Falling for a Warden

Part 1 Redcliffe

Adaar was alone. She couldn’t stop it from happening. Stunned, she could barely think. The soldiers lay dead at her feet. But so, too, did Dorian – the light-hearted mage whom she would have liked to call friend someday.

She hadn’t seen him go down, but when the fight was done and she turned to face him with a smile he met her eyes with pain pulling at his features. Dull eyes had stared at her before he had collapsed into the ankle-deep water of the cell. Dead. The angry wound had stained his tunic, the blood more black than red.

Dazed, she could barely breathe in the small cell. Retrieving her greatsword from the water, she looted the soldiers’ bodies. They had to have a key. She needed to get out. To escape Dorian’s empty stare. To escape her failure.

Finding the key, she shouldered her greatsword and unlocked the cell. Adaar headed for the stairs, shoving her emotions away. Strength was what she needed. Strength, not emotional instability. She could not allow herself to submit to her failures.

“Adaar!”

She spun around. Nothing but darkness greeted her. The cell had gone. The room had gone. Only the stair she was standing on remained to her.

“Where were you?” came Cassandra’s voice, thick with anger and blame.

Adaar stepped into the darkness. She found herself falling. An angry wind bit at her, clawed at her, ripped open her flesh to the bone.

When she finally found the floor, she felt broken. Yet, amazingly, she was unharmed. Her body showed no bruises. Her flesh which had been torn open by the malicious wind had miraculously healed. Standing up, she realised she had lost her greatsword in the fall.

A line of cells were in front of her, stretching into eternity. Behind her was nothing but darkness. An intense darkness that was more than just the absence of light. It was the embodiment of fear. Crushing. Clawing. Cutting at any soul that dared enter its web.

Adaar advanced down the hallway, already fearing what she might find there.

Cullen.

Red lyrium was consuming him, piercing through his back and forming a horrid shell. He turned when he heard her steps.

“Maker, this cannot be. Not this again. I’m not strong enough to fight any more hallucinations.” He broke down, tears falling freely from his face.

Adaar could do nothing for him, moving on to the next cell. She hoped that her absence would ease his pain, if only slightly.

Sera.

“It’s all in my head, innit?” she mumbled when her lyrium-streaked eyes found Adaar’s. “I mean, you can’t be real.” She was lying on the floor, curled into a tiny ball. Adaar could make out terrible whip marks under the dirt and torn clothes.

“I’m sorry, Sera.”

“Go way, not-real-Herald. Go play with someone else.”

Adaar bit her tongue, forcing herself to move on. They were all there she realised, no longer stopping at the cells. If she dared stop, she knew she would break down and she couldn’t afford that.

Be strong.

Varric came next, singing some tavern song that Adaar didn’t recognise. He barely noticed her. Then The Iron Bull. He stood with his back to her, a thick chain around his neck – like some feral dog. Josephine was crying. She was no longer wearing her favourite, ruffled dress that she loved so much. What looked like a potato sack was draped over her thin, fragile frame. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Cole, the kindly spirit, was a gibbering mess. His mind was broken, Adaar realised. He, too, wore shackles. Forced to listen to everyone suffer and unable to do anything. Her mind would have broken, too.

Then she reached Blackwall and she froze in her tracks. A deep chill ran down her spine and she could feel tears starting to form. He was facing the wall, leaning on his arm.

“Blackwall?” she whispered, too afraid to face him. Too afraid to look away.

Red eyes found her. A small flicker of joy found its way to his face before being erased by doubt. “Herald?” he asked, unbelievingly.

She fumbled with the keys, trying to find one that would fit the lock, but not one was the right size.

“I’ll get you out,” she said, finding his eyes again.

He moved closer and took her hand in his.

“I am already dead. The red lyrium will take me soon. You cannot save me.”

“No, no, no, no, I’ll save you. I promise.”

“Where were you? You disappeared and we lost. Everything was lost. So many people died.” It wasn’t an accusation. He was simply stating a fact. He had no energy left to show emotions. Numb. And soon dead.

Adaar’s knees buckled and she fell on the hard stone floor. The keys clattered noisily next to her.

“I’m sorry she cried, I’m so sorry I failed!”

The world was dark. The flickering of a small light in the corner drew her attention. A candle?

Adaar sat up, the blanket falling from her body. It was a dream, just a dream. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she realised she must have really bitten down on her tongue.

Standing up, she left her room and welcomed the cold, biting breeze that was blowing outside. It was late and Haven was quiet. Her legs moved mechanically, taking her out of Haven and out to where the smithy had set up shop.

Redcliffe was in the past, she reminded herself. Dorian was alive. But she had still seen the future – the bitterness of a reality where she had failed.

Tomorrow we’re closing the breach. With the mages help, this nightmare will finally be over. Then I can find peace in my dreams again.

Reaching the smithy’s hut, which stood next to the forge, she opened the window slightly. Blackwall had decided to share with the smithy and, to her enormous relief, she found him sleeping soundly. Peacefully.

They’re alive. He’s alive. I haven’t failed.

Her knees gave out. She was sitting in the snow but she could barely feel the cold. Hugging her knees to her, she broke down in silent tears.