When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

A Hard Days Night

Sitting next to Cybele's limp form, Anawyn held tightly to her friend's hand, worried. Granny had brought pieces of what looked like dragon bones from the depths of the lake, grinding them into powder to compound the potion, a noxious and disturbing process to witness, and she'd fed it to Cybele, who had choked it down. Anawyn had felt incredibly guilty encouraging her friend to drink something clearly so foul. Its putrid green color and decayed aroma had turned her own stomach.

Granny had watched Anawyn with sharp suspicion as Cybele drank, but said nothing.

After the last of it was gone, Cybele had clutched at her stomach, fallen to her knees, and crept to her bedroll, collapsing on it into a disturbed sleep. She tossed and turned and muttered to herself. After a while she had stilled, and the silence and lack of movement were more disturbing than the previous flailings had been.

With Cybele between them, Granny and Anawyn stared at each other. "You seem remarkably knowledgeable, young lady," Granny said sharply. "You know more than I had intended you to, I can see that, but how?"

"I don't believe I can tell you that," Anawyn said cautiously. She wasn't sure how far it was safe to antagonize Granny, but she felt strongly that it would be a bad idea to mention Urthemiel.

"Can't you." Granny smiled, but without amusement. "What if I told you you had to, or I would kill you? I can do it easily, you know that, and no one would ever find you."

There was a faint scraping sound behind Anawyn, like a boot on rock. She coughed, hoping to cover both the sound and the terror that filled her at Granny's words. Swallowing hard, Anawyn called on all Dennis's and her mother's lessons in tactics. "If you kill me now, what was the point of bringing me this far? That would seem like a waste of resources."

At that, Granny threw back her head and laughed. "'A waste of resources'? And who told you, my fine young girl, that you were a resource?"

Anawyn bit her lip. Nothing she could say was likely to be helpful. "Didn't you have a reason for bringing me along?"

Granny grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know." She stood up, bending over Cybele. "She'll sleep for a while, and be all right when she wakes up," she said, but Anawyn thought the words weren't as decisive as Granny usually was. "You should get some rest. We'll be moving—and quickly—tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anawyn rolled herself in her bedroll, while Granny did the same. Soon she heard Granny's light snore, but Anawyn couldn't sleep. She listened to Cybele's breathing, which seemed to come harder than usual. She knew the potion would bring Urthemiel closer to the surface, but what would be the effect on her friend? Anawyn couldn't help but worry.

The torches on the wall slowly burnt down, the shadows dancing along the walls. In a corner near the entrance, Anawyn thought she could see some kind of movement. She sat up, as quietly as she could, straining to see into the darkness. There it was again, a small movement. And then a hand slid over Anawyn's mouth.

Jerking with surprise, straining to make no noise so as not to wake Granny, Anawyn's wide eyes searched the shadow. There, she saw it! A small, wiry dwarf with a bald head, face and scalp covered in tattoos. Anawyn recognized some of them—Sigrun, a former member of the Legion of the Dead, had them. Anawyn nodded as her eyes met those of the dwarf.

Taking his hand from her mouth, he grinned, his teeth flashing a surprising white in the dimness. Then he leaned forward, whispering oh, so softly, directly in her ear, "The Legion is with you."

Anawyn smiled back at him, relief rushing through her, knowing there were reinforcements within reach. The dwarf slipped from the cavern as quietly as he had come, and, relieved, Anawyn lay down again, her hand seeking Cybele's clammy one.

This time when she woke in the Fade she was prepared. Instead of wandering aimlessly, she closed her eyes, focusing on Urthemiel's face. When she opened them, she found herself again in the book-lined room. Urthemiel leaned on a desk, smiling at her. "Very nice," he said approvingly. "You are learning well."

"Thank you, ser."

"I can feel that you have succeeded so far, that Cybele has had the next potion." Urthemiel sighed and stretched. "I can almost taste my freedom."

"What will happen to Cybele?"

"Now? After the potion?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly, not sure she wanted to know.

"She will show powers she did not have before; she may act differently from the way you expect her to."

"Will she ... still be my friend?"

"I am your friend, so is she. That will not change." Urthemiel's beautiful smile shone down on her.

"Ser? Is Cybele ... my sister?"

"Ah, you have discovered who it is both of you favor, have you?"

"But ... does that mean ..." She wanted to ask, but she didn't want to ask.

"As to that, I believe you will have to ask your own parents. I am sure they are anxious to see you again."

"When do I get to go home?" She sounded much younger than eight for a moment, so tired and lonely and scared.

"Soon," Urthemiel said. "Soon, I promise, my brave little one." He looked at her kindly.

"What happens next, ser?" Anawyn tried to perk up a bit, but oh, how she wished she could just go find her mother and let her do this.

"Granny will take you from the Deep Roads to a place where you may find unexpected help. Stick closely to your sister." Urthemiel's voice and face were fading. Anawyn strained to focus on him, but she caught only one last sentence. "Do not allow Cybele's blood to be drawn."

Blood magic, Anawyn thought, shivering unhappily. Could it get any worse?