When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Reviewing the Situation

They reached the upper floors, and Dagna led them to the First Enchanter's office. Petra, streaks of grey showing in her red hair, stood up, welcoming them warmly. She scrutinized Alistair closely under his cowl. "Anders, you look a bit different than the last time I saw you," she said.

"Getting better with age," Alistair grinned. "Care for a sample?" His eyes twinkled, and he seemed to be enjoying the opportunity for a little more fun and less responsibility that came with being Anders.

Petra smirked at him. "It's a good likeness, but don't think you can fool me." She turned to Thora, the smile fading from her face. "Wynne doesn't move around much these days. Shall we join her in her room instead?"

Thora nodded. She exchanged fortifying glances with Alistair and Leliana. Wynne had meant so much to all of them—fighting at their sides during the Blight, healing them, protecting Thora's unborn child when she killed the Archdemon, delivering Anawyn—it was hard to contemplate that her indomitable spirit was faded so badly. It was worse still to think of Wynne's last days being spent lying in bed with coverlets up to her chin, a fate Wynne had often said she hoped to avoid. How she must chafe at that, Thora thought.

Even warned, none of them were prepared for the frailty of the woman beneath the covers. Her skin was paper thin, her eyes were sunken deep into her head, her hands trembled on the coverlet. Her eyes were the same, though—warm and snapping with Wynne's unquenchable inner fire.

Irving sat next to her, and he, too, had aged tremendously since Thora had last seen him. His fan-like beard was snow white, and he stood with the assistance of a cane. His sharp eyes studied the group that came in, but he didn't speak. Instead, he helped Wynne as she struggled to sit up, propping soft pillows behind her head.

"My dears," Wynne said warmly. Thora and Leliana bent to kiss her on the cheek, and then she looked past them at Alistair. "Scalawag, what are you up to, pretending to be Anders? And what have you done with my lovely baby there?" Her words were light, but she and Irving both looked at Anawyn's limp figure with deep concern.

"It's a necessary deception," Alistair said. Shifting Anawyn to one shoulder, he bent, kissing Wynne's hand. "You're looking well."

"Enough with the flattery, my boy," Wynne said, but her mouth curved in a smile. Alistair always was her favorite. She looked past him, her eyes resting on Morrigan and then on Cybele with more interest. The little girl clung to her mother's hand. Wynne looked back at Morrigan. "There's a face I never thought I'd see again."

"Nor I," Morrigan said coolly. "'Twould not be happening if I did not require your assistance."

Wynne nodded slowly. "We have heard tales. Would I be wrong if I suspected Flemeth had something to do with all this?"

"It's a rather long story," Thora said. "You might want to get comfortable." Taking a deep breath, she launched into the tale of the last few months. Wynne studied Cybele closely as Thora spoke. "Finally, we caught up with Flemeth in Haven," said Thora.

"Of course," Wynne said.

"I said we should burn the cursed place down before we left," Alistair put in. He looked down at his daughter. "Then ... this happened, and there was no more time."

"The Old God?" Wynne asked, and Morrigan nodded slowly.

"He has been awakened from slumber, and he desires to be free."

"But he is inside the wrong child." Wynne and Morrigan looked at each other coldly. There never had been any love lost between the two of them, and it was very difficult for Morrigan to be here asking for the older mage's help. Irving and Petra were watching this exchange with guarded expressions, impossible to read. Dagna stared from Alistair to Morrigan to Cybele to Anawyn. Suddenly she said, "Ohhhh!" in a tone of shocked but intrigued surprise. At a glance from Irving she subsided, but she continued watching the others with undisguised fascination.

At last, Morrigan said, "The Commander's daughter—"

"Anawyn," Wynne said.

"Anawyn," Morrigan acknowledged. "She is ... a brave child. Somehow she was able to absorb Urthemiel's spirit, and he rests inside her now."

"Rests?" Wynne asked. "Why is he resting?"

"I cast a spell, to hold the two in stasis. It has worked far better than I expected—I do not entirely understand why," Morrigan said. "But it will not be long before Urthemiel overcomes the spell. He desires to be freed, and it will require someone's life blood to do it. And he will not cease to try. We can delay the process, but not stop it."

"Take mine," Alistair said, startling all of them. His arms tightened around the little girl in his arms. "If there's a link in the blood between them, I'm that link. Let it be my blood that Urthemiel takes." He grinned lopsidedly. "The way I see it, I'm overdue for a little Archdemon possession anyway." His eyes rested on Cybele. "It may be that my time has run out."

Thora drew in her breath sharply, but she bit her tongue against the "no!" that cried out to be said. Obviously, it was his decision to make. She wouldn't have hesitated to offer her own life in exchange for Anawyn's either ... but a world with no Alistair in it? She set her jaw against the despair that filled her.

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In the Fade, the sun shone unceasingly, the wind rippling through the grasses as Anawyn and Urthemiel sat quietly together.

With an effort, Anawyn roused herself from the stupor she'd fallen into. She looked at Urthemiel. "What are we going to do?"

He sighed heavily, getting up from the stone he'd been sitting on. "I must be free," he said, almost apologetically. "My soul cries out for it."

"Is this ... the only way?" Her voice was small. "Couldn't you use only some of my blood?"

"No," he said kindly. "I must have all of it. I do not believe it will hurt, if that helps at all."

Anawyn thought about that. "No," she said at last. "It doesn't really help."

"Ah." He studied her, looking down from his great height at her upturned face. "I confess, I do not entirely understand why helping me to be free is not fulfilling enough to compensate for the loss of your life. I understand that the afterlife is—" He broke off sharply. "Perhaps I should not reveal what happens after one crosses over. Sometimes these things are best as a surprise. An enjoyable one," he assured her.

"But I don't want to cross over yet!" Anawyn cried out. "I want to go home. I want my mother."

"I understand. I would have liked to have met your mother. In my untainted form, that is. I owe her a great debt." Thoughtfully, he said, "There was great power in being a dragon, and I was a beautiful dragon. But the taint was ugly—it was everything I hate. I could not believe that someone so small as your mother could defeat one as powerful as I was, or destroy such tremendous ugliness. But on she came with her dagger and her sword. The light flashed, and my soul met hers for a moment, her pure, brave soul. Then I was pulled away from her. I saw you," he said, looking at Anawyn, "so small, and my soul was drawn to you, but there was a magical shield around you. Your mother had protected you. Your friend, on the other hand, was created for me." He shrugged. "And now here we are. Anawyn, my little friend, it is time."

All the long weeks of fear and loneliness were too much for Anawyn, and she buried her head in her folded arms as sobs wracked her body. Urthemiel stood watching, his beautiful face filled with concern and confusion. And then he stepped toward her.