#mystical whose-y-whatsits

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 64 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

What Lies Beneath

"You must eat, Mistress Rory. Think of your child."

Rory snarled. With one jerky motion, she flicked the bowl out of Maddox's hands, watching as the contents sprayed across the iron bars that separated her from him.

"I am not eating anything in this place," she growled, furious, hungry, and increasingly desperate. "Everything is tainted! I would rather my baby starve and die in the womb than infect them with red lyrium!"

"You will die, too," Maddox pointed out calmly, beef gravy dripping off his chin.

"Good!" she snapped back, aware it wasn't the best comeback. But clever words meant nothing to Maddox. The meaning was the same, even if the delivery wasn't eloquent. "Stop trying to poison me, then."

"I have been working closely with the red lyrium for several years," he offered in that infuriatingly placid manner of his. "I show no signs of the infection you claim."

"You're Tranquil," she pointed out. "I don't know how or why, but lyrium - any lyrium - doesn't affect you the way it does me. For the last time, piss off and let me starve in peace!"

"There is no logic to your defiance, mistress," the Tranquil mage reminded her. "Surely, it is more logical to live than to die."

Rory snorted derisively. "Oh, really? You think I want to be like those monsters on guard out there?" she demanded, gesturing toward the steps down into this holding place. "No mind of their own, only pain and the horrible lyrium song in their heads?"

"It is life, nonetheless."

"But not living," she snarled. "Run along and play nice for your darkspawn friend and his pet templar, there's a good boy."

She turned her back on him, arms hugged tight around herself, ashamed of how aggressive she was being with him. For a long moment, she was aware of those calm eyes watching her; then she heard his footsteps trailing away. This was a nightmare.

She was in the Shrine of Dumat, held below in the area you were only allowed to explore if you sided with the templars in the game. She'd never noticed cells down here the one time she'd managed to play it through that way, but evidently they existed - wide rooms that were barred along one wall, offering her a lovely view of the terrors and red templars that patrolled the area in malevolent silence. Above, others patrolled that way, too, the bustling quiet of a place made to be the center of operations for a war few out there were prepared to admit was being waged. She'd heard Samson's voice often since she'd been locked in here a day and half ago, shouting his orders across the wide space above. She'd even heard Corypheus once, the sound of that voice transmitted via a crystal sending a chill to her bones. She was hungry, weary, and terrified - not a good combination to keep her temper from flaring.

The corners of her wide cell were choked with red lyrium, great glowing shards of crystal that thrust from the stone, making a wide space far narrower than she was entirely happy with. To keep a reasonable distance from the infected mineral, she was obliged to spend her time pressed against the iron bars of the cell, directly until the eyes of terrors and templars, vulnerable to the claws that might choose to swipe at her at any moment. But what choice did she have? To deepen her risk of infection from the red lyrium by staying closer to it than she had to, or to invite a malicious attack from the terrors that patrolled by? Bleeding out was, at least, a kinder death than being taken over by the Blighted crystal.

Rory rested her forehead on the cool metal of the bars, letting out a low sigh. Her stomach was gnawing, but she didn't dare eat. Her throat was dry, but she didn't dare drink. She'd been in here for just over a day, and the insistent song of the lyrium was wearing on her nerves. It wanted her to give in; to go over to it, to let it weasel its way into her blood so it could make a home in her body and take her over. She would not let that happen. Cullen was out there, she knew it; Cullen and Kaaras, and everyone else who had decided to come along. She just had to be strong a little while longer; just had to resist that siren song a little ...

Cullen. Holy fuck, he's going to walk right into this. Horror trickled down her spine in icy waves. He'd been doing so well with his withdrawal these last few months. The nightmares were always a problem, especially when he was under stress, but there had been fewer instances of those terrible debilitating headaches, less need of a deep massage to convince his body to relax so he could sleep. But here, surrounded by this evil crystal ... it didn't bear thinking about. He was already going to be wound tightly. Would he be able to think, to breathe, all the while surrounded by this aching, persistent song that was abhorrently unnatural?

A sudden bustle from the open hall above caught her attention. She tilted her head up, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. She could hear shouting - not orders, not obedience, but panic, running the length of the Shrine. It didn't take much to guess what had caused it. The Inquisition had been sighted. There wasn't much made of it in the game, but if she had to make a guess, she'd say that there were at least two platoons of soldiers and scouts converging on Samson's headquarters. At least a hundred men and women, elves, humans, dwarves, closing in on this place that had been deemed impossible to find, and at their head, the Inquisitor and the Commander. More than enough to cause the chaos she could hear above her.

Another voice snapped something, closer to her, and the templars patrolling the cells hurried to obey, abandoning their post to the tender mercies of the terrors in their midst in answer to the summons that came to them. Rory flinched back from the bars as cold, demonic eyes came to rest on her. She was the only living being left within their range; too much temptation, even when weighed against the spells used to bind them. Spindly limbs swiped toward her, easily reaching through the bars, and despite herself, she lurched back out of range, yelping when she felt her sleeve tear on the sharp jut of the red lyrium. Just her sleeve, thank gods, but that was too close. The snarling ugliness of hungry faces pressed against the bars in front of her as she backed carefully away, wincing at the intrusive crescendo of lyrium song all around her. She closed her eyes, raising her hands to cover her ears ...

Nothing broke through the bars. Nothing strained to reach her. She risked opening one eye, only to find both terrors lying in a broken heap, the iron bars a little curved but unbroken.

"This is a sad place, filled with old pain. People spoke here, and something listened, until it didn't."

Cole. "Cole?"

Rory concentrated, forcing her mind away from the singing crystal, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus on where she thought the familiar voice had come from. The barred door swung open, and there he was, visible to her eyes, choosing to let her see him. The brim of his big hat rose to reveal the pale, red-rimmed eyes she had come to know very well indeed.

"The demons see, but the templars don't," he told her in his cryptic way, leaving her to fill in the blanks. "It's harder to hide now." He offered her his hand. "Come away from the song. It's made from people."

She didn't need telling twice, lurching hurriedly away from the glowing clusters that pressed in around her to take the clammy hand that he reached out to her. "What happens now?" she asked, tense and frightened.

She could still hear the rushing of feet up above, the sound of voices ordering movement. Samson was running, just as he did in the game, and those men up there ... they would stay to ensure that he was not caught. Was she glad not to have met Cullen's mirror image in this world? She wasn't sure.

"Aching and hating, lies upon lies to make the pain mean something," Cole murmured as he pulled her from the cell, hurrying to the chamber that stood between the two stairwells that lead upward. He pulled her inside, peering out to listen for the sound of anyone approaching. "He thinks he is right, knows Corypheus is wrong. But he still does what he is told."

Rory's hand closed gently over the spirit boy's upper arm. "Samson is not innocent, but he's not wholly guilty, either," she told him quietly. "The Chantry and the Order drove him to this."

"They took away the song, gave back the pain," Cole agreed, but confusion furrowed his brow as he looked at her. "Cullen doesn't lie to make the pain go away. He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains. He is angry, afraid. He wants to be here, but he does not know how to hide. Find her, make her safe, tell her I am coming for her."

Just hearing him say those words, knowing they came from Cullen, was enough to lend a little strength behind her terror. Her hand tightened on Cole's fingers as she nodded. "Two out of three isn't bad," she said softly.

The boy's expression flickered in confusion, unable to read her as he did everyone else, frustrated by the quietness that clung to her, concealing what she knew. "I do not like your silence now," he told her. "There is darkness behind it. What can't I see?"

Fire. But she couldn't tell him, not now. Cole was not capable of keeping his mouth shut; if even a hint of her knowing what Maddox was about to do to this place came out ... No. You can't risk it, Rory. He'll find out soon enough.

"The red general goes, but others stay," Cole went on, turning his gaze from hers when she refused to tell him what she was hiding. "The other silent one, the red templars, the demons and terrors ... Go. We will fight them, keep them here. They will not follow. We will ..." He trailed off, shock reverberating through his slender form. "We should not stay here."

"Where can we go?" she asked, knowing he must have caught some hint of what was planned.

"Come to the inner sanctum, Mistress Rory," a placid voice said, just outside the door to this chamber. "I would not burn you alive by choice. Nor your friend."

Cole's shock was palpable. Maddox should not have been able to perceive him, but then ... Maddox was no longer connected to the Fade. The spirit tricks that kept others from noticing Cole's presence would not work on the Tranquil mage. Rory squeezed his hand gently. As alarming as the Tranquil was, she believed him when he said he didn't want to harm her.

"It's all right," she promised the boy at her side, hoping she was right about that. "Come on."

She stepped out of their hiding place, Cole's hand wrapped in hers. Maddox was standing in the stairwell, his arms loaded with explosive potions. He offered her his well-meaning smile.

"Come to me, if you please, mistress," he suggested. "There is work I must do before the Knight-Captain arrives."

Rory's gaze sharpened as she looked at the Tranquil. She knew what he meant by work - the firing of the shrine, for one; and his own poisoning. Question was, had he already taken care of that second one? Could she change his fate here? His eyes were just a little glazed, his face covered with a sheen of sweat, but that could be anxiety over what was coming. Then she noticed the tiniest trace of something dark at the corner of his mouth, and her heart sank. He'd already taken the Blightcap essence. Maddox was already dying.

She felt Cole tense beside her, shaking her head at him. "There's no point," she told the boy. "He's a dead man walking, Cole."

"Already dead inside, no light to touch, no dreams to walk, no passion for what once was loved," was Cole's somewhat predictable answer.

"No, I mean he's actually dying," Rory clarified for him. "He's taken poison."

Cole blinked, looking at Maddox thoughtfully. "Oh."

Maddox's placid, unnerving smile never wavered. "Indeed, Mistress Rory, you are observant," he said in his calm way, moving to lob those explosive potions into the cells. Flames erupted where they fell in destructive arcs, reaching out to burn anything within reach. As the heat intensified, Rory staggered - too tired, too hungry, too everything, to handle the imminent suggestion of death by burning on top of everything else. Without thinking, Cole wrapped his thin arm about her back, his hand pressed to the side of her belly ... and the world around her faded.

Soft sheets around a still body. Dry mouth, parched lips, something unyielding inside her throat, breathing for her. Forgotten echoes of pain in muscles unmoving. The steady blip of an electronic heartbeat in her ears; acrid smell of artificial disinfectant itching at her nose. A warm hand wrapped inside her cold fingers; a familiar voice speaking as though from some distance untouchable.

"... longest sleep you've ever had. You couldn't even get four hours before, now you've been asleep for five months? All-time personal best."

Ria. She wants to smile. She hasn't heard that voice for far too long. She sounds ... good. Healthy. Alive. Cold fingers want to twitch, to move, to squeeze that warm hand and promise to always be here.

"I wish you were here. Well, properly here. I know you're here, here, but you're not here, you know? Rambling again. Jay's taking me to look at rings later today. What do you think, am I a single solitaire kind of girl, or a crazy chakra-loving demon from the lowest depths of Pandemonium? I'm leaning toward chakra-loving demon, myself."

That sounds right. Five months is a long time to be without the only sister she's known. But life has moved on. Jay proposed. She's looking for rings. Forcing willpower down her arms, into her fingers, and finally they move. The merest twitch, the barest motion, just enough to say ... I'm here.

"Oh my fucking god, did you ...? You did, you - Hello! Hello, someone? She moved, she squeezed my hand! Do it again, Ror, I know you can."

More force, more will, and another finger twitches, encouraged by the delighted crow of laughter from her side. She can't smile. She can't move more than a single finger. She shouldn't be here.

"Rory?"

"Come on, little red, don't play dead."

"She went away, into the darkness and silence. Now she is coming back."

"Just move your fingers again. C'mon, Ror, I know you can hear me. Come home."

"Sweeting, come back to me. Please. Come home."

Home. One voice fades as others press in around her. The stillness leaves her form; the artificial scents replaced with others, more real, more present. Smoke and ash and soot; oakmoss and elfroot; oiled metal, musky leather, sweat she knows as intimately as her own. This is home, too.

Rory coughed as she came back to herself, her dry throat rebelling against the coiling smoke that swirled through the oppressive heat all around her. Her eyes opened, watering in the unpleasant atmosphere of the burning shrine ... and there he was, gold-haired, whiskey-eyed, tousled and anxious and all for her.

"Cullen," she whispered, and the anxiety on his fractious face shattered into relief, lips curving in a warm smile that said so much more than words might ever manage.

Other faces pressed in around his - Kaaras, Cole, Cassandra; Dorian, Bull, Varric; even Vivienne's distinctive headdress was visible behind them. So many of them, trapped by flame and red lyrium, here for her, to save her from the fate Samson had lost his chance to lay upon her. Warm lips kissed her brow, drawing her eyes back to her husband, her lion, her anchor to this world

"I'm here," Cullen promised, gathering her up and into the cradle of his arms. "You are never going anywhere without me again."