpfully, hiding beneath the hem of his robes. And again, he wondered, staring at the gleam of sharp fangs in the demon’s mouth, what choice did he actually have? He was clever enough to answer a few riddles, surely. He would have to be clever enough. “I agree,” he said at last.

Sloth rumbled in a pleased sort of way. “I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me.”

Will knitted his brows together in confusion before realizing the riddles had begun. He almost told the demon that his first question wasn’t even a question, but didn’t think that observation would be appreciated, so he committed himself to thinking carefully of what the answer might be.

First Enchanter Bedelia had told the Grey Warden that Will was ‘extremely bright,’ and he supposed perhaps it was true, because the first riddle of the sloth demon did not seem, to him, especially difficult to solve. After a brief hesitation, in which he checked and double checked his logical conclusion, Will cleared his throat and committed his answer.

“A shadow,” he said.

At his feet, Freddie purred loudly. In front of him, the demon mumbled his approval. Will exhaled in relief and awaited, rather impatiently, his next riddle. It came swiftly. The demon was sitting up now, straight and worrisomely alert. When he spoke, his words were still slurred with sleepiness, but Will had an idea now that the ‘sleepiness’ was nothing more than trickery. He listened carefully as the next riddle was delivered.

“Give me food,” grumbled Sloth, “and I will live. Give me water and I will die.”

Will smiled. Of all the riddles, the demon had chosen one of which he was well acquainted. He was, after all, an elemental mage. And his favored element?

“Fire,” Will answered.

Sloth closed his eyes languidly, opened them; they shimmered dangerously. “Correct,” the demon said. “One final riddle before I eat you.”

Will nodded, for what could he possibly say?

The demon, practically salivating at the idea of munching on Will, breathed out his final question, his words lazily strung together. “What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?”

Will bit at his lower lip. He ran the riddle through his head a few times. The answer did not, like the others, appear immediately within his mind. In fact, in his frenzied fluster, a droplet of perspiration formed at his hairline. The longer he pondered the answer, the hungrier the shine in the demon’s eyes became. Will could hardly think at all now, as his eyes were stricken by the saliva dripping from the demon’s teeth. Oh Maker. He was going to die. Eaten by a demon in the Fade. What was the answer to the riddle? What was it?

“M!” Will yelled suddenly, the sound bursting from his lips before he had time to process its sense.

A heavy silence hanged in the space between himself and the demon. Freddie was still beneath his robes.

When the demon did nothing but stare at him, Will spoke again. “The letter ‘M’,” he said. As he repeated it, he knew he was right. He could see it in the sloth demon’s eyes. The disappointment of a missed meal was nearly tangible.

So much silence, and so many minutes passed between them, that Will began to question his answer. It looked to him as if, perhaps, the demon was questioning the terms of their arrangement. Maybe he was thinking it’d be better just to eat the little apprentice after all. Will clutched his staff, preparing himself for whatever was to happen next.

The demon tilted back its giant head and opened its mouth wide. Its pointed teeth were caked, Will could see now, in blood. Was his own blood about to join the blood of unfortunate apprentices before him? No. It would seem not, for the demon yawned and laid back down and shut its eyes sleepily, and nothing more.

Will watched its steady, rhythmic inhales as it fell into a deep sleep once more. He looked at Freddie, who had finally poked her head from beneath his robes to study the sleeping demon.

“That was it?” Will asked her. “We can pass now?”

The demon gave Will one final fright when, even in its sleep, he mumbled, “You may. I will have to eat the next one.”

“Thanks,” Will said, and he was thankful indeed. But even with the assuredness of his safe passage, Will hurried hastily past the lazy lump of demon, not feeling an iota of safety until he was several minutes’ walking distance from the sleepy beast.

He walked along, Freddie at his side, and with every step he became more and more uneasy. Two creatures he had come across now, wisps not included, and two times he had escaped with his life. But these encounters, intimidating as they had been, neither had been terribly unmanageable. Nor especially difficult. Wasn’t a Harrowing supposed to be harder than a few simple riddles and a plea for aid? Could Will, perhaps, have stumbled down the wrong path? Could his time be about to run short? Did he only think he was doing well, but in reality he was too stupid to realize he was doing poorly?

His nerves were twisted in a grotesque, nauseating bundle, sending sickly sparks shooting through his limbs, making his head dizzy and his eyes dull. Could the pure psychological torture be the true test? Will would almost prefer a more tactile villain to one of invisible cruelty. Let him be beaten and eaten, but do not drive him into madness from the waiting!

When the ginger cat stopped in front of him, Will stumbled and fell to his knees, barely missing a crushing blow to Freddie’s back. “Ugh!” he yelled, bemoaning the plume of Fade dust that billowed around him in a cloud that obfuscated the brand new presence approaching him. Will coughed and waved his hands at the dust. When it cleared, he felt his heart drop to his stomach, and he nearly dropped his staff along with it, because there, leaning over him, was the most curious, terrifying thing Will had ever laid eyes on.

It was lethally thin, skeletal, a night-black leathery skin stretched tight over its angular bones. From its head, great antlers grew, curving high and sharp and casting nightmarish shadows over Will’s face. Long, clawed fingers stretched from its bony hands. Will shuddered and shuffled back on his knees, trying to escape its touch. He was vaguely aware of Freddie hissing manically behind him, but he could not look away from the thing coming closer. And then, horribly, terribly, it touched its claw-like fingers to Will’s cheek in a caress.

The motion made Will stir with curiosity and fear. Definitely fear. But as the thing made to gently rub along Will’s jaw, and did not look in the least as though it wished to devour him, body, soul, or otherwise, he relaxed marginally beneath the thing’s careful gaze. Its claws clicked as it moved its touch into Will’s hair, twisting around the spirals at his nape. Its head leaned down and in, until its eyes were level with Will’s eyes, and so close Will could not even look straight into them without his vision fuzzing.

“Dear Will,” it whispered softly, and Will gasped.

“How do you know my name?”

“My passion is to know you, sweet boy,” it answered, ducking its head even closer, rubbing its cheek against Will’s cheek. It smelled smoky, and its skin felt rough and smooth all at once.

“Will!” Freddie called to him. He could determine from her voice that she was far away from him. So she didn’t like this thing apparently, Will thought.

“Freddie?” Will asked. With the thing’s cheek against his, his eyes were free to look around, and he spotted Freddie lurking behind a jagged rock, off the side of the path.

“It’s a demon, Will!” Freddie warned, her words followed by a loud, obnoxious hiss. “Don’t trust it!”

The word ‘demon’ made Will’s insides coil, and he pulled back from the thing’s face. Its fingers were still twined snugly in his hair, and it held him fast as Will tried to squirm away.

“Listen to me, Will,” the thing breathed at his ear, after it successfully pulled Will flush against its prominently ribbed chest. “I would never hurt you. Do you believe me?” It pulled Will back to look into its eyes, which were black, but bright with intelligence and…something else. Something deep and dark and dangerous.

“It’s a demon, Will!” Freddie screamed. “Kill it! KILL IT!”

Will could hear the cat’s warning cries, but he could not muster within himself the desire to follow her advice. He still held the staff in his hand, and the thing had made no move to take it away. It cradled him gently in its long arms. Its claws were twined within his curls, but they were not pulling painfully at his scalp, just softly petting his head. And the thing did not even steal the smallest of looks at Freddie; it only looked at Will, with those strange, black eyes. Will could see himself in their reflection, and he did not look scared. Not at all. And he did not feel scared. When Freddie screamed once more that it was a demon, the thing smiled at him and whispered, low enough so only Will could hear.

“Freddie the Cat has been naughty."

“She’s been helping me,” Will whispered in return. He found his voice was faint and his breath was fluttering. He leaned into the fingers smoothing over his scalp.

“Has she?” asked the thing that held him so tenderly.

“Will! You have to kill that demon!” Freddie screamed from behind her rock. “You have to pass your Harrowing and take me with you!! WILL!”

“Tsk, tsk,” the thing said, with a slight and eerie twist of its elegantly horrible head. “She seems so desperate to hitch a ride home with you, doesn’t she?”

Will’s eyes were watering. His brain was a maze of contradicting thoughts. Through his confusion, he heard himself saying, “Freddie is the demon.” It was suddenly true to him, as true as the steadfast, otherworldly arms encasing him safely, and as true as the black eyes narrowing over his face. The thing smiled at him and nodded. Will thought he detected pride shimmering in those dark pools.

“You must kill her, Will,” it said. “And I will help you.”

Will was not surprised to feel his head nodding acquiescence, nor was he jarred when the thing helped him to his feet. Freddie the Cat and/or Demon, leapt in front of him, yowling desperately.

“You’re going to leave me here?! You’re no better than all those other mages! Will!” Freddie accused, her claws extending violently. She jumped at him, her claws still growing, longer and sharper, but before she could reach him in her pounce, Will was thrown out of the way as the thing stepped between them.

Will leaned around him in time to see Freddie transform. Her cat claws, huge and shining now, were joined by scaly skin as her height shot upwards, far above Will’s head, far above the thing’s head, until she was, finally, revealed fully in her natural form. She was a cat no longer, but a demon, gigantic and raging. Will recognized the form from one of his books. A Pride Demon. Very dangerous. Very aggressive. Very much coming straight for Will with hatred beaming in its monstrous eyes.

“Run, Will!” the thing between them ordered. “I will kill it, but you must run!”

Oh, how he wanted to run, but how could he? It was his Harrowing, wasn’t it? He had to be the one to kill the demon, didn’t he? Wasn’t Freddie’s treachery the final test? But the thing was shoving him away.

“There is no way a mage of your caliber can take down a demon of this devastation, Will. You’ve been set up to fail. You must run. There is no other way,” the thing said. As the demon swiped a giant, taloned arm in its direction, it lifted its own and blocked the blow with ease. It looked back at Will with its single second of time earned. Its eyes flashed. “Do you trust me?”

He did. Maker help him, but he did. So after a final look at the thing saving his life, and the demon threatening it, Will turned away from the scene and ran.

Will did not make it far before he heard a terrible scream and thump, and then he was falling, falling, the world around him spinning, the Fade fading fast.

Chapter 3: Friends and Phylacteries

Will felt himself tumbling from one plane to the next, but when his hands hit a hard surface and his knees knocked against a painfully marbled floor, he had the wherewithal to instinctually understand he remained in the Fade. Only it was different now. The pre-constructed pedestals of the nightmarish Harrowing arena were obviously gone, and Will knew, even as he gasped on his hands and knees in this new location, that he was no longer completing a test, but had been relocated into the mainstream Fade.

The smooth marble beneath his palms was cold to the touch. He knew he should probably rouse himself. As a Dreamer, he could manipulate his consciousness into waking. But he hesitated. He didn’t want to wake up, sprawled on the floor of the Harrowing Chamber, a league of templars looking over him and the First Enchanter boring into him with her ice-blue eyes. Will wanted to sleep. He wanted to think, needed to think, required a serious assessment of what had just happened.

He lifted off his hands, pushing up on his knees, and when he tilted his head to observe the Fade-space of his dreaming, he was only moderately surprised to see a familiar figure. Black as a shadow, its spine dramatically curved in its crouch, eyes reflecting a reddish light. It smiled at Will when its presence was discovered, and the sharp, cutting angles of its teeth drew a shudder from the mage.

This creature, Will thought – knew, he knew – was a demon. Had to be. And it had followed him through the Fade to the place they both occupied currently, that being a sprawling extravagance of elegance, vines carved throughout pillars, down an endless hall. Torches lit warm, flickering spotlights on the floor. Will had never been there before, and he concluded that the demon must be the creator of this particular dream. Disconcerting, but Will was strangely calm.

When the creature unfurled from its slump and stepped on ebony boned legs to stand in front of him, Will indulged in only the briefest of pauses before accepting the hand offered him. Claws tapped at his wrists, and a laugh bubbled up from Will’s throat, made of equal parts pleasure and hysteria. And then he was pulled in, pulled close, the demon cradling Will’s head against its chest, smoothing his hair with the leathery palm of its hand.

“Don’t be afraid,” it told him, its voice deep and resonating and rumbling directly into Will’s ear.

“I’m not,” Will argued, his disagreeableness automatic.

“You’re trembling,” the demon said with a whisper of a laugh.

Will found that was true. He took a deep breath and exhaled against the gaunt chest of the demon on which his cheek was pressed. “Why did you help me?”

“Why did you trust me to help you?”

Will sighed as the demon’s spindly fingers coiled in the hair at the nape of his neck. He had trusted the demon implicitly to save his life in the face of the pride demon, and he trusted him now, an unexplainable trust considering the dagger-sharp claws caressing over the delicate skin of his throat. “Because you’re dangerous,” Will answered with a thickness of voice that nearly choked him. “But you’re not a danger to me.”

The demon’s fingers wound lightly around the base of Will’s neck, coaxing his head into a backward lean so it could peer at him from above. It lowered its strange, sculled head until its flat slits of nostril burrowed into Will’s curls. “Dear, precious boy.” It scented Will with a thorough drawl of inhalation. Will shivered in its careful grasp, little tremors racing over his scalp at the sensation. “You have no idea how powerful you are.”

Will’s eyelids fluttered until the demon lifted its pressing nose from his tangle of hair, and only then was he able to focus his eyes on the thing looming above him. Its antlers spiraled skyward, into the abyss of the Fade-ceiling above, and Will sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, staring and awestruck at his demon savior’s magnificence.

“I’m not so powerful,” Will sighed, turning his cheek into the palm of the demon as it cupped a hand upon his face. “You said so yourself that I wasn’t strong enough to take down a pride demon.”

“Sweet Will,” it soothed with a smile of glinting teeth. “You are young, untapped, full to bursting with potential.” A clawed finger traced down the curve of Will’s jaw. “Your Circle has stifled you, as it tries to stifle all mages. But you,” it said, lowering its mouth to Will’s forehead, “will not be contained.” Its lips were feather-soft against him.

“I’ll always be contained,” Will said. The demon had him leaned back in its arms, and Will’s hair spilled over the stretched, black skin on its hands. “I must be. I do not want to become an abomination.”

“Of course not,” the demon said, easing him slowly to the floor. “I speak not of possession, but of something much simpler.”

The marble was cool on Will’s back, but the demon above him was hot to the touch, and it splayed its body across Will’s. It wasn’t smothering, but comforting. With a suggestive nudge, Will even opened his legs so the demon could rest easier between them. Its pressure was satisfying, spread atop him, and Will responded to its words with a dreamy cast of speech. “Simpler?”

“There are few things more simple than the honest power of blood,” it said, nuzzling into Will’s neck.

Will’s eyes widened and he stirred to stiffness beneath the demon. “Are you talking about blood magic?” he asked, suddenly less comfortable and more suffocated by the demon’s weight. “That’s evil!”

Sensing Will’s abrupt discomfort, the demon pulled thoughtfully away, settling into its macabre cower, perching like a shadowy nightmare above Will’s vulnerable sprawl on the floor. It did not immediately reply verbally to Will’s astonished exclamation of something he truly believed, at that time, to be fact. Instead, it only smiled politely down at him, its head tilting, its eyes blazing with the spark of curiosity.

“Do you propose,” the demon began with astute caution, wary of the woe-wrought beauty at its heels, “that good and evil is so easily determined?” Will began to sit up. He pulled his knees to his chest, the tips of his boots touching the tips of clawed feet. He huffed in consternation, but still did not try to get away from his bizarre new companion. “Tell me,” the demon continued, “when the circle accepted you into its fold as a young boy, did they take more from you than your freedom?”

Will did not need to ponder long the question asked of him; he knew well enough that to which the demon alluded. He answered thusly: “They collect a vial of blood from every new apprentice. It’s protocol.”

“What you call protocol, others might call a leash,” the demon said, a wryness beginning to creep into its silky drawl. “You know what they use this blood for, I suppose?”

He did know. The blood was placed within a phylactery. It remained in the tower until an apprentice became a full mage of the Circle, and then it was sent to Denerim, to be added to its Ferelden collection. “It’s a precautionary necessity,” Will said, repeating what had been drilled into him since he arrived to the tower. “If a mage becomes…bad, templars can use their blood samples to track them.”

The demon sat perfectly still in its intense appraisal of Will’s face, scrutinizing every scowl. “A precautionary necessity that sounds, to me, like blood magic.”

Will gaped at the demon. The existence of phylacteries, the idea that his blood was magically sealed in a vial somewhere, had always been an accepted fact of his life, just another consequence of being a mage, something he had to deal with, accept. To align it with the devilry of blood magic was unthinkable!

“So Will, my dear boy,” the demon said, its body yet unmoving, but its voice gliding over Will’s countenance like sheaths of silk, “are phylacteries evil?”

“They,” Will began, questing for his thoughts as he spoke, “can be indispensable.”

“And so,” the demon whispered, reaching out a clawed, bony hand to enclose around the cap of Will’s knee, “can blood magic.”

Will worked his lips open, closed, confused and oblivious as to what an appropriate response could possibly be in the wake of such a statement, but the demon’s finger pushed against his mouth in a suggestion of silence.

“Be wary of readily accepting what you’ve been taught is normal,” the demon told him. “Sometimes the most basic of things are the true catalysts of evil, and it is up to a questioning mind to determine for oneself what kinds of evil one is willing to accept.”

The demon leaned in, finally, to press its lips against Will’s temple. His eyes shut, his mouth parted on a full-hearted sigh, and then he felt the mists of the Fade sift and swirl around them.

“Think of me, Will,” the demon whispered against the flesh of his throat. “I’ll be thinking of you.” It was the last thing Will heard before the dream disintegrated around him, the demon’s sparkling eyes the last image to be seen before he jolted forward into the waking world.

 

--

 

He opened his eyes. It was daytime and Will was lying in his bed in the apprentice quarters with Peter leaning over him, an intense frown plastered across his face.

“O-oh, good!” Peter exclaimed in his usual broken rhythm. “Y-y-you’re awake.”

Will’s head ached, and he rolled to his side on the narrow mattress, settling a finger to his temple and massaging tiny circles there to soothe away the discomfort. Peter’s lingering and continuous stare was not helping in the road to his recovery, however, and Will had to forcibly stop his eyes from rolling at his friend. In a rather flat voice, he said, “Yes, I’m awake. Good morning, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes shot open, if possible, even wider than they previously were, and he bunched his hands into excited fists in front of his chest. “It isn’t m-morning, Will,” he stammered. “You’ve b-b-been asleep a-all d-d-day.”

“Have I?” Will asked, honestly taken aback by that enlightenment. His dream with the demon had felt so short, but then, he couldn’t really say how long his Harrowing had lasted.

“Y-y-yes!” Peter said. He practically bounced Will off the mattress with his nervous energy. “First Enchanter Bedelia has b-b-been asking for you all day. She s-s-sent me to check on you. She w-w-wants you to come see her as s-s-soon as you’re awake.”

Will’s heartbeat picked up at that news, his mind going to the absolute worst place before recalling the successful completion of his Harrowing and rationalizing that no, the First Enchanter probably wasn’t summoning him to his execution. “Well, seems I’m awake now,” Will said, finally sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor. “She didn’t happen to mention what this was about, did she, Peter?”

“No,” Peter answered, his head ducking low beneath his fringe of scruffy hair. “Official m-m-mage business.” The anxiety behind Peter’s words was tangible, and Will found himself cringing slightly from the uneasy feeling it left in his core. “You d-d-did it,” Peter continued shakily. “You’re a f-f-full mage of the Circle now.”

“Peter,” Will began softly, but Peter looked up at him with big, watery eyes and a sweet smile.

“I’m h-h-happy for you,” Peter told him, and it looked to Will as though his friend meant it, but there was something else, a deviance in the crooked bend of his smile that alerted Will to a barely contained issue. He patted his hand on Peter’s shoulder and sure enough, that was all it took for the smile to disappear from his paling face. “They’re going to m-m-make me T-t-tranquil,” he wheezed between dry sobs. “I know it.”

Will was automatic with his head shaking and the squeezing of his hand on Peter’s shoulder, but he couldn’t help but feel oddly expectant of this very conclusion, especially after going through his own Harrowing. He wasn’t sure he could picture Peter in the place he had been so recently. Would Peter have had the courage to confront Valor for his sword? The cleverness to earn passage past Sloth? But then…would Will have figured out on his own that Freddie the Cat was actually a pride demon and the main villain of his test if the antlered demon hadn’t intervened on his behalf? A sinking feeling in his stomach made him think he’d be dead on the Harrowing Chamber floor if not for the strange, skeletal creature’s intervention. He thought of Peter in the arms of the demon and a prickling, cold feeling rushed over him. He didn’t like thinking of them together. He focused his eyes anew on the whimpering young man at his side, tears streaming down his face.

“You don’t know that, Peter,” Will said, keeping his voice calm and light. “You could get called to your Harrowing any day now.”

Peter sniffled and shook his head, but when Will made to keep speaking, he stood up from the bed and crossed his arms, effectively embracing himself in a locking hug. “Y-y-you better go see the F-f-first Enchanter. She’s waiting.”

Will threw back his covers and stood with a little stretch. “I suppose I should.” He nudged Peter in a comforting, friendly sort of way before walking to the bathing alcove of the apprentices’ sleeping quarters, realizing it might be the last time he slept there. Now that he was a full mage, he’d be expected to move to the next floor of the tower. He’d be leaving Peter behind. It made him feel at a loss. Before he ducked behind the alcove, he glanced over his shoulder to steal a glimpse of his friend. Peter sat on Will’s bed with his head in his hands, his shoulders softly shaking. Will sighed. He felt for Peter, he really did, but he couldn’t worry about him just now.

 

--

 

Will took his time with his grooming, more time than was strictly required in the washing of his face, fruitless smoothing of his thick curls from his eyes, and straightening of his apprentice robes. The draping clothes felt too small for him today, the collar too tight around his frequently swallowing throat. He was busying his hands with the constant job of tugging at his sleeves when he swept from the apprentice quarters and began his long trek to the First Enchanter’s office. At some point on the journey, he became aware of the heavy, metal-clad footsteps behind him. A templar, no doubt, and he was willing to bet he knew which one.

Experimentally, Will trailed off the edge of the circular hallway, right before the passageway of stairs, and bent down to one knee. After a show of fiddling with his laces, he straightened, letting his eyes roam to his peripheral as he did so, and he met the eyes he’d expected to meet. The templar nodded his head at Will by way of subtle greeting, and Will was trapped within a seemingly endless moment of being torn between choices. To nod in return, smile, ignore? He ended up with a twisted, confused grin that might have more accurately resembled a smirk, and then he lowered his head and continued for the door to the stairs. To his great surprise, the templar walked quickly to gain the distance between them, stepped around Will, and opened the door. Will was so shocked it took the motioning of the templar’s gauntleted hand to encourage Will through the archway. He passed the chivalrous templar as speedily as possible with the heavy hems of his robe swishing about his ankles, and prayed to the Maker he didn’t entirely believe in that his blushing cheeks went unnoticed.

The young mage continued the rest of his walk with the templar diligently keeping step behind him, periodically easing politely in front of him to open each door. It was a bumbling journey, to say the least, and by the time Will knocked on the First Enchanter’s door, he was more than ready to leave the templar out in the hall, though Will caught a look at him before he stepped inside the office; he was standing against the stone wall, back ramrod-straight, hands crossed over his chest, eyes trained forward. At Will.

A huff of indignation left Will’s lips and he turned back to the First Enchanter, who was staring frostily in his direction, her touch gentle on the brass door handle.

“Hello, Will,” she said, swinging the door wider and stepping to the side. “Come on in.”

Will entered swiftly, robes swishing behind him. The door clicked closed, and he was conscious of a tremble infiltrating his solid nerves. When the First Enchanter stepped up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, the spiraling, nervous sensation only multiplied. He turned to her, divining an absolute chill in the air between them.

But, much to his surprise, she had a smile on her face that was almost comforting, and in her other hand, she held a bundle of fabric.

“Congratulations,” she told him on the passing of the bundle, from her hand to his. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t even consider answering that honestly, that his head ached and his stomach was twisted and his heart was heavy with worry. So he nodded and smiled and said, “Great, thank you.”

She had that narrow-eyed look of suspicion about her, but was obviously content with concealing her doubts as long as Will concealed his own. Her fingers danced over the bundle in Will’s arms. “Now that you’re a full mage of the Circle, you must look like one. You can change right away and leave your apprentice robes with me.”

Will clutched the new robes to his chest and felt a tingle of genuine glee. He would be elated to toss his old robes to the side forever. It was a pride long desired to slip into the sleek robes of a full mage. He fingered the material between his fingers. It was black, a combination of soft and rough, with bands of animal hide across the chest and at the waist. Will wasn’t sure by touch alone what kind of animal leather it was, but it felt lovely against his skin and he made a mental note to find out later.

He looked up from the gift in his hands and the First Enchanter was already at the door. “I’ll just step outside while you change,” she said.

Will grinned, this time sincerely, and caught sight of the templar still waiting in the hallway. First Enchanter Bedelia was stepping toward him when the door shut at her back, and then Will was alone in her office. He was too excited to rummage any awkwardness at undressing in the First Enchanter’s room as his jittery hands flew to the laces of his apprentice robes. He couldn’t get out of them fast enough, and when the heavy robes fell to his feet, he sighed in relief, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

He stepped from one set of robes into the next. The black mage robes were slimming and felt grandly lush against his body. The ties at the collar were leather and he loosely fastened the cloth about his neck, raking his fingers through his hair afterward, freeing the trapped curls from the mouth of the robes. An experimental walk toward the First Enchanter’s desk left yet another smile on Will’s face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so many occasions to smile, but the stretch of his cheeks felt sublime, as did the whoosh of fabric over his hips and down his legs. He allowed himself a jubilant turn, and that’s when he caught sight of the looking glass propped up behind the First Enchanter’s desk. As he made to move toward it, his eyes fell upon a secondary point of interest: a half-unfurled scroll of parchment, lying beneath a bookmarked tome at the center of the desk. Not prone to snooping, it was something Will would have paid zero attention to normally, except for the fact that he saw, scrawled upon the top of the page, amongst what appeared to be a list, Peter’s name.

The smile abandoned him and he glanced with paranoia toward the door. If he strained his ears, he could make out low murmurs coming from the hallway, the First Enchanter chatting with the templar. He moved silently closer to the parchment, had to lift the edge of another paper with his trembling fingers to make out the header of the list of which Peter was number one. There was only a single word inked out in curling cursive, but it caused Will to stagger back upon reading it, nearly tripping over the long hem of his new robes.

‘Tranquil.’

He was wiping the fresh bout of sweat from his forehead when First Enchanter Bedelia tapped on the door, and then, without waiting for a response, re-entered the room. This time, she left the door gaping open. Will’s attention shifted in turns between her and the templar, who he could see, alert at his station in the hall.

“Will, are you unwell?” she asked him, and he did his best to rid the distress from his features.

He smoothed his damp palms over the fine folds of his new robe and quirked a half-grin at the First Enchanter. “A bit overwhelmed, I think,” Will answered when he was sure his voice wouldn’t break beneath the pressure squeezing his lungs.

Her eyes roamed over his body, not in a leering manner, but in assessment. Did he measure up to what a full mage should be in those cold, calculating eyes? Was she as surprised as he was that he’d passed his Harrowing, when she’d intoned all along, amongst many, that he, a Dreamer, would never pass, would become an abomination, would be made Tranquil. And now Will was standing before her, a full mage of the tower, and he was trying desperately not to let his eyes wander back to where they longed to wander, back to his friend’s name written on the list. A list of Tranquils, or soon to be Tranquils. Peter had been correct when he’d broken down in his room earlier. Will wondered if, before yesterday, his own name had been written on the same list.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed, Will,” the First Enchanter said, efficiently hurtling him from his reeling, spinning thoughts. “That will pass,” she continued, walking past him to a cabinet behind her desk. She didn’t mention the strangeness of Will’s location, how he stood behind her desk as though he had any right to be there. Perhaps she assumed he had been admiring his reflection in the mirror. Not such a stretch, as he’d been headed there before his sidetrack. When she’d stepped by him, he finally glanced at his reflection and was startled by his appearance. He looked more mature in his sleek black robes, and his face was ivory pale in contrast, save for the peachy pink flush of his cheeks. His hair spiraled wildly on his head, and his eyes shined fiercely. “One final item,” First Enchanter Bedelia said, her own reflection stepping in beside Will’s in the mirror. Will turned to her and accepted this last bit of ceremony, a staff.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, and it was. Heavy in his hand, thick and smooth with enchanting swirls carved down its entirety. His fingers fitted perfectly at the grooved neck. It was a deep cherry wood, and he loved it immediately. It smoldered pleasantly beneath his touch, and he felt a physical ache to put it to use.

“You’re a full mage of the Circle of Ferelden now, Will Graham,” she said. She urged his gaze to her by sheer want of it. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Will gulped, gripping his staff protectively, and then the First Enchanter was leading him out of her door and shutting it softly behind him. He hastened down the hallway with his mind on fire, the echo of the templar’s boots a constant beat at his back.

 

--

 

He meant to find Peter, but Peter found him first, grasping at his sleeve and yanking him into a secluded corner of the library. Will checked over his shoulder for the templar he knew was keeping special watch of him. He could see him, subtly studying Will from the opposite side of the room, but he was nowhere near being in earshot, so Will could ignore him for the time being, and he turned to his friend, who had still not relinquished his sleeve.

“Peter, unhand me, you look suspicious,” Will whispered, trying to look casual as Peter basically crumbled emotionally in front of him.

With his eyes full of tears and his body rocking anxiously on his heels, Peter reluctantly released the sleeve of Will’s robes. He crossed his arms tight over his chest to compensate. The look he next gave Will was one of the most pathetic things he’d ever seen, and he had to look away from it, choosing to align his attention with the straightening of his sleeve. But Peter would not look away from Will, he kept staring imploringly, until Will succumbed and looked back. A tear welled up in the corner of Peter’s eye and then, with a blink, rolled down his cheek.

“Will,” Peter pleaded, “y-you have to help me.”

Will wasn’t sure what to say, still in debate with himself over whether or not he should inform Peter of the list he’d seen in the First Enchanter’s office. For the time being, unsure of what Peter meant, he decided to nod. He leaned forward, tilting his head, encouraging Peter to continue.

“Y-you have to help me e-escape,” Peter continued shakily, speaking at so low a register Will could hardly hear him without stepping closer, which he did, his eyes huge.

“What are you talking about?” Will asked him, his voice just as low as Peter’s. He glanced over his shoulder again to spy on his templar shadow. He was still across the library, his hands skimming over a bookshelf with some interest. Will sighed and looked back to his friend with immense concern knitting his brows. “You know you can’t escape, Peter. Even if you did get out of the tower, they’d track you down.” A few escapes had been attempted over the years, of course, never ending favorably for the apprehended mage.

But Peter had a glow about him at this last concern, and his hands flew back up to grip at Will’s sleeve. “Not if m-m-my phylactery is d-d-destroyed.”

Once again, Will extricated his sleeve from Peter’s grasping fingers, unable to ignore the flash in his memory of another set of hands, bony and black, with long leathery fingers and daggered claws. When he looked into Peter’s eyes, he thought of the demon’s, how bottomless and sparkling they had been when it had whispered to Will of his own phylactery.

“If I can d-destroy my phylactery,” Peter was still speaking, “they w-w-won’t be able to t-track me. Will, p-please. It’s my o-o-only chance. I don’t want to be T-t-tranquil, please!”

Will imagined Peter, what he would be like after the templars had severed him from the Fade utterly. He would be dull-eyed and empty, unable to dream, unable to think for himself. He wouldn’t be Peter anymore. He would hardly be human.

“P-p-please, Will. You’re the only one who c-c-can h-h-help me,” Peter whimpered.

Will felt his jaw clench as he ground his teeth in frustration. Destroying a phylactery was punishable by death, but his friend, his only friend in the entire world, was standing in front of him, begging for his help. The demon flashed again before his eyes. Its words grated in his ears. What kind of evil would Will accept? What kind of evil was he willing to stand against?

He gripped the staff in his fist and it grew warm beneath his fingers. “Of course I’ll help you, Peter,” he whispered, and Peter sobbed into the palm of his hand.

 

--

 

Apprentice phylacteries were kept in the underground level of the tower, so rumors told, in the basement. Only full mages could gain entry into the several secret compartments located in that area, by way of their staffs. Thus, Peter required Will to open the doors in his way. Whether or not the under-passages were heavily guarded was unknown. Peter knew little useful information about the location. He didn’t even know for sure where, specifically, the phylacteries were kept. Bu first thing was first, and Will couldn’t open any secret passages with a templar breathing down his neck. They had to ditch him first. When Will approached him slowly, it was the only goal he had in mind.

In retrospect, a plan of some kind might have been useful.

Will was on the first floor, in the rounding corridor outside the apprentice quarters, and Hannibal was standing guard, funnily enough, beside a suit of armor propped up against the stone wall. They didn’t look dissimilar, and so Will had a small smile of amusement on his face as he passed the templar. He didn’t need to wait long until he heard the steps behind him, the templar quick to resume his watch on the new mage. As Will walked, he rapidly became aware of his lack of a solid plan, but he was not without his imagination. For most of Will’s life, he’d had nothing but his imagination to keep him company, so it was finely honed and sharp, and when he’d led the templar toward the end of the corridor, and they were quite isolated from other on-looking eyes, Will made his knees buckle and his balance tilt, and he “fainted.”

Damsels did it in books, why couldn’t Will do it now? And what was a better way to snare the concern of a chivalrous templar than to need a heavy dose of rescuing? His cheek rested flat against the cold stone and he felt the vibrations of the templar's quickened footsteps as he rushed to Will’s side. Metal-cool hands swept the hair from his eyes, and Will felt himself being turned to his back, his head cradled in the templar’s lap. He let his eyes flicker open and groaned weakly. When he focused on the looming face above him, a pang of guilt twisted in his gut. The templar really looked worried. Alas, Will’s priorities were set and this was the opportunity he needed to save Peter.

“Oh,” he squeaked pathetically, his hands coming to rest on the templar’s heavily plated chest. “What happened? I felt dizzy and then -”

“You fainted.” It was the first time Will could remember hearing the templar speak to him, and it was a very strange thing, breaking that fourth wall between them. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, and Will could hardly believe his luck.

“Water, I think,” Will answered. The templar nodded briskly before sweeping his hands beneath Will’s back and lifting him enough to lean against the wall.

“I will return in a moment,” the templar said, and then, to Will’s utmost gratitude, he was sauntering down the corridor.

Will waited until he could no longer hear the clanging of his armor and then he jumped to his feet and ran down the hall in the opposite direction.

Peter was waiting, lingering outside the door to the lowest level, when Will ran up to him, breathless.

“We don’t have long,” Will panted, and Peter nodded, tight-mouthed, before motioning to the door. Will stepped up to it, staff brandished. “How do I do this?” he asked, because he hadn’t given this part much thought; there hadn’t been time for any serious thinking actually, and now he was standing stupidly in front of a door waving a big stick.

Peter – thank the Maker – had actually figured things out this far, and he muttered the instructions softly at Will’s ear. Will wondered just how long Peter had been planning this very occasion as he followed his direction and placed the tip of his staff to the key lock. They both watched, fascinated, as the lock glowed red-hot, followed by a metallic clicking noise as the door slowly creaked ajar. Will looked to Peter at his side, steeled his nerves for what was ahead, and pushed through the door.

They had to walk down a long, dim staircase first and foremost. Will could hear Peter’s careful steps close behind him. He held his staff out in front of him, half blind until they reached the bottom, where some torches were blessedly lit. Peter stood at his side and they looked in a dazed circle at the room surrounding them. It was empty except for the light of the torches, and there was yet another large door standing between them and the next room.

Will tried the handle and, as he’d expected, it didn’t budge. “I don’t suppose you know how to get through this one, do you?” Will asked his friend, but when Peter didn’t answer, Will glanced up at him and saw why. It was a sight that made his stomach drop.

Emerging from the shadowy corners of the room were two templars. By the time Will dashed to Peter’s side, their swords were unsheathed.

“No one’s supposed to be down here,” one of the guards said, and before Will could even consider a plausible response, he raised his sword over his head and sliced it down.

Will knocked Peter to the ground and stood above him, lifting his staff barely in time to block the templar’s blow. At the violent contact, his staff sparked and hissed, and Will spun it in his hands, slamming the blunt end of it into the stomach of one templar and then flourishing it toward the other as he commanded the ire of his spellwork. A blast of fire burst from the tip of his staff, and the templar jumped back, dropping his sword to pat at the flames engulfing his hair.

He heard the whoosh of air behind him and ducked low. The second templar’s blade swept over him in the formerly precise placement of his neck. Will swung out with his staff, taking the templar out at the knees. As he fell, Will stood, and he sent a fiery stream down upon the fallen guard. Peter was scampering out of the way, but the other templar, his hair still smoking slightly, was clamoring toward Will for a second round. His sword missed Will completely, but Will’s aim was steady, and this time, it was no small arch of fire sent in his direction. Will spun his staff and slammed it down to the floor, calling a storm of fire on both the templars. Then he stepped back and watched, by Peter’s side, as the men writhed in burning piles of melting metal and flesh.

When their bodies lay still, Will bent over and vomited. For a few blurry minutes, he lost track of Peter, only able to focus on the sickness in his heart at what he’d just done. But eventually, Peter lightly stroked Will’s back, and Will forced himself to stand up straight. He wiped the tears from his eyes and saw Peter standing before him with a key ring in his hand. While Will had been sick all over the floor, Peter had been rummaging through the dead bodies and found their keys. Another roll of nausea began to rise in Will’s throat but he swallowed it down with a shudder. He took the keys Peter held out for him and tried one in the lock for the big door before them. It slid in, easy as that, and the two friends entered the next room.

This one was filled with trinkets and treasures. Will looked around anxiously, his eyes judiciously sweeping over every corner. Only when he was positive there were no templars waiting to pounce at them from the darkness did Will breathe. He didn’t relax though. He felt as if he may never relax again. His staff felt heavy, and he almost expected its tip to be smoking when he pulled it closer to examine. But it was clean and smooth. Peter walked, untroubled, to the other side of the room. It seemed to Will as if he was the only one troubled by the events that had just taken place. A piece of worry vibrated in the back of his brain, but he had to ignore it. He had already made his decision to help Peter, and this was what had happened. There was no turning back now, no possible backward motion; there was no choice but to continue forward. He walked through the room of mystically sparkling items, goblets, chests of coin, until he was standing beside Peter at the far side of the room, another locked door in front of them.

He hesitated with the key ring in his hand. The keys jingled with the trembling of his fingers. It was Peter, taking the keys back from Will, who finally opened the door. He pushed it open and it hit against the wall with a bang, and there, at the end of a long hallway, was a small league of templar guards.

Will took a step back, but Peter ran forward, ran straight for the group of guards. Will had no choice but to follow his friend, trying to take a headcount as the templars barreled suddenly toward them. He counted six, but that number swiftly decreased to five, four, as Peter, hands lifted before him, released a mighty bolt of lightning from his palms and downed two of the templars in front of the charge with one brutal spell.

Will gaped. Peter, who had just killed two men, turned briefly to look at Will, and…he was smiling. There was no time to think of it, because Will was being surrounded by the others, and their swords were bared and gleaming and pointed straight at him. Will worked his magic, the flames erupting from his staff, harnessing the power of his spell until it released in a conflagration around the crowding templars. The stench of burning flesh and hair permeated the air and Will gagged as he spun the staff in his hands. He brought a flaming templar to his knees and Peter approached the guard from behind. Will watched, stunned, as Peter clasped his hands on either side of the guard’s face and electrified him, sending killing shocks directly through the skull. Burned within and without, the guard collapsed to the ground. Dead. Will turned slowly to the others he had set ablaze. Their corpses smoked and smoldered at his feet. He looked again at Peter, who had just assisted him in murder, but Peter’s attention was already refocusing to the next door.

This one was heavier, more formidable in appearance than the others. Peter appeared to know right away which key opened it, finding the biggest, gaudiest key on the ring, and approaching the lock confidently. Will, still stunned, just watched as his friend opened the door, the door which would prove to be the last.

After Peter opened it, he called for Will over his shoulder. “Come on,” he beckoned, but he entered without waiting, and Will had to shake the dazzle from his eyes before following through the open door.

Phylacteries filled a shelf, the only furnishing in the room. There was a magically sealed vial of blood from every apprentice mage in the tower, ordered alphabetically, and it didn’t take long for Peter to find the phylactery with his name on it. He picked it up and held it, mesmerized, in the palm of his hand. And then, before Will even had time to process it, Peter threw it to the ground and crunched it beneath his boot. A crimson mist escaped the broken glass as Peter ground it to dust. It was destroyed. Will’s mouth was still open in shock when Peter looked at him, a regretful expression on his face.

“It looks like yours was already shipped to D-Denerim,” Peter told him. “It’s n-not here.”

Will could do nothing but nod blankly. His mind hadn’t even been on his own phylactery, though now he supposed it should have been. “That’s okay, Peter,” he said. His voice sounded foreign to his ears. “We did what needed to be done.” He felt himself smiling at Peter, but it was awkward and strained, unnatural. Peter apparently either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and Will couldn’t blame him. He imagined the immense relief his friend must have felt at the destruction of his phylactery, the binding of every mage to the authority of the templars. The thought gave his heart a miniscule surge of happiness, and he rode that surge back through the basement, as he and Peter made their way past smoking, dead bodies.

They didn’t speak on the journey, but their walk wasn’t an extensive one, and before long they were standing shoulder to shoulder at the top of the stairs. Only one more door stood between them and the rest of the tower. To Will, the air looked to sparkle with tension.

“Thank you, Will,” Peter spoke at last. He didn’t look at Will, but straight ahead at the door. But his words were full of feeling, and it made Will’s pulse pound in response. He had helped his friend as much as he could, but now it would be up to Peter to escape the tower. He hoped he would make it, but he wasn't delusional enough to believe it a certainty.

“You’re welcome, Peter,” Will said. “Good luck.”

Peter took one deep breath, and then he nodded at Will to open the door. Will held up his staff to the lock once again. It glowed red and clicked, and then he gently pushed it open.

Standing there, waiting for them, was the First Enchanter, joined by a flank of templars.

“Will,” she said, “what is this?”

The power of speech temporarily lost to him, he stood before her helplessly. His fingers gripped his staff automatically, and the many templars tightened their hold on the handles of their swords in response, even the templar Will had sent to fetch him water was there, a frown on his serious face and a tight fist around a threatening, leather-bound hilt.

First Enchanter Bedelia was in no mood for waiting, and in the wake of Will’s silence, she turned to Peter instead. “Peter. What have you done?”

“I had to do it,” Peter cried. Will turned his head to him, shocked, watching the tears spill from his friend’s eyes. He had expected a denial; an attempt at one at least. “I KNOW YOU WANT TO MAKE ME TRANQUIL!” he screamed.

The First Enchanter said coolly, “Did you destroy your phylactery, Peter? You know what the punishment for that is.” She made a discreet motion with her head, lifting her chin slightly. The templars beside her began to move toward Peter.

“NO!” Peter was yelling, backing up toward the door. “YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” He pulled a concealed blade from his belt and Will wheeled back several paces, backing up until he felt a firm body behind him. A templar’s hand gripped his arm, holding him, and Will watched, disbelieving, as Peter cut into the flesh of his own hand, his blood splattering all over the floor.

“Peter, no!” yelled Will. The templar pulled him further back when Peter lifted his bloody palm into the air before him. The crimson droplets floated in the air and began to swirl.

Blood magic.

It happened swiftly. Peter muttered an incantation and began to change, his body stretching and expanding, like Freddie the Cat in Will’s Harrowing, and in the blink of an eye Will’s friend had become a hideous abomination.

It raged against the templars as they bombarded it with their swords. Only the templar holding Will’s arm refrained from the butchering of Peter. Will struggled against the iron grip until he met the concerned eyes of the familiar templar. He was looking at him when the others landed their killing blow. Will’s eyes watered as he heard the wail of the abomination - Peter - dying.

Silence hanged heavy and Will hanged his head.

“I’m disappointed beyond words, Will,” the First Enchanter said, shattering the quiet and replacing it with palpable dread. “Your first day of becoming a full mage and you do this.”

When Will responded, his voice was weak. He was all but broken. “He was sure you were planning on making him Tranquil,” Will said, not looking at her but at the splatters of Peter’s blood, still glistening wet on the floor. “I saw your list and knew it was true.”

“And that gave you the authority to break our law?” the First Enchanter asked.

He did look at her then, though her image was fuzzy through his well of unshed tears. “He was my friend.”

She sighed. “The punishment for destroying a phylactery is death.”

He shuddered and felt the templar’s hand tighten around his arm.

“But for you, I think I can make an exception.” She motioned once more to the templars. “Since you were acting with kind intensions and have no previous record of misconduct, I will spare your life. Instead of death, you will be made Tranquil.”

“No, no,” Will said, backing up automatically into the templar holding him. “Please, I’d rather die.”

Again, the First Enchanter sighed. “Then you should have died in that basement.”

The templar spun Will around in his arms and held both his arms. There was a peculiar look on his face. Will felt himself being pulled forward by him, and he was weak, too weak to fight against it, and unwilling to use any more magic for evil. For murder.

“FIRST ENCHANTER BEDELIA,” a new voice boomed from the archway of the library. There was a shuffle as everyone turned to see who it was, and when Will’s eyes fell upon him, a small bit of his hysteria was erased. Jack Crawford, the Grey Warden, was walking toward him. “Did I misunderstand something? Are you about to make this talented young mage Tranquil?” He kept walking until he stood between Will and the First Enchanter.

“He broke the law and must be punished,” she answered, but the grip of the templar’s hands on Will’s arms was already weakening.

“I think an impending Blight trumps your Circle of Magi law,” Jack replied. He was smiling, but his demeanor was solid in its threat.

“He’s dangerous,” the First Enchanter said. Will heard rather than saw the roll of her eyes.

“So am I,” Jack said. “And I’m invoking the Rite of Conscription.”

The other templars let out poorly hidden gasps, but the one next to Will remained silent and released Will completely from his hold. Will wasn’t absolutely sure what the Rite of Conscription was, but he was relatively sure it meant he wasn’t being made Tranquil. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and automatically leaned back against the templar.

“Foolish, Jack,” she told the Grey Warden. “I told you yesterday how lethal Dreamers can be, and now that he’s proven it, you’re practically drooling to take him on.”

Jack shrugged. “What can I say? I love a wild card. I’m recruiting him, Bedelia, and that’s the end of it.”

“If you insist on being naïve, I must insist on something, as well,” she countered with an arch of her finely shaped eyebrow. “Take one of the templars with you, to watch him.”

Jack chuckled, and the sound was boisterous and inappropriately jolly with a corpse in the room. “You don’t think an army of Grey Wardens can handle a mage?”

Another sigh left her white in the cheeks. “Take one of the templars, at least for the journey to Ostagar.”

Jack crossed his arms, unhappy, but not unmovable. He looked at Will with a grin. “Fine.”

The First Enchanter didn’t sound satisfied, but she could sense this was the best scenario she could hope for, and with a wave of her hand, she said, “Hannibal, go with Will.”

The templar at Will’s side stood straight with sudden alertness and Will realized he’d been leaning against him. He watched the templar bow slightly at the First Enchanter, then at the Grey Warden, then, to his surprise, at Will.

And so it happened that Will escaped death and Tranquility, and left the Circle Tower of Ferelden for the first time in years, in the company of a Grey Warden and the chivalrous templar. He held in his hand only his staff as he walked out of the tower’s front door. They would not even let him go back to his room to retrieve his things.

He breathed in the fresh air and followed his new companions down the path to the lake’s edge.

Chapter 4: Brawls

It was so jarringly bright outside the tower; Will had to hold his hand over his eyes in order to spare himself from total sun-blindness. He found himself stumbling nonetheless, over the robes he was, as of yet, unacquainted with wearing, and it wasn’t until the templar held out an arm for him to hold that Will gained any semblance of balance. Thankfully the Grey Warden was walking far enough ahead that Will’s awkwardness escaped his detection. As for the templar, he responded to Will’s squinting eyes and uneven footing with a minimal forward lean and the following words of encouragement: “Your body will adjust faster than you’d imagine.” Will was too shaken to answer so he said nothing, keeping his hand folded tightly around the templar’s vambrace.

The prediction proved true about halfway through the boat ride across the lake. The blinding white burning Will’s unaccustomed retinas began to slowly fade, replaced with true-to-life colors of the crystal blue water rippling beneath the stroking paddles of the boatman. Fresh, cool wind danced over the lake, blowing the fallen curls from Will’s forehead. He lowered his hand, no longer requiring its shading visor, and drank in the expanse of scenery surrounding him.

“It’s been years,” Will whispered. The templar’s head turned, but Will was occularly occupied, his gaze soaking up the environment he’d spent the last humdrum years – Maker’s breath, it had been nearing a decade – only longingly staring at through the narrow windows of the tower. To be in it, to be a living, breathing piece of that environment and not a powerless observer, was to be free.

When they reached the opposite bank, Will accepted the templar’s hand, thanking him as he was helped from the boat. The grass was vibrantly green and soft beneath Will’s boots. Grass he’d never yet trudged upon. Jack was tipping the boatman, and Will turned to take in the tower where it sat on a little island at the center of Lake Calenhad. From a distance, it seemed to eternally reach into the clouds. The air around Will seemed, suddenly, to become too breathable, too open, too much. With no walls to contain him, Will felt like he would stretch and grow and float away. As panic began to scratch at his insides, he felt the presence of the templar beside him. He, too, watched the tower, and when Will glanced at him, he recognized the same awe of freedom in his eyes.

“Strange, to be free,” the templar commented pleasantly.

Will nodded, and then he turned away from the tower, deciding he’d seen enough of it to last a lifetime.

The boatman paid, there was nothing left before the group but the journey ahead. Of course, as it was late in the day and only growing later, they had not long to journey before the sky began falling to twilight and their leader beckoned them to halt for the night.

The clearing Jack chose was not far from the main road, a patch of soft grasses with tall trees growing about it. Nothing extraordinary, but, to Will, it was a haven of exoticism. After sleeping in his creaky, narrow apprentice’s bed, the idea of laying his head on the grass beneath a sky full of stars sparked excitement in his heart. He wished that Peter could have shared this experience with him, but then, Peter was a blood mage. Had been. Peter, his only friend in the whole world, had been practicing dark arts for Maker knows how long. And, worst of all, he’d used Will to help destroy his only harness. The spark inside Will burned out at these thoughts and, after the bedrolls were laid out and the sticks stacked for a fire pit, he sat heavily on the ground and put his head in his hands.

The problem was that Will was in shock. He’d had no time to process the new realities of his increasingly odd life. He had still been in the process of digesting the tumultuous events of his Harrowing when Peter had petitioned his aid. He was trying to come to grips with the blood of the templars on his hands when Peter had become an abomination. And then even that had taken the backburner when Will was conscripted to join the Wardens. Thinking to this last event, Will realized his faux pas. He looked up from his introverted gaze to Jack, who was trying to light a fire beneath the sticks.

“Thank you,” Will said, but his voice was so quiet, so timid, that he had to say it again, louder. “Thank you, Jack.”

The Warden looked up from his flint, his strangely thin eyebrow arching in amusement. “I should be thanking you, I think,” he answered. “Mages are invaluable. We don’t have nearly enough within the Wardens. The King will be thrilled when he meets you.”

A thousand questions bred together in Will’s confused head, but he settled with the point of his conversation. “You saved my life.”

“The First Enchanter wasn’t going to kill you.”

From the recollection of his almost-fate, Will’s heart began to speed up to the point of discomfort. “For many, Tranquility is a fate worse than death.”

Jack frowned, striking unsuccessfully for more sparks, to no avail. “I was impressed with you, you know,” continued the Warden, finally settling down his flint with a sigh of frustration. “I asked the First Enchanter who she thought was her smartest pupil, and she didn’t even have to think before saying your name.”

Will shifted uncomfortably. He was especially aware of the templar, whose presence lingered on the opposite side of the unlit fire. He was sharpening his sword, but his head was tilted to the side just enough for Will to conclude he was listening to every word said. “I’m not so smart,” Will muttered. He knew his face was flushed from the compliment and hoped it was dark enough that neither Jack nor the eavesdropping templar could see. “I just spend a lot of my time studying, practicing. Same as anyone who has nothing better to do.”

Jack laughed, a warm chuckle, and patted Will on the back. “She also mentioned how unsociable you are.”

Will sucked a breath in through his teeth and exhaled with his hand spread over his face. “I’ll bet.”

“A Dreamer, too,” Jack continued nonchalantly. “Those are rare.”

“Yeah, and they’re also dangerous,” said Will.

Jack was angled toward him with immense interest, sitting beside him with his legs crossed, his hands steepled beneath his chin, the lighting of the fire completely forgotten. “Explain that to me. When I first arrived, the First Enchanter told me not to set my sights on recruiting you, because she didn’t expect you to pass your Harrowing. Now why would she say that?”

At that point, Will definitely knew the templar was listening, and he wasn’t trying to hiding it. He looked up from the polishing of his sword with bright eyes; they seemed to almost glow in the encroaching darkness. Disconcerted by the templar’s attention, Will looked solely at the Warden, whose interest at this point was keen.

“Dreamers are capable of,” Will paused, searching for the right words, “…manipulating the Fade. Theoretically, I could invade someone’s sleeping mind and tinker around with their dreams.”

Jack nodded along. “Give an enemy nightmares.”

“Theoretically,” Will clarified. “The truth is…I don’t know much about it. There was little to no literature on the subject accessible to me in the tower. First Enchanter Bedelia made sure of that. But she let everyone know I was a walking abomination time bomb, waiting to detonate.”

“Because you’re more susceptible to a demon’s influence than other mages,” Jack said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“And that’s why we have our templar friend along with us on our journey,” Jack laughed with a gesture toward the man watching them atop the dry pile of sticks.

Will ducked his head in embarrassment. “He would probably be more use to the Wardens than me.”

The templar spoke, his words confident and coaxing in the dark. “Ah, but which of us here could have had this fire lit a half hour ago?”

Jack quirked a quizzical brow toward Will, and the templar smiled. They both stared at him expectantly for a few moments until Will sighed and acquiesced, leaning toward the sticks with the palm of his hand stretched out. He waved it slowly with his eyes shut. When he opened them, it was to the crackling of flame and the beginning of a glowing pit. Jack clapped his hands with the lighting of the fire, and Will couldn’t help the sheepish grin that spread his lips. When Jack settled down, his expression morphed into something more serious.

“If Grey Wardens cowered away from threats, well, we wouldn’t get much good accomplished,” Jack said. “You might be a risk, I don’t know. But the fact is this: There’s a Blight coming and the Wardens are gonna need every powerful warrior, rogue, and mage we can get our hands on to help fight it. If my best bet is a Dreamer everyone else is afraid of, I say good. Great. Because maybe the blasted darkspawn will be afraid of him too.” Jack placed his hands close to the fire, warming his fingers, and then fell into a contemplative silence.

Will stole a glance through the flames at the templar. With his helmet off and his face lit up and glowing, Will could make out the sharp details of his face he’d never noticed before. High, prominent cheekbones, pale eyebrows on a strong brow that casted deep shadows over his eyes. Lips pursed into a sleek line, full, the color of wine in the low light. In the tower, Will had hardly dared to pay much attention to the templars, and he hardly dared to do it now. As the templar’s eyes met his, Will lowered his head, hiding beneath his flop of hair. Beside him, Jack was standing and brushing some stray ash from his leathery tunic.

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Jack said, patting his stomach amiably, “nature is calling.” And like that, he was gone, stalked off through the line of surrounding trees, and Will was alone with the templar.

He made to lie down, avoid any weirdness through the escape of sleep, but before he could manage a horizontal position, the templar stood up and crossed to Will’s side of the fire, where he proceeded to sit down, not directly on his bedroll, but close enough to it to make Will inch back with apprehension.

“I know you must be tired,” the templar said, “but I really must insist you take some sustenance before escaping into the Fade.”

“I’m not hungry,” Will replied with eyes cast down, disappointed that his plan had been so transparent.

“No, I don’t imagine you are,” the man said, all the while reaching into the large pack Jack had been hauling on his back all evening. “But I’m afraid I won’t feel at ease until you have something to eat.” The corner of his mouth quirked up and he added wryly, “Or maybe you’d prefer a drink of water?”

Right. Of course he would bring that up. Will sighed, embarrassed. The templar pulled his hand from the pack and revealed a piece of bread.

“Preconceived roles in the tower forced us both into taking unsavory actions,” he said, tearing the small loaf in half. “Shall we break bread between us and call a truce?” He held the bit of torn bread out to Will.

Will looked between the bread and the man. “You’re here to handle me if I become…difficult,” Will reminded him, feeling more than marginally chaffed. “Even outside of the tower, you’re still a templar and I’m still a mage.”

“Of course,” he said, looking slightly scolded. He bit into his own piece of bread. “It’s only natural that you would feel reticent of me, especially in light of the day’s unfortunate events.”

“You referring to Peter’s death as an ‘unfortunate event’ is a perfect example of why I’m ‘reticent,’” Will hissed, his ire stoked unexpectedly. He rudely snatched the bread from the templar’s fingers and bit into it with an angry gnash of teeth.

The templar chewed contemplatively, swallowed, and said, “I apologize, Will.”

Will hummed as much disdain as he could muster through a mouthful of bread, happy only when the templar finally got to his feet and returned to his own side of the fire. But his eyes still lingered on Will, and when Will finished his ration of bread, he nodded at the canteen of water at his side. Will took a few gulps, his cheeks burning red. Requests fulfilled, he fixed the templar with a look of annoyance. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Good night, Will. I’ll keep watch over you until Jack returns.”

Will curled up on the bedroll, turning his back to the fire as well as the templar. “I don’t need you to keep watch over me,” he grumbled.

He could hear the amusement in the templar’s voice when he responded softly, “I am aware.”

 

--

 

Will wasn’t surprised to find himself so quickly succumbed to his exhaustion, nor was he startled by the inevitable presence of the demon and its perch over his thighs when he opened his eyes to the misty, grand hallway of the Fade. He was, however, astonished to discover his nakedness.

Despite that concern, Will felt too tired to haul himself from the marble floor, so he allowed his position beneath the demon to continue, finding its looming presence oddly comforting. It settled its skeletal, leathery black hands on Will’s chest, smoothing over him with sharp, caressing fingers. It was gazing at Will, its antlers spiraling high into the torch-lit ceiling.

“Poor, sweet Will,” it said, leaning down to nuzzle against Will’s bare chest. “Betrayal can sting like a blade’s point.”

Will swallowed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks at the sensation of the demon’s head against his chest, and its slow track downwards, stopping to mouth over his navel. Mystified, Will gripped his hands on a rung of spiked antler, stilling the demon’s wandering head. It flashed its black eyes at Will and waited.

“He was a blood mage,” Will told the demon. He didn’t need to say Peter’s name, because he innately understood that the demon already knew.

“Do you think he was evil?” the demon asked, its lips vibrating against the bared flesh of Will’s stomach as it purred his words.

Will bit his lip and held tighter to the antlers in his hands. “He was in the end,” Will admitted. “And isn’t that what matters?”

The demon didn’t respond right away, but continued to drag its mouth down Will’s abdomen. Its hands slid across his torso and came to rest at Will’s hips. He sighed into the sensation. It was becoming more difficult to articulate his thoughts.

“He was scared,” Will stammered. “A demon took advantage of his weakness. Blood magic killed him. It’s evil.” The demon sank the sharp tips of claws into the soft skin of Will’s hips and he gasped, bucking slightly in its hold.

“Your power is immense in its reign over others,” the demon rasped, its breath hot against his skin. “You have simply to grab control.” The demon rubbed its cheek over Will’s unbidden swell, and Will moaned helplessly beneath its ministrations. “Beautiful boy,” the demon soothed, mouthing against him, letting the sharp edge of its teeth scrape and drag over soft, sensitive skin. Will’s knuckles were white from his hold of the antlers as he held the demon’s head in place.

“I don’t want to end up like him,” Will whispered, his eyes wet.

The demon pressed a kiss to the tip of his hardness before rising up to place another on his lips. “That won’t happen,” it whispered. Its long body heaved gently against him. “Don’t you know I’m watching over you?”

Will dragged himself from the Fade too quickly; it took him several, breathless seconds of hyperventilating on his bedroll before he regained his awareness. But finally, he was able to take in the solid details of his surroundings and realize his wakefulness. When he did, he noticed Jack’s sleeping form a few feet away, slumbering deeply with his face turned toward the fire. And he noticed the templar, leaning against a tree nearby, wide awake, his posture very much that of a templar on duty.

Will scrambled to his feet and crossed the camp to stand before him, painfully aware of the hardness beneath his robes. The templar looked at him curiously, but did not speak.

“We can’t be friendly,” Will declared, “because if I’m weak, if I become something evil, you have to kill me without hesitation.”

The templar’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You insult me if you think I lack the ability to compartmentalize.”

“I’m dangerous,” Will said, annoyed by the templar’s lackadaisical attitude.

The templar’s eyes sparkled with the reflection of flames. “So am I.” Will gaped wordlessly at him for a moment before he continued, this time with a friendly smile. “Rest, Will,” he said. “We have quite the adventure ahead of us.”

 

--

 

Will refrained from sleep that night, but laid on his bedroll as appealed with his eyes closed. Instead of slipping back into the Fade, he concentrated on the sounds of the crackling fire, the steady breaths of the slumbering Warden, and the soft footfall of the templar as he periodically strutted back and forth across the camp. He was in no danger of falling asleep; he was too wired, and the vividness of his last dream still gurgled queerly in his gut.

Not only had he appeared completely nude, a seldom occurrence for Will’s trips to the Fade, but he had allowed the demon to control him entirely. And even more disturbing was the fact that Will hadn’t minded. The physical invasion had felt contradictorily welcome. He rolled to his other side, eyes shut tight as he recalled the weight of the demon on top of him, the hot press of its lips, the way he’d been touched, and the way he’d enjoyed it. He was a Dreamer. He was capable, or should be capable, of controlling these things, and did in the smallest of degrees. He’d eventually wrenched himself from the demon’s arms. But had it truly been his will to do so, or had the demon merely taken pity on his vulnerable body? These were the worries that wracked Will’s brain, and continued to do so for hours.

After a distressing time of tossing and turning, wide awake, he heard Jack rousing. A shift change, he supposed. It was the Warden’s turn to keep guard over their camp while the templar took his rest. Their greeting was whispered briefly and then Will heard the templar sitting down nearby. There sounded discernible clinks of armor in the air as he unfastened the chinks of his breastplate and slid his arms free of their weighted gauntlets and vambraces. Will found it hard to imagine a templar shed of its metal cage, and he felt a twinge of curiosity, almost rolling over to crack an eyelid and spy what the man looked like beneath the armor. But he didn’t. He just lay there in silence, listening to the sounds of the templar settling into his bedroll, his soft sigh upon a stretch, and then, after a few minutes, his tell-tale rhythmic breathing of deep sleep.

Will envied him that deep sleep and he spent the time until daybreak mimicking it on behalf of the Grey Warden standing guard.

 

--

 

Dawn arrived eventually, and Will watched his first sunrise outside the tower since he’d been taken to the Circle. The events of yesterday glimmered dimly like the memories of someone else, and when Will thought back to them, he was greeted with a chill numbness and snapshots of horror: The reek of melting flesh, blood splattered on the floor, a demon with black eyes, coming closer, closer.

By the time Will had finally given up on his ruse of rest, the templar had already refastened his armor and was sitting at the cooking pot with Jack. He gave Will an annoyingly knowing look as he passed him the canteen of water. Will sipped it reservedly and they proceeded to partake in a humble breakfast around the leftover fire with his two companions.

Jack was well rested, his positive mood igniting a desire to finally explain why he’d been snooping around the tower for recruits in the first place, which was fine with Will since he had little to no information on where they were headed or what he was meant to do once they arrived. “The First Enchanter told me you were well acquainted with study of the Blights.”

“I’m no scholar, Jack, but I know the basics.” Will tightened the laces of his boots, an excuse to keep his gaze elsewhere while he spoke to the Warden.

“Then you know what a Grey Warden’s job entails.”

“Grey Wardens fight darkspawn. End the Blight. Save the world,” replied Will. He glanced up through his fallen curls at Jack and the templar, and hastily looked back down at his shoes. “Has another Blight come to Ferelden?”

Jack was swirling the water canteen in his hand. “The King doesn’t think so. He thinks a few darkspawn have escaped the Deep Roads to the South. He’s organized an army in the ruins of Ostagar, just beyond the Korcari Wilds.” Will noticed the deep vein of disagreement in Jack’s voice and the grim lines around his mouth as he spoke of the King. “It’s his belief that this darkspawn invasion is minor, and that their army can be wiped out in one grand battle.”

“But you don’t think that,” supplied Will.

“I don’t.” Jack stood up to tighten the belt around his tunic and check the buckle of his scabbard. “The King has a fetish for the Grey Wardens. Wants to ride out with us onto the battlefield and end this threat before it has the chance to grow teeth.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen Blights before, and they aren’t fixed with a single battle. We’re woefully unprepared.”

“So you need all the Grey Wardens you can find,” said Will. “So we’re going to Ostagar?” Will had read of the place, and of the Korcari Wilds. They were infamous for being full of apostate mages and numerous other dangers. He supposed it made since for the darkspawn to show themselves there first. Birds of a vile feather.

“We’re going to Ostagar,” Jack agreed. He turned his head toward the sun. “We should get there midday tomorrow if we’re lucky. We’ll stop in Lothering tonight.”

“Lothering?” Will stood up to straighten his robes, hoping he sounded less panicked than he felt. “Why don’t we just travel through the night, get to Ostagar in the morning?”

Jack’s answering laugh was barkingly loud. “I admire your work ethic, Will, but we’ll need supplies. Lothering is the only decent village between here and the Wilds. We’ll stock up, rest up, and head out in the morning.” He slapped Will’s shoulder good-naturedly, laughing again, and slung his traveling pack over his back. “But we won’t make it to Lothering by sundown at this rate. Let’s get a move on. Hannibal, you ready?”

It was weird to hear the templar addressed by his Maker-given name. Will’s eyes drifted in his direction. He appeared more than ready to commence their travels. While Jack and Will had been speaking, the templar had been strapping on his broadsword, smothering the remnants of their fire, and somehow grooming himself to the point of looking entirely fresh and clean, despite their lack of baths and layer of road-dust.

“Ready when you are,” the templar told Jack, though his gaze fell to Will as he spoke.

Will wasn’t ready, not to go to Lothering. The mere idea of Lothering made him feel sick with anxiety. But the two men were looking at him, studying him, probably wondering what weird reaction he was having, so Will forced a smile and picked up his staff, tapping it with feigned confidence on the ground in front of him.

“Let’s go,” he said, and they began the beginning of a very long day.

Their party was a mostly quiet one, the three of them walking down the road untroubled, each lost to his own thoughts. Occasionally, the templar would insist on their stopping for a rest, during which time he made sure Will drank plenty of water and had a small something to eat. Jack didn’t seem to find this an inconvenience, but it made Will uncomfortable, the way the templar, someone sworn to kill if he needed killing, was being so considerate toward him. “You’re unused to such physical exertion,” the templar would say, placing the canteen in Will’s hands.

And when he wasn’t actively catering to Will’s fluid intake, he was watching him closely for signs of fatigue. “Jack, let’s stop a moment,” he would say when he sensed Will’s exhaustion. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well.” That was a lie, and they all knew it. Will was the tired one, the one who hadn’t slept. The templar was trying to be thoughtful, but it burned at Will’s nerves. By the time they were close enough to Lothering to see its lights in the distance, his mood was so sour he couldn’t even look at the templar without his eyes narrowing.

The day felt agonizingly long, but when they finally reached Lothering, it was far too soon, and Will hesitated at its threshold. He wished to be anywhere but there, even back at the tower. Anywhere but Lothering.

“Will?” The templar was studying him with some interest. “You’re uneasy.”

“Just jittery. I could use a drink, to be honest.” He could use several drinks, to be brutally honest.

Jack liked that idea, grabbing hold of it immediately. “Tell you boys what. I’m gonna head over to the blacksmith and get a few things. Why don’t you two go on to the inn? Get some drinks. Get a room. I’ll join you soon.”

Sharing a one-on-one drink with the templar had not been precisely what Will had had in mind, but it was all but inescapable now, as Jack had already turned away and was stalking off down the village road, toward the blacksmith, presumably.

“Shall we?” The templar looked pleased. Will felt sick and was sure a nauseous sweat was breaking out on his forehead.

“Fine.”

They didn’t need to ask for directions, because Will knew the precise location of the Lothering inn and pub. The town hadn’t much changed since Will had last been there, including the hustle-bustle surrounding the ale house when the sun began to set. Unpleasant nostalgia hit him hard as he held the door open for the templar, and then they were inside.

It was crowded and smelled like yeast and pipe smoke. He kept his head low as they made their way to the bar, but a templar walking side by side with a mage was not an ignorable sight in Lothering, and before Will had even reached the bartender, a hand pushed into the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks. The templar stilled beside him as he and Will took note of the man keeping them from their drinks. The man opened his wide mouth to speak and Will cringed well in advance of his words.

“What ‘ave we got ‘ere?”

Will kept his head down, but he knew the templar was staring him down, eyes probably lit up with righteous rage at being accosted by the foul smelling Lothering man.

“A mage with a blasted templar leash, eh?” he kept on, poking a dirty finger into Will’s sternum vigorously enough to make Will think it might bruise. “You need a leash, mage? We don’t like trouble ‘ere.” He rammed his finger into Will’s chest again, but this time, Will grabbed his wrist before he could connect. “Oh! This one bites!” He twisted out of Will’s hold and shoved him in the shoulder. “’ands off, love, or I’ll get the wrong idea.”

The templar took a single step to the side, moving exactly enough to stand directly in front of Will. “My friend and I are having a drink. I suggest you remove yourself from our path immediately.”

The Lothering man, whom Will had decided at this point was several pints deep, staggered toward the templar. Will saw, peeking over the templar’s shoulder, that the man was ruddy-cheeked and scowly-browed. By pure accident their eyes locked, re-amping the man’s drunken swagger. “’ave I insulted your lady love? Oh, don’t give me that look. That one’s pretty as a bloody picture. Almost worth gettin’ my ‘ead knocked in to get me ‘ands on that tight little ass. Ha!”

The templar punched the drunkard square in the jaw. The man wheel-barrowed backward, his eyes rolled dizzy in their sockets, and he crashed, knocking into multiple patrons on the way, until finally, with a heavy smack, he fell in a pathetic, unconscious heap. Will stood frozen in place, his hand clasped over his mouth, the templar still standing like a guard dog in front of him.

A silence had swept through the crowd upon the punishing smack of impact, and there was a brief moment when Will thought that maybe, just maybe, everyone would be content to go back to their business, that they’d decide it wasn’t a good idea to mess with a templar and his tight-assed mage on a leash.

“YOU KNOCKED OUT OL’ FARMER DAY, YOU SON OF A WHORE!”

And so began Will Graham’s very first tavern scrimmage. The man who’d hollered the indecency at the templar swiftly ran straight for him, only to be met with a well-placed throat punch, which the templar delivered efficiently, before gracefully turning on his heel and smiling at Will. But Will was distracted, looking over his shoulder at yet another brave, stupid man with a death wish who was running straight for the templar’s back, a shot glass held high over his head. Thinking quickly, Will grabbed the templar by the shoulders and yanked him to the side just as the glass came hurtling through the air. It flew right past them and smashed against the head of another man, who turned to Will with a fierce glower, a trickle of blood trailing down his face.

Suddenly, they were surrounded, the whole tavern collective an enraged enemy. The man who had thrown the shot glass swung at the templar, and Will, lifting up his staff, beat him in the forearm to stilt his aim. Then he swept the staff low, cutting straight at the back of the knees and the man fell to the floor, piling on top of the unconscious Ol’ Farmer Day. The templar swished past Will and met the next fool rushing them with a brutal head-butt that sent him staggering, bloody-nosed and crying. Will observed the exchange in astonishment. He didn’t think anyone actually head-butted people in real life. But there it had happened, right before his eyes. And it hadn’t even fazed the templar; he turned around immediately and took Will gently by the shoulders with an apologetic smile, shifting him out of the way just in time to escape the splintering chair as it landed right where they’d been standing. Someone had thrown a chair?! Will gasped and the templar laughed. Will met his gaze, felt a matching smile spread his lips, and then they both turned, in unison, pressing back to back as more Lothering derelicts had a go.

Will swung with his staff, knocking three men down at once. Their legs jumbled together and more men behind them tripped. The pile of failed attackers grew. At his back, he felt the templar bringing down even more, with elegant fists and crystal-sharp elbows. The stream of attacks felt endless, but Will felt tireless. Though he was being careful to keep his mana from harnessing through his staff, he was immensely enjoying the satisfying crack of hard wood on petulant, blundering skin. Across the room, he saw someone picking up a barstool, and Will nudged at the templar, alerting him of their next wave of assault, and then –

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!”

Everyone in the tavern stopped, still as statues, except for Jack, who was standing in the doorway, shaking his head, arms crossed. He spotted the man with the barstool in the corner of his eye. “YOU, WITH THE STOOL. PUT IT DOWN.” It dropped to the floor with a clatter. “EVERYONE, GET OUT.”

Something about the tone of the Grey Warden’s voice pierced through the very heart of everyone in the tavern, and even the felled men began hauling each other to their feet and staggering, bloody and defeated, out the door. In a minute, it was cleared out completely, save the man still lying unconscious on the floor, the bartender (who was looking unimpressed as he wiped down his counter), and Will and the templar. Jack walked straight past them, crooking his finger at the Innkeep, who was hovering at a door behind the counter. “I need a room,” ordered Jack. He shook his head at the fight-grimy men and followed the Innkeep up the stairs. Will watched him disappear around the corner before turning to the templar with a broad grin. His heart raced.

“Buy you a drink?” the templar asked casually, and that was it. Will felt it bubbling up in his chest, his throat, and then the laughter burst forth, unstoppable. He bent over with the force of it, hands on his knees holding him up as his shoulders shook. Beside him, the templar began laughing as well. More controlled than Will’s, perhaps, but just as frothy with pleasure.

“Yes,” Will gasped, “yes, Hannibal, please.” It was the first time he’d used his name and they both noticed. It felt weird, but Will supposed if he was able to fight side by side with someone, he should be able to call them by their proper name.

Hannibal looked even happier from the sound of his name on Will’s tongue than by the laughter still lingering between them. He walked to the bar and fished out a handful of coins from his waist pouch, slammed them on the counter, turned to Will, and said: “Come, then.” He turned to the bartender with a grave expression. “Your wine list please.”

 

--

 

Jack had come back downstairs, demanded they help clear out the mess they’d made, and then stormed back up the steps with a declaration that he was going to bed, but Will had caught the smile on his face before he’d turned away. Now, Will and the templar – or, er, Hannibal - were sitting beside the fireplace, which, after making sure the bartender wasn’t watching, Will had easily set to blazing with a stoke of his magic. Will sipped a pinkish brew with warmth in his belly he couldn’t recall feeling previously.

“Lothering is an interesting village,” Hannibal commented idly. He’d removed his plated gloves and set them on the floor beside his feet, and Will noticed for the first time his long, elegant fingers as they loosely draped around the cup.

Will grumbled something under his breath, a throw-away line to snatch Hannibal’s attention away from the discussion of their location, but the templar kept hold of Will’s eyes with a steady gaze, with no apparent intention of releasing him until his curiosity was sated. With a sigh, Will tipped back his glass and the pink wine drained down his throat in a couple of gulps. “I was born here.”

Hannibal pulled a face, not of disgust or disagreeableness, not even of pity, just a face that said, simply, ‘go on.’ Will didn’t want to go on, but Hannibal leaned toward him, the wine bottle in hand, and he poured a fresh stream of alcohol into his cup. Before he could think of a reason not to continue, Will took up his refilled cup, savored a healthsome sip, and, to his dismay, continued unprompted. “Lothering was my home before the tower.”

“And yet you don’t appear happy to be back.” Hannibal’s hair looked highlighted with bright strips of blond in the light of the fire. Blonder than Will had taken it for in the past. Not that he’d been oddly dedicated to examining the shades of the templar’s hair (especially when it was usually plastered down by a helmet when on watch in the tower). But he was noticing it now, as well as the buzzing, frilly sensation in his stomach. Was it the wine? He took another deep drink.

“I hardly remember my life before the tower,” Will said with a shrug. “But the pieces I do remember aren’t exactly…tasty.”

“You never felt at home, even amongst family.” Hannibal set his cup to resting on the arm of his chair. A piece of hair fell forward, and he tucked it back behind his ear. “Did your family send you away very young, Will?”

It didn’t sting anymore, the memory of not being wanted. Will could talk about it now and only feel a smothered, empty sadness in an obscure corner of his mind. “It was only me and my dad, but yeah. I was six.”

“You knew exactly where to find a drink,” Hannibal said.

“My dad was often drinking,” Will provided with an air of distance.

“I know what it is like to feel betrayed. Punished for being different. Is that how you feel?”

“Maybe I used to, but not anymore.” Will drank down more of the wine. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not so long that you didn’t feel the burden of sickness when you heard we were going to Lothering,” said Hannibal.

“I’ll be happy enough when we leave, if that’s what you mean,” Will said, beginning to feel the twinge of tipsiness. “I’m trying to look ahead. The past is full of ghosts and regret.”

“Never regret your past, Will,” Hannibal said, holding out his cup and clinking it gently against Will’s, “for it has shaped your present.”

They downed the remaining dregs of wine, and Will stood from his chair. A bit too hastily, maybe, because he teetered a bit and had to grab hold of the templar’s offered hand to steady himself. He laughed weakly, about to explain it away to too much drink, but Hannibal was leading him toward the stairs, speaking so he wouldn’t have to. “Your handling of the past few days has been inspiring. But tonight you must rest. I will not tolerate another night watching you pretend to be asleep. Not with Ostagar ahead of us tomorrow.”

Had he been less exhausted, or less drunkish, Will might have argued with the templar and berated him for his bossiness. As it was, he was thoroughly tired, and though he was hesitant to re-enter the Fade, he had no choice. He was a Dreamer. He would manipulate his dream. Simple. He need not show up naked and writhing in a demon’s arms if he didn’t wish it. He held on to Hannibal’s arm all the way up the stairs, until they reached the door of the inn room. Will could hear Jack’s snoring through the walls.

Hannibal eased open the door and they tiptoed in.

“There’s only one bed?” Will whispered.

“And Jack is in it. Hmm.” Hannibal leaned Will against the wall and crouched down to their packs in the corner. He unfurled their bedrolls with a flourish and motioned to Will. “Not as soft as grass, but I think you’ll find there are less bugs.” He looked around the room and arched his brow. “Perhaps not.”

Will climbed onto his bedroll and sighed gratefully, stretching out and lying on his side, his hands pillowed beneath his head. He meant to thank Hannibal, wish him good night, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep.

Chapter 5: Wild at Heart

Will dreamed, but not in the hall where the demon dwelled. He did not see the demon at all, and for a moment, after first drifting off to the Fade, Will stood in a room that looked very much like the tavern inn, and he looked around, waiting. He wore his black robes. There was no demon. The light from the fire he had lit with Hannibal still crackled, even in the Fade. Disappointment wasn’t the word he would use to describe how he felt at the lack of antlers and shadowy, black-eyed creature. Perhaps his skills as a Dreamer were beginning to bloom, now that he’d left the constrictions of the Circle. He didn’t want to see the demon and so he wasn’t there. Will sighed and sat down before the fireplace. He could rest easy.

 

--

 

In the morning, he was beautifully rested. He sat up in his bedroll with a happy grunt, for the thin blankets felt like puffy clouds beneath him. All through the night he had slept without interruption, without nightmares, without upset, and without an unsolicited visit from the demon. Even his muscles, which he’d predicted would feel strained and weary from such exercise the day before, felt fine and relaxed. When he stood to straighten his robes from their wrinkled folds, Will fancied that even his bones felt jubilantly well. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could accomplish!

His companions were cleared out from the room already, so after he’d washed his face in the water basin, Will made his way downstairs to join them. Jack and Hannibal were sitting at a rickety wooden table, hovered over a spread of bread and butter, steaming mugs held up to their lips. The stairs creaked, and Will was greeted with welcoming smiles. It was such a domestic scene that Will paused on the stairs for a moment to register it fully. He hadn’t forgotten he was in Lothering, of course, but it was easy to ignore in the coziness of the sight before him. The fire was lit, settling a comfortable glow and pleasant warmth about the tavern. A meal awaited him, as well as moods that seemed, Will thought, quite earnestly improved by his arrival. Such a contrast to the years he’d woken up in the tower, with nothing to look forward to and no one to care whether he woke up at all.

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said, lifting a mug toward him. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

The three men broke fast together, and Will enjoyed it while it lasted, but they couldn’t very well lounge in that tavern for the rest of their days, and after their stomachs were full and the coffee pot was empty, they said goodbye to Lothering – Will literally, with a kick of rocks beneath his boot – and set off on the road to Ostagar.

The road was busier that far South than Will had expected, with soldiers headed in the same direction. They traveled within the confines of their little party however, and for that Will was thankful. It was difficult enough conversing with the templar and Grey Warden; he couldn’t imagine being forced into socializing with a team of outfitted Ferelden soldiers. The sky was overcast, the mood gloomy, and Will’s high spirits from the morning began to evaporate as they took every step toward their destination. In fact, Will began to feel overwhelmed at the prospect of arriving at Ostagar, and everything that would unfold in result. His shock was waning, that’s what was happening. The supreme, electric shock that had been dealt to his person the last few days was finally easing, and the veil of reality was re-settling over his eyes. Suddenly he had a future, a plan. Will had hardly been capable of thinking on it, and now it was the conquering source of his concentration.

By the time they reached the place itself, Will was glad. It felt a bit like the night before his Harrowing, when he just wanted to get it over with; finish it so he could move to the next step. But he had to take the first step first and that involved crossing a terrifying bridge to a gigantic stone ruin. Will wasn’t sure if a dilapidated building of yore was the best place, symbolically, to stage a battle against the Blight, it looking as conquered as it did, but he wasn’t the King of Ferelden, was he? That man was, the one standing on the opposite side of the bridge, apparently waiting for them.

“That’s King Frederick,” Jack whispered before they stopped before him.

King Frederick wore gold, daunting armor that shimmered majestically even beneath the sunless sky. His boots made him taller than Will guessed he probably was, and he looked older than he had thought he would be, from Jack’s description of him. Not old by any means, but not a supple-faced youth either. But he sure did smile like a delighted child at the sight of Will’s party. He thrust his hand out immediately to Jack, shaking it vigorously. Will remembered what Jack had said about the Warden fetish, and raised his eyebrows as his own hand was grasped – a little too tight than was customary?

“Jack Crawford, welcome,” said the King, though his attention was utterly turned on Will. “Who is this you’ve brought with you, hmm? He must be the new Grey Warden?”

Will thought he detected an unseemly snort from Hannibal, but it was masked by Jack’s response. “Your majesty, this is Will Graham, a mage from the Circle Tower. He’s our newest recruit.”

King Frederick didn’t release Will’s hand, but squeezed it tighter. “Pleasure to meet you, Will. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Delightful,” said Will, trying to politely extricate his hand from the King’s. It took Hannibal extending his own hand in greeting for Frederick to relinquish his hold on Will. He immediately hid it behind his back so it could not be reached so easily again. The King took Hannibal’s hand with hesitance, but at least his gaze was finally on someone besides Will.

“A templar recruit, as well? My, my, Jack, your recruitment has proved fruitful.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Hannibal, “but I am not a recruit.”

“Just sight-seeing then?” quipped the King with a sideward glance toward Will.

“Something along those lines.” Hannibal released the King’s hand and discreetly wiped his own hand on the handkerchief Will had never known the templar kept tucked at his belt. Will couldn’t blame him. There was definitely something squiggly about the King.

“That’s too bad.” King Frederick linked arms with Jack and began walking them through the grand stone archway, leading into the Ostagar ruins, where soldier’s tents filled most every square inch, blacksmiths were hammering out steel, and a pen of mabari hounds were barking. “I say, the more Grey Wardens, the better! I can’t wait to ride out into battle, on the front line, with you at my side, Jack, and an army of Grey Wardens at our backs.”

“Then your plan has remained unchanged?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Will and Hannibal, who were following behind. Will thought he looked quite grim. “Is it wise to expend your Grey Wardens all in one place?”

“Oh, Jack, you jest. The darkspawn will be no problem for the Grey Wardens. This supposed Blight will be over before it’s started! Really, you sound just like Mason.”

“Mason’s here with his men?” Jack asked, and the King sighed exasperatedly.

“Yes, yes, they arrived from Denerim a day ago. They won’t be taking charge with us. Mason insists on hanging back.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In case there’s trouble, he says.” He stopped outside of a luxurious, velvet curtained tent. “I simply must leave you now, my friends.” He put an amiable hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Will found himself meandering back a step so as not to be reached in kind by the handsy king. “We will meet later on the battlefield. There will be glory for all of us!” With a wink to Will, and slight sneer delivered just for Hannibal, he disappeared into his tent.

Jack led them away from the King’s tent swiftly, passing by a med station, where injured soldiers were being bandaged.

“Has the fighting already started?” Will looked around as if expecting darkspawn to pop up from around a pillar.

“Scouts have run into some trouble,” Jack said, stopping Will and Hannibal by a large bonfire in the center of the ruins. The air of that place smelled like ashes and blood and filled Will with a foreboding that unsettled his stomach. Over the crackling, spitting fire, he could still make out the groans of the injured scouts. He suddenly began wondering what had happened to them, how they had sustained their injuries. What exactly did a darkspawn look like and how did it fight? With tooth and nail? Blade?

“I wish I could say you had all the time in the world to relax and put up your feet for a rest, but the battle begins at sundown, and the hour is already growing late.” Jack frowned up at the sky. It looked like rain. “Will, I need you to find another Grey Warden in the camp. Her name is Katz and she’s looking after the new recruits.”

“Alright.”

“Find Katz and have her bring the recruits. I’ll meet you back here.” Jack looked at Hannibal. “Now that we’re here, is it safe to assume you’ll be heading back to the Circle?”

Will hadn’t even considered it, and he looked at Hannibal, anxious for his answer. The First Enchanter had insisted he join them, at least for the journey to Ostagar. Surely the templar wouldn’t wish to linger in this place longer than was required?

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to offer my assistance, see that Will is safely settled before I take my leave,” Hannibal said, straight-shouldered and straight-faced.

Jack smiled. “Fine by me. Could always use another blade.” He patted his griffin-etched tunic and began to turn away. “I’ve got some errands, but I’ll meet you back here shortly. Don’t let Katz dawdle.” And with that, Jack wove through the row of tents. Will followed him with his eyes until he couldn’t make him out anymore, and then he looked up at Hannibal.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“Would you prefer if I left?”

“No.” Will shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Let’s go find Katz?”

“Let’s go find Katz,” Hannibal agreed, and they left the warmth of the bonfire in search of a Grey Warden belonging to that name.

They walked past the med tents again on their search, and Will had to look away. He remembered the templar guards he had killed in the tower. He thought ahead to the darkspawn he would be expected to kill next. Hannibal didn’t let him linger long beside the injured, lightly touching his back and steering him away, where the air was fresher and a breeze was carrying the piney scents from the forest.

After several minutes of unsuccessful hunting, they happened upon a heavily armored man, hair crazy and pointing in all directions atop his head. As they walked nearer, it became apparent that everything about the man had a touch of madness to it, from the wild glint in his eyes to the jerky movements of his body. His very way of speaking was sluiced with mania. Will couldn’t help but stop to listen.

“He’s simply MAD, I tell you. He’ll end up getting us all KILLED.” He leaned over a table, jabbing his finger at a cloth map spread out on its surface. “He’s a KING, not a GOD. Those darkspawn will have us for BREAKFAST.”

Will leaned in to whisper at Hannibal’s ear. “He’s talking about King Frederick. Who is he?”

“Mason, I believe. With the Denerim troops.”

“That’s right. I AM Mason, with the Denerim troops.” They had been spotted, and the man was sauntering up to them, his great armor clinking and clanging with every step. “And you’re a mage,” he continued, looking at Will with venom, “and you’re a TEMPLAR. The question is WHY you’re standing there AGOG. Honestly, I’m BLUSHING.”

Will opened his mouth to apologize, but Hannibal stepped in, paying Mason a nominal tip of his head. “Official Grey Warden business. We were just leaving.” Again, Hannibal’s hand grazed Will’s back, ushering him forward.

“UGH. Get out of here. I am SO SICK of Frederick’s playthings,” Will heard Mason saying as they were walking away.

Once out of view, Will cocked an eyebrow at the templar at his side. “He’s crazy.”

“And he is the King’s backup plan,” said Hannibal. “Explains Jack’s dubiousness.”

“Between Mason and Frederick, it’s a good thing the Grey Wardens are here,” continued Will as they walked up a stone ramp of sorts to a higher tier of the ruins. He saw a feminine outline, a woman standing in the center of a platform, two men in front of her. He nodded toward them. “Do you think that could be Katz?”

“Let us see,” said Hannibal and they approached the group, Will with wide, quizzical eyes that the woman zeroed in on almost instantly.

“Please tell me you’re Jack’s recruit and not another Circle mage coming to boss me around on behalf of the blasted Chantry.”

Will frowned at her, confused. “I’m a recruit. Well, and a mage. But the Circle sort of disowned me, and I’m definitely not from the Chantry.”

The woman who was most definitely Katz, put a hand over her chest and quirked up a thin black eyebrow. “My kind of mage. And you come with your own templar. Be still my heart.” She held out her hand for Will to shake. Her smile was kind, genuine. He liked her immediately. Even Hannibal gave her a polite nod of his head. “Sorry,” she said, sleeking back a wisp of hair. It was jet black and silky, and she kept it smoothed back in a high ponytail. “Jack told me your name but I’m such a scatterbrain today.”

“Will,” he provided.

“Will! That’s it.” She set a hand on her hip, looking to Hannibal next. “And who are you, other than damn intimidating?”

Will cringed, but Hannibal reached out, taking Katz’s hand in his and kissing it. “I am Hannibal. I’m the templar charged with Will’s well-being.”

Katz’s blush was nearly enough to contest Will’s, but she masked it well, turning swiftly from the templar to wave forward the two men who’d been waiting impatiently behind her.

“Oh, is it our turn?” said one with a sarcastic smile.

“This is Price,” Katz said. “Recruit from Highever. And Zeller’s the taller, grumpier one.”

Zeller crossed his arms, looking, as she’d said, taller and grumpier than Price. But despite their feigned air of annoyance, Will rather liked them. He looked at the three of them and wondered if that was his future. Only Katz was a Warden, but the others were recruits just like him. Would they soon be his brothers in arms, the lot of them charging into battle together? It was such a different feeling than he was used to in the tower, when all he’d had was Peter and the tomes in the library and the countdown to his Harrowing.

“Hi,” said Will, feeling silly. No one tried to shake anyone’s hand, so they all just stood staring at each other, nodding their heads in quiet acceptance. Then, Will remembered the latter section of his task. “Jack will be waiting for us by the bonfire.”

“Oh, best not to keep Jack waiting,” Katz said. She waved her hand at the others. “Hop to, recruits.” She batted her lashes at Hannibal. “You too, templar.”

Jack was, in fact, awaiting them when they reappeared around the fire. Beneath the overcast sky, the Warden’s face was brilliant in the glow of the flames, and ominous shadows played across his stern features. He nodded upon their arrival, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Welcome, recruits. Usually, our Joining process isn’t as rushed, but as the battle is soon to begin, there’s not much time to draw out the process.”

Will glanced at the other recruits and was relieved to see they looked as confused as he felt.

“What does this Joining involve, Jack?” Hannibal asked. He stood at Will’s back and his voice was clear in Will’s ear. Steady.

If Jack was annoyed by the templar’s out of place nosiness, he didn’t show it, probably because there was no time. “The Grey Wardens require more than a verbal agreement upon initiation. The Joining is a ceremony, one that’s finer details are a secret. All you need to know as of this moment is that you’re going into the Wilds.”

“The Wilds?!” asked a supremely shocked Zeller, thick eyebrows arched high. “We’ll be killed!”

“Now, now,” said Price with a sly grin, “the chances are we’ll be captured by witches and tortured. Possibly turned into toads. Then, yes, maybe death.”

“Witches?” Will asked in alarm. “Mages, you mean?”

“Legend has it an apostate mage dwells in the Korcari forest,” whispered Price, leaning in conspiratorially to Will. “They call her the Witch of the Wilds.”

“EXCUSE ME.” Jack’s authoritative bellow paused the twittering of the recruits. “You will listen. You will not argue. If you wish to be a Grey Warden, these are the steps that must be taken.” He waited until he’d received a head nod of understanding from each of them, and then he continued. “You will go into the Wilds. You will retrieve three vials of Darkspawn blood. Katz has special orders to retrieve important Warden documents, and you will assist her. When you’ve completed your tasks, you will come directly back here and we will continue from there. Is that understood?”

Zeller made a soft sound - akin to a whine - and Price elbowed him in the side, while Will attempted his best indifferent face. Behind him, Hannibal pierced the Warden with gleaming eyes, contesting the flames themselves for brightness. “I will be accompanying Will into the Korcari Wilds,” he stated. Jack took in a breath, an expression working over his face, as if he were trying to judge whether or not the issue was worth arguing. In the end, however, it wasn’t, or so Jack must have thought, because after another glance at the sky and thought of the late hour, he nodded once, sharp, abrupt.

“Good luck, recruits,” Jack said. “Katz will see you safe.”

“You bet, boss,” she said.

Jack turned away from them in dismissal, and Katz nodded her head as she took off in the opposite direction, cueing them to follow her steps. Their group marched through the camp, a silence captivating the mood up until the point they arrived at the watchman and the gate into the Wilds.

“Under strict orders not to let anyone out there at this time,” the watchman announced, his chin tipped with authority. “It’s a dangerous place out there. Just got a team of scouts back. What was left of ‘em anyway.”

“Maker’s breath,” Zeller cursed.

Katz held out a silencing hand to the haughty recruit and then smiled at the watchman. “We’re Grey Wardens. Check the griffin.” She pointed to her own chest, and the symbol stitched across the leather of her chest piece. “We have orders to enter the Wilds.”

The watchman paled slightly before his cheeks grew pink. “Of course. Grey Wardens. Right.” He turned around, fumbling with the lock of the gate. It swung open for them. The watchman held the gate with trembling hands. “On you go. Quickly.” He looked so eager to close the gate, they all shuffled through quickly. He gave them each a worried once-over before locking the gate. It shut with a clang.

“Well that was menacing,” Price commented after an awkward silence.

“Look, you guys,” Katz said, turning to face them as they gathered in a line. “There’s a reason I’m with you out here. I’m a Warden. I’ll be able to tell when there are darkspawn nearby. We won’t be taken by surprise.”

“Which is great, except we’re out here collecting darkspawn blood,” complained Zeller.

“Does that mean we actually have to fight darkspawn?” Price asked. “Couldn’t we sneak up on a few while they’re asleep and draw some samples? I have a very soft touch.”

“I don’t want to die for the Wardens before I even become one. This is crazy.” Zeller’s voice had an edge of hysteria to it that Will recognized. It sounded almost like Peter, when he’d been on the cusp. Price’s attitude might have been jokingly light, but Zeller…Zeller was on the verge of full-blown panic.

“This is what we’re being asked to do,” Will said, with a commanding tone that surprised even him. “You want to join the Wardens? This is the price. Either do it or don’t do it. But don’t stand around like a coward, complaining.” He was aware of Hannibal giving him a quizzical look. Price looked amused. Katz looked relieved. And Zeller…Zeller looked mortified. Good. He’d be too ashamed and pissed off at Will to be scared. “Now let’s get this over with.”

“Points for the bossy mage,” Katz said, unsheathing her sword. “Everyone, stay close. We have vials to fill. Watch out for their blood touching your skin directly though. It could, you know, kill you.”

They didn’t so much stay close as they did huddle – Will included. But it couldn’t be helped, not with the frightening mood of the forest. The Korcari Wilds was a beautiful, terrifying place, made even more so by the known threat of lurking darkspawn. The walking path was narrow, the line of trees thick. The howls of wolves echoed in the air. And then there was a groan. Katz sped up until they reached a clearing in the path. There, strewn about before them, was a scouting group. Will gasped and turned his head, almost knocking into the templar close behind him.

Limbs had been ripped. Blood was soaking the ground. A severed head teetered in the grass. Will heard the sounds of vomiting, saw Zeller bent over in his peripheral. He could relate; his own nausea was threatening rebellion.

Hannibal was the one who noticed the survivor first, sweeping past Will to kneel at his side. Katz crouched down as well, reaching for her pack.

“Scout, can you speak?” she asked. The wounded man groaned again as Hannibal set his fingers to the pulse at his wrist. Will forced himself to look. One of his ankles was mangled, but other than that, he looked mostly whole. He spoke to them as Hannibal took bandages from Katz and proceeded to wrap his ankle.

“We were ambushed,” the scout said, coughing wetly. “Darkspawn everywhere.” Will met his eyes unintentionally, but the man locked on. “They were so organized.”

Will frowned at the comment. From his studies, he knew a little about the patterns of darkspawn. In random surges of activity, darkspawn were randomly wandering, mindless monsters, killing whatever they happened upon. But to be organized in their attacks? To plan an ambush? That spelled a Blight. That spelled a master plan. An intelligent leader. A glance at Katz told Will that she was thinking the same thing.

“How did you survive?” she asked the scout.

“They wanted me to,” he answered.

Hannibal finished dressing his wound and looked at Katz. “We should take him back to camp.”

The scout shook his head adamantly. “No. No, I can walk. Just help me up, please.”

Hannibal and Katz exchanged frowns, but they each hooked an arm around his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. “You’re sure you can make it back alright?” Katz asked.

“It’s not far, and I can walk okay.” He took a step, testing his steps. He hobbled on his hurt ankle, and his speed was impeded, but he didn’t topple. “I don’t want to keep Grey Wardens from their business.”

They parted ways. But the phantom of the scout’s words resonated within their group, even after his departure. They left the gruesome carnage behind them and continued on their way, deeper and deeper into the Wilds, but the images were ingrained permanently, and they traveled in worried silence.

Will had gone his whole life without seeing death, and now, within the past several days, he had seen murdered, mangled bodies. He had been the cause of the destruction, even, and that bothered him the most. He had not enjoyed killing the templar guards in the basement. It had left him shaken and disturbed. And he did not relish the ghoulish sight of the mess the darkspawn left behind. It gnawed at him. How could he expect to be a worthwhile Warden when he could hardly stomach the violence it required? Would he even be able to fight the darkspawn they faced or would he freeze up in terror and be useless? He did not need to wait long before that question, at least, was answered.

“Will,” Hannibal growled by his ear, reaching out a hand and touching his back. A second later, Katz whipped her head around to face the recruits.

“We have company. Get ready,” she whispered.

Will gripped his staff and held his breath, and then he saw it: a small swarm of darkspawn. They roared and beat their chests with terrible fists, crude weapons held high, stained with blood. They were hideous. They were ugly and monstrous and headed straight for them.

And that’s when Will’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the creature nearest him. The rest of the world, for the time being, faded, blurred, and all he could see was the fiend racing toward him. He raised his staff in the air and slammed it down to the earth. It felt hot against his palm. He slammed it again, let the mana multiply in his veins and then he powered it through the staff, and a violent stream of flame shot from the staff to the approaching darkspawn. Its feet were set afire, but it didn’t slow down in its pursuit of Will. It held a rusty blade in its hand, hacking it in wide arcs through the air. Will let it come closer, until he could count the teeth in its bloody maw. He let the dastardly thing slash at him, ducked, swept out with his staff, knocking it to its backside, and he slammed his staff down, into its eye socket.

It oozed a blackish ichor, twitched, and then died. Will loosened his staff from the corpse and spun, just in time to zero in on a swiftly approaching darkspawn. He hit it with a potent fire spell, balls of flame raining down on its head and setting its sparse strands of hair on fire. The stench of burning flesh filled Will’s nose, and he lit it on fire anew, with a second, stronger spell, weaving his mana like a craftsman. It was thoughtless, natural, an instinctive desire to destroy every monstrous creature in his path.

Will was aware of nothing else as he whirled and spat more flame, and soon there was a pile or slain darkspawn at his feet. Sweat dripped from his forehead, but his breath was easy. Calm. He stared at the corpses, at the smoke rising from the smoldered skin, and he felt at peace. No. He felt powerful. It was different than before, when he’d been forced to kill the templars. This felt necessary. This murder felt righteous. This murder felt…good.

“Will?” Hannibal whispered at his ear, ripping him from his nearly-hypnotized state.

He looked about him at the others. The darkspawn were dead, littered around all of them, but the bulk of deaths lay directly in front of Will. He had killed most of them. Katz’s mouth was open, half-smiling, half-shocked. Zeller and Price each looked to have killed a single darkspawn, and they were staring at Will as though he were as inhuman as the monsters on the ground. He glanced at Hannibal, whose face revealed no expression but relief. His own sword was coated in crimson. He had done his own killing. From his proximity, Will guessed, the templar had been downing every darkspawn approaching Will’s back.

“Everyone okay?” Katz asked, stepping quickly into action and pulling three glass vials from her pack. Not just Will was in a daze. Price had to nudge Zeller to grunt in response, and they accepted a vial each with trembling hands. Will’s hand was surprisingly steady as he took his own vial. “Don’t let their blood come into contact with your skin when you fill your vial. Their taint will kill you.”

Will bent down with his vial and carefully held it beneath a darkspawn’s wound, a deep gash he’d landed with his staff, over its brow, and he let the stream of dark, thick blood ooze into the container. He then stoppered it closed and handed it back to Katz. As she collected the vials from the others, Hannibal took a hold of Will’s arm and turned him round to face him, his face uncharacteristically rumpled in concern.

“Are you injured?”

“No,” Will answered. “I don’t think I was hurt at all.” He allowed Hannibal’s hands to smooth over his arms, searching for hurts and finding none. He hummed softly, seemingly satisfied, and released Will with a sigh.

“You fight beautifully,” the templar told him in a whisper. “Like a dance.”

Will only had time to gawk stupidly at the compliment before Katz clapped her hands together. “Okay, recruits. We have our blood, but we’re still under orders to retrieve the sensitive Warden documents, so we’re not out of the woods yet.”

Price chuckled. “Out of the woods.” Beside him, the color finally back in his face, Zeller rolled his eyes.

As they continued on, Will walked as if floating, strung out on the feeling coursing through his blood. Thump-thump-thump, the adrenaline pulsed. His palms sweated. His fingertips tingled. He was torn, once again, between feeling guilty for feeling so good after such violence, and feeling satisfied at the work he’d done. He thought of the black demon in the Fade and wondered what he would think of what Will was feeling. Darkspawn were evil. That was cement. There were no shades in that regard. And killing them? Participating in their murder? That was an evil he thought he could stomach.

They traveled, the lot of them on edge, save for Hannibal perhaps, who emitted little but serenity, and a keen devotion to making sure Will didn’t trip over upended tree roots. But they were silent. Katz kept her ears pricked up and Will watched the swish of her ponytail as her stalk swung it back and forth along the armor plates of her shoulders.

But on edge or not, one thing was evident: the sky was growing darker. Will watched the heavy clouds as they swirled above with the foreshadowing of a storm. Dramatically, as Katz finally halted their march beneath the columns of a ruined foundation, thunder rolled and rocked the Wilds.

“The documents should be in this,” Katz said, kneeling down before a rusty old chest whose lock looked long ago knocked wonky. She threw open the lid of the chest with a huff. A plume of dust billowed free and she fell to a fit of sneezes. The templar at Will’s side reached to his waist and extracted his handkerchief, offering it to the sneezing Grey Warden. She eyed him amusedly before taking it with a grin. “I could get used to you.” She looked past Hannibal to Will. “Can we keep him?”

Will was fighting the blush on his face, but was saved from making a verbal response when Katz slammed her fist down on the lid of the chest.

“Uh oh,” Will heard Price whisper to Zeller.

Katz pulled herself up, dusting off her knees. “Uh oh is right.” Her hand fluttered helplessly at the innards of the chest, and Will noticed, as he took a step forward, that it was empty. “Jack’s precious, top secret Warden documents are a no-show.”

Hannibal peered down into the chest with a quizzical brow. “You’re sure there’s no false bottom? Could this possibly be the wrong location?”

“No, this is the spot, this is the chest. He was obnoxiously specific when he gave me my orders.”

“I guess since it’s not here we should get out of these Wilds.” Zeller crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed, and, Will noted, still brimming with barely suppressed anxiety. “I don’t want to risk my life for something that’s not even here.”

“What would you risk your life for?” Price asked him with squinty-eyed delight.

Zeller pinched up his face in concentration, and then: “I’m kind of hungry. So maybe a piece of cake?”

Price nodded appreciatively. “A noble cause. It’s obvious why the Grey Wardens wanted you.”

“I was recruited outside of a bakery.”

“Hello.”

Their group turned in unison at the unfamiliar voice. The speaker leaned against one of the columns, one hand on her hip and the other behind her back. She had appeared out of nowhere. Will eyed the dark-haired arrival with utmost apprehension. Hannibal took a step forward, efficiently blocking Will from her should she prove threatening. Behind him, Will made out Zeller whispering to Price, ‘It’s the Witch of the Wilds!’

“You kill your way through my woods, trespass on my property, and call me names without asking me what I prefer to be called? Rude.” The petite, rather strikingly pretty woman shook her head in disapproval.

Katz answered first, taking a cautious step toward her with her hand held out. “We’re Grey Wardens. This ruin used to be ours, so we’re not trespassing.” Katz, on realization that she probably wasn’t about to be turned into a toad, regained a segment of her sassier disposition. “In fact, if anyone’s a trespasser, it’s you.”

Hannibal piped up in front of Will. “Let us not repeat our mistakes and set a low standard for Warden manners.” His head tilted in the stranger’s direction. “What is it you prefer to be called?”

She smiled at that, and Will decided that yes, she was attractive. Her eyes were wondrously blue. Her hair shone despite the darkness of the day. “Since you asked so nicely, you may call me Alana.”

Hannibal bowed his head. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I am Hannibal. This is my companion, Will.” Will blushed furiously beneath the title and glared at Hannibal.

Katz spoke up in an attempt to regain her control over their party where the templar had seized it. “I’m Katz. This is Zeller and Price. We’re here on official Warden business.”

Alana sauntered forward, eyeing each of them. Though, to be fair, she was eyed in return. How could she not be, beautiful as she was, in the worn leathers draped about her body, exposing much of her snowy-white midriff? “Official Warden business? That does sound important.”

Katz sighed and squared her shoulders. “Do you know anything about that chest being broken?”

“I didn’t break that chest.”

“But do you know anything about it being broken?”

“Was there something important inside that’s now missing?”

Will stepped from around Hannibal, and Alana focused on him at once. “Please,” Will tried, “if you know anything, help us.”

“A mage,” Alana said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Would you come here?”

Will swallowed hard. The woman was clearly a mage herself, and, not being member of a Circle, was an apostate. Apostates, Will had learned from his life in the tower, were supremely dangerous, with no code of the Circle to live by. He glanced at Hannibal and approached her all the same. He had faced worse things in his life than a woman alone in the woods. He heard Hannibal walking close behind him and wasn’t sure if he should roll his eyes or smile. His face screwed up in indecision as a result, and Alana laughed.

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I won’t turn you into anything unseemly.”

“I know,” said Will. She arched a brow at him, but it was true. He felt unexplainable warmth in regards to this unfamiliar woman. Like he had implicitly trusted the demon in his Harrowing, so he similarly trusted the Witch of the Wilds now. An inherent camaraderie, perhaps? An instinctual understanding between their kind? Will, having never met an apostate, felt in awe of her, as though he were meeting a character from a fairy tale.

“Will?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And Hannibal? Either I’m crazy or you’re a templar.”

“You aren’t crazy, at least not in regard to my position,” Hannibal answered. “But you are quite safe from me.”

“Safe from a templar?” she asked, obviously dubious.

“I assure you, I am only here as Will’s protector.”

Will made a small noise of complaint at that, but Hannibal and Alana were too busy staring daggers into each other to pay mind. “Alana,” Will said, dragging her attention back to himself, as was the original plan. She set her eyes to him, a sharp, clear blue. “Like you said, these are your Wilds. If anyone knows what happened to the items in that chest, you do.”

“These documents, you mean?” she asked, presenting a scroll of papers from behind her back. She blinked at Will. Then smiled. At his gawking expression, she thrust the papers into his chest. “A gift for the prettiest Grey Warden I’ve ever seen.”

Will had to wonder for a moment just how many Wardens this apostate had seen, living out in the Korcari Wilds, until he realized he was, as of that moment, still a mere recruit. He told her thus and something crossed the gleam in her eyes, a flash of pity. He didn’t dwell on it, accepting the scroll given to him with eager fingers. He turned immediately back to Katz and the others, who were whispering together anxiously. Katz, her arms folded over her chest impatiently, widened her eyes as Will approached her with the documents. He wasted no time handing them over.

“Thank the Maker.” Katz carefully placed the scroll into her pack. Another rumble of thunder sounded, making all glance to the ever-darkening sky. “We better get back soon or Jack will be furious.”

Will looked over to Alana, her long, dark hair blowing in the bluster of the coming storm. “Thank you for keeping them safe.”

She nodded at Will, smiled at Hannibal, and then she moved silently into the tree line, disappearing from view.

“So that was the Witch of the Wilds,” Hannibal said at Will’s elbow. “A pleasant young woman.”

“Yeah,” Will said blankly, watching the trees where she’d vanished. He wondered what it must feel like, being able to disappear into the woods and not worry about anyone following. She didn’t have to worry about Harrowings or First Enchanters. Templars hunted apostates, of course, and for some, for many, it was their only purpose. But Alana didn’t seem overly fearful of Hannibal. In fact, Hannibal had presented zero threat to her. He eyed the man at his side curiously. Why hadn’t Hannibal been more interested in an apostate mage roaming free? Wasn’t it his sacred duty to apprehend her kind? Was Hannibal so deep in his duty of ‘protecting’ Will that he was willing to sacrifice his actual, Chantry-given orders?

Hannibal caught him looking, and he tilted his head, lips working as if to ask a question of the younger man. A raindrop fell at that moment, splashing against the tip of the templar’s nose. He and Will both looked up to the sky as more drops, fat and cold, began rapidly falling. Close by, Zeller and Price were lamenting the rain, and Katz was ushering them forward.

“Let’s get out of here,” Katz said.

Hannibal looked back at Will. “Shall we?”

Will took a final look back at the trees where Alana had stood. He shook his head, raindrops flying free from the ends of his curls. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 6: In Death

They returned as swiftly as mortal steps would allow, only once stopping to crouch low behind a thick-trunked tree as Katz waved warningly with her hand for silence. Will’s thigh pressed against the templar’s. His heart was racing in anticipation, for surely they had stopped suddenly because the Grey Warden sensed more darkspawn nearby. But Will didn’t want to hide from the monsters; he wanted to kill them. The palms of his hands grew hot and his staff tingled against the pads of his fingers. If not for Hannibal’s hand touching lightly on his back as they hid, Will might have thrown himself from their hiding place and attacked on his own. But the hand proved a grounding force, and he could not find it in himself to displace it. It was only the barest of grazes, one he could scarcely feel through his thick robes. But it was there, and the darkspawn were beyond the trees, and he, with a shaky breath, chose the safety of the templar’s touch. At his ear, Hannibal whispered, so low only he could hear: “Soon enough.”

When they returned to the gates, the same watchman was there, only now, bright torchlight highlighted the disapproving contours of his face. He looked, to say the least, surprised that their party was returning with all their limbs, which was understandable, considering the state of the scout they had sent back, wounded and terrorized. If, Will pondered morbidly, he had managed to return at all.

The atmosphere in the Ostagar ruins had changed since their departure. Tension was heavy in the air, thick with fear and excitement and the heart pounding vow of violence to come. Will felt it with a physical yearning. He stood on the precipice of something great. Soldiers swept hurriedly around their group as they made way to the center bonfire. The mabari hounds were barking in their pens. Will saw them there, huge paws up on the wooden fence, eyes shining in the growing darkness, looking as keyed up as Will felt.

Jack was waiting for them, his silhouette bulking and dramatic against the light of the fire and the rain pelting down with growing zeal. Relief washed through him when he spotted them across the camp; Will could see it in the easing line of his shoulders. He’d been worried about them? Once they were near enough for words to be passed, Jack welcomed them with a laugh and wasted no time leading them away from the business of the central camp.

Will’s hair was now quite wet, and he was pleased to find Jack was leading them to an upper, secluded tier of the ruins, where an overhang blocked out the rain, and several torches were lit, filling the space with a comfortable glow. The scene was very nearly cozy, and would have been entirely if not for the flutters of nervousness in his stomach. Price and Zeller were quiet, as was Hannibal, still stationed protectively at Will’s side. Katz was speaking softly with Jack, beside a small table, a silver chalice sitting upon it. Will tried to keep his mind blank, his breathing steady. He tried to be calm. But his hands were trembling, and he felt a queerness in his chest. Before too long, the Wardens turned their attention back to their recruits.

“The Joining ritual is sacred and secret.” Jack looked straight at Hannibal. “Only those parties involved directly are allowed to observe.”

Will could feel the templar’s body tensing beside him, but when he glanced at his face it was as serene as ever. Hannibal nodded once at Jack and turned to Will. “I will remain close,” he said softly, yet with a solidness that heated Will’s cheeks. Hannibal took his leave, walking from the cover of the rain. Will followed his figure with his eyes as he swiftly took a turn behind a stone pillar and disappeared from view. A strangeness accompanied Will’s nervousness now that was reminiscent of disappointment, and he realized he hadn’t expected the templar to leave his side, not even for this. A little sigh escaped his lips before he vanquished his unreasonable upset and faced the others, just in time to catch a smirk on Katz’s face. His blush increased, and he was grateful when Jack stepped forward to begin.

“Usually these things are done with more ceremony. But time is fleeting and we have to be brief. As Katz is the Warden’s newest initiate, she will be overseeing the ritual. Katz?” Jack walked back to the small table and lifted the silver chalice in his hands.

Katz cleared her throat. “The darkspawn blood you collected, a drop of lyrium, and a pinch of archdemon blood. That’s what you’ll each be drinking from this chalice.”

“Darkspawn blood?” Zeller asked incredulously. “But their taint is poisonous. That would kill us!”

“There’s a reason why the details of the Joining ritual are kept a secret,” Katz said. “And a reason why there are so few Grey Wardens.”

Will’s throat began to tighten as a low-grade panic hit him in the gut. But he remained silent. There was no turning back now.

“If you survive the effects of the blood,” Katz continued, “you will become immune to further taint. You will be able to sense the darkspawn; your mind will be connected to their hive. You will be a Grey Warden.”

Zeller was shaking his head, and Price reached his hand out to lightly touch his wrist. Will wrung his hands together, vaguely wishing for something to hold onto. Someone. His eyes darted to where Hannibal had disappeared behind the stones. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the demon from his dreams again, as Jack approached Price with the chalice. This was blood magic, make no mistake. Something evil, cloaked in the disguise of a noble cause, at least…he had always been taught that the Grey Wardens were noble.

Jack stood in front of Price and nodded at Katz.

“Now, a few words to begin the ritual.” She cleared her throat again, a grim expression on her face. And then it began. “‘Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.’”

“Jimmy Price,” Jack said, passing the chalice into the recruit’s hands.

Price accepted it, glanced around quickly at all of them, his eyes lingering longest on Zeller, and then he closed his eyes and tipped the chalice to his mouth. Will watched in awe as his throat swallowed down a gulp of the mixture. Finished, Price handed the chalice back to Jack. For a moment, they all waited. Nothing happened.

Will sighed in relief.

And then Price gasped and his eyes rolled back into his head. His hands flew up to grasp around his throat and black blood oozed from his mouth. Will took a step forward and felt a hand at his shoulder, stopping him. He looked wildly to his side, expecting to see Hannibal, but it was Katz standing there, shaking her head sadly. Will turned back to Price, who had fallen to the ground. His body shook violently for several more agonizing seconds, and then he was still.

Jack’s head was bowed low. “I’m sorry, Price.” He turned to Zeller next, the chalice held out before him, but Zeller was backing up, his hands extended out in defense. “Brian Zeller.”

“No!” Zeller yelled at the approaching Warden. “Get away from me with that! I won’t do it. You’re all insane!” His eyes were huge and tearful, and he was staring down at Price’s dead body in horror.

But Jack still approached him, unwavering. “There is no turning back.”

Will watched helplessly as Zeller backed up against the stones. When Jack held the chalice out a final time, Zeller’s hands went to his waist, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his dagger. Will flinched. Before Zeller could even unsheathe the blade completely, Jack’s sword was pulled from its scabbard. The recruit screamed until the blade ran through his stomach, and then he was silent.

“I’m sorry, Zeller,” Jack whispered sadly. He pulled his sword free from where it pierced Zeller’s stomach and stepped away as his body collapsed to the ground.

Will looked between Zeller’s motionless body and Price’s. A few minutes ago they were alive, and now they were dead. And now it was his turn. Jack was turning to Will with the chalice.

“Will Graham.”

There was no turning back.

He took the chalice from Jack and lifted it to his parted lips. The foul mixture was thick and disgusting on his tongue as it slid to the back of his throat. He gagged, but managed to swallow it down. He felt it creeping down his throat, slithering into the pit of his stomach. Katz and Jack were staring at him, waiting. Will waited, too. To die. To live. To become something more than himself. He looked again for the templar, and did not see him. He was still looking when a pressure in his gut like a fist overwhelmed him. His head fell back, his vision blazed white, and he was falling…

 

--

 

“Will.”

He heard his name but could not yet open his eyes.

“Sweet boy. I have you.”

He knew that voice. Recognized the slide of leathery skin over his body, the sharp claws caressing his face.

“You’re so strong, my brave boy. Open your eyes for me.”

Will opened his eyes and gazed at the demon hovered above him. He was lying in its lap, its arms wrapped possessively around him, holding him close. Its black eyes shone with fondness as it closed the distance between their faces and sealed a soft kiss on Will’s forehead.

“Did I fall asleep?” Will asked.

“You fainted. But the taint has not killed you. You are too strong to die.”

Will turned his head into the bony chest and breathed deep. “I don’t feel strong.”

The arms tightened around him. “You are a Dreamer. And now you are a Grey Warden,” the demon said, its voice soothing as its breath fanned across Will’s cheek. “You will find, in time, that there are few in this world as strong, my love.”

Will tilted his head back to gaze up at the demon. “Do demons even feel love?”

The demon bent its head down once more, its clawed fingers cupping Will’s jaw gently. “Oh, fiercely.” It grazed its lips over Will’s, and Will sighed into the kiss. The demon deepened the joining, but only for a moment, and then it pulled away. “Embrace your strength, Will.” It stroked its fingers down Will’s cheek and he shivered into the touch. “You are so lovely.”

Suddenly, the demon was gone, and Will was standing, a blazing, fiery light engulfing his vision. He turned. A deafening roar shook his core, and he saw a flash of brilliant, glowing eyes, and gleaming, blood-red scales. A thousand whispers buzzed in his brain, and he clasped his hands over his ears, crying out. Another shake brought him crashing to his knees. He looked up through a wall of smoke. Stepping from the darkness, its taloned feet shaking the world apart, was a titanic dragon.

Will cowered in its shadow, powerless to do anything but watch as it turned its mighty head down. When Will met its horrible eyes, he bowed his head in horror. The dragon roared, and Will could feel the heat of its fiery breath racing toward him. And then the space around him began to blur and grow blindingly white, and Will could see nothing, feel nothing.

 

--

 

“Will? Will?”

He knew that voice. Templar. Hannibal. His eyes shot open, and he gasped in a desperate lungful of oxygen. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to catch his breath. His heart raced so fast he feared it might explode in his chest.

“Thank the Maker,” he heard a woman whisper. His eyes began to focus and he saw Katz leaning over him. Beside her, a stricken look on his face, was Hannibal. Behind them both, ominous and grave, was Jack.

“How are you feeling?” Katz was asking, but it took Will more than a few moments to decipher her words.

He grunted, his throat as raw as if he’d spent his life screaming. “Strange,” he croaked painfully, swallowing hard. Hannibal disappeared for a second, reappearing only a heartbeat later with a cup of water. Will tried to smile as the templar held it up to Will’s lips.

“No blood in this,” Hannibal murmured, looking pleased when Will opened his mouth to accept a sip.

He coughed, but the water went down with success and the coolness felt sublime in his throat.

“It’s a lot to take in all at once, I know,” Katz said with a sad smile. “Two people died during my Joining. It…it’s hard. I’m glad you’re okay, Will.” Jack grumbled something unintelligible, and Katz glanced over her shoulder at him. “There’s one more thing.” She reached behind her, into a small linen pouch, and revealed a leather stringed necklace with a miniature, stoppered vial hanging from it like a medallion. “This is filled with a sample of the darkspawn blood. It’s to…remember those we lost during the Joining.” She pulled her own necklace out from beneath its hiding place beneath her tunic.

Price and Zeller.

Will sat up, looking past Katz and Hannibal for the bodies of the other recruits he’d so briefly known. They had already been removed. Will wondered how long he’d been out of it, for them to have had time to move two bodies. They’d managed it somehow, though, and all that remained of them now was blood drying on the stones.

Hannibal touched his shoulder, surprising Will and making him jump. “Will,” the templar said. Will swallowed roughly and looked helplessly at the templar leaning in close. “Had I known what risks you faced, I would not have left your side.”

Will heard Jack sigh, arms folding over his chest. Katz shifted uncomfortably on her knees. They had discussed this matter while Will had been unconscious, obviously. Had he not been shocked as he was, Will knew his cheeks would be blazing.

“It’s fine,” Will told him. His voice sounded so raspy and weak. “Your job is done, Hannibal. You’ve delivered me safely to the Wardens.”

“Will,” Jack began, the power of his voice drawing everyone’s attention. “You should have time to adjust and rest, but it’s just not plausible tonight. I have a few things we need to go over before the battle.”

“Oh.” Will had all but forgotten the imminent battle, the reason he was there in the first place. He clamped his hand over Hannibal’s shoulder and began pulling himself to his feet. The templar took hold of his waist immediately and helped him up. Katz lingered close to him, as well, checking his balance warily. Will released Hannibal, and was proud when he did not falter on his feet. He felt jittery, a little nauseous, and incredibly hungry, but he did not feel too physically weak. “I can fight, Jack.”

The older Warden nodded his head approvingly. “I know you can. But the King relayed a request pertaining to you and Katz specifically.” Will and Katz looked at one another with crinkled brows. “King Frederick wants to ride the front lines into battle with the Grey Wardens, but upon Teyrn Mason’s insistence, his Denerim troops will hold back until the second wave of darkspawn, when you light the signal fire in the far tower.”

Katz huffed indignantly. “You want us to light a fire? I thought we were going to be fighting?”

Jack narrowed his eyes at her. “The King was adamant that such an important task be followed through by Grey Wardens. As the two of you are the newest members, it’s only appropriate that you be delegated to the lighting of the signal fire.”

“Jack!” Katz complained.

“King’s orders.” Jack’s face said it all. There would be no finagling out of it.

Katz sighed and rolled her eyes at Will. “Well, this is going to be fun. Hold onto your knickers, newbie.”

Her blatant disapproval made Will smile. In truth, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being cast to the side to light a signal, but he felt weirdly calm at present. He was a Warden now. There would be more chances to kill darkspawn. If he shut his eyes, he could hear a buzz of whispers. There were darkspawn close; he could feel their presence. The battle would be swiftly upon them. Above them was a loud clap of thunder. The sky lit up with lightning. The rain began to pour, and one of their lit torches blew out with a rush of wind.

“I need to get down there to the King,” Jack said. He placed a shoulder on both Will and Katz, paying them a purposeful look. “This is an important job.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know, boss.” Katz smirked at Jack, and nudged Will’s side. “Be safe down there.”

“Of course,” Jack said. He squeezed their shoulders amiably before turning to Hannibal, who was lingering to the side. “Templar, I know your job is done, but you might want to stick with these two until the battle’s over. You’re more than welcome to remain a while longer, rest up.”

Hannibal glanced at Will before nodding his head at Jack’s words. “A generous offer,” he said. “I will remain with the young Wardens.”

Will looked down at his rain-sullied boots to avoid Hannibal’s questing eyes. The second nudge Katz placed in his side spoke volumes though, and he didn’t feel guilty at all when he jabbed his own elbow in reciprocation. The three of them, Will, Katz, and Hannibal, stood together, watching as Jack waved his hand at them and tightened his hold on the pommel of his sword. He walked into the rain, traveling towards the noises and lights of the preparing army.

“We should get out of this weather,” Katz said after a pause. “The tower’s not too far from here. Just on the other side of that big bridge. If we get there early,” she said with a twisted smile, “I might know where there’s a barrel of ale stashed up there somewhere. If we have to sit and wait all night, we can at least enjoy a drink. It’s your first night as a Warden, after all.”

Will liked Katz, and he certainly liked the idea of having something to drink. Maybe he could even find a place to light a fire and they could have something to eat. Now that his shock was waning, he was beginning to feel desperately hungry. He tried not to look at Hannibal as they began their trek for the bridge. Perhaps he would feel more comfortable in the man’s presence after something to drink. But now, Will was terribly aware of the templar, and the way he seemed to observe Will’s every breath.

He shivered in his robes, now soaked from the rainstorm. He could see the tower, tall and inviting from its distance across the bridge. As they trudged through the muddying earth, the sounding horn boomed. Katz and Will exchanged nervous looks. That was a battle horn. The fight was upon them.

Will did indulge the wish that he could be on those front lines with Jack and the other Wardens; he wanted to feel that rush again, that tingle in his blood when he killed those blighted monsters in the name of righteousness. But the further they walked on the rapidly muddying ground, he began thinking that staying out of the bulk of the battle was for the best, because he was feeling, now he’d had time to adjust, a bit dizzy. The buzz in his head was distracting, that feeling within him, that sense that darkspawn were not only near, but all around. In fact, if he hadn’t been so new to the sensation –and thus untrustworthy of his own awareness – he might have guessed that the darkspawn horde was not only at their backs, emerging from the tree lines of the Korcari Wilds, but before them, on the opposite side of the bridge. Will shook his head to flee the disparaging feelings. The rain was truly pouring down now. Even Hannibal had to squint to see through the thick sheets, his hair plastered to his forehead in a way that, honestly, wasn’t completely unpleasant. When Will’s head began to spin as he was looking sideways at the templar, Hannibal reached out his hand automatically, taking hold of Will’s shoulder as he staggered.

“Thank you,” Will mumbled softly. Katz walked a few feet ahead, and he did not want her to hear his stumble.

“You are overwhelmed,” Hannibal replied, just as quietly. They kept walking, but Hannibal kept a discreet hand on Will’s back. A soft, hardly-there touch, a symbol of support rather than an actual crutch. “Jack is pushing you too hard.”

“No,” Will said with vehemence. “It’s not anything I can’t handle.” He wanted to ask the templar why he was looking at him the way he was, why he was even still there, when his orders were followed through, and he should be on his way back to the tower, not strolling with him over a bridge. For they had reached the bridge at that point, and it looked even higher up and formidable than it had in the daytime. Maybe because when Will looked over the side he couldn’t see the bottom. Disconcerting.

Will took a step away from the ledge, and a cool discomfort pooled in his stomach. He stopped at once. “Katz.” She spun around, still a few feet ahead. “This feels wrong.”

She scowled for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped and her lips pursed. “You feel it too? Damn. I was hoping it was a fluke.” She held her hand over her abdomen. “It feels like we’re close to the horde, but that doesn’t make sense. We’re a mile from the front lines, at least.”

“Will.” Hannibal’s deep rumble contested the thunder, and Will took troubling note of the templar’s alert eyes as he focused across the bridge. Will squinted, to try and see what Hannibal saw. He could make out torches, moving about quite quickly, as if held by running hands.

A whirring sound in the air, like a whistle, came from the depths beneath the bridge. Suddenly, Hannibal grabbed at Will, taking him by the waist and yanking him forward, and a second later, the sky turned fiery yellow as a burning boulder was catapulted onto the bridge, right where Will had just been standing.

Will yelled out as the stones broke apart, crumbling away into the chasm. Hannibal was pulling him, had him by his wrist now, and Katz was running, too, looking over her shoulder to make sure they were with her. She had a cut across her cheek, blood already beginning to drip. “Run!” she yelled needlessly, as they were all running already, with no intention to stop.

Another whirring sound, another approaching, catapulted boulder onto the bridge, and Hannibal sidestepped, pulling Will against his chest as it crashed in front of them. Breathless, Will let Hannibal lead him around the flames, and again they were running. But as they neared the other side of the bridge, and the moving torchlights became more visible, a new, wild panic gripped Will’s heart. A guard of the tower was running, a torch in one hand, a sword in the other. He spotted the Wardens coming across the bridge and began to run for them. But before he could meet them, he froze, his mouth gaping wide, his eyes huge, and he fell forward. A crude arrow stuck from his back. A few yards away, a darkspawn was reloading its crossbow.

“Darkspawn!” Katz yelled back at Will.

They were clear of the bridge now, but the area outside of the tower was brimming with activity. Guards of the watchtower and darkspawn alike were brandishing weapons and metal met metal with horrible streaks of sound in Will’s ears. A human man lay gutted a few feet away, and he fought down a surge of bile in his throat. His whole body tingled, and he looked up at Katz, just in time to see the monster running up behind her.

“Get down!” he yelled, and Katz obeyed with skilled immediacy, ducking and unsheathing her sword. Will did not pause, but raised his staff and sent a stream of flame over her head, hitting the darkspawn straight in the chest. Then Katz was up, her blade slashing, and the blighted monster was beheaded. Its body crumpled to the sodden ground, headless and smoldering.

More sounds of violence pulled Will’s attention to his right, where Hannibal was engaging in an exchange of blows with two darkspawn. They wielded axes and their mouths were wide and grimacing, sharp teeth stained with blood. Will lifted his staff to help the templar, but in a breath the darkspawn were downed and dead. Hannibal turned to Will, a heavy exhalation blowing his sodden, fallen hair from his eyes, taking Will back, for a moment, to their fight in the tavern. The templar must have remembered the same thing, because he grinned at Will, and his eyes shone. Will might have smiled back, but it happened too quickly to register, and then Katz was calling insistently for them, and charging forward, right for the tower entrance.

She sliced down three more darkspawn before they reached the stone steps leading to the front door of the watchtower, and then a human mage was waving them inside, the whites of his crazed eyes shining in the torchlight within. “We’ve been overrun!” he panted, wiping a stripe of blood off his cheek. “The darkspawn angled around the ruins and attacked us from the North. They’ve taken the tower.” Beyond the mage, Will could see the fighting. There were dozens of darkspawn and even more dead humans. And that was only the first floor of the tower.

“Jack and the King have no idea,” Will exclaimed. “They’ll be surrounded.”

“We have to get to the top of the tower and light the signal fire,” Katz said, her ponytail swishing fiercely as she raised her head to the stairs beyond. “Mason will move in his Denerim troops.”

“But the tower is crawling with darkspawn,” the mage said. “You'll never reach the top.”

Will felt that familiar touch at his back and looked at Hannibal. “Will,” he said, pulling him to the side and speaking low in his ear, “you can abandon the tower or you can try and light the signal. Either way, I will stay with you.”

He looked at Hannibal in wonder. The templar from the Circle who shadowed his every move, wiped the sweat from his brow when he was sick, held the sword at his throat during his Harrowing. He was always there, even when Will had neglected to realize it. And he was there now, in the face of death, offering to stay. Will considered his options. He could leave. Save himself. He'd only just joined the Wardens. What was it to him if they lived? He could be free of them, free of the Circle. He could find Alana and beg her to teach him how to survive as an apostate.

But he looked at Katz. And he looked at the terrified mage before him, and the mess of dead bodies littering the tower. He thought of Jack and King Frederick, who would die without the aid of Mason, without the signal fire. And finally, he thought of the demon, its surreal antlers reaching upward as its lips bent down to kiss him. It told Will he was strong. It told Will to consider his evils and decide what he could live with.

And Will knew. He couldn't leave all these people to die. He wouldn't. They would try and make their way to the top and light the signal fire. And if they didn't make it, if Will didn't make it, then at least it would all be over.

Hannibal had watched this thought process with vapid interest, and Will met his eyes as he strengthened the grip on his staff. “We have to light the signal,” he announced. Katz nodded as if to say, ‘yeah obviously,’ but the look Hannibal gave him was harder to discern. His amber eyes twinkled darkly. The hand at his back increased its pressure for a mere instant and then retreated completely.

All of this had transpired in seconds and the mage was looking over his shoulder in a constant state of panic. And for good reason, because more darkspawn were approaching, had spotted their vulnerability at the doorway. Will slammed down his staff and directed it to the line of enemies. The strength of the spell was so intense he had to shut his eyes for moment, the release of mana making his lids spasm.

The flames burst forward, lighting up the darkspawn like underbrush. And then Will led the forward charge. Before he could change his mind, he was rushing into the tower, applying blasts of flame to every darkspawn he passed. Behind him he could hear the work of the others as they hacked and slashed and spelled the leftovers into a final death. He didn't need to look to know Hannibal was by his side, effectively guarding his flank.

They were halfway to the stairs when Will heard a horrible crunching sound and whipped his head around. A darkspawn, the biggest he'd yet seen, an alpha, had taken hold of the mage guard by the throat and lifted him in the air, its horrible hands crushing the man's windpipe. The mage's eyes were vessel-popped pink and his mouth was helplessly hanging open. Will cried out, lifted his staff, but it was too late. The alpha darkspawn twisted its hand and the mage's neck snapped with ease. A delighted growl ripped from the alpha and it threw the body straight at Will and the others. Katz was knocked down. But Hannibal hauled her up in an instant and they began to barrel through, fighting past dozens more monsters until they finally reached the steps.

Will tripped on the blood slicked stone and Hannibal caught him by the waist of his robes and practically tossed him to the top of the steps as he and Katz clambered up behind him. Will threw himself into the door, busting it open. All three ran through and slammed it shut. They heard a rain of arrows pelting the door from the other side. Will wiped the sweat from his brow. They had passed the first floor. Maker, how high was this watchtower?

The room they stood in now was less a room and more a gigantic foyer, circular, with several stone pillars positioned all around. There were no darkspawn immediately apparent, but Will could sense them nearby. Hannibal, however, sensed another threat that lay even closer. Will was about to take a step forward when Hannibal pulled him backward. “The floors are slicked with oil,” he whispered. Katz and Will both looked at the ground, horrified, and saw he was right. It seemed the entire center of the room was slicked and shining, rigged to burst into flames when ignited. Will frowned at his staff. His power wouldn't be useful here.

“We can make our way around the edge,” Katz said. The edge of the floor closest to the walls was free of the oil and they began to inch their way slowly along the sides. Still, there was no sign of darkspawn actually in the room with them. It was terribly suspicious, and Will kept his eyes wide and darting, looking, waiting.

They were halfway across the room when he saw it: a darkspawn up high, hidden behind a pillar, on a miniscule ledge. An arrow was knocked in its bow, a flame lighting its point. It was waiting for them to be in the center, Will deduced, to release the arrow and set the floor on fire. In the slick or not, at their proximity they would all three go up in flames. Will nudged Katz and Hannibal, and attempted to discreetly flutter his lashes at the darkspawn. Will had grown up having a hard time communicating with others, so it was monumentally surprising when both of his companions seemed to understand exactly what he was implying and their responses were so similarly discreet, he wondered briefly if they'd even seen to what he was gesturing.

He knew they had when, on silent agreement, Hannibal scooped Will up, throwing him over his shoulder, and Katz unsheathed the dagger at her belt and spiraled it straight and true. It pierced the heart of the darkspawn, killing it instantly but now it was teetering on its ledge. Its fiery arrow was going to fall. Hannibal, with Will held firmly over his shoulder like a bloody rucksack, jumped onto the slick oil at a run, and they slid across the slippy surface, his boots gliding with unfair grace over the expanse of the oil. Katz was just behind them. Will watched, upside down, as the arrow fell, the flame racing toward the oil. And then it hit.

Hannibal reached the end of the slick and jumped, rolling them far from the pool, and Katz was right behind them. At the center of the oil slick, the fiery arrow ignited and a wall of fire danced high, spreading quickly. Katz had only just rolled away as it reached the edge, but a trail of oil clung to her, and her hair went up at the ends of her ponytail. She pulled out her second dagger and unhaltingly chopped off the burning hair. It smoldered up on the ground at her feet and she edged away from the giant flames, until she was panting beside Hannibal and Will. Her hair was jaggedly cut, and falling beneath her chin, but she was otherwise unscathed. Will's robes had flown up around his waist and he pulled them down hastily.

They did not speak or move for a moment, just sat and caught their collective breath, watching the ignited trap that could have, almost did, burn them alive. Of course, now they reeked of oil, had it coated all over their clothes. Will had to hope they didn't encounter more burning arrows or they'd go up fast. Not until the signal is lit, he thought. Not until I've finished the job.

They stumbled to their feet and made their way across the remainder of the second floor. It seemed they were truly alone – at least for the moment – and they made it to the stairs unmolested. But that was only the second floor.

At the top step, Katz turned to Will. “Do you feel that?”

Will did feel it. An intense buzzing in his head and oily roiling in his stomach. “Darkspawn on the other side of the door.”

She nodded and made a face. “A lot of darkspawn.” Her freshly shorn locks fell heavily against her jaw, framing her face, making her dark eyes all the more intense as she stared right at Will. “We have this floor to get through,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, “and then we’ll be at the top. That’s where the signal will be waiting. Will,” she said, eyes darting between mage and templar. “Lighting that signal is top priority.”

He tipped his head beneath the gravity of her words. “We’ll get it done.” The cherry wood staff was held so firmly is his hand that his knuckles were white with effort. Beside him, he felt Hannibal watching, assessing, preparing. “Hannibal?” He turned to face the man. Hannibal’s expression flashed inexpressibly at the address of his name from Will’s lips, and he tilted his head, licked his lips, and met his blue, questioning eyes in earnest.

Will bit at his lip anxiously, and Katz exhaled a puff of grim laughter and said: “Let’s go fuck up some darkspawn, guys.”

She kicked open the door.

The first thing Will saw when he came through the door was a head on a pike, but he didn’t have time to linger in horror before a hail of arrows began to fall toward them. Hannibal pulled him, dragging him to cover around the edge of the closest pillar. Katz followed, and they only just missed the rain of weaponry, loosed from the line of darkspawn defense at the center of the room. Will stared at the templar with huge eyes. How many times had his life been saved by this man in the past ten minutes? Finally looking at him long enough to notice, Will took in the sheen of sweat on the man’s face, and the shallow cut across his right eyebrow. Besides those minor accounts, he was virtually unaffected by their current ideal. A templar’s training, Will supposed, to remain cool and calm in dangerous situations. Will didn’t feel calm; he felt dizzy with bloodlust. He had blood on his own hands from the piles of dead darkspawn behind them, and he wanted to spill more; an evil he could accept, and one he needed.

He took a breath and waited for a second round of arrows to sail toward them. After they’d clattered noxiously against their pillar, he jumped from cover, whipping his staff through the air and slamming it down. He shut his eyes as the spell worked through his veins. He didn’t need to look to know the power released unto the horde ahead; he could feel the heat against his skin. A rain of fire cast down upon the line of darkspawn, lighting them up, setting them ablaze. Their flesh burned and melted within the confines of their blood-marked helmets. A great number of them fell, and terrible, gurgling echoes of pain bounced between the circular walls of the watchtower. He opened his eyes when he heard the stomp of feet flying past him, watching as Katz and Hannibal ran forward, swords drawn, into the line of remaining darkspawn.

Will sucked in a breath at the sight of the carnage he had already accomplished, a grin spreading his lips. Then he followed suit of his companions, charging ahead with his staff raised, until he came face to face with one of the monsters. Up close, it was putrid. Will had no qualms attacking it with a gathering of his mana, weaving his spellwork with grace and causing the floor around the darkspawn’s feet to burn, great licks of fire engulfing it. It burned and hissed, and Will stepped away. He turned in time to see Katz skewering two darkspawn with one plunge of her greatsword. He turned again to see Hannibal gutting one of the creatures, kicking it away, spinning to slit the throat of another.

So many had fallen at their hands, but more were coming, flowing through the door behind them, bursting through in a monstrous charge from the second floor. It was a wave that seemed endless, and Katz met Will’s eye across an attack of writhing bodies and swinging blades. “The signal fire!” she yelled, and Will turned, gouged the darkspawn swiping at him in the temple with the blunt of his staff, and shoved past, breaking into a run for the last set of steps. He felt fingers digging into his shoulders, catching at his robes, ripping, and he stumbled back. Darkspawn hands twisted around his neck from behind and began dragging him backwards. Will lifted his staff, and another darkspawn hammered its fist over his wrist. The staff dropped and Will used both hands to claw at the fingers around his throat that were dragging him, cutting into the skin of his neck. Will’s muscles constricted beneath the suffocating grip.

Suddenly, a spray of blood. Will was released, collapsing to the floor, and a severed darkspawn head landed with a splat at his splayed feet. A different set of hands swept beneath Will’s arms and pulled him to standing. The templar fastened his hand around Will’s forearm, thrust Will’s staff back into his hold and began to run, his sword drawn and stained. They cut a quick and gruesome path to the steps. Hannibal pushed Will ahead of him, up the stairs, to the door. The final door between them and the signal. Will’s eyes shot back, around his shoulder, to Katz, who was fighting alone in the center of a great horde of darkspawn. Her greatsword spun around, barely keeping them at bay. They would rip her apart.

“Will,” Hannibal said, and he was standing right beside him. His breath was hot against his neck.

Will glanced between the shining eyes of the templar and the Grey Warden. And then he closed his eyes. The mana within him began to swell, and he channeled it directly to his staff. All of it. The smooth, cherry wood burned hot against his palm, and his skin tingled everywhere. Time seemed to slow. And then he slammed down his staff, letting his magic flow straight through. Fire rained from above, huge, plummeting comets of flame, filling the room, setting the dozens and dozens of darkspawn on fire. Without opening his eyes, Will felt Hannibal leaving his side, rushing down the steps.

The reek of burning flesh made him crack open his eyes. He could see Hannibal reaching Katz in the center of the firestorm, his vambraced wrists held over his brow to block the heat from his eyes, his sword joining the Warden’s as he helped her carve her path to the stairs, sidestepping the dropping balls of fire.

It was working, but Will was growing weak. It was taking all of his mana to maintain the spell. His eyelids fluttered, and he gripped the staff harder than ever, hoping it would hold his weight, because his strength was beginning to give, and his legs were buckling beneath him. But the firestorm raged on, and Katz and Hannibal were finally at the bottom of the steps, a bit singed but whole. Alive. Behind them, the darkspawn were burning, but more were still swarming through the door. Will wouldn’t be able to keep up the spell for much longer, and they would be overtaken at last.

When Hannibal stepped up beside him on the steps, Will fell into his arms, the weakness in his limbs too much. Katz barreled past them, busting through that final door. Hannibal pulled Will inside, and they slammed the door shut behind them. There was a small lock, and it wouldn’t hold anything longer than a minute or two, but Katz set it into place regardless. And then they were on the final floor of the watchtower.

“Will,” Hannibal spoke urgently, commandingly, as he shook the mage’s weakened body in his arms. “Will.”

Will’s fingers clung to the templar’s plated shoulders, sucking in deep breaths. Hannibal’s face was smeared with soot. The cut on his brow was barely bleeding but it looked inflamed. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said as Hannibal braced his back against the stone wall. Ahead of them, Katz was walking forward, across the center of the room. Will could see the arrow-slot window, and the unlit torch waiting to be ignited, to signal to Mason’s troops that their aid was needed.

“Thank the Maker,” Katz exhaled, her hand reaching into her pocket for the flint.

And that’s when the floor began to shake.

Hannibal stepped in front of Will, pressing him into the wall, his back squared protectively against Will’s chest. Katz turned from the torch, eyes huge. From the dark edges of the wall, a figure appeared. A creature so large, so fierce, that the whole floor of the tower trembled with every step of its gigantic feet.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Will heard Katz say from across the room, the torch lighting temporarily stalled as she steadied her sword before her.

“Is that,” Will began, his voice a trembling wreck at the templar’s steadying back.

“It appears the darkspawn have left an ogre to guard the top floor,” Hannibal said in a voice much calmer than it had any right to be.

“An ogre.” Will’s fingers flexed against his staff. Adrenaline was building up once more, allowing him the strength, however temporary, to stand on his own.

In the center of the room, the ogre - easily the height of three full grown, very tall men - was sniffing the air. It had horns that curved from its temples, coming to lethal points that glistened like the tips of two blood-dipped needles. The door with the shoddy lock was banged upon, as the darkspawn on the opposite side tried to get through. Luckily, the door was holding. Unluckily, VERY UNLUCKILY, the sound made the ogre turn its huge, horned head right at Will and Hannibal. It took one step toward them. Another. Another. Its steps began to speed up.

That’s when Katz struck it from behind with another one of her daggers. It pierced the ogre in its back, between its shoulders. Will saw the handle of the dagger sticking from between the oversized back when the creature twisted around to peer at its assailant. It huffed through its cavernous nostrils, focusing in on its prey. And then it charged.

Its head lowered and it blasted forward on impossibly fast feet, straight for Katz. The whole room quaked. She jumped out of the way just in time, rolling out of its path right as it pounded into the wall. The signal torch was knocked down, and it rolled away from the window. Will groaned, his hand tugging at his hair is frustration, but he didn’t have time to dwell too long on their lack of luck, because the ogre was turning from the wall, and it met Will’s eyes. He gulped. The ogre charged again, right at him. He tried to run to the side immediately, but Hannibal held him in place until the ogre was only a few feet away, then the templar shoved them both out of the way, and the ogre slammed its head into the stone wall.

While the creature was still in a daze after smashing its head, Hannibal leapt behind it and slashed at the back of its knees with his sword. The ogre bellowed and its fists pounded the ground, and it swung a huge arm out, hitting Hannibal in the stomach and sending him sailing across the room.

“Hannibal!” Will yelled, watching helplessly as the templar skidded across the floor until he hit the opposite wall. The ogre turned its attention back to Will at the sound of his voice, but Katz was suddenly there, her own sword slashing at the creature’s legs, the only part of it she could easily reach. Will clutched his staff, trying to channel his mana, but he couldn’t. He was worn down. His magic wasn’t coming. He looked at Katz hopelessly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, ducking to avoid the ogre’s swinging fist.

“The signal fire!” she screamed, and Will nodded. If he couldn’t help fight the ogre, he could light the damn fire and not make this whole excursion a complete failure. He saw the torch on the other side of the room, near where Hannibal had landed, and he began to run. His feet were unsteady and he stumbled, his long robes making him even clumsier, but he didn’t fall on his face, and for that he was appreciative. At his back, he felt the floor shaking again, and heard Katz yell, “MOVE!” and Will jumped madly to the side, hitting the floor right as the ogre charged past him. Will gasped as it headed for Hannibal, who still looked unconscious.

“HANNIBAL!” Will yelled in warning. Katz ran to Will’s side and pulled him to his feet and they both ran for the ogre, trying to catch it before it clobbered the templar. But they weren’t going to make it in time. Will’s chest felt like was being crushed as he looked. The ogre was only a foot away from the templar. He would be killed. Will had to turn his head. He couldn’t watch it happen. But he couldn’t stop it.

He heard a painful cry and looked back at an unexpected scene. Hannibal wasn’t unconscious or dead, but he was – quite shockingly – seated on the ogre’s shoulders. The torch rolled beneath the ogre’s feet as Hannibal rode its back.

“Get the torch!” Katz yelled at Will before she ran to help Hannibal.

But Will could hardly take his eyes off of Hannibal, seated high on the creature’s back, his sword lifting above his head. Will shook the shock from his eyes and made for the torch. The ogre stepped wildly as it tried to buck Hannibal from its back, and Will only narrowly avoided being smushed. He reached, grabbed the torch, and ran for the window. At his back, he heard another horrible yell. He looked over his shoulder, watched in astonishment as the ogre fell to the ground. Hannibal’s sword was plunged through its neck.

The door was shaking, threatening to give way to the darkspawn horde. Will turned back to the torch, shutting his eyes. He had just enough mana regained now to make a spark, and he lit it. The torch flaming, Will positioned it in the window. He sighed. The signal fire was lit. He turned around to tell the others.

The door slammed open, the wood splintering as dozens of darkspawn spilled into the room. Will heard Hannibal call his name, and then he felt a strange sensation in his shoulder. A pressure. A heat. He glanced down.

There was an arrow buried in his body.

He teetered, fell, his head bouncing hard on the stone.

“Will!” he heard someone scream, and then darkness.

Chapter 7: Sacrifice

Will woke in the Fade, with flickering torchlight casting a warm glow from above. He was not lying on the marble floor, like the times before. He felt softness beneath his back; he was laid out upon a bed, his bare body draped with black silk sheets. His whole being seemed to be vibrating. Even his teeth were clacking. So out of sorts was he, it took a long moment before he realized he wasn’t alone. The antlers appeared in his line of sight before anything else, and Will traced their height as high as he could before his vision blurred. He blinked, and the demon’s face loomed over him.

“I’m cold,” Will said with a shuddered breath.

The demon moved, settling its long, thin body on the bed beside him. Its black eyes roamed over Will’s face as its clawed fingers traced across his chest, bare and smooth. “You are hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Pierced through by a darkspawn arrow.” Its touch was feather-soft but its voice was drenched with barely contained rage. Arms wrapped around Will, possessively drawing him in until he was lying on top of the demon, looking down at its eerie, skeletal face. He shivered and laid his head down on the demon’s chest. Its claws touched up and down his back, and then pulled the silk sheets up to cover them both.

“Am I dying?” Will’s words were a tickle against the demon’s skin. He nuzzled his head closer, relishing the supernatural warmth beginning to encase him.

“No,” answered the demon, and Will sighed, accepting the response with complete trust. Why did he trust this strange thing so utterly? Why did he let a demon hold him close? He lifted up his head, his hands fanning out across an emaciated chest.

“Who are you?” Will asked.

It tilted its head, big black eyes deep and searching and glittering bright. Will could see his reflection in them, and he thought how natural he looked, reflected back in the demon’s eyes. “I am your friend,” it answered plainly. Will nodded, accepting, always accepting. He set his head back down, the shivers still wrenching his body. The demon smoothed its hands over his shoulders and down his arms, stopping to apply gentle squeezes over the taut muscles. “You are not dying today,” it continued. “Your body has been gravely injured, poison on an arrow’s tip, close to your heart.”

Will’s memory struck in a flash of images. The watchtower taken by darkspawn. The ogre. The signal fire. And then… “Did you save me?” He could remember a sharp grasp around his middle, and rough skin, being lifted up, up, carried away, the glow of abandoned torches scattering like ants beneath him.

“No, my sweet boy.” It sounded sad. “But you are saved nonetheless. Now shut your eyes. Relax. Let her heal you.”

Will’s eyebrows scrunched, and he tried to lift his head again, but the demon carded its fingers through his hair and kept him flush to its chest. The honesty bubbled up from deep inside and he could not withhold it from the demon cradling him so. “I’m afraid.”

“I know,” it whispered. “You are so brave, my dear, dear Will.” Its lips grazed his forehead before pressing into his curls and breathing deep. “I will see you soon.”

He clung to the demon beneath him, sliding his body against it, not wanting to let go, and not wanting to leave. “Wait, wait,” Will gasped.

“Deep breaths,” it whispered, tightening its arms around Will’s writhing body. “Deep breaths, my love.”

 

--

 

Will sat straight up, hands clutching over his heart, a great gasp pulling between his lips and filling his lungs to bursting. His heart hammered in his chest, and he swung his head round, looking for his demon. Sweat-soaked curls clung to his forehead. Wild blue eyes darted left and right. He was on a bed, stripped down to unfamiliar lambskin trousers. The sheet across his lap was not black silk but white linen. He was not in the Fade. Where was he?

“You’re awake.”

He nearly jumped from the bed, so startled was he to hear her voice. Then he saw her, sitting across the small room, in a little chair by a cooking fire.

“Alana?” He squinted, not trusting his own eyes. He swung his legs out from the bed and winced. A twinge in his shoulder gave him cause to glance down, and he saw the bandage wrapped around his chest. His fingers touched it lightly. The arrow.

“How are you feeling?” the Witch of the Wilds asked, lifting from her chair and walking to his bedside. He held his head in his hands and tried to steady his still-raging heartbeat. His skin felt too cold, where so recently he’d been held against the demon’s warmth. Had he begged to stay with it in the Fade? Moisture prickled the edge of his eyes. He had wanted to stay and been sent away.

“I feel…I don’t know how I feel,” he said. The mattress dipped as the woman sat down beside him. She placed a cool hand over his forehead, testing his temperature.

“Your fever has broken,” she said, the relief audible in her tone.

He looked up at her, and she pulled her hand away, but not before pushing the hair from his eyes. “Were you worried it wouldn’t?”

She sat, contemplating. “Your injury was severe. The arrow was dipped in poison. We were all worried.” Will was confused, and Alana read it in his expression. “Your friends refused to leave your side,” she supplied. “I had to kick them out to give me room to work.”

His friends. “Katz,” he said, and then, after a pause, “Hannibal.”

She smiled and nodded toward the door. It appeared they were in a one room hut, and Will ventured it must be the apostate’s home, which meant he was back in the Korcari Wilds. Reading the questions in his eyes, she spoke again. “Your friends will want to know you’re awake.”

Will’s eyes darted to the door. “Yes.”

“There’s much to discuss, but I think you should hear it from them.” Alana stood up from the bed and offered her hand. Will took it and let her help him up, and together they walked to the door. His flesh felt raw beneath the bandage and the muscle ached. But he was alive. Maker, how was he still alive?

Standing outside, speaking to one another at the edge of a small stream were the templar and Warden. At the sound of the door opening, they both turned.

“Will,” cried Katz as she rushed to his side. Will gave her a weak smile and looked past her to Hannibal, who stared right back, but made no immediate move for him. He’d half-thought the templar would run straight at him and throw him over his shoulder again, whisking him away to safety. Katz cleared her throat, drawing back Will’s attention, and he looked back to her. She had light bruises across her cheek and her hair swung around her face, bobbing around her chin, ends singed from where the fire had threatened. “You were touch and go there for a while.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, thanks to Alana,” Katz said, crossing her arms and smirking as she cut her eyes sideways at the apostate. “After she flew us to safety she healed you with her badass first aid magic.”

Will raised his eyebrows at Alana. “Flew us to safety?”

“I guess you were pretty far gone when it happened,” Katz said, excitement creeping into her voice as she relayed the story. “We were surrounded by darkspawn and you had an arrow going straight through you. Me and Hannibal thought for sure it was the end.” Behind Katz, the templar kept his eyes fastened on Will, and the mage couldn’t help but squirm beneath the steadfast attention. Katz continued. “And then BAM. Out of nowhere, a dragon shows up, knocking down the watchtower wall and scooping us up.”

Will remembered the claws grabbing his waist and the rough skin. Scaly skin. He looked at Alana with huge eyes. “Dragon?”

Alana just smiled as Katz carried on. “The dragon flew us here and then shapeshifted, and guess who it was?”

“You can shapeshift into a…a dragon?” Will asked Alana, voice catching in his throat. “Really?”

“I can shapeshift into a lot of things,” she answered. “A dragon seemed the most promising for that particular rescue scenario.”

Will stood staring at her, simply agog. He had read about shapeshifting magic in the tower, but it wasn’t something taught within the Circle of Magi. It wasn’t something he thought he’d ever see. “Thank you for rescuing us,” he said at last, after realizing he’d been slack jawed and silent for too long. “And for healing me.” The tingling, cold feeling he’d experienced in the Fade must have been the healing magic coursing through him. Alana. She nodded her head and turned slightly away, taking a step toward the stream.

Will felt his presence finally move beside him, and he turned his head to look at Hannibal. He had a faint scar over his brow, but it looked as if Alana had healed that wound, as well. And his face was no longer covered in soot, but washed clean. Another glance at Katz and he guessed they had both had time to bathe and gather themselves.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

It was Hannibal who answered. “You were unconscious for a full day.”

“A full day?” He shook his head, disbelieving, and then another question occurred to him. “Where is Jack?”

Silence. Horrible silence.

His eyes went to Katz, who was staring at the ground. She worked her lips as if to speak, but no words came. She turned her face away. Will felt Hannibal’s hand softly settle on his shoulder and he looked up at him, hoping not to hear what must be heard.

“The signal fire was lit,” Hannibal began, “but Mason’s troops never came. They pulled out, retreated to safety when it looked as though the King had lost.” Will was shaking his head; he couldn’t believe it. “King Frederick was slain on the battlefield. As was his entire army.”

“And Jack?”

“Jack is dead. Everyone was killed.”

“No, no,” Will stammered. Katz was still looking away, her hand held at her throat, her fingers running along the leather cord of her Warden amulet. Will felt his own, suddenly heavy on his neck. He tried to picture Jack dead and couldn’t. He was too strong, too confident. How could he be dead? “All the Wardens are dead?”

“Not all the Wardens.” It was Alana who spoke, turning from the stream to face them. “You and Katz survived. You’re still alive to stand against the Blight.”

The Blight! Will hadn’t even considered the Blight. But the darkspawn had swatted down the King’s army with ease, and now they would be headed North and spreading, oozing across all of Ferelden. With no Grey Wardens to stop them! None but Katz. And himself.

“No,” he whispered. The hand gripping his shoulder increased the pressure, and he pulled away from the templar’s comforting force. “I don’t know anything about being a Warden. We need help. We need to contact Orlais. They can send Wardens to stop the Blight.”

Katz finally found her voice, squaring her shoulders and stepping toward Will. “I thought about that, but I have no idea how to reach them. And even if I did, there’s no way they’d get here in time. We’re on our own for now.”

“Not entirely,” said Alana. “The documents I gave you before, the official Grey Warden papers?” They all turned to her. “Did you even look at them?”

Katz shook her head. “I gave them to…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew misty. “Jack had them when the battle began.”

Alana reached behind her, pulling the scrolls from her waistband. She stepped forward and placed them in Katz’s hand. “Now you have them.”

With trembling fingers, Katz unrolled the scroll. “It’s the Warden Treaties.” She looked up at Will. “A long time ago, the Wardens made treaties with different factions of Ferelden. It’s like a contract. In the time of Blight, they must help when help is needed.”

Will couldn’t speak, but Hannibal could, and he asked, “With whom are these treaties made?”

Katz’s eyes examined the scroll. “The Dalish. The dwarves of Orzammar. And the Circle of Magi.”

“These people are bound by law to aid you,” Alana said. “You must enlist their help. Two Wardens can’t defeat a Blight, but with the help of the elves, dwarves, and mages?”

“Will, what do you think?” Katz was asking, but Will was backing away from them. He stumbled over his bare feet, almost crumbling. When he regained his balance, he turned, staggering off through the line of trees. He heard them calling his name, but kept moving, trying to gain distance between himself and the mountain of responsibility that had just been heaped upon him. He didn’t make it far before he had to stop, clinging to a tree. He was still shirtless, and the air was cold. His numb fingers scraped against the rough bark, and he leaned his head against the tree, breathing haggardly. He heard the footsteps and shut his eyes, waiting until he heard his voice before opening his eyes.

“Will?”

Hannibal was standing beside the tree, a bundle held in his arms.

“Hannibal.”

The templar handed the bundle to Will, and he took it. It was a shirt. “It’s cold.”

Will nodded, slipped the loose shirt over his shoulders, but his fingers were too chilled to tie the string shut at the collar. Without request, Hannibal moved close, his own hands reaching out, warm fingers deftly knotting the ties together.

“Thank you,” Will whispered.

Hannibal smiled and leaned against the tree, his shoulder lightly pressing against Will’s. “I told you before, Will, and I will say it again. Look at me, please.” Will felt his cheeks heating and he looked up at the templar through his lashes. Hannibal’s hair, clean from his bathing, was hanging over his forehead. It looked so soft. “You have already done more than most would have in your position,” he said. “I will remain with you, whatever you choose. But Will, you do not have to choose this path. You and I can leave together. Right now. Head to Orlais. Rivain. Tevinter. We can find some place safe.” He took Will’s hand and Will stared down at the meeting of their fingers. “The fate of the world does not have to rest on your shoulders.”

Will let the heat from Hannibal’s hand sink into his skin, allowed himself the pleasure of it for a full minute. He considered – oh, he really did. He considered what it would be like to steal away into the night, a rogue mage with a rogue templar at his side, forsaking the Grey Wardens, and all of Ferelden, maybe even all of Thedas, in order to find his own, selfish piece of a life all his own. Looking at the strong hand holding his, it was almost too easy to imagine.

And then he pulled away. “It’s too late to go back,” Will said. He looked up at the serene templar face watching him curiously. “I have to help.” He swallowed, not wanting to feel the way he did, but unable to shake it. “If I can, I have to. I have to try to help.”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled at Will. “You do not have to try alone. I will help you, Will, in every way I can.”

Will smiled back, but inside his stomach clenched. “Why?”

Without pause, the templar answered: “Because I am your friend.”

 

--

 

They returned to camp side by side. Katz and Alana were waiting, exchanging nervous looks when the two men appeared from behind the trees. Will walked up to them, his mind made. “Okay,” he declared.

Katz cocked her head. “Okay?”

“We have the treaties,” Will continued, “so let’s use them.”

The Warden lit up at Will’s words, and Alana, as well, became lighter of expression. “There’s a clan of Dalish that live in the Brecilian Forest,” Alana said. “It’s not far from here. We can start there.”

“We’re not too far from Redcliffe either,” Katz added. “We could ask for the Arl’s help, too. He has command of an army.”

Will was thankful for the change in his fellow Warden. The restless excitement in her voice was infinitely more palatable than the forlornness she’d adopted when talking about Jack. Sorrow didn’t fit her.

“Whatever we decide, we’ll rest here tonight,” said Alana. “Solidify our plan and head out in the morning. There are wards set all around this place so we’re in no danger of straggling darkspawn swooping down upon us.”

“Swooping… is bad,” Katz muttered under her breath, giving Alana a dose of I-don’t-completely-trust-you-yet side eye.

“Wait,” Will said, eyes on Alana. “You’re coming with us?”

She sighed, her long raven hair dancing in the evening breeze. “The Wilds are my home, and it’s already been swallowed by the Blight. I won’t sit idly by and let it take all of Ferelden.” Her lips quirked. “Besides, you could use the help of a mage who hasn’t been cooped up in a tower her whole life.”

“You’re an apostate,” argued Will, his eyes flashing to Hannibal’s. “If we run into more templars, they’re going to flag you as one.” He looked her up and down to make his point. She wore animal skins, furs and leathers. She was sort of…obviously an apostate.

But she just laughed at him. “I’m no more afraid of templars than you are.” He blushed at that and looked down at his feet, which were in desperate need of shoes. “They’re inside," Alana said, reading his mind, "along with your robes. But the robes were torn up pretty badly.”

His new sleek robes. His visual proof of belonging somewhere. But then, he didn’t belong to the tower anymore, did he? He was a Grey Warden. He was beyond the tower, the Circle of Magi, all of it. He looked to the people standing before him. His new companions. They were the ones he belonged to now.

“I might ditch the robes,” Will said. “Bit of a tripping hazard.”

 

--

 

Night fell, and they sat in the little hut, surrounding the cook fire. It was warm and comfortable inside, but Alana passed around blankets anyway. Will sat on the bearskin with a bowl of steaming stew in his hands and a fur draped over his shoulders. Beside him, Hannibal, stew finished, was sharpening his greatsword. Katz’s gaze roamed up and down the weapon’s length and then she met Will’s eyes. She winked.

He nearly choked on his stew, and they all looked at him with concern. After a dreadful moment of trying to swallow without coughing up broth, Will cleared his throat and sought to steer their tapered out conversation to further discussions of their plan. Oddly enough, when he began to address them, they all stopped what they were doing and gave them their full – downright oddly respectful – attention.

“I think we should deal with fulfilling the treaties first,” he began, trying to fight the heat in his face, “and then, once we have definite backup, seek additional help.” He looked at Katz. “Do you know the Arl of Redcliffe personally?”

She mumbled something unintelligible into her stew.

“Pardon?” Hannibal asked politely, and Will snorted as Katz set down her bowl in defeat.

“I’m from Redcliffe,” she said, sounding more exasperated than was expected at such a confession. “My uncle is the Arl, okay? You caught me.”

“That’s great news,” Will told her, still confused by her defensiveness, comic as it was. “That means he’s more inclined to help us.” Long pause. “Right? Uncle’s favorite niece?”

She sighed. “More like the naughty niece that got sent away to the Chantry when she was little.”

Alana laughed and literally clapped her hands together in amusement. Then, realizing what she’d done, she pressed a hand across her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just realized this is all going to be much more fun than I’d initially thought.”

More fun indeed. As the night wore on, and plans were constructed, there was probably an equal measure of laughter as there was pragmatic scowling. Will chalked it up to nerves. A sort of group hysteria in the face of improbable odds. Still, it felt good to laugh.

But the frivolity couldn’t last forever, and when the hour had grown late and their stomachs were full and they knew which way they would set out in the morning, it was time to sleep. Hannibal volunteered for first watch, which didn’t surprise Will. He had a pretty good idea of why he wanted first shift. The templar wanted to watch Will, and make certain he went to sleep. Will wasn’t sure whether he was more annoyed or flattered by the attention. But at least, tonight, he wouldn’t have to fake sleeping. He was exhausted, yes, but more than that, he wanted to find the demon in the Fade. As he settled himself on Alana’s bed (which they had insisted Will sleep in since he was the most wounded amongst them, and really, his shoulder was incredibly sore), he tried to focus. Ever since he’d appeared stripped in front of the demon, it was like he’d permanently misplaced his clothes in the Fade. But he needed to speak seriously tonight, and it would be easier and less distracting to do that with his breeches on. Preferably. He was a Dreamer, wasn’t he? So couldn’t he at least muster the willpower to keep his clothes on?

He tossed on the bed for a while, trying to find a comfortable position, and ended up on his side, his hands tucked beneath his head. Shutting his eyes, he let the crackling fire loll him into a relaxed state, occasionally hearing the sleeping sighs of the others. And then, finally, he fell asleep.

 

--

 

He knew he was in the grand hall before he opened his eyes. So often had he visited now, the atmosphere itself was familiar, and, with an inhale, he could scent the one he sought, the one he’d hoped had been waiting for him. Sharp claws smoothed across his shoulders. His bare shoulders. Maker’s breath, he was naked again.

“There are enough barriers between us, my love, without adding more in the way of troublesome cloth,” breathed the demon in Will’s ear. Will didn’t jump at its proximity; he had known it was right there behind him, felt its heat radiating sweetly against his back.

Will leaned into it, letting the demon’s chest support most of his weight. He sighed, thankful his sleeping mind had not paid attention to the requests of his waking one. It was the skin on skin contact that he had needed, that he had been craving without even knowing. The demon’s skin was hot, and as it wrapped its long arms around Will’s waist, it pulled a shiver through him.

The demon laughed. “You had another chance to turn away from all of this, my sweet, brave boy, and again you turned it down.”

Will hummed peacefully as spindly fingers traced up and down his stomach. “Hannibal wanted me to run away.”

“He wanted you to run away with him,” corrected the demon, and Will nodded. “You wanted it.”

“Yes,” Will freely admitted. “I want to be free. I’ve always wanted to be free. But,” he said, twisting around in the demon’s arms so they were face to face, or rather, face to chest, as the demon was so much taller, “I can’t be free as long as I am bound to the Wardens.” He sighed. “I’ve traded one prison for another.”

“Prisons can be escaped. You escaped the Circle.”

“And if I escaped the Wardens, I would become prisoner to something far worse,” said Will. He pushed his forehead into the demon’s chest and breathed out. He felt fingers petting at his hair.

“The templar wants to help you,” the demon whispered, its breath warm as it fanned across Will's crown, leaning protectively over the young mage held flush against its body. “Let him help you.” The fingers trailed down from his nape, scratching light, pleasurable marks down Will’s side. They came to rest firmly on his hips. And pulled.

Will gasped, feeling the demon’s hard body tight against him.

“Already you grow stronger,” the demon sighed, rolling its hips into Will. “I’m so proud of you.”

He was lost, floating in the sensation of the demon pressing, rubbing, holding. Will’s chin tilted upward and his head lolled laxly on his neck. He watched the demon moving closer, its black eyes swallowing him whole. And then –

He shook violently in the demon’s arms. “OH!” he cried, tears leaking down his cheeks. His very bones seemed to vibrate, and his stomach clenched painfully. Inside his skull, his brain buzzed with such volume, he couldn’t hear the demon as it called to him. His eyes blurred and he could barely make out its lips moving. Will’s fingernails dug into the demon’s skin, fighting to hang on, gnashing his teeth and ripping his throat with voiceless screams.

The demon was severed from his hands, and Will was tossed into darkness. His fingers splayed before him, breaking his fall. Labored breaths had him heaving on all fours, and when he looked up, the Fade itself shook. There! There, before his eyes, the behemoth. The dragon! But not just a dragon, no! He could feel it, sense it, knew it was so much more. The creature peered down at him with fiery eyes, and Will tried to scamper back, but he was frozen to stillness with fear. Paralyzed.

All he could do was scream as his gut ached and his heart beat sadistically in his chest. He heard the battle cry of thousands, millions, saw the gleam of their swords and fire of their torches, the blood on their teeth. Darkspawn. The dragon arched its neck and unhinged its jaw, and a rush of fire blasted toward him.

 

--

 

“OH, MAKER! OH, FUCK. FUCK!” Will sat up in bed, threw his feet to the floor and burst from the little hut, out into the night. He sucked in the fresh air, desperate for it. He bent over, hands on his knees, and tried to ground himself in the waking world.

He could hear the rummaging within the hut as his companions woke confusedly, no doubt wondering why Will had run screaming from his dreams. Nightmare. He shook his head. It wasn’t like a normal nightmare. It was like what he’d seen right after his Joining.

He heard soft steps approaching him, and glanced up. With a start of surprise, he saw Katz walking toward him. He’d thought for sure it would be Hannibal. When he straightened, he did see the templar, but he wasn’t coming up to him; he was lingering by the door of the hut, speaking quietly with Alana. It was Katz who tilted her head at Will when she was near enough, an understanding smile on her face.

“Bad dream?”

Will ran his fingers through his hair, catching painfully on a nest of knots. He tried to think of something snarky to say. Or something clever. Anything to dispel the tension. But he couldn’t find any words. His throat felt raw, and he wondered, shame reddening his face, if he’d been screaming in his sleep.

“Did you see it?”

He coughed, and cupped his fingers over his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice was a scratchy, sad thing. “I don’t know what I saw.”

“Big, scary, dragon-shaped thing?” Katz ventured. When Will’s eyes widened at her, she sighed and came, at last, to stand at his side. “I’ve been seeing the same visions.”

“What is it?” he asked, hearing the tremble in his voice.

Katz shrugged and hugged her arms around her chest against the cold air. “It’s an archdemon.”

Will had read about archdemons. Verification that the creature from his dream was, in fact, one of them, was…bad. “That means this is a true Blight,” he said, feeling hollow. “Explains how the darkspawn were so organized.”

Katz nodded. “They’re not roaming around, causing random havoc. They’re following direct orders from their archdemon. This is exactly what Jack had been afraid of,” she continued, and at the mention of Jack’s name, her eyes misted.

But Will didn’t turn from her. Instead, he reached out and took her hand. She gave him a wry expression, but didn’t try to pull away. “I didn’t know Jack as well as you,” he began, “but what I knew of him, I liked.” He looked away then, still holding Katz’s hand, and stared into the quiet stream flowing at their feet. “I’m sorry he died.”

She was silent for a long while, and all Will could hear was the wind blowing through leaves and an occasional sound drifting from the hut. Katz squeezed Will’s hand gently and then pulled it back, to run over her sheared locks instead. Like Will, she stared into the flowing water. “Jack was a good man. He recruited me. I was gonna be a templar, but the day before I took my vows he came to the Chantry and took me away.”

“You were going to be a templar?” Will scoffed.

“Stupid, right?” laughed Katz. “He saved my life that day.”

“He saved my life, too,” Will said. Finally, they looked away from the stream and at each other. “You would have been an awful templar.”

“The worst,” agreed Katz. “Hey,” she added, turning back for the hut, “just so you know, being a Warden doesn’t usually suck this much.”

“Hmm. Is there usually a party and games?”

She laughed. “Yeah, and you get a cool shirt with a griffin logo on it. No, but seriously, Will.” They’d been walking steadily toward the hut, but she grabbed his elbow and made him stop to face her. “Things are going to feel…different now. And the visions are only going to get worse, now that there’s an archdemon in the mix.” He shuddered. “Welcome to the Grey Wardens.” She slapped him on the back, just like Jack had done, and walked ahead of him into the hut, passing Hannibal on the way.

The templar was leaning in the doorframe, but when Katz walked by, he straightened and met Will before he reached the threshold, lightly taking his arm and leading him away. Will wasn’t necessarily surprised. He had guessed the templar would want a word with him after his little scene, but he was anxious, too. He didn’t know what Hannibal would say.

Will thought he would be led to the stream once more, but Hannibal turned and brought them around the hut until they were completely veiled from prying eyes. When they stopped, Hannibal didn’t take his hand off him, and Will didn’t try to shake him off. As the templar’s eyes bore into his, all Will could think of was the demon, telling him to let Hannibal help.

“I had a vision of the archdemon,” Will said as Hannibal opened his mouth to speak. “It frightened me. But I’m okay now.”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, and Will could feel his fingertips gliding slowly over the skin of his arm, even through the thin cotton of his shirt. The light touch made Will gasp, and Hannibal closed his fingers firmly over Will's wrist, parting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Hannibal?” Will asked, for the templar wasn’t speaking, only holding onto Will’s wrist and staring at him. “Hannibal,” he tried again, closing his own hand over Hannibal’s wrist. “Are you okay?” The thought hadn’t occurred to Will that Hannibal may be experiencing the same things he was. Fear. Doubt. But hadn’t he basically vowed to abandon the Circle, in order to accompany Will? Hadn’t Hannibal risked his life time and time again to protect him? Had Will really been so selfish as to never even consider, for a single second, what the templar was sacrificing? And for what? “Hannibal, I haven’t thanked you for all you’ve done for me, but I’m thankful, okay? Please don’t think you have to keep--”

Before Will could finish his sentence, Hannibal pushed him up against the side of the hut. Not roughly, but determinedly. “I will not keep having this conversation, Will,” he said. “Do you understand?” He waited and Will nodded dazedly. Hannibal’s hands were pressed against his waist, not pinning him down exactly, but the strength beneath his touch was clear. “I am where I want to be.” Hannibal seemed to consider something, and then he sighed, taking his hands from Will’s waist and stepping away. “If you have more frightening visions, do not run off into the night where there could be enemies lurking. Come to me. Do you understand?” Will nodded again, shivering now that Hannibal’s heat was gone. “You are alright now?” Hannibal almost looked pained.

“I’m alright,” Will said.

Hannibal gave him a thin smile. “I’m glad. Come,” he beckoned, walking back around the hut. “I must insist you try to sleep.”

Will was only too happy to follow the templar back inside the hut. He didn’t need to be told twice to get into bed. He yearned to slip back into the Fade, hoping it would allow him to escape the strange tingling in his stomach Hannibal had inspired when he’d pushed him against the wall.

“Good night, Will,” he heard Hannibal whisper beside the bed. “Tomorrow, we’re off to see the elves.”

Chapter 8: Claws

 

The Brecilian Forest was gorgeous. Honestly. It boasted ancient trees and crystal blue, winding brooks. Beautiful wild flowers blossomed, filling the air with intoxicatingly pleasant fragrances. It was really a very, very…pretty place. Will kept telling himself that, but it was a little hard to appreciate when there was a giant bear chasing him.

“Run faster, run faster!” Will yelled. He was right on Hannibal’s heels, and Katz was right behind him. The forest path was too narrow to run side by side, and the bear was charging them relentlessly. He couldn’t even see Alana, and was afraid of turning his head to seek her out. If he tripped, they’d all probably tumble on top of each other in a tangle of giant bear food.

He could hear the low, menacing growl, and the heavy thuds of gargantuan paws as the bear continued gaining ground behind them. Will’s hand reached out, shoving against the templar only inches ahead. Katz was practically stepping over him in her effort to make room between herself and the bear. Will could picture its face. Its huge head and gnashing teeth. Creatures that size should NOT be allowed to move so fast. It wasn’t fair.

They had only just entered the forest and, exhausted from an entire day’s walk, had stopped on the side of a grassy slope to rest. Hannibal had handed Will the water canteen, watching him closely as he drank. Will tried not to roll his eyes and ignored the staring, but then he’d caught the obscene gesture Katz was making behind Hannibal’s back and started choking. Hannibal had been patting Will’s back worriedly while Alana and Katz giggled conspicuously, and that was when they heard it. An awful, ripping roar that sounded like it was way too close. Will had clutched his staff and stood up so quickly that he’d nearly knocked Hannibal in the chin, but the apology coming out of his mouth was swiftly forgotten when the bear stepped out from the shadow of trees and growled, low and petrifying. There were so many high-pitched verbal reactions following that moment that Will couldn’t pinpoint which was his, only that he certainly yelled and jumped at least a foot into the air before Hannibal grabbed Will’s arm and hauled them from the slope. Will had moved mindlessly behind him, allowing himself to be half-dragged down the narrow forest path. And now they were running, the bear following suit.

Usually, Will thought as he ran as fast as he could and hoped that would be fast enough, one would veer to the side when escaping a predator, not run in a single file line. But the slope they’d stopped on continued to slope as they ran, rising swiftly on both sides of the path, and soon after they’d begun their ill-fated getaway, they were trapped, doomed to remain on the narrow road. It would take too much time to climb up the slopes, and the bear was too close. It roared again, and Will’s pathetic life flashed before his eyes. He hadn’t thought in his wildest dreams he would die, torn to shreds by a big bear, but at least, he reasoned with a morbid glimmer of optimism, he wasn’t Tranquil.

“Will?” Hannibal yelled back at him, and Will wondered how the templar’s voice still managed to sound considerably casual. He would have to remember to scowl disapprovingly at him later. “There’s a bridge up ahead. Follow my lead.”

Will huffed and puffed his response, then yelled something indiscernible to Katz over his shoulder. She sputtered a breathless response, and he hoped she understood. He didn’t really understand, but he trusted Hannibal, his mind flying automatically to deep black eyes and curving antlers. When his feet hit wooden planks, and Hannibal grabbed him by the waist, he didn’t fight it. He might have screamed again though, not because Hannibal was manhandling him so roughly his fingertips would bruise his ribs, but because right in front of them, on the other side of the bridge, was a second great bear. And Hannibal, who had now grabbed hold of Katz’s wrist as well, was pulling them straight for it.

A bear at his back and a bear just ahead. Will’s mind was fogged with fear, so he let the templar take control, and only when they were close enough to the second bear to glimpse the flash of its blue eyes, did Will relax an iota. The blue-eyed bear let them pass, and Will was pressed against is furry side as Hannibal pushed him by, and then they were standing on the opposite side of the bridge, finally in a clearing with some breathing room and no high slopes to trap them.

Hannibal released him, and Katz had already pulled away and unsheathed her sword and was leveling it towards the bears. Apparently she hadn’t noticed the blue eyes. But Will had, and he watched, his staff tight in his hand, as Alana stared down the approaching bear. It stopped a foot in front of her, tilting its big head and sniffing curiously. Alana stood up on her haunches and swiped with a long-clawed paw, slicing across the other bear’s nose. It howled and staggered backward. Then it lowered its head, growling.

Will watched, mesmerized, as Bear-Alana’s fur spiked up on the back of her neck, and she ducked her head, raising it slowly, her mouth widening to boast a fearsome set of teeth, and then roared into the face of the other bear. Beside him, Katz was slowly stepping forward, her sword still raised. Will reached out a hand and softly touched her shoulder. She whipped her head around, her short hair swishing.

“It’s Alana,” Will whispered to Katz, with a head nod toward the bear closest to them standing on its hind legs.

Katz’s eyes grew comically massive and she looked back at the bear, her sword slowly lowering. “I thought she’d abandoned us,” she said, not to Will directly, but to herself. Then she took a step back. And they all watched.

Bear-Alana was winning the stare down, and the mighty swipes of her powerful paws only helped seal her victory, until, finally backed up to the other side of the bridge, the opposing bear growled angrily and turned back. Will watched, stunned, as it trotted off down the narrow path, and then he could see it no more. Meanwhile, the second bear had turned back to face them, and took a few steps closer as her body began to change. Thick swaths of dark fur grew into long waves while the rest of it receded into creamy white skin. Her body shrank considerably, and her waist widdled down into a defined narrowness that Will had to blink to look away from. And then Alana, Witch of the Wilds, was presented before them, looking a bit worn, but beautiful. She stuck her hands on her hips and smiled.

Hannibal moved first, stepping up to her with a respectful lean of his head. “Amazing, Alana.” The templar looked over his shoulder at Will and Katz with a happy, amused glint in his eye, then turned back to the apostate. “We owe our lives to your quick wit and exceptional powers of transfiguration.”

Will recognized the expression on Alana’s face, because it was one he was far too familiar with in respects to Hannibal. It was the look of trying one’s hardest not to roll their eyes at the chivalrous templar. But she managed to refrain, and instead gave him a tiny bow of thanks in return. But when she looked past Hannibal to Katz, her smile faltered instantly. “You thought I had abandoned you?”

Will looked between them, amazed –and more than a tiny bit gratified – to see a blush creeping across Katz’s face. She clumsily sheathed her sword, her shoulders shrugged high. “Yeah,” she admitted, the shame evident in her tone. “Sorry.”

Alana seemed to consider the apology for a moment, and then she laughed halfheartedly. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Blind trust leads to little more than disaster.” Will didn’t like how her eyes had landed on him as she’d spoken those words, and he glowered darkly, feeling oddly rebellious in the face of her opinion. Hannibal returned to his side and was busy straightening his heavy templar armor, as it had fallen into disarray in their scramble from the bear. He didn’t seem to hear – or was pointedly ignoring – what Alana had said.

Will ran a hand through his hair, trying to urge it back from sweeping over his eyes. “One might argue that trust is all we have at this point,” he said, not looking at Alana, but at his increasingly fascinating boot laces. “Alana, how many animals can you shapeshift into?”

She smoothed her hair down, unruffled by Will’s moderate level of sass. “Lots,” was her answer. It made him smile, and she returned it with a dimpled cheek.

“Can you teach me?” Will asked, the idea suddenly striking him as the best he’d ever had. He couldn’t distance his imagination from the perfect thought of spreading his wings and flying away from everything and everyone.

But Alana didn’t give him the answer he wanted, an immediate yes. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked him up and down with a languid pace that had him shifting uncomfortably. “Maybe,” she said at last.

Will breathed in to speak again, but Hannibal stepped between them, his purposeful interruption all too blatant. “Perhaps this discussion would be better executed with fewer threats in our near vicinity.” He quirked an eyebrow at Alana. “Surely that was not the only great bear in the Brecilian Forest.”

“I second the templar,” Katz said, angling up beside Hannibal and nudging his shoulder with a playfulness Will hadn’t realized the two of them had reached with one another yet. Judging by the twitch of Hannibal’s eye at the contact, he hadn’t realized it either. “It’s late, and it’s going to be dark in this forest in no time. We need to make camp, like, ten minutes ago.”

Will suggested they vacate the area where they’d last been tracked by the bear, and they agreed, heading onward. They had only been walking fifteen minutes when Hannibal led them up a hill where a surprisingly cozy little space was cleared out between a circle of trees. Unbelievably, there was already a fire pit at its center.

“That’s lucky,” Katz said. “And weird, right?”

Hannibal knelt down beside the pit, which looked to be in its last stages of smoldering. “It appears travelers recently abandoned this very spot.” He looked up at his companions and then around the oddly ideal circle they inhabited. “I have to admit, it is the perfect place to set up camp. We have the upper ground and are protected by the cover of trees.”

“The grass is so soft,” Katz said, leaning down to join Hannibal by the fire. “Will, you can get this going, right?”

“Sure,” he answered, bending down to wave a hand over the embers. With ease, he had a fire setting a glow within the circle, filling it with welcoming warmth. In fact, Will noticed, as he felt an overwhelming urge to close his eyes, there seemed to be warmth spilling all through his body. He felt amazing, actually. And incredibly tired. He needed to lie down, and his eyes fell over the place on the ground beside Hannibal, where he wanted to fall sleep. Alana was already lying down. When had that happened?

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice thick with sleepiness, “come and rest.”

Will sighed deeply and was about to bend his knees and join the others on the ground where their eyes were closing and they were beginning to breathe deep, but then he stopped. Why were they so tired they didn’t even set up their bedrolls? Or eat? Or set a watch schedule? “Wait,” Will mumbled, feeling groggy. “Something’s wrong.”

“That’s right, my love,” he heard a familiar voice whisper behind him, and Will spun around. That had been the demon speaking. He knew that voice. “You are too strong to be fooled so easily, aren’t you?”

Will blinked hard against his sleepy confusion. That was definitely the demon talking to him, but Will didn’t see it. And he was so tired. Was he asleep? This was wrong. He looked about him anxiously. His friends were fast asleep, and he examined them with a frown.

“Look,” the demon whispered in his head. “See.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, almost imperceptibly, but Will saw. In a flash, the circle…shifted. His friends weren’t lying on a soft bed of grass anymore, but a scattering of human bones. Where there had been a fire, the pit was abruptly dead and blackened. Will staggered back in surprise.

“It’s a trap!” he yelled. Adrenaline ran haywire through his veins and he toed at his companions with urgency. “Wake up, wake up!” But they didn’t move. They were completely out of it. Will groaned, running a hand over his face. What was going on? If there was a trap, he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut, something had set it.

He heard a rustling in the trees surrounding the circle and gripped his staff. “It is a Greater Shade, sweet boy. Strike it down,” Will’s demon instructed, its voice clear and soothing in his head. Will was certainly awake now, at least, awake enough to notice the monster as it glided into the circle.

Will had studied the Fade extensively, as well as the myriad of its terrifying inhabitants, one of which was a Shade. Their illustrations in the tomes had been horrid enough, but the creature gliding toward him was even worse, because it was real. And it was much larger than it had been depicted. A Greater Shade. Will gulped and had to actively work not to step backward. He grounded his feet and remained right in front of his unconscious companions, his staff held aloft, his mana beginning to focus.

The Shade floated on furling ribbons of mist, looming in a cloak of darkness. Its head bent forward on big shoulders and a crooked neck, and its arms were disturbingly long, with curling claws for fingers. Its head was hooded and Will could not see its face, and for that he was thankful, because it was ugly and horrible and an actual creature of nightmares and it was headed straight for Will. He filtered his magic through his staff, eyes fluttering from the effort.

Hunched and horrifying, the Shade’s arms lashed out, almost successfully knocking the staff from Will’s hand. But he held on tight, and used its strong blow to power his staff, letting it swirl through the air above his head before ramming it downward. A line of fire ran from Will’s staff to the mist around the Greater Shade’s cloaked legs, and it hissed in annoyance, rising back, lifting its freakishly long arms. When it lashed out again, Will was ready, and he ducked the blow, rolling his body and popping up directly behind the Shade. It hissed again and Will slammed the blunt end of his staff into the back of its head as hard as he could, then jumped back and sent a fiery blast toward it, hitting directly in the center of its back. It howled and spun to face its assailant. This time, when it slashed an arm at Will, the end of its claw caught on Will’s cheek. It was only a graze, but the shock of the contact gave the Shade the opportunity it needed. It rushed him, swooping its long arms and slashing across Will’s chest, throwing him back against a tree, his shirt clawed open.

Will groaned and shook his head. He could feel blood oozing down his cheek and across his chest. He looked at the Greater Shade drawing nearer and felt the dreaded pang of doubt. It was stronger than him. It would kill him. And then it would kill his friends. The Shade swiped at him once more, and Will just barely escaped its blow. He sent a hot blast of flame toward its middle, pulling another hiss from the angering Shade, and then Will returned to his initial positioning, at the center of the circle, protectively stationed beside his helpless comrades. Why hadn’t Will fallen asleep as they had? Why was he the only one unaffected?

With a tiny gasp, Will realized. Greater Shades dwelled in the Fade. Its magic had pulled the others in, but Will was a Dreamer. He had power in the Fade the others didn’t. That was why he could hear his demon and not see it. Will was effectively straddling the line between the Fade and the waking world. And if he had the strength to combat the Shade’s sleeping spell, he had the strength to control the outcome of this fight. With a grin, Will closed his eyes and slammed down his staff. A six foot wall of fire blasted from the ground beneath the Fade, effectively engulfing it. It swiped at Will again, but its aim wasn’t true, and it missed Will entirely. But Will didn’t take the moment for granted. Without pause, he aimed his staff straight at the Shade’s shadowy face and let his mana empty hot through his body and through the cherry wood. A steady stream of fire barreled forth, and the Shade writhed in pain, backing away. Will followed it, step for step, relentlessly pummeling it with the firespell.

Will’s strength was beginning to wane and his brow was creased with effort, but he kept walking the Shade back, back, until it was passing through the tree line. “Finish it, my beautiful boy,” he heard whispered in the back of his mind, and with a cry of strain, Will hit the Greater Shade with all of his mana, and it screamed. Its arms waved manically over its head and the mist at its feet billowed up, cloaking the Shade until it disappeared from sight. Will watched breathlessly, waiting. The dark mist lingered in the air for a few moments and then steadily dissipated until there was nothing left.

The atmosphere flashed again, shifting the campsite from the Fade’s clutches, and when Will heard the sounds of the others rousing, he finally allowed himself a respite. He dropped his staff and collapsed to his knees. It wasn’t long before he felt hands cupping his face. Will looked up through his eyelashes. Hannibal was kneeling in front of him, his pale eyebrows pinched together with worry.

“Will, what happened?” he asked. He lightly smoothed his thumb over Will’s cheek, and Will winced. When Hannibal brought his hand away, it was splotched with blood. “You’re injured.”

“That blighted Shade lured us all into a trap,” Will grumbled, sighing tiredly and allowing the templar to lift him from the ground. Even after he was standing, Hannibal kept his hands on Will, minute sounds of disapproval escaping his lips as he examined the cuts across Will’s chest, and his torn shirt.

“A Shade’s trap?” Alana asked, sounding insulted. “I should have realized.”

Katz was shaking her head, combing through her hair with both hands, looking thoroughly disturbed. “What’s a Shade?”

Will pulled in a deep breath, not looking forward to having to explain. He was immensely drained, having used the whole of his mana to defeat the blasted creature. But to his relief, the templar responded before Will could, eyes remaining on Will as he searched around in the pack Katz had handed him. He pulled out a strip of gauze and dabbed it along Will’s cheek. “A Shade is a menace from the Fade with great power.” He frowned as he examined the cut on Will’s face, reaching for a bandage. “A Greater Shade is immeasurably stronger.” He demanded Will’s eyes now, gently placing the bandage over Will’s cheek. “I believe young Will saved all of our lives.”

He was aware of the heat rising to his cheeks as the templar admonished him with compliments, but he was still too dazed to care. Will let Hannibal smooth his hands over his shoulders as he checked for further injury, before moving to his chest to assess the cuts striping it.

“Will, how did you not fall asleep?” Alana asked.

“He is a Dreamer,” Hannibal answered for him again, clicking his tongue contemptuously at Will’s chest wound, shallow as it was. “Harder to hoodwink. Fortunately for us.” Will narrowed his eyes at the man tending him and was met with an honest-to-Maker wink.

“You’re a Dreamer?” Alana stared at Will over Hannibal’s shoulder, and Will met her gaze with a surge of confidence.

“Yes.”

She hummed approvingly. “Not just a pretty face, then.” She and Katz grinned at each other deviously and, Maker, help him, would Will ever be able to stop blushing?

Hannibal pressed the pad of gauze to the cuts on his chest, maybe a bit harder than was necessary, pulling Will’s attention back to him. For a moment, Will expected him to speak, to say something embarrassing or deliver him more praise, but he only looked, a curious expression softening his features. Will tried to meet his stare, but it felt too heavy, and he had to duck his head. He watched Hannibal’s elegant fingers nimbly cleaning his cuts and covering them with fresh bandages. Then those careful fingers, warm against Will’s exposed flesh, glided up to feel beneath his shirt, checking the bandage over his shoulder. “How does it feel?” Hannibal asked quietly, and it felt for all the world to Will as if they were the only two souls in the entire forest.

He shook the feeling from his shoulders with a shudder and tried to accurately gauge his healing arrow wound. “It feels okay,” he answered honestly. In truth, he’d hardly noticed it during their day-long journey.

“Of course it feels okay. I healed it,” Alana said smoothly, and Will recalled that the forest was not as secluded as he’d momentarily ascertained it to be. He stepped away from Hannibal, coughing awkwardly to mask the sudden silence.

“I’m fine,” he said to no one in particular. “We’re all fine. We successfully survived our first day of travel together.”

“I am feeling very positive about it,” Katz added, voice dripping with good humored sarcasm. “And exhausted.”

But they couldn’t sleep in that camp any more than they could have slept in the clearing the bear had chased them into. Will wondered hopelessly if there was any safe place in the Brecilian Forest where they could get some rest. After Will had been coaxed by Hannibal into taking one of his spare shirts, they gathered themselves and started looking for a suitable camp that was not a trap.

It was dark at that point, and Will clung stupidly to Hannibal’s offered elbow, glad that at least one of them seemed able to see in the dim dusk light. They trudged along in the dark, searching for a decent clearing, and Will’s heart was finally returning to a regular beat, and he was beginning to accept the eerie beauty of their surroundings, how lovely the foliage appeared, bathed in the highlights of the moon, when, once again, he was brutally reminded that no, the Brecilian Forest was the absolute worst.

A rumble sounded behind them, followed by the snapping of several twigs. Katz barely had time to curse crudely before the beast tore out of the “lovely foliage,” its yellow eyes glowing supernaturally.

“Is that a--” Will began, Hannibal’s hand already gripping his wrist and pulling him back. The creature was eight feet tall and covered in fur, with the head of a wolf. But it was humanoid.

“Did I mention this forest is rumored to have a werewolf problem?” Alana asked, reaching to free her thorny tipped staff from her back.

“Rumored?!” Katz asked wildly as she unsheathed her broadsword. Hannibal’s weapon was drawn, too, and he maintained his protective stance in front of Will, who didn’t mind in the slightest; he was still zapped of mana from the Greater Shade, and injured. He didn’t especially want to fight a werewolf at that exact moment in time. Or ever.

The beast threw back its head and howled, beating at its chest with its forepaws, which were gruesomely clawed. Why did everything in Ferelden have to come equipped with claws? Will was in the middle of seriously questioning his life choices and wondering what the odds were in a battle to the death between his companions and a bloody werewolf, when something unexpected happened.

As the werewolf moved forward, snapping its jaw, something whooshed by Will’s ear, and then, all of a sudden, there was an arrow sticking the beast right between the eyes. It panted, whimpered, and fell to the ground, twitching a few times and then freezing solidly in death. Will’s hand flew to the side of his head where he’d felt the arrow pass him, so close he’d felt the feathers. There, standing behind them, leaning on a longbow with an unattractive smirk, was an elf. Two elves. One stood beside the other, holding a torch and looking equally unhappy to see them.

“What are four shemlens doing in Dalish territory?” asked the elf with the bow. In the torchlight, Will could see the tattoos covering both their faces, intricate inked patterns of what looked like a tree, its swirling roots spreading beneath each eye, its branches winding together across the forehead. Will had read a bit about the Dalish in the tower, but they were a notoriously secretive race. All he really knew was that Dalish elves had an intense dislike for humans. That was painfully obvious now, as the Dalish with the bow looked one second away from knocking a new arrow and pointing it right at him.

“Relax, guys,” Katz said. “We’re Grey Wardens. We were actually looking for you.” She glanced at the dead werewolf behind her. “Thanks for the extra manpower, by the way. Or, erm, elfpower.”

The torch-holder scowled, screwing up her face with obvious disdain. “You don’t look like Grey Wardens,” she spat.

Will bit his lip nervously, but when he looked at Katz, she was as airy and indifferent to the elf’s bluster as could be. “Why don’t you let your Keeper decide that after you’ve taken us to your camp? Or do you want to risk disobeying our treaty?”

The Dalish turned away from them and spoke to each other in a language Will couldn’t even begin to try and follow. The rest of them waited patiently. Will shuffled back and forth on his feet, trying to focus on the subtle heat from Hannibal at his back instead of the icy foreboding in his stomach. Finally, after a rude stretch of non-inclusive discussion, the elves turned back to their annoyances.

“Alright, shems, we’ll take you to see the Keeper, but one false move and you’re all dead. Got it?”

“That’s so generous,” Katz deadpanned. “Please, take us to your leader.” She grimaced, and rolled her eyes at Will. “Couple of sweethearts, huh?”

A strangled laugh/choke bubbled out of Will’s throat and the Dalish glared daggers at him. “Keep up, shems,” one of them said, and they led them through the forest. But for once, good luck was with them, because the Dalish camp wasn’t far, and after only a short walk of ten or so minutes, the elves were stopping to push apart some branches. They waved Will and the others through.

Will stepped into the Dalish camp. It was quite large, in a prime position beside a river. Dozens of canvas wagons were set up, as well as several large campfires. There was even a fenced in section with Halla grazing within, majestic creatures that Will had only read about. They looked like something between a deer and a horse, and their hides almost glowed in the darkness. He was busy staring at them with a silly grin on his face when their reluctant Dalish guides scoffed loudly to attract his attention.

“We’re going to get the Keeper,” the woman elf said. “Move and die.”

As she stepped away, four more elves appeared with their bows drawn and aimed. Will felt Hannibal stiffen with tension at his side, and he felt a bizarre compulsion to reach out and take his hand, but that would be movement, wouldn’t it? And he was incredibly wary of those arrows, so he swallowed his urge and waited. Before long, the Dalish reappeared with a slightly taller than average elf walking with them. He was dark of skin, with beautiful almond eyes and a peculiar air of graceful authority.

“I am Keeper Tobias,” he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, but it also fixed Will with a chill of apprehension. Katz, however, was unaffected as she stepped forward, the treaties rolled up in her hand. Keeper Tobias accepted the scroll with a tight smile and unrolled them with quick fingers. Will watched the Keeper’s eyes moving down the paper. When he was finished, he re-rolled the scroll and passed it back to Katz with a respectful bow. “Welcome, Wardens.”

Will sighed his relief, blissful that, for now, they weren’t in danger of being killed. After an impossibly long day, they were safe. He eyed the other Dalish, still defiantly staring at them from behind their Keeper’s back. Well, he amended, they were mostly safe. Probably. Safe-ish, and that was good enough.

The Keeper smiled and motioned with his hand for them to follow. Will let Hannibal guide him, his large palm a calming force at the small of his back, and they were led to the largest of the fire pits, on the far side of the camp, closest to the river. Keeper Tobias waved for them to sit as he took his own place upon a log. Will helped himself to a seat beside the fire, sticking out his hands to warm them. Hannibal sat down beside him. On a second log, Katz sat with Alana, still wearing her best ‘Warden Face,’ which Will was marginally envious of and would ask her about later. It involved a straight yet relaxed mouth and a confident glint of the eye.

“You’re here because of the Blight,” Keeper Tobias began, his hands resting in his lap. He wore robes not dissimilar to the ones Will was used to wearing (though he’d been infinitely glad to be rid of them this past day and hadn’t tripped once), but the Keeper’s were made of a much richer material. It shimmered in the firelight and looked velvety soft. It was blue. Leaning beside him on the log was a magic staff that looked to be carved from ivory, with twining ends that clasped within its hold a sapphire gem. It was exceptional.

“You know about the Blight?” Katz asked, leaning forward, her elbows balanced on her knees.

“Our clan has lived in this forest for a long time,” the Keeper said. “We notice every change. Our hunters are used to the occasional, wandering darkspawn that has escaped from the Deep Roads. But lately, there have been more and more reports. Even the sylvans have been mistrustful.” Will squinted at that unfamiliar term, but the Keeper kept on. “And now, with the arrival of Grey Wardens, the only conclusion is a Blight. Or the imminent threat of one.” He arched a brow. “Am I right?”

“Spot on,” Katz said.

“It is safe to assume, then, that you are here to attain our help in the coming fight.”

“You’re bound by the treaty to aid us in our time of need,” she agreed. “Help from the Dalish would be invaluable.”

“And I would like to offer our help,” said the Keeper, “but there are hindrances.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Katz, looking as put-out as Will felt.

“To put it plainly, a sickness.” The Keeper stared into the flickering firelight. The more Will observed the elf, the less he liked him. There was a blankness in his eyes that made him itch beneath his skin. “My hunters saved you from a werewolf, did they not?”

Katz straightened her back. “I don’t know if I would put it that way, but they certainly intervened at a convenient time.”

“Those werewolves are a plague on this forest, sent by their leader, Witherfang, to slowly infect my clan. So you see, I cannot help you with this infection running rampant through the camp.”

Astounding even himself, Will spoke up. “That werewolf used to be an elf?”

The Keeper looked from the flames and flashed his absent, shiny eyes at Will. The accompanying tilt of his head was disconcerting. “Yes. We are cursed, and one by one, we fall to the sickness.”

“Can the curse be broken?” Will continued, feeling all eyes on him now.

The Keeper considered Will for a moment, his long lashes batting and casting long shadows over his face. “All curses can be broken.”

“If we break this curse, will you fulfill your oath of the treaty and help us fight the Blight when the time comes?” Will wasn’t sure where this forcefulness was originating from, but he allowed it full reign. He wasn’t going to let the Dalish weasel out of a signed agreement because of a curse.

Keeper Tobias laughed, and Will frowned at the display. He caught a glance of the templar at his side, and wasn’t surprised to catch him staring, a curious expression painting his face. Will furrowed his brow in resolution and turned back to the Keeper.

“Well? If all curses can be broken, how do we break this one?” he prompted, losing patience.

“If it was so simple, do you not think I would have already done it?” the Keeper asked.

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know what you’re capable of,” Will said. “But my friends and I can break your curse with the agreement of your aid. So tell us how to do it.”

The mirth of Keeper Tobias’ laughter morphed into disgust. “I need the heart of the first werewolf, Witherfang, to break the curse. Witherfang’s lair is deep in the center of the forest, beneath ancient ruins, guarded by the werewolf horde. Go into the ruins, kill Witherfang, and bring me the heart.” He smiled, striking Will with a tide of nausea. “And when the clan’s curse is broken, you will have our aid.”

Will stole glances at his comrades, and then returned his eyes to Keeper Tobias with his steeliest gaze. “Simple.” Will stood, Hannibal standing up in his wake, followed swiftly by Alana and Katz. “Give us shelter tonight, and we’ll bring you Witherfang’s heart tomorrow.”

Keeper Tobias stood, taking his time smoothing the folds of his rich robes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a touch of the Dalish in you. What’s your name, boy?”

“Will Graham. And I’m a Grey Warden, not a boy.”

“Of course,” the Keeper said with another unnerving smile. “Help yourselves to supplies and sleep wherever you like. We will speak again in the morning.” He bowed his head. “Grey Wardens,” he said by way of goodbye, and then he sauntered across the camp, disappearing with a few Dalish hunters into a canvas wagon.

There was a noisy silence behind him, and Will turned slowly to face it. Katz was gaping at him. Alana was smirking, a hand on her hip. And Hannibal looked…entirely too pleased. Will addressed Katz first. “Sorry, I sort of took over there.”

“Oh, no,” Katz said, vehemently shaking her head, making her thick crop of hair swing against her chin. “Don’t apologize. I liked it. With the voice and the face. All good. Please keep doing that.”

Will scrunched his eyebrows. What voice? What face? He glanced at the templar for help, but Hannibal was still smiling strangely at him, so he looked at Alana. “So this is okay with all of you? The plan?”

Alana’s blue eyes pierced him utterly, but when she spoke, her voice was easy and smooth. “I wouldn’t necessarily call what you proposed ‘a plan’. But if we want help from the Dalish, it’s the only way. I’m behind you, Will.”

“So am I,” agreed Katz. “Werewolves can’t be that much harder to kill than darkspawn, right?” She looked around at Alana with shrugged shoulders. “Right?”

Alana sighed and shook her head, and Will startled when he felt Hannibal’s light touch fall across his arm. “You know I am with you,” he said, but then he closed his fingers over Will’s elbow and his face grew serious and his voice dipped to a lower register. Will tried to ignore the knots swiftly forming in his chest at the sound. “I do not trust this Keeper Tobias, Will,” he confided solemnly. Katz and Alana, having moved closer, nodded their agreement, Katz adding a cut about ‘creepy staring.’

Will checked around them, and when he saw no lurking Dalish listening in, he murmured in a voice matching Hannibal’s in depth, “There’s something off about the Keeper. I don’t trust him either. But we still need his help.”

“Then we will head to the ruins at dawn,” Hannibal said, “and remain particularly vigilant.” He squeezed Will’s elbow and broke into a slim, closed-mouthed grin. “But for now we should rest. Despite our suspicious host, this may be the closest thing to safe shelter we’re destined to encounter for quite a while.” When Katz and Alana turned away and began unpacking their bedrolls about the fire, Hannibal remained close to Will, and his hand lightly grazed the bandaged cut across his cheek. “Sleep will do us all some good, don’t you think?”

Chapter 9: Teeth

When Will slipped into the Fade, he was relieved to find himself amongst cool marble and torch-lined walls. As was now the usual state of things, he was undressed, and he felt relaxed. He felt as if, had he clothes on, they would be a constraint, an unnecessary layer between him and… He looked around, his bare feet padding lightly against the lustrous floor. Where he expected to see exquisite antlers and glimmering black eyes, he saw nothing but unoccupied space. Why would the demon pull him here and not even show up to greet him? Will frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t you know that I am always here, even when you cannot see me?” The demon’s voice purred in his ear, and Will shut his eyes. “Focus, my love, and feel me.”

Will bit at his lip and tried to control his breathing, which had instantly kicked to high gear. With his eyes closed, and his breaths drawn slow and deep through his nose, he could detect the heat in front of him. The demon’s body heat, radiating from its skin to Will’s. He smiled. “Yes, I can feel you.”

“Of course you can,” the demon replied, rewarding Will with a gentle stroke of its bony knuckle along his jaw. “You were so good today,” it said, continuing its touch, sliding its fingers down Will’s neck, making him shiver and tilt back his head to expose more of his vulnerable throat. “Did you feel my presence when the Greater Shade attacked?”

“I heard you,” Will sighed. He began to open his eyes and felt a hand fall across his lids.

“Hear me now,” said the demon, “and feel me.” Will nodded and felt its hand move from his eyes, down Will’s chest. “But do not see me. Not yet.”

The heat before him pulsed, and Will’s knees buckled, but he was held steady by two scorching hands on either hip. He felt the scrape of antler tips against his chest, and felt the hub of heat slide further down until it was fixed low, and Will could imagine it, the demon kneeling at his feet. Sharp claws dug into the soft flesh of his hips, and Will knew the only thing keeping him vertical was the demon’s wish that he remain standing.

“You were with me in the forest today?” Will asked. Maker, his voice sounded wrecked.

The demon released a puff of laughter, and Will felt the warmth pillow against his thighs. “I am always with you,” it answered with a brush of its lips against Will’s skin. “You only need know where to look.”

Automatically, Will’s hands reached out, grasping rungs of antlers to steady himself. But he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He would not disobey the demon.

“You were so strong, Will.” It pressed its mouth against Will’s hip. Its lips parted and kissed, open mouthed, along Will’s thigh. Will gripped its antlers tighter, his head spinning with delirium at the feeling of the demon’s tongue hot and slick against his skin. “A true Dreamer.”

Will stifled a moan at the praise. “It felt good,” he admitted raggedly, beginning to rock against the demon’s ministrations.

“It was a mere glimpse of your potential, Will.” Its lips traced across his thigh until they rested in the V of Will’s groin. “You are learning. I’m so proud of you.” It nuzzled its nose roughly into Will’s crotch and breathed deep.

“Nngh.” Will’s lips worked wordlessly at the intimate scenting, the demon’s touch pulling a groan from deep in his chest. He was hard, and he could feel the demon’s heat, sense it as it drew closer to where he wanted it most.

“But Will,” it said, increasing the pressure of its pointed fingertips into Will’s hips. “The path you’ve chosen is riddled with dangers. And darkspawn are not the only enemies you must fear.”

Through his lusty haze, Will pictured Keeper Tobias and his soulless eyes reflecting nothing but the flames of the fire pit. “I don’t trust him,” Will whispered, knowing the demon could see the image floating in his head.

“Nor should you, my love,” the demon said, keeping its nose burrowed in Will’s pubic hair while angling its head. Its lips opened against the base of Will’s length, making him cry out. “Shhh,” the demon whispered between its fever-hot attentions. “Listen.” Its tongue darted out and ran up the underside of Will’s hardness until it circled languidly across the head. “Are you listening, Will?”

Will’s eyes were shut, but he could see it perfectly, his demon hovering before him, its black eyes gleaming. “I-I’m listening,” Will managed to whimper, and he was rewarded with a delicate lick that made him double over, draping, boneless, onto the antlers. The demon shushed him again, and its fingers bruised his hips beautifully.

“You are strong where others are weak,” it began. “Decisions will fall to you. Decisions only you can make. Listen, feel, and make the right decisions, Will. Good and evil are complex creatures. Be wary of accepting either at face value. And remember, many things are not as they first appear.”

Will nodded, his body still hunched over antlers, his knees quaking and knocking together.

“Now, Will,” said the demon. “Look.”

Will opened his eyes and watched as the demon parted its lips and took the tip of his erection into its mouth. Its black eyes stared eons into Will as it suckled gently on the head. Then it slid down, swallowing all of him. Will writhed, struggling to keep his eyes open now that he was allowed, and he watched as the demon worked its stretched lips. It pulled at Will’s hips, finally bringing him to the floor, never releasing him from the hot suction of its mouth. Will panted, on his back, as the demon sucked him relentlessly.

He looked, he heard, he felt, relishing as the demon’s hands pinned him down. And when he popped from the demon’s mouth and its tongue flicked against him, Will screamed aloud, and the Fade vanished.

 

--

 

Will sat up, convulsions still pulsing, vision blurred with pleasure, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. His head was bowed, and he panted heavily through the remains of his orgasm. Only then did he remember he was in the Dalish camp. Only then did he glance up and see the templar, sitting close, sharpening his sword, and staring right at him.

“Another bad dream?” Hannibal asked.

Will swallowed forcefully and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His cheeks blazed, and he pressed the backs of his hands against them, trying to cool and calm himself. But his whole body tingled from the memory of…Oh, Maker, what had happened? Had he just allowed a demon to…

“Will? Are you unwell?”

Will shook his head in a fruitless attempt to vanish the demon from his mind. He shifted on his bedroll, and felt the telling stickiness between his legs. “I’m fine,” he said, unable to look Hannibal in the eyes. Hannibal, the templar. Will’s heart tightened. The way the man was looking at him…did he know? Wasn’t part of their job to detect demons? He glanced upward. Hannibal did not have the look of a templar who knew he’d just been blown by a demon. He only wore the expression of a man worried for his friend.

Will sighed and pushed an errant wave of damp curls from his forehead. “Really. I’m okay. Just a dream.” Just a dirty, filthy sex dream about a demon.

To his immense relief, Hannibal nodded and permitted the curve of a brief smile. “Then, if you are well, I must insist it is time for you to rise. Our companions are already up and ready to depart.”

Now that his head was no longer uselessly swamped in ecstasy, Will was able to notice the rising sun, the absence of Katz and Alana, and the fully armored templar. He patted beneath his blanket, subtly checking for dampness on his trousers. Detecting nothing, he pushed the covering away and stood up slowly from the bedroll, stretching tall and yawning. Hannibal stood, too.

“Might I suggest a quick dip in the water before we speak with Keeper Tobias?” he asked, sheathing his sharpened sword and adjusting his gauntlets.

Will tactfully looked him over when he was turned away. The templar was on the verge of appearing squeaky clean. His hair was smooth and combed, and the road dust was gone from his face. Will grunted, uncomfortable in his ruined smallclothes. A quick dip was exactly what he needed. He glanced at the river. It looked crystal clear and sparkled with the early morning sunlight. “I’ll meet you at the Keeper’s tent,” Will told Hannibal.

The templar nodded. “I will go collect the others.”

Will waited for Hannibal to walk away before he turned his attention to the water. He traveled along the bank for a few minutes, just far enough away so he could still see the camp, but wouldn’t be in danger of directly exposing himself to the entire Dalish clan. The water was icy and his rinse was expedient. But it was good to get clean, and he felt much better once the evidence of his arousal was washed away. He stuck his head in the water and soaked his hair, then whipped it back with a sigh. Now that he was clear of the Fade, the truth of what he’d done there seemed preposterous. But it had felt so natural. Even now, if he shut his eyes, he could almost feel the demon’s heat splashing against his skin.

After Will carefully rinsed the dried blood from his multiple cuts and scrapes, he finished up in the water, and dried off as quickly as he could, pulling on a clean set of underclothes and his lambskin trousers, boots, and the shirt Hannibal had given him. It was a bit big on Will’s smaller frame, but he liked it. He touched the Warden’s amulet hanging around his neck and took a moment to gather himself. He breathed in, out, and left the riverbank.

Dressed and drying, Will found the others waiting for him beside the Keeper’s wagon. Everyone looked better, the night’s rest doing them all wonders, and Will felt a gush of optimism. Until, of course, the Keeper emerged from his wagon and began discussing the finer details of their day’s task.

“You cannot simply stroll into the center of the Brecilian Forest,” Keeper Tobias informed them. “It is magically guarded.”

“How do we get through?” Will asked, already feeling irritated with the Keeper.

And if the elf’s tone was anything to go by, the Keeper was equally irritated with Will. The niceties of last night’s greeting had been thoroughly replaced with woefully restrained resentfulness. “The inner forest is full of sylvan trees,” Keeper Tobias said. “Collect one of their branches. With it, you will be allowed to pass to the center unscathed. Of course, then you’ll have to enter the ancient ruins. And no magical tree branches will help you there.”

After several grumbles and a stoic vow that they would, rest assured, return before the day’s end, Will and his companions left the Dalish camp, off on their quest to collect Witherfang’s heart.

 

--

 

“So does anyone know what a sylvan looks like?” Katz asked, gazing up at the forest’s dense canopy.

They had been walking for about an hour and hadn’t been eaten by a bear or a werewolf yet. Will took that as an omen for good things to come. But he didn’t actually know what a sylvan looked like either, so he shrugged at Katz and looked round to Alana, the one among them most acquainted with woodsy things.

“Like that,” she said, stopping to point at a large tree in front of them.

To Will, it didn’t look much different than a typical oak. But as he stepped closer and craned his neck, he noticed the peculiar gold tint to its leaves and the atypical shimmer of its bark when hit with a dapple of sun. The branches weren’t too thick and could probably be cut through with a heave of a greatsword. Only…the branches began rather high up on the tree; they would not be easy to reach.

“Will, Alana, can one of you magic down a branch?” Katz asked.

Will snorted and smiled at the Warden, but she looked sincere. “Magic it down?”

Katz was chagrined and turned to Alana with high brows. “No?” Alana shook her head and Katz sighed, rolling her eyes at Hannibal. “Mages,” she lamented. His eye twitched in response. “Okay, I’m going to need a boost, handsome.”

It took Hannibal an amusing moment to realize Katz was speaking to him. “Boost?”

Katz laughed. “One of us has to climb up this tree and cut down a blighted magic branch,” she said. “I’m a good climber, but I’m not that good. You’re the tallest. I’ll get on your shoulders and, uh, shuffle up the rest of the way.”

“Ah yes,” Alana smirked. “The ol’ boost and shuffle.”

“Shush, apostate,” Katz returned. She cocked her head at Hannibal, waiting.

Will watched with a hand over his mouth, hiding his wide grin, as Hannibal squared his shoulders in preparation and moved with Katz toward the base of the tree. And honestly, they made a pretty decent tree-conquering team. Hannibal knelt on one knee and bowed his head and Katz stepped up with light feet. Her balance was compelling. Hannibal slowly lifted, his hands anchoring her ankles as her feet remained grounded to his shoulders. When he had returned to full height, Katz unfurled from her crouch and stretched her body upward, her hands roaming over the sylvan’s trunk until they found a perch. “Magic me to safety if I fall,” she hollered to them, and then she was off, her legs bending and her feet catching against the rough texture of the tree.

“I’m not sure she understands how magic works,” Alana said softly to Will as they watched Katz’s impressively quick progression up the tree. She seemed to find footholds from nothing at all, and after a scarce few minutes of shimmying, Katz was hooking her leg around the lowest branch. She straddled it successfully and lifted her arms in triumph.

“Excellent work, Katz,” Hannibal yelled up to her from the bottom of the sylvan. “Can your sword cut through?”

Will had to squint to make out Katz’s smile. She was really high up, and his stomach felt lousy with uneasiness. She reached behind her back and unsheathed her sword.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” she called, scooting backwards to brace her back against the trunk. And then she brought her blade down swiftly into the branch.

As they had hoped, it cut through easily, and Hannibal picked up the fallen branch and tucked it into his belt. Will was beginning to think the whole affair was too easy when a loud moan interrupted his thought process.

“What was that?” he asked, turning to Alana.

“I’m not sure,” she said, her keen blue eyes sweeping the forest around them. “It didn’t sound like a bear or a wolf.”

“Uh, guys?” Katz yelled. “I think that was the tree.”

“Katz,” Hannibal called to her, his voice wrought with a tension seldom heard, “you need to start climbing down.” Another moan echoed through the forest, loud and creaking and directly from the tree. “Quickly, Katz!”

Will moved to Hannibal’s side, looking up anxiously, watching as Katz twisted to fasten around the trunk of the sylvan. It moaned again, louder this time, vibrating.

“This thing is moving!” Katz cried.

And it was, Will realized as Hannibal pushed him back. The ground beneath their feet shifted and rumbled, and then giant roots were bursting through the soil. Above them, Katz was screaming and clinging to the tree. Will wanted to help her, tried to move toward her, but Hannibal held him firmly in the crook of one arm while the other flourished his sword. Will swatted the templar away and grabbed his staff. Alana already had hers held before her, her eyes blazing. The three of them watched as the sylvan disconnected from the earth and pushed up on its roots.

“The Keeper might have mentioned this,” Will growled.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t want the curse broken,” answered Alana slyly as she sidled up beside him, and that was all the exchange they had time for before the sylvan reared its shimmery trunk and swung at them with its two most menacing, arm-like tree limbs.

Will heard Katz cursing as the sylvan’s limbs whomped harshly against the forest floor, missing them by inches. When the sylvan straightened out its trunk and lifted its branches, Katz was sprawled on the ground. Will rushed to help her, but she shot up to her feet on her own. Her lip was bloody but she was otherwise unharmed. Vengeance shone in her eyes and she lifted her sword, still held tight in her hands.

“Fuck this tree,” she hissed, and when the sylvan pounded down its limbs once more, she jumped out of the way and spun around, landing a hacking blow to its branches. It moaned and straightened and stepped toward them on its giant roots.

“Let’s make the magical tree angrier,” yelled Alana as they all four backed up, side by side, weapons raised. “Those are great instincts, Katz.”

Katz probably had a response ready, but the sylvan apparently had an intolerance for witticisms, and before Katz could speak, it was ruthlessly walloping the ground all around its base with its branches. And if that were the only element of the sylvan’s fighting mechanics, it probably could have been managed easily enough by Will and the others. But, as their good luck for the day had run its course, the sylvan soon unveiled its full arboric power.

Will was stepping backward, mind reaching for a spell, when the ground beneath his boots erupted and shoots of twisting roots wrapped around his ankles. “Oh!” he yelled, trying to yank free. But the roots moved quickly, binding him up to his knees, up to his waist, and twirling to lung-squeezing tightness around his chest, fastening Will’s staff uselessly to his side. He could still partially move his head, and he turned it, hoping to see Hannibal coming to his aid. He saw Hannibal all right, but the templar wasn’t running to save him; he was equally bound by the sylvan’s rooty bondage. Beyond him was Katz, struggling against her own trappings as she was wrapped nearly to her throat, and Alana, who was barely recognizable beneath her own encapsulating root-ropes. The sylvan had stopped slamming about its limbs. It seemed to think it could kill its enemies through sheer constriction and as the roots grew tighter and tighter, winding around Will’s neck, that outcome seemed more and more likely.

He tried thrashing his body left and right, but he couldn’t budge. The roots had him trapped. Panic seized him when the roots began to choke his throat, and he could no longer draw in a breath. Now, only his eyes could move, and he darted them to the side, where he could see Hannibal in a similar state of distress. The roots covered his mouth and he couldn’t even call out to him. They were going to suffocate. That damn sylvan was going to kill them. They would fail their mission before it had even really begun, and the Blight would swarm, uncontested, throughout all of Ferelden. He shut his eyes.

No.

No, Will wouldn’t die this way. And neither would his friends. He was a mage. He was strong. The demon had told him he was strong. Will wiggled his fingers at his bound sides and concentrated. He didn’t need a staff to channel his mana. He only needed to think, think, focus…

He felt the smolder in his core and let it flow through his chest and into his arms. His palms grew hot, his fingertips, and then he felt the spark. The roots around his body smoked and the sylvan tree moaned in what Will genuinely hoped to be pain, and then he was free, the roots falling away as they singed. Will broke free, sucking in a much needed lungful of air. He turned immediately to Hannibal, running to his side. He pressed his staff to the roots, wrenching another moan from the sylvan as its second set of bindings burned. Hannibal’s eyes were closed; he couldn’t breathe! The roots finally weakened enough for Will to tear, and he hurriedly pulled Hannibal free, guiding him to the ground before he collapsed. Will cupped the man’s face in his hands. “Hannibal!?” He pressed a hand to his chest, preparing to give him mouth to mouth, but as he was leaning forward, Hannibal coughed. Will watched with relief as he rolled to his side with a groan, and once he was certain Hannibal could breathe, Will turned for the others.

To his dismay, Alana was gone and Katz looked unconscious within the cage of roots. A small bird fluttered down in the next moment, and in a stretch and flap of feathers, the bird became Alana. She flashed her eyes at Will. “Burn the sylvan!” she demanded, already setting her staff to the roots in order to free Katz.

The sylvan vibrated behind him, and Will didn’t hesitate, spinning to face it with his staff, the spellwork already flowing. He lifted his staff, his eyelids sliding shut as the mana funneled through, and when he slammed down the cherry wood, a circle of fire surrounded the sylvan. It screeched and shook its branches, making it rain gold-flake leaves. Will staggered back where Alana was gently lowering Katz to the ground.

“She’s breathing,” Alana reassured him.

Will nodded and turned back to Hannibal, kneeling beside him. He helped him sit up, and they watched in breathless silence as the sylvan burned. Katz was coughing a few moments later, and rising to her knees.

“Do we have the branch?” she asked, throat raw.

Hannibal pulled the magic branch from his belt and waved it in the air, voice still constricted from its deprivation. “Got it.”

Katz laughed and shook her head. Her hand searched along the forest floor in front of her, and she brought up a rock in her fist. She threw it at the burning sylvan, which still screamed in agony, vibrating the ground beneath them. “Damn tree,” she spat.

They waited until they’d all caught their breath and had a soothing drink of water, and then, magic branch in hand, they continued on, toward the center of the forest, the sylvan blazing behind them.

 

--

 

The smell of ash lingered in Will’s nose until they reached the center of the forest. It wasn’t hard to find in the end, because the magical guard Keeper Tobias had mentioned was visible to the naked eye. Alana had spotted it first, stopping them as they crossed a shallow ravine and pointing to a cloudy, iridescent barricade. It stretched as far as anyone could make out, until it began to curve. The ancient ruin was somewhere inside that magical guard.

Will wetted his worried lips, casting a hesitant glance in Hannibal’s direction. The templar was already looking back, as though he’d been waiting for Will’s attention. The templar removed the hard-won sylvan branch from his belt and took a step toward the guard. But he still seemed to be waiting for something, looking back at Will over his shoulder. Finally, guessing what it was Hannibal sought, Will nodded his head, only once, but apparently it was all Hannibal had been waiting for, and he stepped through the cloudy wall.

Will waited with Katz and Alana, the three of them exchanging nervous looks back and forth, until Hannibal reappeared with a smile a few seconds later. “It works.” And then he held out his arm, eyebrows quirked expectantly. When he was only met with blank blinks, Hannibal shook the branch at them. “Take a hold of my arm and I can walk us all through.”

Katz slid up to him first, hooking her arm with Hannibal’s. “Does it have to be an arm we hold?” she joked, and Will couldn’t control the flare of color in his cheeks.

But Hannibal smiled at her! And linked his other arm through with Alana. Alana smirked at Will, and Will was left staring at the odd trio, wondering what he was meant to…’take hold of’.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, ducking his head to make eye contact.

Will startled. How long had he just been staring? He cleared his throat nonchalantly and tried not to notice the humored eyes Katz was throwing him. “Um, yes?”

“Hold onto my waist, if you would, and I will walk us through,” said Hannibal kindly.

“Right.” Will nearly tripped over his own feet reaching him, head down to hide his blush as he positioned himself behind the templar and carefully placed his hands on Hannibal’s waist. He stared at his fingers against the metal plates of the templar armor.

“Got a good handful there, Will?” Katz asked.

Will glared. “Yes.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal chimed. “All together now,” he said, and they stepped together through the magical guard.

Other than a moderate tingle, Will couldn’t feel the cloud-like substance they passed through, and as soon as they were sturdily on the other side, he let go of Hannibal’s waist and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers tangled in a knot, and he winced. Fortunately, Will’s awkwardness wasn’t the point of interest. They were in the center of the Brecilian Forest, and it was breathtaking. Once free from the trappings of his own curls, Will eyed the pretty scenery suspiciously, certain that some creature was on the verge of springing an attack and trying to eat them.

And sure enough, before they’d had time to walk five feet, the beasts appeared. He stepped into Hannibal’s shadow and gripped his staff. Hannibal moved in front of him, brandishing his sword alongside Katz. Alana stood with her own staff on Katz’s flank. The air around them might have audibly crackled from the tension as they prepared for yet another battle.

There were three werewolves, standing close enough for their scent to carry on the wind. Blood and musk. Will scrunched his nose. The beasts growled and Will let his mana begin to gather in his core, readying itself. But then something strange happened.

The werewolves didn’t lunge at them, didn’t snap their teeth and try to eviscerate them one by one. Instead, the tallest of the werewolves took a step forward. It was a small step that looked, to Will, like it had been…cautious? Did werewolves take cautious steps? He strained his memory, trying to think back to what he’d read about the creatures in the Circle tomes. He was sorting through the stacks of his memory bank concerning full moons when the werewolf opened its mouth. And spoke.

“Turn back,” it said. Its voice was shredded and deep, like glass grinding in a mortar and pestle.

Will gaped. In his peripheral, he saw an equally stunned Katz. Only Alana and Hannibal looked unfazed, and it was Hannibal who was the first to respond.

“I am afraid we can’t do that,” he said, polite as ever, voice calm and smooth, without the slightest hint of hysteria. “Our quest is dire.”

The werewolf growled again, but it held no menace, and Will wondered if it wasn’t a sound more closely akin to the purr of a cat, as opposed to a warning of violence. “The Lady says you should turn back,” it grated. “She has no quarrel with you. Turn back.”

“We have no quarrel with your Lady,” said Hannibal. “But our quest cannot be waylaid.”

The werewolf huffed, growled, and snarled, but made no move of attack. After a series of thoughtful snorts, it continued. “Then the Lady requests an audience with you. Follow.” The three werewolves turned and began to stalk away through the forest.

“Is this for real?” Katz whispered. “Are we seriously supposed to play Follow the Monster?”

Will shrugged, wholly out of his element. “It’s better than the welcome I was expecting.”

Alana was watching the werewolves as they continued forward without them. “Decide fast or we’ll lose them.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Will. “And we may not get the same offer twice.”

Will looked fleetingly at Hannibal. His face was stone, the picture of patience. Begrudgingly realizing the decision was somehow his alone to make, Will sighed and went with his gut. “Let’s follow.”

They followed. The werewolves never checked to see if they were behind them, but they moved slower than their long, spry limbs suggested they were capable. They were led deep into the forest. The trees stood taller and the flowers blossomed brighter and the stench Will had quickly associated with werewolf musk grew thicker.

It was a silent trek, the four travelers communicating with the occasional twitching lip and arched eyebrow, but none spoke. Maybe it was because of the eerie stillness draping the forest, but it felt as though a human’s voice would be an affront to such a place. The werewolves finally stopped and turned to face them, a dilapidated structure looming close. The ancient ruins. Will broke the silence with a gasp.

The ruins were beautiful, yes, and covered with wild vines, but it was not the striking beauty of the place that made Will wobble. It was the number of werewolves lounging around it. There must have been a hundred of the creatures. Will tried to steady his heart, calming a bit when he felt the templar’s familiar graze across his back.

“The Lady will speak. Listen,” said the werewolf that had led them this far.

Will was vaguely aware his head was nodding, but he couldn’t truthfully say he had control over his body. The werewolves stood, all at once, and Will saw Katz jump in surprise in his peripheral. But he kept his own eyes forward. The werewolves were parting, making a line, and then they threw back their snouts in unison and released one combined, mighty howl. Appearing within the gathering, walking through the line they had parted just for her, was The Lady. She looked human. Like a beautiful, human woman, naked save for strategically snaking vines and cascading raven hair. But she was so much more than that. Will could sense it.

“Wardens,” she spoke. Her words rang like a melody in Will’s ears, lovely as a song. “Friends of Wardens.” As she walked closer, Will saw she wasn’t walking at all, but floating, her pretty feet hovering at least a foot off the ground. She stopped before them. Her eyes were dark, her lashes long and curled. “Why do you come here?”

Will waited, expecting Hannibal to speak, like he had spoken to the werewolf, but when Hannibal said nothing and pressed his hand pointedly against the small of Will’s back, he found himself taking a step forward. He was amazed when he didn’t faint. He was even more amazed when he began to speak and his voice didn’t break. “Hello,” he said. “Our quest has led us here.”

Sadness sparkled in her eyes. “Yes, the Blight,” she said. “You are here to seek the aid of the Dalish.”

“Yes,” Will answered. He paused, unsure. “Keeper Tobias sent us into the heart of your forest.”

The sadness reflected in her eyes ignited and flared to anger. “He has sent you to retrieve the heart of Witherfang.” The werewolves rumbled uneasily until The Lady held up her hand to silence them.

“Keeper Tobias informed us of the curse on his people,” Will said, struggling to remain steadfast as the werewolves flashed their teeth. “Only if we break the curse will he uphold the agreement of our treaty.” The Lady floated, her hands gently gliding at her side, as though wading the air. Feeling as if he should continue, Will asked, “Do you know where we can find this Witherfang?”

“I am Witherfang,” she answered.

The werewolves tipped their heads in a boisterous union of howls. Will’s courage cracked, and he turned to his companions, wide-eyed. Katz’s face was white. Alana’s pupil-blown eyes were curiously glued to the hovering, naked Lady, and Hannibal was smiling at Will. The howling stopped and Will turned back to face Witherfang.

“I thought,” Will stammered, “that Witherfang was a werewolf.”

“No,” she said. “I am the Spirit of the Forest.”

A forest spirit. Well, obviously.

“I wonder, Grey Warden,” she said, the intense heat blessedly gone from her eyes, “what the Keeper told you of the curse.”

Will swallowed hard and forced himself to answer. Even if he’d just waltzed into a werewolf lair and told his target he wanted to rip out her heart, he still preferred her eyes to the blank stare of the Keeper. He tried to focus as he tarried on. “He told me it was infecting his clan.”

“Is that all?”

“It is all,” confirmed Will, feeling the fool for not asking more questions of the suspicious Keeper. “Will you tell me more?”

She did not smile, but her eyes sparkled, and Will hoped that was a good thing. “When Tobias was a young Keeper, his husband and child were murdered by a group of human settlers. Tobias cursed the humans, forcing them to become physical reflections of the monsters they were. This was a long time ago. The werewolves before you are not those criminals. They are not deserving of the curse that haunts them. I have sheltered them and you see them now. They are no monsters.”

Will looked into the sea of wolfish faces. He remembered the werewolf that had first stopped them, before they’d reached the Dalish camp. The elves had killed it before it could attack. But…had it actually been about to hurt them? The werewolves that had led them here had certainly not been violent.

“Keeper Tobias’ people are falling beneath the curse because their own hearts have become twisted,” continued Witherfang. “They are full of hatred and rage, killing innocent humans who wander into their territory, hunting the afflicted that do them no harm. He does not want my heart to lift the curse. Tobias created the curse with blood magic, with his own blood. Only he can lift it. He wants my heart because I know what he is, and I know the truth of what he has done.” She floated closer. “Would you cut the heart out of me, Warden?”

Would he? His pulse fluttered, but he did not take his eyes from her. He could not. “The treaty demands the aid of the Dalish,” he told her. “My Lady, Witherfang, we need help.”

“I know.” She reached her hand towards Will, the vines swirling from her wrists and spiraling freely about her delicate fingers. “Will you listen?” she asked.

Will shut his eyes and heard her speak.

 

--

 

True to their word, Will and his companions returned to the Dalish camp before nightfall. A little rough around their edges, perhaps, but they were on time, and when Will caught the Keeper’s eyes across the encampment, he was able to stand straight with the fulfillment of his vow. He tilted his head to the Keeper in summons and turned to the river to wait.

Even with the templar’s reassuring touch on his back, Will felt dazed. A quick study of Katz’s hand fidgeting at her sides told him she felt similar. Even Alana’s gaze stretched a thousand miles. Will leaned into the hand on his back and let his eyes fall closed. He searched for the heat. What he found was a surety in his chest. It’s what he’d been looking for. When he opened his eyes, the Keeper was reaching the riverbank, his blue velvet robes swishing around his feet. Will did not envy him the encumbrance.

“Wardens,” Keeper Tobias said coldly. “I have to admit, I doubted you’d return.” His pretty, blank eyes scanned them. “And all of you, too. I am impressed.” He moved closer. “But do you have Witherfang’s heart?”

“I have it,” said Witherfang.

The Keeper’s eyes bulged as he looked past Will and spotted her. The Spirit of the Forest floated across the river and came to rest at Will’s side.

“You,” hissed the Keeper, backing up.

“You have always feared what you don’t understand, Tobias,” she said, tracing her finger across her chest, where her heart lay beneath. “But taking what is mine will never give back what was yours. Tobias,” she pleaded, her voice so sweet it made Will’s eyes sting, “lift the curse.”

The elf’s face fell to ugly grimness, and he shook his head. “No.”

Witherfang hanged her head and a mournful sigh released from her throat. In a second’s time, the sound was answered. The howl of a hundred werewolves within the camp’s surrounding tree line brought chills to Will’s skin. The look the Keeper gave him was horrible.

“What is it you intend to do?” Keeper Tobias asked, his ivory staff skillfully twirling in front of him. “Kill us all?”

Will brought his own staff before him, letting his palms heat it with a rush of concentrated mana. “Yes.”

As Will slammed down his staff, the werewolves howled again, dashing into the Dalish camp. A blast of fire shot up around the Keeper’s feet, making his robes smoke, but the Keeper’s own cone of ice cancelled out Will’s spell.

“You think you can beat me, boy?” Keeper Tobias scoffed. He lifted his staff and the air around him began to frost, little snowflakes swirling.

Will shoved his staff forward, vanishing Tobias’ ice spell with a blaze of heat. He probably wasn’t strong enough to fight the Dalish Keeper one on one, but he didn’t need to. He only needed to distract him long enough while Witherfang circled to his back.

“Goodbye, Tobias,” she said, and her hand pummeled forward, plunging straight through the Keeper’s back. Will watched the elf’s eyes widen in surprise, and then, when Witherfang yanked his heart free of his chest, he watched his eyes grow dull.

Witherfang held the heart in her hand and lifted it high. “My children,” she sang to the werewolves, who had collected around the camp, encircling it entirely, preventing the panicking elves from escaping, “if you cannot have your cure, you can have your revenge! Take it swiftly!”

The Keeper’s hollowed body crumbled, and Will stared at it until Hannibal led him away. They stood by the river and allowed the werewolves to do their work, to take their revenge. They accomplished it rapidly. Though the Dalish were skilled and plentiful, fighting back with their arrows and daggers, they were no match for the wolves and their Lady, and they fell.

And then, the Dalish were dead and the werewolves were gathering, blood drenched and sated, around Witherfang. She patted their heads and smiled, and then she turned to Will and the others. Will stepped forward and she floated until they were face to face and inches apart.

“Thank you, Grey Warden,” she said. “You have my promise and the promise of my children.” The werewolves growled acceptingly. “When you require it, you will have our aid. I swear it.” She held out her hand, and Will grasped it.

“Thank you, Witherfang,” he said.

Witherfang bowed to him, and then she called the werewolves away, and they disembarked through the trees, back toward the ruins in the center of the forest.

“We should get out of here,” Katz said abruptly. “Set up camp somewhere else.”

Will nodded, but he kept his feet planted firmly, only watching as Katz and Alana began toeing their steps through the Dalish carnage littering the ground. A shiver rocked him.

“The werewolves will be far more useful in defeating the Blight than the Dalish,” Hannibal said, stepping around to face him. “Will.”

Will forced up his eyes.

“You made a difficult choice, but I believe it was the right one,” said Hannibal.

Will nodded, because he could feel the truth in the templar’s words. And when he shut his eyes, he could feel the sureness in his chest. He had balanced the evils and chosen what he could accept.

The demon would be pleased.

Chapter 10: A Murder of Crows

The man’s nose was gushing blood and his eyes were wild. His collar was torn and his run was unbalanced, arms flailing as dragging boots kicked up dust from the Imperial Highway. The sudden presence of said man was such a shock to the system, the road having been mainly void of other travelers, let alone one bruised and bloody, that Will literally skidded to a stop on his heels at the sight.

“It’s sort of nice to see someone who looks worse than we do,” Katz offered lightly, stopping beside Will.

Three days had passed since the enlistment of Witherfang and her werewolves, and the party was currently located somewhere to the northwest of Lothering (which they’d blessedly decided against stopping over in, on account of the stir they’d created last time, not to mention the presence of their new apostate friend). They traveled the Imperial Highway, the main road cutting through the heart of Ferelden, and they would continue along its path, skirting around the massive Lake Calenhad, completely bypassing the Circle of Magi for now (thank the Maker), until they reached the Frostback Mountains. Under that mountain, their next treaty’s fulfillment resided, in the hands of the Dwarven King of Orzammar. But they were still days away from reaching the Dwarven Kingdom, and for now, Will’s concern was allotted to the pathetic man who had now come to a panting halt in front of him.

A drop of blood splattered to the ground at his feet and mixed to pinkish sludge in the dirt. With a rather disgusting snuffle, the man exclaimed: “My wife! My wife! You have to help us, please!!”

Will was stepping forward to address the poor man, but a hand on his shoulder caused him pause. With the slightest of willful pressures, Hannibal was holding him back from drawing nearer, and Will narrowed his eyes at the templar indignantly before acquiescing to his silent request and grounding his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked his head at Hannibal and tapped his foot.

Hannibal paid Will a thin smile and stepped in front of him, his head tilting questioningly toward the hapless newcomer. Will started to roll his eyes at the templar, but he was distracted when the sunlight hit against a swath of his fine, silvery-blond hair. For days and days, Hannibal had neglected to wear his templar’s helmet, and Will couldn’t help but wonder if this was the reason why, for it was unfairly distracting, especially in the glow of the sun, and when it caught Will’s attention now and again, it could be difficult trying to redirect that attention to anything else.

But on this occasion, Will was instantly redirected to the troubles of the miserable soul sobbing before him as he cried out, “Our wagon tipped over and my wife is trapped beneath it. Please, can you help us?!”

“Where is she?” asked Hannibal.

The man turned back his head and pointed down the road from which he’d sprinted. “Just around the corner, ser. Please, will you help us?” His voice was pure panic, his pointing finger trembling.

Hannibal touched a gauntleted hand to the man’s shoulder. “Pardon me for a moment, please,” he said, and then he turned back to his companions, leading them away with a telling twitch of his eye, waiting until their speech could not be overhead to address them. He looked up at Will, Katz, and Alana, eyes dark as they shone through rogue strands of distracting hair.

“What do we think?” he asked in a voice so low and intimate that Will felt the burgeoning of a blush.

Katz peeked over their bowed heads at the man for a moment before turning back. She shrugged, sighed, and then said, “It’s a trap.”

Will’s eyebrows knitted together in uncertainty. “What? Why is it a trap?”

Alana gave Will a pitying look. “It’s a trap,” she agreed.

Will looked to the templar beseechingly. “But he’s injured,” he reasoned, trying to muck through the evidence. “His wife…”

“I’m afraid I must agree with Katz and Alana,” Hannibal said. “This appears to have all the makings of a deception.” He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “That does not mean, however, that we should not offer this man our assistance.”

“What?” Will asked, surprised. “And walk right into the trap?”

“If we have a plan, Will, we should easily be able to overthrow whatever awaits us,” Hannibal replied kindly, making Will’s blood run hot.

“What do we think?” asked Katz with a chipper of excitement. “Bandits?”

“Perhaps,” replied Hannibal.

Will listened to them chatter conspiratorially for a moment, feeling woefully inexperienced. He knew nothing of bandits and highwaymen. He knew nothing that wasn’t written in one of the tower’s tomes. Frustrated and hurt of feelings, Will pulled away from their huddle with an exaggerated huff of irritation and began straight for the bloody-nosed man, ignoring the templar’s touch to his wrist.

The man’s eyes were watering and he blubbered anew as Will approached. “Please, ser! Will you help?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Will. “Lead us to your wife.”

The man steepled his hands in front of his face and shut his eyes in a quiet prayer. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” He turned and began trotting down the road. “It’s this way. Please! Quickly!”

Without turning to see if his companions were following, Will ran after the man. He could hear the heavy clanks of the templar’s armor close behind, and Alana’s exasperated sigh. If they wanted to head into a bandit trap, fine. But if the man was telling the truth and his wife was really crushed beneath a wagon, then they should come to her aid immediately. One way or another, Will was anxious for…something. After three days of uneventful walking, an itch was spreading beneath his skin. He didn’t want to stand in a huddle and talk things through, he wanted to run and feel his heart pumping. So he chased after the man with little to no thought to possible consequences, until he was led off road, between a smattering of large boulders, and into a little clearing. A clearing that had no wagon and no wife crushed beneath it. He heard his companions trudging up behind him as the man turned to face them, a wicked smile on his face. He wiped the flow of blood from his upper lip and banished it to a stain on his trousers.

“Hey, Dimmond!” the man called out, eyes thrust upward to the boulders. “Don’t need to hit me so hard next time. These idiots would have followed me anyway!”

Katz groaned and pressed a hand over her face. “Trap,” she whispered in Will’s ear.

“Yeah, I got that.” He followed the man’s gaze, turning to look over their heads, to the man, no, the elf that was standing atop a boulder with hands on his hips and double daggers at his waist. He was smiling winningly and gazing down at the victims of his trap, who were essentially surrounded. More bandits stepped up with cruel grins on the boulders, and Will gripped his staff. They were surrounded by at least a dozen bandits, all with the advantage of higher ground, save the one in front of them who was chuckling and wiping more blood from his dripping nose.

“I’ll take every opportunity to punch you in the face, my friend!” laughed the elf called Dimmond.

A number of the surrounding bandits laughed at their apparent leader’s claim, but one was scowling down at Will and the others, who had formed a tight circle in the center of the clearing, hands hovered over sword hilts and staffs. “Wait a second,” the bandit bemoaned, this one human. “I thought he said there was only two of ‘em! I count four!”

Dimmond threw back his head with a guffaw. “Excellent powers of observation, my fellow! Four, indeed!” Like lightning, his twin blades were suddenly flourished. “Let’s cut down that number, shall we?”

The dagger sailed through the air, spiraling at such boastful speed that Will didn’t even see it until it ricocheted off Hannibal’s raised vambrace, right in front of his chest. The dagger fell in the grass, and, for a few moments of calculating silence, none moved. Then Dimmond cocked his head, long flow of hair catching in a breeze and fluttering about his face mischievously. “Brilliant,” he said, and everything that happened after that happened quickly and all at once.

Will slammed down his staff, mana bubbling over, his skin bustling to burst with contained heat. Flames whipped wild, catching around the bandits’ feet. They jumped and howled in pain and surprise.

Katz ducked a loosed arrow, rolling to her feet with the elf’s dropped dagger in hand. She landed, balanced on one raised knee, and sent the blade flying through the air. The bandit who had shot his arrow met his match with a blade buried in his throat.

Alana waved her thorny-edged staff through the air, knocking the bandits off balance feet with an invisible force. A few toppled from the boulder tops, and a few fell face-first into the flames licking at their heels.

Hannibal unsheathed his sword in a graceful sweep, arriving in an instant at the bloody-nosed man’s side. He grimaced, grabbed the man’s knife-wielding wrist and twisted. The bone snapped, the man cried, and Hannibal plunged the tip of his blade into the man’s belly, pushing in until hilt met flesh. His metallic boot kicked at the speared man’s groin, and he slid him off his sword, letting him fall in a ruined pile at his feet.

In seconds, the fallen bandits met either sword or staff, and the remaining assailants atop the boulders smoldered in the summoned firestorm. Katz was pressing the edge of her blade against the lone survivor’s throat before long. The elf, the apparent leader, had been blasted off the boulder with Alana’s gusting spell, and his face was smudged with soot from Will’s flames. Katz pressed the blade harder, coaxing a drop of blood from beneath the skin.

“Just one left,” she breezed. “Let’s cut down that number, shall we?”

The elf tensed beneath the weapon and his eyes blazed. “Oh, but you don’t want to kill me,” he said. He tried to laugh, but when the movement made his throat press further against Katz’s blade, he stopped, squirming on his back as if he could recede into the ground to escape his fate.

“Shut up, bandit,” Katz spat.

“But, you see, I’m not a bandit,” said the elf. “I’m an assassin.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Hmm, I wonder who hired me to kill you?”

Katz kicked him. “What are you talking about?” Sword still angled at the elf’s neck, her eyes flew up to look at Will, who had walked up to her side. Hannibal crouched next to the elf and slowly wiped his gory blade on the green grass.

“I believe we’ve caught ourselves a Crow,” Hannibal said. He shifted closer to their hostage and grabbed his jaw, yanking his head toward him. Will bit his lip at the dominant display, riveted by the sight of the templar manhandling someone else for a change. Armored fingers dug harshly into the elf’s cheeks.

“An Antivan Crow?” asked Katz.

Alana, who had been busy rummaging through the scattered dead bodies, looting for coins and other supplies, perked up at Katz’s question. She stood and wiped a few blades of grass from her black leather leggings. “Antivan Crows mean business,” she said coolly as she walked with swaying hips towards the elf. She gently laid her hand over Katz’s wrist, making her draw her sword away from the assassin’s neck. “Don’t kill him. Yet.”

Hannibal squeezed the elf’s face with his hand. “Who are you working for?”

The elf rolled his eyes, which made Hannibal jerk his jaw sharply. “Ah, ouch, stop bruising my face, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Will kneeled down beside Hannibal and lightly touched his shoulder. “Let him go, Hannibal.”

The templar snarled in dissatisfaction, but speedily released the elf from his iron grip. The elf, still on his back, rubbed at his jaw, working it back and forth. His skin was peppered with red finger marks. He set a dreamy gaze on Will and smiled. Will was slightly taken aback, for it was an extremely attractive smile. But Will could also sense impatience radiating from the others, so he cleared his throat and continued.

“Who are you?”

“I am Dimmond, of the Antivan Crows.”

Will crinkled his brow. He’d never heard of Antivan Crows. He looked askance at Hannibal.

“The Crows are Thedas’ most infamous gang of skilled assassins,” the templar supplied helpfully.

Will nodded and looked back down at the grinning killer. “Dimmond,” he said, “who hired the Crows to kill us?”

“I would love to tell you, but I’m going to need something in return.”

Will heard Katz sigh somewhere behind him, but he ignored her and pressed on. “What do you want?”

Dimmond appeared pleased, and his reply was sly. “It pains me to admit, but clearly I have failed my objective. If you let me go, I will become the next target, as is the savage custom of the Crows. But,” he continued, his eyes sparkling, “if you let me join you, not only will I tell you who hired me, I will help you defeat them.”

“I notice your possible scenarios don’t include us running you through with a blade,” Katz snarked from over Will’s shoulder, “when, to me, that’s looking like the best option.”

“You could kill me,” Dimmond said, sounding unbothered by the prospect. “But then you’ll never know who sent me.” He smiled again, that wide, charming smile, and Will could feel Hannibal bristling beside him.

“If we promise to let you live, you’ll tell us what you know?” Will asked. The elf nodded. “How will we know you’re not lying?”

“What reason would I have to lie? The Crows will kill me if we meet again. That pretty much puts a damper on my loyalty.”

Will glanced around to the others, but he already had a grim feeling that the decision would be his to make. Briefly, he weighed the options, and then he reached his reluctant verdict. “Fine. We won’t kill you.”

“Not right away,” Katz added moodily.

“Now tell us what you know,” demanded Will.

“I thank you,” Dimmond exhaled, releasing a buildup of tension Will hadn’t realized the elf had been holding. “Teyrn Mason is your man.”

The name made Will recoil. He stood, Hannibal with him, and they exchanged heated looks. “Mason?”

“That has to be a mistake,” Katz exclaimed. “Why would the Teyrn of Denerim want us dead?”

Dimmond, still flat on his back, lifted a hesitant finger. “Can I stand up without any of you trying to cut off my head?” They glared at the assassin, but made no move to slaughter him, so he rolled off his back, groaning softly, and clambered to his feet. Upright, he combed a hand through his thick, shoulder length hair, snowy at the temples, and bowed to his watchers. “Mason has declared all Grey Wardens enemies of Ferelden. The two of you,” he whipped his finger between Katz and Will, “in particular.”

The Wardens gawked at one another. “Why would he say that?” asked Will.

“According to the eccentric gentleman with the unfortunate hair and penchant for molesting alienage elves,” continued Dimmond, smile twisting with distaste, “you fled the field of battle and deserted King Frederick. He’s dead because of you, and if Mason hadn’t had the cleverness to retreat when he did, there would be no army left in Ferelden to stand against the Blight. Naughty Wardens.”

“That lying, crazy son of a bitch!” Katz’s hands were balled into fists as she paced the clearing. “It was Mason that quit the field! We lit that blighted signal fire and nearly died doing it! He’s the coward who abandoned Jack and King Frederick to die. And now he has the audacity to accuse US?”

Will had his head in his hands. He thought back to just a handful of days ago when he and Hannibal had met the Teyrn. His behavior had been erratic, strange, and they’d walked away with worried glances, certain the man was mad. So Will didn’t find it hard to believe the truth had been twisted and the fault aimed at them, but he still felt revolted by it. He felt unclean. With a word, Mason had sullied the Warden name. And he had sent assassins after them, to boot. Like Keeper Tobias had sought the heart of the one who knew the truth, so Mason set the Crows after the Wardens. All two of them.

“So Mason thinks his army is all that stands between Ferelden and the Blight?” Will asked Dimmond.

“That’s right,” he replied. “And he has the backing of the Queen Regent.”

Katz groaned. “Oh, I forgot about her.”

“Who?” asked Will.

“With King Frederick dead, the rule falls to his wife. She’s Regent until the coronation can be made official,” she answered. “And it just so happens that Frederick’s wife is also Mason’s sister.”

Will frowned at the thought of a female Mason.

“And the Queen Regent, she’s allowed this rumor to spread?” Hannibal asked.

“Queen Margot’s husband is dead and she has no one but her mad hat brother whispering murder in her ear,” said Dimmond.

“This is a mess,” moaned Katz, still pacing frantically. “What do we do?”

“We do exactly what we set out to do,” said Alana, stepping forward and snaring everyone’s eyes. “Mason might be trying to convince the world you’re traitors to the crown, but we know the truth. We have the treaties. We’ve already received promise of aid from the werewolves. I say forget Mason, forget Queen Margot, and stay focused on the plan.” She paused, hands on her hips, and Will couldn’t help but smile. Maker was she fierce. “Katz, how far away is Orzammar?”

“Three days if we pretend sleep is for losers,” offered Katz.

“Hannibal, how are we on supplies?”

“Our stock is plentiful. The Dalish proved posthumously helpful, if nothing else,” responded the templar, patting the pack over his shoulders. They had raided the Dalish encampment before they’d left, helping themselves to water, food, and medical supplies. “We have proper provisions for the journey to the Frostbacks.”

“Then we don’t need to stop in any towns where we might be spotted along the way,” said Alana. “Nothing has changed but a few coins on our heads, and who is better at keeping their heads than we?”

After a moment of soaking in the apostate’s words, Dimmond began a slow clap. “The lot of you are fantastic,” he said. “It is an honor to join your party. Truly. I feel very inspired. Does anyone have a quill and ink?”

“Whoa, back up, Crow,” Katz harrumphed. “Who invited you?” She glanced uncertainly at Will. “Did we invite him?”

“I don’t believe we made it that far in our discussion,” replied Hannibal, taking such a forceful step in Dimmond’s direction that the elf did a little dance backwards in his effort to escape. “Why would an ex-Antivan Crow wish to travel with us?” Hannibal’s words were a deep, menacing rumble.

“Didn’t I explain it before, when my life was flashing before my eyes?” asked Dimmond with a put upon sigh. “When a Crow fails his assignment, his head is next on the chopping block. I’m a walking dead man. But I figure my odds are slightly improved by joining forces, and,” he said, that sly smile returning as he surveyed Will, “I doubt I’d be able to find a more forceful group to join forces with than you.” He winked. “Did I mention I’m incredible with a dagger?”

“So incredible that it took two seconds to get you on your back?” asked Katz.

“Oh, darling,” Dimmond smirked, “if you really wanted it, it’d take less time than that to get me on my back.”

“Alright,” said Will, “we’ve wasted enough time trading quips. Dimmond, we could use another set of blades. But do you see this templar?” Will pointed at Hannibal, who was standing stalwart beside him, the world’s scariest bodyguard. “If you do anything he doesn’t like, he’ll have no qualms killing you.” He glanced at Hannibal. “Right?”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at the elf. “Right.”

“Good,” said Will. “Now let’s finish looting these bodies and get moving.”

 

--

 

Despite Katz’s stubborn insistence that ‘sleep was for losers,’ she was the first one to beg they stop for the night. After doing a thorough job of griping her about it, they deterred from the Imperial Highway, walking until they found a grove of trees that would conceal their campfire from searching eyes. And even though the majority was aware that Will could easily light the fire on his own, they were all happy to set up their bedrolls and unbuckle their gear while sticking Dimmond with the task. He didn’t exactly fumble with the flint, but a few choice expletives came from his direction before the fire was crackling with success.

Alana was showing Katz which native herbs would pair best with the stew they were making Dimmond cook when Will walked a few paces away, turning his face from the fire and closing his eyes.

“Will?”

He laughed weakly, eyes still closed, completely unsurprised that he had been followed. “I’m alright, Hannibal. I just needed a moment.”

He felt the templar’s presence moving closer, until they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. “You acted rashly this afternoon.” Hannibal’s words weren’t said with specific inflection. They were even, lulling, and peaceful. “You became angry and ran headfirst into danger. Why?”

Finally, Will looked, opening his eyes to peer at the man beside him. He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Hannibal stared unblinkingly at him until Will sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I was…envious.”

Hannibal tilted his head, the moonlight catching a glow on his damned silken hair. “I would have proposed you were suffering from embarrassment.”

“Right, thanks,” Will breathed, rubbing at his temples with a finger. “It’s just…”

“What, Will?” Hannibal turned to face him directly and demanded Will’s straying eyes. “Have we not been through enough together to indulge in confidences?”

Will examined the man who continued to save his life repeatedly. He wondered if the templar had ever had a hand in protecting him when they had been in the tower together. He tried to think back to the very first time he’d noticed him, trailing him dutifully in the stone hallways. But he couldn’t remember. “I was sent to the tower when I was six,” Will said softly, barely above a whisper. “My life was restricted in Lothering, between my house and the few steps it took to reach the tavern. And once the Circle had me…my world became even smaller. There are things…outside…that I never expected to see, and even more things I never knew existed.” He shrugged uncomfortably, keeping his eyes focused in the middle distance past Hannibal’s shoulder, so he wouldn’t have to meet those sharp eyes. “I know spells and I know my histories. But I can’t help but feel lost when it comes to…almost everything else.” Why? Why was he still talking? He couldn’t stop. “And the rest of you look at me and expect me to make all of these decisions, life-altering, world-shaping decisions, and I don’t know why.”

“Look at me, Will,” said Hannibal, and once again Will was drawn to his eyes. The templar’s body was backlit from the fire, making his entire outline glow. “How long have we been traveling together?”

“Uh,” Will mumbled, trying to quickly reckon the time in his head. He squinted, unsure. “Almost two weeks.”

Hannibal smiled. “Fourteen days free of your circular prison for the first time in fourteen years, and in that scant time you’ve joined the Grey Wardens, fought for your homeland, survived a lethal arrow wound, and conscripted a pack of werewolves to fight the Blight. You’ve accomplished more in the past two weeks than most will accomplish their entire lives.” Hannibal stepped toward him and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. “The holes in your knowledge are no fault of your own, and you’re filling them with admirable speed. You are smart, Will, and you are capable. And that is why the others look to you.”

Will dipped his head slightly, and looked up at Hannibal through a tumble of curly hair. “And why do you look to me?”

The hand on his shoulder smoothed down his arm and squeezed. “Where else would I possibly wish to look?” Slowly, he brought his hand away. “You are young,” the templar told him, “but do not mistake your youth for lack of wisdom.”

Will brought the cool back of his hand to his cheek and tried to calm his heart. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

To his relief, Hannibal did not linger, but gave Will a gracious smile before heading back to the fire. Will turned when he heard a loud roll of laughter. Dimmond was juggling his double daggers in the air, Katz was –rather unsuccessfully- attempting to copy him, and Alana was lying out on her bedroll, laughing at the both of them. Will smiled and watched Hannibal’s broad back as he took his place beside the others and accepted a mug from Alana. The scene looked so relaxed, and it tugged at something in Will’s chest he couldn’t quite place. But he wasn’t ready to join them. Not yet. With a sigh, he turned away again, and looked up at the sky. The stars were bright and the air was crisp. So many nights Will had stared, sleepless, up at the apprentice dormitory ceiling and wished he could see what he was seeing now.

“Beautiful.”

Will jumped, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Dimmond behind him. He gave him a withering look, but the elf just strutted up to his side and grinned.

“The stars are beautiful, too, I guess,” he added with a devilish wink.

Will rolled his eyes. “Did you need something?” Will asked, aware he was being entirely rude and not caring.

“Funnily enough, I came over here to ask if there was anything I could do for you.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t think for a minute I don’t realize what you did for me today,” said Dimmond, eyes twinkling in a very specific way that had Will taking a step back. “And I thought, maybe, you’d allow me to show you my gratitude. And I have…big gratitude.”

Will’s head was angled, eyes squinted, and then, suddenly, with a gasp, he realized what ‘big gratitude’ Dimmond was referring to. “Oh!” he said, stupidly loud. He saw Hannibal’s head perking up from the fire and turning to check on him. Will laughed uncomfortably and waved at Hannibal, signaling that he was fine.

Dimmond was laughing at him, and Will wanted to throw himself into a darkspawn horde. “My apologies,” he said on an easy exhale. His face was bright with amusement. “I didn’t realize you were already involved. I mean, I thought maybe you might be, but I had to give it a try, didn’t I? Enticing creature like you?”

Through the sudden dryness plaguing his throat, Will’s next words were pitiable squeaks. “Involved?”

“The mage and his templar-honey,” continued Dimmond dreamily. “Quite the romantic tale behind that, I’ll bet.” He leaned in close. “Maybe you’ll give me the details some time, hmm?”

“Hannibal and I aren’t…,” Will floundered, but Dimmond was already turning back for the fire, still laughing.

He threw Will an infuriating smile. “Come on, the food’s ready, and your sweetheart’ll get worried if you don’t eat. And then probably flay me alive.”

Will waited long enough to control the red in his cheeks, took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe his blasted nerves, and then followed Dimmond back to the fire.

 

--

 

The demon was waiting for him when he slipped into the Fade.

“Your blush is magnificent,” it purred in his ear, instantly pressed to Will’s back. Its long arms slinked around his waist, slotting their bodies harmonically. Will could hear it scenting the air, and then its nose pressing into his neck and breathing in. “Your heart is racing, sweet boy.” Taloned tips delicately scraped across his throat’s pulse point. “What has your body so reactive, my love, that you would remain effected here, with me?”

Its words only increased Will’s fluttering heartbeat. He had gone to sleep beside the fire, shortly after they’d shared the pot of stew. The food was awful, but Will had felt happy, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, his bent knee brushing with occasional innocence against Hannibal’s. As he’d tucked himself beneath the covers and shut his eyes, he’d heard Hannibal’s voice, informing the others that he would take first watch. When sleep had overtaken him, Will had Hannibal’s image in his head, imagining the templar watching over him while he slept. And now, in the Fade, his blush was prominent and the demon was holding him tight, and he knew that, where his sleeping body lay, Hannibal still watched.

“You travel with fresh blood,” the demon rasped with hot lips against Will’s neck. “Does the assassin excite you?”

Will turned in its arms and brought his hands up against the demon’s chest, lifting his head to gaze into its black eyes. “No.”

“Ah, I see,” replied the demon sweetly. Its fingers raked through Will’s hair and beckoned him closer. Will sighed and rested his head on its lean chest. “It is the templar that has aroused you.”

Will licked his lips. “No,” he answered, and the arms around his waist squeezed.

“No? The templar’s eyes drinking in your sleeping figure does not have your blood rushing with want?” Its hand traced over Will’s hip. “This does not belong to him?” The demon cupped its slender palm against the swelling between Will’s thighs.

Will gasped, bucking helplessly against the demon’s warm hand. He hadn’t realized he’d grown hard, but now the sensation was overpowering, and he pushed and rubbed against the demon’s too-gentle touch. “Please,” he whispered, oblivious to the truth of his begging.

“Tell me, Will,” the demon whispered in his ear, “how much you love it when he watches you.” Its fingers tickled softly over his length, offering no relief and Will whimpered in protest.

“It’s not,” he panted pathetically, “like that between us. He only wants,” Will paused, groaning as the demon lifted his fingers completely, “to protect me, to help me.”

“Is that what you think, my love?” The hand that had abandoned its teasing strokes came to smooth beneath Will’s chin, tilting back his head. “You do not think it strange that a templar, a servant of the Chantry, has forsaken his sacred duty in order to loan you his strength?”

Will’s head was spinning. He had thought about it, of course he had thought about it. In the back of his mind, it was always there, the wonder, the questions. “You told me to let him help me,” he managed, trying to grind against the demon, his bare skin sliding across black, leathery flesh.

“Shhh, I know, my sweet boy,” it said, pressing a kiss to Will’s canted head. “I only wish for you to be as honest with yourself as you are with me.” Both its hands framed Will’s pinkened face and it dipped its antlered head. “He makes you feel, Will,” it whispered. Its mouth was so close to Will’s. “Tell me he does.”

Will throbbed painfully, mind so muddled all he could do was comply. “He does,” he gasped, “he does.”

The demon smiled, and then brushed his lips against Will’s in a chaste kiss. “Who does, my love?” it asked, nuzzling against his cheek.

“H-Hannibal,” Will moaned, breathless and writhing in the demon’s embrace.

“Mmm, yes,” it said, and then it bit into the sensitive crook where neck met shoulder, and Will’s eyes spasmed to a close.

Chapter 11: A Foolproof Proving

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far. Your comments and kudos are so appreciated. I'm still hoping to finish this story before the end of November, but I'm only halfway through my outline!! Fingers crossed my brain can hang in long enough to complete my goal! Love to you all. Stay safe. <3

Oh, and come tumble with me! http://artbyvictoriaskye.tumblr.com/

To travel to the West, skirting the northern edges of Lake Calenhad, was to be faced with the mist-veiled image of the Circle Tower. Will shrugged the cloak around his shoulders that Alana had fashioned him from the pelts of a wolf. He hadn’t asked her when she’d had time, but accepted it eagerly, thankful for the added shield against the cold. The Frostback Mountains were not far, and soon the snow would blanket thick beneath their boots, but for the time being, the grass was green and plush and Will rested upon it, sipping from the canteen that the templar had handed him. He watched the tower that had been his home and prison, as if waiting for it to transform before his eyes, perhaps spring legs and run for him, to try and recapture the mage it had lost.

An icy chill spread between his shoulder blades and he shivered, eyes wide upon the ominous tower rising up from the center of the lake. When he had discovered their path to Orzammar would lead them past the Circle, his instincts had tensed every muscle, and a sweat had broken upon his brow, while a thousand what-ifs ran rampant in his head. What if his companions had decided he couldn’t be trusted and they were going to send him back across the lake in the little rowboat? What if Hannibal had never rejected his oaths as a templar, but had only been biding his time until he could believably coax Will’s return to the tower? Now, he sat in the grass, safely across the lake, and knew his fears had been unwarranted. Hannibal, who must have detected the panic in Will’s eyes at the sight of the distant tower on the horizon, had ‘borrowed Will for a moment,’ and they’d walked together along the tree line, collecting fire wood while the others set up camp for the night. Will’s hands had shaken as he reached for a dry bit of twig, and Hannibal had caught his wrist. Will’s lips parted in surprise as the templar brought his captured hand to rest against his armor-plated chest. Hannibal still wore his gauntlets and the metal was cold against the heat of Will’s hand.

“Calm your worries, my friend,” Hannibal had said. “The Circle of Magi is not our destination today.” Will had nodded dumbly, too distracted by the templar’s intimate touch and soothing voice to argue his hesitance, and Hannibal had smiled, releasing Will’s hand, but maintaining their close distance. “But Will, the treaty calls for the aid of the Circle, and we would be amiss to let our fears prevent us from seeking their help.”

Will had licked his lips, suddenly dry from the chilly wind coming off the lake. “I know,” he had admitted, letting his gaze roam to the sparkling surface of the water. “I know we’ll have to return to this place and ask the First Enchanter for help.” The mere mention of the idea had his hands shaking. “Just not today, please.” Somehow, Will had masked this eventuality from himself until that moment. Of course their quest would return them to the tower. Of course he would be forced to re-enter the walls from which he had barely escaped alive, and make demands of the mage who, for basically his entire life, had been the ultimate authority. He gulped, but he had nodded, too, for it was an inevitable thing he would have to accept as necessity. Just not today. Please.

“I will be with you every step, Will,” Hannibal had assured him as he bent down to scoop a bundle of branches into his arms. “You need not fear.”

The remainder of their firewood expedition had been mostly silent, but Will had returned feeling impossibly better, and once they’d stacked their timber, he’d waved his hand over the pit, setting it alight. And now he sat on the grass, warmed by the flames, and looked out upon the lake at the lurking tower, and he felt the templar at his side, and he drank from his canteen with no worries. Of course, the Circle of Magi was not the only presence to be fearful of in these perilous days, for their party in particular, and it was not long at all before Will’s rare peace of mind was shattered.

He stood after their shared supper and excused himself politely, declaring he needed to relieve himself. After a number of awkward moments when Hannibal had tried to follow Will on like occasions, he’d had to solicit help from Alana and Katz to chill the templar’s desire to watch out for him in these ‘most vulnerable times’. Following an argument about nervous bladders and a little thing called pride, Will had finally won the vote that yes, he could manage going to the bathroom by himself, and no, he would not stray far. So, as mutually promised, Hannibal remained seated when Will excused himself, and Will kept close to the camp, only walking into the shallow shadow of the closest trees, where he could still clearly hear each word from each of his companions. Katz was teasing Alana about wearing a midriff-baring top in the mountains when the hands grabbed him from behind and pressed the knife against his throat. Will froze with his fingers on the waist of his trousers, and his staff leaned uselessly against his pack, back by the fire. The breath was hot against his nape as his assailant walked him further into the forest.

“My orders are to kill you all, but the price for your head is the highest,” rasped the stranger in Will’s ear, “so I think I'll begin with you.”

The blade pressed into Will’s skin, and he felt his flesh parting beneath its path. He swallowed roughly and tried to gather his mana, but the blade was pulling, cutting, and the flow of blood down his neck brought such an unanticipated terror to Will’s chest that his mana was an untamable force within his body that he couldn’t quite capture. He sucked in a desperate breath, readying to scream for help, but the man against his back anticipated the move and smothered Will with a gloved hand, blocking the passage of air through both mouth and nostrils. “I don’t think so,” came the words, blowing moist against the back of Will’s neck while the front bled beneath the blade. “No one’s going to stop me. Don’t you know who I am?”

“Steve, is that you?”

Will heard Dimmond’s question from somewhere behind him, and then he felt a shove and fell forward onto the ground. His head spun and he clutched his hands over his throat. Heat poured over his fingers, and he rolled to his back, stunned. Above him, he saw two wrestling figures, but his vision was fuzzy, his breath gargled, and he was fading out…out…pinpricks of white….

Strong arms hooked beneath his knees and under his shoulders, and he was hoisted into Hannibal’s arms. Suddenly, Alana was there, pressing her cool palm over his throat. Will caught her eyes for a moment –concentrated, bright blue- before she closed them and began whispering softly. He shivered in the templar’s arms while her healing spell tingled over his gashed skin. Nearby, he was aware of the rustling of violence. A grunt, heavy breathing, and finally, a disturbing crack of bone, followed by a telling thud.

“Never liked him much anyway,” he heard Dimmond say. “Fancied himself an assassin with the heart of a poet, but you should have read his work. Atrocious stuff. His verse describing the finer smells of Antivan leather alone was enough reason to kill him, dastardly man.”

The sound of Katz’s bemused snicker reached Will’s ears as Alana lifted her hand from his neck. It came away bloody, and her brows were furrowed with worry, but when he brought his fingers up to the knife’s cut, it was gone, his broken skin magically sealed back together. He watched as she exchanged a curious look with Hannibal, and then his arms curled around Will even tighter and Hannibal began carrying him back to the camp, the procession of his comrades following behind.

When they neared the fire, Hannibal didn’t lay Will on the bedroll as expected, but lowered himself down onto his own blankets, keeping Will fastened in his arms. With the tingle of Alana’s magic still bringing shivers over his skin, Will couldn’t muster a refusal and decided to curl into the heat of the man holding him instead. His head was nestled in the crook of Hannibal’s arm and he cast his eyes upward to the man himself. Amber and severe, the templar’s eyes met his with an intensity that brought him a different sort of shiver. A surge of memory brought a hot blush to Will’s cheeks as he recalled his most recent foray into the Fade. The templar’s name had tumbled from his lips, the demon demanding from Will’s soul a confession he’d not yet realized he’d been hording. But he was aware of it now, aware of every point of their bodies in contact. The metal-sheathed fingers carefully supporting his head. The warmth of the lap he curved against. His shoulders shook from a hundred sensations, and Hannibal pulled him even closer. Will knew this behavior was odd, that ordinarily he would push away from the templar and claim he was fine, not to worry. But he was so tired and Hannibal felt too good. He decided it must be the aftereffects of Alana’s healing spell that had him glued in place. That must be why he was content to stay in Hannibal’s arms.

He cleared his throat, his fingers still tracing over the spot that was, only moments before, cut open. “He said,” Will tried, voice light and wavering, “that he was here to kill all of us.”

“Don’t worry, Will,” said Katz, her face appearing over Hannibal’s shoulder. “He was alone. And now he’s dead.”

“Who was he?”

Dimmond, who was stretching his legs out by the fire, dabbing at a spot of blood from his chin with a handkerchief, answered with a tinge of amusement. “Another Crow come to kill us all. I imagine they only sent a single man this time to do his wet work in the shadows, since their initial attempt at superior numbers failed so terribly.” He shook his head. “I suppose they didn’t expect for a Crow to be in your company and detect the signs of approach a mile away.”

“How did you know he was waiting in the trees for Will?” Katz asked.

“Oh,” said Dimmond with a casual wave of his hand, “he’s been tracking us all day.”

“You knew all day and didn’t tell us?” she asked, anger seeping into her voice.

“Well, I didn’t want to spook him off, did I?” replied Dimmond. “Don’t all of you give me that look. Our Will was never in danger.”

“His throat was halfway slit,” was Alana’s icy reply. Will turned his head to look at her. His blood was still on her hands.

The arms holding him tensed, and Will looked back up at Hannibal. He watched closely as the subtle shifts played out across his face. When the roulette of expressions landed in the vicinity of murderous, Will decided, with a regretful sigh, that it was time to pry himself free of Hannibal’s arms, for he could hold no authority within the group whilst cradled like a child. Hannibal didn’t constrain his attempt, opting to assist until Will was out of his lap and sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, though he kept a gentle lean against Hannibal’s shoulder. He was still weak from the healing, after all. “While I think I would have preferred a slightly quicker response with less, erm, throat cutting, Dimmond saved me,” Will said, taking a turn shooting the others a firm glance, Hannibal included. “If not for his intervention...” He nodded his head at the assassin. “Thank you.”

There was a thick tension in the air for a few moments, as they all cast hesitant glances at one another. He saw Hannibal’s fingers flexing momentarily over his sword, before meeting his eye. Will shook his head and Hannibal’s fingers crossed over his lap instead. But he didn’t look pleased. Will wasn’t especially pleased either; he was the one who had just had his throat slit, after all. But Dimmond had helped, hadn’t he? Maybe his methods were a bit contrary, but he had helped. And they were so shorthanded. Wasn’t five better than four in a fight of such importance? He wondered what the demon would say.

“Oh, it was nothing,” breezed Dimmond, as though nothing of import had just passed. He flourished a sheet of paper from his pocket. “And now we have this in our possession. I'd hoped he would have something like this on him. It's why I wanted to catch him unawares, so he'd not have time to toss it. The throat cutting bit of the plan was an accident, by the by,” Dimmond added with an apologetic shrug to Will. "Last time I saw Steve, he was a strangling sort of fellow."

Katz grabbed the paper and held it up to the light of the fire. “This is a handwritten letter.”

“A letter? From who?” asked Alana, leaning in to read over it beside Katz. Her eyes got rather larger than usual. “Oh.”

“What?” Will asked. “Who is it from? What does it say?”

Alana and Katz exchanged frowns, and then Katz said, “It’s from you, Will, and it’s a declaration that the Grey Wardens are responsible for the coming Blight.”

“What?!” He thrust out his hand and Katz handed over the letter. He held it up to his eyes, reading swiftly, and spotted his signature scrawled at the bottom. “This is a forgery!”

“Duh,” said Katz. “Looks like the Crows were setting you up.”

“The Crows only do what they are paid to do,” interjected Dimmond knowingly. “If that letter was to be a plant, you better believe Teyrn Mason was behind it.”

“It says a bunch of rubbish about how I can’t live with what I’ve done to Ferelden, and that Mason is the only hope for the fight against the Blight,” Will fumed, crumbling the letter in his hand. He tossed it in the fire.

“I suspect this Mason is truly a madman,” said Hannibal. “And it appears he suffers from cowardice, as well, sending assassins at every turn to do his dirty work. The rumor of the Grey Warden’s treason will only continue to grow,” he said. “And evidence suggests Mason is planning to take on the Blight with his Denerim army.”

Katz groaned miserably and Will, too tired to contain it, made a sound of similar resonance. “What do we do?”

He felt Hannibal’s hand wind around his waist and come to rest discreetly at his back. “We make sure we are prepared when the battle is upon us. We keep diligently to our plan.”

“Orzammar is only half a day’s journey from here,” offered Alana. “And then we’ll have the promise of the dwarven army behind our cause.”

Will nodded weakly, letting himself relax into the hand on his back. He was tired and his body felt worn, skin still tingling strangely from the healing magic. Hannibal’s voice was a whisper against his forehead as Will leaned with increasing weight against the templar in his overwhelming exhaustion. “It’s okay, Will. You can close your eyes.”

He sighed and his eyes fluttered shut at Hannibal’s permission. He felt his lips tug into a small smile at the rush of warmth enveloping him.

He did not see the expression on Hannibal’s face as he watched the assassin from across the fire.

 

--

 

Will slept soundly that night, only vaguely aware of entering the Fade and the demon cradling his head in its lap, its fingers tracing gently over the unbroken skin of his neck. And by midday on the following day, proving Alana’s prediction pleasantly accurate, Will found himself well rested and standing in the snow, wrapped snugly in his furry cloak and waiting for the dwarven doorman to let them through the bloody door.

“You don’t understand,” Katz said, her hands flying animatedly about her as she peered down to the bearded, heavily armed dwarf that came up to her waist. “We are Grey Wardens. Well, I mean, two of us are Grey Wardens,” she amended, “and we need to get in to see your king. It’s official Warden business, pertaining to our treaty.” The dwarf just stared at her. “You have to let us in.”

“I told you already,” the dwarf grumbled grumpily. “No outsiders are getting in right now. The kingdom is in the middle of a civil war.”

“And I told you already,” continued Katz hotly, “that our treaty demands an audience with your king.”

The dwarf eyed her suspiciously and stroked his long ginger beard with thick fingers. “Excuse me,” he said, and then he turned around, went through the door, and slammed it shut in Katz’s face.

She turned to face the others, flustered. “Can I kill him?”

“I’d advise against that,” said Dimmond. Then he rubbed his hands together and leered at Katz in delight. “Better if I do it.”

“No one is killing anyone,” said Will, stepping between his comically villainous companions. “I mean,” he backtracked, his own grin spreading his lips as he met Katz’s eye, “not unless we have to.”

“Ahem.” They all turned toward the doorway through which the dwarf had reappeared. Without making eye contact with any of his guests, he pushed the stone door open wider and mumbled something.

Katz cupped her hand around her ear and leaned down. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“YOU CAN COME WITH ME, WARDENS,” the dwarf yelled, and then he calmly turned away and began down a dark hallway.

“Ugh. Dwarves,” Dimmond said with an eye roll. As the others made for the doorway, - a small arch cut out of the side of the mountain - Dimmond paused. Will stopped to watch as the assassin tipped back his head and took a deep breath. “Better take a good long look at the sky while you can, my fellow,” he said in a tone far more serious than Will would have expected from the elf. “No telling when you’ll see it again.”

Will dutifully glanced up. The sky was clear and blue and forever. He breathed in the fresh mountain air, slow and deep.

“I said ‘take a look’, not ‘make love to it,’” Dimmond laughed, patting Will’s back and breaking his reverie.

Will blushed, blinked up at the blue sky once more, and then followed Dimmond through the door, into the underworld kingdom of the dwarves.

Their guide was gruff and obviously displeased by their presence, but he tolerated it, and Katz promised Will she wouldn’t kill him (unless he really deserved it). For the longest time, they merely walked, the dwarf leading them down a long stone passageway lined with torches. It briefly reminded Will of the grand hall in the Fade, but only slightly. It was cooler of temperature, with rough stone in place of smooth marble, and no black-eyed demon to whisper sweetly against his skin. Periodically, he paid Hannibal a glance and felt the heat paint his cheeks. One perk of being underground was the constant glowing cast of firelight, which did a fine job of hiding Will’s blush, but when Hannibal returned his gaze and Will stumbled distractedly, he found the firelight much too illuminating. And this time, he couldn’t blame his clumsiness on long robe hems. Hannibal reached out – of course, he did – and lightly grasped Will’s elbow. He reminded Will kindly to watch his step, and Will sputtered something nonsensical in response before reclaiming his limb. He made a point of looking straight ahead after that, even though he remained ultra aware of Hannibal’s eyes every time they cut in his direction.

After Will had tripped on his own blasted feet three times, Hannibal had grazed the small of his back once, Katz had snortled something insulting to Dimmond about his hair, and Alana had sighed in disgust on fifteen different occasions, the dwarf finally came to a halt outside a second stone door. He turned to give them each an antipathetic glower, and then pulled at a lever on the side of the nearest wall. The stone door began to slide, loud and creaky against the floor, until it had rolled completely to the side. The dwarf ushered them to follow, and he walked them into a massive hall. They had arrived.

The Kingdom of Orzammar was vast, spreading far beneath the Frostback Mountains. Only a few dwarven kingdoms remained in such a state of richness, most being destroyed during the first Blight a long, long time ago, when the darkspawn had spilled from the Deep Roads and ravished the homes of the dwarven race. But Orzammar was a thaig that still stood strong, and the entrance to its Deep Roads weas heavily patrolled, and their army was strong. Their help would be priceless against the coming Blight. That is, if they could be convinced to help. According to the grumpy guide, the path to convincing the king for assistance would be tricky, especially since, at the moment, Orzammar was “between kings.”

“Between kings?” Will asked over his mug of dwarven mead. The guide had led them straight through the Hall of Heroes and into Commons, where he'd zeroed in on the nearest bar, Tapster’s Tavern. Each had a hearty cup of drink in their hands. It all would have been very lovely if not for the disastrous spiel coming from Grumpy’s mouth. “What do you mean you’re ‘between kings’?” Will asked again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand where a sputter of mead had landed in his outraged exuberance.

The dwarf took a sloppy gulp from his mug and slammed it down to the table so hard that it sloshed over the rim and splashed Dimmond in the eye. The elf lifted a pinky finger to wipe away the deplorable speck from his otherwise spotless visage. “I meant what I said,” the dwarf began, his annoyance evident in the increasingly violent strokage of his beard. “The old king just died a fortnight ago, and now the whole kingdom is in a damned tizzy over who’s to fill his boots.”

Hannibal, who had nearly shown visible upset at the fact that Tapster’s Tavern did not actually have a wine list, dabbed the corner of his mead-suffering mouth before speaking. “My apologies; my dwarven custom is rusty, but is it not traditional for the king’s offspring to take up the mantle of ruler after a death? Was King Froideveaux a childless king?”

Grumpy sighed and bowed his head, and the tip of his beard soaked in the mead of his mug. “No,” he mumbled, depressed. “There’s Franklyn.”

Katz lifted her mug and clinked it enthusiastically against Dimmond’s, successfully splashing him with more mead. “There you go. Franklyn sounds like an excellent choice. Why isn’t he king yet?”

The dwarf’s eyes darted one way and then another, and then he leaned across the table, his beard now halfway submerged in his mead. “Franklyn’s reign has been contested by a cousin of the Froideveaux bloodline. Ordinarily, that sort of hi-jinks would be nothing more than a joke, but, the trouble is…a lot of the families are teetering, and others downright like the idea. Franklyn, you see, is not thought on to be the most…hmm, how do I put it to you?...Franklyn is, while an overall good-intentioned dwarf, not especially…he lacks a certain…” The dwarf’s sentence trailed off, his head sinking lower and lower until it rested on the edge of his mug, and then he lifted it up abruptly, tilting back his head and gulping down the entirety of the mug’s contents. His audience watched him closely, eagerly leaning in, waiting for him to continue. The dwarf slammed down his mug and fisted his beard, ringing it out on the table. “Franklyn is neurotic.”

Will sipped from his mug and carefully placed it on the table. “Neurotic?”

The dwarf nodded solemnly. “Neurotic,” he agreed.

“So neurotic,” continued Will, “that he’s incapable of being king?”

“Do you think there’d be civil upheaval throughout the kingdom if that weren’t the case? That’s the issue at hand. Keep up!”

Will felt his frustration rising. His fists balled tightly beneath the table until Hannibal lightly settled his hand across his wrist. Will balked at the intimate graze and grabbed his mug with his free hand, while the templar kept his fingers closed over his wrist beneath the table. Mirroring the dwarf, Will downed the rest of his mead in seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hannibal, squeezing his wrist gently, spoke first.

“Who is this cousin of the bloodline?” he asked.

The dwarf shifted in his chair, leaning forward on his elbows. “Gideon. A real slick son of a bitch, but smart. Really clever. As much Franklyn’s opposite as it’s possible to be. After the king died, he caused a scene in the middle of the Diamond Quarter, calling for a change. He said Franklyn would be a disaster, that he doesn’t have what it takes to lead a kingdom, and that the lot of us would be better off with someone like him in charge. A lot of us thought it was all bluster and that no one would listen, but about half of the families took an interest and have decided to back his campaign.”

“Is that not considered treasonous?” Hannibal inquired. Will’s head was bowed, looking at the large hand still wrapped around his wrist. He had un-balled his fists, but the templar wasn’t letting him go. Will’s breathing had become quite rapid, and the shame of his reaction brought on an even more shameful blush. And then Hannibal began rubbing his thumb slowly across Will’s skin, back and forth. Will gasped quietly at the sensation. Hannibal wasn’t holding him roughly or demanding the touch; his fingers were only lightly draped across his wrist. Will knew he could pull away easily, whenever he wanted. So why hadn’t he moved his hand yet?

“Usually it would be considered treason, but Gideon’s got the whole blighted kingdom turvy topsy. And he’s got his own guard keeping Prince Franklyn’s royal guard at bay for the time being. Not to mention he's hiding out somewhere in Dust Town where no one can find him.” The dwarf shook his head. “All the old rules have been tossed into the kiln, I fear. And so, as you can see, we’ve no king to help you, nor any hope of having a king to help you in the near future. If Orzammar even has chance of a future for much longer that is, what with this blasted twaddle running amuck with everyone’s good sense.”

Will, still allowing Hannibal’s thumb to stroke his skin beneath the table, glanced at his companions. They looked, to say the least, afflicted with abjection. He, on the other hand, was torn between feeling a queer calmness at the slow, comforting caress of Hannibal, and pissed off, because there was no way they’d traveled this far to be turned down. Letting his anger fuel his boldness and the calming effect of the templar’s touch keep his voice steadily professional, Will squared his shoulders and spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that times below the surface are as unsavory as times above,” he said. “But things are only going to get worse for both of us if this can’t be settled. I must insist on an audience with the would-be king.”

Grumpy shook his head. “Not possible.”

“Do you see this treaty?” asked Will, and the only thing keeping him from slamming his fist on the table was Hannibal’s soothing touch. “Katz, show him the treaty.”

Katz pulled it from her belt and unfurled it so close to the dwarf’s face his eyes crossed.

“Orzammar has a duty. You are lawfully bound to assist us in our time of need, and unfortunately for us all, the end is nigh. There’s a Blight coming, and the Grey Wardens are holding your people to their promise of aid. I don’t care if you don’t have an official king. I’ll take an audience with the unofficial king, and we can go from there.”

The dwarf sighed. “There’s no way you’ll be able to settle this matter. You’re an outsider. Grey Warden or not, it won’t matter. It’ll take a sign from the Ancestors themselves to…” The dwarf paused suddenly, his eyes sparking with a curious clarity. “Wait a second. Wait just a second.”

Will sat back a bit in his chair and waited. Hannibal’s hand on his wrist felt almost natural now, and he didn’t even consider shaking it loose. He stole a glance at the others. Dimmond winked at him. Katz, who was rolling up the scroll, rolled her eyes in annoyance at the slow-thinking dwarf. Alana was, to Will’s amusement, pouring more mead into her mug and looking fairly entertained.

Finally, after about a minute of what looked to be an intense internal debate, the dwarf stroked his beard and continued. “Your arrival might be just the intervention Orzammar needs.”

“That’s a switch,” muttered Katz beneath her breath.

“We’ve something called The Proving here in Orzammar. It’s a way for the dwarven families to settle debates and the like between each other. If you enter the Proving and win, it is considered a sign of favor amongst the Ancestors. With the approval of the Ancestors, your opinion would take on a whole new meaning, especially since you’re an outsider with a neutral position, but with the innate authority of a Grey Warden,” the dwarf said, looking pleased.

Will scowled. “I’m sorry, what’s a Proving?”

The irritated disposition of the dwarf returned. “It is a matter of great honor.”

“Okay, sure, but what is it? Will it grant us an audience with Franklyn?”

“Not only will it grant you an audience with the prince,” said the dwarf, “but it will give you the authority of the Ancestors in the eyes of our people. If you enter the Proving as a champion of Prince Franklyn and win, it will be a clear sign from the Ancestors that he is the rightful heir to the throne. It would put an end to this insanity. Or at least be a step in the right direction.”

Will, still confused, but willing to grasp onto any speck of hope, found himself unconsciously twisting his wrist in Hannibal’s hand until their fingers were clasped together. “I’ll do it.”

Hannibal’s fingers tightened, making Will realize with a shock that he had grabbed hold of his hand. Will broke the contact immediately and crossed his arms across his chest. “Will,” Hannibal said, looking a strange mixture of worried and…something else utterly unreadable, “might I suggest you avoid hastiness?”

“Suggest away, but I’m doing it,” said Will. “I have to. If it’s the only way to get this settled and have the dwarven army on our side, I have to do it, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” offered Grumpy. “You’re allowed a partner in the arena.”

Will felt everyone’s eyes on him, but he only looked at Hannibal. He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Hannibal didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he said.

Will smiled, finally turning back to the dwarf. “Hannibal and I will enter your Proofing.”

“Proving,” Alana corrected softly, followed by the demurest of hiccups.

“Hannibal and I will enter your Proving,” Will said.

For the first time, the dwarf laughed, a hearty chuckle that made his whole beard tremble. “Good. Follow me.”

 

--

 

“The Proving takes place in the Proving Grounds, a battle arena in the center of the Commons,” explained Grumpy as he led them down the stone-paved road. They were in the heart of the dwarven city, the hub of their civilization, and dwarves moved about them freely, going about their daily business. There were market booth venders selling food and clothes and jewelry. It was all, at first glance, nothing out of the ordinary, except that they were in an underground city full of dwarves, of course. But as they walked on, Will began to notice that most of the dwarves he saw on the street were clustered in pockets. A few were even holding signs, scrawled with what he could only appropriately term as rude political blather. With special care of his senses, he could detect fragility in the air, and the unmistakable waft of panic, anger, and fear. He was well-acquainted with those feelings, was feeling a few of them himself at the moment. And once he took notice, the divide between the noble families of Orzammar became more and more obvious. The groups of dwarves held hate in their eyes for one another, and the animosity of the atmosphere was almost chokingly unbearable by the time they arrived at what Grumpy called, with a proud stroke of his beard, the Proving Grounds.

They had to pass over a long, platform bridge to reach the building itself, and then walk down a set of stone steps once inside, until they were in a large octagonal room filled with weapon racks and armor stands. A dwarf spotted them from across the room and rushed forward. Grumpy – Will really needed to ask for his actual name – took the other dwarf’s arm and led him away to the corner where they began speaking quietly. Will was on the cusp of turning to the others and asking one of them nonchalantly if they had any idea what he’d gotten himself into, since he was more than a little hazy in that regard, when Grumpy and the other dwarf headed back in their direction and came to a purposeful stop before Will.

“Prince Franklyn has been contacted and is thrilled to have you acting as his champion, Grey Warden,” said the Proving Grounds dwarf. “The Proving will begin as soon as you and your partner step into the arena.”

“Right. Okay,” said Will.

“And don’t forget a weapon!” the dwarf said. “You’ll need it. I’ll be waiting to announce you by the arena door when you’re ready.” The dwarf ran off toward a double set of doors on the opposite side of the room.

Will watched, a feeling of foreboding knotting his stomach. He looked at the others, appropriately dumbfounded, and then at Hannibal, who was awaiting his glance with a thin smile.

“Not a big deal, Will,” Katz chirped unconcernedly, slapping her hand on Will’s back. “You just gotta go in there, probably kill something, and earn the approval of some Ancestors. Cakewalk.”

“Kitty-Katz is right. You’ll be in and out in mere minutes,” added Dimmond with a careless flip of his hair and winning smile. “Totally not a life threatening situation you’ve landed yourself in.”

“If you call me Kitty-Katz again I will end you,” said Katz, “but seriously, Will, it’ll be fine.”

Alana hiccupped and Will threw her a worried glance. She looked paler than usual. How much mead had she drunk? She stepped toward him and put one hand on Will’s shoulder and one on Hannibal’s. “Don’t die.”

Will gave them each a weak smile and then felt Hannibal’s hand close around his elbow and lead him toward the arena doors. About halfway through what could only be called a weapons room, he stopped, spinning Will around to face him. “Allow me this final offer of withdrawal, Will,” he whispered, eyes blazing. “You need not do this. There are other means of influence that do not so directly involve risking your life.”

“I know,” Will said, feeling guilty. Hannibal had asked him not to make such rash decisions, and he’d turned right around and agreed to a Proving, something he had little to no information on and which probably didn’t involve cuddling mabari puppies and eating pie. “But Hannibal, we’re running out of time. And without the help of the dwarves…I could risk dying here or definitely die later when our army isn’t enough to stop the Blight.”

Hannibal sighed, and then, to Will’s astonishment, brought his hand up to gently cup Will’s face. He blushed wildly, knowing the others must still be watching. But he didn’t move away. He held his breath as Hannibal’s thumb stroked gently over the flesh of his ear. “You are determined to save the world, aren’t you?” Will blinked and bit at his lower lip, not knowing what else to do with his face, not with Hannibal examining him so closely. Sensing his discomfort, the templar removed his hand a moment later and stepped away, hand closing over the pommel of his greatsword. “After you.”

Will nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. He gripped his staff tight and walked with Hannibal the rest of the distance to the double doors, where the dwarf was awaiting them.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Hannibal quirked a pale eyebrow at Will, and Will took a deep breath. “Ready.”

“May the Ancestors be with you,” answered the dwarf, and he opened the doors.

Will stepped through first and his feet hit dirt. Hannibal walked through after him, and then the doors slammed shut. The clicking of the lock was audible and hugely disconcerting. They had stepped into a true arena, a massive ring with a stadium stretched high above it. The benches were filled with dwarves, and in the highest seat, in the center, was, Will deduced, Prince Franklyn. He was so high up, Will had to squint to make out any features at all, but he looked a jolly-faced dwarf, a tad rotund, with a big black beard and big eyes. Will was still straining for a better look when the megaphone crackled and a voice boomed, bouncing with incredible volume throughout the arena.

“ENTERING THE ARENA AS PRINCE FRANKLYN’S CHAMPION IS WILL, A GREY WARDEN. ACTING AS HIS RIGHT HAND IS HIS CLOSE FRIEND HANNIBAL.”

Will glanced at Hannibal, who shrugged and flashed him a smile, an amused twinkle in his eyes. Will gulped and held his staff out in front of him. Then he heard a slam and turned around. Double doors on the opposite end of the arena had opened and closed and walking toward the center of the ring were two dwarves carrying formidable, double sided axes.

Okay. That was doable. He and Hannibal could handle two dwarves, no problem. He nodded to Hannibal and they walked, side by side, to the center of the arena, stopping a few yards away from their dwarven opponents.

“THE WINNER IS THE TEAM LEFT BREATHING.”

Will whipped his head to the templar beside him. “This is to the death?”

Hannibal’s head tilted, strands of silverish hair sweeping over his forehead. “Don’t worry, Will. It will be their deaths, not ours.”

“ON THE COUNT OF THREE.”

Will moved closer to Hannibal’s side, and Hannibal unsheathed his sword, angling it toward the dwarves, who were spinning the handles of their axes in their hands so quickly they blurred.

“ONE…”

Will’s eyelids fluttered as he concentrated. His mana gathered hot and volatile in his core.

“TWO…”

His palms were warm, and his fingers clasped tight against his staff. He heard a rumble from Hannibal and stole a glance. The templar’s lips were parted in a snarl. Will’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“THREE!”

A loud horn blared throughout the arena, and the crowd erupted in hollers. Will swirled his staff over his head and slammed it in front of him, a line of fire sweeping to the feet of the dwarf directly ahead. But the dwarf dropped and rolled in front of the flames, popping back up to his feet and throwing his double-sided axe straight for Will’s abdomen. Will blocked it deftly with an angling of his cherry wood staff and quickly thanked the First Enchanter for its sturdiness, for the axe was deflected and it dropped to the dirt at Will’s feet. The dwarf bellowed and charged, leaping into the air and kicking Will square in the chest.

Will fell onto his back and the crowd’s answering roar was deafening. He barely had time to register the landed kick when the dwarf, who had scooped up his axe in Will’s daze, was standing over him with his teeth bared menacingly. Will, unaccustomed to fighting on his back, crawled backward beneath him but the dwarf was already lifting its axe.

And then- Maker! – Hannibal kicked the dwarf and he sailed through the air a few feet before landing with a hard thud on the ground. In the next moment, Hannibal reached for Will’s hand and hauled him to his feet. Will was reminded of their fight in the Lothering tavern, and it brought an untimely smile to his face. He thought he caught a flash of the templar’s returning grin, but he was already turning back around, spinning gracefully into the second dwarf at his back, his greatsword a shining arc of mastery. Allowed the second’s respite from Hannibal’s intervention, Will watched him fight the dwarf. Though half the height of Hannibal, the dwarf was well-muscled and solid, and he heaved his axe like it’d been born a part of his body. But he was still no match for the templar. Hannibal was fluid steel and power, and Will had to tear his eyes away from his arms as they swung toward the dwarf with ferocity.

The kicked dwarf was up and angry, and he maintained his double-sided axe, spinning it in front of his bearded face with a grimace as he stalked back toward Will. Staff in hand, Will faced him, his dark eyebrows scrunching in concentration. The dwarf had murder in his eyes. This was a fight to the death, after all. And though it was not the same as killing darkspawn, and he knew not whether this dwarf was ‘evil’ or not, Will did know that if he didn’t kill him, the dwarf would do his damndest to kill Will. And Hannibal. At that thought, Will felt a buildup of heat under his skin. The dwarf bellowed its battle cry and Will let the mana surge through him, channeling it into his staff, until a raging fireball rocketed forth, hitting the dwarf in the chest. Will staggered to his knees from the intense release of magic, and the dwarf dropped its axe, swatting desperately at his beard, which had gone up in flames. Will panted and watched as the dwarf, unable to stop the spread of fire, slowly smoked beneath his helmet. And then, that smell hit Will’s nostrils. That smell that was becoming so familiar. Burning skin and hair. A life on fire. The dwarf screamed and screamed, beating helplessly at the flames melting his face, and from his place on the ground, kneeling, Will delivered a second, merciful blast to the dwarf. This one ended it, and the dwarf stopped screaming in pain, and collapsed to the ground. Will felt strong hands lifting him from his waist until he was standing upright, Hannibal at his side. His eyes cut downward and spied the thick coating of blood on the templar’s sword. Beyond, in two lumps on the ground, was the second dwarf, heaved in half.

They looked at one another, Will breathing hard.

“Are you hurt?” Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head and wondered if his own eyes were shining like Hannibal’s were shining. His whole body was rife with adrenaline, and all he could smell was melted flesh and blood and sweat. And he felt good.

The horn was blown once more and the voice returned with a crackling boom.

“WILL AND HANNIBAL WIN ROUND ONE.”

Will’s eyes widened, still looking at Hannibal. “Round one?”

Hannibal’s expression was fierce as his eyes focused on something over Will’s shoulder. “It appears our next combatants are arriving,” he said.

Will turned around to see what Hannibal was seeing, and there, stepping through the double doors across the arena, was a group of six dwarves. He turned back to Hannibal, mouth parted in surprise. “Six of them?”

But Hannibal didn’t look worried. “Will,” he said, stepping close and leaning in so his voice could be heard over the crowd. “When the round begins, would you please cast a firewall at their backs to keep them from retreating?” Hannibal’s voice was deep and Will could feel the warmth of his lips as they nearly brushed against his ear.

Will nodded and Hannibal smiled warmly. A rare, open mouthed smile that had Will’s knees near to knocking.

“ROUND TWO WILL BEGIN ON THE COUNT OF THREE.”

“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal said. “Now stay behind me.” He set his hand on Will’s shoulder.

“ONE…”

“Do not worry, Will,” Hannibal told him, turning back toward the six dwarves, who were lining up at the center of the arena, each with swords as broad as Hannibal’s. “I will cut off their hands before I let them touch you.”

“TWO…”

Will kept his eyes on Hannibal as he walked ahead, sword raised and legs parting in an easy stance. The dwarves readied their own swords. Will mustered his willpower, gathering the mana that roiled violently in his core.

“THREE!”

The horn sounded and Will shut his eyes, summoning the firespell. He felt his fingertips smoldering as the heat flooded from his staff, and then he allowed his eyes to open. A great wall of fire burned high behind the six dwarves, threatening their backs and making them inch forward, toward the waiting templar. Will wanted to run to Hannibal’s side, to fight beside him but after he’d taken the first step, he paused. Hannibal had asked that he stay behind him. Will bit his lip, squeezing the staff in his hand, and he watched.

This group of warrior dwarves was more heavily armed than the previous, and their swords were almost as tall as they were, with savage, serrated edges that stirred the uneasiness in Will’s stomach as he watched them creeping steadily toward Hannibal. But Hannibal, Will reminded himself, had taken down an ogre. Six dwarves were nothing compared to an ogre. Still, his heart was beating hard as he waited obediently for the first strike.

It came when the first dwarf charged. Hannibal swept his greatsword, dropping to one knee, and his blade sliced straight and true, clear through the dwarf's neck. The onlookers gasped and the dwarf’s head rolled. Hannibal hopped gracefully back to both feet and repositioned his sword, evening the blade in front of his chest.

The dwarves tried to step back and met Will’s high wall of fire that he was focusing on maintaining. His forehead was damp with the effort, but it was worth it when the dwarves couldn't fall back. The bearded warriors looked at one another, turned back to Hannibal, and then let out a joint battle cry as they rushed him all at once. But only four of the five were rushing at the templar. But one had broken away from the main charge, circled around behind Will and was barreling right for him. Will spun around at the sound of the stomping boots at his back, and he stumbled back in surprise.

His staff in hand, he tried to split his focus, so he could maintain the firewall and sent a separate blast of flame toward the dwarf closing in on his position, but it was straining and Will was beginning to feel dizzy. The dwarf was coming, closer and closer, his sword held straight out as if he meant to run Will straight through the gut.

“Get down,” said the demon’s voice inside Will’s head and, without pause, he ducked into a low crouch.

In the next breath, a sword sailed over where Will’s head had just been, and it plunged into the dwarf, sinking between his eyes. Will, shocked, spun around, still in his crouch, and saw Hannibal, a bloodied pile of dwarves surrounding him in a circle. He met Will’s eyes and leapt over the corpses, running toward him. The horn blared, and Will let his spellwork drop, and the firewall disappeared just as Hannibal was kneeling down beside him.

“WILL AND HANNIBAL WIN ROUND TWO!”

“Will,” Hannibal rasped, cradling Will’s head in his hands. “Are you injured?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” Will answered quickly. “Are you?”

Hannibal gazed at him a moment longer, as if making sure Will wouldn’t collapse if he let him go, and seemingly satisfied by something he saw, he released Will and walked to the dwarf lying dead a few feet away. Will watched as he placed his boot over the dwarf’s forehead and heaved his greatsword free from where it had embedded between his eyes. Blood spurted when the blade was removed, and Hannibal kicked the body over, facedown. The blood soaked into the dirt around the dwarf’s head.

“ROUND THREE WILL BEGIN ON THE COUNT OF THREE!”

Will took Hannibal’s offered hand and they stood together at the center of the arena. The double doors were opening.

“ONE…”

Will, who hadn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand, squeezed it hard. “That’s twelve dwarves!”

“Hmm…” responded Hannibal.

“Hmmm?!” Will repeated desperately.

“TWO…”

The dozen dwarves, armed with a multitude of differing weapons, were approaching the center of the arena. Will gripped his staff in one hand and Hannibal’s hand in the other.

“Will, I’d like for you to stay right where you are,” Hannibal said in his ear. “Do you understand?”

Will nodded and Hannibal squeezed his hand once before letting it go. He brandished his gore-tarnished sword and stood directly in front of Will.

“THREE!”

The horn announced the beginning of the round, and the twelve dwarves moved in what must have been a planned formation, spreading out into a circle around the mage and his templar.

“Hannibal?” Will asked, his feet firmly planted, but his hands trembling around his staff as the dwarves began to move slowly but surely, closer and closer to where he stood in the middle.

Hannibal circled him slowly, his sword angled out. “Show them what you are capable of, Will,” Hannibal said, eyes never wavering from the approaching dwarves.

Will blew a sweaty curl from his eyes and refastened his grip on his staff. With Hannibal protecting him, he could let his eyes close for a moment, and he bid his mana to build in his core, hot and swirling with energy. His eyes shot open and he slammed down his staff. A line of fire erupted from the ground at his feet to the feet of one of the dwarves, licking high and singing his boots. The rest of the dwarves began to run for Will, but Hannibal was right there, always right where he needed to be, blocking and hacking. Will felt a splash of hot blood on his cheek as he gathered a storm of fire; it swirled ferociously over their heads. One by one, the falling flames sent the dwarves into burning hysterics. The air was full of smoking skin and wails of pain. And every time a dwarf came near enough to Will, Hannibal moved between them with his greatsword, stabbing and slicing, until they were the only ones left alive in all of the arena.

Will held out until the horn blared, and then Hannibal was there, his arm around Will’s waist, taking all of his weight as the last of his energy was drained.

“WILL AND HANNIBAL HAVE WON THE PROVING AS PRINCE FRANKLYN’S CHAMPIONS! VICTORY TO PRINCE FRANKLYN!”

“It’s over?” Will mumbled weakly, pressing his face into Hannibal’s shoulder.

Hannibal sheathed his sword so he could better support Will, lifting his arm to rest across his shoulder. “It’s over. Come.”

With Hannibal’s help, Will stepped over the bodies, and walked back through the double doors open and waiting for them. He was glad to be back in the weapons room, if only to dull the raging roar of the arena crowd. As soon as they were inside, Alana swatted Hannibal aside and took Will’s face in her hands.

“Are you hurt?” she asked with pinched brows.

“I’m not hurt, just a bit drained,” he answered.

Alana nodded curtly and then moved on to Hannibal, surprising everyone when she grabbed his face just as bossily. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

Hannibal blinked at her. “I promise you, none of this blood is ours,” he said after a pause.

Will frowned and looked down at himself for the first time. His shirt was covered in red splatters, and Hannibal’s templar armor was even worse off. Suddenly, his stomach wrenched in disgust. They had just killed twenty dwarves.

He was bent over, hands on his knees, when the Proving Grounds dwarf ran up to them. “What a show! Prince Franklyn is very pleased and wishes to see you in his private quarters at once!” Will straightened himself, a grimace plastered to his bloody face. “Erm,” the dwarf continued, “perhaps after you’ve cleaned up a bit.”

Hannibal bowed his head, always so polite, so thoughtful, so capable of slaying numerous opponents with minimal effort. “You may tell Prince Franklyn we shall arrive soon.”

The dwarf nodded and excused himself. Hannibal returned his hand to Will’s waist and looked to Dimmond. “I wonder if you might be kind enough to head into the market we passed along the way here and purchase Will some fresh clothes?” Hannibal reached behind his belt and came up with a handful of coins, which he pressed into the elf’s open palm. “Something sturdy, but soft against the skin. In a small, I believe. The pants the same.” Will blushed at the specific instructions but did not contradict the templar’s request. “Katz, go with him, please, to make certain his selections are appropriate. Nothing vulgarly tight.”

Katz smirked, but nodded her head, and Will watched as she nudged Dimmond in the ribs and the pair hurried off to complete their task.

“Will, you should sit and have some water. You need to regain your strength,” Hannibal said at his ear, and when Alana pulled up a chair, and he lowered his tired body to sit in it, he remembered.

The demon…it had spoken to him in the midst of the fight. It had warned him to get down. Or had Will only imagined he’d heard its voice? His head aching, Will accepted the canteen that Alana handed him and sipped from it wearily. He shut his eyes and tried to feel the demon’s presence surrounding him, but all he could feel was Hannibal, his hand resting on Will’s shoulder, and his calm, soothing voice insisting that he really should finish off the water, for it was of the utmost importance he remain hydrated.

Chapter 12: I Hate the Deep Roads

When Dimmond and Katz returned from the Commons vendors, it was with a bundle of new clothes for Will. They looked entirely too pleased.

“Come on,” Katz said with a smile, holding the bundle in the crook of her arm. “There’s a washroom through there, Will. I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

Will was strong enough to stand now, and he did so, eager to change into something not tacky with dried blood. But when Hannibal made to move forward as well, Katz held out her hand to signal him back.

“Sorry, Hannibal,” she said. “Grey Warden privilege of privacy. We’ll be right back.”

Will shrugged apologetically and followed Katz out of the main weapons room and into a branched off hallway he’d been too out of it to notice before. He looked over his shoulder before he walked through the door and caught a glance of the templar standing stone-still, his eyes fastened on Will.

“Will,” Katz urged, and he turned back around to follow her into the room.

It was a simple room with a large wash basin in the center and benches built into the walls. Several torches lit the space and Katz’s hair was shiny and dazzling as she moved toward Will, the bundle of clothes extended in her hands. He reached for them, and she sat down on one of the benches. Will stared at her, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

“Are you going to…watch me change?”

Katz arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Besides, I want to talk to you.”

Will sighed and set the new clothes on the bench. Then he set his fingers to the task of untying the neck of his ruined shirt. He would be sorry to lose the shirt Hannibal had loaned him. It had been comfortable.

“You’re thinking about him now, aren’t you?” Katz asked.

Will blanched. How had she known? “Wh-what?”

“I’ve been thinking about him, too,” Katz admitted, her shoulders sagging.

Will felt his face pulling into a confused frown. “I’m sorry, what?” Katz had been thinking about Hannibal? His confusion began to morph into something sharp and unpleasant in his chest. Was there something between Katz and the templar Will had missed? Had Katz hauled him in here for some sort of washroom confessional?

She gave him an exasperated look. “The archdemon. I mean, I guess it’s an ‘it’ and not a ‘he’, but it feels masculine to me, you know? And ‘it’ seems pretty impersonal for something that keeps creeping on my subconscious.”

“Oh, right.” He breathed a small sigh of relief and continued to untie his shirt. He wasn’t sure why it was less distressing to be caught thinking about an archdemon than caught thinking about Hannibal, but he didn’t want to dwell on the complexities of that at the moment. First and foremost, he wanted to be clean. The ties finally worked open and Will peeled the soiled shirt from his chest, letting it billow to the floor at his feet. His hands cupped together and plunged into the cool water of the basin. He bent over it and splashed the gathered water on his face, scrubbing at the dried flecks of blood. His reflection rippled back at him, blurry and dark.

“I mean,” Katz continued, crossing her legs, “I’ve been trying to be like you and play it cool, but, Maker, I’m so tired of these nightmares. Aren’t you tired?”

Will splashed his face again with water before straightening and sweeping a wet palm across his chest, slightly sticky from the blood that had soaked through the material of his shirt. His mind was moving rapidly as he tried to discern what it was Katz meant. He had experienced the visions of the archdemon twice. Both times had been terrifying. But it had only been twice, and his rest had been uninterrupted by it since. Flustered, he stuck his entire head into the basin. When he wrenched back, his sodden curls whipped around his head.

Katz recoiled with a laugh, wiping the droplets from her face that had flown from the tips of his hair. “Will, I think it’s a bad sign, us seeing the archdemon this frequently. I’m worried.”

Will thought it was a bad sign that he wasn’t seeing the demon frequently and Katz was, but he hid his puzzlement behind his new shirt, lifting it up in front of his face. It was white linen, much like his old one, but there was a soft leather vest, as well. The vest was the same material as the pants. Will grabbed the items and moved around the basin to hide his lower body from Katz. She rolled her eyes.

Will removed his old lambskin trousers as quickly as possible and slipped into his new ones. They fit him well, molding to his form without being overly tight. They were pleasantly snug, and dyed a deep charcoal gray with offsets of blue at the clasps. He pulled on the white shirt next, then the vest, and stepped from around the basin.

Katz stood up and crossed to him, her hand falling across the dip of his collarbone. He tensed for an instant before he realized her intention. Her fingers gathered the leather cord of his Warden amulet and tucked it beneath the safety of his shirt. When she looked up at Will, it was with sad eyes.

“I wish Jack was alive,” she said, suddenly looking, to Will, tragically young.

Not knowing what else to do, he lifted his hand and patted her back gently, the way she had done to him several times. “So do I,” he told her, and he meant it. To have someone in charge who knew exactly what they should do and how they should do it? It would be a dream. But they were the two newest Grey Wardens, the least knowledgeable, and the only ones left alive in Ferelden, and all they had was a scroll of ancient treaties that everyone seemed to be ignoring, and a handful of mysterious companions. Feeling the weight of the world anew on his shoulders, he sighed, dropping his head. He could sense the grief pouring from his friend. “Katz,” he said, tone grave, “we need to keep focused on the most important thing.” He waited for her to lift her head. When he had her eyes, he fixed her with his most intense expression. “How do I look?” He spread his arms and took a step back, trying to keep his face straight.

Katz broke into a smile. She brought her hand to her chin, stroking it as she considered, her eyes roaming up and down his form. “I think I like you in nug.”

“Nug?”

“That’s the kind of leather you’re wearing,” Katz said. “Or that’s what the vendor said. His mustache/beard combo was so thick it was kind of hard to understand what he was saying. But I’m pretty sure he said it was nug leather.”

“Hmm.”

“Twirl around, let me see.”

He twirled, despite his blush, and Katz laughed, which had been his goal. “Yes. I like it.” Her usual sly smile crept across her face. “I bet I know who else will like it.”

“Well, we should be getting back,” Will cut in abruptly, spinning towards the door.

Katz caught his arm and yanked him back. “Hey,” she said, “it’s okay, you know.”

“I know, I know. It’s all going to be okay.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Katz said. “I’m sure we’re all probably doomed. I meant that it’s okay to…let yourself enjoy what you can while you can. Just because we’re trying to stop a Blight, doesn’t mean you can’t…wait a second, are templars abstinent?”

“Good talk, time to go.”

Will practically ran out the door, the sound of Katz’s laughter bringing his bright red blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

 

--

 

“Prince Franklyn will see you now.”

Will nodded, and the dwarf guard opened the gilded door.

Once he and Katz had emerged from their washroom excursion, their dwarven guide from before had been waiting, and he ushered them impatiently from the Proving Grounds and through Commons. The atmosphere had shifted. The dwarves they passed were roused by the display in the arena, and the animosity in the air was heightened. It felt dangerous. But they had not lingered in Commons. Grumpy – Maker, what was his real name? – had led them swiftly into the higher tier of the thaig, where the noble families lived, as well as the royals. He called it the Diamond Quarter, and Will could see why. The structures were beautiful, the clothes the dwarves wore were ornate, and even the ground they treaded seemed to boast a hint of sparkle. They had followed their guide to the Prince’s abode, passing through a formidable line of guards, until they reached the gilded doors.

And now the doors were open and another guard was beckoning them forward. Will entered first, and his primary thought was that the room smelled faintly of cheese. The others moved in behind him, and he felt, rather than saw, Hannibal coming to stand at his side. Katz stood on his other side, Katz beside her, and meandering in the back, eyeing the onslaught of golden trinkets, no doubt, was Dimmond.

“Grey Wardens,” said the dwarf who had to be Prince Franklyn. He appeared as Will had first perceived him, high up in the stands above the Proving Grounds, round and kind-faced, with a thick black beard that was, up close, surprisingly well-trimmed for a dwarf. But now that Will was up-close, he could also see the frenzied mania in the dwarf’s eyes. He smiled as he greeted them, but the fear he emitted was palpable, even in the manner of his walk. He waddled toward them nervously and extended his hand to each of them in turn. His palm was cold and slightly damp.

Will looked sideways at Hannibal, gauging him for an approach. When the templar smiled expectantly, Will cleared his throat to speak. He had braved a Proving, so dealing with a prince should be easy.

“Prince Franklyn,” Will began, in what he hoped was a diplomatic tone, “I understand that by winning in the arena, we have also won the favor of the Ancestors.”

“Yes, Will,” Prince Franklyn agreed with an overzealous laugh that had Will scrunching his nose. “It is Will, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Grey Warden Will? Or just Grey Warden?” He wrung his wet hands together and fixed him with big eyes. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am that you arrived when you did and went into the arena as my champion.” He held his hands over his heart and his eyes watered. “And when you walk into those Deep Roads, it’s going to be as my champion, and I just…” he waved his hand over his face to stave off the tears now plainly rolling down his cheeks, “I just really appreciate it, you know?”

As the heir to the dwarven throne cried, Will snuck a look at his companions. He mouthed ‘Deep Roads?’ at Katz and she shrugged her shoulders at him with a bewildered expression. As the seconds ticked by and Will had seemingly exhausted his diplomacy, Hannibal stepped up and handed the weeping dwarf his handkerchief.

“It was necessary, Prince Franklyn, in attaining your council,” Hannibal said. “But now, I must insist we discuss the matter of the Grey Warden treaties. Will?” He beckoned Will with the crook of his finger, and Will stepped to his side.

Prince Franklyn’s eyes were misty and he dabbed at them with the templar’s handkerchief. Will opened his mouth to speak and the dwarf blew his nose loudly. Will waited until he was finished, and then tried again. “As you must be aware,” he began, “Orzammar has a signed treaty with the Wardens, stating that in the time of a Blight, they will aid the Wardens in battle.”

At word of the Blight, Prince Franklyn shivered dramatically and thrust the used handkerchief back into Hannibal’s hands. “Oh no, not the Blight,” he rambled, sniffling and running his hands through his hair, tugging roughly at his crown.

Will coughed awkwardly and looked at Hannibal, whose eye was twitching as he tucked his dirty handkerchief back into his belt. “Prince Franklyn?” Will began again. “Ferelden will need your help in the fight ahead. We have a true Blight upon us, and the treaty must be honored.” Will looked at Katz and the others, who nodded approvingly at him. He bit his lip and summoned more strength into his voice. “I was under the impression that by winning the approval of the Ancestors, I would have some sway in who is to be the King of Orzammar. But, you understand, I also need a promise from you, Prince Franklyn, that you will gather your army when the times comes, and march with us into battle to defeat the Blight. Do I have that promise?”

The dwarf stared at him, horrified.

“Prince Franklyn?” Will asked.

“Will,” he said in a wavering voice, “I was hoping that mine could be a peaceful rule. Orzammar can be such a violent place, and when I am its King, I don’t plan on fighting anyone.”

“But--”

“Now, you have the approval of the Ancestors, which,” he steepled his hands over his mouth and teared up again, “I really, really appreciate, but you still need to fetch me the Anvil of the Void. That will be your proof that you’ve spoken to the Paragons, and then you can return here and grant me my kingship, okay?”

Will was flummoxed. Completely. He frowned at the would-be king with disapproval. “So you won’t help us? Even if we helped you become king?”

“You understand,” Prince Franklyn said. “I mean, after what the first Blight did to my people?” He shook his head. “Orzammar will stay out of this. But you’re Grey Wardens. You’ll be okay. You can handle this one, and, tell you what, how would you like a statue?”

“A statue?” Will asked.

“I may not be able to help you with the fighting, but I would love to commission a statue in your honor. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but your facial structure seems destined to be immortalized in stone.”

Hannibal made a small sound of approval, but Will’s ire was close to tipping. Had he and Hannibal really just slaughtered twenty dwarves in a fight to the death so they could be turned down again, their treaty shoved back in their faces? His hands bunched into fists so tight his fingernails were cutting into his palms. And then he felt the hand on the small of his back.

“Prince Franklyn, you will have to excuse us,” Hannibal said. “My friends and I have had quite the day, and I believe some time to think this matter through together would benefit us all.”

Prince Franklyn nodded, his thick thumb wiping at an escaped tear trapped in his beard. “Of course, Wardens,” he said, quite seriously. “I will be here when you are ready to discuss the retrieval of my Anvil.”

Hannibal bowed to him, the smallest of bows Will had seen him make, and then their party left. Following Hannibal’s lead, they walked in silence until they were clear of the palace, loitering in the streets of the Diamond Quarter. Dimmond was the first to break the silence.

“Was it just me or did he smell like cheese?”

“And what was he going on about with the Deep Roads?” Katz asked.

“Will,” Alana said, “I don’t think Franklyn is going to help us. Maybe we should leave, get a head start toward the Circle.”

“No!” Will said, louder than he’d meant to, causing a few passing dwarves to glare at him suspiciously. He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “We need to have the dwarves on our side.”

Hannibal’s voice was soothing. “I agree with Will. But I don’t believe that Franklyn will be our route to victory.” He reached into his pack and revealed a folded sheet of parchment.

“What’s that?” asked Katz.

“A guard slipped it into my hand as we left the Proving Grounds,” Hannibal replied. “It is an invitation to meet with the Prince’s competitor.”

Will perked up slightly. “Gideon?”

“I thought it would be wise to hold a meeting with the proper heir first, but it seems obvious now that an alternative to the proper might be in our best interest. Gideon awaits us in Dust Town.”

“Do you think Gideon will be willing to help us?” Will asked.

“I think anyone would probably have more spine than that other guy,” Katz murmured.

“Oh, let’s do go to Dust Town,” pleaded Dimmond. “I hear that’s where the prostitutes are.”

Will looked at Alana, and she nodded her approval. “It’s worth a shot,” she said.

“Alright,” Will agreed. “Let’s go see Gideon and cross our fingers he’s not stark-raving mad.”

 

--

 

He was, of course.

But Gideon’s madness was of a different breed than Franklyn’s. He did not tremble delicately, his handshake was strong, and he moved with a formidable grace that reminded Will of a fox slinking through a henhouse. But his eyes…there was cruelness there, and malevolence, but there was also the shine of intelligence. Will watched those eyes as they narrowed upon him. He was sitting on a cushion in Gideon’s Dust Town hideout, which was basically a shack at the end of an alley. They had passed, much to Dimmond’s delight, several prostitutes (who had paid an unduly amount of attention to Hannibal and little to Dimmond himself), and Will had grumbled in irritation at their endless solicitations until one had had the gall to caress Hannibal’s arm. Will had barked at her angrily to back off and pushed the templar ahead of him down the alley. When they’d reached the correct shack, several dwarven beggars (who turned out to be Gideon’s guards in disguise) got up from their small fire and let them in through the shabby wooden door. Gideon had greeted them amiably, offering them mead from his own brew, and now they were sipping from their mugs and entertaining the idea of treason.

“Franklyn is broken,” Gideon said, not with nastiness but with the firmness of belief that it was simply a fact. “Even his father knew it.” Gideon’s voice matched his entire demeanor: slick and sly and sharp around the edges, but with a lilt that left a favorable aftertaste. Will kind of liked him. “He won’t lift a finger when the Blight comes except to open the hatch of his bunker, while he leaves the rest of the world to burn. And burn it will. Unless we help each other.”

“Franklyn mentioned an Anvil,” Will said. “He implied that, without it, he couldn’t become the king.”

“Ah,” Gideon replied, “the Anvil of the Void. Unfortunately, he’s right. You earned the approval of the precious Ancestors,” he paused to roll his eyes, “but there’s still the matter of the Paragons. The Anvil is little more than a trinket that’s supposed to be blessed by them, but if you go into the Deep Roads and fetch the Anvil, it will be proof to these idiots that whoever holds the Anvil holds the rights to the Kingdom. It’s all very,” he waved his hand wistfully, “antiquated.”

“Why have neither of you sought this Anvil yet?” Hannibal asked.

“Oh, we have,” replied Gideon. “But no one has returned from that particular quest. Now for the part where we help each other out.”

“We’re listening,” said Will.

“The Anvil of the Void is somewhere in the Deep Roads, along with a plethora of other unseemly creations that have probably eaten every dwarf I’ve sent in after the blighted thing. If you go into the Deep Roads and bring me back the Anvil, you will have my vow of aid. If I am made King of Orzammar, the first thing I’ll do is cut off Franklyn’s head, and the second will be to offer you the entirety of the dwarven army so you can fight this fucking Blight.” He leaned forward, cupping his head in his hands and batting his eyelashes. “So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

Will knew what his answer would be before he turned to his friends, but he looked at each of them for approval anyway. After a myriad of nods that varied in enthusiasm, Will turned back to Gideon.

“It’s a deal.”

 

--

 

They agreed to rest the night and head into the Deep Roads in the morning (not that night and day held much authority in an underground kingdom where torches were the sole source of light), and opted to take Gideon up on his offer to stay in his usual room at Tapster’s Tavern. Alana seemed pleased, and when Will trudged tiredly up the stairs, he left her enjoying more dwarven mead with Katz and Dimmond, while Hannibal had decided to call it an early night with Will. It was rare for them to be allotted sleep at the same time, but in the tavern, with no monsters in their vicinity, they were able to unroll their blankets side by side and close their eyes together. Will was so thoroughly exhausted that once his head was on his bedroll, he hardly heard the goodnight whispered from Hannibal before he was drawn fully into the Fade.

 

--

 

He’d hoped for its appearance, and there it was, the demon, waiting for Will. It stood tall, its thin body highlighted from the glow of the torches. Will felt himself drawn immediately into its arms, only relaxing once the clawed, bony fingers were wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Sweet boy,” the demon said, its welcoming voice a light in the darkness for Will’s tired mind. “You have done so well.”

Will pressed his cheek against the demon’s leathery skin, and the warmth made him remember the questions that had snared his attention in his waking life. “You helped me in the arena,” he whispered, smiling when he felt the demon’s fingers threading through his curls at the nape of his neck. “I heard you. In my head.”

The fingers traveled around and came to rest beneath Will’s chin, tilting it back. The bottomless depths of the demon’s black eyes bore into him. “Not just your head,” it said. Its other hand pressed over Will’s heart. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, utterly pliable in the demon’s arms. “You are strong, my love. And your strength only builds with each breath.” It leaned down its antlered head and rubbed its nose into the crook of Will’s neck, making him shiver. “Imagine how strong you will be, once you’ve opened yourself to me.”

Will hummed thoughtlessly for a moment, relishing in the heat of the demon’s mouth against his throat. But then its last words caught up to his brain, and his eyes shot open. “What did you say?”

The demon kissed his neck languidly and Will forgot himself again, rolling his head back and sighing as teeth scraped gently over his flesh.

“Will,” it whispered.

“Hmmm…”

“Your mounting strength as a Dreamer has helped protect you from the archdemon’s breach of your mind. You have been blocking the visions through sheer, unconscious willpower. But now your path leads into the Deep Roads, where it will be harder for you to control the things that seep into your beautiful head.” It kissed Will’s mouth softly. “I do not savor the thought of you there.”

Will’s hands glided over the demon’s spine. “But I must.” He sighed into another kiss.

“My sweet, brave boy,” it answered, its lips brushing over Will’s cheek. “Keep close to the templar. And be wary of the Broodmother. She is always watching in the Deep.”

Will nodded mindlessly and then clasped his hands around the back of the demon’s neck, forcing its lips back against his own where they belonged. As their kiss deepened, so did Will’s need for more. He lifted his naked thigh and the demon’s fingers clutched it, hoisting Will up around its waist with ease. Will gasped into the kiss, rolling against the demon’s jutting hipbones, but he could already feel the air misting around them.

“Let me stay longer,” he whined, clinging to the demon’s warmth.

“I would have you stay forever,” answered the demon, kissing him one last time. “But not yet.”

 

--

 

Will awoke with a gasp and rolled over in his bedroll, groaning into the blankets. When he pushed up on his elbows, he looked over at Hannibal, still sleeping beside him, a small smile on his face.

 

--

 

The Deep Roads.

They were the ancient form of travel between the major thaigs before the first Blight, when they were mostly destroyed by the ravaging of the darkspawn. Now many of the tunnels were dead ends, or caved in, with nothing walking its dark paths save creatures that should never see the light. And that, naturally, was where Will walked, holding his staff in one hand and a torch in the other, trying his best to keep the surge of nausea from knocking him off his feet.

But he was not alone, and to his side was an equally afflicted Katz, to his back was Dimmond, who he had the strong suspicion was looking at Will’s bottom more than watching out for danger, and to his front were Alana and Hannibal, checking the integrity of their route with sword and staff at the ready.

They had been walking for two hours, by Will’s estimation, and for two hours he and Katz had been suffering from aching stomachs and bouts of dizziness. Darkspawn Radar, Katz called it, and Will recalled a similar feeling on the night he’d become a Grey Warden, when he’d felt the eerie tingling inside, an almost indescribable sense that the unnatural creatures were nearby. It felt like it had been so long ago, like a lifetime had passed. But now it was all coming back, his Darkspawn Radar scratching his nerves as he stalked through the darkness. He did his best to remember the demon’s warning that his mind would be more vulnerable in the Deep Roads, and thought the subtle whispers in his head – which had also started when they’d stepped into the Deep Roads - must be related to the archdemon’s influence. He wondered if Katz heard it, too, but was hesitant to ask, in case she didn’t. It wasn’t a whisper he could understand, no words he could articulate, only a pale susurrus of sound that he felt more than heard. Like a tug, pulling him towards something. But what that something was, he wasn’t sure. The Anvil, perhaps? He thought it a possibility. According to Gideon, it was a blessed object, which could mean it retained a fingerprint of magic that a powerful mage could pick up on. He stayed attuned to the whisper, but kept his other senses trained on the tunnel through which he and his companions walked. So far they had only come across a few old spider webs, but these were the Deep Roads, and Will knew from his studies in the Circle that the Deep Roads were a dangerous place to be.

It was damp, musky, and their footsteps echoed up and down the tunnel no matter how carefully they stepped. Occasionally, a mysterious breeze would flicker the flames of their torches, and they would stop in unison, weapons raised and bodies alert, but nothing happened, and after a few moments, they would continue on their journey. Where exactly the Anvil was supposed to be was uncertain. Gideon had drawn them out a crude map of the connecting thaigs that he knew of, and had circled an area where he thought the Anvil might be, which was basically the entire map. But they hadn’t come across any corpses yet, and Will thought that was a good thing, until he considered how awful it was that a lack of corpses was enough to make a situation quantifiably good in his eyes. He stifled a moan of frustration at their lack of a decent lead, but for now, all they could do was walk and wait.

Their journey carried on, unusually uneventful, until Alana held out her hand to Hannibal, and the two of them stopped to examine one side of the tunnel. Will and the others caught up to them in a few steps.

“What is it?” Katz asked, holding her torch out to help light up the space they were examining.

Will saw nothing but more spider webs, no different than what they had already seen, but Alana’s body language was tense and her mouth, when she turned to face them, was drawn in a straight line of consternation. “Alana?” he asked, beginning to feel antsy. “What’s wrong? We’ve passed a dozen webs like this.”

She shook her head. “Not like this. Those were normal webs.”

“What are these?” Katz asked, reaching out her hand to touch it.

Alana dropped her torch and grabbed Katz’s wrist, but her finger had already poked the web. Alana glared at her. “This is a fresh web from a deep crawler.” A faint chittering sounded in the tunnel.

“Also referred to as a Giant Spider, I believe,” Hannibal provided. He lifted his sword.

“Giant?!” Katz gawked, and Alana finally let her go so she could pick up her torch, but her scowl for Katz was unending.

Dimmond twirled his double daggers idly. He had opted against carrying a torch, claiming elves had excellent night vision, and his vision seemed to be fabulous at the moment, as he flipped a dagger in the air and caught it effortlessly. “Is there a reason why we’re all standing here staring at the Giant Spider web?”

Alana shushed him. “Listen.”

The chittering sound was growing louder, bringing to mind the image of lots of legs moving over damp stone very quickly. Will somehow found himself standing extremely close to Hannibal. The templar looked down at him and offered a small smile, which made Will blush and feel fractionally better. Until a second set of mysterious chittering began to echo from the opposite direction of the tunnel, and Hannibal backed Will up against the tunnel wall that wasn’t coated in thick webbing. Will grunted softly as the templar armor squished him against the stone. He watched as Hannibal tilted his head toward Alana. Her head was likewise canted. They were waiting, listening for something. Will could hear the chittering, but it was beginning to grow softer, and then all Will could hear in the tunnel was the whisper in the back of his head and Hannibal’s steady breathing.

They stood in silence for a minute, maybe two, after the chittering echoes had disappeared, and then Alana’s shoulders relaxed. “That was close,” she whispered. “Let’s keep moving, but no one,” she looked over her shoulder at Katz, “touch anything.”

Katz smiled sheepishly at the angry apostate, and Hannibal moved from where he had Will pinned behind him. He turned, holding his torch out to light Will’s face, as if inspecting him for cracks. Will met his eyes and his heart skipped. In the glare of the torches, in the dark tunnel of the Deep Roads, Hannibal’s eyes looked as black as the demon’s.

“Stay close,” Hannibal whispered and Will nodded.

They began their careful trek forward, only now it was Alana in the lead with Katz by her side so she could keep an eye on her, while Hannibal, Will, and Dimmond walked behind. Will’s body was still moderately buzzed from the close encounter with Giant Spiders, but after a few minutes, the steady tingle from the darkspawn took precedence once more, and he felt his nausea returning tenfold. He was on the precipice of asking to stop for a moment so he could have a sip of water, knowing Hannibal would like that – he liked when Will took the initiative of taking care of himself – when they glimpsed the end of the tunnel up ahead. There was a glow coming from the space that looked to be from firelight. Torches still lit from previous travelers? Will felt a minor surge in his head as the whispering grew louder for an instant. The phantom tug seemed to beckon him forward, and he followed it. Maybe the Anvil would be in the chamber at the end of the tunnel, and if not, it’d at least be nice to enjoy light without their torches. Alana and Katz entered the chamber first, and Will was wondering what Hannibal had in their pack for lunch. He was turning his head to the templar when he heard a series of sounds. A rustling, a scream, and a clang.

“Katz!” Alana yelled.

Will and Hannibal sprinted the rest of the way into the chamber, Dimmond right behind, to Alana, who was standing with her head tilted back, watching the ceiling with horrified eyes. Katz’s sword was lying on the ground, but Katz had vanished.

Will followed Alana’s eyes to the ceiling and gasped. Katz was in a Giant Spider’s web. Long, spindly legs were wrapping her in sticky silk.

“Andraste’s tits,” Dimmond breathed.

The spider stilled and shuffled its legs, legs that were as long as Hannibal was tall, and the chamber began to echo with a hundred chittering steps of pure terror. Will turned. A Giant Spider dropped from the ceiling directly behind him and he blasted it with a jet of flames from his staff. Its legs scampered spastically on the floor as it burned, emitting a high pitched squeak, and then it collapsed, dead, a foul gas escaping from its abdominal sack. Hannibal, who had long ago dropped his torch, grabbed Will’s waist and pulled him back, just as another Giant Spider dropped from above. And another. And another. The whole bloody room was a web, and they were surrounded. And above them, motionless as her body was wrapped, remained Katz.

“Cover me,” Alana ordered. She shut her eyes.

Dimmond threw a dagger into a spider, and it squealed. Will blasted another with flame. Hannibal crouched to his knees and sliced off the front legs of one, letting Will finish it off with fire. Behind them, Alana changed. Her dark hair melded into her back, and her arms and legs stretched and thinned. More spindly limbs sprouted from her sides, and her body hunched forward, her neck retreating into her shoulders, her shoulders swelling and rounding. And then, Alana’s blue-eyed spider raced up the wall and onto the ceiling. As they waged a stream of attacks against the Giant Spiders below, Alana battled above them, over Katz’s bundled body. Will couldn’t watch, he had to keep his focus in front of him. He noticed, within the tumultuous commotion, that Dimmond really was incredible with his daggers. His slender elven arms moved lightning-fast as he rolled and stabbed and cut, leaving an impressive trail of severed legs in his wake. Will also noticed that he almost didn’t discern Dimmond’s expertise at all, because it was such a difficult thing to tear his eyes from the templar. He remembered when the man had told him that he fought beautifully, ‘like a dance,’ but Will’s desperate fumbling with his staff could never be compared to the way Hannibal moved, the way he struck with the sword, the way he twisted and sprang from his heels in attack, the way his eyes swallowed all the air from Will’s lungs as he watched him grow wild with power and speed, almost inhumanly skilled with his blade. Will could watch him forever. But not now. Now, he had to leap out of the way as a Giant Spider tried its best to mount him, its stinger thrusting toward his stomach. But the only thing mounted was the spider itself, as Hannibal leapt onto its back. Will stepped back, wide-eyed, enthralled, and watched as Hannibal raised his sword above the spider, his strong thighs squeezing to keep balanced atop it, and then rammed it down, stabbing through the spider until the tip of his blade poked through the other side and a noxious, black ooze seeped free.

Hannibal jumped from the Giant Spider’s back, landed abruptly in front of Will, and grabbed his waist, yanking him forward. Will gasped, and in his uncertainty, he wrapped his arms around the templar’s neck. Katz’s bundled body dropped behind him, where Alana had loosened her from the webbing, and Dimmond swooped in to catch her. Hannibal had been pulling Will out of the way so Katz wouldn’t be dropped on his head; that was all. Will shook his head and removed his arms embarrassedly from around Hannibal’s neck. He looked around. The only spider left alive had blue eyes. He followed her movement as she dropped from the ceiling beside them, and then, within the blink of an eye, she was returned to her natural form.

Dimmond lowered the bundled Katz to the ground, setting her down gently, and Alana kneeled beside her, taking Dimmond’s offered dagger and cutting an opening down the sticky wrapping. She pushed it from Katz’s face and closed her eyes, placing her palms on either cheek. A soft light radiated from her hands and she whispered beneath her breath. And then, with a start, Katz’s eyes opened and she gasped in a ragged breath. Alana ripped away the last of the webbing and Katz rolled to her side in a fit of coughs. Hannibal removed his arm from Will’s waist and dropped to her side with his canteen of water. She accepted it with shaky fingers and managed several sips. Dimmond was kneeled behind her, and he helped her sit up, leaning her against his knees. Will clutched his Warden amulet and exhaled slowly.

“Did I almost get eaten by a Giant Spider just now?” Katz asked, pulling a strand of web from her hair. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let’s just go. I need to start repressing this as soon as possible.”

Hannibal lifted her to her feet, and Will ignored the pinprick of dissatisfaction pooling in his stomach, trying not to care when the templar’s hands gripped around her waist. They did not tarry, exiting from the chamber of webs as soon as Katz could walk on her own. She gripped her sword in both hands with a sneer, clearly shaken, but fiercer than ever. Hannibal resumed his position at Will’s side as they entered the next set of tunnels, one positive aspect being that this tunnel was lit. Torches lined the walls, flickering with light, so they were able to forgo their handheld flames.

“Gideon’s guards must have passed this way,” commented Alana as they passed the light-lined walls.

Katz stopped suddenly, her hand grabbing her stomach. Will stilled right behind her, dizzy with an overwhelming swell of sensation. “Darkspawn,” she breathed. “Will, do you feel it?”

“Yes,” he replied, fighting the bile rising in his throat. After a moment, his body adjusted and he was left with the dreadful buzz, alerting him that monsters lurked nearby. “Lots of darkspawn.” He felt Hannibal pressing his hand against his back and shut his eyes for a moment. Not only were his Warden senses buzzing, but the nonsensical whispering in his head was growing louder. And Katz still hadn’t mentioned the whispering. No one seemed to hear it but him, and in its confusing, muddled rhythm, it seemed to be tugging him forward. It must be the Anvil’s magic. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. Hannibal was scrutinizing his face with poorly veiled concern. Or perhaps Will had grown so accustomed to detecting the subtle shifts of his expressions that the templar’s moods were becoming more obvious to spot.

“The next chamber at the end of the tunnel would be a likely position of attack for darkspawn expecting intruders,” Hannibal said smoothly.

Alana frowned. “Should we turn back? We could backtrack the last tunnel and try to find an optional path.”

Will shook his head. “No, we have to go this way.” The others looked at him strangely. “I have a feeling,” he added defensively.

“I’m with Will,” said Katz. “Someone’s clearly been through here, and if there are darkspawn ahead, it could be because they’re guarding something. Maybe the Anvil.”

Will was grateful Katz had stumbled upon his conclusion without having to admit to the whisper in his head.

“So we should just prance into a chamber full of darkspawn?” Dimmond asked. “Is that wise?”

“Is any of this wise?” countered Will. “We need to get through the next chamber, darkspawn or no.”

“Luckily for you, Dimmond, you’re traveling with experienced Grey Wardens and their trusty templar,” said Katz, saddling up between Will and Hannibal. “We’ve taken out an entire tower of darkspawn before. A tiny little Deep Roads chamber is gonna be a breeze.”

“You fail to mention how you all would have died if I hadn’t shown up,” Alana murmured, folding her hands over her chest.

Dimmond was grinning, pointy ear to pointy ear. “Color me intrigued. Direct me towards something and I’ll stab it, Wardens.”

Hannibal’s hand upon Will’s back rubbed a small circle. “If we are destined to take on a darkspawn horde, might I suggest we utilize our element of surprise?”

Will looked up at Hannibal, shifting discreetly to press harder against the hand at his back. “What did you have in mind?”

 

--

 

Dimmond was the decided bait.

After Alana had shapeshifted into a small, nondescript mouse and scampered ahead into the chamber, Dimmond sauntered confidently into the room, whistling, while Hannibal, Will, and Katz watched from the darkness of the tunnel.

“Oh, to be an attractive, vulnerable elf, all alone in the Deep Roads,” he lamented dramatically. The chamber appeared empty, but they knew better. Will’s insides were tuned directly into the hive, and they were all but inside the belly of a darkspawn horde. It was only a matter of drawing them out, when and where they wanted. Will had volunteered first to be the bait, but Hannibal had narrowed his eyes at him, and the others had offered up an alternative hurriedly. Dimmond seemed more than happy to serve himself up on a darkspawn platter, claiming he would appear the ‘most delicious’ and that ‘anyone would be thrilled to eat him,’ that last line being delivered with a saucy wink to Will.

They watched him, swaying his hips as he walked to the center of the room. If Will squinted, he could barely make out Alana-Mouse waiting at the other end of the chamber. He closed his eyes and began to channel his mana.

“Yep!” Dimmond announced, his voice bouncing off the high stone ceilings. “Definitely by myself over here. A tasty, unsuspecting treat, perfect for gnashing and crunching.”

Katz rolled her eyes. “He’s enjoying this too much,” she whispered.

Dimmond was spinning on his heel in the center of the room when they presented themselves. It was a wave of growls at first, and then they began to step out from their hiding places: the ancient dwarven columns and the crumbling, beheaded Paragon statues. They were many and Dimmond was one…or so thought the darkspawn.

They moved forward, the terrible creatures, with their weapons raised and their teeth bared and razor sharp. Dimmond was not unaffected by the monstrosities, but he held his ground, his hands ghosting over the handles of his double daggers, still sheathed at his waist.

Will waited, his mana pulsing in his core. The darkspawn were creeping toward Dimmond, their heads angling as they sniffed the air for his scent. One cried out, a ravenous howl, and the others followed suit. There were a dozen or so, and now they had tightened their circle and were ten feet away from closing in…eight feet…six…five…

Alana’s mousey form stretched and filled until she was returned to her human figure. Will focused, forcing his mana through his staff as he worked his spell. Before the darkspawn could notice, before they could lift a single blood-rusted sword, the mages enacted their trap. Alana threw up a shield of energy; it surrounded Dimmond completely, shimmery and bright. Will slammed down his staff, and let the chamber burst with light as a ring of fire shot up from the ground and engulfed the darkspawn. Hannibal and Katz rushed from the shadows of the tunnel, Katz making straight for Alana, and Hannibal remaining in front of Will, and they cut down the smoldering darkspawn that tried to attack the vulnerable mages. But Alana’s force field remained impenetrable, and Will’s firespell was the strongest it had ever been. Even Will was amazed by the strength flowing through him. The room rained fire. Darkspawn who had remained hidden before, scampered out now, screaming and ablaze. Smoke was thick in the air, and the stench of burning, blighted flesh made Will gag, but he didn’t break his concentration. Through the fire, a huge darkspawn broke free, an alpha, the biggest Will had seen, and it was running right for him, but Will was unafraid. He didn’t even need to look, because he already knew how it would play out when the alpha got close enough to Hannibal’s blade. The templar struck out, a smooth, effortless cut, his shoulders flexing beneath his heavy plates of armor, and then Will heard the expected splat as the alpha’s head disconnected and fell to the ground. Hannibal kicked it away with a growl of disgust, but then he looked up, hair falling into his eyes, and he smiled at Will.

Will smiled back, breathless, and let his spell fall away. The fire flickered out and dead darkspawn littered the chamber floor. Alana and Katz were snickering on the other side of the room, while Dimmond tapped his foot, still trapped within the protective shield.

“You can let me out anytime, ladies,” he said.

Hannibal stepped toward Will, both of them ignoring everything else, if only for a moment. Will thought the templar might reach out his hand and touch his face, and he held his breath in anticipation, but Hannibal made no such move, only flexing his fingers at his side. But his eyes, his eyes were dark, and Will moved forward. Just a step. Just a tiny step in Hannibal’s direction. He could still feel the power coursing through his veins, and he could feel it coming off of Hannibal in waves.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered.

Will was reaching out his hand, compelled to touch Hannibal’s shining templar breastplate, when his eyes rolled back into his head and he crashed to the ground.

His vision was splotchy, but he could see Hannibal leaning over him, and holding his head still as his body thrashed. The whispers, the whispers, they screamed in his ears, but he could hear her now, and her voice tore at his skull.

“Broooooodmotheeeeer.”

And then, all at once, the whisper subsided. Will gasped, turning his head into Hannibal’s palm. Katz and the others had rushed to his side, and they all stared down at him in shock.

“Will, what happened?” Alana asked.

“I… ,” he tried, but his words fell away. Hannibal hushed him and brushed a sweat-damp lock of hair from his forehead.

“Give him a moment,” the templar demanded.

Will wanted to tell them about the whispers, wanted to tell them about the incredible pull he felt in his chest, urging him toward the next tunnel, but he couldn’t. Whatever had hold of him was keeping him silent.

“I’m fine,” Will heard himself say. “I’m fine.”

Alana pressed her hand over his cheek. “You’re a little feverish. You spent too much mana.”

“That’s it,” Will agreed. “I’m just a little worn out.” Hannibal was sitting him up, halfway pulling him into his lap, and handing him the canteen. Will sipped it greedily. “See? Already better.”

After several minutes of convincing the others that he was capable of continuing on, they continued on, but Hannibal insisted on keeping his arm around Will’s waist, and the others seemed to take turns stealing anxious glances in his direction. Though the whisper was no longer assaulting his brain, he could still feel its echo, and he knew they were walking in the right direction. Towards what, he wasn’t sure. He hoped it was towards the Anvil.

As they moved further and deeper into the tunnel, Will gripped at Hannibal’s arm. The air felt…wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on why, not until Dimmond stopped them all with a wave of his hand and showed them the bloody hand prints covering the wall ahead. But that was only the beginning of it. They kept along the tunnel, its torches lit up, same as the one before it, and before long, they finally found more proof that Gideon’s dwarves had ventured along this path. Several heads rested upon spikes, sticking up from the ground in the center of the tunnel, rising up from a pile of bones.

“Maker’s breath,” Katz groaned. “What happened here?”

Dimmond crouched down amongst the bones. He poked at a small shred of metal. “Dwarven runes.”

Alana toed a discarded helmet that had been pushed to the side, amongst a mound of heads. “The Froideveaux coat of arms.” She poked at a second helmet. “And Gideon’s crest.” She glanced up at the others. “This is what happened to the guards they sent to find the Anvil.”

Katz snorted in disgust. “But what is this? Did darkspawn do this?”

With no obvious answers and a chamber just ahead, they hurried past the heads and piles of bones. But the next chamber offered a scene of even greater disturbance.

They heard her before they saw her. An audible grinding of teeth, tearing and chewing and swallowing with pained moans.

“Oh,” Alana gasped, taking a step back and pointing toward the horror she’d spotted. There, crouched in the center of the chamber, amongst a dozen corpses, was a dwarf. She was white as a ghost save the crimson ring around her mouth and the sickly dark circles around her sunken eyes. She rocked slowly back and forth on her heels, and in her hands was…what was that? Will squinted, not trusting his eyes.

“Fuck me, is that an arm?” Dimmond asked, appalled.

The dwarf’s head whipped around, seeing them for the first time. She watched them for a moment and then opened her mouth and bit into the severed arm. The ripened flesh pulled away in her teeth, and she chewed it up before swallowing it down.

“I’m going to throw up,” Dimmond declared, and he retreated to the opening of the chamber where he proceeded to vomit.

Will, still clasped to Hannibal’s side, couldn’t look away. “What happened to her?”

Alana, regaining her composure, stepped closer to the dwarf. “I can heal her mind for a few moments,” she said. “Enough to get a coherent response, maybe?”

“Do it,” said Katz.

Alana nodded and, still keeping a safe distance between them, waved her hand over the dwarf’s head.

She blinked, looking up at the strangers surrounding her.

“What happened to you?” Alana pressed.

“The darkspawn came the first day,” answered the dwarf in a monotone that made Will’s blood run cold. “We killed some of them, but by the second day we were overrun. They made us eat the dead ones. The taint killed the others, but I am changing. If I keep eating, I will change.”

“Change into what?”

A look of terror sparked in the dwarf’s eye, but her comprehension was blessedly fleeting, and in an instant her face grew dull once more. She sank her teeth back into the arm, sinewy strands hanging from her mouth.

Alana stood up and turned away, looking green. “She cannibalized the others.”

Hannibal shook his head sadly. “She was trying to survive.”

“This isn’t survival,” whispered Will. He glanced up at Hannibal. “We should kill her.”

“Kill her?” Katz exclaimed.

“Letting her live would not be a kindness,” agreed Alana, staring down at the pathetic creature. “I’ll do it.” She walked to Dimmond, who was bent over with his hands on his knees, and she felt along his waist for his dagger.

“Funny,” he gasped between dry retches, “I figured you’d be the one bent over when you finally felt my weapon.”

“Maybe next time,” she said, slipping the dagger from its scabbard.

They watched as Alana doled out a swift death for the dwarf, stepping stealthily behind and slitting her throat, quick and deep. The dwarf fell forward, becoming another body of flesh in the pile.

The whispers in his head were still calling Will forward. He lifted his head, forcing his eyes away from the carnage in the center of the chamber, looking past it to the door beyond. “Through there,” he said. “The Anvil is through that door.”

“How do you know?” Katz asked.

“I don’t know,” Will replied as the tug pulled him forward, out of Hannibal’s supporting arms. “It’s this way,” he said, walking steadily for the door.

“Will,” Hannibal called. Will kept walking until he was in front of it. He spread his open palm on the door, splaying his fingers wide, and he shut his eyes. She wanted him to open it. She needed him. Hannibal’s hand closed around Will’s wrist and pulled him away from the door. He framed Will’s face in his hands and leaned in close to search his eyes. “Will,” he said, his tone gentle but commanding, “listen to me. Are you listening?”

All he could hear were her whispers now, her sweet, beckoning whispers.

“He’s in a trance of some kind,” Hannibal was saying.

“Get him out of it,” he heard Katz demand.

“Will.” Hannibal tightened his grip on Will’s jaw, shaking him slightly. “Be here with me, Will.”

Will felt the templar’s fingers digging into his skin, but all he could see was the door before him. And her. Calling him.

Hannibal sighed, hesitated, and then leaned in close, until his lips were pressed against Will’s ear, and he whispered something that no one else could hear. Will gasped, wavering in his arms. He stared at Hannibal, confused.

“What?” Will asked.

Hannibal’s smile was strained, and he rubbed his hands over Will's shoulders. “I asked if you were with us.”

“Oh,” Will sighed. He ran a hand over his face. “Oh.”

“Will, what happened?” Katz asked, her face scrunched up with worry. “You were out of it.”

Will cocked his head, waiting to hear the whispers, but they were gone. How had they disappeared? “I’ve been hearing something,” he began slowly, “ever since we entered the Deep Roads. For some reason I couldn’t mention it before, but now…” It’s like a haze he hadn’t noticed before had lifted. He sighed in relief. “I thought it might be the Anvil calling to me, but now I’m not sure. There’s something on the other side of this door though. I could feel it.”

Dimmond had stopped throwing up after the eating of flesh had desisted and he drank heartily from his canteen. “I hate the Deep Roads.”

Alana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s reassess. Will’s been under the influence of something since we’ve been down here, leading us straight into Maker knows what. Darkspawn killed Gideon and Franklyn’s scouts, except for one, whom they forced into cannibalism for reasons unknown. And now, we know there’s something on the other side of this door. Possibly the Anvil. Possibly a dangerous monster. Possibly both.”

“An excellent summary, darling,” Dimmond purred.

“Well, we have to go through the door, don’t we?” asked Katz. “If there’s even a chance the Anvil is in there, we have to try and get it.”

“It would be reckless,” argued Alana.

“This entire quest is reckless,” said Will. “But we need that Anvil. Otherwise, this whole quest would have been reckless and pointless. Wasted time when we have none to spare.”

“So we open the door and await our fate,” Hannibal said.

“I think we have to,” answered Will.

Alana was shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s a smart move.”

Dimmond laughed and clapped his hands together. “Oh, don’t be sour. Let’s get this over with and we can head back up to Orzammar, triumphant. Tell you what, buttercup, I’ll buy you a mead when we get there.”

Alana frowned at him.

“Fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll buy you two meads. Three!”

“Please be quiet,” she sighed and looked at Will. “I’m with you.”

“Thank you,” Will said, and they began to gather themselves around the door. He only wished he knew what lay beyond it.

Hannibal was the one to open it, holding his sword in one hand while his other pushed against the heavy stone. It opened with surprisingly little exertion, and they entered all together. It was dark within, and quiet. At first, they had to edge through a narrow hall, but once they turned around a corner, the chamber was revealed to be quite large. And at its center, Will saw what had been whispering to him.

His heart dropped.

She was enormous, with flabby, pinkish-white skin, too heavy to walk, but she didn’t need to. Tentacles slithered about her on the ground and waved before her in the air. A demented mixture of humanoid and darkspawn, eight breasts ran in columns up and down her expansive torso, engorged and jiggling. Her head was bald and too small for her body.

Broodmother. Too late, he remembered the demon's warning.

“Oh dear,” Dimmond laughed, and he stepped forward, unsheathing his daggers.

A tentacle moved, wrapping around Dimmond’s ankle, and it flung him, smashing him against the stone wall with a crack. It let him go and his body crumpled to the ground.

“Dimmond!” Alana screamed. She aimed her staff at the Broodmother, but her blast of powerful energy did little to the horrendous creature but make her angry. Her tentacles whipped through the air and Will barely ducked in time as one flew over his head.

Hannibal was a flash of steel as he ran toward her fleshy body. He cut through three of her tentacles before one caught him around the waist. Will yelled for him, but Katz was there in an instant, her sword severing the tentacle as it lifted Hannibal from the ground. He fell, landing on his feet. Together, Katz and Hannibal ducked the flailing tentacles and cut away what they could, while Alana and Will remained at range. Will hit the creature with everything he could, his fire spells made the tentacles curl up, and when he landed a blow to the Broodmother’s bloated stomach, she squealed in pain. Alana let Will’s offensive magic take the lead, focusing instead on keeping shimmering shields of protection in front of their friends.

Sweat dripped down Will’s face. He harnessed his mana, wishing he had more power, wishing, madly, that he wasn’t afraid to use blood magic. When he slammed down his staff and spiraled a cannon of fire into the Broodmother’s stomach, the force of the spell brought him to his knees. But she was burning. She was screaming. It had worked. His vision blurring, he struggled to slam down his staff again. The fire flew true and the Broodmother was a conflagration, beginning to spew green bile as her remaining tentacles burst. Will gasped for breath. He mustered all of his strength, and he managed one last spell before blacking out and falling face-first to the ground.

 

--

 

…he could hear Hannibal’s voice. Seconds later, hands gripped his shoulders and softly rolled him to his back. He opened his eyes and saw the templar above him. In his hand was a large, heavy object, metal and dark, but with bright blue lines of lyrium running through it.

“The Anvil?” Will whispered. Hannibal nodded and helped him sit up, his fingers scanning over Will’s head for any injuries. Other than feeling desperately drained of mana, Will was unharmed. He searched the space behind Hannibal and saw Alana running her hands over Katz’s face, which was swollen over her left eye and across her lip. Alana shut her eyes and began to heal her. By the look of things, Will had only lost consciousness for a few moments. The Broodmother was a hacked and melted heap of flesh, and beneath her lay an open box. “She was sitting on the Anvil?” Will asked weakly.

“Indeed, she was,” Hannibal replied. He smoothed his hand over Will’s forehead. “Sit here and don’t move, Will.” Hannibal stood. “I must retrieve Dimmond’s body.”

Will’s mouth opened, but he had no words. He could only sit and watch the templar’s retreating back as he crossed the chamber to the body lying still on the stones. And then Will had to look away.

 

--

 

He stood over the body. Then he kneeled beside it. When the assassin’s eyes fluttered open, Hannibal blinked, mildly taken aback that the elf was still alive. He watched, curious, as the injured Crow licked his lips. Hannibal tilted his head, considered for a moment, and then decided it wouldn’t do. He glanced over his shoulder. Alana’s eyes were closed, healing Katz, who was looking away. And his beautiful boy was sitting obediently, right where he’d left him. Hannibal watched him for a moment, but Will's big blue eyes were on the women. He could sit and observe his boy all day, and he would, but first, his task. Hannibal turned back to the assassin, who was staring up at him helplessly, his breathing growing more rapid, stronger. No. That wouldn’t do at all. Hannibal placed his hands on the elf’s head and twisted. The crack was minimal.

 

--

 

When Alana finished healing Katz’s face, they both came to sit beside Will. Alana swept her hands over him, checking for injuries like Hannibal had, and then the templar sat down beside them, too. When Alana looked at him, Will saw the dash of hope in her eyes, and when Hannibal slowly shook his head, he saw the hope fade and the stoic veil return across her face.

“I believe he died instantly,” Hannibal told them. “With little pain.”

Will mostly felt numb. And the parts of him that weren’t numb felt sick.

Morosely quiet, their party back down to four, they began their journey out of the Deep Roads. Will carried the Anvil and Hannibal carried Dimmond’s body.

 

--

 

The remainder of Will’s time spent beneath the mountain passed strangely, like witnessing the replay of a memory not one’s own.

They brought the Anvil of the Void to Gideon, who smirked with pleasure as he fondled the heavy object. He grasped Will’s hand and shook it firmly.

“You’ll have your dwarven army,” he promised. Will had nodded and thanked him, but they’d declined when Gideon had invited them to the event of his coronation. They had a body to bury on the surface, he’d explained.

As they walked out of Orzammar, it was to the soundtrack of revolt, as the dwarven crowds surged and Gideon’s men dragged Franklyn from his palace quarters. Will knew the moment he was decapitated. It was the moment when everyone cheered. But they just kept walking.

Will wanted to lay Dimmond to rest beneath a blue sky.

Chapter 13: Possessions

“I’m sorry.”

The ground had been too frozen to dig until Will dropped to his knees and placed his palms on the snow. He heated the small section of mountain earth, and then the digging was easy. Now they stood beside Dimmond’s resting place, the cold, persistent wind stinging their eyes. Will pulled his fur cloak tighter around his shoulders.

Alana turned from the fresh grave. “For what?”

Will swallowed; his throat felt rough. Katz turned to look at him too, her cheeks chapped from the frosty air. They had left Orzammar only hours ago, but the relief at being beneath the sky once more was tarnished by the grim responsibility of burying Dimmond. Hannibal had led them down the curving mountain road, and then a bit astray, until they arrived at a suitable spot, secluded and serene, with a clear view of the sky. Their task had been single-minded and they worked wordlessly, but now that their focus was shifting, Will’s competing frets began to gnaw at his nerves. His gaze darted to Hannibal, who cleaned his sword beside Dimmond’s grave. How long until Will got each of them killed? He lowered his eyes to the toiled dirt.

Katz exhaled harshly, her breath clouding white and swirling in the air, and she crossed the grave to stand at Will’s side. “Hey,” she said, nudging him with her elbow until he looked at her. “We did it. We got the dwarves.” Will nodded and Katz looked over her shoulder at Alana. “How many more treaty stops do we have?”

“The Circle of Magi,” said Alana.

“Just one more, Will,” Katz told him. “And there’s still my uncle in Redcliffe to consider.” She poked him again and smiled. “We’ll have an actual army behind us soon.” Her face fell for a moment. “Dimmond knew the risks. This isn’t on you.”

Will nodded and turned away from her, pacing a few steps. His chest was tight and his head ached, and not just because they’d lost Dimmond. Selfishly, a healthsome chunk of Will’s current distress was formed from his knowledge that the Circle of Magi was inevitable. Not only was it the last pledged name on the treaty, it was relatively nearby, which meant soon, too soon, he would be forced to return. He hadn’t been strong enough to block the Broodmother’s lure, how would he be strong enough to face the First Enchanter? What if she saw straight through him with her icy-blue eyes, straight to the heart of him, and saw him speared by antlers?

Hannibal re-sheathed his sword. The templar had packed away his helmet, and his hair was caught up in the wind, playing around his eyes. Will calmed as he watched the man’s familiar movements, his hand reaching to tuck his hair behind an ear. In the clarity of day, beneath a sky unmasked by stone, Hannibal’s eyes were sparkling amber, bright and light and starkly differing than how they’d appeared to Will beneath the mountain. Hannibal turned those bright eyes to Will, and Will felt his lips part slightly in response. Suddenly, Hannibal’s eyes shifted to above Will’s head, curiosity lifting his eyebrows.

Will looked upward as the black-feathered bird sailed over their heads, casting them, for an instant, in shadow. He turned, to follow its projection, and was surprised to see Katz with her arm held aloft. The bird flew straight to her and landed on her forearm. For a sad moment, Will thought it was a crow, but at second glance, he saw that it was actually a raven, with a tiny scroll wrapped with twine around its leg.

“Expecting mail?” Alana asked.

Katz shook her head as her fingers deftly freed the raven from its parchment burden. “I haven’t had a message like this in years,” she answered. “But I recognize this bird. This is from Redcliffe.” The scroll unattached from its leg, the raven abandoned Katz’s arm for a low branch and took to nipping at its feathers. Katz unrolled the message, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She read quickly, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.

“Is it from your uncle?” Alana asked.

“No. It’s from an old friend of mine,” Katz said, her voice strangely unsettled. She looked up from the parchment, tucking it into her pack. “It’s my uncle.”

“I thought you said it was your old friend.”

“It’s my old friend writing me about my uncle,” Katz clarified.

Hannibal nodded sympathetically. “Is it serious?”

“He’s been poisoned,” replied Katz. “But he’s not dead.” She took a deep breath and then declared, “We have to go to Redcliffe.”

Will tried not to look too relieved, as a poisoned relative should not be cause for such an emotion, but his physical response could not be entirely contained; his shoulders relaxed and his heartbeat slowed to a calmer racket in his chest. Hannibal caught his eye and Will almost grinned. They wouldn’t be going to see the mages today.

 

--

 

The Imperial Highway took them out of the mountains, and from there, they headed south. But they did not walk the road directly. Rather, they traveled parallel to it, at a smart distance. No more assassins had crossed them thus far, but they were not naïve enough to think targets were no longer on their backs. And besides the threat of more Antivan Crows, there was also the danger of running into some of Mason’s men, or even plain citizens who’d heard the false word of the Wardens’ betrayal that might seek to turn them in, or attack themselves. Conclusively, the Highway was a risk, and they steered clear of it whenever possible.

Without their chatty assassin to annoy them, the journey to Redcliffe Village seemed to stretch on and on, but in truth, they made excellent time, stopping infrequently, and sleeping so restlessly that they were eager to rise in the mornings and begin again. By the end of the fourth day, they could see their destination in the distance. The land was hilly, and they stood on a steep cliff that overlooked Katz’s childhood home. They need only pass over the wooden bridge and they would be on Arl Garrett’s land.

“Home again, home again,” Katz muttered.

They were midway across the bridge when they caught sight of a man, head to toe in armor, running up the hill towards them. The endeavor had him sweating profusely, and when he stopped at the top of the hill, he heaved over with the power of his heavy panting. The silence was uncomfortable as they waited for the man to catch his breath enough to speak.

“I pray you’re here to help us?” he panted at last, wiping away the rivulets of sweat before they could trail into his eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Katz said, hurrying up to the man and handing him her canteen.

The man nodded his head in thanks and chugged it back, but as his eyes roamed over her face, he nearly choked. “Beverly, is that you?”

“Beverly?” Will asked. “Is that your name?”

Katz made a displeased face. “Only technically.”

“Oh, it is you!” cried the man. “Thank the Maker!”

“Yeah, it’s me. Hi. What’s going on here? Bella wrote me that the Arl had been poisoned.”

“He has! He has! If only that was the worst of it!”

“What’s worse than that?”

The man paused. “You don’t know?”

Katz harrumphed in irritation. “There’s only so much news you can convey on a raven’s leg. Where’s the Bann?” She took back her canteen and crossed her arms.

“She’s trapped in the castle with the others!”

“Stop yelling everything, man,” she scolded. “Calm yourself and tell me what’s happened. What do you mean she’s trapped in the castle?”

The man drew in a deep breath, and Will could hear his lungs rattling. When he spoke again, it was at normal volume, but his words were laced with tremors of fear. “No one’s been in or out of the castle in days and days. The last we heard was of the Arl’s poisoning, and ever since then…things have been eerily quiet, not a peep coming from the castle. We’ve tried to get in, but the doors are sealed. Gave me a shock to even put my hand on the knob.”

Katz looked at the others in confusion.

“Sounds like it could be a spell keeping people out,” Alana said. “Or in.”

“Can you help us, Beverly?” the man pleaded.

She turned back to him with a flip of her hair, shiny and smooth as a raven’s wings. “Of course,” she answered.

“Katz?” Will asked. “How do we help if we can’t get inside?”

“Oh, we can get inside,” she smirked. “I lived here for years. You think I don’t know about the secret entrance?”

“What secret entrance?” the man asked, thoroughly astounded.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katz replied nonchalantly. She turned from the man and faced the others, her face impressively determined. “Let’s go.”

Will followed her across the bridge, and it was such a pleasant sensation to be following someone else’s lead for a change, that he had to keep checking the smile trying to traitorously pull at the corners of his mouth. Katz was heading up another steep hill, and Hannibal kept his hand on Will’s back as they climbed, like he was afraid Will couldn’t make the climb on his own. He had half a mind to swat the templar away and berate him for his mollycoddling, but the other half of his mind didn’t mind the touch at all, and he allowed the hand to remain at his back for the ascension up the hill. When they reached the top, Katz waved them towards their destination, an old lighthouse.

“Moment of truth,” she said, kicking open the weathered wooden door. “Let’s see if it’s still here.”

Katz headed in first. The bottom floor of the lighthouse was dusty and dark, and she paused for a moment at a dangling cobweb. Hannibal stepped in front of her and knocked it down with his hand. She smiled her thanks and continued on, coming to rest near the back wall, where the floor was blanketed with straw.

“I used to run around this castle when I was little,” she said, voice weighted by nostalgia. “And one day, when I was supposed to be with my tutor, I ran into the dungeons. Snooping ensued, naturally, and one thing led to another. It was only a matter of time until I found this.” She swept away the thick layer of straw, and a wooden door appeared beneath her hand, equipped with hinges and handle. “A tunnel that exited right here.” She grinned mischievously, and Will could imagine a much younger Katz, running amuck in the castle halls, face covered in rebellious dirt. “This trapdoor was invaluable to me back then. I guess some things never change.” She pulled at the handle and a cloud of dust poofed into the air. Katz sneezed, waving her hands over her face. When it cleared, she peered into the darkness the door had presented, and then she looked over her shoulder at Will and the others. “Who’s in the mood for some dungeon crawling?”

The secret passageway provided a rickety ladder for them to crawl down. Hannibal insisted he go first, chivalrous as ever, and Will wondered what would happen if he let his hand slip on one of the rungs. Would he fall into the templar’s arms? He daydreamed so long that Katz had shoved her boot through the trapdoor after him, and scolded him to hurry up.

Once they’d conquered the ladder, they only had to navigate a single, narrow tunnel, and then he was stepping out of a large grate into some sort of storage closet. Will stretched his arms, glad to be out of the dark, - he’d had enough of tunnels and closed-in spaces to last him a lifetime – but soon he found himself smushed between a broom and a templar as they made space for Katz and Alana to come through the grate, and then the four of them were huddled together, all elbows and pointy armor. Will’s eyebrows jumped to their highest peak when he realized his backside was perfectly aligned with Hannibal’s groin. He coughed and reached for the handle of the door, opening it hurriedly and making a dramatic space between himself and the templar. He blinked his eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting.

“Wow,” whispered Katz. “Looks the same.” They were in the Redcliffe dungeon, and Katz was running her fingers over the bars of a cell.

“Hello?” said an unfamiliar voice from the shadowed depths of the cell, and Katz startled, jumping back from the bars.

Will joined Katz’s side, Alana and Hannibal coming up behind them, and they peered into the darkness at the figure huddled in the corner.

“Who’s there?” Katz asked, and a man staggered to his feet. Slowly, he walked where the light could reach him.

Will gasped, stepping backward and running right into Hannibal, more specifically, Hannibal’s groin. The templar took hold of his shoulders; a calming gesture that made Will feel anything but calm. “What is it, Will?” he asked.

“Will…” the man behind the bars repeated, as if testing the name. “Not Will Graham?”

It couldn’t be. What were the odds? But his face…his face was so familiar. Will didn’t move forward, letting Hannibal’s hands rest on his shoulders, but he turned his head back to the cell in order to view the prisoner whose face was pressed to the bars. “Master Sutcliffe?” he asked hesitantly.

“You know each other?” Katz asked in disbelief.

Alana looked less surprised. “This man is a mage. Look at his robes; they’re Circle ordained.” She glanced between Will and the unexpected prisoner. “Will?”

Though his mind was whirling, he dutifully supplied an answer. “Master Sutcliffe taught classes in the Circle Tower. But he left some years ago.”

The mage behind the bars smiled sadly at him, shaking his head. “First Enchanter Bedelia sent me here in secret,” he rasped. His voice sounded dry, like he hadn’t had water in days. Resignedly, Will stepped out of Hannibal’s hold and up to the bars, passing the man his canteen. “Oh, Andraste bless you,” Sutcliffe sighed, accepting the water and drinking deeply.

“What are you doing in the dungeon, Master Sutcliffe?” Will asked. The last time he’d seen Sutcliffe, he had been lecturing to a small gathering of apprentices on the dangers of sloppy potion brewing. To see him locked up in a dungeon, his face dirty and his beard grown wild…it was a shock to the system.

“It’s a long story,” the old Master sighed. He slipped the canteen back to Will through the bars. “Why don’t you let me out and I’ll explain everything.”

Will shook his head, backing up – intentionally, this time - into Hannibal, who splayed his hand upon Will’s back possessively. “No,” he said.

Katz nodded. “Yeah, we don’t know why you’re in here. For all we know, you’re the one who poisoned my uncle.”

Sutcliffe stared at her. “If your uncle is the Arl of Redcliffe, I did poison him.”

Katz tried to move forward and Alana caught her arm, pulling her back. “Wait,” she said. “We can’t believe anything he says.” She looked at Will. “He might not be himself. We need to find your friend before we do anything else, Katz.”

When Hannibal spoke, it was so near to Will that he fancied he could feel the vibrations of his chest. “Katz, do you have any idea where in the castle your friend might be?”

Though Katz’s face was red and her fists were balled up in anger, she was able to turn from the bars of the cell and face her companions with clear, sensible eyes. “She could be anywhere, but I’m guessing she’s not down here in the dungeon. Unless she’s way kinkier than I thought.”

They began to move away, but when Will walked past the bars, Sutcliffe’s hand shot out from between them and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking him close. Will gasped.

“Don’t leave me down here,” he implored desperately. His eyes were crazed. “You were always such a good boy.”

Hannibal reached through the bars and grabbed hold of Sutcliffe’s hair, yanking back his head. “Let. Go.”

Sutcliffe freed Will immediately, but Hannibal kept his fingers wound tight in the man’s hair. For a few uncertain breaths, Will was sure the templar was about to smash Sutcliffe’s face into the bars. He was disgusted with himself at the twinge of disappointment he felt when Hannibal released him undamaged. Will delivered his former Master a final look, and then he followed Hannibal, Alana, and Katz through the rest of the dungeon.

When they came across a set of steps, Katz stopped and turned hesitantly to address them. “I don’t really know what to expect here. Can you guys feel anything…mage-ish?”

Will looked at Alana. He certainly didn’t feel anything unsettling like he had in the Deep Roads, but then he’d only been able to detect the Broodmother’s presence because she’d wanted him to, and he thought the odds of another Broodmother being somewhere in Redcliffe castle a bit farfetched, even for their ramshackle luck.

Alana smiled at Katz. “We know your uncle was poisoned and that there’s a magical seal around the castle,” she reasoned. “The odds are that the mage we just met is guilty on both counts. Let’s find your friend, and then we can sort this out and see what we can do for the Arl.”

Katz nodded, and Will could see the shift in her confidence as she squared her shoulders and bounded up the steps. They followed behind, and while Will didn’t expect a darkspawn monster to be lurking on the other side of the door, he doubted their luck was so improved that this was merely a matter of a single misbehaving mage. But when they stepped out of the dungeon and into the main corridor of the castle, nothing bad happened. No darkspawn leapt, no traps triggered. The entire corridor was vacant. The carpet runner beneath Will’s boots was soft and he stepped on it cautiously. The lack of immediate danger had him more suspicious than ever. He eyed a suit of armor that stood directly in front of him.

“Try not to attack the decorations, Will,” Katz laughed, and after looking in one direction, and then another, she began walking to the left, where the corridor turned around a corner. Will exchanged an uncertain glance at Hannibal, and then they followed. Later in Will’s life, he would always hold trepidations about turning corners, and think back to this moment with a shake of his head, for waiting round the bend, greeting their entrance into the castle’s grand foyer, were a dozen dead guards.

Katz hissed in a shallow inhale of breath, but she did not pause. She looked at the others with an off put expression that almost made Will laugh, and then she continued on through the room. She looked as if she knew exactly where she was headed, and so Will continued to follow her lead with no question. He was careful to step around the bodies. In fact, he morbidly congratulated himself on his expertise when he had crossed the room without treading on a single corpse. Leaving the bodies at their backs, they walked through an intricately carved wooden archway, stepping into what appeared to be a throne room. And it was occupied.

“Beverly?” A beautiful woman was standing at the back of the room, beside the throne, and her face lit up upon Katz’s entrance. Her spiraled curls bounced with the intensity of her stride as she crossed to them. “You got my message.”

“A few days ago,” Katz replied. “We got here as soon as we could.” Katz motioned to Will and he stepped forward. “This is Will, another Grey Warden. And Alana. And Hannibal.” Warmth crept into Katz’s voice as she spoke.

“Hello,” the woman replied with a cool smile. “I’m Bella. Thank you for coming.” Her eyes rested on Will. “I wonder,” she began, “if you’ve heard from another Warden lately? Jack Crawford?”

“How do you know Jack?” Katz asked, and already Will could detect the sorrow in her voice.

“He’s an old friend of mine,” Bella answered, slightly wistful. “But I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

Katz opened her mouth to speak, and Will could recognize the signs in her body language. She couldn’t do it. So Will did it for her.

“Jack recruited me,” he began. “He was a good man.” He paused, letting Bella soak in his past tense. “I’m sorry to say he died a few weeks ago.”

Bella nodded, accepting his news gracefully. Observing her, Will doubted she could be anything but graceful. She smoothed down her hair, and then her dress. “Was it a good death?” she asked quietly.

Katz blinked back the tears from her eyes, and this time she found her voice. “He died on the battlefield in Ostagar.”

“I thought he might be there when I heard news of it,” Bella said, and then her expression changed to one of deeper concern. “I also heard of the Wardens’ involvement, but I didn’t believe it. A lot of us find it hard to believe the Grey Wardens are responsible for King Chilton’s death.”

Katz sighed in great relief. “It was Teyrn Mason. He quit the field and left the others to die.”

Bella nodded gravely, pursing her lips. “I suspected that may be the case. Especially after Master Sutcliffe’s confession.”

Alana cleared her throat. “I hate to interrupt a reunion of old friends, but might I inquire as to the dead bodies we passed in the hallway?”

Bella’s eyes went large. “Yes,” she began, “I’m afraid we’ve greater troubles than the poisoning of the Arl.” Detecting the dread in Katz’s eyes, Bella quickly added, “He’s still alive, but he’s unconscious. Been that way for a while.”

Katz shook her head. “How is Abigail taking it?”

“How is Abigail taking it?” came a mocking, sing-song voice from the archway.

Will swung his head towards the source of the sound, and his eyes came to rest on a pretty young woman. She was pale with dark hair hanging lank around her shoulders. The cut of the dress she wore was scandalous, and the smile she wore was even more so, as she slinked across the room. Bella stiffened as the girl reached her.

“Hello, Abigail,” she said, and Abigail caressed her petite white hand along Bella’s arm.

“Who are our visitors?” the girl asked sweetly, turning her head and looking up at Will through delicately curled eyelashes.

“Hi, Abigail,” Katz said. “We’re here to help your father.”

“You’re here to help Daddy?” she cooed.

Katz stole a confused glance at Will and then returned her gaze to the girl. “Yes. I’m so sorry about what happened to him.”

Abigail smiled wide, flashing white teeth. She slid her hand from Bella’s arm and walked up to Katz until they were toe to toe, then she pushed the hair from Katz’s ear and leaned in, pressing her bosom against her and whispering softly, cheek to cheek. “I’m not.”

Katz backed up, looking at the girl with mystified eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” answered Abigail with a childish laugh that made Will’s skin crawl. “Bella, is there anything wrong with me?” She laughed again, high pitched and wicked.

“No, Abigail,” answered Bella reservedly, her face already cringing, like she was expecting what would come next. What came next was horrible.

“I think you are the one with something wrong, Bella!” Abigail cackled. “You naughty thing, undressing in front of our guests.”

Will watched, horrified, as Bella’s hands lifted clumsily, as if out of her control, and pushed at the neckline of her dress. She dropped her head, looking away as she slid the garment off her shoulders. Will and Hannibal averted their eyes.

“Aww!” Abigail cried. “You poor old thing! Throwing yourself at them and no one even wants to see.”

The girl waited until Bella’s dress was around her waist before she snapped her fingers. Bella paused, addled for a moment, before she realized she could move her hands again. She hastily pushed her dress back up, but kept her eyes straight down with shame.

“I don’t want anyone coming to bother me or Daddy,” Abigail commanded. She fixed Will with a sensual pout and then spun on her heel to saunter from the room.

Will exhaled following her departure, and turned to ask the others what, exactly, had just happened, but a clang distracted his attention, followed by the onslaught of armored men rushing into the throne room. A hand tightened around his wrist, and Will was pulled back, Hannibal stepping in front of him with his sword brandished. Looking over the templar’s shoulder, Will recognized the face of one of their assailants. He’d seen it before when he’d stepped gingerly over it.

“Those are corpses!” he cried.

Alana bashed one of the risen dead bodies in the chest, pushing it away. “They’ve been necromanced.”

Bella groaned, reaching a hand beneath her dress and pulling out a dagger. “It’s Abigail. She’s been raising the dead when she gets angry.” Apparently cured of her shame, the woman shoved at one of the corpses shaking its sword at her, swiftly stabbing its chest and watching it fall.

Will shortly began to notice that the corpses, though disturbingly animated, weren’t especially threatening. Their rotting hands could hardly keep a grip on their weapons. Hannibal even stopped guarding him closely, quirking his eyebrow as he watched Will set one on fire. Soon, the dead bodies were back on the floor, dead. Doubly dead? Will grimaced at the smell and then returned his attention to the others.

“Okay,” Katz began, “I know I haven’t seen Abigail in a while, but she’s a little different than I remember.”

“That girl is possessed,” Alana said matter-of-factly. She put a hand on her hip and fixed Bella with an intimidating stare. “How did this happen?”

The mention of possession had Will uneasy, much more than the bodies surrounding them, and he stayed close to Hannibal as Bella filled them in on the unfortunate series of events that had recently passed within Redcliffe Castle.

“A few years ago, Abigail began…presenting. Showing signs of magic. Naturally, Garrett was disheartened. The last thing a father wants is to have his child taken away to the Circle,” she said. Will stiffened and felt Hannibal’s hand on his back. “The Arl thought he could enlist the help of a mage, and he brought one in to the household in secret. Master Sutcliffe was introduced to everyone as Abigail’s tutor, but only a few of us knew what it really was he taught her.” Bella paused for a moment to collect herself before continuing. “When the Arl was poisoned, it didn’t take long to figure it out. Our guards found the note hidden in Sutcliffe’s tomes. It had instructions in it, and a recipe. Sutcliffe didn’t last long on the rack before he was confessing.”

Katz gave Will a meaningful glance. “Mason.”

Bella nodded. “That’s what he said. The thing is, he claimed he did what he did for Ferelden’s sake. Mason had told him that killing Redcliffe’s Arl would be a heroic step in saving us all. I think Mason knew that Garrett wouldn’t swallow his lie about the Wardens, and he wanted to take him out before his claim could be contradicted.”

“Sounds like Mason,” Katz spat angrily. “But the Arl didn’t die.”

“No. Either the poison wasn’t strong enough or the ingredients Sutcliffe used to brew them were slightly off.”

“How does all of this relate to a possession?” Alana asked.

“Because when her father got sick, Abigail was devastated,” Bella said.

After a pregnant pause, it was Hannibal who spoke. “She made a deal with a demon.”

Bella nodded. “To keep her father alive.”

Will looked up at Hannibal, at the man whose job it was to fix these very problems. A bolt of fear ran up his spine, and he took an involuntary step away from the templar. All this time together and Will had no idea how he would act in this situation. Would he kill Abigail? It seemed harsh, she was only a young woman trying to help her dad, but did that make a difference to a templar? Would Hannibal run his thumb soothingly across Will’s skin if he knew the kind of dreams Will indulged in, or would he swing his powerful sword into his neck, no questions asked, no answers necessary? As Will’s mind ran wild with paranoid fear, Alana’s led her in a more useful direction.

“Abigail would have had to have at least a rudimentary understanding of blood magic to even summon a demon, let alone be possessed by one,” she stated.

“Which means Will’s old pal Sutcliffe must have been teaching it to her,” added Katz.

That roused Will’s attention. “Sutcliffe? A blood mage?” While it seemed preposterous to imagine his former Master practicing such dark, forbidden arts, he had just poisoned the Arl. “I suppose it must have been him that taught her.” Hannibal was watching him, head cocked curiously, and Will turned away. “We should speak to Sutcliffe. Find out what he knows.”

“I agree. If he’s a blood mage, he’ll know better than I if this can be reversed without killing the girl.” Alana looked to Will. “You know him better than us, Will. Do you think he would help?”

Will crossed his arms over his chest protectively, wishing he could go to sleep. “I don’t know,” he answered, tired and truthful. “But I don’t think we have a choice.” He glanced back at Hannibal, waiting to see if he would challenge him. But Hannibal didn’t shake his fist and demand the execution of Abigail, he only smiled kindly at Will and nodded his approval.

Will sighed, and wished he knew him better.

 

--

 

Bella summoned two guards (that were still alive) to go and fetch Sutcliffe from the dungeon. When they returned, the blood mage was in handcuffs, but he looked thrilled to be out of the cell. He greeted Will with a friendly smile and answered their questions earnestly.

“I showed her a few things that are considered, by some in the Circle, to be controversial,” Sutcliffe explained. “But you must understand, not all blood magic is bad. And some demons aren’t bad either. Some just want to help. Or talk. Some are just curious.”

Will bit his tongue, but Katz was adamant. “Blood magic is evil.”

“Some of it, yes, but not the things I taught Abigail,” Sutcliffe insisted. “I showed her how to make her dolls talk and how to ask a spirit a question, but she must have…she must have continued further studies on her own.” He looked up at Bella, the dark circles under his eyes aging him beyond his years. “I’m sorry. I should not have introduced her into that world. When the Arl got sick-”

“When you tried to kill him, you mean,” Bella interjected.

“Erm, yes. When that happened, I never guessed Abigail would turn to such darkness. I would have prevented harm from coming to her, if I could. It’s why I taught her blood magic to begin with.”

“Well, you didn’t prevent it and Abigail is stuffed full with demon now,” Katz growled. “The question is whether or not you’re going to do anything to fix it.”

“I…there is a possibility of a solution, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Will tensed.

Sutcliffe directed his eyes at Will. “Abigail’s mind, her true mind, is trapped within a demon in the Fade. Theoretically, a mage could enter the same Fade space and track down the demon. If the demon were killed in the Fade, the piece of it within Abigail would die, and she would be restored to normal. But the only way to send someone through to a specific Fade space would require enormous power. Either through an entire Circle of Enchanters…or blood magic.”

“And what about a Dreamer?” Will heard himself asking.

Sutcliffe raised his eyebrows. “A Dreamer? Well, I suppose a Dreamer could enter the Fade whenever and wherever he chose, without the help of blood magic or a full Circle. But Dreamers are a rare breed, Will. When I was in the Tower, I only ever heard of one instance, and that was a rumor.”

Will took a step forward, his chin held high. “The rumor was true.”

Sutcliffe’s shock was tangible. “You?”

“I can go into the Fade and kill the demon.” He felt Hannibal stirring at his side. “Even better, I have my own templar to keep an eye on me.” Will turned to said templar. “You will kill me if something goes wrong, won’t you, Hannibal? If Abigail’s demon got the better of me, you wouldn’t hesitate, would you?” Will’s heart was pounding as he stared into Hannibal’s eyes. The man’s expression was inscrutable.

“Will,” Alana said softly. “Blood magic was used to create this problem. Maybe it should be used to solve it. And then I could go into the Fade after the girl. You don’t need to risk it.”

He turned from Hannibal to the Witch of the Wilds. “Why shouldn’t I risk my own life, Alana? I risk everyone else’s.” Look at what happened to Dimmond, he wanted to say, but the pale glisten in Alana’s eyes told him she was already thinking it. “I won’t risk losing you when I can do this myself. And we’re not using blood magic.” He turned back to Sutcliffe. “What do I need to do?”

 

--

 

No one was more displeased than Hannibal, but he did as he was told, unsheathing his sword and standing at Will’s side. The others surrounded them in a small circle. They had traveled down to the dungeons, where they were least likely to be interrupted, and Will was staring straight ahead, focusing on the flickering of a torch’s flame.

Alana kept glancing at Will with big, worried eyes, but he refused to budge. His whole life, he’d been told he was a Dreamer. So much potential. So special. So dangerous. Now he had an opportunity to take advantage and be useful for a change, and the Blight consume if he was going to pass it up.

Sutcliffe murmured a chain of words behind him, and Will tried to remember the man’s instructions. Relax, close your eyes, think of Abigail. Relax, close your eyes, think of Abigail. Relax, close your eyes…

“Daddy?”

Will opened his eyes. Abigail was standing in front of him. They were surrounded by a beautiful courtyard.

“I’m not your father, Abigail.”

Her lip trembled and she put her hands on his chest. “Hold me, Daddy,” she whimpered.

Will settled his hands on her shoulder and pushed her back. “I’m not your father. And you are not Abigail.”

Abigail pouted. “You don’t wanna play? I thought you liked playing with sweet things like me.” She stepped close, her lips ghosting over Will’s cheek as she whispered, “Am I not quite your type, Will?” When she stepped away, her eyes had changed. They were bright and clear, sparkling like amber in the sunlight. “Do you love me now, Daddy?” she asked, sliding her hands coyly around Will’s neck. She leaned in, lips hovering over his, and Will breathed in, shocked by her scent. She smelled like…she smelled like him.

Will grabbed her wrists and pushed her away with more force than before, and there he was, standing before him. His hair fell over his forehead, soft and shining, freshly dried from a rinse in the river. He tilted his head at Will and smiled.

“How about now?”

Will stumbled backward, but Hannibal swept him up in his strong arms and pulled him close. He stared in awe at the face above. What was Hannibal doing here? Will opened his mouth to ask, but the templar silenced him with a warm finger pressed to his lips.

“Shhh…this is what you want, isn’t it, Will?” His hand cupped Will’s jaw. His thumb rubbed over the flesh of Will’s ear. Will leaned his head helplessly against the comforting touch and a pathetic whimper escaped his lips. “I know, I know,” Hannibal soothed. “It’s okay. You can have it. You can have me. All you need to do is let me in your head.” Hannibal kissed his cheek. “Tell me you want me inside, Will.”

“H-Hannibal…”

“Tell me I can come inside.”

Will sighed in Hannibal’s arms. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? This was the way Will wanted Hannibal to hold him. He could let him in…he could give him anything he wanted. He wanted to…he wanted...so much…

“Will.”

He jumped at the sound of its voice, pushing from Hannibal’s arms and twisting around. There, standing tall and lean and black as midnight, was the demon. His demon. Antlers and black eyes and beautiful leathery skin. It looked over Will’s shoulder at Hannibal.

“Will,” the demon said, “who is this?”

“It’s Hannibal,” Will replied, turning back to the templar and laughing. “My friend.”

Hannibal laughed too.

The demon did not laugh. Instead, it walked forward and settled its long, bony fingers on Will’s shoulder. “Look, Will. Who do you see?”

Will frowned up at the demon, but then he turned obediently and looked once more at Hannibal. The demon let him go and Will took a few steps forward, squinting at the templar. Looking. Really looking. It was Hannibal’s hair and Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal’s skin and Hannibal’s rough stubble along Hannibal’s jaw. Hannibal’s throat and Hannibal’s shoulders. Will inhaled and smelled Hannibal’s smell. And then he shut his eyes. At his back, he felt the demon’s embracing heat, and before him, where Hannibal stood, he felt…

Will opened his eyes.

Hannibal was smirking. “Are you going to let me inside your head?” he asked impatiently.

Hannibal was never impatient. Not with Will.

“You’re not Hannibal.”

The figure flickered.

“You’re not him,” Will said, louder this time. His head was suddenly clear, and he remembered the words Sutcliffe had told him to say. He repeated them loudly. “Show your true form, demon!”

Hannibal flickered again, and then changed before Will’s eyes. Where the templar had been standing, a woman now floated in the air. She was gorgeous and strange, with purple flaming hair and lovely, feminine horns curving daintily from her smooth forehead. She was naked except where gold jewelry draped from multiple piercings in her body. And her eyes…her eyes were black.

“Desire,” Will whispered, for he recognized this demon from his studies.

“Beautiful Dreamer,” was her honeyed reply. She looked him up and down with glittering eyes. “You are a prize. So I will give you one more chance to take me up on my deal. Let me in and I’ll let you live.”

Will shivered but stood his ground. “I don’t make deals with demons.”

She laughed in his face. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Will felt his demon coming to stand beside him, could see its antlers spiraling shadows on the misted floor. With the strength of his friend at his side, he looked Desire in the eyes. “You have to die.”

She laughed even harder, clutching her slender stomach as the chuckles shook her hourglass frame. “I suppose you think you can kill me.”

Will concentrated, but did not close his eyes. He felt the swarm of energy roiling in his core, guiding the flames to his fingertips. “I know I can.” He jumped for her, grabbing her face.

Desire screamed, writhing beneath his fingers. Will watched, fascinated, as she began to smoke under his touch. He felt his demon’s sharp nails caressing down his back, pressing its body close to Will’s, watching, rapt, as Desire burned and burned. He couldn’t believe his power, couldn’t fathom how easy this was, but he didn’t let go. He observed every second, every agonized twitch, and every smoldering inch of flawless skin until she released a final scream, throwing back her head and vanishing into wandering wisps of black vapor.

Will stood in shock, hands still raised and fingers still sparking with heat. He stood until the demon pressed itself flush against his back and lifted its hands to gently clasp Will’s wrists, lowering them slowly. It bent down its head and pressed a kiss against his neck.

“I…I almost believed her.”

The demon ran its hands down Will’s chest, over his hips. “But you did not.”

“I would have if you hadn’t helped me,” Will cried, turning in the demon’s arms, looking up at it with watering eyes.

A slender finger wiped a tear from Will’s cheek. “Desire is powerful, my love. You did well.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You killed her. That is a success for you. And if I was able to help,” it added, stroking along Will’s lower lip, “that is a success for me.”

Will blinked, lowering his head when more tears began to stream down his face.

“Look at me, my sweet boy.”

He did, lifting his eyes through his tangle of curls. The demon carded its fingers through Will’s hair, pushing it from his eyes. And that single, tender gesture was all it took to make Will collapse into the demon’s arms. Sobs shook his entire body, as worries to last a thousand years broke through the surface. “I wasn’t strong enough,” he cried, rubbing his face against the demon’s chest. His fingers clawed desperately. He couldn’t get close enough. Could never get close enough. “Dimmond died because I couldn’t block the Broodmother’s influence from my head. He died, and it’s my fault. I was weak, I was so weak, not even brave enough to use blood magic. Peter was brave enough.” He snuffled hopelessly, not even sure what he was saying anymore, his fists beating into the demon’s chest, then fanning out around its body and squeezing, scratching.

“You are safe, my love,” it whispered, tilting Will’s tear-streaked face and demanding his eyes. “Nothing is going to hurt you. I have you.”

Will shuddered, trying to steady his breath. His demon tilted its head, overwhelming Will with a rush of familiarity. “Kiss me,” he sighed. His demon complied, dipping its head and pressing their lips together, while its arms wrapped Will snugly against its body. Will deepened it, kissing the demon with bruising force. He darted out his tongue and licked the seam of the demon’s mouth, savoring the moment when it parted its lips in allowance, and Will slipped his tongue inside. He gasped at the dizzying heat of its mouth, and the sharpness of the teeth he traced with his tongue. When he felt the demon moving away, Will grabbed the back of its head and held it firm. He wasn’t done. He would never be done. Only when he couldn’t breathe did he finally break away, and that was only to gasp needily, “More. I need more.”

He groaned when the demon swept him into its arms, and then, with speed only the Fade could provide, they were back in their hall and his demon was spreading Will over black silk sheets. Divinely soft, he sank into them, stretching his arms above his head and moaning as the demon draped its body over his.

He was naked, as he should be in their space, and when he felt the tickle of sharp claws at his thighs, he spread them. The demon slotted their bodies together, lying between his open legs, and Will demanded back its mouth fervently, kisses open and desperate. “Please,” he heard himself repeating, over and over, his lips brushing hot against his demon. He wasn’t even sure what it was he was begging for, but he trusted blindly, madly, that his demon would know, so when he felt the teeth biting gently into his neck, he sighed, and when he felt long fingers spreading the flesh of his buttocks, he moaned, and though his eyes flew open with surprise when he felt the blunt tip pushing against his tender entrance, he wasn’t afraid. His demon would never hurt him. It loomed over Will, black eyes shining, and slowly, so slowly, it pushed inside.

Will wasn’t sure if it was the Fade that made its entrance so smooth and painless, or if it was the demon’s own magic slicking its way, all he knew was that this…this was what he needed. He shivered, raking his nails over the demon’s back, crying out when its cock breached him utterly. It stayed there, motionless, and kissed Will’s lips. Will felt it throbbing, buried deep, and it was hot, heavy, thick, filling all of Will’s empty places. He rocked up his hips and the demon pushed up on its arms with a growl, easing even further inside.

“Please,” Will whispered, and his demon locked onto his eyes and began its rhythm, sliding out and slamming in, a melody of thrusts and groans that soon had Will panting and grinding, pleading for more.

He saw his face reflected in his demon’s eyes. He saw his kiss-swollen lips parted on a moan of pleasure, and his pupils blown black as his eyelashes fluttered. He saw the heat in his cheeks and the demon leaning in to kiss him again and again. Rough and sweet. And when he came, he screamed, while his demon pounded him relentlessly. He floated, delirious and full, and he could still feel it pulsing deep inside when its lips pressed a kiss against his ear and whispered, “Beautiful.”

 

--

 

When Will woke, his face was wet with tears and he shook with the tremors of too much sensation.

“Will, you did it,” Alana whispered, and when he blinked the blur from his eyes, he saw her standing beside his bed.

He swallowed and wet his dry lips. “Abigail?”

“She’s resting. Bella’s with her. But Will, you killed the demon. You saved Abigail.”

Will was too weak to smile. His eyes roamed past Alana to Katz, who stood at the foot of his bed. His eyebrows furrowed into a scowl as he searched for the templar.

“I’m here, Will,” Hannibal said, and Will realized that the man was sitting in a chair at the bedside, his fingers laced through Will’s fingers. Will let his head roll on the pillow so he could face him. Hannibal’s hair was soft and sweeping over his forehead, the way Will liked it best, and the way it had looked when Desire had tried to make her deal. Will’s breath grew uneasy beneath the templar’s steady gaze, and Will began to wonder, terrified, if his secrets could be seen. The templar had been watching him closely during his venture into the Fade…

“Hannibal,” Will whispered, his tone questioning and vulnerable.

“You were exquisite,” Hannibal told him, lightly squeezing Will’s hand. “There is nothing for you to fear.”

Will exhaled slowly, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. He had lain down with the demon and the templar couldn’t tell.

“Bella,” Katz said softly as her friend entered the room.

When Will shifted on the mattress, Hannibal slipped his hand beneath his back and helped him sit up. “How is Abigail?” Will asked as he leaned to rest against the headboard. It seemed they had relocated him to a guestroom while he had been unconscious. Hannibal had probably carried him there and tucked him into the bed while Will had been moaning with the demon between his legs.

“Abigail is sleeping now, but I spoke with her,” Bella said kindly. “She wants to thank you when she wakes.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Will, stop being modest. Half of Ferelden wants a statue of you at this point,” snorted Katz.

“I’m curious, Bella,” Hannibal said. “Has the Arl’s health improved upon the death of the demon?”

Will hadn’t remembered to ask about the Arl, and he looked up at Bella hopefully. But the small smile on her face disappeared and she shook her head.

“The Arl’s condition has neither improved nor declined. I fear he may never wake up from this sickness.”

“But we need him awake,” Will said, realizing how selfish he sounded and not particularly caring. “We need his help fighting the Blight.”

Katz didn’t seem offended by Will’s bluntness. In fact, she quickly joined Will in his insistence. “You’ve been to see different healers? You’ve tried everything?”

Bella sighed. She looked as tired as Will felt. “Before Abigail’s possession, we had all the experts come and see him. First Enchanter Bedelia even paid him a visit. There was nothing anyone could do.”

Will shivered at the mention of the First Enchanter. She had probably been in this very room. “Alana, you’re a skilled healer.”

“I have already tried. My magic didn’t even make a dent.”

“Think, Bella. Is there no chance at reviving him?”

“There is no reasonable chance that I can see,” she answered wearily.

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully and then asked, “Is there an unreasonable chance?”

“Nothing but lore,” Bella sighed. “A fool’s errand.”

“A fool’s errand?” Katz perked up at once. “That’s our specialty, or hadn’t you heard?”

“No, Beverly, it’s not realistic.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you’re thinking and then we can decide whether or not it’s realistic,” Katz argued, crossing her arms stubbornly.

“Alright. Have you heard the legend of Andraste’s ashes?”

Katz and Will shook their heads, but Hannibal nodded knowingly. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

Bella tipped her head at the templar. “It is said her ashes contain a healing property so profound they can cure any ailment. But it’s only a legend. No one has seen the urn in hundreds of years.”

“But you know where it might be?” Katz pressed.

“I know of someone who might know,” Bella said with a shrug. “A professor who has committed their life’s work to finding the urn.”

“Where is this professor now?” Katz asked.

“The last I heard word, in the village of Haven, in the Frostback Mountains.”

Katz smiled at Hannibal and Alana. Then she turned to Will. “Sound foolish enough for us?”

Will rubbed at his jaw and was surprised to feel the beginnings of stubble spreading over his skin. “Seems a bit tame, to be honest.”

“Haven’s not too far from here,” added Alana.

Will looked down at Hannibal’s hand, which was lying close to his own on the mattress.

“Redcliffe’s army will be useless to us without its Arl,” Hannibal said.

Will sighed and glanced at Bella, and the puzzled frown on her face made him laugh aloud. What was wrong with detouring to Haven for a few days? They needed the Arl’s help. And any plan that helped Will avoid the Circle was a plan he could get behind. “We need to find this urn,” he said.

“It’s not going to be as simple as that,” Bella warned.

“No,” Will agreed. “But we still have to try, don’t we?”

Chapter 14: Trials and Tribulations

“Pardon me, ser, but perhaps you could help us. My friends and I are looking for a Professor Fell. Do you know if he’s here?”

The guard huffed, an angry white puff of vapor clouding around his mouth. Haven was freezing, the ground covered in snow. Will burrowed his nose into the soft fur of his cloak and waited for the man to answer. He’d invoked his tower-taught tone of politeness and blinked innocently with the slightest of confused smiles on his pinkened face when approaching the guard, but the man seemed – and this was hard to believe, really – wholly unaffected by Will’s charms. The man shifted his weight from one foot to another and gave Will and his companions an irritated once-over, and then his hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword.

“Haven doesn’t like outsiders wandering in and making demands,” responded the guard with a reproachful sneer. “If you need supplies, you can visit the shop up the hill, but then you need to go.”

Will chomped at his lower lip to keep his rise of anger capped and his sigh of annoyance stifled. The journey from Redcliffe to the little village of Haven had taken two days, and in their hurry to arrive, they’d skipped over sleep entirely, opting, instead, to utilize Alana’s healing magic to temporarily imbibe their tired bones. She’d touched them each in turn and closed her eyes, and after an uncomfortable twinge of cool tingles, their muscles were enlivened and they could walk on. But even with a body that felt refreshed, Will’s mind was fuzzy with exhaustion, for Alana’s spells could do nothing to energize his brain. So when the guard glared and rudely banished them to the supply shop up the hill, Will’s tired mind stumbled upon a response he might not ordinarily have experienced. Or that was his reasoning after he walked up to the guard, sweet expression wiped from his face, and slammed his staff threateningly.

“I’ll ask you again, ser, if you’ve heard news of a Professor Fell in the village of Haven,” Will demanded, and while he could not see his own face, he fancied his eyes were blazing and the line of his mouth was grim, eyebrows furrowed with the promise of retribution upon continued discourtesy.

The guard appraised him with widened eyes, but did not react with Will’s hopes of confessional babbling. After his initial alarm of the young mage stalking up to him, the guard quickly regained his standoffish composure, puffing up his chest and delivering Will a look of withered amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, boy, but you’d best move on from here quick as your poofter boots can carry you.”

Incensed, Will’s hand shot out and grabbed the man’s wrist, the one that was resting atop his sheathed sword. Will didn’t need to use his staff; when need be, his bare hands worked better than fine. The man cried out as the flesh trapped beneath Will’s fingers began to sizzle.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Will said, increasing his grip and watching the smoke rise from beneath his hand. “And don’t call me ‘boy.’ I’m a Grey Warden, and I’m asking you a question.”

The guard sobbed, violently nodding his head, and Will released him. The man’s wrist was riddled with heat blisters and he dropped to his knees to bury his wrist in the snow.

“Professor Fell,” Will repeated. “Is he here?”

Finally, the response he had been waiting for arrived. The guard sniffled and nursed his injury with more snow, and then looked up at Will and answered: “He’s in the Chantry.”

Will turned to face his companions and was met with a rainbow of reactions. Most notable was Katz’s affronted face as she grabbed his elbow and ushered him away from the fallen guard. “Since when was being an asshole punishable by torture?” she whispered.

“That wasn’t torture,” Will defended, startled by her choice of words, “it was motivation.”

Katz looked to be on the edge of arguing when Hannibal stepped between them. “Allow us to look past Will’s inquisitorial prowess and consider the information gained.”

Realizing he was now being ignored, the guard lurched to his feet and stumbled away, kicking up chunks of snow in his haste to escape Haven’s unwelcome newcomers. Will watched him run into a wooden cabin off the main road and slam the door shut behind him.

“A strange man in a strange town,” Alana said.

Will glanced at her and briefly wondered how it was she managed to stay warm in her selected attire of scant leathers and furs that left entire expanses of smooth skin exposed to the elements.

“More like the only man in a strange town,” Katz murmured, her head turning as she searched their surroundings with curious eyes. “Welcome to Haven. Population: one rude guard.”

“And Professor Fell,” Will added, his own eyes sweeping the sleepy mountain village. He had expected the inhabitants to be few, but Katz was correct. There was no one in sight. And now that he was focused, there was an all around disconcerting element to the air. Something was amiss, and he couldn’t quite trace the root of his discomfiture.

“Perhaps we will find more answers when we find this Professor Fell,” Hannibal suggested. “I believe the Chantry is just there, atop the hill.”

Will followed the templar’s gaze up the road, and sitting at the pinnacle of Haven, as was the fashion in most villages, was the Chantry. Unlike the other wooden structures in the humble village, the chantry building looked well maintained and was built from stone, not timber. More noteworthy was its chimney stack, which emitted a hearty smoke, declaring the presence of someone within.

“Shall we ask the good Professor what he knows?” The templar’s attention was for Will alone, and he shied beneath the penetrative stare.

“We’ve come this far,” Will answered, turning his blushing face away from Hannibal and taking a step through the snow toward the Chantry.

They made their way up the hill, the Chantry casting a long shadow across their progression, until they came to a hesitant pause outside the front door. Will looked askance at his companions, and at their encouraging nods, he pressed his hand against the cold surface and pushed. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a rather unexpected scene.

The Chantry’s pews were filled, solving the immediate mystery of Haven’s missing residents; apparently, they were all attending worship. But that was not the unusual detail that had Will gripping his staff tighter than usual. What was strange was the man standing at the altar, dressed not in the standard chantry garb, but odd, crimson robes. More, the words he relayed were not the traditional Chantry chant, but a garble of words Will couldn’t discern, in a language he’d never heard spoken. But strangest of all, past oddities of dress and speech, was the hush that filled the room once their presence was detected and the disturbing synchronization of the room’s occupants as they turned in unison to stare at the intruders.

The door swung closed behind them with a slam that echoed loudly amidst the dense silence, and Will cleared his throat before addressing the man at the altar. “Sorry for the interruption,” he began, keenly aware of the disapproving eyes cast in his direction, “but I’m looking for a Professor Fell. I was told to find him here.”

The man at the altar lifted his arms and spread them wide, and he tilted back his head with a laugh. “Why, I am Professor Fell,” he exclaimed. Slowly, he lowered his arms and slinked from behind the altar, revealing a narrow body, his litheness evident even as it was hidden beneath layers of robes. “Who seeks me?” His walk forward was a display of swaying hips and a smirking mouth, and when he stopped in front of Will, his head jerked to the side and his eyes darted up and down Will’s form in a way that made him feel like he needed a bath as soon as possible. Hannibal, sensing Will’s discomfort, stepped to his side, and Will was satisfied to feel the steady pressure of the templar’s hand on his lower back.

“Professor,” Will said, “Bann Bella of Redcliffe sent us here, and we’re in dire need of your assistance.”

“Is that so?” asked the Professor, licking his lips.

“Erm, yes,” Will replied, feeling more than a little strange having their discussion in the middle of a packed Chantry service. His voice practically echoed within the oversized room. “It’s concerning the urn, ser.” Professor Fell cupped a hand around his ear in a show of his hard hearing and crooked a finger, summoning Will closer. Will frowned, but leaned in enough to speak in a whisper at the Professor’s ear. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

The Professor’s grin was crooked and sly. “You came for the ashes, did you?”

“Yes,” Will answered eagerly; hope swelled in his chest at the idea that this man did, indeed, know where they could find Andraste’s urn.

“I’ll tell you where the ashes are,” said the Professor.

Will waited with baited breath. And then he gasped, taken completely by surprise, when the Professor hooked an arm around Will’s chest and spun him round to press a knife against his neck. Suddenly, Will was a hostage staring out at the shocked expressions of his friends. Or, at least, Alana and Katz were shocked. Hannibal’s face was stone. But Will detected the minute spasm of muscle beneath the templar’s eye, the only visible sign of fury on his otherwise serene facade.

“These renegades seek the ashes of Andraste!” the man announced, slowly backing away with Will secured against his chest, the knife sharp against the hollow of his throat. The people in the pews booed, and Will, seeing them from a new angle, noticed the clothes beneath their cloaks were the same crimson robes the altar man wore. “I will tell you where the ashes are!” The man had backed them up to the altar and he yanked Will’s head back by the curls to whisper in his ear. “In a place you’ll never find.” His words were a hiss that made Will shudder, and the man pressed his nose into Will’s neck and sniffed. “Mmm.”

“Get off!” Will yelled, his eyes meeting Hannibal’s across the Chantry at the exact moment his captor’s tongue darted out to lick a thick line across his jaw.

Will’s mana surged and the man’s robes burst into flame. He released Will instantly to bat at his arms, screaming wildly. Once freed from the crazed man’s clutches, Will instinctively dropped to the floor. A moment later, he heard the sword hit its mark and Will jumped to his feet, bending down to retrieve Hannibal’s sword from the smoldering man’s chest. He turned and tossed it into Hannibal’s waiting hands. Will was pulled into the templar’s arms in the next moment, receiving a quick inspection for cuts at his throat. Approvingly unmarred, Hannibal released him, spinning with his drawn sword into another robed attacker. As Will glanced around Hannibal’s armored frame, he realized the entire occupants of the pews had stood upon their leader’s death and were now swarming with zeal. Crimson cloth ripped and burned, bodies were flung across the Chantry hall, and after an arduous scrimmage –formidable, not by force, but by sheer number! – Will was panting, Alana was looting a body, Katz was wiping blood from her blade, and Hannibal was bent down on one knee, studying the robes of Professor Fell.

“Either the Chantry has enlisted a new seamstress or these are not the robes of the devout,” he remarked.

Will joined him, peering over his shoulder at the face of the madman. He felt a shiver of repulsion and wiped at his jaw with his shirtsleeve. “He doesn’t really match Bella’s description, does he?” Will asked. “Younger than I’d pictured.”

“And crazy!” Katz added gruffly. “Why would he have had that reaction to us?”

“And why did all of his followers attack us?” Alana added. She lifted something shiny in her hand, pulled from around the throat of a dead woman. “Are they all wearing this medallion?”

Will squinted at the object in her hand. A silver necklace with a stone sun hanging from a clasp. Hannibal’s hand disappeared beneath the robes of the leader, returning with an identical medallion strung between his fingers. He placed it in Will’s palm, leaning close to inspect it, one hand steadying Will’s wrist while the other traipsed the sun with studious fingers. When his fingers idled from the jewelry and softly caressed Will’s skin, he looked up at Hannibal. The templar was no longer studying the mysterious medallion, but Will. They remained as such for a long moment, kneeling close on the floor, eyes meeting over their touching hands, and then they heard a muffled cry that broke the spell.

“What was that?” Katz asked, but Alana was already walking to the wall behind the altar. Hannibal stood, offering Will his hand, which was taken without hesitance, and then they were all clamoring up behind Alana.

She waved them back. “Be quiet. Let me listen.” She pressed her ear against the wall. Will heard another muffled sound of distress and watched the narrowing of Alana’s eyes. She knocked her knuckles against the wall, listened, and then knocked again. After a show of jutting out her hip and sighing warily, she turned to Katz. “Kick this down.”

Katz nodded, her glee at getting to put her boot through something evident in her smile, and after a step, step, SMASH, the wall was sporting a decent sized hole. Alana bent over to stick her head through. “Hello,” Will heard her say, and when she righted herself, she wore a look of immense satisfaction. “A secret room with a trussed up man inside,” she informed them breezily.

Hannibal hummed his appreciation. “A fascinating discovery. Well done, Alana.”

“Excuse me!” came a man’s voice from the hole in the wall. “Either kill me or rescue me, but don’t stand around congratulating yourselves all day while I’m tied up like a criminal.”

Alana rolled her eyes and ducked her head, moving into the secret room behind the altar. After an interested smile from Hannibal and a puzzled shrug from Katz, Will followed after her. Soon, the four of them were standing in a half circle around a smallish man with dark hair and serious eyes. He truly was tied tightly with rough rope, and Katz brandished a dagger from her waist to begin the process of his timely rescue.

“Argh! Watch yourself, you oaf. Can’t you see my skin is chaffed?” the man snarked.

Katz recoiled, responding haughtily, “Oaf?!”

“It figures they would send ignoramuses wrapped in brute packaging as my rescuers. No room for any brain between the brawn, I suppose.”

Katz scoffed and resumed the cutting of the man’s bindings with no concern for the friction of rope to skin. “No one sent us to rescue you.” Her blade cut through the ropes around his wrist and she moved to his arms. “We were here for Professor Fell and he’s dead.”

The man’s eyes became huge for a moment, and then he clucked his tongue disagreeably. “I am Professor Fell.”

Katz carved away the last of the ropes and stepped back. “But we just killed him.”

Will snuck another look at Hannibal, who was observing the exchange with a curious tilt of his head. But Will was not quite sneaky enough and the templar caught him looking, rewarding him with a barely-there smile.

“Let me out of this blighted room,” the man harped, standing shakily to his feet and making his way through the smashed wall. Will and the others followed him out, watching as he spun in a slow circle, surveying the scattering of bodies. “Your work, I assume?”

“If you really are Professor Fell,” Will asked, “who was this man and why did he have you tied up?” He gestured toward the corpse of the fallen altar man who had claimed to be Professor Fell.

“That, my mindless machismos, is Matthew Brown,” the Real Professor Fell replied. “Nothing but an insane cultist.”

“A cult?” Katz asked dubiously. “Here in Haven?”

“Brown’s group of zealots flushed this town of any sense years ago,” affirmed the professor. “Can you think of a better location to sew your seeds of insanity than a quiet mountain village?”

“Why was he pretending to be you?”

“To find out why you’d come, obviously,” Fell quipped. “And, of course, you came to inquire of the ashes, did you not?”

Will nodded. “Yes, that’s right. We need to find Andraste’s urn.”

Fell shook his head, arms crossing over his chest. “Typical. I have studied the legend of the urn for decades, and you lot come charging in to reap the benefits of another’s work.”

“Professor Fell, do you know where the ashes are?” Will asked, almost pleading.

“I need not answer your questions,” Fell replied rather nastily, turning up his nose. “Unless you plan to tie me up and poke at me like buffoons.”

“Okay,” Katz spat, grabbing the rude little professor by the collar, “you do realize we just saved your life, right? That if we hadn’t come along, you would have rotted behind a Chantry wall? So why don’t you show some gratitude and tell us what you know about the blasted ashes or I would be more than happy to poke at you like a buffoon.” She reached for the dagger at her waist.

Will walked up behind her and murmured softly, “Since when was being an asshole punishable by torture?” He was pleased when her eyes narrowed at him in annoyance. She released Fell’s collar and his fingers flew up to straighten it, squaring his shoulders and looking more offensively prideful than ever.

But before Professor Fell could comment on his rescuers’ skewed morality and lack of clear leadership, Hannibal stepped in front of him, dangling the sun medallion in front of his face. “Tell me, Professor Fell, what does this symbol signify?”

The Professor fixed Hannibal with a loathsome stare and did not answer.

“Hmm,” the templar intoned thoughtfully. “I thought perhaps your intensive studies would have familiarized you with this symbol. No? Allow me to further your expertise. This sunburst medallion is the symbol of the Cult of Andraste. I believe you are at least familiar with their existence.” He motioned to the bodies surrounding them. “And what purpose would the Cult of Andraste have with taking you prisoner, Professor, unless they considered you a threat? You are weak-boned and weaponless, leaving only your knowledge a danger. What knowledge rested within your commendable brain to upset this Matthew Brown to the point of physical harm?” Hannibal paused. When Professor Fell refused once more to answer, he continued, cool and calm as always. “I believe, and correct me if I am wrong, please, that you know exactly where the Urn of Sacred Ashes resides, and that residence is a secret the Cult of Andraste was willing to kill to keep.”

A hundred questions battered Will’s head, but Hannibal was not finished, so Will just stared and watched the heat behind the templar’s eyes.

“A man such as yourself would have no need to come to Haven unless the urn was nearby,” Hannibal continued, tucking the medallion into his pack. “So tell me, Professor, where is it? It is a matter of life and death.” He leaned down to whisper in the Professor’s ear. “Yours, in case that was unclear.”

Will had to admit, the man was difficult to shake up, and even after his resigned acquiescence following Hannibal’s threat his tone remained defiant and callous, addressing his rescuers turned hoodlums with a repugnant eye. “Remind me to send Bann Bella a fruit basket in thanks for sending you my way,” he seethed. “The ashes are in the temple atop the mountain, not far from Haven. That is why the Cultists are here, to keep outsiders from discovering the urn. Rest assured, there will be more in the temple. Their leader, in fact, and he will not be cut down as easily as Matthew Brown.”

“Who is this leader?” asked Hannibal.

The Professor bristled with displeasure. “He insists his followers call him the Great Red Dragon, but I know his name to be Francis. He dwells in the temple with his closest advisors, drinking dragonling blood and doing Maker knows what else. He is insane. His followers are insane. And you are insane if you believe you can reach the urn alive.”

Will ignored Professor Fell’s ominous dialogue, looking to his friends for their nods of approval. He turned to the Professor again, wondering vaguely if maybe they were a little insane, which, oddly enough, brought a slight smile to his face. “Lead us to the temple.”

 

--

 

Their trip up the mountainside with the decidedly unlikeable Professor Fell was a study in patience, as each of Will’s party took turns fighting their base urges to toss him into the abyss. But the time spent traveling could not be considered a total loss. When the Professor was not chiding them cruelly for their graceless handlings of, well, everything, he maintained a steady lecture of all things concerning Andraste. Will, though the opposite of being Fell’s fan, was a student, always, at heart, and he found himself listening earnestly as the man told the story of the prophet whose ashes they were heading to steal.

Andraste the Prophet, the spiritual wife of the Maker, burned at the stake, and now worshipped for her sacrifices. It was her teachings that formed the modern religion of the Chantry, the main religion throughout Ferelden and all of Thedas. Will was not religious - though Chantry study was mandatory within the Circle of Magi - but he found himself rather liking the idea of Andraste, not as a religious icon, but as a person. She had been through quite a lot of hardship before her death, her life consistently challenged, and Will could relate. Of course, Will had no Maker whispering in his ear, but another creature of shadow and antlers and endearing heat. Will’s cheeks blushed to think on his demon and the time they had spent together. He hoped he would not be smited instantly upon entering the sacred temple on account of his Fade fornication. That would probably confound his companions.

When at last they reached the mountaintop, Will’s nose was numb and his calves were burning from the climb, and he followed the others through the mouth of a cave, thankful for Hannibal’s hand keeping his trembling body from slipping on the icy floor. Will rubbed his hands together, expending a minutia of mana to heat his frozen limbs. Noticing the shivers of his companions, he tentatively touched them each with a soft graze of his fingers and allowed a moderate flow of heat to warm their bones, except for Fell, who waved him away with a proud huff. When Will approached Hannibal, he took the man’s hand, removing his gauntlet, and though the templar’s touch was already considerably warm, he held it longer than the others, closing his eyes for a moment as he let his magic seep into Hannibal’s skin.

With everyone warm barring the stubborn Professor Fell, it was time to approach the entrance to the temple, its door hidden in the wall of the cave. Will watched as Fell ran his hands over the smooth stone for a few minutes, before throwing up his hands in annoyance, unable to find a handle or groove in which to open the way inside. It was Alana, in the end, who stepped forward with one of her looted sun-shaped medallions. She arched an eyebrow at the Professor and pressed it against the stone. Almost immediately, the stone began to shift, and a hidden door slid open, revealing the temple within.

Alana did nothing to hide her smirk and secured the medallion around her neck. She extended her arm in front of her and nodded at Fell. “After you.”

Professor Fell grumbled as he walked through the door, the rest following quickly behind. Will had to crane his neck uncomfortably to see all the way to the top of the cavernous antechamber. The room was simply humongous, with ice-coated pillars and wall carvings and statues in every direction. A piece of Will wanted to stay in that first chamber and explore, but they had a vast temple to navigate, and finding the urn was the priority. He began to walk towards the door at the end of the chamber, pausing after a second when he heard the Professor joining the rest of the party in their venture.

“Professor, you need to say here,” Will said.

Fell was shocked to the core. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t come with us,” Will expounded. “The temple is dangerous; you said so yourself. Better you stay here.”

Katz snorted, trying to mask it with an artificial cough. “Will’s right, Professor. Wouldn’t want you to come to any harm.”

“I have worked my whole life to find this urn,” Fell argued irritably.

“An admirable feat,” Hannibal said with clear tones of condescension.

“But you really should wait here,” Alana piped, reaching into her pack and revealing a piece of blank parchment. “Why don’t you take some notes of what you find in this first room, and then we’ll come and fetch you when it’s safe?” She handed Fell the parchment and a small chunk of charcoal.

His face twisted unpleasantly, but he accepted the items. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.

Katz slapped him on the back. “Wish us luck.”

Professor Fell walked to the nearest pillar and began scrutinizing it, but Will heard him mutter under his breath, “I hope you all die.”

Will, Hannibal, Alana, and Katz exited the antechamber, all equally relieved to be free of the irritating man. They walked in companionable, unbothered silence for a few minutes, and Will was beginning to think the icy temple was a peaceful place of solitude, but it was not long before their trek led them to an occupied chamber, and the semblance of serenity was abolished.

Their presence went unnoticed at first, Will’s party coming to an abrupt halt when they spotted the small group of crimson-robed cultists gathered in the center of a smallish chamber, but a cluster of four can only go for so long undetected, and after several chest-clenching heartbeats, the cultists took notice, turning their hooded heads towards Will and the others.

Will tightened his grip on his staff, but remained still, trying to appear nonthreatening for as long as possible. If what the Professor said was true, and the leader called the Great Red Dragon had been feasting on dragonling blood, he would be a powerful foe. If Will could, he would handle the encounter without violence, and he’d worked out a way to do it on the journey up the mountainside.

He began by dropping to one knee. “We have come in search of the Great Red Dragon,” Will declared with a humble bow of his head. He could sense the others regarding him with befuddlement, but, blessedly, they did not contradict his gesture, opting instead to imitate it, each member of his party dropping to their knees. From his peripheral, Will saw Hannibal kneeling at his side. The templar’s body was tensed from the surprise supplication, but he gave no outward rebuttal, bowing his head in equal measure and awaiting the next move with noticeable intrigue.

Though Will’s companions may have been confused by such genuflection, the tallest of the robed cultists seemed to accept it as a given reaction. He stepped towards them, removing his hood, and Will glanced up, head still bowed, and knew the man must be Francis, the Cult Leader. He looked sickly pale, like he hadn’t stepped outside the temple in years, but he didn’t look malnourished or weak. His tall body was broad and muscular and he moved with a laudable grace that reminded Will of a snake’s slither. But when the man spoke, his voice betrayed an unexpected hesitance. Though a deep, rumbling tenor, he spoke softly and slowly, as if every word needed intense consideration before being uttered aloud.

“I am the Great Red Dragon,” said the Leader. “You may rise.”

Will’s joints cracked as he lifted himself to his feet once more, the others following suit. They waited as Francis inspected their appearance. He took in the necklace around Alana’s neck and nodded. A woman standing at his side placed her hand upon his elbow, and he turned his head to her, the look of adoration evident in his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask our visitors why they have come searching for you?” the woman asked sweetly.

Her voice seemed to instantly relax the tall, strange man, and he smiled, strained but genuine. “Yes, Reba,” he whispered. Then he turned back to Will.

“Why have you sought the Great Red Dragon? I do not recognize you from Matthew’s Haven flock. Do you worship the Risen Andraste?”

Will had no idea what he meant by the Risen Andraste, but he was quick to nod his head adamantly. “We worship the Risen Andraste, my lord,” answered Will, hoping ‘lord’ was a permitted term of address. He paused, and when he was not met with disdain he continued. “We have come a far distance to admire the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

That, apparently, was not the right thing to say. Francis pounded an angry fist against his chest and growled, and Will thought the man might have charged them then and there if not for the gentling touch of Reba’s hand on his. It almost reminded Will of Hannibal’s soothing caresses, his constant touch that calmed Will’s constantly bustling nerves. As Reba hushed the irate Cult Leader and rubbed small circles into his palm, the man began to recollect his temper. After a few deep breaths, he spoke.

“Why would you admire the ashes of a dead prophet, when this mountain contains the spirit of our chosen holy one, the Risen Andraste herself?”

Will fumbled over a heap of thoughts, his mind working quickly to cultivate a suitable response. He ended up with the following: “Forgive me, my lord. The magnificence of the mountain has muddled my words. I meant to say that we have come a far distance to…abolish the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” He gritted his teeth, not sure if he’d just secured them a bloody battle or a rare opening.

Francis looked unsure, as well. “You have come to destroy the ashes?” he asked after a considerable pause.

Will took a deep breath. “That is correct.”

The mage and the Cult Leader stared at one another for a moment, the tension between them thick, and then the Great Red Dragon nodded his head. “That is glorious news. Others have tried to enter the Gauntlet and failed. If you could make it through and reach the ashes to destroy them, the Risen Andraste would be pleased.”

Entirely lost, Will bowed his head again. “It would be the greatest honor to enter the Gauntlet. Pleasing the Risen Andraste is our sole desire.”

“Mine, as well,” the man replied gravely. “Please, my friends, go forth into the next chamber and meet the Guardian. I look forward to speaking more when the ashes have been destroyed.”

Disbelieving of their easy passage, Will walked hastily across the chamber to the far door, the footsteps of his companions close at his heels. He bowed once more to the Great Red Dragon and then disappeared through the chamber door.

When they were alone in the new room and the door was shut solidly behind them, Will collapsed against it with a soft groan.

“What was that?” Katz asked with alarm.

Will spread his hands helplessly. “I have no idea. But I guess we’re looking for a Guardian now.”

“You need not look, for I am he,” said a whimsical voice.

Standing before an archway was a transparent man. Will approached him cautiously, in awe at the spirit before them. “You’re the Guardian?” Will asked.

“I am the keeper of Andraste’s sacred ashes, and only those worthy may pass. I wonder if you are worthy.” The spirit was dressed in full armor. His voice was not unkind, but tinted with boredom. Will wondered how long the spirit had been guarding the archway. Probably for as long as the ashes had resided within the temple.

“Who are you?” Will asked.

The Guardian settled his translucent eyes on Will. “I was the first Disciple of Andraste to watch over the temple, and I watch it still. But more importantly, who are you? There is suffering in your past – your suffering…and the suffering of others.”

“Everyone suffers,” Katz cut in impatiently. “Are you going to let us through or not?”

The Guardian turned from Will to Katz, smiling solemnly. “Always so impatient. You fear the others will notice your weakness if you give them pause to think. You suffer silently, miserable in your doubts. You do not think you deserve to be a Grey Warden, that Jack would be disappointed if he were alive. You disappointed your uncle, didn’t you? Is that why he sent you to the Chantry when you were young?”

Katz stared at the Guardian, her face a pale mask of horror and shame. When she did not respond, the Guardian turned to Alana.

“The Witch of the Wilds,” the Guardian began, “your heart is cold with suffering. No one will ever love you the way you have loved. You are a frozen, miserable creature, your fear too deep to thaw your heart.”

Alana glared at the spirit, unimpressed. “Fuck you.”

The Guardian smiled and turned to Will, and Will felt his blood run cold. “Will,” said the spirit. “Do your friends know how your father died? Have you confessed to them the truth of his death? Or has your fear of their abandonment kept you from being honest? Your father abandoned you when you showed him your true self. So you hide your true self from everyone.”

Will couldn’t breathe. It took all his strength to keep his knees from buckling. They were all staring at him, but he could not meet their eyes. He looked downward, to the space between his boots. After a moment, the Guardian turned his attention to Hannibal.

The Guardian’s silence made Will glance up at the templar. He was staring daggers at the spirit. It was a few more moments before the guardian spoke.

“You,” spoke the spirit softly, “I can see what you are. You suffer most of all, don’t you? Because you are alone and always will be.”

“Debatable,” Hannibal replied.

To Will’s surprise, the Guardian chuckled, glancing almost imperceptibly at Will. “Perhaps.”

“Well?” asked the unfazed templar. “Have we suffered enough to pass your test? May we enter the Gauntlet?”

The Guardian did not answer, but slowly dissipated into mist, disappearing and clearing their way into the next chamber. Will stood quietly, heart still beating uncomfortably in his chest. Alana and Katz also seemed distracted, pulled within themselves. It was Hannibal who roused them, taking Will’s hand and leading the way into the next room. “Do not dwell on the past, Will, for it is unchangeable. Stay in the present, with me,” he whispered in Will’s ear.

Will sighed, feeling the assuredness of the strong hand in his, and looked up at the chamber the templar had led them into. They were in a rectangular room, the walls lined with eight statues. Will shook the fogginess from his head and tried to concentrate. Hannibal was right. Now was not the time to lament their weaknesses. Now was the time to test their strengths. He straightened, offered Hannibal a thankful smile, and approached the first statue.

As he studied the woman’s face carved from stone, Alana and Katz trudged to the other end of the chamber, testing the door.

“It’s locked,” Katz said worriedly.

Will glanced up from the statue to watch them poking fruitlessly at the door for a moment. It would be funny if so much wasn’t riding on their ability to get through to the urn. He turned back to the statue, reaching out to touch the smooth stone with a finger. But before he reached his target, the statue moved beneath his hand. Will yelped, jumping back and ramming into Hannibal’s chest. He stared, agog, as the statue began to speak.

“Echoes from the shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in the night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?”

The statue finished its strange speech and grew still and solid once more.

“Um,” Katz stuttered, making a beeline with Alana towards Will and Hannibal. “Did that statue just talk?”

Will was temporarily speechless, but Hannibal was not. “I believe this statue just asked us a question.”

Will swallowed hard, shaking his head. He carded his fingers through his curls, pushing the hair from his eyes. “It was a riddle,” he said.

Alana and Katz exchanged uncertain looks, but Will was certain. And even better, he knew the answer.

“Dreams,” Will said.

The statue glowed for a moment, and a loud clicking noise echoed from across the chamber.

“Will, I think you just unlocked the door,” Katz said. They all glanced across the room. The door was still sealed, but it glowed partially around its handle.

“I count eight statues in this chamber,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we need solve eight riddles to unlock the door.”

Will nodded, remembering the Sloth from his Harrowing. He hoped that, in this case, they would not be eaten for answering incorrectly. He moved to the next statue of a man dressed in formal robes. The others followed behind him. Will waited for a moment.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat uncertainly, and then the statue began to shift, coming to life before his eyes long enough to deliver the following words: “I’d neither a guest nor trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?” Finished, it stilled and fell to silence.

Will glanced behind him at the others. Hannibal smiled warmly, and the answer sprang to his mind at once. He turned to the statue and answered. “Home.”

The statue glowed and they heard a second click from the door.

“Why are you so good at this?” Katz asked.

“I did spend the first twenty years of my life doing little more than reading,” was Will’s response as he moved confidently towards the third statue. He did not need to prompt the soldierly-looking statue; it began speaking as soon as Will stopped before it.

“A poison of the soul, passion’s cruel counterpart; from love she grows till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?”

“That’s gloomy,” Katz whispered.

Will shushed her and shut his eyes to think. A few images came forward from the back of his mind: Hannibal’s hand touching Katz’s waist as he helped her climb the sylvan; Hannibal linking arms with Alana; the Dust Town prostitutes touching what didn’t belong to them. Will bit his lip. He knew all too well of what the statue spoke.

“Jealousy,” Will whispered, and the statue glowed in his correctness, causing another click in the door.

They walked to the next statue.

“She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?”

Will remembered Dimmond lying beneath Katz’s sword, asking politely for his life to be spared.

“Mercy.”

A glow, a click, and they moved to the fifth statue.

“The bones of the world stretch towards the sky’s embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?”

“Ooh, I know!” Katz squeaked excitedly. They all turned to her and waited. Her eyes widened marginally, and then she answered. “Mountains…right?”

The statue glowed and the door clicked, and Katz exhaled with relief. They approached the sixth statue.

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?”

Alana answered now. “Vengeance.” Will remembered her face when the Broodmother had thrown Dimmond against the stone wall, and the payback in every thrust of her staff after. Will wondered if she was remembering the same moment, for her eyes misted as the statue glowed and the door clicked.

The seventh statue’s riddle was simple, and Will’s answer was quick.

“The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?”

“A tune.”

Glow. Click.

And then they were approaching the eighth and final statue. It came to life slower than the others, and its voice was weaker. Will listened carefully.

“No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”

Will’s eyebrows knitted as his brain worked the riddle, this one giving him pause where the others had not. Vaguely, his mind wandered over lurid thoughts. A blade sinking into flesh, the smell of burning skin, and black, bony hips thrusting, burying deep, a thick, heavy cock.

“Hunger.”

Will whipped his head around to Hannibal, for he was the one who had solved the final riddle. The statue glowed brightly, and the door clicked a final time before creaking open and presenting the way through to the next chamber.

Will had to hold his hands in front of his groin for a few moments and banish his burgeoning erection, but the thought of his demon pounding into him had elicited a very particular thrumming in his blood that was difficult to ignore, and he followed the others into the next chamber in a bit of a lust-colored trance.

That trance ended abruptly when Will looked up and saw the single figure standing in the center of the chamber.

“No, no,” Will whimpered, backing up several steps. He blinked, trying to clear the nonsensical impossibility presented before his eyes. But the figure remained unwavering. “No, no no.” Will turned to retreat and Hannibal caught him in his arms.

“Will, do you know this man?” Hannibal asked gently at his ear.

Will shook his head and buried his face into the templar’s chest. “No,” he whispered. “No.”

He felt Hannibal’s hand cradling the back of his neck protectively, felt him step them back as Alana and Katz moved in front with their weapons drawn.

“Who are you?” Alana asked the figure.

Will wished Hannibal wasn’t wearing his templar armor. His tears were too obvious as they rolled down the silver plating. He winced when he heard the figure’s cruel laughter. His heart ached in his chest. He had heard that laugh before, so long ago, so many times.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me, boy,” said the spitting image of Will’s father. “Or are you too ashamed to look me in the eye?”

It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real. His father was dead. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

Will cowered against Hannibal, whose arms tightened around him fiercely. “Don’t listen to him, Will,” Hannibal whispered, his lips brushing against Will’s forehead. “Listen to my voice.”

“THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE FROM WHAT YOU DID TO ME, DIDN’T YOU?”

“Shhh,” Hannibal soothed. “It is a crude fragment from the past and nothing more. Don’t listen.”

“YOU LITTLE FUCKING COWARD. COME HERE AND OWN UP TO WHAT YOU DID, BOY.”

Will shuddered beneath a well of rage, and he pulled away from Hannibal, his hands artfully unsheathing the templar’s greatsword. Vision red, he stormed past Alana and Katz, straight for his father. His muscles strained beneath the weight of the sword as he heaved it into the air, and with a terrible cry, he swung. The blade swept through the image of his father, and it vanished. The sword rang loudly when Will dropped it against the stone floor.

“Maker’s breath,” sighed Katz. “Will, are you okay?”

He nodded, but he was numb. Even the hand at his back did little to help. But he let himself be steered into the next room nonetheless.

Will felt the heat first, before he lifted his head from the floor and saw the enormous wall of fire cutting through the center of the next chamber.

“What?” Katz groaned.

Hannibal shadowed Will’s movements as he walked to a modest altar before the flames. Upon the altar was an inscription. A final riddle.

“What does it say?” Hannibal asked him.

“Enter the fire as you entered the world,” Will answered blankly, setting his staff on the floor at his feet.

“Will?” Alana asked concernedly, but Will had little care at the moment, so blasted and abused were his nerves. He slid the vest from his shoulders and his fingers untied the string holding together his shirt. It caught on his head for a moment as he lifted it off, but soon he felt stronger, tremor-less hands taking over, and removing his shirt the rest of the way. Hannibal caught his eye as he folded Will’s discarded clothes. Will did not shy away from his sharp gaze, but held steady to it as he toed off his boots.

“Are we…getting naked?” he heard Katz asking.

“Unless you entered the world fully armed, then I suppose so,” Alana answered.

Will heard the sliding of leathers and clinking of armor as Katz and Alana undressed. Will tucked his fingers beneath the waist of his trousers and pushed them down. He stepped out, kicking them away. Next went his smallclothes, and then he was bared completely.

Hannibal’s templar armor proved marginally more painstaking to remove. Will never realized how many heavy layers were constantly stacked upon his friend. He might have felt embarrassed as he helped unclasp the metal plates from Hannibal’s back, but what room did he have to feel embarrassed in front of Hannibal? Or Katz? Or Alana? What shame was he supposed to feel? He felt nothing but a mindless calm as he assisted the removal of Hannibal’s final piece of armor, and then he stepped back and watch him strip off his final layers. Hannibal’s body was svelte and toned beneath the cumbersome templar costume, but Will kept his eyes trained on Hannibal’s face. Mostly.

Once all four were stripped naked, Will stepped toward the wall of fire. He took a deep breath. And then he stepped through.

The fire did not burn him. In fact, once they had each walked through the flame, the fiery wall disappeared.

“You proved yourselves worthy of Andraste’s blessing,” came the voice of the Guardian behind them, and Will turned to face the spirit. “You may take your pinch of ash. Goodbye and good luck,” he said, already beginning to disappear, “for you are worthy in Andraste’s eyes.”

He was gone.

After a short silence, Katz broke into a fit of laughter. “This has been a weird day.”

They redressed, taking their time now that they had completed the Gauntlet. But Will’s numbing shock from encountering his father had begun to wane swiftly once he’d stepped through the cleansing fire, and he was becoming extremely aware, not only of his own nakedness, but of the nakedness of his companions. He tried to keep his eyes on his feet as he stepped into his clothes, but it was difficult. His eyes kept roaming, out of his control, toward Hannibal, who was taking way too long to get his clothes back on. Will ended up sighing in frustration and walking over to help him refasten his armor. “Thank you, Will,” the templar had said as he’d tightened the wrist of his gauntlet. Will’s cheeks had bloomed bright pink, and he’d hurried away. He thought there was a good chance that Katz’s following burst of laughter might have been directed toward him.

Once they were dressed and had their weapons back in hand, they approached the set of steps that led to a high altar. A light cast down upon it, and the Urn of Sacred Ashes shined brightly.

“There it is,” Katz said as they ascended the steps. She reached into her pack for a vial and handed it to Will.

He took it, and carefully dipped it into the dark grey ashes. The ashes were warm to the touch, like they had only recently been taken from the fire, and the sensation made Will shiver. His vial full, he stoppered it closed and handed it back to Katz. Then he paused.

“What is it, Will?” Alana asked.

“I told Francis I would destroy the ashes.”

“You did,” she agreed. “But will you?”

He looked into the urn and sighed. “No.”

“Francis won’t like it,” Katz warned.

“Don’t worry about Francis,” Alana said with a smile.

Will stepped away from the urn, and they made their way down the steps to a side door that had suddenly opened, revealing an exit to the outside. The cold wind felt good on his face as Will walked through the door. He looked up to the blue sky with a slight pang in his chest.

“You guys,” Katz said, “we did it.”

They smiled slyly at one another as they stood on the mountaintop. They had secured a portion of Andraste’s ashes, and now they could return to Redcliffe, heal the Arl, and collect his army for their fight against the Blight. Despite the cold feeling in his heart the image of his father had imparted, Will had to count this excursion as a solid victory.

“Liars!”

The Great Red Dragon and his elite followers had been awaiting their exit from the temple, it seemed, and they did not look pleased as they approached.

“You swore you would destroy the ashes. Where is your respect for the Risen Andraste?!” boomed the Cult Leader, his hands waving fanatically in front of his fury-scrunched face. “You have disgraced the cause and you have disgraced the Holy One! You must die.”

As Will tightened his hold on his staff, he heard a strange rustling at his back, and then Hannibal was grabbing his waist and pulling him out of the way as an enormous, blue eyed dragon reared back its mighty head and flapped its wings menacingly.

“WHA-?!” Will hollered in surprise, because where had that come from? But then the blue eyes flashed at him, and he laughed, nearly in hysterics. Alana in her dragon form! He stared at her in awe. He had wondered what she looked like the night she flew in and saved their lives from the overrun watchtower, and there she was, in all her scaly, beautiful glory.

Francis was in awe, as well. He dropped his weapon and dropped to his knees. His eyes were huge and tearful with worship. "The Risen Andraste! She comes to us!"

So the cult's Risen Andraste was a dragon? Will could understand why, could have dropped to his knees, too, and stared at her all day. Alana’s dragon was not horrific, like the archdemon, but majestic and wonderful. She dipped her head and Katz and Will stared stupidly at her until Hannibal took control. He swept Will up by the waist first, throwing him atop Alana’s back.

“Hannibal, what are you doing?!” Will yelled, but the intense wind stole the volume of his words.

Hannibal ignored him and turned for Katz. She squeaked when he lifted her, throwing her in front of Will, where she leaned forward and dug her fingers into the scales. Then, Hannibal leapt onto Alana’s back, coming to rest directly behind Will, their bodies fitting snugly together. Hannibal patted one hand on Alana’s back, rubbing her scales like one might rub a horse’s flank, and she lifted her long, serpentine neck, her wings flapping once more.

“Hold on,” Hannibal breathed roughly against Will’s neck, and he did as he was told, reaching desperately for a handhold among Alana’s gorgeous scales. He was finely pinned between Katz and Hannibal, impossibly aware of every press of the templar’s body as it leaned against him. And when Alana roared and began to rise up from the mountaintop, Will, absurdly, felt safer than he had for days. Alana’s wings pushed them higher into the sky, and Will laughed with shaking shoulders. He pressed a tear stained cheek against Katz’s back and relished the feeling of Hannibal’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist. The Great Red Dragon became a small, worshipping dot on the mountainside within seconds, and then Alana glided smoothly through the sky, taking them back in the direction of Redcliffe.

Will was riding a dragon.

He was riding a dragon!

It was so ridiculously excellent that it took a long time for the thought to finally occur to him.

“We forgot Professor Fell!” he yelled.

Katz’s response was almost lost to him on the wind, but he thought he heard her ask, with a laugh, “Who cares?”

Will shook his head and closed his eyes. He certainly didn’t care at the moment. He focused on the warmth at his back and the thumb rubbing small circles over his stomach, determined to enjoy the ride while it lasted.

Chapter 15: You Can't Go Back

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.”

Chapter 16: Shackled

Notes:

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this little adventure. It really means a lot and warms my dark, frosty soul. <3 Now we're only a few chapters away from the end, and I'm still striving to finish before the end of November, so fingers crossed, darlings! *wipes nervous sweat from brow*

xoxo

Hannibal smiled. And then he changed.

“W-what is this?” Will asked breathlessly, staring into his demon’s black, glittering eyes. “I don’t understand.”

The demon’s hand reached out to softly touch Will’s cheek, and, confused and disturbed as Will felt, he did not move away. He let the demon frame his face with its hands. He let it draw him in closer. He let it bend its head so, when it spoke, its breath was a hot whisper against his skin. “I think you finally do, my sweet boy.”

The demon pulled away and gently tipped back Will’s head. But the demon had changed again, and it was Hannibal’s bright eyes staring into Will’s. His clawless fingers caressed softly down Will’s neck.

“You,” Will whispered. “You’re…you’re…”

“I am who you always knew me to be, Will,” Hannibal answered.

“No, no,” Will said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t want to know. There is a difference, my love.”

Will couldn’t speak, not with his world collapsing around him. Nor could he withdraw from Hannibal, his demon, still holding him gently. Mind reeling, heart exploding in his chest, Will did the only thing he could think of to do. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on where he wanted to be. He felt the warmth surrounding him, the demon’s heat he loved so much, and Hannibal’s heat, one and the same. Impossibly the same. Hannibal’s hands tightened around his waist as the air around them began to shift.

 

--

 

When Will opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the high ceiling of the apprentice quarters. He was only granted the calm respite of a single second before his mind caught up and he remembered. He rolled off his back with a groan, clamoring to his feet, his staff already tight in his hand. Behind him, Alana and Katz were also stirring. And there, right beside him, the templar’s eyes fluttered open and instantly began to search for Will. But Will couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t think he could stand it. He could barely stand at all. But he had no time to crumble, because Sloth was waiting.

And it didn’t look the least bit tired.

He slammed down his staff and a powerful line of fire flooded from its tip, casting a high wall of flame between Sloth and Will. The separation bought enough to time to check over his shoulder, where Alana and Katz were standing, looking a tad dazed, but ready for a fight all the same. He didn’t look at Hannibal, though he could feel his eyes upon him.

“Sloth is powerful,” Will yelled over the roar of the firespell. “Hit him with everything.” He channeled his mana, his core hot with its roiling energy. He was so wired with power; he thought he might burst into flames himself. “The wall is about to come down. Get ready!”

Will backed up, falling into line between Katz and Alana, trying not to see the man – no, the demon - in his peripheral steadying his greatsword. He shook his head and blinked the tears from his eyes, trying to concentrate. With a wave of his hand, he evaporated the firewall, and Sloth wasted no time. It shook the Tower floor as its giant, taloned paws came crashing down, breaking into a run and rushing straight for them.

Alana brought up an energy shield, and then her body bowed and furred, and she was the Great Bear from the Brecilian Forest. Not as huge and menacing as Sloth, but formidable and strong, with blue eyes bent on murder.

Will swirled his staff above his head, garnering his spell, and then he threw his strength forward, extending his staff and emitting a stream of fire, blue with heat, right into Sloth’s chest. It reared back with a roar, opening the way for Alana to swipe her long claws across its vulnerable belly. Katz lunged forward in unison with Hannibal, swiping behind one of its legs as Hannibal swiped the other. Sloth cried out and lost its balance. Blood was seeping beneath it, oozing from its legs and chest, but Will didn’t pause. He gathered his next spell until a firestorm swirled violently above Sloth’s head. It growled, baring its teeth and trying to rush forward, but Alana, changed back to human form, trapped him within a new force field, keeping him immobile beneath Will’s storm.

Sloth’s matted fur began to burn, making way for melting flesh. But when its paw slashed its powerful claws against the energy barrier, the spell came down, and Sloth sped toward Will, leaving a slippery trail of black blood in its wake.

Will blasted it with more flame, but Sloth was gaining ground. Like any cornered, threatened beast, it was more dangerous wounded and angry, and it gnashed its jaws as it pushed Will into the corner of the apprentice quarters. The backs of Will’s knees hit a clothes chest, and he fell, dropping his staff. He tried to lift his palm and form a new spell, but Sloth was already upon him, rising up on its haunches. As it swung down its lethal forepaw, Will closed his eyes.

But Sloth’s blow never connected, because Hannibal jumped it from behind, running the tip of his sword into its spine. Will opened his eyes in time to see Sloth bucking the templar from its back. Hannibal fell to the ground, and Will stumbled to his feet, reaching for his staff. He lurched forward, hitting Sloth with every spell he could remember and all the mana he could muster. Katz rushed in from its flank, slicing her blade through its thick abdomen. Alana threw it backwards with a burst of energy magic. It landed on its back, Katz’s sword embedded in its side.

Will ran to where it had fallen, standing over it and concentrating the entire force of his strength until Sloth’s fur was engulfed in blue flames. Its death cry was a terrible bellow that split a crack down the floor beneath it. Will spun around, body still hyped with power, and Hannibal was standing right there. Breathing heavy, Will kept his staff pointing forward, eyes wide.

“Will?” Katz was asking, but Will was focused wholly on Hannibal now. On the demon. He was panting, his hair hanging in his eyes, and his fingers were tight around the cherry wood of his staff, still hot from his mana, still sparking with power. He could attack Hannibal. He could. He could send him up in flames. He certainly felt volatile enough to try. And he probably should. If Hannibal was a demon, why shouldn’t he? But Hannibal didn’t look worried, didn’t look scared that Will would try to hurt him. Hannibal just stared at Will with warm, idyllic eyes, and his lips curved into a tender smile.

“Will, relax. It’s over,” Alana said, and Will felt her hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t look away from Hannibal. Not his Hannibal.

“What’s wrong with you?” Katz asked, waving her hand in front of Will’s face.

Hannibal tilted his head and his soft sweep of hair fell lightly across his forehead. And Will lowered his staff, the truth hitting him hard in the gut. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said softly. He ran a hand over his face and turned away from Hannibal, but not fast enough to miss the glint in the templar’s eye.

Will tried his best to ignore him as they continued to work their way through the Tower. He threw his worries into his magic, taking out the remaining abominations with mean precision, keeping as far away from Hannibal as he could manage, and never, never looking him in the eye.

It was easy, now that Sloth was dead. They found the top of the Tower filled with mages, unharmed and unmarked by possession. By the time they reappeared before the First Enchanter, Will’s head was a minefield, and his insides were humming a symphony of chaos. He was too wound up to even remember to be frightened when he addressed her, and he was too stuck within himself to feel proud when she shook his hand and pledged the Circle’s aid against the Blight.

There was a moment of pathetic horror when Will had faced First Enchanter Bedelia and seen the long line of templars at her back, and he couldn’t even entertain the idea of spilling Hannibal’s secret. And that’s when he realized he never would. Because there, in a Circle Tower, amongst two dozen templars…that would have been the moment to act. But Will let the moment pass, and when he left the Tower, he felt the same weakness, the same helplessness that he’d feared.

Will did not let Hannibal help him into the rowboat, and he did not meet his eye when Hannibal lightly grazed his arm and leaned in to whisper at his ear, “Please, Will, we must speak.” He shrugged off his touch and turned his back to him in the boat, and spoke to no one as it made its slow progression across the sparkling lake.

 

--

 

All Will wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t, because he knew that as soon as he entered the Fade, his demon would find him. And though Will longed to touch it, it was no longer an ‘it’ to touch. It was a ‘him,’ and it was Hannibal. And he didn’t want to see him, or touch him, or hear out his explanations.

When they reached the other side of Lake Calenhad, they traveled steadily westward, toward Denerim, stopping for camp when the sun had set. After the fire had been lit and their dinner had been eaten (Will’s hardly touched), he took Alana’s arm and led her away from the others, into the quiet, isolated shadows of the trees.

“Alana, I need your help,” he pleaded.

She looked up at him with a fretful mouth, straight and pursed. “What is it, Will? You’ve been acting strange since Sloth.” She pressed a cool hand to Will’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling nauseous and vulnerable and stupid. His heart ached, and he didn’t think Alana could cure that particular pain. But there was something she could do. “I don’t think I should go to sleep tonight,” Will said.

Frowning, she asked, “Why not? You look frayed. You could use a good night’s sleep.”

“It could be risky,” answered Will, dropping his voice low. He knew Hannibal would be straining his ears to hear him, just as he knew, if he were to look over at the fire, Hannibal would be watching. “After what happened today, I think I could be more vulnerable than usual. Other demons could be trying to hunt me down in the Fade. I’m sure it would be fine, but I don’t want to take the risk. I thought maybe you could use your energizing spell…so I won’t need to sleep.”

She reluctantly agreed to help, and Will only felt slightly guilty about it. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Not really. She made him sit on the grass, legs crossed and palms extended, while she sat across from him, gently resting her fingers over his hand. Will felt the healing magic tingle across his skin.

“The Guardian told me my heart was frozen,” Alana said softly as her magic flowed into Will. “Do you remember that?”

He nodded, because how could he forget?

“Dimmond reminded me of someone I used to know,” she continued, her fingers stroking over Will’s palms. “I think that’s why I saw him in the Fade. But it wasn’t real. Love like that…it’s seldom ever real. I learned that lesson the hard way, a long time ago.”

Will looked at the woman sitting before him. She was lovely and strong and her face glowed in the moonlight. It was difficult to imagine anyone not loving her.

“That said, if anyone ever looked at me the way Hannibal looks at you, frozen heart be damned. I wouldn’t let that kind of love pass me by.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth worked open and closed repeatedly, to no avail.

Alana laughed lightly. “Oh, come on. It’s no secret.” Will felt a final, tiny tingle, and then Alana pulled her hands away and settled them in her lap. “I don’t know what happened to make you upset, Will, and I’m not in a prime position to give any advice, but I can’t not say it, so hear me out. He’s a templar and you’re a mage, and I know you must think that could prove problematic down the road. But from an outsider’s perspective? Hannibal has always put you before the Order, and he always will. Think of everything he’s done, not to help save the world, but for you.” Alana shrugged. “Do what feels right, Will. Like I said, I don’t know anything about anything. But just in case you aren’t sure, just in case you actually are too dense to realize it, Hannibal’s in love with you. And if you feel the same, it’d be a shame to let that kind of love go to waste.”

She patted his knee and left him sitting in the grass. And he sat there for an awful long time, as his mind worked like a slave through his endless well of memories. Hannibal had saved his life too many times to count, but he could still feel every touch of his hands on his waist as he pulled him out of danger. He could feel the fingers brushing the tears from his cheek and the hand at his back. So many touches, so many soft words. But shining brightest amongst the onslaught of recollections was a small moment, and one Will had disregarded until now.

It was the day it all began, when he had helped Peter destroy his phylactery. It was the moment the First Enchanter had threatened Will with Tranquility, and the templar holding him had spun him around in his arms, strengthening his grip, and there had been a peculiar look on his face, and Hannibal had pulled him forward, pressing him against his chest. Will had thought at the time that he had been keeping a flight-risk mage from trying to escape his punishment. But now, as Will remembered, he saw it for what it had truly been. Even then, when they had barely known one another, Hannibal had pulled Will protectively against him. There, in that room full of templars and a wrathful First Enchanter, Hannibal had been preparing to save Will’s life. If Jack hadn’t intervened, Will knew that Hannibal would have done just that.

Will sat in the grass for a while longer, trying to piece together his memory, trying to see things as they had really happened. But when he finally walked back to the fire and lay down on his bedroll, he still couldn’t face the templar who had waited up for him to return. Will ignored the hand that reached for him and turned his back on the man who had saved him. Because he wasn’t just a man. He wasn’t just a templar. And he wasn’t just a demon. He was a liar.

 

--

 

Neither Will nor Hannibal slept that night. Nor the following night. Nor the one after that. And by the time they reached Denerim, Will was so brain-heavy and disoriented, he’d caught himself leaning against Hannibal’s shoulder as they waited for the Arl of Redcliffe to open the gates to his Denerim estate. It had only been Hannibal’s concerned rumble in his ear that had alerted Will to the slip, and he’d jerked himself away, falling into Katz and nearly knocking her over. Alana had worriedly agreed to give him a final magical dosage of sleeplessness, and he’d plied himself with cup after cup of strong tea as soon as they’d gained access to the estate kitchen.

And now, Will sat at one end of a long table, jittery and high on caffeine and magic. On the other end of the table sat the Arl. And in-between, staring expectantly at Will and his companions, were all walks of life in Ferelden. So strange a sight it was that Will thought for an uncomfortable few moments he might actually be asleep. Why else would he look down a table and see a Forest Spirit sitting next to a dwarf sitting next to the First Enchanter sitting next to the Arl of Redcliffe? But no, this wasn’t a fever dream. It was Will Graham’s life. And it was quickly reaching its crescendo.

“The Landsmeet will take place tomorrow,” the Arl was saying to the nods of several official-looking heads, for not everyone at the table was bound by the Warden treaties. He recognized a few others, from his world studies in the Tower. The Teyrn of Highever was there, and someone Will thought might have been a Bann from Lothering. There was also a surly looking elf who said he was from the Denerim alienage. His narrow face had been full of loathing when he’d sworn to help them defeat Mason, no matter the costs.

It was an odd gathering, to say the least, but it gathered down to this: They would all speak up on behalf of the Grey Wardens tomorrow and attest that Mason be stripped of his title, as well as the command of the Denerim troops. The only ones leading Ferelden into a battle against the Blight would be the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden to fight it, and the armies they had collected to help. The idea made Will uneasy, but a part of him was glad for it, too. Once Mason was out of the way, not only would the Grey Warden name be justly cleared, they could finish this Blight, once and for all. It had been a long time coming, and Will was ready for it to be over.

He had sidestepped Hannibal’s questing hand when the meeting adjourned, and in doing so, nearly trampled a small elven woman who had snuck up behind him.

“Sorry!” Will said, face blushing. He felt Hannibal sliding up beside him to take the note from the elf’s hand that Will had utterly failed to notice.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold coin, which he pressed into the elf’s palm. She bowed and quickly ran from the room. It had mostly cleared out, save a few. Katz and Alana gathered around Hannibal, looking over his shoulder as he unfurled the scrap of paper. Will shuffled awkwardly back and forth on his feet, biting at his nail and trying not to look at the templar, while desperately wanting to know what the note said.

But Hannibal didn’t make him wait, and he didn’t make him ask. He handed Will the note to read himself, though he was sure to make their fingers graze as the paper slipped from one hand to the next. Will’s blush intensified at the touch. He had gotten so used to the daily caresses and rubs, both from Hannibal and, well, Demon Hannibal, that the past three days of zero contact had made him shamefully touch starved. Will cleared his throat and tried to focus his tired eyes enough to read the cursive. What he read made his eyes pop, and he looked up at his companions, startled.

“This is from the Queen Regent,” he said. Of course, they knew that already, and smiled at him warily. Will sighed. He could only imagine what a mess he looked, if how he felt was anything to go by. Luckily, Alana was swift to take the reins, and for the zillionth time in the past few days, he was thankful to have met her in the Wilds.

“She’s asking us for help,” Alana said. “And she’s the Queen Regent.”

“But,” Katz added with a smirk, “she’s also Mason’s sister. Can we trust her?”

Will bit his lip thoughtfully, trying not to notice Hannibal watching his every move. He wasn’t sure if she could be trusted or not, but the note read as follows:

‘Dear Wardens,

After being caught attempting to attend your council, my brother, Teyrn Mason of Denerim, has locked me in my bedchamber. I send this note along with my most trustworthy servant, hoping it finds its way into the right hands. Please send help, if you can. I fear what my brother might do, both to me and to you on the morrow, and I believe it in all of our best interests that we speak. I am magically sealed in my bedchamber, on the second floor of the Royal Palace of Denerim.

Sincerely,

Margot’

“Judging by our past experiences,” Will said slowly, for that was his brain’s only speed to work with at present, “I would say that this is a trap.”

Katz nodded. “Yes. Big, fat trap.”

“But what if it’s not?” Alana argued. “Mason’s insane, right? And Dimmond mentioned how Margot had been forced into going along with his plans, didn’t he?”

“Alana presents an interesting point,” Hannibal said, nodding to her approvingly. “If the Queen Regent is sincere, she might be willing to help us, not only in the Landsmeet tomorrow, but in the battle ahead.”

Will kept his eyes on his shoes, knowing full well that Hannibal was cocking his head at that damnable angle and fixing him with those damnable, penetrating eyes. “I think…” he began, rubbing at his throbbing temples as he watched his bootlaces blur, “…that someone else should make this decision.” He almost expected a hand to press gently against his lower back, and when it didn’t come, his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

“I am inclined to believe the tormented sister,” Hannibal said. “There is a chance she has been unfairly misunderstood, grouped together with her brother’s madness simply because they are judged to be kin by society’s standards.”

If Will hadn’t vowed not to look at Hannibal, he would have rolled his eyes at his blatant self-campaigning. But he wasn’t looking at Hannibal, and he had no intention to, so he directed his gaze to Alana and Katz, lifting his brow in question.

Katz sighed. “I don’t know. Hannibal has a point. It’d be nice to have the Queen of Ferelden on our side.”

Alana nodded her head in agreement. “I think we should rescue her,” she said, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t put my finger on why, but I have a good feeling about it.”

 

--

 

Alana’s ‘good feeling’ became the catalyst for several features of interest that took place that day, the first of which involved Will, Katz, Alana, and Hannibal loitering in the gardens outside of the Denerim Royal Palace, stripping to their skivvies behind a rosebush and changing into the guard uniforms the Queen’s favorite elf had handed off to them. It was rushed and clumsy and Will’s bare ass fell into a rose thorn, but there was a bright side. Will hardly had any time at all for his eyes to roam over Hannibal’s bare body. He hardly noticed the way his muscles moved beneath his skin or the thick patch of hair across his chest. And Will certainly had no time, in such a rushed situation with a rose thorn nestled in his ass, to imagine his hands gripping the templar’s surprisingly soft-looking sides. An even brighter side, besides all that, was that the guard uniform included a heavy plate that lay across Will’s groin, effectively hiding the erection he definitely hadn’t gotten when he hadn’t had time to look at who he wasn’t looking at.

The elven servant was waiting for them at the back entrance, smoothing her sleek bun, her large, pointed ears twitching nervously.

“It took you long enough,” she hissed at Will and the others when they walked up to the door disguised as an average, nothing-to-see-here cluster of Denerim Palace Guards. She gave them a precursory glance before opening the door wider and waving them inside. They were herded into an alcove off the kitchen, where Will could see dozens of elven servants rushing around, working over steaming pots, cutting and slicing, breaking their backs and paying the four humans in guard’s armor absolutely no mind. He wasn’t sure whether they just didn’t see them there, or whether they were in on the Queen Regent’s plan, and thus, were inclined not to see them at all. Will, unused to the bulk of space his body took up beneath genuine armor, lifted his hand to straighten the awkwardly heavy helmet on his head. He wanted to distract his hand, since he’d not been able to sneak his staff inside, and it felt empty without the comforting weight of the cherry wood. When, upon this movement, Will’s elbow banged into Hannibal’s shoulder, it was a total accident. The templar grunted at the blow, feet shuffling as he was marginally displaced, and Will felt a petty sting of content. When he brought his hand away from his helmet, he hit Hannibal with his elbow again, harder and less accidentally than before. The gruff grunt of response was pleasing, until Katz caught Will’s eye. He blushed and scooted away from the templar he wasn’t looking at or interacting with and kept his head dutifully forward, waiting for the elf’s next instructions.

“There shouldn’t be any trouble unless you do anything suspicious,” she told them. “You’ll have to walk through the guard barracks on the first floor to get to the second, but you can take a back staircase, and at the top of the staircase, across the hall, Mistress will be waiting.”

“Nothing wrong with that plan,” Katz scoffed.

“The door is magically sealed, so I hope you brought a mage along?” asked the elf.

Will and Alana glanced at one another, and Katz said, “We’re all set.”

“Keep up the attitude and you’ll fit in swell with the other guards,” jibed the elf. “Once you have Mistress, see that she changes into something less gaudy. She won’t like it, but I’m sure you can convince her. Then sneak out the way you came in. Have you got all that?”

“We’ve got it,” answered Alana.

The elf nodded and took a step back to survey their appearance once more. She gave off a strained, exasperated sigh before saying, with her ears a-twitching, “I guess that’ll have to do. Off you go.”

And so off they went, stomping through the Royal Palace like they belonged there, Will keying up anxiously every time they turned a corner, because corners were enemy number one in his experience, and he was lacking the weight of surety against the small of his back that he’d foolishly allowed himself to grow accustomed to, and worse, become dependent on to keep his bundle of nerves from eating him alive. Eventually, after not a long walk at all, they turned a corner and there was the guard barracks. Full of guards.

Will instinctively stopped in the doorway, and Katz had to shove him through, and it was only by Andraste’s Grace that he didn’t come crashing to the floor when he tripped over his too-big boots. Or it might have been the hand that gripped his elbow that saved him from falling. Will’s head whipped around to Hannibal before he could remind himself not to look, but the templar’s touch disappeared as quickly as it had been administered. Will fumed beneath the cover of his helmet and did his best to look like he belonged as they marched through the enemy lines.

Will was sure their luck couldn’t be this fantastic, but it truly seemed that every guard in the room either had his head in a bowl of stew or his mind on his hand of cards, because not a one paid a stitch of attention to the four people trudging through their barracks. That didn’t keep Will from holding his breath, however, and only releasing it once they’d passed through to the opposite side. He exhaled slowly, and had to press his hand against the wall to steady himself. Maker, he was exhausted. But there was no time to stop and pine over his lack of sleep and deep-burrowing sense of betrayal, because the steps to the second floor were only a few yards away, and his companions were already headed right for them. Will stalked quickly past the templar waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, ignoring the hand held out for him and not thinking about all the times Hannibal had manhandled him up various flights of stairs.

The ascension was quick and unperturbed, and once through the door, the four companions were standing in a hallway of golden décor. The exuberance, though, was interlaced with madness. A pig’s head on a diamond studded mount. A silk rug depicting a graphic scene that Will, squinting, thought might be a woman being chased through the woods by wild boar. There was definitely a theme. And Will didn’t like it.

“There’s her door,” Alana whispered, and Will followed her gaze to the shimmery door across the hall.

Katz and Hannibal kept a lookout while Will and Alana approached the door. For the moment, they appeared to be the only ones in this section of the palace, so they took advantage while they could. Alana held up her hand, her fingertips hovering in front of the magical seal. She closed her eyes, and the shimmer pulsed once, twice, and after the third pulse, it vanished. Almost immediately afterward, the door cracked open, and a pair of doe eyes peered out.

“Oh,” said the owner of the eyes, and the door opened all the way. “Come in, come in,” the Queen Regent whispered urgently, and the four “guards” clamored quickly into her bedchambers. She shut the door and turned to them, resting her back against the wall with a sigh. “I wasn’t sure you would come,” she said.

Will observed her as she observed them. She was pretty, with big eyes and a rosebud mouth in a heart-shaped face. Her hair was a thick, sable braid hanging over her shoulder, and her figure was delicately curved beneath a velvet gown. Will couldn’t imagine this woman had been married to King Frederick, no more than he could believe Teyrn Mason was her brother. Will was readying himself to address her when Alana beat him to it, stepping forward and offering her hand.

“My name is Alana,” she said. “This is Katz. And Will and Hannibal.”

The Queen took her hand. “Quite the rescue team. I’m Margot.”

If their handshake lasted longer than was normal, Will was certainly too whirly-minded to notice, and if any lingering glances were exchanged, his vision was too tiredly blurred to catch it, but shortly after expedient introductions, Alana was leading Margot to her walk-in closet and sifting through choices for a disguise, while Katz provided occasional remarks over their shoulders, such as, “too many sequins,” and “too many feathers.” As the women made their selections, Will was left alone with Hannibal, and for the first time in days, he couldn’t find a route of escape.

“Will,” came the templar’s voice at his back.

Will was turned away from him, pretending to admire the glass unicorns positioned on Margot’s vanity, but he couldn’t avoid seeing Hannibal’s reflection in the mirror, no matter how hard he tried to direct his eyes elsewhere. Even burdened beneath the guard helmet, those amber eyes sparkled, and Will’s cheeks grew warm to see the familiar figure behind him.

“Will,” Hannibal said again, taking another step forward and nearly crowding Will against the vanity. “We must speak.”

Will shook his head and braced his hands on the surface in front of him, making the unicorns tremble. He saw the hand reaching for his waist in the mirror, and spun around in time to slap it away. “No,” Will hissed beneath his breath. “Don’t.” He shoved past Hannibal and walked to the other side of the bedchamber, sweating beneath his helmet. Inside, his chest was pounding and his stomach was twisting. He shut his eyes and wished he could escape to the Fade and see his demon, let himself be held, but he couldn’t, because the demon was already in the room with him. Will was staving off a complete collapse of self, when Alana led Margot out of the closet, Katz following behind with a smile.

“This is the best we could come up with,” Alana said.

They’d dressed the Queen Regent in a bath robe. It was black and fuzzy and fell to her ankles.

“Erm…” Will muttered.

“I’m a Palace Mage,” Margot provided with a fretful brow.

“Yes,” Will agreed at once, trying not to noticeably cringe at her matching slippers. “That’s what I was going to say.”

Margot groaned and pulled at her braid. “It’s awful. But it’s the only thing I had that wasn’t, you know, Queenly. Mason had my riding trousers burned.”

“You make a lovely mage,” Hannibal offered, bowing to her politely.

Will was seething within his guard uniform. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, voice fraught with annoyance.

“Will is right,” Hannibal agreed with grating immediacy. “I fear we have already lingered too long.”

They gathered around the door, Alana cracking it open to look out into the hallway. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Okay,” Katz said, “all we need to do is sneak across the hallway and get to the door. We didn’t pass anyone other than servants and guards on the way in, and they were all too busy or lazy to notice us, so fingers crossed we get the same treatment twice.”

They waited for Margot’s nod of approval, and then quickly exited the bedchamber. Alana, her hand judiciously clasped on Margot’s wrist, led her through the open door first, and Katz was quick to follow. Hannibal tried to chivalrously guide Will through before him, but Will scowled and crossed his arms until the templar gave up and headed through the door. That left only Will standing in the hallway when the guards came around the corner.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!”

As was the sensible protocol before any mission, it had been discussed, before they’d embarked on their rescue, what would happen if one of them was killed or captured. They were to carry on with the mission, and the mission was to get the Queen Regent safely from the Palace. Any unsavory consequences could be dealt with following the completion of said mission. So Will wasn’t surprised when Katz and Alana kept dragging Margot down the staircase, even as the guards descended on him. And he wasn’t especially surprised when Hannibal leapt from the safety of the shadowed doorway, forsaking protocol and refusing to leave Will’s side. But he was surprised when the guard snuck up behind them and hit him hard in the back of the head.

Will had only enough consciousness left to notice Hannibal’s body slumping on the carpet beside him, and then a swiftly kicked boot to his face sent him into the black.

 

--

 

A slap across his face roused him.

“Will! Will!”

He groaned. His head rolled against a surprisingly soft surface. Warmth surrounded his face.

“Will?”

“Mmm.”

“Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. But once they did, he saw Hannibal above him. Will’s head was resting in his lap, and the templar’s hands were gently framing his face.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Hannibal?” Will mumbled miserably. His head ached, and his body was freezing cold where it went untouched by the templar’s hands. He flexed his fingers and felt smooth, cold ground beneath him. “Where are we? What happened?”

Hannibal repositioned himself, carefully cradling Will’s head. “Can you sit up?”

Will nodded weakly, but even that miniscule motion was enough to make his head pound. Hannibal smoothed a hand around his back and kept the other secured at his neck until Will was reliably propped against a rough stone wall. The discovery that both men were stripped to their skivvies followed swiftly after.

“Well, at least I know why I’m so cold,” Will said, folding his arms across his shivering chest. He noticed Hannibal’s hand lingering at the back of his neck and recoiled. “Don’t touch me.”

Hannibal sat back on his heels, observing Will curiously for a moment, and then he stood. Will busied his eyes by soaking in the rest of the tiny square room they were in so he wouldn’t have to look at Hannibal’s backside, which was round and firm beneath his thin, white smallclothes.

“Are we in a dungeon?” Will asked when his eyes landed on the wall to his left made up entirely of iron bars. The other walls were rough stone, and all that resided within the room were the two of them.

Hannibal turned when he’d reached the wall opposite Will. “I believe we’ve been taken to Fort Drakon, in Denerim.”

“Fort Drakon?!” Will said, running his fingers through his knotted curls. He knew about Fort Drakon. Everyone knew about Fort Drakon. It was only Ferelden’s most impenetrable prison, reserved for the most dangerous criminals.

“Yes. We have been here for hours. I tried to procure you a glass of water, but the guard was very rude.”

Will groaned into his hands.

“Admittedly, this is not the most favorable outcome, but it could be far worse,” said Hannibal.

Will stole a glance at Hannibal through his fingers. “Did Alana and Katz get Margot out?”

The templar sighed. “I know no more than you. We can only hope they managed. They may be our only chance of escaping this place. Of course, there is another option.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Will. There is a spell that can be performed that would combine our powers. I feel confident that, together, we could easily elude Fort Drakon’s incarceration.”

Will’s laugh was bitter. “You want me to use blood magic.”

“I want you to embrace your potential.”

“You want to turn me into an abomination,” Will spat, feeling his anger heat his shivering body. “Don’t pretend like that hasn’t been your endgame this entire time.”

“I have only ever wanted what is best for you, Will,” Hannibal said softly. He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and Will gasped. Before he had time to check himself, he’d crossed the prison cell to Hannibal.

“You’re hurt,” Will whispered. His fingers gently touched the bruised swelling over Hannibal’s eye that his hair had been hiding. Will examined the injury until Hannibal’s hand settled on Will’s waist. Will jumped back as if electrocuted.

“Will,” Hannibal sighed, and it sounded almost like a plea.

“No!” Will yelled, turning in a desperate circle, yearning for a chance to escape. But there was no way out. He was trapped.

“You cannot avoid me forever,” Hannibal said softly.

“Oh, I absolutely can!” Will paced along his side of the cell, scraping his knuckles on the rough stone. “Watch me.”

“I am watching you,” Hannibal replied. “You are punishing yourself, speeding toward the edge of madness.”

“If I’m at the edge of madness, you put me there!” Will’s voice was broken and shrill and the angrier he became, the calmer Hannibal’s voice grew to counteract it.

“Tell me why you think that, Will.”

Will turned to face him. His eyes were watering and he was breathing hard. He couldn’t stand being so close to him. He couldn’t stand it. “You’re a demon!”

“Yes.” Hannibal cocked his head to the side. “But that’s not why you’re angry.”

“You lied to me, Hannibal!” Will screamed. “You manipulated me. You forced me to dream about you, made me need…” Will turned to the wall and slammed his fist into the stone. He heard the patter of bare feet as Hannibal walked to him. When he spoke, it was from inches away and still too far.

“Do you think I forced the times we shared in the Fade?” he asked, voice low and gentle. Will could feel Hannibal’s warm breath tickling the back of his neck and he shivered, but he did nothing to alter their distance. “I would remind you that you are a Dreamer, Will. And there was seldom a time you slept when you did not reach for me.”

Will froze. “What?”

“After I intervened during your Harrowing, it was you who continued to find me in the Fade. I never forced my presence on you. You came to me repeatedly, and I was disinclined to refuse.”

Will’s head spun from his effort to trace back his dreams. Was it true? Had it been Will finding his way back to the demon every time? Crawling into Hannibal’s subconscious? Seeking him out? Slowly, he turned around, cradling his bloody knuckles against his chest. “Even if that’s true,” he whispered, refusing to look up into Hannibal’s eyes, “you lied to me. Over and over.”

“I did not lie,” Hannibal said. “I waited until you were ready to see it for yourself.” He lifted his hand and cautiously, carefully, took Will’s bloody fist and pressed it to his chest. Hannibal’s skin felt hot against Will’s hand. “You were so afraid of demons, Will, and I needed to stay close to you, to keep you safe.”

Will was looking down at their intertwined fingers. Will’s blood was on Hannibal’s hands now, and smeared across his chest. “Why?” he asked after a quiet moment.

“I felt you before I saw you,” Hannibal began, his voice a worshipful whisper that made Will’s throat tighten. “When you were little and accidentally wandered into the Fade. All the demons could sense you. A Dreamer. Rare and powerful.” He lifted Will’s hand to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against the broken skin. “I became a templar in your Circle soon after. To guard your mind and keep the other demons away.”

“Why would you do that?” Will breathed, not daring to look at the lips kissing gently over his knuckles.

“Because you are mine,” Hannibal said.

Will shook his head, tried to pull his hand away, but Hannibal held it tight.

“My sweet boy,” he whispered. “Look at me. Please.”

Will never could resist him for long, no matter what form he took. He looked up at him now, through tears and tangles, waiting for the words he knew would come.

“I am yours, Will.”

It was inevitable. It always had been.

Will pulled his hand from Hannibal’s and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, his fingers digging cruelly into naked skin. He switched their positions, spinning Hannibal around and shoving him against the stone. And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t their first kiss. Will had kissed his demon in the Fade, again and again. And he had felt his demon’s hands run over his body countless times. But this was different. It was honest. It was real. It was Hannibal.

Will pressed their lips together. Hannibal’s mouth was hot and his lips were soft, and Will moaned as large hands glided down his hips and tightened over his ass, pushing their bodies together in a violent grind. Will gasped for breath, but didn’t break away, and Hannibal licked into his mouth, deepening the kiss and making Will’s knees give out beneath him. But Hannibal had him, and he would never let Will fall.

He picked him up, his hands hooking beneath Will’s knees, and he switched their positions once more, bracing Will’s back against the wall and kissing him fervently all the while. Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist, hooking his ankles together, and his hands…he let his hands get lost in Hannibal’s hair, combing through the silky soft strands he’d longed to touch for so long. When Hannibal bucked up against Will’s crotch, they both gasped, and Will tightened his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, pulling his head back to bite at his neck. His skin was salty and warm beneath Will’s tongue, but it wasn’t long until Hannibal was demanding his mouth again. And it was so much better than being together in the Fade. Hannibal’s skin was firmer and his lips were softer and the small sounds of pleasure he made as he kissed Will were sweeter.

And pressed up between the stone and the templar, Will forgot everything, except for the way Hannibal smelled, and the way his lips brushed against his, rough and then gentle, and the way their bodies seemed to align perfectly, his slighter hips curving into Hannibal’s big hands. While they kissed, Will couldn’t be angry at the things Hannibal had kept from him, because now he was giving everything back, giving it all.

He was Will’s.

And that heady power might have swallowed Will whole, and Will might have thrown Hannibal to the ground and straddled his waist. He might have kissed and bitten a trail down his demon’s stomach and ripped the thin cloth from his cock and stretched his lips around it. He might have sucked and licked and given Hannibal everything right back. He might have. No, he would have, but he didn’t, because, shortly after Hannibal had pressed him up against the wall and thrust his tongue into his mouth, a jingle of keys announced a presence outside their cell.

Breathless and blushing, Will slowly turned his head towards the bars, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck as Hannibal eased him carefully back down to his feet.

Not taking his hands off Will or even bothering to look away from him, Hannibal said, “May we help you?”

The guard standing on the other side of the bars had his weight shifted to one side, and a hand on his hip as he swung the set of keys on a crooked finger, a look of pure amusement on his face.

“I’m sorry,” answered the guard. “Should I come back and rescue you later?” His eyes roamed across their bare bodies, where Hannibal had kept their hips pressed together. “I can circle the cellblock and come back in, what, five minutes?”

Hannibal, still not taking his eyes off of Will, leaned in and kissed his mouth, before whispering, “Oh, I’ll require much more time than that.” When he pulled away, he was smiling. “But thank you for the offer, Alana. Considerate as always.”

Will’s eyes widened in shock as he looked from Hannibal to the guard who was definitely a man and definitely not – wait. He reluctantly pushed out of Hannibal’s arms and walked up to the bars, catching a flash of sky blue eyes. With a stunned, dramatic whisper, Will smushed his face against the bars and said in wonderment, “Alana?”

“I told you,” the guard replied, “I can shapeshift into a lot of things. Though, I have to admit, this form is not my favorite.” He – she? – tugged uncomfortably at her trousers. “I do hate to interrupt, but we really should get going. It’s only a matter of time until someone finds this guard’s body. I stashed it in the broom closet, but you never know who’s going to need the broom.”

Will glanced back at Hannibal, who had finally deigned to move from the wall and was stalking toward him across the cell with a wicked smile on his face. “Erm, yeah,” he stammered, distracted in every way possible by the nearly naked man stopping beside him and trailing his hand across Will’s lower back, applying the perfect pressure exactly where he needed it. “We should go. Thank you, Alana.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank,” she glanced down at the badge on her uniform, “Barney. He’s about to walk the two of you right out of here.” She set her keys into the lock and twisted. The bars creaked as she pushed.

“We’re just going to walk out of Fort Drakon?” Will asked.

“Sure,” Alana responded, throwing Will and Hannibal each a bundle of clothes that looked suspiciously like they’d been nabbed from the prison’s Lost and Found box. “I think you’ll find, Will, that the thing you build up to be the most impossible in your head, ends up being the easiest thing in the world.”

And when Will stepped free of Fort Drakon that night, with Hannibal’s hand in his, he found himself agreeing with Alana. Wholeheartedly.

Chapter 17: The Landsmeet

When they were returned safely – miraculously – from Fort Drakon, Will found himself seated at the Arl’s long table once again, only now, Margot was seated at its head and Hannibal was seated at Will’s side. And though Will was thoroughly exhausted, as he had been when first taking their meeting earlier in the day, it was much easier to stay awake this time around. He idly pressed his fingers against his lips as the others spoke, imagining Hannibal’s mouth on his. But what really kept him from dozing off was Hannibal’s thigh, which he kept pushed against Will’s beneath the table, and Hannibal’s fingers, which kept gently dusting over Will’s knee. Politely, Hannibal kept his attention straight ahead while the Arl caught Margot up on the details of the Landsmeet, but the templar’s eyes were sparkling with mischief, and slowly, discreetly, he continued to push the boundaries of his hand until his palm was resting on Will’s inner thigh.

Will hid a lusty sigh beneath the cover of his own hand, and scooted forward slightly in his chair, trying to coax Hannibal’s fingers further up the inseam of his trousers. Hannibal squeezed the meat of Will’s thigh in response, and it took all of Will’s strength to resist moaning. His eyes fluttered and he bit his lip. His hand gripped Hannibal’s wrist beneath the table.

“What do you think, Will?”

He blinked and sat up in his chair, head swinging around to see who had addressed him. When his eyes landed on the Queen Regent, who was staring at him expectantly, he swatted away Hannibal’s skillfully kneading fingers and tried to school his face to one of great concentration. He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed thoughtfully over his scruff.

“What do I think?” Will repeated her question, tilting his head interestedly. He knew Hannibal was smiling at him, could see it from the corner of his eye. Distracting, distracting, distracting.

“Queen Margot seems to think her brother won’t play fairly at the Landsmeet tomorrow,” Alana said, appearing fractionally smug as she glanced between Will and the templar. “What do you think?”

He cleared his throat, shifting again in his chair in an effort to displace Hannibal’s searching fingers. “I think Teyrn Mason’s gone to a lot of trouble removing us from the playing board to give up now.”

“I agree,” Hannibal added, his voice way too casual for someone with their palm gliding up Will’s leg. “It would be foolish to assume someone like Mason would suddenly be willing to play by the rules. We should keep that in mind as we head into the Landsmeet.”

Margot nodded. She no longer wore the fuzzy bathrobe, looking instead as if Alana had dressed her, adorned in a sturdy leather vest with soft fur trim. It suited her better than the velvet gown, Will thought. And much better than the bathrobe. “Mason has been obsessed with the idea of finishing off the Wardens." She pushed her long hair behind her shoulder and looked at Will. “Did you happen to see the pig head mounted on the wall outside my room?”

He shivered at the grotesque memory. “Yes, I saw it.”

Margot’s eyes were dark as they looked at some middle distance. “He told me that’s what he wants to do with your head. When he cuts it off.”

Will sat frozen in the chair, and Hannibal’s hand left his thigh, smoothing around to rest at his back instead.

“Well, that’s not what you like to hear before bedtime,” Katz said, her fingers clasping at the amulet around her neck.

“No kidding,” Margot sighed. “Look, I know what my brother is. He’s a monster. He’s evil. And tomorrow, at the Landsmeet, he will try to kill you, no matter the outcome.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin higher, looking absolutely like the Queen she deserved to be. “That is why we need to kill him first.”

Alana nodded knowingly, as though she’d heard the words already, but Will’s furrowed brow matched Katz’s. As for Hannibal, he was sitting motionless, hand a constant pressure on Will’s back and head tilted in its usual fashion, curious and, if Will had to guess, mildly amused.

Will responded first, voice stronger than he would have predicted, considering the context of his words. “How do we do it? Before the Landsmeet?”

Katz was shaking her head. “There could be a revolt if we just offed the Teyrn of Denerim, and it would only solidify the rumors he spread about us.”

“Judging by the looks on Margot and Alana’s faces,” Hannibal said, “they have already considered these consequences. What is it you propose?”

Margot glanced at Alana with a small smile. “There are certain legal deviations to the standard Landsmeet rules. And I happen to know Mason is already planning on a work-around. He doesn’t want to sit and hear Arls and Banns swear to the innocence of the Grey Wardens. Mason is going to cut to the chase as soon as he can.”

“Cut to the chase how?” Will asked.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “By challenging you to a duel.”

“A duel?” Will asked. He looked at Hannibal, then back at the others. “A duel?”

“It’s been done before, but not for a long time,” Alana replied. “Mason can challenge you to a duel to settle all matters between himself and the Grey Wardens, and no matter the result, as long as it was officially held within the Landsmeet, it would be considered entirely legal.”

“Am I correct in assuming this duel would be to the death?” Hannibal asked, and Will watched as Margot slowly nodded. “Hmm,” Hannibal hummed thoughtfully.

“Hmm?!” Will exclaimed. “So all of this comes down to Mason and me?”

“If he does what I think he’ll do,” Margot said, “then yes.”

Will tried to remember the Teyrn of Denerim in crisper details, but a lot had happened since the month ago they'd met, and he had only spoken to the man for a scant few moments. All that really stood out in Will’s memory was bulking armor and crazy eyes.

“You’re the Queen,” Katz said suddenly. “Can’t you wave your scepter or something and have your brother locked up?”

“I’m only the Queen Regent,” Margot said, sounding slightly dreamy. “I won’t have that kind of authority until after my coronation.”

“Which is why you have to win the duel tomorrow, Will,” Alana added. “The winner of the duel will gain the authority. You’ll be able to kill Mason and grant Margot her official, uncontested right to the throne of Ferelden.”

Will scrunched his brows at the Witch of the Wilds and wondered briefly when she had become so politically savvy. But he wasn’t the only one studying Alana. Margot had an eye on her as well, had been watching her ever since they’d sat down at the long table for their discussion.

“What if Mason doesn’t initiate the duel?” Will asked as infinite differing trails of possibilities sprang up in his mind. “What if he doesn’t want to deal with us at all and kills us flat out? No duel, no talking, just an execution we’ve willingly walked into.”

“That’s why we think you should be the challenger of the duel,” Margot said. “Before the Landsmeet can begin, you need to set the challenge. Everyone will be watching. All of Denerim comes to observe the Landsmeet. Mason won’t be able to refuse you in front of so many witnesses.”

“You’re all assuming I’ll be able to win this duel,” Will mumbled. His head still ached where he’d been knocked out, and his body was sore from hours of lying on a prison floor, not to mention his days and days without genuine sleep stacked on top of everything else. Will could barely imagine himself staying awake long enough to walk to his bed, let alone fight an insane, greatsword wielding Teyrn.

“You can beat him, Will,” Katz said, and she sounded so sure, so positive. Will looked from her to Alana and Margot, who smiled at him reassuringly.

Finally, he turned to Hannibal, who had begun to rub small circles on his back, but when the templar met Will’s gaze, he stood up from his chair at once. “Will is not participating in any duels unless he’s had proper rest.” He bent down and hooked his arm around Will’s waist, helping him up from the table. Will held on to the arm gratefully, too tired to even mind the raised eyebrows they were receiving. “If you will excuse us, I must insist on taking Will to bed.”

Margot stood, and, to Will’s surprise, bowed her head slightly. Alana was smiling beside her. “We should all get some rest,” the Queen Regent announced. “We will reconvene in the morning.”

Once the idea had been proposed, everyone was eager to retire to their respective quarters, and Will was more thankful than ever for the firm body supporting his weak one, relying almost entirely on Hannibal’s strength to lead him outside his guest chamber door.

And then Will felt his face blushing deep red, because he and Hannibal were alone in the hallway, and the templar was reaching around Will’s waist to open the bedroom door. He tightened his arm around Will and led him inside, softly clicking the door shut behind them. It was truly just the two of them since they’d been pressed together against the Fort Drakon cell wall. And Will didn’t know what to say. Then again, Hannibal always seemed to know what he needed, whether or not the words were spoken. He sat Will down on the bed and knelt before him, staring up at him with dark eyes. His hands smoothed slowly up Will’s thighs, until his fingers hooked into the waistband of Will’s trousers. Will sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, lifting his hips from the bed so Hannibal could pull the fabric down. Hannibal ghosted his lips down the pale skin of Will’s legs, as he exposed them inch by inch, until the trousers were slipping around his ankles. Will laughed breathlessly as Hannibal quickly removed his boots, and then whimpered as the trousers were pulled over his feet and thrown to the floor.

“Hush, my love,” Hannibal whispered, smoothing his hands back up the expanse of Will’s thighs. He crawled up on the bed to sit at Will’s side, and his fingers dexterously unlaced the ties at Will’s shirt collar. “Close your eyes, Will,” Hannibal hushed, kissing his cheek before lifting the fabric over Will’s head. Will watched the garment fall to the floor beside his boots and trousers, and then he let his eyes close.

He felt Hannibal move further up on the bed, and then his arms wrapped around Will from behind and pulled him back to lay against his chest. Will sighed, turning into Hannibal’s body, his head nestling into the crook of his arm while his hand splayed over the thick hair of the templar’s chest. Hannibal’s body was hot and firm and perfect, and when fingers began to comb through Will’s hair, he moaned shamelessly.

“Hannibal,” he whispered, just because he loved the shape of that name in his mouth. “Hannibal.”

He felt a rustle and then the weight of the blanket as Hannibal lifted it over Will’s shoulder. “Rest now,” he whispered, and it wasn’t long before Will was slipping away, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.

 

--

 

When Will found himself in the Fade, his smile was wide and hurt his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop. He spun around the grand hall, looking for his demon.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal whispered, and Will could feel him moving behind his back. Will sighed and leaned into his chest, expecting to feel the tips of claws scratching gently over his hips. When he looked down and saw human hands, Will frowned. Hannibal must have felt him tensing in his arms, for he asked, “What troubles you?”

Will turned to face him. “Hannibal?” he asked, looking up into the templar’s human face. “Why do you look like that?”

His demon cocked his head. “I thought you would prefer my human form,” he said softly. “After your reaction before.” He dipped his head down to kiss Will’s cheek.

When he pulled away, Will lifted his hand and carded his fingers through the soft, silvery strands of Hannibal’s hair. “I do like this part of you,” Will admitted, pushing his hips against Hannibal’s. He was naked, of course, as he always was in their Fade space, and the grind of his hardening cock against Hannibal made Will shiver. “But,” he continued, sliding his hands down the templar’s chest, “I like the other part, too.” Hannibal’s eyes flashed hungrily and Will bit his lip. “When we’re here, together, I don’t want you to hide who you are.”

Hannibal grasped Will by the back of the neck and surged forward, crashing their lips together. Will hooked his nails into the flesh of Hannibal’s back, and groaned as he felt soft skin quickly morphing into hot leather. Will’s hands scratched up his demon’s back, over his gaunt, sharp-boned skull, until his fingers wrapped tightly around the base of each antler.

He pulled back to breathe and there his demon stood. Tall and dark and strange and his. “Beautiful,” Will whispered, and then he yanked at the antlers, forcing Hannibal’s mouth down, kissing him fiercely. Long, bony arms slinked around Will’s waist, and sharp, clawed nails sank into the flesh of his hips before lifting Will up, straddling him against his waist.

And Will’s heart was screaming and his blood was thumping because they were picking up where they’d left off in the prison cell, and it was everything. Will was happiness, glowing and full, and every part of him that touched his demon sang with pleasure. He could live like that, falling asleep in Hannibal’s arms and waking up in his demon’s embrace. Two worlds to share together. How lucky Will felt in that moment, as lips slid roughly, blessedly against his own. How thankful he was for the prison that had forced him to look, to really look and see Hannibal, and see how badly he wanted him - needed him.

So absorbed was Will in the greedy urgency of Hannibal’s lips and tongue and teeth, that when the pull came, it was a shock doubly cruel.

“Hannibal!” Will yelled, breaking their kiss to wrap his arms tightly around his demon’s chest. It felt like hooks had sunken into his guts and were tugging, tugging, ripping him inside out. Desperately, he dug his nails into Hannibal’s skin.

“Brave boy, I’m here,” his demon rasped in his ear, and Will could feel his hands gripping him tightly, trying to hold him against his body, trying to keep him there in his arms, but Will’s fingers slipped loose and his demon’s hold failed, and he was falling, screaming, a violent force calling him forward.

Will spiraled in blackness for horrible seconds until he fell to his knees. And then, suddenly, the scene around him burst into brilliant light as the archdemon roared, breathing a raging fire that burned a circle around Will, casting thousands of darkspawn into gruesome illumination. Will gasped in horror, for they were many and they were all around him. Alphas and Ogres, all raising their swords and axes and snapping their bloody maws, while the titanic dragon turned its fiery eyes to Will.

He sat on his knees, gazing up at the archdemon. His head buzzed with a thousand whispers, and while he couldn’t understand the words, he knew the message that drilled into his brain.

The Blight. It was coming.

 

--

 

He woke up screaming.

Hannibal was already awake, and his hands were holding on to Will’s shoulders, trying to ease the tremors that thrashed his body.

“I have you, Will,” Hannibal soothed, demanding Will’s eyes. “You are safe. I have you.”

Will panted, but his muscles stopped their spasms beneath Hannibal’s administered touch. He calmed against the pillows, the sweat dripping from his fevered skin, tears streaming down his cheeks. He barely had time to croak Hannibal’s name when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by a faint voice. Hannibal brushed the damp curls from Will’s forehead and smiled apologetically before lifting from the bed. Will listened to the sound of Hannibal’s feet padding across the floor, and then the creak of the door opening.

“Katz, come in,” Will heard Hannibal saying, and he lifted his head from the pillow, pushing up to his elbows with a groan.

“Katz,” he whispered when he saw her face. She was pale and trembling and Hannibal was holding her elbow and leading her to the bed.

She sat on the end of the mattress and Hannibal repositioned himself beside Will, his hand winding around Will’s back and helping him sit up against the headboard.

“Will,” Katz said, and her voice sounded weaker than he’d ever heard. “Did you see it?”

He nodded.

“It was so much worse than the others,” she continued, shaking her head slowly as her eyes remained fastened to her twisting hands. “It..spoke to me.”

“The archdemon,” Will said. “It spoke to me, too.”

The Grey Wardens stared at one another. Too young, too inexperienced. And the only hope for Ferelden.

“Tomorrow,” Katz said, “we kill Mason. And then we get ready.” Her fingers clutched the necklace around her throat. “We can do this, can’t we?”

Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We have to.”

 

--

 

Will tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning again and again, Hannibal pulled him into his lap. He nipped at Will’s neck, and whispered against his skin.

“Would you allow me to make a suggestion?”

“Mmm,” Will mumbled, arching his neck to present his demon with more skin to kiss.

“It is concerning your potential, Will.”

Will indulged in the feeling of one final kiss against the column of his throat before he shuffled out of his demon’s lap. The room was dark, but Hannibal’s eyes were defiantly bright.

“I told you,” Will said, trying to keep his temper cool, “that I will not use blood magic, Hannibal.”

“And I will stand by your decision, always,” Hannibal replied, his hand reaching out to skim across Will’s bare knee, as if he couldn’t stand a moment’s separation. “But I would ask that you indulge me for a moment.” He tilted his head, the hair falling over his eyes.

Will huffed indignantly. There was no way Hannibal didn’t know the effects that look had on him. Feeling weak from his vision and flustered from Hannibal’s attentions, Will sighed his acquiescence, turning to lie on his back, settling his head in the templar’s lap. “I’m listening,” he said, closing his eyes when fingers began to tenderly dance across his collarbone.

“Demons are dangerous,” Hannibal began, his voice a lulling comfort in the shadows of the bedchamber. “But not all demons. Blood magic is dangerous, but not all blood magic. As I told you from the beginning, the line between good and evil is not so easily discernible. You yourself have toed that very line, time and time again these past few weeks, have you not?”

Will turned his head, pressing his cheek against Hannibal’s warm thigh. “Helping Peter destroy his phylactery,” he whispered, remembering his friend’s tear-filled eyes as he begged Will for help.

“Peter’s phylactery,” Hannibal agreed. “And then the werewolves. Prince Franklyn. A myriad of choices, not good, not evil…”

“Just whatever I could live with,” Will finished.

Hannibal shifted beneath him to lie on his side, so they were face to face. “Do you think, if you let me inside, I would dare hurt a hair on your head?”

Will moved forward, tucking his head beneath Hannibal’s chin, but he did not answer.

“There is a ritual,” his demon whispered as he cradled Will’s head gently against his chest, “of blood and love, both yours and mine, to join our souls. When fueled by hate, greed, and cruel desires, that joining can become corrupt. An abomination, you would call it.”

Will listened to Hannibal’s heartbeat, steady and powerful, beneath warm skin and muscle, blood and bone. “And when fueled by love?” he asked in less than a whisper, hardly vocalizing that final word.

“It would be a union of mind and spirit,” Hannibal answered. “A bond of strength, pure and beautiful.”

Will lifted his head and couldn’t resist pressing his lips against the sharp line of Hannibal’s chin. “What would that be like?”

“I do not know,” Hannibal answered. “I have never shared such a bond with another soul.”

He remembered the Guardian telling Hannibal his fear was to be alone forever, and Will wondered if he felt that same fear now. He wondered if being with Will as they were, unbonded but together, undeniably together in each other’s arms, was enough. With a shock of possessiveness, Will rolled his demon over, onto his back, straddling his hips. He bent down, sucking a bruising kiss over Hannibal’s heart. He felt Hannibal's pulse quicken – a rarity – beneath his adoration, and then fingers, feather soft, stroked over Will’s backside. Only when Will was satisfied he’d left a mark did he finally detach his lips. He kissed the dark circle of skin he’d created and sat back on Hannibal’s waist with a smile.

“I don’t need blood magic to be bonded to you, Hannibal,” he said. “I’ve been bonded to you since my Harrowing.” He laughed, thinking back to the templar stalking him through the Tower hallways, always there, always near, always watching. “Since a lot longer than that, actually.”

Hannibal opened his mouth to protest and Will leaned in, stealing his words with a delicate kiss. When they parted, he kept his face close to Hannibal’s, nuzzling his nose into his skin and breathing in the scent that had become so familiar.

“If you’re worried I’m not powerful enough to defeat the Blight without blood bonding with you, you’re wrong,” he said, not unkindly…but not sweetly either. “I’ve already grown more powerful.”

“I know, my sweet boy,” Hannibal said. “You have done so well.”

Will blushed at the praise, lowering his head to look up from thick eyelashes. “Are you proud of me?” he asked, surprising himself with the blatant flirtation. He was pleased beyond belief when Hannibal sat up, gripping Will’s ass and grinding him down against his lap. Will gasped and wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist.

“I am,” Hannibal affirmed.

“Even if I refuse to use blood magic?” Will asked, already breathless as he rocked himself down on his demon’s lap.

Hannibal stopped him then, cupping Will’s face in his hands and bringing their foreheads together. “I only want what is best for you, and I trust you to know what that is. Do you understand?” Will nodded his head, and Hannibal rubbed his thumb over Will’s cheek. “Kiss me, Will.”

Will kissed him. And Maker was he thankful for the lack of clothes between them, because as he pushed his hips forward, he felt the long, hard swell of Hannibal’s erection, rubbing right along his backside. And he wanted more. He ground his ass against the solid line of Hannibal’s cock and thrust his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth with a needy groan. Hannibal let him, for a moment, and then pushed him onto his back and hovered over his body. Will stared up at him helplessly.

“Hannibal,” he moaned, hands reaching for his demon.

“Shhh,” Hannibal whispered, kissing Will’s lips once before sinking lower to lick a line down his stomach. “Let me take care of you.”

“What - ,” Will began, but his words were stolen and his brain evaporated when Hannibal pulled down Will’s smallclothes and wrapped his lips around his hardening cock. “Oh!” His hands flew to the back of Hannibal’s head, tightening in his hair. His back arched from the bed.

He’d been treated thusly in the Fade by his demon, but this was different, because when he looked down he saw Hannibal’s plump mouth sinking over his cock and Hannibal’s eyes on his, and when Will gathered his fingers into fists, he had Hannibal’s soft, soft hair to grip and guide.

Hannibal’s tongue was relentless, lapping at the underside of Will’s cock while his lips were a constant, all-consuming suction of wet heat. Will tried to watch, he tried so hard, but when Hannibal hummed pleasurably and pushed Will all the way in to breach his throat, Will’s eyes rolled, and his lids squeezed shut, and he had to bite his hand to keep from screaming and waking the whole estate.

It didn’t take long. In fact, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Will to melt completely beneath Hannibal’s mouth, and when he came, his hips pumped and his breath was ragged, and his demon kept suckling and licking until Will was spent. Will’s length popped from Hannibal’s mouth with an obscene smack that had him groaning into his pillow, and then Hannibal was slowly kissing a path up his stomach. His hands trailed across Will’s check. Will sighed when he felt soft lips press against his closed eyelids.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered, beginning to move, wanting to touch his demon, but strong hands held him down.

“No, Will,” Hannibal said. “Go to sleep, my love.”

Will wanted to protest, wanted to taste and kiss and explore. But he was tired, he was impossibly tired, and Hannibal was nuzzling his neck and telling him to drift. So Will drifted, fingers tracing over forearms before sleep finally consumed him.

 

--

 

Will had no more dreams that night and no more visions of terror from the archdemon. He slept as soundly as he supposed anyone could with such disaster looming on the horizon, and when he woke, he was wrapped tight in the templar’s arms. He wanted to stay as they lay, didn’t want to move or face the trials of the day. But he had to, and so he plied himself from Hannibal’s arms, and together they dressed and prepared.

Faces were grim that morning when they reconvened at the long table. Katz looked as though she’d never fallen back to sleep after their shared vision, and Will couldn’t blame her. In fact, he felt a bit guilty as he snuck a glance at Hannibal beside him, filling his cup with more tea. Not everyone had a Hannibal to make them come so hard they passed out. Will was unused to feeling so lucky, and he flushed as he thought about the night before. It had almost been enough to wipe the archdemon from his mind completely. But Katz’s dark circles were a harsh reminder. The Blight was imminent. Soon, the preparations would begin and all of Will’s efforts, and the efforts of his friends, would come to fruition. But not quite yet. First, before anything else, there was a Landsmeet to attend.

 

--

 

Will grabbed Hannibal and kissed him hard on the mouth, and then he kissed him once more. Then he entered the Landsmeet.

The balconies were filled and the room was loud with the combined whispers of a hundred Denerim Lords and citizens, but when Will strode into the ovular clearing, a hush fell across the crowd, and the only sound that could be heard was the stomping of Will’s boots against the hardwood. And even though his heart was fluttering nervously in his chest, Will didn’t stop until he arrived at his target.

Mason was facing away from him, speaking to an elven woman who Will recognized instantly as the servant who had snuck them into the Palace. She smirked cruelly when she saw Will, and the anger rising in him at her betrayal gave Will the drive to extend his finger and tap against the Teyrn’s gold-plated shoulder.

“What, what, WHAT?” Mason asked, turning around. When he saw Will standing in front of him, he looked confused for a moment and squinted as though he didn’t recognize him. “You look different,” he said at last, his lips turned into a sickening grin. “Older. A shame.”

“Teyrn Mason of Denerim,” Will said loudly, letting his voice echo through the chamber. He remembered the words Margot had told him to say. “I challenge you to a duel, under the codes of the Landsmeet.”

Mason threw back his head with a manic laugh. “You DO?” When he straightened his head, his wild hair flopped over his forehead before springing back, seemingly on its own. His eyes were brimming with the sparks of insanity. Will's memory had been accurate. Mason was mad. He leaned in and Will barely managed to refrain from pulling back, baring the discomfort as Mason stage-whispered. “I’m going to fuck that mouth before I mount your head on the wall. HA!”

Will glared. “I take it you accept my challenge.”

“I accept!”

The Teyrn unsheathed his greatsword in a slick stroke, and the watching crowd gasped. The little elven woman cowered behind him and scampered out of the clearing, jumping over the railing separating the Landsmeet center from the observers’ benches. Will was reminded of the Proving Grounds, an experience he hadn’t cared to repeat, yet here he was. Might as well make the most of it. Will gripped his staff and narrowed his eyes at the coward who had left the King and Jack and all the other Wardens to die on the Ostagar battlefield. He would enjoy this fight. Will liked killing things that deserved to die.

Though it wasn’t Will’s first fight to the death, it was his first Landsmeet, and he was expecting some sort of official announcement to cue the beginning of the duel. It turned out the only cue he would get was a kick to the gut from Mason as he launched his armored boot forward unexpectedly and sent Will falling to his back on the hard floor. He landed with a heavy thud that knocked the air from his lungs, but he didn’t have time to shake it off and recollect himself because Mason was striding up to him, lifting his sword while Will was still splayed on the ground. Will rolled as the blade bore down, cracking against the floor and chopping through a curl of Will’s hair.

“HA!” Mason cackled, and as he hefted his sword again, Will shuffled backwards. Before Mason could swing, he lifted his staff, pointing it toward the mad-eyed Teyrn and shooting a blast of fire. It hit him in the chest, but the armor he was wearing seemed to lessen the damage. Mason cocked his head, looking down at the licking flames on his chest piece. He patted them out with his gloved hand and grinned, toothy and terrible. “My, aren’t you ADORABLE? So SPUNKY.”

Will shot at him again with another blast of flame, clamoring to his feet as Mason patted it out just as easily.

“You’ll have to do better than THAT,” Mason laughed, and he rushed at Will, slicing his greatsword right towards Will’s middle.

Will blocked the blow with his staff, momentarily stunning Mason, who had surely expected his blade to cut straight through. Will took the opportunity to touch the sword’s blade, lightly, quickly, but it didn’t take much for Will’s mana to seep through the pads of his fingers and heat the blade. Mason lurched forward, slamming into Will’s shoulder to shove him away, but the magic was already seared into Mason’s sword, and Will watched, backing up with his staff lifted and readied, as the metal began to burn beneath Mason’s hands.

It was a glowing red light that spread across the sword, and Will could see Mason sweating beneath his helmet as he struggled to hold on. But after a moment more, steam began to rise from the mouth of Mason’s gauntlets and he dropped the weapon. It landed with a heavy clang, and Mason laughed. “Ouch,” he said.

Will advanced, kicking the burning sword out of the Teyrn’s reach. He slammed down his staff, and a ring of fire erupted, surrounding Mason.

“Oh no. You CAUGHT me,” Mason jeered, his eyes dancing with fire. “That looks like fun. I think I’ll catch one, too.”

Mason waggled his eyebrows and made a twirling gesture with his finger. Will spun around, keeping the Teyrn trapped in his fiery cage. When he saw what Mason was alluding to, his fingers tightened on his staff. Off the main Landsmeet clearing, several hulking soldiers had a hold of Katz, two pinning back her arms as another held his blade at her throat. She kept still, eyes wide. Hannibal and Alana stood nearby, frozen, unsure. More guards were surrounding them, their blades pointing and awaiting further instruction.

At Mason’s low chuckle, Will turned back to face him. “There are the eyes I remember,” Mason drawled. “Scared and sweet. I want those eyes for my trophy room.”

“You can’t hurt her,” Will growled. “The duel is between you and me.”

“So INNOCENT!” Mason said, clapping his hands. “You know, I was planning on killing you right away, but I think I might SAVE you. Play with you for a while before I mount your head on my wall. Above my bed. Would you like that?”

Mason’s threats weighed empty on Will’s nerves, which were single-mindedly focused on the steel against his friend’s throat. “Let her go.”

“Okay,” Mason said. Then he brought up a hand and fanned himself. “This fire is so HOT, though. I think you better get rid of it first. And then I’ll let your Warden go.”

Will’s jaw clenched. He knew Mason was lying. But he also knew he was insane. There was no room for risk. So, reluctantly, he waved his staff and the circle of flames around Mason disappeared.

“So PRETTY when you follow orders,” Mason said. “I think I’ll start my fun right now. And then I’ll let her go. What do you SAY?”

Will just stared.

“On your knees,” Mason demanded.

Will glanced back at Katz, held tight by the guards, and what he saw made his lip twitch. He faced Mason, head lowered to mask his amusement, and then he dropped to his knees, just in time to duck the sword that sailed through the air.

The room exploded into violence. Hannibal’s sword struck Mason’s shoulder, knocking him to his back. At the same time, Alana attacked the guard holding the blade to Katz’s throat, sending him flying across the room with a bolt of energy. The other two men holding Katz’s arms were met with a sharp jab of her staff. They released Katz to stop the gush of blood from their noses, and Hannibal came up behind them, placing his hands strategically on their heads and SNAP. SNAP. They fell and Katz unsheathed her sword, and Will’s three companions ran to him at the center of the clearing.

“Will!” Hannibal shouted, pulling Will the rest of the way to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Will said, and then he grabbed Hannibal, pushing him out of the way and sending a jolt of fire at the guard rushing at them with his sword held high. The guard fell to the ground, smoldering and wheezing, and Will barely had time to smile at Hannibal before the templar was scooping up the fallen man’s sword and clanging it against another attacker's hacking blade.

Will looked around with a gasp as the saw the entire Landsmeet on the attack. It was Mason’s guards versus Will’s companions, grunts and groans and blood splattering quickly to the floor. Not the Landsmeet he had envisioned, but then, when had anything ever turned out the way Will expected?

With Hannibal defending him, Will turned to track the injured Mason. The Teyrn was slowly backing up from the clearing, staying low to the ground to avoid detection from the distracted fighting. His hand was pressed against his shoulder and his face was a grimace of pain.

“Hannibal,” Will said in a low voice. Hannibal plunged his sword into an advancing guard’s stomach, and then turned to Will, following his gaze curiously to the retreating Mason. Will waited for Hannibal’s nod, and then they both made their way through the fighting.

Mason tried to lift a dagger from his belt as he saw them walking toward him, but Will kicked his hand, committing the blade to a useless clatter on the floor. He stuck his staff’s blunt point against Mason’s throat.

“Call off your guards,” Will said.

Mason’s eyes darted wildly between Will and Hannibal, and then he lifted both hands and yelled, “GUARDS! STOP. STOP IT.”

The boisterous clanging of blade and staff suddenly ceased. Will didn’t bother to look. He knew the room had grown still behind him. He poked his staff into Mason’s neck and whispered, “Get on your knees.”

The Teyrn moved inelegantly to his knees.

“I should kill you,” Will said. “But I’m not going to.” Will waited for Mason’s eyes to flood with relief before he added, “I’m going to let your sister do it.”

“Ha! Margot? She would never kill me. I’m the only family she has. She needs me.”

“No, I don’t, Mason,” Margot said, her voice clear and calm as she stepped through the crowd and came to stand in the clearing beside Hannibal and Will.

Mason’s face was white. “You can’t kill me, Margot,” he said quietly, so only their small cluster could discern his words. “You kill me and you’re all alone.”

Margot accepted the sword Hannibal handed to her. Her fingers flexed around its grip and she stepped forward. “I’m not alone,” she said.

Alana stepped up from behind and kicked Mason in the back, forcing him to drop on his hands and knees, and then Margot turned, addressing the onlookers of the Landsmeet. “Teyrn Mason has endangered the safety of Ferelden. He betrayed my husband, King Frederick, as well as the Grey Wardens, leaving us all vulnerable to the Blight. As he has lost the Landsmeet duel, his punishment is death.”

When Margot cut off his head, Mason's face was still contorted in a dubious expression. He didn’t believe she would do it, not even when his head rolled on the floor.

Margot took a deep breath, and Hannibal kindly took back the sword. Will walked up to Hannibal’s side and leaned into the arm that came to wrap around his waist. They watched together as Margot stepped to the center of the clearing. Everyone watched, and as she held her head up high, they dropped to one knee before their Queen Regent, soon to be Queen of Ferelden.

“Teyrn Mason has paid for his disloyalty,” she said, her voice echoing, strong and lovely. “Anyone loyal to him, I offer the chance to be loyal to me instead. There is no time for civil war between us. Thanks to the honorable Grey Wardens here with us today,” she motioned towards Katz and Will, who nodded uncomfortably at her praise, “we know of the Blight threatening to strike against us.”

A wave of whispers rolled across the crowd. “A Blight?” “Oh no!” “What do we do?”

Margot lifted a hand to silence them. “We have only one choice, and that is to fight. The Blight will be defeated, Ferelden will survive, and I will be your Queen.” Margot’s face grew soft for a moment and she looked over at Alana. “And I will not rule alone.” She held out her hand and Alana came to join her, taking her offered hand. Will watched, stunned, as Margot pulled Alana into her arms and kissed her.

The Landsmeet went crazy, needless to say. Will tried to count the hours they had even known Margot, and ended up shaking his head, laughing. But when he glanced at Hannibal, it made a bit more sense. Some things, he mused, were just meant to be.

 

--

 

Will stood in the guest chambers, lifting his arms so Hannibal could remove the sweat-damp shirt from his chest. He shivered at the loss but moaned happily when his demon pulled their bodies together.

Following the Landsmeet, their party had retreated back to the Arl’s estate. Will and the others had already met with their allies to discuss the plans for the battle, and they were to re-adjourn with Margot shortly, after a quick freshening up. But now that Will had Hannibal shirtless and hot against him, he wasn’t particularly motivated to get him cleaned and dressed.

“I like you like this,” Will admitted, resting his cheek against Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal ran his hands down Will’s bare back and Will could feel the laughter rumbling deep in his demon’s chest. “But you know,” he said, turning his head to brush a soft kiss against Hannibal’s shoulder, “I’m mad at you.”

“Oh?”

Will tilted back his head to look into thrilling, bright eyes. They were Will's eyes to gaze into whenever he wanted, he reminded himself, warmth spreading through his stomach. And the skin his fingers traced was his to touch and kiss. He bent his head to languidly press his lips across Hannibal’s chest. “Last night,” Will said, dropping slowly to his knees, “you wouldn’t let me touch you.” Settled on his knees, he wrapped his hands around Hannibal’s backside, gripping his ass with possessive fingers to hold him steady in front of him.

“You needed to sleep, Will,” Hannibal chided, his fingers finding their way into Will’s hair. As he smoothed across the section of curls that Mason’s sword had chopped, his body grew tense.

Will kissed his hip to soothe him. “I’m okay." His fingers left Hannibal’s backside to dip into the waist of his trousers, and he looked up at the templar with heavy-lidded eyes before tugging the material down his hips, over his groin, and to his ankles. Will's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Hannibal?” he asked, his eyes taking in the large cock hanging heavily in front of him.

Hannibal’s thickness twitched in response, swelling steadily beneath Will’s gaze. He smoothed his hand across Will’s forehead, sweeping the hair from his eyes, and sighed. “Take whatever you need from me, my sweet boy.”

When Will had lived in the Circle Tower, he’d lived deprived. He had not sought such intimacies, had long ago resigned himself to an abstinent life. Pleasures of the heart and body were not pleasure in which a mage could easily partake. He truly thought – a constant surety of his life – that he would never have anything that would make his heart pound and his blood race and his whole being pulse with excitement. So the first taste of Hannibal’s velvety skin was a gift. And when he parted his lips and gently sucked on the purpling head of Hannibal’s cock, it was a wonder. He tasted salty and bitter, and Will lapped his tongue over the slit, eyes rolling at the precome already seeping.

“You were so beautiful today,” Hannibal whispered, fingers threading softly through Will’s hair.

Will groaned around Hannibal’s cockhead before sinking his lips further down the shaft, now hard as iron, thick and long and sweet on his tongue. How had he lived without that weight between his stretched lips? How had he allowed Hannibal to lie beside him all their weeks together and not lick his sensitive skin and swallow around his thickness? How had Will not grabbed Hannibal’s muscular, plump ass and pulled him forward, further into his mouth?

“My love, my love,” Hannibal moaned as Will took his fill.

And Will shut his eyes, feeling his demon’s heat and tasting his demon’s skin, and letting everything else, even the impending end of the world, fade away, at least for a little while.

Chapter 18: Thank you, Alana

Notes:

This chapter is a wee bit shorter than the others, but I figured no one would mind the earlier post! Enjoy the weird! xoxox

When the knock arrived at their door, Hannibal was straightening Will’s vest and Will was still trying to calm his heart. He’d swallowed down everything Hannibal had given him and the taste lingered in his mouth. Both their eyes cut to the door at the sound of the knock, neither enjoying the idea of outside company, but Will leaned in to kiss Hannibal enthusiastically on the mouth, and then strode to the door.

As he’d anticipated, Katz was standing in the hallway, and her face lit up when she saw Hannibal tucking in his shirt behind Will. “Fucking finally,” she said through her smirk, and then her face became more serious. “Alana sent for us. Apparently Margot found something interesting in the palace dungeons.” She arched an eyebrow. “You two ready?”

Hannibal walked up and settled his hands on Will’s hips. “Are you ready, Will?” he asked.

Will tried to ignore the press of Hannibal’s crotch against his ass as he replied, “Yes,”
And the three companions walked together to the room where Margot was staying.

Alana opened the door upon their arrival, and let them in with a sweep of her hand. Will noticed the blush of her cheeks and the exceptional glint in her eyes, and when she turned to walk to Margot’s side, he noticed the imperfection of her usually sleek locks, like a hand had grasped her and pulled her in for a kiss.

But Alana and Margot were not the only ones in the room. A woman was standing at attention, beside the Queen and her apostate. Slim and tall, with dark hair pulled back from her face and an unmistakable griffin etched into her rough leather armor. When Katz and Will entered the room, she stepped forward and bowed. When she spoke, her voice was precise, and her accent was foreign.

“Grey Wardens,” she said, lifting her elegant chin to appraise them.

Will and Katz exchanged surprised looks, and Margot cleared the air. “After the Landsmeet, I had my men sweep the dungeons. My brother had…an eclectic collection of prisoners. Chiyoh was among them.”

Chiyoh nodded solemnly. “I came from Orlais weeks ago, as soon as word spread what had happened to the Ferelden Grey Wardens. I tried to reach you, but was apprehended by the Teyrn of Denerim’s men shortly after crossing the border.”

“You’re an Orlesian Grey Warden?” Katz asked. “Oh, thank the Maker. I thought we were on our own.”

“Unfortunately, you still are,” Chiyoh replied. “Orlais only sent a single Warden to scout the situation when we heard rumors of the Blight and the battle at Ostagar. I have only just now been able to send word to my Orlesian brothers and sisters, but I fear they will not arrive quickly enough to help.”

The small flicker of hope in Will’s chest died.

“But I am here,” Chiyoh continued, “and I will help as I can.” She was silent for a moment as she looked at the two young Ferelden Wardens, and then she kept on, in tones far graver than before. “I wonder if either of you knows your true purpose.”

“To kill darkspawn,” Katz answered. “To stop Blights.”

“But do you know why it is only a Grey Warden who can do this?” Chiyoh asked.

Katz sighed, shoulders slightly slumping, and Will knew she didn’t know. Katz had barely been through her Joining before Will, and there was so much Jack had never told them, so much they’d never been taught of their own Order.

Chiyoh understood, and all in the room listened closely as she explained. “We are connected to the darkspawn hive through the taint we take in during the Joining. This lets us know when they are nearby, and it gives us insights into the archdemon’s movements. I, too, have had the visions these last days, as the threat grows stronger. We are skilled in fighting the darkspawn and immune to the toxicity of their blood, because it is a part of us. But there is a reason why only Grey Wardens can end a Blight. It is because we are the only ones who can kill the archdemon.” She waited a moment, let her words sink in, and then kept on. “An archdemon is not an ordinary darkspawn. It is a dragon containing the soul of an ancient god, controlling the darkspawn and commanding them to destroy en masse. When a Warden kills this creature, the Warden absorbs the god’s soul. Our taint destroys the soul and in doing so, ends the Blight. But there is a price. Absorbing an archdemon’s soul also kills the Warden.”

Silence.

Hannibal’s fingers wrapped tightly over Will’s wrist, and he pulled him closer to his side. Katz just stared at Chiyoh. Chiyoh stared back.

“There is a reason why so much of our Order is kept a secret,” she said. “To be a Grey Warden is to be a sacrifice. But I want you to listen to me. I am older than both of you, and I will be the one to kill this archdemon. It would be my honor.”

“But,” Katz stammered weakly, “but no one should have to die. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing about being a Grey Warden is fair,” Chiyoh said. “I will try to kill the archdemon. But you should both be prepared, should I fail. Because if the archdemon doesn’t die, it will destroy Ferelden, and then it will come for the rest of the world, until all of Thedas is burning.”

Will turned his head from Chiyoh to Katz. She looked afraid, and he, too, felt a shiver rushing beneath his skin. If Hannibal had not had such a firm hand upon him, his whole frame might have shaken. Will’s head was spinning. One of them would have to die. If Chiyoh didn’t do it, it would be up to Katz and Will. And Will knew that he wouldn’t let it be Katz.

Margot spoke next. Will had nearly forgotten she and Alana were in the room. “You said the Blight was coming, that it would be upon us soon.”

Chiyoh nodded. “The archdemon is ready to take out Ferelden’s final safeguards. I can feel it.”

“We shouldn’t wait for the darkspawn to make the first move,” Margot declared. “We should bring the fight to them.”

Alana’s hand was holding Margot’s. “I think that would be wise,” she agreed.

Will felt his head nodding and saw Katz commit to a similar gesture in his peripheral. Their allies had already gathered at the Arl’s estate and were waiting to be called on. It was only a matter of sounding the charge. And then it would be happening. “How long do we have?” he asked Chiyoh.

“I would not wait longer than dawn to launch our attack. The darkspawn army is close,” she answered. “We should all try to rest until then. There are some few hours left to spend at peace.”

With forlorn faces, they parted. Will mumbled a goodnight to Katz and Chiyoh, Alana and Margot, and then he let Hannibal guide him back toward the guest chamber. “Will,” Hannibal said, opening the door and steering Will inside. “I must leave you for a few minutes. I need to collect my weapons and armor from my room.” He kissed him softly. “I will not tarry long from you.”

“It’s fine,” Will lied. He fixed a kiss to Hannibal’s lips and let him pull away. When the templar had disappeared around the corner, Will walked, heavy-footed and heavy-hearted, until he was plopped on the plush couch before the fireplace. With a wave of his hand before the hearth, it leapt to life with crackling flame, and a warm glow filled the space. Will sat back and thought, feeling his heart slowly breaking. If Chiyoh couldn’t kill the archdemon, Will would do it. He just knew. He knew, and he would have to leave Hannibal. Forever. When he’d only just found him. Like Katz had said, it wasn’t fair. Will ran his fingers through his hair and scolded himself for ever believing, even for a moment, that he would be allowed to have that kind of happiness. Stupid. Childish.

“Will,” said Alana.

He looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and saw her leaning in his open doorway.

“Can I come in?” she asked, and he nodded. She walked, hips swaying in their usual, uninhibited manner, until she was standing in front of him, the light of the fire making her silhouette shine radiant.

“What is it, Alana?” Will asked.

She shifted her weight to one hip. “I need to tell you why I wanted to come with you.”

He frowned up at her. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a reason why I volunteered to leave the Korcari Wilds to help your cause, Will,” she sighed.

“But,” Will said slowly, apprehension dawning on him and making him squirm uncomfortably against the cushions, “you said you wanted to help save Ferelden. Isn’t that enough reason?”

“I’m older than I look, Will,” Alana said. She sat down beside him, and he twisted, pulling up his knee so he could face her fully. “There are things I know, things I’ve learned. About Blights, about Grey Wardens, and about the spirits of ancient gods.”

“Alana, I don’t understand.”

“I knew this would happen,” she said. “I knew the only way to kill an archdemon was for a Warden to die. It’s the real reason I came. I wanted to help. But I also wanted to make a deal.”

He leaned slightly away from her. “A deal?”

“What if I told you that no one has to die tomorrow?”

“I’d probably tell you I’ve always admired your can-do attitude, but then I’d remind you that it’s impossible.”

“Will,” she said. She reached out her hand as if to touch him, but then settled it in her lap instead. “There are things apostates know that Circle Mages never learn. There is a spell. With your permission, I’d like to use it to save your lives. And to get something in return.”

“You know a spell that can save us?” Will asked, thoroughly confused. “What kind of spell? How?”

“You might not like it,” she cautioned, and the twitch of her lips made him terribly suspicious.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

She took a deep breath and settled further into the cushions, resting her elbow across the back of the couch. “It’s a spell of transference,” she began. “So when the archdemon is killed, instead of its soul being pulled inside of a Grey Warden, it would be pulled into me. I would have no taint to kill it, and with the help of the spell it would grow inside of me. Safe. An ancient spirit in the body of a harmless human.”

Will gawked. When she only stared back at him with unblinking blue eyes, he asked, voice tight with tension, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I could safely absorb the archdemon’s soul, and nine months later give birth to a baby,” she replied far too calmly.

He sort of…just gasped at her for a few moments, trying to work his head around what she’d said. “And how would this spell work?” he finally ventured after a long, discomfited pause.

“You would have to lay down with me.”

He quirked up a confused eyebrow. “Lay down. With you. For sleep?”

“For sex.”

“For sex?”

“Yes. For the spell to work, I have to take in the ‘spirit of the Warden.’ That would be your semen.”

“Right.”

“So?”

“So.”

“Are you interested in performing the spell?” Alana asked, and Will stood up from the couch to pace before the fireplace.

“I’m sorry, Alana, it’s been a long month. Let me see if I understood you correctly,” he said, weaving his fingers through a knot of curls atop his head. “You want to take in my ‘spirit of the Warden’ so when the archdemon is killed, you get pregnant with an old god baby?”

“And no Grey Wardens have to die, that’s right,” Alana confirmed with a nod of her head, as if nothing he’d just repeated sounded unusual.

“And you’ve been planning this the whole time?!” he asked, perplexed. “Why did you never mention this to me?”

“Well, Will, it’s a bit of an awkward conversation starter,” she said slyly. “I barely knew you.”

A strange squeak left his throat and he stopped pacing, opting to wring his hands together instead. “And it has to be me? That does the…the sex part? With you?”

“Katz doesn’t produce semen. I need to be inseminated with ‘spirit of the Warden.’”

Will dragged both hands over his face.

Alana stood up and crossed to him. “You’ll get to live. You’ll get to be with Hannibal. Margot and I will raise the baby. You won’t need to have anything to do with it. Will, I know this is uncomfortable, but isn’t it worth it?”

Will sighed as he continued trying to de-boggle his mind. “Of course it’s worth it. It’s just, erm, a lot to take in.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d much rather have sex with Margot than with you.”

“That…doesn’t make me feel better, actually.” And then Will remembered. “Hannibal,” he said. “I have to talk to Hannibal about this.”

Alana smiled at him, and for a second, it felt like a normal point in a normal conversation between normal friends.

“Of course. Come see me in Margot’s room when you’ve spoken. If this is happening, it needs to happen soon.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked from the room, passing Hannibal on his re-entrance through the door. She winked at him and then departed from view.

“Will,” Hannibal said, setting his gear down at the door and striding to Will’s side, “I believe Alana just winked at me.” After glancing at the expression on Will’s face, Hannibal took his hands in his. “What is it? Why was she here? You are quite pale.”

As hands came up to gently pat Will’s cheeks in an endearing check for heightened temperature, Will clasped his fingers over Hannibal’s wrists. Will led him to the couch and pushed at him to sit. He studied his demon templar for a moment, how strange and handsome his face was in the fire glow, and then he climbed into his lap. Hannibal was quick to accommodate, hooking an arm around Will’s back to steady him, and smoothing his other hand down the legs Will’s rested on the cushions. Propped and steadied, there was no more avoiding the conversation that needed having. Later in Will’s life, he would think on this scene by the fire and laugh, and it wouldn’t seem like such a big deal at all, but for now, it felt an enormous undertaking, and he was as nervous as he’d ever been.

Hannibal sensed it, of course, his eyes finding Will’s as he said in a voice, low and exquisite, “Do not hide from me, my sweet boy. Any burden you have, I will gladly share or take unto myself completely, if I am able.”

Will nodded. He knew it was true. It was why asking what he was about to ask was so difficult. “Alana was in here, because she knows a spell that can save us. The Grey Wardens, I mean.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed with interest. “I wondered if she might. Tell me.”

“It involves a lot of elements, not all of which I understood.”

“Magic can be complicated,” Hannibal said, his hands constantly smoothing comfortingly over Will’s body. His hand, hot and large, pushed up beneath Will’s shirt to press against his bare back. Will shuddered, writhing on the lap that was slowly growing with hardness. “I would have to think that any spell, no matter the cost, would be worth it, if it meant sparing your life, Will.”

“I thought you might say that,” Will breathed, trying to resist grinding down on Hannibal. Now wasn’t the time. Now really, really, wasn’t the time.

“It is perfect timing, perhaps,” Hannibal continued. “I know how much you wish to stay and finish this battle, but if Chiyoh was correct and your death is unambiguously on the line, I am prepared to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off, some place safe. With our without your permission.”

“Oh,” Will said, feeling small and vulnerable and, frankly, exceptionally aroused in Hannibal’s lap. “Good thing Alana knows about this spell then.”

“Good thing,” Hannibal agreed. “But you have not told me what troubles you. I assume the spell does not include blood magic.”

“No,” Will said. “But there is another, erm, physical element that I’m not…that I don’t want to…”

“Look at me, please,” Hannibal demanded sweetly, for Will’s eyes had strayed again in his fluster.

Will made himself look, took a deep breath, and then said it. “I have to sleep with Alana, for the spell to work. I imbibe her with the ‘spirit of the Warden,’ and she sucks in the archdemon soul when it gets ganked. Apparently, she can carry it safely in her womb or something. Hannibal, it’s all very weird, and I…I don’t want to do it, but I…”

“Shhh.” Hannibal’s hands cupped Will’s panicking face, and he brought their lips together in a kiss, first gentle, and then decidedly less: harder, rougher, wonderful. When he finally released Will from the kiss, his eyes were on fire, and Will thought there was a good chance his were, too. “You must, Will.”

Will knew it. “I know. But I hate to, Hannibal, when you and I haven’t even…yet. I mean, we did in the Fade, and we have, here, been building up to that, sort of at a rampant pace, but I’ve never…and I wanted you. Just you.” Will could feel the blush in his cheeks, just as he could feel the arousal still stiff between Hannibal’s legs.

“You and I will share a lifetime,” Hannibal told him, as he slowly leaned in to suck a wet kiss against Will’s neck. “But only if you share a night with Alana.” He bit into Will’s skin, not too hard, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a noticeable mark. Will sighed, wanting more, but Hannibal eventually pulled away, kissing the bruise that now matched the one Will had given him earlier. “Though, my offer stands to throw you over my shoulder.”

Will considered it. He considered every offer Hannibal had ever presented him with, even the offer to bond their souls with blood magic. But the constant compass of his mind kept him steady, kept him on mission. He’d gone as far as he had without blood magic and without running away. He couldn’t give up now, and Hannibal knew it as well as Will did. He patted Will’s thigh with a light slap, jarring him from drowning in his thoughts.

“Come, then. Let us get this over with so you can rest before tomorrow.”

Will was halfway out of Hannibal’s lap before he paused, looking the templar over with a quizzical brow. “Let us get this over with? You and me?”

Hannibal tilted his head, the way he was wont to do, and said, “You did not think I would send you into a witch’s den unaccompanied?” He stood, grabbing Will by the waist and pressing against him so Will could feel the rigid outline of his cock. “I fully intend to watch.”

Will swallowed, hard, and followed Hannibal out of the room, holding tight to his hand.

 

--

 

The night before battling a Blight, with the fate of the whole world on his shoulders, it was typical that the thing Will was most afraid of was having sex. He clung to Hannibal’s arm, letting his demon be the one who knocked on Margot’s door.

Alana opened it, and looked both unsurprised and unbothered by Hannibal’s presence.

“Good evening, Alana,” Hannibal said with a curt nod.

“Good evening, Hannibal. Will,” she greeted hospitably, opening the door to let them inside.

When they entered the Queen’s bedchambers, Margot herself was revealed to be sitting comfortably on a velvet settee with a glass of wine. Will stifled a groan. What was his life?

“Have you decided?” Alana asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Will found himself stalled for a response, standing there blank faced, unsure of what to do. It was Hannibal who swept it, as per usual, and filled in Will’s empty spaces.

“Will has agreed to participate in your generous offer, Alana,” Hannibal said amiably, but, of course, Will could feel the man’s fingers digging possessively into his side. Not that Will minded. He was still half-mast from the threat of being thrown over Hannibal’s shoulder. Maker, would he have to ride out this whole, awkward affair on that imagery? He could do it. It would just – was this really happening?

“Hannibal,” Margot called, “come and have a glass of wine with me.” She motioned to the jug before her on the glass table, and the gold-dusted goblet awaiting him.

Hannibal moved slightly, as if to make for Margot and her wine, but Will found himself clinging to him and holding him in place. When he realized his childish course of action, he immediately dropped his hands, folding his arms over his chest so as not to be tempted to grab at the templar again as he walked for the wine.

Alana caught Will’s eyes and smiled. Will tried to return the smile, but he was distracted by Hannibal speaking in low tones to Margot. When Hannibal returned to Will’s side and handed him the wine, Will was grateful, and he sipped the drink eagerly, Hannibal’s fingers scratching lightly over the nape of his neck, watching.

“Will you be staying, Hannibal?” Alana asked.

“I must insist that I do,” Hannibal replied, and Will thought he could detect the hint of a chill in his voice.

“Margot is staying, too,” Alana said, and Will looked over at the Queen-to-be.

An audience of two. He finished the rest of his wine in a few gulps, and Hannibal took the goblet from his hand. He set it down on a side table and returned to Will, but instead of resuming his position and wrapping an arm around Will’s waist, he came to stand in front of him, his fingers spreading over Will’s chest and smoothing upward slowly, to the collar of Will’s shirt. His long, nimble fingers made quick work of the ties, and his hands caressed the hollow of Will’s throat and rested around his neck. Hannibal’s skin was hot and his hold was controlling and gentle at the same time. Will’s eyes fell shut, and he sighed, a little puff of air through his parted lips.

“Good, Will,” Hannibal whispered, and he leaned in to kiss Will’s lips as his hands spread back down Will’s body, to pull at the waist of his trousers.

The idea of protesting never occurred to Will. He didn’t think he’d ever protest anything that involved Hannibal’s mouth. Quite the opposite, in fact. Will deepened their kiss, parting Hannibal’s lips with his tongue. Eventually, Hannibal had to break away in order to slip Will’s trousers all the way to his ankles, but first he leaned forward, kissing Will’s ear and whispering into it, “Keep your eyes closed.”

Hannibal helped Will step out of his nug-leather trousers, and Will kept his eyes obediently shut while Hannibal continued to undress him. Will noticed with a twinge in his heart that his demon kept a hand on him at all times, never letting their skin lose contact. And before he could doubt any of his new reality, Will was standing naked in the Queen’s bedchamber with Alana and Hannibal and the Queen, eyes shut and body trembling. Hannibal rubbed his hands down Will’s sides, and then Will heard him as he turned to Alana and said, “This is how it will be.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t permission. It was Hannibal telling the Witch of the Wilds that he would be in charge of everything that was about to happen.

“Of course,” answered Alana. “Everything else has already been prepared for the spell. I only need the most important part.”

Will was compelled to open his eyes, but Hannibal had told him not to, so he kept them adamantly closed. It made Hannibal’s kiss all the more thrilling since he hadn’t seen it coming. Hannibal kissed him gently, but passionately, breathing with Will as their tongues slid together and his hands found their way around to Will’s ass cheeks, gripping each with a deep growl that had Will fully erect.

Will tried to stay focused on Hannibal’s lips, and that wasn’t a difficult thing to do, but he couldn’t help but hear the sounds of falling fabrics and rustling bed sheets, and then Hannibal’s hips were grinding against Will’s and Will was putty. He was a malleable, mewling mess of a man, with neither self control nor want for self control. He only wanted Hannibal to control him, and Hannibal was doing exactly what he wanted, every time he bucked his hips against Will and pressed their erections together. Will’s only complaint, in fact, was that Hannibal’s cock was hidden and restrained beneath his pants. Will wanted to touch him, wanted to rub their cocks together and then maybe get on his knees and – oh! Another set of hands ghosted over Will’s shoulders and he started.

“It’s okay, Will,” Alana said quietly. “We’re just going to walk you to the bed.”

He nodded breathlessly and allowed himself to be walked backwards with little trouble until the bend of his knees hit the mattress. He sat down and then warm, large hands, Hannibal’s hands, pushed him onto his back. Will could hear the glug-glug-glug of wine being poured and wondered what sort of expression Margot was wearing as she sipped her wine and watched the commencement of the strangest event yet to arrive in Will’s life, and then Hannibal was kissing him again and there was no space left in Will’s mind for anything other than Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal.

Oh, Maker. Hannibal.

Their lips pressed together perfectly, warm and open and perfect and Will gasped into Hannibal’s mouth when his hand reached down to cup Will’s balls. His fingers kneaded him gently and then ran up the underside of Will’s cock, before wrapping his hand over his entire length and rubbing his thumb across the head.

When Will moaned, Hannibal kissed him harder. Will didn’t even notice the shifting of weight on the bed; he was too enraptured by the hand on his cock and the tongue thrusting into his mouth. Will’s leg instinctively moved, trying to hike up and over Hannibal’s hips, but Hannibal stopped Will’s encroaching, wanton thigh and eased it back down on the mattress.

“Keep as you are, sweet boy,” Hannibal whispered in his ear. Will nodded and bit his lip; it felt kiss-swollen and warm from the friction of Hannibal’s mouth. After a few skilled jerks, the hand around Will’s cock fell away, smoothing up Will’s chest instead and cupping his jaw. Hannibal kissed Will’s neck and said softly, “I am going to allow Alana to take what she needs now, Will. But I want you to know that I’m right here, and I won’t take my eyes off of you. Are you ready, my love?”

Will nodded, and his heart was beating fast. Hannibal murmured something to Alana he didn’t quite pick up, and then he was kissing him again, slowly, and his hands were framing Will’s face and brushing the hair from Will’s forehead, and Will definitely noticed the mattress shifting now. And he definitely noticed the soft, smooth thighs settling over his hips. Alana.

And when a small hand gripped the base of Will’s cock, he shivered and Hannibal kissed him harder. And when his tip was enveloped by a tight, wet heat, Will’s fingers clutched roughly into Hannibal’s hair and he moaned loudly.

The heat engulfed him utterly as Alana sank all the way down. Will kept his eyes shut, panting against Hannibal’s lips as she began to ride him. When she began to make small sounds as her breathing grew ragged, Hannibal broke away from Will’s lips to speak, soft and deep, at his ear, so low Will knew no one else could hear.

“You look so beautiful, Will. I wonder if you’ll look like that when I’m inside of you.”

The combination of Hannibal’s voice and the rhythmic gyration of Alana’s heat had Will close already, and his hips began to buck upward, harder into Alana.

“Perfect,” Hannibal whispered. He kissed Will’s neck. “You’re so good. You need not hold back. Come for me, sweet boy. I have you.”

Will did as he was told and came, and as soon as he had expelled his ‘spirit of Warden,’ Alana quickly rolled off of him. And then it was over, almost as quickly as it had begun. Will panted weakly on the bed for a moment before Hannibal scooped him up in his arms.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Will asked, feeling more than a little awkward. His contentment from orgasm was minimal. His body still felt strangely wired, and Hannibal wasn’t putting him down, keeping him swept up in his strong arms, taking the sheet from the bed and tucking it around Will’s naked body.

“Not yet, Will,” Hannibal said. “Alana? Margot? I trust that is all you needed?”

“Yes. We can speak again in the morning. Goodnight, you two,” Alana answered.

“Erm, yeah,” Will said blindly, pressing his head to Hannibal’s chest. “Goodnight.”

Hannibal said nothing by way of goodbyes, and he walked Will quickly down the hall and into the guest chambers. Hannibal did not let him go, not even as he closed the door behind them. He walked Will directly to the bed and lowered them both down to the mattress, where he was quick to wrap Will up in his arms and gather him against his chest. He only moved to settle the blanket across them both, and then both hands were firmly cemented to Will’s back, Hannibal’s fingers gliding over skin in barely there touches that had Will blissed, even in the wake of the peculiarity that had just occurred.

“I’d ask you to have me next, but I know you’re about to tell me to go to sleep,” Will whispered, settling his cheek in his favorite place, the nook of Hannibal’s arm.

“When I have you, it will not be a rushed joining on the tail of a witch’s spell,” Hannibal whispered in reply. Will smiled and nuzzled into the chest beneath him, but he could feel the moment Hannibal’s body succumbed to tension, and he readied himself for the proposition he always knew his demon would pose once more before the dawn. “We can still leave, Will. Tonight,” Hannibal said, finding Will’s face in the darkness and bringing their lips together in a tender kiss. “You have completed the spell for Alana. Katz and Chiyoh can kill the archdemon, and we can walk away from all of this.”

“Hannibal…” Will whispered, and his demon sighed against his lips. Will kissed him, carding his fingers through Hannibal’s hair. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Hannibal nosed against Will’s neck, inhaling him deeply as he clutched him tighter with fretful fingers. “I know. And you know I will not leave your side. Not for a moment.”

Will clung to his demon, his templar, his friend. “I know.”

And then there was nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise.

Chapter 19: An Inevitability

The darkspawn didn’t wait until dawn.

Will was resting in Hannibal’s arms, lightly sleeping, warm and happy, when the end began. It was the middle of the night when the warning bells rang through the Arl’s estate, a deafening chime of alarm, the warning system that the City of Denerim was under attack.

Hannibal was already awake when the sound echoed through their guest chamber, and he was swift and speed and grace as he whipped the blankets from their twining bodies and lifted Will from the mattress.

Will’s eyes opened, confused as his brain caught up with the troublesome noise, and then Hannibal was pulling his shirt over his head, pressing his vest over his shoulders and helping Will step into his trousers before pulling them up. He pressed a quick kiss to Will’s forehead and left him sitting dumbly on the edge of the bed. Will watched as Hannibal moved to heave on the layers of heavy templar armor. All he could think for a moment was that, when this was all over, he would make Hannibal rid himself of the costume. He would enjoy seeing Hannibal in something less bulky. Will was imagining his demon in something sleek and easily removable when he finally, fully startled into wakefulness.

The bells were going off. The Blight!

Will leapt from the bed and helped Hannibal buckle into the rest of his armor, feeling the fool for his daydreaming. When Hannibal had tightened the sheath at his belt, Will set his palm to his templar’s chest. “Is it happening, Hannibal?” His voice wasn’t small or scared, just jarred by the cadence of certainty.

Hannibal answered by wrapping his arms around Will and dipping him back into a kiss. Then he handed Will his cherry wood staff. It was a strange time to feel the urge to smile, but Will stood there all the same, lips spread in a goofy grin as he stared at the man who had come so far with him, and the demon who would take him even farther.

“Let’s go, then,” Will said.

Hannibal’s eyes glittered as he answered, “After you.”

When Will opened the door into the hallway, the sound of the warning bells intensified, and they stepped into the chaos, as ready as one could ever be for the fight of a lifetime. Soldiers were running past, a constant clanking of armor and weaponry that contested the chiming bells. When Will spotted a flash of dark, bobbing hair, he reached out and grabbed a handful of Katz. She whipped around and let Will pull her out of the muddle of soldiers sweeping by like a metallic river.

“Will!” she panted. Her leather griffin gear was skewed slightly off-kilter on her shoulders. She looked to have woken up and thrown on her armor as quickly as he and Hannibal had. “It’s the Blight. It’s in the city.”

“What?!” Will exclaimed, throwing a look of shock at Hannibal behind them. “What time is it? Chiyoh said we had until dawn.”

“Chiyoh was wrong,” Katz answered hastily, tugging at her leathers and tucking her amulet into her undershirt. “We all were. It’s just past three in the morning, and Denerim is under attack.”

“Oh no,” Will groaned. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know, but I’m headed to find out. Do you two have your gear?”

He gripped his staff and stood a bit straighter. “We’re ready."

Katz nodded, her hand resting at the hilt of her sword. “Then let’s get outside to the courtyard. That’s where the soldiers are headed and where we’ll find Margot.”

On Will’s okay, Katz, Will, and Hannibal cut their way through the onslaught of soldiers, weaving and winding through the hallways and down the stairs until they were bustled through the front doors of the Arl’s estate. The first thing Will noticed was the smell of smoke in the air. The second thing he noticed was the ominous orange glow hanging in the night sky. The third thing he noticed was the violent surge of tingling in his stomach. He heaved over at the feeling, Katz too, and Hannibal pulled them both to the side.

“Are you sensing darkspawn nearby?” Hannibal asked them, leaning close to hear, for the courtyard was a cacophony of sounds, and the bells were still ringing.

Will breathed in and out, deep and slow, and then he forced himself to stand. Katz revived her stature shortly after. “Darkspawn,” Will rasped, Katz nodding wordlessly beside him. They didn’t need to add any details about the sheer number of darkspawn each of them could detect. They were simply everywhere, coming from every direction. If Will didn’t know better, he would say he was in the middle of one of his archdemon visions. Maybe he was, because that was certainly the city on fire that had the sky orange and the air full of smoke.

Hannibal touched his back, and Will sent him a grateful, sad smile, but there wasn’t much time for anything more than that, because Katz spotted Margot at the front of the courtyard. She pointed and they quickly made their way to reach her side.

The Queen Regent was standing atop a raised statue, looking out over the armies gathering in the courtyard. Alana was standing on the ground at her side. As Will and the others ran up to join them, Margot climbed down from her perch, her pretty face pinched with worry, but unmistakably strong. She would not cower from this. There was no turning back for her or for anyone. What they had feared was already upon them, and now the only choice they had was to act.

“Chiyoh has already gone with the Arl and a group of his best soldiers to scout the damage so far,” Margot told them. “Everyone else is gathering here and waiting for orders, but I wanted to wait for you.”

She was looking at Will. He turned around to look at the forces grouping together outside the estate. The werewolves and Witherfang were garnering their fair share of spectators, but no more than Gideon’s dwarves or the First Enchanter Bedelia’s mages.

Will felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned back to Margot with tears in his eyes. “You have gathered an army to replace the one lost at Ostagar, Grey Warden,” she told him. “Let us pray that it will be enough.”

Will nodded, swallowing hard. These were the souls they had worked so hard to muster, and now it was time to test the virility of their efforts. “The four of us will move ahead of the armies, meet up with Chiyoh for her assessment. It will be quicker to get where we need to be if we're away from the bulk of the army,” he said. “And for what we’re doing, we need as much speed and stealth as we can get.”

Margot shocked him by bowing her head slightly in approval, and then she shocked him even more by grabbing Alana and dipping her into a kiss, almost an exact mirror of the kiss Will had shared with Hannibal in their room. Alana melted into the embrace, and when Margot finally released her and set her straight on her feet again, he was treated to the rare sight of her blushing. He laughed. It suited her. Then, naturally, he remembered how she’d ridden him for his ‘spirit of Warden’ only a few hours ago and his blush eclipsed hers at a clipping speed.

“Be careful,” Alana whispered to Margot, and after Margot kissed her softly one last time, she gently shoved her away.

“Get going,” Margot told them. “We’ll be following shortly behind.” Her eyes were shining fiercely, and Will had the fleeting thought that Margot might make an excellent Grey Warden. “Good luck,” their Queen Regent said, and then the four companions disembarked together from the Arl’s estate, Will looking over his shoulder to send their hodgepodge army a final glance.

They didn’t have far to walk before the damages began to present themselves: the air grew thicker and the sky grew brighter with the unnatural glow of flame reflected on smoke. It was right after they turned the corner – blighted, blasted corners! – at the end of the Arl’s estate block, that they spied their first taste of what the Blight really meant.

The front gates of the City of Denerim were being swarmed by a rush of darkspawn, and the Arl’s soldiers were barely holding the line. Will exchanged a glance with the others before they charged forward, weapons held at the ready. Right as they joined the line, the darkspawn broke through.

The horde at the gates was relatively small, and made up entirely of grunts: smaller darkspawn with no determined Alpha, let loose to randomly destroy. Not the worst of their kind to fight, but certainly not without their dangers. Several soldiers went down at once as the first of the grunts leapt at them, clawing at helmets and scraping at the flesh beneath. But many darkspawn were struck down, as well. Will commanded his mana through his staff and set fire to several darkspawn at once, and he could see Katz running forward, into the fray, a spinning top of sharp blade and brute strength. Alana stayed close to Will, setting up energy barriers where she could to protect the soldiers, and Hannibal remained before both of them, knocking back the darkspawn that tried to attack the mages. Will watched him slice down a dozen darkspawn grunts with ease before the Redcliffe line was able to reform. Will sighed in relief when it seemed, at least for the moment, no more darkspawn were trying to breach the gates.

Katz snaked her way back through the soldiers when they were in the clear, Chiyoh following at her heels. She had a smudge of blood on her face, but in the dimness of the night, Will couldn’t tell whether it was hers or not.

“Wardens,” Chiyoh said, nodding to them respectfully.

“Chiyoh,” Will answered. “How does it look?”

She looked over her back for a brief moment and then nodded their party away from the mass of soldiers. Will could see the Arl of Redcliffe spotting them, and he nodded his head, ushering him to join. Once they were grouped in a circle, Chiyoh spoke.

“From what I could tell, their army has two Generals, leading two separate hordes through the city,” she said.

“Hordes are already in the city?” Katz asked, appalled.

“Yes,” answered Chiyoh grimly. “They slaughtered the on-duty Denerim patrol and were able to sneak through the city and position themselves before the warning bells were activated. By then, half of Denerim was already on fire.”

Will shook his head and felt Hannibal’s hand graze across his back. He couldn’t imagine how his nerves would be revolting without that quiet strength to keep him upright. “Where is the archdemon?"

“I saw it once,” Chiyoh told him, “flying low over the city and breathing fire. But then the gates were under attack and I couldn’t track where it landed.”

“So what’s the plan?” Katz asked.

“The plan is this,” Chiyoh began. “I will go after the archdemon. The four of you take out the Generals. They’re powerful darkspawn Emissaries, but if you eliminate them, not only will the darkspawn hordes be weakened, there’s a chance the archdemon will be easier to kill.”

“Arl Garrett,” Will said, turning to the Redcliffe Arl, “can your men hold the gate?”

The man was standing straight as a rod, his face a riddle of power and cruelty, but he nodded his head with confidence. “Redcliffe can hold the Denerim gates. No more darkspawn will be getting into the city on our watch.”

“Good,” Will said. He turned to Alana and Katz. “If we split up, we can each go after a General, and knock them out in twice the time for Chiyoh.”

Alana and Katz looked at one another and then nodded their agreement. “Me and Alana can take out an Emissary, no problem. Right?” Katz asked, nudging Alana with an elbow.

Alana nudged Katz back in the ribs. “I almost feel bad for the darkspawn that get in our way.”

Will smiled and looked up at Hannibal. “What do you think?”

Hannibal, who had remained relatively quiet since they’d left the safety of their chamber, smiled. “A mage in each group, with a warrior to protect them. A brilliant plan of attack.”

They smiled at one another and, when they finally looked back to the others, they were fixing Will and Hannibal with impatient, albeit amused, expressions. Chiyoh, however, was not watching any of them, for her head was reclined back, observing the sky.

Will followed her gaze when he heard the roar and the steady, heavy flapping of giant wings through the air. A flash of dark red scales flew over their heads and Will’s hair picked up in the gust, his curls blowing back from his face. In a second, it was past them, and as its silhouette stood out against the orange sky, a jet of fire burst from its mouth. Will watched it travel southwest from the gates, until it appeared to perch atop the highest roof that could be seen along the Denerim skyline.

“It’s landed on top of Fort Drakon,” Chiyoh said, turning back to address the others. “This is where I leave you.” She reaffirmed her grip on her sword, bouncing lightly on her heels, as if she could hardly bear to wait a moment longer to chase after the archdemon. “Take down the Generals,” she told them. “And then come to Fort Drakon. If I fail, it is up to one of you.” She bowed her head to them. “Fellow Wardens, you have done admirably, and I wish you luck.”

Katz bowed to Chiyoh in turn. “In war, victory.”

Chiyoh turned to walk away, but as she did, Will heard her yell over her shoulder, “In peace, vigilance.”

Will watched her figure disappear into the smoke, and then he whispered, to himself: “In death, sacrifice.”

“Think she can do it?” Katz asked.

“I hope so,” responded Will. “Because I haven’t the slightest idea how to kill a dragon.”

The four companions lingered silently for a moment, each realizing, perhaps, that it might be the last time they were all together, and all alive. Alana was the first to break, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Hannibal. Will watched, wide-eyed, as she squeezed the templar, wondering if she would squeeze him like that if she knew who he really was.

“I’d tell you to take care of him, but I know you will,” Alana said. Hannibal, despite the eye twitch, actually patted her back.

“Good luck, Alana,” Hannibal said, and Alana pulled out of his arms and moved to Will, cupping his face.

“Will,” she said, her bright blue eyes wickedly beautiful. “Don’t die.”

He nodded and she leaned in to kiss his cheek, then stepped back. Katz was slapping Hannibal on the arm and leaning in to whisper something in his ear. It must have been both lewd and instructive, for Hannibal’s face read like someone equally offended and informed. He tucked a strand of hair behind Katz’s ear, and Will thought he detected a blush in her cheeks. Then she turned to Will.

“Katz,” he began, and she walked up to him, clasping her hands on his shoulders.

“Will Graham,” she laughed. “If you don’t get a statue after this, I swear to the Maker, I’ll chisel one myself.” She hugged him so tight there was a string of seconds when he couldn’t breathe. She whispered in his ear before she pulled away, “Let’s do it for Jack. And Price and Zeller, and every fucking Warden that died at Ostagar.”

When she pulled away, her eyes weren’t brimming with tears and her lip wasn’t trembling. She was fearsome and she was ready. “I’ll see you at the Fort,” Will said.

Katz laughed, winked, and turned to Alana.

Will stepped closer to Hannibal, just to feel the warmth of him. And then their foursome split in half, Katz and Alana disappearing into the burning maze of Denerim streets. Hannibal turned to face Will.

“Alone at last,” Hannibal said. “Last chance.” He patted his shoulder with a leer Will found both endearing and seductive, for a multitude of reasons.

“You can throw me around as often as you like, once we get through this night,” Will answered.

Hannibal’s face fell to seriousness as he considered their route ahead. “We must take out this General.”

“Any idea where it might be?” Will asked, eyes sweeping across the burning buildings before them.

“Perhaps your Grey Warden sense could assist in leading us in the correct direction,” Hannibal offered.

Will pressed a hand to his stomach, which hadn’t stopped buzzing uncomfortably since he’d stepped outside the Arl’s estate. “I don’t know,” he said. “There are so many darkspawn, I can’t exactly hone in on subsets.”

“Hmmm,” the templar hummed, and Will had to remind himself not to choose this moment to become distracted by the perfect bow of his lips. “Then I suppose we will have to follow the bodies.”

Hannibal began to lead the way, Will walking at his side. At the crossroads of the first street, they turned in the opposite direction that Katz and Alana had chosen. From there, it was, morbidly enough, a matter of following the bodies. And the darkspawn left a lot of them. It seemed as though they had ripped through the narrow Denerim streets and pulled every warm body from their homes to slice and trample on the way. The humble houses were either smoldering and black with soot or still alight with fire. It was a gruesome scene.

But at least a clear path seemed to be cut. Hannibal lifted Will up by the waist to safely set him on the opposite side of a burning wagon wheel in the road. He wasn’t wearing his templar helmet, hadn’t worn it ever since he’d realized how much Will stared at him when he had it off, most likely, and the soot and sweat was already clinging heavily to his handsome face. Will couldn’t help but reach out his hand and brush the strands from his eyes.

Hannibal grabbed hold of his hand and kissed it. It would have been romantic if not for the stench of smoldering corpses. “I believe the General we seek may be wreaking havoc in the Marketplace,” Hannibal said as he released Will’s hand.

“How can you tell?”

“The smell seems to be a bit worse from that direction,” Hannibal replied, offering his arm.

Will accepted it, and they continued to weave their way through the streets, occasionally stopping to sidestep a barrier of flaming barrels or crumbled building that blocked their path. It was when the streets began to grow wider, and the sounds of battle began to echo through the air, that Hannibal and Will pressed close to the walls, creeping forward with their weapons ready and their minds alert. The Marketplace was close, only a few side streets away.

That’s when Will’s stomach clenched and he heaved forward for an instant before Hannibal caught him.

“Will?” he asked, his voice a concerned rumble beside Will’s ear.

“I can feel it now,” Will said. The clenching began to subside after a few labored breaths, but the awareness remained within a tight coil in his guts. “The General Emissary. I can feel it.”

Hannibal had his hands on Will’s face; his eyes were stricken and dark. “How does it feel?”

Will licked his lips and tried to focus in on the General. “It feels…strong,” he said. “A mage, I think.”

Hannibal rewarded Will’s assessment with a smile, and then he cocked his head, listening for something. Will strained his ears as well, not hearing anything at first, and then –

“Was that a howl?” Will asked.

They had only the warning of a heartbeat, wherein Hannibal pushed Will up against the nearest wall, and then a stampede of werewolves were running past, a violent, teeth-gnashing, growling, pack of fur and rage. Will held his breath, and then they were gone a moment later. Hannibal remained pressed against Will a moment longer than was necessary, much to Will’s appreciation, but then he moved away, looking down the street where the wolves were headed.

“Margot has called in our troops,” Hannibal said.

“Perfect timing,” said Will, tightening his grip on the staff in his hand. “A distraction while we focus on the General.”

A distraction was an accurate depiction of the battle Will and Hannibal found awaiting them in the Marketplace. They cautiously crept around a fiery barrier, ducking behind a smashed-in window shop to observe the scene. Witherfang’s werewolves were lethal, tackling the lesser darkspawn with chomping jaws, their sharp claws gashing deep slices into the grunts’ crude armor. But there were Alpha darkspawn, too, and they were harder to kill. Will watched one of the werewolves pounce on its back, and the Alpha threw him off easily, grabbing it by the neck and sending it crashing to the ground. It fell with its neck at an awkward angle, dead. As they watched from the shadows, many werewolves began to fall. But so did many darkspawn. And then Will spotted the General.

At the same time the General spotted Will.

“Hannibal, move,” Will demanded, and he grabbed his demon, throwing him to the ground and lying over his body just as a bolt of lightning surged from the General’s staff and zapped the wall behind their heads.

They scrambled to their hands and knees, finding the cover of a crumbling, burning wall, before the General sent a second bolt of lightning to strike at them.

“So, I was right about the mage thing,” Will moaned. “What do we do?”

“I think you should kill it,” responded Hannibal casually.

“Well, yeah. But how? It’s stronger than -”

Another lightning bolt lit up the air around them and Will pressed against Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal grabbed Will by the shoulders to look into his eyes. “Do you remember the first time you killed darkspawn, Will?” Hannibal asked, eyes blazing.

“Yes, yes, I remember.”

“So do I,” said Hannibal. “You were beautiful and severe.”

Will remembered how he’d felt that first time. Exhilarated, like he’d been in a trance, and for a while after, he’d felt high on blood lust for the creatures. He had wanted to kill more. He felt his lips pulling into a grin as he answered Hannibal. “I liked killing them.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “And think how your strength has grown since that day. Think of your power. The General is no match for you, my love.”

Another flash of lightning sped up the pounding of Will’s heart, but his hand felt less shaky and his head was clearer. “We’ll kill it together,” he said.

Hannibal returned his smile before replying, “We’ll kill it together.”

They moved. Will slammed down his staff as they left the cover of the shop, blasting a stream of fire toward the General, while Hannibal rolled, sword unsheathed, and jumped to his feet to plunge his blade into an approaching darkspawn. There were bodies everywhere, werewolf and darkspawn alike, and Will leapt over a mauled corpse, Hannibal remaining right beside him, dropping any enemy that dare approach.

The General studied the mage and his templar for a stretch, avoiding Will’s fire spells with ease, focusing on the werewolves instead, as though it had no worries concerning Will and Hannibal. And maybe it didn’t, but that was its mistake.

Will swirled his staff above his head, harnessing his mana with such ferocity, his eyelids threatened to flutter shut, but then he made eye contact with Witherfang. From across the burning Marketplace, she caught his gaze, seeing right through their intention as they slowly but surely fought their way closer to the General. She lifted her hands, the tendrils of vines floating about her fingers, and the werewolves all arched their backs and bent back their heads in unison, and they howled. It was a sound so sudden, loud, and threatening, that the General turned its back from Will and Hannibal to send its lightning bolt through the surrounding pack of werewolves and the Forest Spirit herself. And that was their opening.

Will brought down a hail of flames upon the General, and at the same time, he raised a ring of fire round its body, so it had no escape, no respite, only fire upon flame. It lifted its arms, waving its staff and shooting a rabid storm of lightning into the air. Hannibal grabbed Will’s waist and ushered them behind a barrier, just avoiding a darkspawn as a werewolf ripped it to shreds and sent its body to the blood-soaked ground.

But Will wasn’t finished. He brought down his storm of fire until the General was screaming and could no longer hold its staff. And then, when it was weak and burning, Will released his ring of fire and collapsed against Hannibal’s chest. They watched as the werewolves attacked, finishing the job. They brought the Emissary to the ground, and Will could no longer see, but he could hear as they tore into it, sending bits of darkspawn flesh flying through the air. The tingling in Will’s stomach changed frequency abruptly, and he knew the General was dead.

“Hannibal,” Will said, still leaning back against him. “It’s done. Let’s keep moving.”

The templar, arm wrapped around Will’s waist, whispered against his neck. “I’m with you, sweet boy.”

Will indulged a moment of leaning against Hannibal and feeling his warmth at his back, but then he knew they had to head on. One General was down, and all they could do was hope Alana and Katz could take out the second.

With the General dead and still in the midst of being ravaged by the werewolves, the battle in the Marketplace was wild. The lesser darkspawn fell to chaos without their General, and the werewolves were tearing them down in quick succession. Will and Hannibal waited for their path from the Marketplace to clear before leaving their cover, but a sound overhead gave them pause.

“Chiyoh!” Will yelled as he and Hannibal both looked up to the sky.

There was no mistaking the sight as it flew overhead: the dark outline against the orange haze as Chiyoh rode atop the archdemon’s back. It roared and writhed as the Grey Warden clung to its scales. Will watched with held breath as Chiyoh’s sleek silhouette plunged her blade into its back. The archdemon spun in the sky, fire blossoming from its great jaw. The figure on its back clung to the embedded sword for one second, two, but when the archdemon flipped once more, Chiyoh’s grip failed, and as the dragon soared back towards Fort Drakon, Will watched, horrorstruck, as her body broke away from the archdemon and tumbled through the sky, down, down, until she could be seen no more.

“No,” Will whispered.

Chiyoh had failed. Chiyoh had fallen.

It was up to Will and Katz. And he knew he wouldn’t let it be Katz. Hannibal’s hands moved to frame Will’s face, demanding his eyes. “Will, do not lose yourself to fear,” he commanded. “I am with you.”

Will nodded, fighting the nerves sweeping through his body. “I’m okay,” he said, and he might have even meant it, but it didn’t matter. They had to get to Fort Drakon. They had to kill the archdemon.

They ran from the Marketplace, leaving the werewolves to finish off the horde of darkspawn, and re-entered the maze of Denerim side streets, heading southwest for the Fort. But first they had to breach the Palace District, and as they came upon its border, the ground began to tremble in a way Will found eerily familiar.

“Ogres,” Will gasped.

On the wide, stone steps leading up to the Palace District, was an entire horde of Alpha darkspawn and at least a dozen ogres. But their enemies were not the only ones fighting.

A snowflake drifted past Will’s face, and then he saw her. First Enchanter Bedelia and the Circle Mages, attacking the Alphas and Ogres with a steady onslaught of spellwork that had the creatures charging and bellowing in frustration. Hannibal grabbed hold of Will’s hand and began to guide them swiftly through the fight, but Will found it hard to look away from the First Enchanter. He had never seen her fight before. And it was fantastic.

Her staff hit the ground, sending a cone of cold around an Alpha darkspawn, the force of the spellwork making her icy blond hair flutter back from her face. And then she smashed the blunt end of her staff into the creature's frozen body and it shattered into a thousand pieces. She turned, raising a blizzard of snow and ice and wind, bewildering the ogres, so they missed their targets, ramming into each other in their confusion, and falling to their backs. The other mages sent them up into flames, or shocked them with electric pulses, or pummeled them with blasts of energy, crushing, burning, killing. Will’s hair blew into his eyes from the strength of the blizzard, and his cheeks felt chapped pink, but Hannibal glided them through the tumult until they were on the other side, unscathed. Will looked over his shoulder as Hannibal continued to guide them away from the scene, and he watched as the First Enchanter spun her staff in the air, taking out a final ogre before three Alphas suddenly attacked, closing in on her, and Will could no longer see. He found himself hoping she survived, but there was no time to wait and find out, because Hannibal was leading them into a narrow alley.

Once again, Hannibal’s hands were on Will’s face, checking him over for injuries. His eyes were dark and his mouth was a line of tension. Will pressed his palms to his demon’s chest and smoothed over the armor reassuringly. “I’m not hurt, Hannibal,” he said.

Hannibal studied Will’s face a few moments more, and then he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Will’s lips. “See that you remain undamaged, and I will wreck you myself when this is over.”

Will blushed. And then they were on the move once again.

The Palace District was worse off than the Marketplace, looking to have bore the brunt of the archdemon’s flaming roars, and once Hannibal and Will left the alley and entered the main streets, a bombardment of darkspawn and dwarves were battling. Swords cracked against axes as Gideon led his dwarven army against the thick horde.

When Will spotted the Orzammar King, his face was covered in dark blood. The dwarf would eventually die from the darkspawn taint he was coated in, but for now, he was a berserker, a whirlwind of blade and beard. Despite his dwarvish height, he jumped high, latching onto an Alpha’s back and slicing his axe across its throat.

Hannibal stepped in front of Will, cutting down a darkspawn with a graceful sweep of his greatsword, and then he was leading them through the fight with hastened steps. A dwarf nearly knocked Will down as a darkspawn cut opon its guts and sent it wheeling backwards, but Hannibal tightened his hold on Will’s waist and pulled him out of the way just in time.

They traveled so quickly through the Palace District, weaving and winding around foes and dwarves, sidestepping and spell-casting and sword-wielding, that when Hannibal stopped in front of the Fort Drakon doors, Will could hardly believe they had made it so far. His heart was a ceaseless hammer in his chest. They had been running and fighting and swerving and blocking, and now they had come to Fort Drakon, and they need only enter and get to the roof, and then…

An arrow sailing past Will’s head and sinking into the wood of the front doors broke them from their hesitance, and Hannibal threw open the Fort’s doors and pushed Will through.

After slamming the door shut behind them, the templar motioned Will back as he rushed forward. The main floor of the Fort was not empty, and a dozen darkspawn were running at Hannibal and Will. Will watched, mesmerized, as Hannibal struck them down, one by one, spinning and arching his blade, killing each one before it could reach Will.

When his demon was standing amidst a ring of darkspawn corpses, Will ran to him, encircling him in his arms. Because he could. Because Hannibal was his, and he could touch him now, whenever he wanted. And Will always wanted, and would always want.

The bulk of the Fort cleared, they had only take the backstairs up until they found the exit to the roof. They were familiar, at least, with the layout of the prison, thanks to their time spent there, and the rush of memory caused Will to grab a fistful of Hannibal’s hair and kiss him urgently.

Hannibal wrapped Will in his arms and returned the kiss, hard enough and sweetly enough to steal Will’s breath from him, but Will didn’t care. He gladly breathed in Hannibal instead of oxygen. Their lips were warm and their noses were cold from the chilly night air, but their bodies were hot. When Hannibal finally relinquished his hold, Will cursed the blasted Blight for its distractions.

“I just want this to be over,” Will whispered, lips brushing along Hannibal’s jaw.

“Then let us see it finished, my love,” answered Hannibal, and they worked their way through a smattering of bodies to the back steps of Fort Drakon.

 

--

 

Will and Hannibal both stopped before the door to the roof, and Will remembered his final moments with Peter, the seconds before they had walked through the basement door and Peter had been killed. He looked at Hannibal, his templar and demon, who had traveled with Will to such impossible lengths, allowing Will to forge his own path, keeping him safe but never forcing his own outcomes. Not even now, when Will knew Hannibal wanted nothing more than to drag Will away someplace safe. He was still letting Will make this choice, this final step toward the end of the journey he had chosen to see to the end.

He wanted to say thank you, but those words seemed too small for his feelings, so he said nothing. Instead of words, which might never be enough, he opted for the simplicity of touch. Will took Hannibal’s hand in his and brought it to his cheek. He closed his eyes and Hannibal’s thumb caressed softly over Will’s skin. And then he felt Hannibal’s lips pressing gently over his own. They kissed in the stairwell, a moment’s pause, a quiet, sweet second, protected from the rage that bombarded the other side of the door. Will didn’t want it to end. But like all things, it had to. Everything had to have an ending.

Will ended their kiss, and, faces still close, said: “I’m ready.”

Hannibal smiled, pushed a curl out of Will’s eyes, and nodded.

Will opened the door.

First, he saw was the archdemon, the titanic dragon, standing on all fours in the center of the rooftop. It swung its tail, sending the small group of Denerim soldiers flying off the rooftop. Then, he saw the intense battle happening clear on the other side of the roof. He squinted. It was far away, but he knew their shapes well.

“Katz and Alana are already here!” Will yelled to Hannibal, who was in the middle of plunging his sword into the neck of a darkspawn.

Their companions appeared to be trapped on the other side, surrounded by most of the horde on the roof, while the Denerim soldiers were trying to attack the archdemon. It pawed at them like fodder, scooping them up in its enormous, curved talons, and throwing them into the air. Alana and Katz were so enraptured in their fight, erecting force fields only to have them shattered, cutting down one darkspawn only to have three more heave forwards in attack, that neither noticed the two new arrivals to the rooftop.

But the archdemon noticed, and it turned its reptilian head towards Will with a crook of its long, crimson-scaled neck. Will gasped, stumbling back a step, sickened to be face to face with the image of his nightmares. Red eyes pierced him through, and were Hannibal not there to defend Will with his sword, Will might have been so shocked, a darkspawn could have easily finished him before he’d had a chance to react. As the fates had it, however, Hannibal was there, and he did block the darkspawn attackers while Will experienced his moment of awe and dread. But then, as quickly as it came, it passed, and Will’s knuckles were white around his staff.

This was it, and there was no relaying the inevitable, so Will turned his head to Hannibal, and shouted over the gales of wind from the dragon’s flapping wings. “Cover me!” And then he ran.

Will’s boots were a blur against the rooftop as he headed full-speed toward the archdemon. He could hear Hannibal behind him, the clank of his templar armor and the slashing of his sword as he destroyed any threat to Will before it could touch him. Will sent a blast of fire toward the dragon as he drew closer, and it was then the horrid realization hit him. His fire magic wouldn’t hurt the archdemon. It absorbed into the scales harmlessly. But Will knew what had to be done. Without stopping, he threw down his staff, and without asking, Hannibal thrust his own greatsword into Will’s hand.

The archdemon turned to hack its claws through a team of Denerim soldiers attacking its front, and its giant, spiked tail would have knocked Will right off the roof, but Hannibal had foreseen the event, and when the tail came rushing toward them in a lethal sweep, he picked Will up by the waist and heaved.

Will flew through the air, sword in hand, and landed with a painful thud at the base of the dragon’s tail. For a second, he was so surprised, he couldn’t fathom it. Then his brain caught up with his reality, and he realized Hannibal had just thrown him onto the archdemon’s back! The creature didn’t even feel him!

Will scuttled for a handhold, his one hand busy trying to keep a grip on Hannibal’s heavy sword. He was grateful for his time atop Alana’s scaled back, because he knew how to hold on when the dragon reared back. He nearly fell, but his grip on one of its spikes saved his balance, and as soon as the dragon thumped back down on all fours, Will began to climb further up the its back, crawling and clinging to its spikes with one hand. It still hadn’t noticed Will was there.

He was up high, for the dragon was truly a gargantuan beast, and he could see Alana and Katz below, blocking the flames of the archdemon’s fiery breath as Will watched helplessly from its back. Alana’s force field barely held, and Katz was nearly hit from behind by a darkspawn Alpha, but she swung around in time, severing its ugly head from its shoulders.

And then Will had reached the top of the dragon’s back, and he straddled its neck with his legs, and he held Hannibal’s sword in both hands. The dragon turned suddenly, and Will almost fell, but his grip held true. Now, Will was facing the other direction, and he could see Hannibal on the rooftop below. Hannibal stood there, watching, and Will finally saw his mistake. He had left Hannibal weaponless. He had taken his sword and left Hannibal vulnerable. Will watched in horror, heart racing, as the darkspawn moved behind Hannibal’s back.

“HANNIBAL!” Will screamed from atop the archdemon, but he was too far, and it was too late, and, because Hannibal was looking up to watch Will, he didn’t see it coming.

Will watched as the darkspawn pierced its sword through the break in Hannibal’s armor, straight through his lower back, until it split through the skin of his stomach.

“HANNIBAL!” Will screamed again. The darkspawn kicked Hannibal’s body from its sword, and Hannibal dropped to the ground. With the surge of strength only possible under the duress of tremendous fury, Will stabbed Hannibal’s blade into the neck of the dragon.

The creature roared beneath him and Will’s whole body shook with the vibrations of its outrage, but he didn’t relent. Will pulled out the long blade only to hack through the neck again. Again. The archdemon bucked, its wings flapped violently at its sides, trying to throw off its surprise assailant, but Will wasn’t moving, not until the thing was dead. He kept stabbing it in its neck, and black blood sprayed Will’s shocked-white face, but he hacked and sliced and the grip of the sword was sweaty in his hands, but he had the dragon writhing and bleeding. Will stood up on its back, bracing his legs and praying he wouldn’t fall, and with one final burst of hate-fueled power, Will brought down the greatsword and chopped straight though the archdemon’s neck.

The creature spasmed, and Will was finally thrown to the rooftop, landing with a brutal snap that broke his leg. He cried out with pain, rolling away as the archdemon’s body came crashing to the ground beside him. An impossibly bright, white light broke through the dragon’s severed neck and filled the sky.

Will was blind with the light that he knew must be the old god’s soul, and he held his hand over his eyes until, with a final flash, it disappeared.

He could hear fighting on the other side of the rooftop, Alana and Katz finishing off the remaining darkspawn, but on his side of the roof, Will had only one concern. He crawled, his broken leg throbbing beneath him, until he reached Hannibal, who was lying face down on the rooftop.

“H-Hannibal,” Will said, reaching out his hand and turning him to his back.

Hannibal’s eyes opened at the sound of Will’s voice, but his face was deathly pale, and blood was pouring from the wound in his stomach. Will cried out, pulling himself closer and pressing his hand over the wound, but no pressure was enough and bouts of blood seeped through his fingers.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered, and Will gave up on the unfixable wound to cup his demon’s face.

“Hannibal, Hannibal,” he said softly, eyes misting, and voice trembling. Heart breaking. “No,” he whispered. “No.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hannibal wasn’t supposed to die. There had always been a chance – a good chance – that Will wouldn’t survive the mission he’d thrown them into, but he had never considered the possibility that Hannibal…

Hannibal’s eyes focused weakly on Will above him, but then his eyes were closing and his lips were falling slack.

No.

NO.

“Hannibal!” Will yelled, and he pulled himself to sit, his broken leg twisted mindlessly beneath him. He was a Dreamer, and he called upon all his wits now to step one foot into the Fade, like he had only done unconsciously before, and he demanded, his voice echoing in his head.

“Hannibal!” he yelled. “Hannibal!”

It was surreal. Will was in the Waking World, leaned over Hannibal’s failing body, and he was also in the Fade, screaming at the top of his lungs in the grand hall. He saw Hannibal’s human form bleeding out before his eyes, and he saw his demon flickering before him in the torchlight of their shared Fade space.

Will focused on his demon in the Fade. He was slumped, where he was normally held high and gorgeously, strongly solid. Hannibal was dying in both worlds. Will had to be quick.

“Hannibal,” he whispered as the flickering demon staggered toward him. “Help me.”

“Will,” his demon whispered on a weak exhale. “My sweet boy.”

“Hannibal, tell me how to do it,” Will demanded, reaching out to grab his demon’s shoulders. “Tell me how to make the blood bond.”

Suddenly, Will was thrust from the Fade, his demon disappearing in his mind’s eye, and Will looked down helplessly at Hannibal. He was coughing. Blood seeped from his lips. A sob hunched Will’s shoulders. No, no, it couldn’t happen.

And then, a whisper. Will could hear it, faint and delicate in his head, but he knew that voice, knew it better than his own. He listened, closing his eyes. Will soaked his hands again in the blood escaping from Hannibal’s stomach wound, and upon the whispered instructions, he picked up Hannibal’s sword that lay beside him. Will sliced into his hand with the blade, and shut his eyes. He clasped his bloody hands together, tears rolling down his face, and he repeated the words whispered in his head. Repeated them like a prayer. His hands parted, and his body was awash with a strange stinging. Will opened his eyes. He was glowing, a bright red light escaping from his skin, and he lowered his hands, filling the air with whispers, spreading his glowing, bloody palms over Hannibal’s body.

Will felt a sharp pang in his chest, and then the stinging ceased and he collapsed forward onto Hannibal.

 

Darkness.

 

And then Will woke, sitting straight up and gasping in a huge breath of air. His broken leg flared with pain for a moment, and then it faded. Will moved it beneath him. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t broken. He pushed to his knees, bending over Hannibal’s body, cupping his bloody hands over Hannibal’s pale face.

“Stay with me. Please.” It was a whisper. It was a hope. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Hannibal’s.

Something strange happened then. A tickle in the corner of Will’s brain. A warm shadow inching into his heart. Nothing Will had ever felt before. A fullness within him, where he had been hollow. Completeness. Will had the unmistakable sensation that he was, all at once, for the first time in his life, entire.

He felt Hannibal’s breath fan across his face. Will opened his eyes. “Hannibal,” he whispered.

Hannibal’s eyes were black and glittering. And alive. Not only could Will see Hannibal’s strength, he could feel it, because it was his own.

Hannibal felt it, too, and he looked up at Will with curiosity. “You’ve joined us,” he said, his voice deep and laced with surprise. “You used blood magic.”

Will nodded, his blood-stained hands smoothing over Hannibal’s face and carding through his hair. “I did,” he said. He moved closer, their lips an inch apart. “I can feel you inside me, Hannibal,” he whispered.

His demon’s presence in his head, in his whole body, was nothing like he’d imagined. Taking a piece of Hannibal didn’t feel evil. Will didn’t feel like an abomination. He felt powerful. He felt good. He felt right.

Hannibal sat up from the cold rooftop and gathered Will into his arms, pulling him against his chest. Their wounds were healed. They were joined. They were bonded. It would take more than a mortal wound to kill them now. Will turned in his demon’s arms, and Hannibal’s fingers found their way into the curls at the nape of Will’s neck.

They kissed, and the sun began to rise.

Chapter 20: Afterglow

Notes:

Here is the final chapter!!! Short and sweet and everything our boys deserve. Thank you so so so much for reading and leaving me kudos and such wonderful, supportive comments. The best part?? I finished within my deadline! Excuse me while I go pass out forever. LOVE!!

The Grey Warden stayed for the coronation, smiling as Queen Margot stood beside her bride before all of Denerim. The city was burned and broken, but it would rebuild. Ferelden would rebuild. The Blight was over and the darkspawn were gone. Ruined buildings seemed small in comparison. It would be okay again. But the Grey Warden wasn’t going to stick around and watch the city re-gather itself.

When the coronation concluded, Margot and Alana were sharing a quiet moment in their bedchambers. The Grey Warden’s knock was a light tap.

“Katz,” Alana said, letting the Grey Warden through with a pleased smile.

“You look good in a crown,” Katz said with a smirk.

“You look good clean,” Alana remarked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so clean, in fact.”

“Believe it or not, I do enjoy bathing. When I’m not too busy saving the world.”

“Naturally.”

Margot, who had sauntered to the dresser, returned with three goblets balanced in her hands. She handed one to Katz and one to Alana, and they clinked their goblets in a cheers.

They sipped in silence, and then Katz looked up from her wine. “I wanted to say goodbye before I left for Weisshaupt.”

Alana shook her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here a while longer? Take more baths?”

“The Ferelden Grey Wardens aren’t going to rebuild themselves,” Katz muttered. “And it’s not as if I have anyone to help me.” The women exchanged knowing looks, and then Katz smiled. “I’ll come back when the baby is born.”

Alana held her hand to her stomach and Margot glowed. But then a darker mood fell upon them, and Alana asked quietly, “Still no word from Will or Hannibal?”

Katz sighed, smoothing her hand over the thick, clean hair she had only, that very morning, been able to pull back into a ponytail. “Nothing. No one has seen them since Will brought down the archdemon.”

“And the phylactery?” Alana asked.

“I checked the Denerim Chantry, where all the phylacteries are supposed to be sent, but Will’s wasn’t there. We can’t track him. He’s just…gone.”

They finished their wine and said their goodbyes, wondering, always wondering, what had happened to Will and his templar.

 

--

 

Will crushed the glass beneath his boot and a puff of crimson smoke floated through the air before it dissipated.

“I can’t believe you had it the whole time.”

Hannibal stood behind Will, his arms wrapped around his chest and his chin leaned atop Will’s shoulder. They admired the broken phylactery beneath Will’s boot. Hannibal squeezed Will tighter against his chest and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“You believed I would let the First Enchanter deliver your beautiful blood into the hands of the Chantry?” Hannibal asked, biting teasingly at Will’s skin.

Will turned in his demon’s arms.

They were camped out in a Western Orlesian cave, and a rainstorm pounded away outside. A roll of thunder sent Will further into Hannibal’s arms, and he tipped his head to look into his eyes.

“They can never find us now, you know,” Will said, rubbing his hands down Hannibal’s chest. They were both shirtless. The air was warm and fresh and the fire Will had lit cast a brilliant, crackling light throughout the cozy cave. He admired their joined shadows on the wall.

“Not unless we wish to be found,” said Hannibal.

Will smiled, because he could feel his demon’s wishes and urges in his own mind before they were spoken aloud, and he knew exactly what Hannibal wanted. And he wanted it, too.

“I don’t want anyone to find us,” Will whispered, canting his hips toward Hannibal’s hips. “You know what I want.”

A low growl sounded deep in Hannibal’s chest and his hands slipped around Will’s back to grab his ass. “Yes.”

“Mmm,” Will sighed, finally happy, finally safe. It was enough to throw back his head with a laugh. “I want you,” he said, gasping when his demon scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“I’m yours,” Hannibal answered, landing a hard slap against Will’s ass cheek before he set him gently down on their shared bedroll. “My sweet, beautiful boy,” he whispered, reverently stroking a hand down Will’s smooth chest.

Will pulled him down, and Hannibal swiftly removed their boots and trousers, the last of the barriers between them, and then he pressed his hot skin against Will. They breathed in together, and exhaled. And Hannibal moved in, kissing Will like it was the end of the world all over again. Only it wasn’t. Will smiled into the kiss. They had forever, if they wanted it.

Of course, Will had been wanting it forever, and now that it was near enough to taste, he chased it zealously. His thighs parted and his fingers raked down Hannibal’s back, and he whimpered in his demon’s ear, knowing he’d never be refused, “Please, Hannibal. Please.”

Hannibal’s fingers pressed against Will’s lips until they parted to let him in. Will sucked on the digits with a groan, lapping at the long fingers and bucking up against Hannibal’s erection that was throbbing and hot and sliding against the V of Will’s groin. Unlike the time they’d shared in the Fade, the instant slickness wasn’t there, but Will didn’t mind, not when it meant he got to feel Hannibal’s fingers pushing gently over his entrance.

“Shhh,” Hannibal whispered as he circled Will’s delicate hole. “Relax.” His fingers were damp and hot and Will shivered as they rubbed against him, circling his ring of puckered muscle before pressing against it. Hannibal repeated the motion until Will began to relax into the rhythm, and then he pushed one finger all the way in. Will gasped at the entry and Hannibal swallowed the sound with a kiss.

“So good,” Hannibal sighed against Will’s lips before kissing him again, deeper and more insistently, his tongue matching his finger, slowly exploring.

Will moaned, a trembling mess beneath his demon, and he spread his legs wider, in invitation. “More,” he pleaded, and Hannibal obliged, pulling out his single finger and returning with two. Will stretched his neck and Hannibal kissed it, sucking bruises over the tender flesh as his fingers worked in and out of Will’s hole, carefully but deliberately stretching him open.

Will’s words weren’t words, but broken cries as he began pushing down to meet Hannibal’s pumping fingers. His demon’s breath was hot against his neck, and when he felt the scrape of teeth against his skin, he dug his fingernails into Hannibal’s back, scratching down his spine. When Hannibal’s teeth bit into his neck, Will cried aloud and sank his fingers into the flesh of Hannibal’s ass.

“Hannibal,” he begged, and Hannibal’s fingers slipped out of him, leaving Will open and desperate.

Hannibal settled back on his heels, his beautiful shadow veiling Will’s trembling, waiting body. He just stared down at Will for a moment, his hair falling, soft and silvery-blond over his forehead, shimmering as it caught the light of the fire. Will pushed up his hips and moaned, a needy little sound, urging his demon for more. Please. Now.

And Hannibal could never deny him. Will watched as he leaned over to dig into his discarded pack by the bedroll, pulling out a small vial of ointment. Hannibal’s grin was lecherous and perfect as he fingered a drop of lubricant into the palm of his hand and gripped the base of his cock. Will’s body thrilled, staring as Hannibal coated his length in the shiny oil. And then he lowered himself down, slotting between Will’s soft, parted thighs. His slick cockhead lazily rubbed over Will’s entrance as he peppered kisses across Will’s jaw, and then, pulling a gasp from them both, Hannibal pushed.

Will was tight, and the entry was slow, but Hannibal sank inside until he was buried deep, all the way. His demon bent down, pressing their foreheads together, and waited. Will could feel every pulse of Hannibal as his walls stretched to accommodate him. He was thick and heavy, and when he finally bottomed out, Will arched his back and pulled him closer, trying to take more. The moment felt raw, more intense than it had in the Fade. Outside of the cave, Will could hear the rain. He closed his eyes and listened. Just rain. And Hannibal’s steady breath. And then the subtle sound of skin against skin as Hannibal began a slow pace, in and out of Will, rocking them together.

Hidden away, where no Towers or Wardens or Darkspawn could find them, Will moaned, spread beneath his demon, arms wrapped tight around his broad, muscular back. He hooked his ankles and moved his hips and gasped in Hannibal’s ear to fuck him harder, make him feel it. And as always, his demon sought only to make Will happy.

Hannibal set into him, sinking so deep, Will felt the bedroll inch forward with every thrust. Will buried his face in Hannibal’s shoulder, unable to stop the smile from spreading wide across his face, not wanting or needing to hide his pleasured blush. His hands traced up his demon’s back to feel his silken hair run through his fingers, and Hannibal gazed down at him with eyes so black, Will could see himself reflected there. He hardly recognized himself. He didn’t look scared and timid and tired with the weight of the world. He looked happy.

He was finally free.

Will pulled Hannibal down for another kiss, because he was Will’s to kiss, whenever he wanted.

 

 

The End.