fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Muddy Ground (Chapter Thirty-Three)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Alistair/Lily
Summary: Amaranthine. Oghren. I'm in Ferelden, the one place I never wanted to go, and now... Now I'd better talk fast.



scarylady is very awesome, and fixes all the injustices and horrible liberties I take with the language without even meaning to.



A/N: Still delayed. Out of buffer. *tearing hair out* At least now, after nearly three months, chapter 34 has gone from barely 1200 to closing in on 5k words. I'm thinking 34 will be on time. Hopefully. I'm trying to power through the rest of the story. Just 40k more words. I can do this. Right? Right. We'll get there. Thanks for sticking with me.




“...Cassia,” Alistair finishes his introduction of me, resigned. We had intended to use my alias, but Oghren’s recognition is throwing that straight out the window; there’s no point in it now, not really. We all know my face.

“Cassia?” the seneschal asks. “You called her ‘Lily’ outside.” Alistair pauses, caught out and surprised, and I feel my jaw drop. I didn’t even notice. Apparently, from the look on his face, neither did Alistair. We are so not sneaky.

I don’t have another second to draw breath as Oghren’s face transforms with grim determination. His axe is down over his shoulder and Ponka barks loudly, rushing toward us; Alistair makes a grab for him, but the man is on me before I have a chance to say anything else, or blink. He drives his shoulder into my stomach, body-checking me, and I am splayed on my back on the floor in a hot second; the impact of my body on the stone is a white-hot brand that momentarily blinds me, stealing my breath. Two points beneath my chin from the forked blade at the top of his axe freeze me in place. Ponka crouches nearby, growling threateningly, ready to spring.

“Wait!” Alistair exclaims, but Oghren just snarls, eyes only for me, cold as the snow, and twice as ruthless. My fear is clear to him, and he finds me sorely lacking in mettle because of it.

“Knew better than to go after the assassin, did you? What did you tell the boy?” he shouts at me, the roar of his voice drowning out even Ponka’s growling. “Playing on your likeness to a dead friend! How many story-tellers did you listen to before you found him? Did you bat your pretty eyelashes and tell him that he’d always been the one?” He’s furious, and I close my eyes, trying to quell my panic before he skewers me, but I am well and truly terrified. It’s all I can do to fight for breath, fingers twitching as my mind races on the back of an adrenaline rush, trying to figure out what I can do, what I can say, to get him away from me.

“Oghren--” I start, but Alistair cuts me off by accident, because we both speak at the same moment. Oghren’s eyes narrow at my use of his name; technically, no one’s introduced him to me yet.

“Stand down! This isn’t what you think!”

Continuing to ignore Alistair, he leans in closer, the points forcing me to tip my chin back and bare my throat if I want to keep the blades out of my flesh. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t stick your head on pike, you cheap imposter,” he growls, the menace in his voice turning my stomach to jelly.

What can I say, what can I say? What do I know about Oghren that only I would know? Think! Think!

The blood thundering in my ears drowns out all else. Wait, blood. Blood! “‘When from the blood of battle the Stone has fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead!’” I quote him desperately and all in a rush, the last thing he said to me before I left him at the gate when we went up Drakon.

“A bit of verse from the Final Day?” he grits out, completely unimpressed enough that he’s about to spit on me, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes me. “That’s all you’ve got? A half-dead, blighted nug’s got more sense than that!” I never listened to the bards talking about the Blight; I didn’t want to hear it, and now I don’t know what they tell!

“Oghren, I can promise you, you want to stop this,” Alistair warns, to no avail. I’m sure he, like Ponka, doesn’t dare try to lay hands on him, not with the blades so close to ending my life.

Where did we go, what did we do? Fuckin’ hell, this is what I get for excluding Sten and Oghren so often, because two-handers are so slow. I can feel my eyes widen and my heart hammers as his lip curls. I’m hesitating too long. Ponka is growling, and the blades are so sharp-- Think!! Wait, Ponka. Ponka! He hates Oghren. “Mabari war-chariots!” I blurt. He pauses, the grim certainty that I’m some swindler overtaken by shocked recognition flickering through his eyes; it is quickly swallowed by a boat load of suspicion, but he has enough questions now that the fork slips, the flat and cold weight of his blade resting against my chest for a moment before it lifts.

He backs just a couple of paces away, looking at me with narrowed eyes, highly sceptical, but possibly inclined to hear me out. Most importantly for my current comfort level, he’s pulled his axe back into his hands, so is less likely to kill me in the next handful of seconds. This is an improvement. Ponka immediately leaps into the middle, teeth bared and hackles up. He barks sharply at Oghren, fully attack-ready, but no one makes any further moves.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, my eyes closing in relief for just a second. Sitting up, shaken, I unclasp my cloak as it pulls and chokes me, letting it fall to the floor, then run my fingers through my hair, trying to regain some of my composure.

“All right, while that was entertaining, perhaps someone could explain to me what’s going on now.” I look up at the black-haired man, surely Nathaniel Howe, who is watching me impassively, and give him a weak smile. In the next moment, my view is blocked by Alistair reaching down to help me to my feet. I sway, eyes clenched tightly against the wave of pain and fatigue that washes over me, now that the adrenaline rush is wearing off. I press my lips together tightly, but can’t quite swallow the little whimper that escapes me as I lean against him, grateful for his strength. I just need one night of sleep on a bed that’s not made of straight wood, and I’ll be right as rain. Hopefully. Theoretically.

But before that... Hours of talking. Again.

“Mmmmh... Yeah... Uh...” I take a deep breath, looking around at all the guards and other people in the room and shake my head. “I don’t think this is a wise place for that conversation, and I’m not feeling very well, so if I could sit down someplace warm, that’d be nice... Please.”

I can feel myself flush with embarrassment as Oghren scowls deeply at Alistair’s and my easy manner with each other, but I’m not going to apologise, and I square my shoulders a little. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, here. Now I just need to convince a surly dwarf of that.

There is a moment of silence where I realise Ponka has left off his threats right as he nudges my hip with his nose. I look down, and he’s holding up my cloak in his mouth. “Aww, honey, thank you,” I murmur, taking it, and scratch him behind the ear. He snorts, tipping his nose up, then grins, his little tail-bump wiggling, and I can’t help but smile for him. I let Alistair easily pull the cloak from my hand and he throws it over his shoulder as I take his arm. Ponka keeps himself between me and Oghren, never taking his eyes off the dwarven warrior, but he doesn’t spare my hound a glance on the way to Nathaniel’s study.

The fire is both warm and welcome, and I sink into the closest seat to it gratefully. Alistair sits next to me on the bench, and Ponka parks himself squarely in front of me, facing Oghren, who elects to stand. Nathaniel takes a seat across from Alistair and me, apparently completely at ease, and studies me for a moment before addressing Alistair instead, making me blink.

“What brings you back to the Vigil? After that business with Anora, I would have thought we’d see you next at your Calling.” He pauses, eyeing Alistair, but apparently decides that couldn’t be why we’ve come, just from the general lack of reaction.

Alistair shakes his head, scrubbing his hands through his hair and inadvertently spraying me with mist. I try to be discreet about wiping my face on my sleeve, but Nathaniel notices, even if Alistair doesn’t, and I see the corner of his mouth twitch upward in amusement.

“That was a mess, I’ll admit,” Alistair says, resigned, then groans, sitting back and stretching out his legs. “We’ve got some travelling in mind. I thought it’d be a good idea to check in on things here before we went south. I’ve brought some business with me, but it’ll keep.” He waves a dismissive hand, trying to reassure, as Nathaniel looks like he might be inclined to worry. “It’s nothing, really, just things I carried since I was coming, instead of sending them along with a messenger.”

Alistair and Nathaniel exchange a few more minutes of pleasantries and inconsequential banter with the ease of old friends, until there is a knock on the door that startles me out of my half-dozing daydream, staring into the fire. Several servants file in, quickly and efficiently arranging food and drink on the sideboard, then disappearing just as fast. One of them even throws most of a ham hock into a large bowl on the floor, getting Ponka’s attention.

Ahhh... Smart man. He knew the servants would be coming, and didn’t want to be interrupted speaking of anything important.

I uncross my legs, meaning to get up, but Alistair presses my knee, still talking with Nathaniel, already sliding forward, urging me to stay. I’m not inclined to argue, so I give him a grateful smile, and he winks at me, his face turned toward me in such a way that no one else could see him do it. I feel the blush rising and cast my gaze aside, not wanting to invite the besotted feeling that always gets me giggling at the worst moments.

The men move about the sideboard, decimating the contents, and Alistair hands me a plate as he resumes his seat next to me. Ponka drags the bowl over to the fireplace and shoves it close to the flames, watching it carefully. It’s true that he’ll eat just about anything - sometimes I think he’s half goat - but when he’s got food that’s been cooked or cured somehow, he likes it to be warm, if possible. I never thought I’d see a dog actually sort of cook something to eat for himself. He’s so strange.

Despite Oghren’s obviously growing irritation, Alistair and Nathaniel continue to talk amiably until everyone’s done eating. Setting his plate aside, Nathaniel turns his attention back to me, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and looking at me critically, sceptically.

“Hmmm... ‘Lady Cassia’, is it? I’ve never heard of you.”

Well, he’s a Fereldan noble; he wouldn’t have, of course. I bite my lip, taking a deep breath. How much do I dare spill? “Um... That’s because it’s an alias. My name is... Lily... actually...” I swallow, hoping this doesn’t trigger another outburst from Oghren, but he snarls and points at me. He’s opening his mouth to say something when Nathaniel raises his hand. Oghren looks at him, struggling internally, but finally subsides.

Oghren’s state doesn’t escape Nathaniel’s notice, and it’s clear that he’s beginning to apprehend the situation here as he studies my face more carefully. “Do you claim to be the Hero of Ferelden?” he asks bluntly, but I shake my head.

“No. Lily Mahariel is dead.”

This is apparently an answer that neither he nor Oghren was expecting, and they exchange glances. There is a moment of silence while Alistair rubs the back of his head, avoiding meeting Nathaniel and Oghren’s eyes.

“You just talked like you think you’re her!” Oghren accuses, pointing at me again, and I take a deep breath.

“Well... yeah. Because I was her. Or, well, she was me, actually. Um.” I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair, tired and cranky. “Please understand, this is not the entrance we intended to make. I meant to come here with an alias, stay a night or two, say how do you do and nice to meet you, then be on my way to other places. I’m not trying to be obvious about who I am, but I can’t exactly change what I look like. So, actually, I’m sorry you recognized me, Oghren. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Lels told me you were here, but that was ages ago and I forgot all about it, with everything that’s happened since then. When I turned to look at you in the hall, I was hoping the facts that I’m not an elf and don’t have her vallaslin would throw you, but you looked at my eyes.” I shrug, spreading my hands, because there’s really nothing else I can say about that. It’s not my fault he recognized me.

“That doesn’t make any sodding sense!” Oghren snaps, and I laugh mirthlessly.

“Tell me about it. If it’s any consolation, that was my first reaction, too.” I bite my lip as he starts to look even more pissed off, and hold out a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Look, I’ll tell you the truth as I know it, and I’m sorry it’s not much, but here it is: I’m from another place completely, somewhere beyond the Fade. The people of my world can’t travel to other worlds, except by dreams, so how I managed to come through physically is a mystery to everyone, including me. I’m not keeping anything from you on that account: I simply don’t know. It’s not supposed to be possible.”

“What do you mean, ‘in dreams’?” he asks, clearly not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

“Think of it as... like... I was the hand in the glove. She was my other self. I chose to come, and be born as Lily Mahariel. Just like anyone, I didn’t know what was going to happen after that. The information I had about this world before I came here was very minimal. I knew it was a world with magic, where there were other races besides human. I knew that depending on where I was born, I’d be treated differently, and what made me decide to come is that they told me something was about to go terribly wrong here, and it was going to be a very dark and difficult journey if I wanted to try to help.”

All of them are staring at me now, and I glance at Alistair, shifting uncomfortably. “You knew the Blight was coming?” Alistair asks, incredulous, but I shake my head emphatically. I hesitate for just a fraction of a second, closing my eyes. Here we go. Time to talk about the Blight.

“No. I was told that it would be dangerous to come here, that I’d have a lot of extremely hard decisions to make, but I never imagined...” I swallow. “I had no idea, I swear to you. I never knew what was coming, only that it wasn’t going to be easy, that I’d have to fight for it. I had an idea, sometimes, but no more than anyone else. By the time I met Duncan, I knew just by the way my life was turning upside down that whatever I was here for had started. Sometimes you can just smell something coming.”

I’m aware that they’re staring at me, and the weight of their combined gaze is frighteningly heavy. I draw a deep breath, try to sit up a little straighter without being obvious about it, because I can’t falter here. If I can’t make Oghren believe me, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing Teagan.

“Like how the longer I watched Isolde do her little song and dance, the more certain I became that she was lying, that she was hiding something. Ah, but you weren’t with us then,” I remember, looking at Oghren. “You didn’t meet me until almost the end, when I was impatient and miserable, going into the one place that will bring out the worst in a Warden... particularly an elven one. I thought it was a fool’s errand, that we were going to get ourselves killed, or worse, and wasting time. I figured Branka was dead, and we’d find her corpse someplace, especially after Rukh, and then all those fucking spiders, and finding her empty camp, twice... Yeah. But then the broodmother...”

I shudder, gagging. That was the most disgusting moment of the game, all that bullshit with Hespith and Branka. I just about barfed, playing through it. Forgive her and let her keep the Anvil? Please.

“Of all the things I witnessed during the Blight, aside from my general disgust at the folly of so many of the people I met, there are three moments of depravity and pure evil that stick out in my mind as the worst. At the top has got to be the broodmother. Below that, what happened to my lost Tamlen. And third, the darkspawn’s final insult to Cailan. It was like they knew exactly who he was, and did that as a message. It showed an intelligence I didn’t dare underestimate again. Lels says they were talking in Common, when you found them here. I can’t say I’m surprised - it was only a matter of time. They were showing signs of higher sentience during the Blight, too.”

“Out of everything we saw, those were the worst?” Alistair asks, incredulous. “What about Loghain leaving us to be slaughtered at Ostagar? What about Connor, or Uldred, or... or Haven?”

I shudder again at the memory. “Yeah, Haven was scary-bad. But, still, that was all people. That wasn’t accident, or the doings of the darkspawn. It’s the things that happened to us which were beyond anyone’s control that stuck in my head. Like when we lost Daveth. Like when that sloth demon sucked us into the Fade. Like when the archdemon invaded our minds to gloat when Riordan fell.”

There is a moment of silence, and I swallow thickly, looking down at my lap. I hate this. And I’m going to have to do it again when we get to Redcliffe, too.

Oghren grunts, still inclined to dislike me, stubbornly continuing his line of questioning. “Hmm. None of this explains what you’re doing here without the elf. If you were really her, he’d be with you.”

I close my eyes, bowing my head for a moment as the memory strikes me through the heart again, and have to swallow twice before I have enough grip on myself to answer coherently, without my voice breaking. “Zevran? Uh... He’s... in Antiva. Leading the Crows... actually.”

Oghren snorts. “She never used his full name,” he says, growling.

I feel Alistair shift uncomfortably next to me, and lean into his side a little. “Yeah... he-- We aren’t... together... anymore. Using his full name sort of... helps to put some distance between me and... him... because it... it was a bad scene.” I finally stumble to a halt and take a deep breath. I don’t want to talk about this. “Please--” I start, but Oghren cuts me off.

“He would’ve never left the Warden!” he protests, still suspicious and angry.

“Well I’m not ‘the Warden’ anymore,” I snap, patience frayed, because I’m about to cry over it, and I don’t want to do that in front of these men. “I’m just the common carpenter who drove her. She was my hands, my body, my blades, my voice, and she was physically capable of things I could never do, but I lost all that when the archdemon’s death threw me out of Thedas for good, or so I thought. So yes, he left me, because we were in Antiva, and I’m not strong enough to follow him into the darkness of the Crows like that, though the gods know I broke myself repeatedly in the attempt.” I take another breath and smooth my shaking hands over my skirt.

“No one could have come between those two,” Oghren says, still obstinately refusing to allow me to connect myself to my avatar. “He wouldn’t have let go of her. He didn’t even let go when she fell.”

I feel my mouth twist into a bitter little smile, and just keep referring to myself in the first person. “I know.” I bow my head, my voice dropping as I look at my hands, laying useless and empty in my lap. “The Crows did what no one else ever could have: tore us apart from the inside. I count myself extraordinarily fortunate that I had friends around me to catch me, because... I was in a really bad way after that.” I glance up at Alistair, and he flashes me a tense smile.

“See? Right there. That’s out of place; the Warden never had eyes for anyone but that Antivan,” he says, as though this proves everything. I stare at him for a moment, trying to gather myself, seeing Alistair grimace out of the corner of my eye.

“We-- You... joined us late, like I said. Other things happened first, and Alistair and I didn’t work out last time around because I was Mahariel, and we weren’t right for each other, then. Things between him and me happened the way they did now because... they did. Because I’m not her, and what I need in my life is different than what I could and would have pursued if I had continued to be her. It took me awhile to come to terms with that, but... I’ve been a lot happier since then. Mahariel is dead, and she took a lot more from me than just a body, when I lost her. But... There are a lot of things I have now that I couldn’t have ever dreamed of, if I’d lived.”

Nathaniel arches a brow as he looks me up and down. “You’re in remarkably good health for a dead woman,” he says dryly, and I smile, laughing self-consciously.

“Well. I didn’t stay that way, obviously. I think I had to die, to come here. I drowned in the ocean after I lost Mahariel, and my connection to Thedas with her. I was... not in my right mind at the time, consumed with grief.”

“Suicide?” Nathaniel asks slowly, and I shake my head.

“No, I didn’t do it on purpose. It was dark, and there was a storm; the ocean just... swallowed me up. The last thing I remember is going under, the cold and the dark sucking me in, and I--” I glance over at Alistair, not liking to talk about things that involve Zevran right in front of him, but there’s no option right now. “I was... reaching for him, for Zevran. Whatever happened, it drew us together because of it. He fished me out of the ocean.”

“If you drowned, how are you here?” Nathaniel asks, and I shake my head.

“I have no idea. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the deck of a ship, vomiting seawater. When I woke up again after that, Zevran was reading my journal. Mahariel kept the same one, only she’s a better artist than me, so there aren’t many pictures in the copy I wrote on my end, just descriptions of them.” I blink, thinking about that, and look at Oghren. “That reminds me: have you ever seen her handwriting?”

The question catches him off-guard, and he looks at me suspiciously. “Yes... Why?”

I look back to Nathaniel. “Got anything I can write with?” After a few moments, I’ve got paper, ink, and quill; on the little table at the end of the couch, I spread out the paper, thinking for a moment, then write.

Of all the things I’ve ever lost, the life I held here was the one thing I could not abide. I never meant to leave at all. I believe the strength of my desire to be here, to be next to Zevran, and his grief-stricken wish for me to return to him, pulled my nearly-dead body across the impossible divide between my world and this in answer. Unfortunately, a carpenter doesn’t have a candle flame’s chance in a stiff wind against the Crows, and so I have had to find my own way, make a life for myself that is better suited to who I actually am. I am not a deceiver. Silently, I hand it to Oghren, and he goes pale as he reads the flow of my script across the page, the same handwriting I’ve always had, even as Mahariel.

“This-- You could have learned her handwriting,” he protests weakly, but I shake my head.

“What did she ever write, besides her journal? Zevran carried that with him; no one saw it after she died. When I woke on the ship, he was reading my copy. And, of course, they’re written by the same hand, so the script is the same. That’s part of what convinced him that I am myself.” He tries to hold onto his resolve to be doubtful, and I growl in exasperation. “Come on, Oghren. Do I need to paint the ink on my face for you to see it? Listen to my voice. Look at my writing, the colour of my eyes, my profile, the shape of my cheekbones, or, hell, look at how Ponka defends me. Do you really think all of it together could possibly be only coincidence? Look, I can even tell you, whoever the artist was who did the portrait in the main hall got the ink wrong. They missed the lines that went over my cheekbone,” I say, tracing the pattern with my fingertips over my own cheek, “And they mangled the way it knotted in the centre of my forehead.”

Oghren stares at me, finally believing, and I give him a brittle smile. “Warden...?” he asks, voice sort of soft with shock, but I shake my head.

“Not anymore. Just Lily. But yeah. So... hi.”

“That was Leliana who did the portrait,” Alistair says into the silence, and I blink at him.

“Whaaat? Then why’d she do the ink wrong?” I ask, surprised.

“She didn’t want people trying to copy it. You told her once that--”

“It was unique,” I finish, nodding. “Tamlen designed it for me, yeah. That makes sense. I’m glad she did that, actually. Remind me to thank her when we get back to Antiva.” Alistair nods, and Oghren is so shocked, he’s gone silent, just staring at me with the paper still in his hands. “Uh, let’s... toss that in the fire; it’s not exactly something we want knocking about for people to find,” I suggest, and after a moment, he shakes himself and does so. Ponka shifts, keeping himself between me and Oghren even still, but I don’t think it’s really necessary anymore.

Turning around again, he studies me carefully, critically, and I meet his eyes for a moment, but I’ve got a headache, and end up rubbing my forehead, wincing.

“If you... were... the Hero Mahariel, then... it was you who killed my father,” Nathaniel says slowly, and I look up at him, a cold feeling of dread spreading through my stomach. Ah, shit, I didn’t think about this.

“Nate, we went over that--” Alistair begins, but Nathaniel cuts him off.

“Yes, we did, and you said it was her doing.” His voice is mild, but there is a deep well of sadness behind it. Even the most foul of men could be a good father, I suppose.

Taking another deep breath, I nod. “Yes,” I admit. “In the dungeons beneath the estate in Denerim.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then asks, “Why?”

I blink. Surely he already knows. Maybe he just wants to hear it from me.

Before I can speak, Alistair makes an exasperated sound, immediately confirming my surmise. “Delilah already--” he begins, but Nathaniel just shakes his head.

“Not the same as hearing it from the woman herself,” he says mildly, gaze flicking back to me, and I catch Oghren nodding agreement out of the corner of my eye.

I nod, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry... I can’t really be very gentle about this.” I exhale slowly, watching him brace himself, then just let him have it. “Because he was a liar, a thief, and a kidnapper, egotistical, arrogant, and power-hungry, who stopped at nothing to take as much as he could for himself.” Nathaniel’s face steadily closes down as the words seem to hit him like physical blows, and the cold, sick feeling in my stomach intensifies, but I plough on doggedly.

“When I found him, he was surrounded by the blood of the Templars, Wardens, and nobles he’d been torturing, both before and after kidnapping Queen Anora. He showed no remorse, was proud of what he’d done, helping Loghain bring the country to its knees during a time of crisis, slandering the Wardens and forcing us to fight a war on two fronts. He was a murderer and a criminal, and he forced my hand when he drew his blade. I’m sorry to say, I put him down like the rabid animal he had become, whatever he may have been when you knew him. His last words were, ‘I deserved more’, as though what he had done so far, all the power he had usurped by force and treachery, all the things he’d stolen and surrounded himself with, were still not enough. The man’s appetite for destruction was only outweighed by his desire for wealth and power.”

There is a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

Nathaniel rubs his forehead, looking grieved and weary, and my heart goes out to him. “Did he suffer?” he asks, finally.

“No. It was over very quickly. That was all he said, because there was no time for more. I’m sorry this is so hurtful to you.” I look down at my hands. I’ll not apologise for taking him down, but I do feel bad that this is such a difficult conversation for him.

Nathaniel shakes his head, waving off the subject. If what Alistair implies is true, he’s had time to become accustomed to the idea of his father’s treachery, so perhaps it is just hearing it from me that strikes him so. “What happened to him after that?”

“Uh... well... We had to get Anora out, so... we did that. But I really don’t know, because we were caught by Cauthrien. Next thing I know, I’m waking up next to Alistair, mostly naked, on the floor in a filthy cell inside Fort Drakon.” I shrug. “I never found out what happened to him. A lot happened after that, and I... I just didn’t care, honestly. Sorry. I thought for sure someone would have found him, but if not... then... perhaps that means he was lost to the darkspawn.”

Nathaniel stands up abruptly and goes over to the fireplace, bracing his hands on the mantle and looking into the fire for a long time. The only sound in the room is the crackle and hush of the fire. Eventually, I lay my head against Alistair’s shoulder and close my eyes for a second. Gods, I’m bushed. His arm sneaks around my hips, pulling me closer, then his hand strays from my waist up to my hair, stroking my head gently.

“Nate,” he says quietly, completely changing the subject, “Before all this, I was thinking about staying here for a night or two to resupply in Amaranthine before we go. Is that all right, or should we head to the Crown and Lion?”

Nathaniel waves a dismissive hand. “No, of course you can stay here. The green suite is still open. I’ll have the servants bring up your trunks and fill the tub.” There is a pause, and then he says, “And seeing the state of... your lady friend... I’ll have them bring up dinner, as well.”

I blink. Odd... Eh, but if that’s what it takes for him to accept me, I’m not gonna argue.

“Thanks,” Alistair tells him, automatically reaching down to give me a hand as he rises.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful. Thank you, sir,” I tell Nathaniel, completely grateful, and the echo of a smile ghosts around the outside of his mouth as he nods back.

Taking my hands, he smiles at me truly, this time. “I’ve imagined our meeting many times, but these are strange circumstances. Welcome to the Vigil,” he says, a slightly ironic twist to his mouth, but he seems genuine, so I smile back.

I fear this conversation isn’t over, but at least he’s letting me escape for now. I follow Alistair through the labyrinth of hallways, not really paying attention to where we’re going, and find myself in what is to be our room for a time. As soon as the servants have gone, I trudge my way through a bath, then gratefully collapse into the bed. It’s soft and plush, there’s a feather comforter on top that makes it warm, the sheets are finely woven, the pillows stuffed with feathers as well, and the whole bed smells of sweetgrass and cedar. When Alistair crawls in next to me and wraps me in his heat, I sag against him with a heavy sigh of contentment and surrender almost immediately to the welcoming arms of sweet Morpheus.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

“Lily.”

I sit up suddenly, eyes focusing on a figure crouched at the end of my bed. After a few moments, the shape resolves itself into Nolan, squatting on the footboard with a pack and a trench coat on, jeans, gloves, boots, a hoodie, and some fingerless gloves. I’ve been here so long now, he looks strange to my eyes. “You look like a hobo,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, and he laughs while I cover my face with one hand in embarrassment. “Sorry. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

He looks around, amused, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Your bedroom, huh? Interesting...”

I look around, noticing now that it’s not actually dark. We’re in my bed, the one I left behind, but the window across the room is Alistair’s, and the carpet on the floor from the room I had at my grandmother’s house when I was a child. The whole room is cobbled from scraps of memory, and after a moment, I nod. “You know what, it is. It totally is, and you can see why, too, so don’t even play.” I stick my chin out, eyeing him for a moment, arms crossed over my chest. “You’ve been gone for a long time,” I accuse, maybe a little bit petulant, but it’s been eating at me.

Ever since the Incident, I haven’t been able to dreamwalk into the Fade.

He nods slowly, taking in my reaction, and arches an eyebrow. “You mad at me now?”

I press my lips together, but I’m practically quivering with indignation. “Where have you been? All that, and then you just-- You just go, and I don’t even see you for a month, and I can’t even go anywhere, just trapped in my own head like I used to be--”

He smirks and climbs onto the bed with me, stretching out to keep his boots off it. “It’s not all fun and games out here, you know. I’ve got a job to do, and it’s fucking difficult. You’re not easy, you know?”

I blink. “What? What the hell does that mean?”

There’s a pause while he studies me, then just smiles and shakes his head. “Nothin’. Don’t think I’ve been ignoring you; that’s kind of impossible.”

My brow furrows as I look at him, and he watches me for a moment, cocking his head, gears clicking behind his eyes. It occurs to me that since I spent most of my life not a lucid dreamer, he was the one to help me navigate much of my dream landscape, so he knows me a hell of a lot better than I know him, because he had a larger portion of control over how he presented than I did.

“Nolan, do you remember when you taught me to fly on those little cars with the black umbrellas--” I ask, gesturing in the air with my fingers to illustrate the shape, and he nods, pulling an apple out of his pocket and rubbing it on his shirt. “Can we go back there?”

“Nope. Can’t do the same one twice.” He glances around then takes a bite of the apple. “I’ve found someplace better though. They’ll never see us there.” This phrase, he’s said this phrase before. In fact... I’ve spent a lot of time running after Nolan, holding his hand, or speeding away in a car or flying when we could, but it didn’t always work. Sometimes running was the only option. Fleeing into the dark, into woods, down ravines, out of houses or into buildings, hurtling through the clouds at breakneck speeds, and always running from them. They who mustn’t see us.

“Nolan... Who--”

His eyes start to widen just from the way I’m looking at him, before I even open my mouth; he drops the apple in favour of lunging forward to cover my mouth with his hand, knocking me backward and pinning me to the bed with a startled squeal. “No!” he whispers fiercely, looking around quickly, wild-eyed. “Too many questions attract them, like blood in the water.” All is quiet, and he slowly eases off my mouth, looking down at me seriously. “You are always so bloody full of questions.” The tone of his voice says he’s disgusted with me, but the look on his face says he loves me, and I smile.

“Sorry.”

He snorts, as though he hardly believes me to be sincere, but sits back. “I wanted to take you back to the Night Lands, but the boatman wouldn’t accept my coin this time, because your misadventure made waves.” I remember riding a skiff across a lake to a house on a dark island that was full of corridors and doors, dreaming of meeting my grandmother right after she passed, and stare at him, trying to pull into line the facts that I’m lucid, my dreams were always more real than I thought, and I seem to have been visiting the Fade since I was a small girl, long before I ever left Earth. No wonder I’m here now. Where else could I have gone?

Nolan’s head snaps up, as though he’s heard something, and he turns. “Ah, Lily. Too smart for our own good. Never stop thinking, do you?” Turning back to me, he’s rushing forward toward me with his hands out. “Run,” he says, pushing me backward, and the bed is just not there anymore. I move in slow-motion, torpid. He grabs me around the waist, tossing me forward, and I hit the ground running. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m running down an unfamiliar hallway. I was thinking of that house. I need to be someplace else. Someplace safe. Grandma’s house. Between one step and the next, I go from carpet over stone to sand and rocks, and skid to a halt. Looking around, I see the familiar scene of the concrete sea wall, the large boulders grouped by the end, the stairs leading up to the yard with the raspberry brambles and the apple tree, the swingset and the rhododendrons, patch of grass and beech trees for climbing.

“This memory is so well-worn, it’s got a groove in it,” he says, and I find we’re sitting on the swingset. He’s got his apple back, and takes another bite out of it. “Won’t be safe here for long, now that you’re actually here.”

“Wh--” I catch myself on the point of asking a question and stop, looking up at the apple tree, and try to blank my mind. “I’d like to have an apple,” I say, hopping down.

Something about that makes me stop dead in my tracks, the world ringing like a gong around me.

“Oh shit,” Nolan says. “Remember that,” he says quickly, darting forward to grab my hand again, and we run forward. I’m losing my coherency; I’m not sure what’s going on anymore.

What’s so important about apples?

“Nolan, I’m losing my mind,” I say and he laughs, but it’s a dark and bitter thing. I see us heading toward darkness, a tunnel of some kind, or maybe travelling on into the night of another place, and bow my head, closing my eyes so my expectations won’t change the destination he’s got in mind.

“You need to find it,” he says, and I realise we’ve stopped. I can hear the sound of crickets, and open my eyes. We’re standing on the edge of a pool in a moonlit garden that smells of sweet lavender and rosemary, the vault of the sky reflecting in the pool, stars and fat gibbous moon hanging in the water like drowned illusions. “A garden that doesn’t affect your allergies,” he says, and I smile.

“It’s beautiful. I love it,” I murmur, moving amongst the plants, enjoying the cool crisp of the night at the end of a hot day. Standing at the edge of the pool, I touch the water, my reflection distorted and unknowable. “It smells like lavender and rosemary,” I say, and there’s that gong again that stops my heart with terror, suddenly turning all the shadows of the plush night sinister.

“Shit!” Nolan says, rushing toward me again, and I shriek this time, because I’m becoming truly frightened by now.

“What’s going on?” I shout into the wind of our flight.

“You keep stepping on traps!”

“What the hell does that even mean? Wait - rosemary and lavender. That’s Mahariel. “I want to wake up!” How do I even do that?

Everything is blurry, flashes of light green and white, as though we are moving into daylight, maybe trees, and I see someone standing there, a blurry figure. In the same second, Nolan’s eyes come rushing up on mine, filling my vision with their intense determination.

I wake suddenly, heart in my throat, adrenaline rush sending my blood thundering in my ears, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, the scream choked off before it can even begin by my lack of air. I clutch the blanket for a moment, taking a deep, shaking breath, and Alistair snores right in my ear, scaring the life out of me. Clapping a hand over my face, trying to peel myself off the ceiling, I decide I’m not going to sleep again any time soon, and the room is feeling far too small right now.

Easing from the bed, I grab my cloak from the hook by the fireplace and wrap it around my shoulders. Ponka lifts his head as I near the door, looking up at me askance. I shake my head, laying a finger to my lips. “I’m just going outside for some air. I’ll be right back,” I whisper, shooing him away from the door, then head out into the hallway. I was half-dead with exhaustion, but I remember there was a door to an outer causeway at the end of the hall, and what I need right now is to be outside. It was just a dream, right? It didn’t even make any sense.

The rain plasters my hair to my head and washes my face, the familiar tang of salt, sea, and sky mingling in my nose, on my skin, on my tongue. The setting sun casts long shadows, peeking across the horizon from under cover of the storm, promising clear skies by morning. I breathe deeply, the sensations of the familiar soothing some of my shakiness and fear away. The cold, wet stone beneath my feet is a comfort I didn’t expect to find, a reminder of places long gone from me, and I feel the tension slipping out of my shoulders as I focus on just being, just existing in the moment.

Gradually, I become aware that there’s someone near, and I turn suddenly, eyes snapping open to find Oghren standing silent sentinel, looking out toward the ocean. My heart leaps into my throat, but he doesn’t make any moves toward me.

Where the hell did he come from? I didn’t even hear him! What is he doing just standing there? Looking around, I realise that I’m in direct line of sight from the courtyard; he could have seen me from just about anywhere.

“How can you do it?” he asks, eventually, gravelly voice so low I almost don’t catch what he says.

Taking a step back, I move under the nominal cover of the eaves and lean against the wall. “Do what?” I ask cautiously.

“You-- I never would have pegged you for a liar, is all.”

I stare at him, mystified, as he refuses to look at me, staunchly turned to the north. “I don’t think I quite understand what you’re on about,” I tell him, weary, rubbing at my forehead and the threat of renewed headache.

“You. I hear you. I know you’re her-- you. I don’t have to understand it to see it, even though it makes no sodding sense.”

“Yeah, well. That’s magic for you. I’ve come to loathe it, honestly.”

Oghren snorts and grunts. “Ehhh... Can’t say I blame you.” This admission is clearly begrudging, but it comes with a note of understanding behind it. After a moment, he continues, “But if I take you for true, then you’re lying about the boy, and he deserves better.”

I blink, beginning to feel uneasy, because I’ve had that same thought, myself. “What...? Why would you think that?”

He finally turns to look at me, and his eyes are still cold, but there’s something tired around the edges. “I’ve seen you in love. This isn’t it.”

This strikes me straight through the heart. I grimace, wincing, and glance away, looking out into the thunderstorm over the bay. “I can see why you think that,” I admit eventually, nodding slowly, then take a deep breath. “You’re wrong, though. It’s just different. I know you know what I’m talking about, too.” I look back at him, catching his eyes for a moment. “Leliana told me you’re a father. It’s different, isn’t it? They’re not the same woman.” I can see it in his face, he knows what I’m talking about, and I nod. “And he’s not the same man. That’s what makes it work - I’m not the same woman I was, either. Softer in some ways, harder in others.” I put my hood up and pull my cloak closer about me, rolling my feet to the sides to stand on the outside edges, conserving heat - a trick I learned as a very small girl, living in a state whose weather patterns ran toward cold, rain, and fog for nearly ten months out of the year. “You struck a nerve, you know. I have always loved him... but I didn’t need to tell him that for him to know it.”

Oghren’s head turns sharply as he looks back at me, eyes narrowed with suspicion again. “Eh?”

I blush and look down at my feet. “We survived a lot together before we met Zevran. There was-- It got really complicated, really quickly. By the time you joined us, we’d mostly sorted ourselves, but it was ugly for a minute. Alistair and I argued... a lot... Part of it--” I glance over at him again, self-conscious. “Look, I know we were never really fast friends. I took a lot of things for granted, then, but I kind of had to, in order to continue hurtling forward. I did you a disservice, though, because you were always a good friend to me, and a strong ally. I’m sorry about that. I know you were - are - closer to him than you are to me. So-- So I just want to say-- You don’t have to worry about that part, okay?”

He eyes me again, and I shift awkwardly. “I do love him,” I repeat. “It doesn’t look the same, because it’s not, but that’s okay. He--” A loud crash of thunder cuts me off, heralding a redoubling of the storm’s efforts, and we finally admit defeat, ducking back inside. We head down to the other end of the hall, to a great room where the fire is still burning. I hang up my dripping cloak and Oghren silently hands me a flask before taking a seat. I open it and sniff it experimentally, keeping it far from my nose at first, but it turns out to be simple whiskey, and he grunts as I take a grateful swig and hand it back.

Standing next to the flames, holding out my hands, with my back to him, it’s easier to speak of the things that hurt. “Look, I really don’t like talking about this, because... it’s a wound that... hasn’t healed properly. But... Since you recognized me, I feel like... I owe you an explanation of this, at the very least. Let me put it to you this way: Mahariel came from the earth, and Zevran was fire, and Alistair is water. When the sun warms the earth, it blooms with life, but Alistair was like a flood; he drowned me when I was living as her. However... I come from a place much like right here, right now, and according to the lore of my land, I was born under the sign of the fish, so water is my home. You can’t drown a fish. Fire and water may make steam, but what is healthier for the fish? I decided the concept of ‘home’ was far superior to being ‘dinner’, and that’s what it came down to. Once I let go of the idea that I’m not a shark, I’ve been disgustingly happy.” I realise I’m looking vaguely in the direction of our room and blush, glancing back at Oghren. “So is he. We’ve changed each other, and for the better, I’d like to think.”

“Then what’s got you out of bed?” he asks, passing me the flask again, and I drink. That’s probably three shots now. I take another swig. Make it four. Passing it back, Oghren eyes me, and I shake my head.

“Nightmares. Got a lot of things rattling around in my head that I’d like to forget, rear up in the night and wake me terrified and nearly screaming.” I wave a hand. “I can’t remember now what had me so frightened. The shadows were dangerous, and... I don’t know. Someone’s eyes, far too close.” I shrug awkwardly. “Sounds stupid to say it aloud, really, but it woke me. I know there was a lot more to it, but it’s faded. I hate that, though... always feels like I’m forgetting very important things.”

“Hmph. Maybe you are. The Fade’s a funny place. All kinds of nasty things happen out there. I don’t envy you.” I look down at him, and he is staring into the fire, something far away in his eyes, then he shakes himself and looks up, catching me at it. “Eh?” He holds up the flask, and I take another shot. Ahhh, there it is, that fuzzy floating feeling.

“Yeah... that’s totally reassuring. Thanks.” I give him a wry smile, and after a moment, he chuckles.

“All right, well, that’s life for you. No assurances anywhere, are there. Nope. Only thing you got is one day, you’ll return to the stone. Or the earth, or whatever it is you do.”

“True enough. There’s a thought to warm a soul on a cold night,” I say, and he chuckles again.

“I’m no tale-spinner, Warden. You’ll have to look elsewhere for that.” My breath catches and I cover my mouth, wondering if he said that on purpose, or just fell into an old habit of calling me that because I look and sound like her. Oghren belches loudly, laughing at it, then stands up. “Time to get moving. Walls don’t guard themselves.” And with that, he turns and heads back down the hallway, path slowly weaving from one side to the other.

I hate it when people call me that. It makes me feel like an imposter.

But sometimes, secretly, I do think about it.

Mahariel survived the Joining... and she’s me. Or I was her. But wouldn’t I?

No, pointless and stupid conjecture, of course, but that little voice whispers in the corner of my mind sometimes.

After a moment, I gather my cloak up and go back to the bedroom. I stand there in the doorway for a moment, torn with indecision. I don’t want to go back to sleep, I really don’t. I’m afraid whatever it was that jolted me awake before is going to come for me again. There’s a nebulous feeling of dread, something I’ve forgotten, because-- Those eyes. Nolan...

I hate the Fade.

I hang the cloak up by our own fireplace, even though it’s banked and nearly out, and climb into bed, leaving the door cracked open for the light. Alistair wraps his arm around me immediately, then frowns, brow furrowing.

“You’re wet,” he grumbles, tugging at my nightgown. “Off.” I sit up, obliging him, letting him pull it off over my head, then gasp as the heat of his skin against my own, cold and clammy, feels like burning. He winces. “Ah! And cold! What did you do, roll in a puddle?” Coming more awake now, his voice loses some of its mumble, and he pulls my hair away from my face so I can’t hide from him.

“Just nightmares. Went outside for a minute. Afraid to go back to sleep now,” I murmur, pressing my face into his shoulder, realising how icy my cheeks are from the aura of his body heat alone. He hisses, wincing, but pulls me closer.

“Maker’s breath... Did you have to do it half-naked? You’re trying to punish me, aren’t you. This is about the mushroom,” he complains, teasing me, and I giggle. “See, I knew it. Wicked woman.” He yawns, and I close my eyes, letting the tension and fear flow away. I’m safe here. Whatever happens, anything magical, he’ll stop it. It’ll be okay. I can sleep now.

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