My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Do you have any idea who this is?" Alistair tried the one card Lanny'd give him so much shit for playing while gesturing at her body. "The Arishock doesn't just know her, she's his damn kadan. Or does that not mean anything to you?"

  Aqun glowered at him, her eyes barely sliding back to Lanny, "I serve the Qun, the Arishock serves the Qun. It does not matter how one bas fits into the picture, this place must be purged."

  "Why?" Cullen began.

  Chuckling in that mirthless and cold qunari way, Aqun whipped back to the templar - the only real threat. "The Darvaraad found mention of this place when we were in the fade. Forgotten by the bas who created it, another option left available to the elven shokrakar, a threat to the Qun. I am sent to end it before it destroys us. And I will, after I kill you."

  "Someone's very certain of themselves," Alistair mused. Yanking his hand away from his wound, he managed to unearth the shield off his back and slide it along his forearm. At least his left hand wanted to work. Aqun whipped back to him, her spear dancing closer to him. "Two on one, qunari," Alistair taunted.

  "Three on one," Cullen said, jerking his head towards Honor who'd risen to her feet, the entire stripe of her back fur up as she snarled at Aqun.

  "Not sure how you're gonna honor the Qun under those odds," Alistair said, twisting his head to emphasize their greater numbers. But that was the problem with qunari - give them impossible odds, back them into a corner and they didn't do what any right thinking person did. They'd never cut and run, make a deal, back down - no, they had to fight until the last breath was drawn from them regardless how many others they took down with them. He didn't know about the templar, but Alistair wasn't in any mood to die that day.

  Moving to lick his teeth, a spark zapped against his tongue, knocking across the roof of his mouth. How could the damn magic be even stronger in here? There weren't any of those giant glowing... Oh, you cheeky bastards. That was it, right there, the whole damn time. Alistair raised the shield in front of his face and he tried to whisper at Cullen. "Pst, pst!"

  "What?" the templar glared because it was all he could do.

  "It's the statue."

  Groaning, he glanced over at Alistair, "What is the statue?"

  Alistair jerked his head at the griffin in the middle of the room, then circled it around towards every single barrier blocking off the undead wardens. "The stat-ue. Break it and..."

  Understanding and certainty glittered in Cullen's eye. He whipped his head towards Aqun, then gazed at the griffin statue just behind her. In her haste to escape their reach, she'd almost butted up against it. Crap, Alistair thought, he was going to need time. Oh this was stupid, this was high on the list of stupid shit he was about to do.

  "Hey!" Alistair shouted, hopping an inch ahead and then back. Aqun's eye turned towards him for a moment, then darted back to the templar who had to drop his stance. He needed more than time, he needed a full on distraction. "Hello! Scary qunari lady! Come and get me!" Leaping forward and then back, Alistair rattled his shield. "You know you want to, prime king meat here." It worked, but only for a few seconds, Aqun catching on that something was happening, but uncertain what to do. Her spear began to lean towards the man dancing like he had to pee, drawn by his elaborate movements

  Gulping, Alistair prayed a bit to Andraste that the templar worked quick. And then he took a full step forward. Aqun whipped her spear to him, her eyes narrowing. He, in turn, did the same, snarling his teeth as he screamed the first word to come to mind. "Marmalade!" echoed through the dead halls - not liable to become a great war cry, but it was enough to focus the qunari fully upon him. Throwing his shoulders down, Alistair ran towards the spear most likely to slide through his innards. One step. Another. Aqun smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

  Then the world exploded. Alistair's breathless body dropped to his knees as the full power of Cullen's 'break magic shit' anti-spell cracked against the griffin. He'd thought it would provide a distraction for them, cause Aqun to turn back. Instead, the magic was so unstable it blew apart, taking the entire stone griffin with it. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" he didn't know who was cursing, probably him as sound scattered from his ears. Alistair ducked under his shield, baring the brunt of debris raining against it like vengeful hail.

  Even as the beak and tips of the wing shattered against Aqun's arm and stomach, she remained upright. Blood trickled out of her nose, something inside of her broken beyond repair, but she wasn't about to let some internal bleeding and certain death stop her. Pain seared up Alistair's arm, driving right for his gut and he flopped down to a knee. Smiling at the opportunity, the bruised and battered qunari lifted her spear, ready to drive it into him. He tried to huddle all the best parts of him behind his shield, but with the force she was throwing behind it, the damn thing would probably go through his shield and then him.

  "Nehraa Qun!" she shouted. Aiming her arm back, those solid grey muscles prepared to bring about his doom, when the tip of a sword prodded through her throat. The spear scattered from her fingers and she reached up with both hands, trying to drive the crimson point free as blood poured from her grey neck. Sneering, Cullen grabbed onto her shoulder and both thrusted his blade deeper while yanking her back into it. A screaming gurgle gushed out of the hole in her throat, the mighty qunari toppling to her knees as the last of life drained away.

  Cullen ripped his sword free, half decapitating the qunari, the empty body slumped on its side. He pinched the bridge of his nose to steady himself, swiping it with the qunari's blood, when Honor nudged him in the leg. His sword clattered free, and Cullen dropped to a knee, both hands palpating his dog. "Did she hurt you, girl? Some bruising here, but..."

  "I'm fine too," Alistair winced, struggling to rise to his feet. His head buzzed as if he'd hung upside down for too long, probably from the errant magic zipping through the air. "And..." Both men stared at each other before turning back to the woman they loved, the green barrier shattered off her cage.

  Reaching her first, Alistair grabbed up her hand and hissed, "Maker, she's ice cold. Lanny. Come on, Lanny. It's all good to go. We're ready to head out now. No more scary qunari going all Qun happy. Lanny? Don't do this. Don't you do this." He rubbed his hand up and down hers, trying to bring some warmth into it. "Don't you dare, don't tell me you're doing this!" Alistair cried, despair and rage competing for his heart.

  Calmly, the templar lifted up his bloodied sword and held it against her nose. A puff of fog hazed up the crimson blade. She was breathing. "Sweet Maker, thank You," Cullen gasped, his sword falling from her nose as he brought his hands together in prayer. But that wasn't what they needed right now. They had to wake her, to rouse her from whatever spell she was under, to bring her back. There had to be something to it.

  "Lanny...Lanny," Alistair called, jiggling her arm up and down. It was dead weight in his, offering no resistance, her body limp and far too light, "I'll call you Solona, you hate that. But I'll do it if you don't wake up. Please. Wake up. Why isn't she waking up?" Panic rattled in his veins. They'd done it, damn it. They'd crossed the insurmountable, found her, defeated the unexpected villain. That should be the end of it!

  "We have to..." Cullen coughed. His hand hung above her frozen cheek as if he was terrified to touch her. "Look around, for whatever's causing this. I may have an idea. I'll, um, I'll go and find it. Shut them down." He began to slide his body away from Lanny, but he kept his hand just within reach as if he couldn't really leave. "Remain with her, watch her to see if-if it works."

  "No, wait," Alistair tried to grab onto him, "you should stay here. Be the one to, to wake her up. To be here when she, that's how that works, right? True love's kiss or something like that. In all the stories..."

  Cullen slipped away, shaking his head, "I'm the one with lyrium. Only I can, I-you remain. I'll see what I can do. Stay with her, please." Before Alistair could dredge up another argument, the templar vanished into one of the other chambers, Honor limping on his heels.

  Maker's ba
lls, why do you have to do this now? You know, You've pulled a lot of shit over the years, but this? To get so close and then... Alistair slapped his own cheek, trying to draw himself out of his misery. He patted Lanny's cold hand, "Hey, it's me. The one you hate, remember? Don't you want to wake up and yell at me? Give me one of your famous tongue lashings. All you have to do is open your eyes. I, I bet it's eating you up to know I'm here, getting involved in your life all over again. Come on, Lanny. Please."

  Slipping his arm tighter around her back, Alistair pulled Lanny away from the altar. Maybe that was keeping her asleep, chilling her to death. Not death, never death, no, just cold, really cold that had nothing whatsoever to do with... Without her awake to hold onto him, her body slumped in his, her head lolling back, limp like a straw dummy. "It's not just me here, you know. I brought that templar of yours. All right, he's not really a templar anymore, but you know who I mean. Lanny, you have to wake up to see him. If you wake up then you two can-can run off into the sunset picking daisies. You can have a house crammed full of mabari. Whatever you want. All you have to do is wake up. Please."

  Ignoring the pain screaming in his shoulder and digging through his gut, Alistair pulled her limp body to his, hugging her tight. He couldn't fight the tears anymore, but shame and grief caused him to bury his face in her limp shoulder. "He loves you so damn much. You wouldn't believe what he's had to do, to-to, put up with me and, there were... Lanny, please. We need you back. Wake up. I'm begging you. I love you. Just, just wake up."

  Chapter Thirty

  Freedom

  ?:?? ?

  No. Lana inched along the hissing ground as water and lava in equal measure bubbled up below it. Cracks burst through every inch of the fade, as if someone was ripping it apart at the seams exposing its internal skeleton to the air. In the distance, the demon's protective bubble shattered revealing an endless march of spiders moving towards her desolate mountaintop. With each heartbreaking memory, more of the land stripped away until only the broken and jagged rock below her remained. She'd given it her all -- every loss, every regret, every deep well of despair that she never thought she'd climb out of -- and it was killing her. The connection to her body, her real body increased, cold dragging down her limbs until she shouldn't stand, couldn't lift her arms. Her eyes barely fluttered from a dreadful exhaustion knotting through her veins. Lana drained her soul for freedom, but it wasn't enough.

  "That was an excellent showing, my dear," the demon coughed, beaten but not destroyed by her mental attack. "You are a stout one, aren't you?"

  Lana dragged her hand another inch along the ground, reaching for something, anything, when she bumped into Jowan's foot. The regret spirit hovered close to her despite the demon's presence. For once, it was strong, stronger than the real Jowan ever was, from what she fed it. Even Nathaniel appeared from years of duty strangling her heart, his form glowing as if the chest was coated in medals. All that was missing was the final piece of Lana Amell, that ever driving curiosity, that need to understand. But Wynne wasn't needed, because she knew the truth. Out there in the real world she was dying, being drained of life by this spirit she turned into a demon. Her only hope was to pop its protective bubble.

  "Give up, please. You're only harming yourself," the spirit continued.

  "And what'll happen to me if I do?" Lana hissed through her chattering jaw, the chill trembling her famished skin.

  "You'll be here, with me, safe. No more pain, no more misery. Only joy and love. What everyone wants," the spirit was little more than a wisp now, the echo of its form wafting in and out of reality as it spoke.

  She needed more, something to push herself beyond the seeming never ending heartache of Alistair. But what was there? No one else ever got close enough to her for their betrayal to mean anything. Even Nathaniel she forgave overtime, understood that he had no choice, that it was her doing that... A chuckle rumbled in Lana's throat, like gravel churned up by a horse's hooves. It had to be that. It had to always be that. How could she be so foolish? The spirit snapped back into form, its black eyes drifting down to her face skimming inches from the muddy ground.

  "What everyone wants?" Lana repeated back its words while swiping at her face to clear away the filth. The longer she remained in the fade, the stronger she grew here and the weaker her real body became. "What everyone wants, demon, is freedom."

  "There is nothing left inside of you. Every pitiful attack remaining in your mind will have no affect upon me. I know you, I know every beat of your fragile heart, mortal. Face it, you and I are intertwined forever."

  She knew what she had to relive, had to fling back into its mind to break its hold upon her. Gritting her teeth, Lana shoved her forehead into the mud and thought back to the darkest day of the blight -- when she returned home.

  9:30 Kinloch Hold

  Irving weighed more than he looked, his mass dragging Lana downward as they tried to slip out of the harrowing chambers. His bloodied hand skimmed across the walls while she struggled to catch the breath Uldred knocked out of her. Behind her, the others stomped down the stairs, Wynne close as she whispered something to Irving. Lana should have been able to hear it but her ears couldn't stop buzzing, her own blood boiling over with a battle frenzy that had yet to leave.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a cold certainty chased it all away. "Leliana," she called, waving the red haired sister over. "Could you take the First Enchanter for me?"

  "Of course," she smiled sweetly, and slipped Irving's drifting arm over her shoulders. "Right this way, Sir. We only have a few more flights to take. Should be a quick walk."

  "Delightful child, but a terrible liar," Irving joked, his voice raspier than normal. Leliana smiled wider as she and Wynne escorted him down to the templars.

  Lana turned from them to the man she'd left behind in her race to the harrowing chambers. He was right, with Uldred dead the barrier was gone, but he didn't rise out of it, didn't run. His head bowed, he'd taken to a knee with hands clasped outward while prayer dripped from his lips. Shrugging away the pain burning through her bones, Lana stepped across where the barrier once was and extended her hand to him. For a beat, he didn't react, only continued his prayer, the words of Andraste guarding him from all the evil mages. Embarrassment burned up her legs as her hand hung suspended above the man refusing to look at her, but she'd feel even more foolish yanking it away.

  Finally, his caked hands broke apart and burning eyes turned up to her. She never thought those honey eyes could fill with so much hatred, all of it burning through her. But Cullen took her hand and let her help him to his feet. He swayed, exhaustion laying claim quickly. Instinctively, Lana reached out to catch him, but he shook her away, his body sliding back deeper into the prison.

  "Don't, do not... I am fine," his fingers dug into his forehead trying to wipe away the pain. "What you have done..." Cullen whispered it, but Lana wasn't about to let it go.

  "Was for the good of the tower."

  He snorted, nearly all fight kicked out of him from Uldred or maybe the earlier torture. But he bore a fire inside she hadn't recognized until stumbling upon Cullen trapped inside his prison. Broken, beaten, beyond hope, he'd cling by bent fingernail to survive, to endure.

  "You have unleashed Maker only knows how many blood mages back into the world. Blood mages who will infect others, turn people against their own wills, make them..."

  "I saved people, saved the First Enchanter," Lana hissed. She lifted on her tiptoes to meet his face.

  Cullen chuckled a mirthless dirge as he yanked his hands away from his face. Leaning down into her, he was only a breath away as he shouted, "They will harm untold innocents. Every man, every woman, every person they hurt, everyone they kill will be upon your head."

  They'd never been this physically close in the years she'd known him, seen him staring in her direction only to twist away in guilt upon being caught. His stale and metallic breath washed across her face. She could see the streaks where tears washe
d away grime and blood from his cheeks, his pores exposed like craters from the detritus. Something inside of her cracked, something she'd buried deep out of fear anyone would ever find it. Each piece scattered, leaving only a gaping hole in her being. Staring at him -- him of all people -- cursing at her, willing her away, telling her she failed...Lana knew this would never be her home ever again. She'd never be welcome, never belong, never be...wanted.

  Squaring her shoulders, she wiped her palms down the midsection of her robes, smudging up the trim of white fur with demon blood. "If I do not stop the blight, then all of Ferelden will be upon my head."

  Cullen's sneer wobbled for a micro second and those flaring eyes drifted to the floor. She had no leaders to give her orders, no army to back her up, no Maker-damned hope to pull any of this off to end the blight, but she was going to fucking try.

  "Hey, Lanny..." Turning away from the broken templar, she spotted Alistair knocking his shoes together. At least she had one other grey warden to share in this misery with. That counted for something. "Are you, you okay? This was..." he waved his hands around the blood sacs and ichor dripping off the walls, "one hell of a home coming. In the literal sense, I guess."

  "I'm fine," she said, but something in his tender brown eyes snagged her and she elaborated upon her brushoff. "You don't have to worry about me."

  "Well, too bad. I already am. It's this thing I'm good at, might be the only thing but there it is. Look, you were there for me with, you know..." He meant Duncan. She wanted to reach over and hold his hand, to squeeze it to comfort him comforting her. "I'm just saying if you want to talk, my tent flap's always open." Her eyebrows shot up at the euphemism and Alistair turned five shades of red as his brain played it back. "That's not what- I mean if it's on the table, I wouldn't be opposed, but..."