"Well, you're no we," Lanny said, chuckling into him.
"Maker, I didn't even think about all the Orlesian shit heaped on top of the usual feces pile that is... This wasn't supposed to be about me, was it? Crap."
"No," she knotted her fingers against him and pushed up. Those beautiful eyes met his, "But I have my answer."
"Lanny, I don't want to go back to the way things were. I didn't want to when the way they were is what they are before they became what they were..." he waved his fingers around to try and track that sentence, "I think."
"You know you come with an awful lot of baggage," she said while leaning towards him. He intercepted her attempts and met her lips with a soft kiss of his own. After their earlier fun, his lips were going to need a recovery period before he could attempt anything harder.
"Says the mage who's technically an apostate but also a grey warden that kinda saved an entire country by stopping a blight. You're sure there's no one else, right? Some burly ex that'll pound me into the ground with one tap of his fist?"
Lanny only rolled her eyes at his insinuation. "When have I ever gone for the burly type?" Sighing, she lay down upon his chest, "This still does not solve anything."
"I know," he held her close for one last hug, then he reached over to push against the wall. With luck, eventually the rocking would drag them both down into some much needed sleep. And after that they'd be one step closer to finding Maric, one step closer to putting him on the throne, and one night more until Alistair could be with her forever.
Chapter Twelve
Dreams
?:?? ?
Lana dug her staff deeper into the dirt that stopped being stone floor twenty five meters back, and left it free standing. She needed that line against the horizon as her eyes twisted towards the rotating parlor above her head. It hung at not quite a 45 degree angle with the ground and no discernible way to climb up to it. Of course, it was where she was waiting for her.
"I really don't want to see her. She hates me," Jowan whined, throwing off Lana's concentration.
"Fine," she shook her head. "You can both wait here," she said to the two spirits following her.
"As you say, Ser," Nathaniel would have saluted if he could. He didn't turn around or wander off, instead his corporeal form seemed to fade away into the distance as if he shut down.
"Oh no, I'm not leaving you alone with that one. She's up to something," Jowan complained.
"The commander gave you an order," Nathaniel snapped out of his hazy almost existence just to shout at his fellow spirit.
"Last I checked, I'm not her little soldier boy. I was her friend until she went behind my back and..."
Lana waved off their bickering that amounted to nothing. It was one thing when Anders and the real Nathaniel would tear into each other. They had their own platforms, their reasons for fighting. Even if it was pointless squabbling it bore the weight of reality. The way the spirits competed it felt more like a play being poorly acted from a pair of non-actors who had their lines fed to them. It was the lack of interesting curses she missed the most.
Her current concern was in solving the puzzle. That was always what she hid behind: puzzles, games, tricks. A series of three colors lay upon the ground, but each stone had a symbol etched in gold inside it. So, was it the symbol that was important, or the color? Perhaps both. Needing to start somewhere, Lana yanked up her staff and jabbed the end into the green circle with the symbol that looked like an M baring a forked tongue. A sound like a great bell tower bonging out the time echoed through the ground and a single stair rose.
"Okay, this might be easier than I thought," she said aloud and pressed upon the blue color. The lone stair retreated back from where it came and a heart stopping BWAM shattered up her knees. Lana threw her hands over her ears to minimize her hearing loss. Both spirits stopped their bickering to glower at her. "If it's so easy, you do it!" she shouted at them. It took her a few more tries, and a few more BWAMS, before she figured out it was based upon complimentary colors and the runes were just to throw her off. After pairing the blue and orange, the last stair rose and connected with the floating platform.
She took one step onto it when Jowan reached out and snagged her hand. So much time in the fade, and it unnerved her how lifelike he felt. It wasn't just a warmth, but a solidness to him. She believed there was blood pumping through his body, muscles shifting beneath the skin of his fingers. But it didn't seem possible at all. Jowan was dead.
"You're not going alone," he said.
"Why?"
"I'm not about to let her have my meal ticket."
Of course, Lana shook her head. "Here I was thinking you might have developed a latent case of compassion, silly me." She was being silly. This wasn't Jowan. He or it wasn't capable of changing his spots, they didn't do that. Yanking up her staff, Lana hitched her waning belt higher up and began climbing up the stairs. It was in some ways comparable to scaling those hanging metal staircases wound so tight you grow disoriented in the rapid twisting. The fear of falling to your doom was certainly a comparable aspect in both. She had to keep her eyes shut tight or the reorientation as her foot and body moved through space to line up with the stair would catch her and the panic could cause her to fall. Climbing upward twisted her entire frame into the new dimensions until she finally stopped at the top of the platform.
The smell of cleaning soap - the rose scented kind used to scrub Orlesian parlors - wafted over her. A painting hung suspended above a mantle over the fireplace. It was impressive as there was no wall behind the mantle, only gaping space where the green sky of the fade leeched out in its sickly light. The portrait was of a young man dressed in mage robes of a circle, though Lana didn't recognize him. A rosewood table with curves instead of straight legs took up most of the platform, and someone bothered to set out enough plates for three. Chairs composed of varying woods sat around the table, the last little more than a stool with the red paint peeling off the top.
"Hello dear," the woman she came to see spoke. She was turned away from Lana sitting primly in the host seat at the table. Her white hair was pinned up in a bun with a stick running through it that bore a striking resemblance to a sword Lana had forged ages ago - Starfang.
"We need to talk," Lana said.
The woman placed down her teacup which she'd been sipping despite it being empty. Slowly, she turned in her chair and Wynne smiled at her. "Of course you do."
Lana scooped up the ends of her tattered robes and slid into a chair beside Wynne. She regretted not having a chance to clean off her split boots before stepping into the parlor, which was stupid seeing as how there was nowhere to clean them and they were in the damn fade. Manners hardly mattered here.
"You brought him," Wynne mused. Her manicured fingers reached towards a small tray and she scooped them around an invisible biscuit or pastry.
"I didn't have a choice," Lana said. Her eyes darted up to Jowan who stood at the edge of the platform, a glower implanted upon his face. Shaking his head like a wet dog, he stomped back and forth across the stairs unwilling to step any closer.
Wynne paid no heed to Jowan's tantrum, she never did. "Nonsense dear. We all have a choice. Is that not what free will is?"
"That isn't what I've come here to talk to you about," Lana began. Jowan kept throwing her off, either because the spirit on occasion bore such an emotional resemblance to the unstable man or because she desperately needed someone to be real. But in her bones she knew what Wynne was. As much as she'd wish for the woman who helped guide her for years whether it was asked of Wynne or not, this was not her. She bore the same patrician face, had identical genteel gestures, but there was no kindness in her words, no compassion in her deeds. This Wynne cared only for one thing.
"We haven't spoken since you felt the last fade rift close, which was a long time past," Wynne said.
Lana winced. The rifts opening at random throughout the fade had been what she thought was her best opportunity of breaking out
of here. The only problem was she had no way to predict when they'd open or where. There was only one she saw within close distance and reachable on foot if she hurried. But demons swarmed around it like moths to a flame and as she began to formulate a plan to hack through them, the rift shuddered away. Either it buckled under its own force, or on the other side the Inquisitor did what he had to. She kept trying, watching the skies of the fade twist and pop, hoping for another opportunity but none ever presented itself. Then, they stopped all together.
"That's not why I'm here," Lana began, but Wynne waved her hand over the invisible treats as if she intended to snatch them all away.
"Do you ever wonder why you sleep?" the spirit twisted into her own ideas of how the conversation could go. That was the danger of talking to her, what should be a minute long question could lead into hours far off topic. It would annoy Lana if she had anywhere to go.
"Because if I don't, I die. Or are we going to debate whether or not this is the afterlife again. A rousing good time until you decided to stab my hand with your letter opener," Lana sneered.
"It did solve the conundrum, did it not?" Wynne shrugged. "At least as far as it is solvable. Can any of us ever know if this is life or merely another illusion?"
"She's trying to break you," Jowan spat up from his vantage point. "That's what she'll do, take you all to herself."
"Do try and quiet your little lamprey. He encroaches upon our fun," she arched an eyebrow but didn't look towards Jowan. She didn't need to. The spirits didn't really see out of their eyes, they sensed in all directions. It took Lana awhile to adjust to that fact and even longer to get over any sense of modesty with her cavalcade always watching.
Lana picked up her plate and slammed it against the table. Porcelain shattered upon the polished wood, splintering into five pieces. Spinning in shock, Wynne pointed at her, "What did you do that for?"
"To see if anything here was real."
Wynne grinned and gently clapped her hands. "Excellent show. Perhaps you should toss the cup at your lamprey's head next. That would solve one of your problems, at least."
"Jowan's not a..." Lana began to stick up for him as if he was her real friend. Then again, what else did she have now? There was no one else to speak to but Jowan. Nathaniel was as good as shouting commands down a well and listening to the echo, while Wynne... That spirit could strip her brain raw without touching a single memory. She didn't need to, didn't want to. "Tell me something, did you dip into my mind? Take out a memory without my permission?"
"Oh, dear," Wynne tutted her tongue then twisted her own mug around in her hands as if inspecting the maker's mark upon the bottom, "I thought you were wiser than that. It's as if you're fresh faced and placing your first steps into our world all over again."
"I am low on patience and even lower on answers," Lana sighed. What she needed was a good night's sleep. Not on the ground surrounded by wards waiting for whatever from beyond the void hungered to finish her off, but curled up on the featheriest mattress one could stuff, with pillows stacked ten high, fur blankets from every animal warming her frozen body, and him... She bit her lip to drag away that thought. It did no one any good, at least not her. So much time, she didn't even know how much, and to think he'd... Shaking her head again, she turned on Wynne, but the old woman smiled again.
"How are your dreams, dearie? Anything interesting?"
"I don't care about my dreams. They are not important."
"Are you so certain of that? Think of what you can discover in your dreams, what treasure you'd find," the old spirit continued. Unlike the real Wynne, this one wore a ring upon almost every finger except her pointers. Some were simple gold bands, while others far more elaborate and jewel encrusted. One swung open to reveal a hidden chamber to hide poison, while another had a deadly hook on the end to slice into the back of a person's neck. When the spirit was pausing in thought, she'd spin one of her rings around. She twisted the sapphire upon her left hand, as if that meant anything.
"My point, which is why I came, is that someone dug into my memories."
"You let that thing back there have a go at you whenever you're hungry. It was probably that," Wynne waved her hand at Jowan.
"It wasn't him."
"How can you be so certain?"
"He wouldn't care about what was in that memory."
Wynne's fingers paused in their twisting and she smiled her patronizing look upon Lana - as if she was the humble apprentice being schooled all over again. "Excellent. You are correct. So, puzzle the logic out. If it was not the regretful one rifling through your head scouring for his taste of mortality, who was it?"
Lana curled her face up, shaking her head to find sense, "There is no one else. Everywhere I go, the rest of the spirits scamper, leaving behind only Jowan, Nathaniel, and you in your floating fortresses."
"And you've never once wondered with all the spirits in all the fade, why no one else comes for you? Why only the..." she waved her jangling hand towards Jowan, "contrite clings to your skirts. Oh, I'm sorry, you've switched to breeches since I last saw you."
She was right. Lana had walked nearly every day since she entered the fade, struggling to find some way out. Spirits and demons alike haunted on the edges beyond her, but whenever she'd reach them the entire fade would shift molding itself to her life, a disjointed smattering of places she'd visited and known pieced together like broken puzzles. There would be no more spirits or demons, only Jowan, Nathaniel, Wynne, and...
"There's another one," Lana breathed.
"You're finally using your brain, it seems," Wynne breathed.
"Not just any one either. This has to be a powerful one. A spirit that's kept me safe and never revealed itself." Lana rose out of her chair, her legs needing to pace. She found herself twitchy if she rested for too long.
"Or perhaps it did, you simply didn't know what to look for."
"What does this spirit want? What is it?" she leaned her body onto the table, trying to draw Wynne's attention.
The woman shrugged, "What could you glean from me? I seem to be as much in its wake as you, either as a service for you or because it enjoys my company as well. Either way, would you trust me to answer that?"
She was right, of course. That was the curse of talking to her. This spirit would dig claws into you, but you knew every word out of her mouth was somehow the truth. Sometimes Lana missed a good old-fashioned white lie. "You've given me much to think about." Rising off the table, Lana nodded to Jowan who yelped in joy that they were leaving. The woman continued to stare at her teacup as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Perhaps it was to the spirit. Lana left her to it, her mind awhirl with questions as she stepped towards the exit.
"Dear, you forgot something," Wynne spoke up. As Lana turned to her, the spirit heaved her cup against the table where instead of breaking it bounced with enough force to fly into the air and land in Lana's fingers.
"What is it?" Lana asked, twisting the fake cup in her hand.
Wynne spun on her chair and the coldest eyes stared through Lana, "If you are physically in the fade now, where do you go when you dream?"
Chapter Thirteen
Tevinter
9:44 Tevinter
Cullen's hand absently stroked Honor's sloppy head. She tried to shake it to slough off the sea water, but he pressed her closer to his leg to quiet her down. Every deckhand stood on edge glaring through the shifting fog to see around the rocks puncturing the waves off the coast of the Nocean sea. Stormy skies obliterated the stars rendering them near blind save a few lanterns skimming above the surface of the briny water to try and see further than a few inches past the bow. He had no idea what the plan was, or why they had to navigate the coast by night, but the nervous energy was palpable to grip him. Isabela gritted her teeth from her perch, her right hand man knuckles white to the railing as he shouted her few orders in a whisper.
"Slow the mains, we need to crawl in," he waved his bronzed arm against the grey
skies. Cullen stood just below and was able to see him, but he had no idea how any of the pirates could hear or much less understand the order. And yet, they scampered off, tugging down lines and putting others up to align the sails and slack off on their slide towards the rocks. He expected Alistair to get into the fray with them, instead the king stood next to Cullen, his own eyes narrowed to try and peer into the fog.
"What I wouldn't give for a mage right about now," Alistair whispered aloud to himself.
Cullen shook his head, "What good would a mage be? They don't have preternatural sight."
"No, but it'd be nice to have one on hand to mend our broken bodies after they're dashed against the rocks."
"That's a fair point," Cullen admitted while grabbing onto the satchel across his neck. He'd been told to pack and not been given much more information than that. Alistair began to explain when Isabela called all hands to the deck and, after stuffing their meager belongings away, they both came upon the macabre sight.
Even after a month and a half on the waves, Cullen was not a fan of sailing, but the occasional swell and drop of a turquoise wave was perfection compared to this. Fog as grey as a dead man's skin wafted above still waters, the pounding of the sea abated to a gentle glug-glug against the hull. Silence reigned in this land of the beyond. Cullen feared he could hear his own heartbeat shattering through the quiet air disturbing whatever demon waited from the shadows. While sliding deeper into someone's nightmare, every hand watched for a shattering of black rock hidden inside the enveloping haze that would crack apart the Siren's Echo wooden flesh.
My Love Page 61
