A/N: I'll be going out of town for a week on the 12th. I'll do my best to write while I'm lazying on the beach, but if there's a delay in updating, that's probably why (I likely fell asleep from too much sunlight and fresh air). My goal is to post one more chapter before I leave :)

As always, thank you to those who left comments, reviews, kudos, favorites, and alerts! Your support means a lot!

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Path of the Dreamwalker

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Chapter 10 - Remember

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Who was this woman?

Who was she?

He couldn't understand how this was possible.

Outwardly, she bore the same features as Arian – the same eyes, the same hair, the same vallaslin on her face. Yet, this was not her. Strezark's vision wasn't limited by his physical sight. He saw the world differently than mortals. Where someone who wasn't of the Fade might look at this girl and see an elf, he looked at her and saw beyond. His vision bore beneath skin, dug deep beneath flesh, and sought out the core of each creature. This girl wasn't who he expected, yet she wasn't a complete stranger either. At first, he considered that his initial impression was a mistake. But, there was no mistake when it came to this.

Arian's spirit was unique. He could still remember the first time he saw her walking in the Fade so many years ago. Back then, she had been just a child – carefree and untainted. That purity was enough to captivate him, enough to start an obsession festering within the rotting remains of his soul. His fixation wasn't born of flowery feelings of friendship or kindness. At the time, he had been something…else; something that wanted to break her, something that wanted to possess her, and at the same time something that yearned to wipe her from existence. So, he'd latched himself to her – made her an offer when she was most vulnerable – and in her weakness, she agreed. Thus, they were bonded. Nothing in this world or the next could separate them. He knew her as well as she knew herself, if not more.

But, no.

That wasn't quite the way of things.

The girl before him didn't know herself.

In fact, she might as well have been a shell of Arian. The trappings were there; physically, she was the spitting image of his Warden. But her soul was either gone or dormant deep inside of her. He couldn't sense neither the taint within her blood nor the fragment of ancient magic that had always resided within her. Instead, something else had taken its place – a different sort of magic that, though similar, smelled and felt very different. Her scars were missing as well. In fact, she looked a bit younger than he remembered her last. There were no lines at the corners of her eyes; no faint crease between her eyebrows. It was almost as though the Templars had never taken her; almost as though the Blight had never happened.

Arian – he reached out to her through their bond. Over and over, he called to her, refusing to give up, refusing to believe that he had made a mistake. Arian, answer Us…

But she did not. She stared at him without any recognition whatsoever. In fact, he thought he could see fear begin to take root on her face. She'd looked at him like this once, long ago. At that time, they'd been bitter enemies. At that time, he could never have imagined the journeys and perils they would face together as friends. Seeing her lack of recognition, watching as she shrank from his voice, and then being confronted like an enemy once more caused more hurt than he would care to admit. Not that he ever would. He was much too proud.

While he stared her down, those accompanying her argued amongst themselves. The human warrior gave him pause. Something about him seemed almost familiar, but Strezark couldn't place it. He had expected him to be easily manipulated, especially since demon venom coursed through his blood from a fresh wound. However, after the initial moment of confusion and a brief battle for control, he retained his senses and managed to keep a firm hold on his will. Impressive. And annoying. Strezark had hoped to use him as the weak point for the group. Turning allies against one another used to be one of his favorite past times. Arian discouraged it in the past, but she was gone now. If he could use his talents to achieve his goals, he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sten draw his sword. The ringing of the notched blade sliding against the metal sheathe was a familiar and comforting sound. Good. At least now, if worst came to worst, he would only have to be concerned with attacking a single target. Strezark had confidence in his skill, but skill could only do so much against superior numbers. This way, it was the spirit and the human warrior for Sten and the elf and Arian for him. He could handle the Mage, and he refused to believe that Arian would truly strike him down. She might attack him, but she would never wound him; she wouldn't risk the consequences.

At length, the group ceased their bickering.

"It is, in fact, a Darkspawn," the elven Mage announced, almost sounding proud of himself in his erroneous assumption. Strezark felt his hackles rising. That arrogant tone displeased him, as did the remark that was meant to be a veiled insult. Mortals and their limited sight – he inwardly sneered with distaste. If only the Mage could see his true form, perhaps he wouldn't dare to insult him so. Strezark straightened his back and raised his head, sickened by the mortal's lack of respect. Darkspawn, indeed.

"You. Elf. You know not what forces you tamper with in standing against Us" – Strezark growled. Touching the Mage's mind was a simple task, as was sensing his thoughts. They were well guarded, but he couldn't keep him locked out. No one could. Not even Arian had been able to keep his powers at bay, and her magic stemmed from the blood of ancients. He couldn't hear him as easily as he could some others, but he could easily sense the dark cloud of suspicion and concern that shadowed his mind. He was worried about the girl, yet somehow it wasn't her that he feared losing.

"Release the Warden, and no one will be harmed" – he repeated, this time putting more force behind his words. He emptied a string of images into the elf's mind. A battle in the cavern. The snow bleeding red. Lifeless grey eyes staring up at the ceiling above as blood dripped down elven ears. When confronted with an image of their own demise, most mortals shied away in terror. He expected the elf to falter. Instead, he tilted up his chin, set his feet wider apart, and threw more mana into the barrier. A movement caught his attention. The human warrior shuffled to stand in front of Arian, raising his blade.

"Cullen, wait…" she warned. He paid her no heed. His face was morphed into a picture of anger and disgust.

"This isn't the first time I've dealt with the trickery of demons," he ground out. Yes, Strezark could feel that from him. Something that was buried deep beneath layers of self-control scratched at the surface of his thoughts, an ever-present reminder of failures long past. This was good. This was heartening. Perhaps this could even be used as an advantage. Though Strezark was certain that the human felt him rummaging through his mind, he didn't display any outward discomfort. Interesting. "Step past the barrier and you will regret it," the warrior threatened, his voice unwavering and full of the promise of pain.

"Wait! There's no need to fight," the girl clamored, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. She shouldered past the human, swiveling her head around to face everyone present.

"They attacked first," the human said, turning to face the now armed Sten. In response, the Qunari rested the tip of his blade against the ground. A deception - Strezark knew - for the moment that the human chose to strike, Sten would move with blinding speed to counter.

"They haven't attacked. Not yet." When she turned back to Strezark, there was hesitation in her eyes. "Please tell us who you are. Why do you threaten us?" His eye narrowed. Peace. A fool's notion – one that the Warden he knew would never have entertained lightly. She would have likely attacked him by now. In fact, he'd been counting on it. He'd planned on drawing her away from the others in the heat of the battle, then using his powers to subdue her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like this was going to work. This girl wasn't as hotheaded as the woman he remembered. She wasn't even considering reaching for her weapon, a fact that irked him as much as it worried him. What had happened to her?

"Who are We, you ask" – he grunted. "You do not know, then." She shook her head. Strezark stepped forward, feeling the Mage's barrier rebel in response. It was stronger than he expected, and again he found himself wondering about the source of his magic. It felt as old if not older than Arian's. Up until now, he'd never sensed this kind of age in anyone aside from Asha'bellanar herself. He moved just far enough to let the Mage know that the barrier wasn't what was truly holding him back.

"We are known as Strezark, and this" – he pointed to his companion with his snout – "is Sten."

"Please, Strezark," the girl said, "…we have no quarrel with you. Solas said you are a Darkspawn, but…"

"Darkspawn" – he snapped with an angry snort and a shake of his head. "Is that all you can see? Look closer, Elfling." With that, he touched her thoughts and projected several memories of their past together. She gasped and backed up a few steps, her face going pale. First, he showed her a dank dungeon – a place filled with sadness and suffering. Templars were surrounding an elven girl with black hair and purging her of her mana, Silencing and hitting her as they wrapped her arms and legs in chains. Lashes of a whip. Tortured screams. Blood covering the walls. Then, morning. Shivering and curled up on the floor, the girl looked out through the bars in a window. A dark shape appeared behind her and whispered of freedom.

"Stop," she groaned, mentally pushing him away. The human warrior spared her a sidelong glance, not daring to look away from Sten long enough to assist her.

"What's wrong, Arianwen?" he asked. She shook her head in response.

"Are you showing me those images?" she demanded with a glare. "What are they?"

"Your memories, Elfling. And Ours. We made a contract, and We aim to see it fulfilled. A great evil has awakened us from our eternal slumber" – he glanced at Sten – "and we must confront it if we hope to restore order to this realm."

"A great evil?" She pursed her lips. "Surely you don't mean the explosion at the Conclave." Sten moved in response to her words, shifting his weight between his feet.

"It's possible," he said.

"Then…" she looked hopeful. "Then we should be allies. We, too, aim to seal the Breach."

"The tear in the sky..."

"Yes."

"There is more at work here than you realize" – Strezark warned. He glanced pointedly at her hand. "We know of the mark. We have heard of it on our way here. Yet, it is not why we came." He watched her bring her hand to her chest.

"Why are you searching for me if not for this mark?" She tilted her head to the side. "Those images I saw. That was…"

"If you are truly the Warden, then you should have heard it by now" – he interjected. "Either you've chosen to ignore it, or Our instinct is correct and the taint has been taken from you."

"Heard what, exactly?" the Mage spoke up, his grey eyes filled to the brim with disapproval.

"The Calling…" Strezark bared his fangs when his reply earned him three blank stares. He expected that the human and elf wouldn't know what it was, for Grey Wardens guarded their secrets jealously. But, the girl. The girl should have known, at least. That word used to mean much to her. Arian's voice floated to him on a breeze of memory.

The Calling terrifies me – she'd confided in him once. It frightens me more than facing Darkspawn or the Archdemon. Once I hear the Calling, I will go alone into the darkness and die a dog's death in the Deep Roads. Where is the glory in that?

"What's the Calling?" the girl before him raised a brow.

"You truly do not know?" He waited for recognition to glimmer in her eyes, and when nothing came, he felt his heart wither just a little.

So, this really wasn't Arian.

"When a Grey Warden hears the Calling, it is said that it is their time to die. They travel to the Deep Roads and find their end there."

"And you thought I would hear this?"

"It was a theory. We have heard it, and thus logic dictates that you should have as well. However, We are not the only ones. Grey Wardens have begun to disappear all over the countryside. Even the one you gave your life to save is now gone…"

"Gave my life?" she echoed. "I don't know what you speak of." Strezark looked at her for a long time in silence, wondering how much he should reveal. This wasn't Arian. That much was clear. Yet, she was tied to her in some way. Her appearance couldn't be a coincidence. The human warrior had even called her by the same name. He couldn't understand what was happening or how any of this was possible. All he knew was that he needed this girl's help to find out the truth. When he answered her question, his voice was low, calmer than before. He did not speak of this lightly.

"You made him forget – made all of those who knew the truth forget. All except us" – he gestured to Sten. The Qunari gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. "Yet, something happened that unraveled the threads of fate that you have woven. You were slain. We felt it as your life was snuffed out. Thus, your spell is broken, and now they are starting to remember."

"That still doesn't explain anything…" she frowned.

"You must recast the spell, or everything We have worked for will be lost. The country will fall into ruin. Rumors will soon spread of his disappearance."

"What disappearance?" the human warrior cut in with a scowl. Strezark kept his gaze on Arian as he spoke, watching for her reaction.

"Your former lover and the King of Ferelden."

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That night, none of them slept. Though a shaky truce had been reached between them, Solas couldn't bring himself to let his guard down even for a moment. He wasn't trusting to begin with, and the Blightwolf had a demeanor that was far from amiable. With his scarred features, venom-coated fangs, and razor sharp claws, he looked like something out of a nightmare. Solas couldn't shake the feeling that the beast was biding his time to make an attack. And the aura around him…he shuddered. It was as cold as death. He looked down, watching as Cole fiddled with some loose pebbles on the ground.

"Can't you tell what he's thinking?" Solas inquired in a low whisper. Cole paused in his fidgeting and blinked up at him.

"He's quiet...like the sky before a storm. Quiet like the wind moving high above the earth. There are no thoughts - only existence."

"What is he?"

"Enemy. Friend. Companion. Protector. Many things. But, old. Above everything, he feels as old as the Fade." Cole's words didn't reassure Solas in the least. In fact, they made him even more suspicious. As old as the Fade? Cole spoke in winding riddles, but that particular phrase didn't sound like a metaphor for anything else.

He wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable with their new guests. Solas's gaze meandered to the other side of the cavern, where the Commander and the Qunari were exchanging frigid stares. If it wasn't for Arianwen's insistence that they try to avoid fighting, he was certain that the Commander would have been at the Qunari's throat. The pair of warriors seemed to declare a silent cold war between themselves. They hadn't spoken a word to each other, but the tension between them was palpable. They stayed on opposite sides of the cavern, both brooding with their arms crossed over their chests and their weapons within reach. He knew for a fact that Cullen disapproved of the Blightwolf, just as Solas did. Occasionally, he threw scowls in his and Arianwen's direction.

Strezark didn't leave the girl's side the entire night. How Arianwen was comfortable with being around something so monstrous was beyond his understanding. Though he couldn't hear anything, he knew that she was communicating with him, for every few moments, she would nod or frown. The creature made sure that only she could hear his voice as he relayed more information about the situation to her. Solas still couldn't reconcile what Strezark had revealed earlier. His words were a tangle of knots and winding paths that his mind couldn't follow. The beast knew her from the past, and if Solas had understood him correctly, his story put Arianwen in the middle of the events of the Fifth Blight over a decade ago. If what he said was the truth, then that meant that Arianwen should be dead. So how had she walked out of the rift at the Breach?

Something didn't add up.

He'd read some things about the Hero of Ferelden and her great deeds, but from what he could recall, she was said to be a human noblewoman. Once, he had even walked the Fade around Ostagar and witnessed the battle with his own eyes. It was a battle that set many other world-changing events into motion. What part did Arianwen play in that great cataclysm? Strezark seemed to believe that she was a Grey Warden. In the same breath, he claimed that he could feel no taint within her blood. How was that possible? One didn't simply cure the taint or wake up without it one morning. No matter what the powers of his orb had done to her memory, they couldn't have affected that.

As he rekindled the dying fire with his magic, he recalled the things Arianwen had mumbled in her delirium after she first stepped out of the rift. Now that he had new information, some of the pieces started to come together.

The taint isn't mine, though the duty always will be…

Where is the Archdemon? I split him with my blades. I tore through him and drove him away…

Piece by piece, he recounted what she'd murmured in her sleep. From that, he could form a vague picture - a theory that was as tentative as an unfinished painting. During the Fifth Blight, Arianwen had fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden against the Archdemon and its Darkspawn horde. Strezark mentioned that she and the King were lovers. During the final battle, she must have been killed. So why, then, had he never read about her in any records? Someone important enough to be the King's lover and help fight against the Archdemon had to have made it into the history books somewhere.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the Commander moved from his position for the first time in hours. When he padded over to Solas, the elf felt himself tense.

"Solas…"

"Commander," he answered in a brisk and indifferent tone. For a while, the human stood next to him without saying a word, his aura pulsing with tension. Solas wanted to move away. He hadn't forgotten their argument. They'd both spat some hateful things at each other in the heat of the moment. At length, Cullen motioned for Solas to follow him outside. He was hesitant to leave Arianwen alone with Strezark and Sten, but he reasoned that they wouldn't harm her. Whatever the Commander had to say, it was likely important.

Solas summoned a flame in his palm when they stepped outside. The fierce storm from earlier had died down overnight. Now, only a trickle of light snow remained. He watched with no small measure of amusement as his human companion sank into the ankle-deep snow while he padded lightly over it. The skies had cleared, allowing a full and unobstructed view of the moon. On the horizon, he could see the silhouette of the Frostback Mountains and evidence of the rising sun. They'd been awake all night.

The Commander didn't go far from the mouth of the cave. He stopped just a few paces away and looked back, his demeanor decidedly nervous. Solas supposed that whatever he had to tell him needed to be kept out of earshot of those inside the cavern. He almost expected for him to rekindle their earlier disagreement or say something about his oversight of the dangers posed by the presence of Strezark and Sten. Something insulting, surely. This anticipation soured his already foul mood, and when Cullen found a place for them to stop, Solas found himself doing his best to keep from scowling.

"I brought you out here to hear your opinion," the Commander confessed unexpectedly. He didn't look directly at Solas, but the Mage still saw his expression. "Despite our differences, I know a wise man when I see one." He sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I can't make heads or tails of this situation." The vulnerability on the man's face surprised him so much that he found himself answering before he could check his reply:

"Neither can I," Solas admitted. His pride snarled at his carelessness. How could he have admitted to something like that so easily? He watched the Commander's face with care now, predicting that he would use Solas's honesty against him. However, no such reaction was forthcoming. Cullen scratched the back of his neck with a grimace.

"It's almost more than I can take in. First, I physically walk through the Fade and survive, then Arianwen transports us somewhere on the outskirts of Haven by opening a rift. We trek through a storm and find shelter against all odds, only to encounter a Darkspawn who speaks telepathically and a Qunari, both of whom claim that Arianwen has somehow come back from the dead. The Blightwolf goes on to say something about Grey Wardens and a Calling. And now, they declare that the King himself is missing and that Arianwen was...involved with him..." He stopped there, trailing off with a hard look.

"It is rather improbable, isn't it?" Solas agreed with a quirk of his lips. When put that way, none of this seemed real. "You said you wanted my opinion?"

"Yes. I believe we should get back to Haven as soon as possible. The Inquisition should be our first priority. Arianwen said there were survivors of the attack, and we can't just abandon them because of this lest it all falls apart. The Breach is what we must focus on."

"Once again, Commander, you make a logical argument." He couldn't deny that Cullen was a reasonable man. A touch vindictive, perhaps, and ignorant to some of the truths of the world, but responsible and honorable nonetheless. Solas let out a small breath, forcing himself to relinquish the remnants of their earlier squabble and all the feelings left over from it. There was no room for such petty things now.

"What do you think we should do?" Cullen asked, still not meeting Solas's gaze. It was his way of apologizing, Solas realized. The Commander was a proud man, and he could see how apologizing directly for anything wasn't in his nature, especially since he firmly believed in his own convictions. In that sense, they weren't so different. Perhaps that might have seemed foolish to some, but Solas was impressed that Cullen would set aside his own predispositions for the good of the whole.

"Returning to Haven is a good proposition, Commander. Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine will know the most about contacting Denerim and finding out if what those two say about the King is the truth." His eyes narrowed. "That is assuming they haven't already left with the survivors." At the Commander's questioning look, he told him about what happened at the tower - how Arianwen left alone to light a signal so that the villagers could escape.

"Leliana would want to lead them to Redcliffe," the Commander nodded. "We must try Haven first. Perhaps they haven't left yet."

Solas nodded. "The problem lies with those two," he gestured towards the cave. "Will they follow? Or will they try to push their own agenda?"

"We should be prepared either way," Cullen agreed. "Let's not tarry here too long lest they suspect something is amiss." They turned around and headed back inside. Solas's eyes lingered on the Commander's determined stature. For a human, he was surprisingly unpredictable and less inclined to view the world only on his own terms. Not only that, but on several occasions, he displayed a certain disregard for his own life where others were concerned. Back at Haven, he'd stayed behind to allow others to escape. Solas struggled to understand the reasoning behind such a sacrifice. As a Commander, he could accomplish much more had he stayed alive to lead his people. Just like Arianwen's willingness to give up her life for a few stragglers, Cullen's decision was selfless and noble, but it wasn't logical. Was it that similarity between them that irked him so? Or was it something else?

When they shuffled back into the cave, Solas saw that Arianwen and Strezark hadn't moved. She was saying something to him in a tone that was too low to hear. It was frustrating, seeing them like this. Seeing her place so much trust in a stranger wasn't pleasant. Whatever the creature had to say, it wasn't good. Arianwen's face had taken on a pale hue. A voice of reason whispered that this was exactly what he'd feared would happen. This beast was corrupting her, changing her. Who knew what ideas he was putting in her head? What if she decided that she wanted to leave with him and the Qunari? What if she decided that the Breach was no longer the biggest threat? What if she remembered her past?

He couldn't let her do that.

He could let the orb out of his sight.

He wouldn't.

But, how would he stop her? There was no guarantee that she would listen to him, and he had no plans of revealing the full truth to her just yet. What was that beast saying to her? She looked exhausted and frightened, two things that did not sit well with him. Deciding that it was best to separate them, Solas walked over to Arianwen. Strezark looked up when he got close.

"Solas," she murmured.

"We need to leave in a few hours," he warned. "You should rest before we press on."

"The storm will come back, and you're worried we won't make it to Haven," she stated, intuitive as ever. "Don't worry, Solas. I want to go back to the others." She looked over at the Blightwolf and gave him a smile. Solas felt his chest tighten. "Strezark, is it alright if I speak to Solas alone for a while?"

"As you wish, Elfling" - the creature tipped his head in acquiescence, stood up, and padded over to the Qunari. Solas watched him go, not certain if he was more shocked or suspicious. How had the girl gotten him to be so agreeable in such a short amount of time? He'd been certain that Strezark would pose the biggest threat to their plans, yet…

"Solas," Arianwen whispered, grabbing the hem of his robe. The determination in her eyes gave him pause. He suddenly wished he could sense what she was thinking, what she was feeling. What had the beast revealed to her? Had she remembered anything? As he sat down beside her, Arianwen leaned in closer. "I know why Cullen wanted to speak with you. I could sense his nervousness from across the cavern. I know you two are suspicious of Strezark and Sten, but I think their intentions are good."

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Solas pursed his lips.

"Strezark has been telling me things...about the past...about...me."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes...he can...show me things. In my mind. Memories..."

"It could be a trick."

"It isn't," she insisted, and he understood that arguing with her about would be pointless. "It's real, though I wonder how it could have been..."

"You are you, Arianwen. What happened in the past is - "

"It doesn't sound like me," she cut in, her words flowing out in a rush now. "This woman they call Arian...she sounds like a stranger. Could it really have been me?" Sadness trailed in on the heels of her words, ringing out in every syllable. "I am not a great woman like her. I can't believe I could have done some of the things that she did."

"What do you want me to tell you?" he asked.

"You know so much of magic. You've seen things that most only dream of. If there's anyone who could tell me if it's possible that I was this woman once...you could." Her eyes, filled to the brim with earnest hope and trust, pierced his chest like twin arrows. What would it mean if he told her that it was possible? Would it change her somehow? Would she try to become someone else - her past self? Would the innocence and purity disappear from her expression?

"It's difficult to say," he replied after some time. It wasn't a lie. He couldn't be sure if such a thing was possible, but after what had happened with her and the orb, he couldn't discount anything. For now, however, he chose to remain neutral in his response.

"I want to know," her hands clenched together in her lap. He hated to see her so conflicted. In the firelight, the dark smudges beneath her eyes seemed even darker and more pronounced. He suppressed an impulse to touch her face, knowing that it was better to keep as much distance between them as possible. It wouldn't do for him to feel such attachment to her. She was the orb. Perhaps one day, he would be forced to make a choice between her and the fate of Thedas. When that time came, he couldn't afford a clouded mind.

"You look tired, da'len," he observed. "Perhaps you should sleep for a while before we depart." He wanted to say something else, but all words flew out of his head when she lay down and rested her head against his thigh. His body went rigid, his spine stiffening. "What are you doing?" he asked past his constricted throat.

"You're warm," she sighed. Solas couldn't help it. His head immediately swiveled towards the Commander. He wasn't sure what he expected. Anger? An irritated glare? Why, though? It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong. There wasn't anything untoward about this, yet the position was undoubtedly one of a certain kind of intimacy. And even if there was, why should it matter what the Commander thought of this? She wasn't his; Arianwen belonged to no one but herself.

This position made him look vulnerable, he decided, and he didn't want anyone to see him this way. Not the two strangers, and especially not the Commander. Fortunately, Cullen had closed his eyes and appeared to be dozing lightly on his feet. Solas's lips thinned into a tense line.

"Perhaps it would be better if - "

"I'm making you uncomfortable," she frowned. "I'm sorry." She didn't know; she had no idea what havoc she was causing. This was dangerous. But...hadn't he wanted to preserve this innocence? When she made to move away, he stopped her.

It's alright. You can stay - he wanted to tell her, but the words never left his mouth. If they had, it would be an official acceptance of her actions, permission for them to grow closer somehow. That was something he couldn't allow. They couldn't grow closer; they couldn't cross any more boundaries. He had to keep her at arm's length. In her usual fashion, she seemed to read his mind. Without him saying anything, she knew what he intended and remained where she was. After a time, her eyelids drooped down and Solas was able to relax somewhat.

"She was an amazing person," came her sleepy murmur. "Strezark was her friend...Sten, too. They fought together. She was…" Her eyes closed. A spot of heat built where her face rested against him. Her long, inky black hair draped over his leg, a few strands brushing against his knuckles. It was as soft as he'd imagined, and he had to use all of his willpower not to run his fingers through the length of it.

"She was…?" Solas echoed, wanting to hear the rest and hoping to keep his thoughts away from places they shouldn't go. She didn't open her eyes to answer him.

"...was a hero…"

"If she fought beside the Hero of Ferelden, then I'm certain she was," he replied. Still without opening her eyes, she shook her head.

"...didn't fight with her…" she mumbled.

"What was that, da'len?"

"She didn't fight beside her. She was her."

"Who?"

"Arian...she was the Hero of Ferelden."

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In the darkness of the night, Alistair Theirin stood transfixed as he stared at a painting in his room. It was a portrait that had hung on his wall for over a decade, practically since the first few months after his coronation. There, painted with finest oils by the hands of the most talented of artists, a woman with fiery red hair and forest-green eyes stood beside a large black Mabari war hound. She was dressed in Grey Warden finery, a pair of ornate daggers sheathed in a leather belt around her waist. Beside her rested a large tower shield with the Cousland crest.

On most occasions, Alistair found himself looking at her portrait and wishing that she hadn't sacrificed her life for their cause. They'd been close and had shared many perils and adventures together. She was his best friend, and a woman he deeply respected. He'd always wondered if he could have done more to save her. Today, however, he stared at the painting for a different reason. In fact, it was the same reason that, for the past three weeks, had made him feel that he might be losing his mind.

Recently, he could have sworn that he could see the painting move when he passed it. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but when the phenomenon started repeating itself, he ordered the servants to move the painting into his bedroom. He didn't want anyone to see how hypnotized he was by the painted face. Bad enough that he spent so much time staring at it that it was starting to become unhealthy. He found himself waiting eagerly for his duties to end so that he could come here and look at the painting. Now, he stroked the ridges of oil and color, willing it to come to life again.

Before his disbelieving and eager eyes, the portrait shifted. What had begun as a few changes in details now ended with a staggering difference in the girl's appearance. Instead of the red-haired human beauty, an elf girl with plum black hair and hypnotic golden eyes looked out through the canvas at him. Complex markings inked themselves across her forehead and on the tops of her cheeks. Her skin darkened and became a light tan. The Mabari hound at her side transformed, growing larger and shaggier until it became a massive Blightwolf covered in scars and missing one eye.

The amulet that appeared around her neck caught his attention. It was the same amulet he now wore. Ever since the death of the Hero of Ferelden, he'd worn it every day in memory of her. In a strange and unexplained way, it comforted him. It almost made him feel like his friend was still with him, watching over him. For a long time, he'd been certain that it was a gift from Elissa, but now he couldn't be sure. The normal portraits of her didn't depict her wearing this amulet. Yet the girl in the picture now was pressing her fingers to it as though it meant something to her. The look on her face was wistful and shadowed.

Remember me - Alistair's eyes widened when the painting moved. The girl looked up at him, her lips moving silently. Alistair…

His blood felt as though it caught fire. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped away from the painting. Sweat coated his brow, and his breathing came in short bursts. He felt as though he'd been running, for his heart was racing too. What was wrong with him? It was just this painting. Lately, everywhere he turned, he saw this elf's face. Those eyes were unforgettable. Where had he seen her before, and why was she plaguing his dreams and haunting his steps? Even in public, he wasn't safe from these illusions. Just a few days past, he could have sworn that he saw her among his courtiers. While the ballroom moved in ebbs and flows, she stood still, as though time itself had no effect on her.

People closer to him were beginning to notice his unusual behavior. Teagan, who had planned to visit Denerim for some time to discuss the current troubles in Thedas, had even postponed urgent business on his lands because of a concerned letter from Eamon. The Arl sent a letter explaining that he was on his way and was supposed to arrive in just a few days. Eamon was convinced that he was suffering from exhaustion and was overworking himself, but Alistair knew that wasn't the case. This was something else. His mind was trying to remember something. But, what? What could he have forgotten that was so important? Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just getting sick. His muscles had been aching all day as though from a fever.

He moved to his writing desk, observing the pile of paperwork there with a certain sense of dread. He'd always hated this part about being King. Not that he'd ever particularly been fond of any part of the idea of ruling, but he supposed he'd grown into it over the years. There were still plenty of opportunities to laugh and take things not-so-seriously, and despite the headache that this tendency and his less-than-perfect diplomatic skills caused his Ambassadors on a daily basis, he supposed it was enough to keep him sane. Remembering his most recent slip-up during a meeting with said Ambassadors with a smile, Alistair picked up a letter from Elissa's brother, Fergus. Tearing open the wax seal on the fine parchment, he skimmed over the words. It was the last part that made him frown:

….Unfortunately, we cannot send any soldiers to Denerim now. Our lands have been plagued by demons ever since the Conclave. If anything, we are the ones who need reinforcements. I have written to the Grey Wardens in the hopes that they will be able to assist us. After all, the sacrifice that my sister made isn't one lightly set aside…

The Grey Wardens. Elissa Cousland had certainly done them all proud. Regrettably, he'd known only a few in his lifetime. Aside from Elissa, his friend Duncan was a Warden and had also sacrificed much during the Blight. He'd always wondered what it would be like to be a Grey Warden, traveling the land and keeping everyone safe from dark forces and taint. His half-brother, Cailan, had died believing in their greatness. He'd been enchanted by the tales of their selflessness. Perhaps it ran in the family.

That life must be more thrilling than skimming paperwork, attending fancy parties, and sitting on a throne all day - he mused. Strange that he could hardly remember anything before the events at Ostagar. Sometimes, he couldn't even recall how and where he'd met Duncan. The ordeal he and Elissa went through at Ostagar was traumatic and life-altering. Perhaps his mind had simply chosen to block out certain events. He'd heard stories of veterans of war who struggled with their memory at times. He'd always accepted the theory that he simply suffered from trauma, but these recent events made him question what truly lay at the heart of the blank spots in his recollections.

Alistair grimaced when a headache suddenly made his skull feel like it was on fire. He groaned and set the letter aside. His hand fumbled around for the bottle of wine he kept around for just such emergencies, but as soon as he found it, he put it aside. Just thinking of putting something in his stomach made him nauseous. Perhaps he really was ill. He thought to ring for a servant to fetch a physician but changed his mind when the pain worsened. He stumbled over to his bed, thinking that some rest might alleviate the strange symptoms. He couldn't afford to be sick - not now, when so much rested on his shoulders.

As he peeled back the silken white sheets and tossed aside too many pillows - why did the servants insist on showering his bed with them? - something in the corner of his vision startled him. He turned his head and saw his ornate full length mirror. He blinked at the copy of himself framed in gold carvings of lions and griffins. For a split second, his reflection was replaced by the elven girl with golden eyes. When he blinked again, she reappeared. Only this time, she stayed and beckoned for him to come closer. He was helpless to do anything but obey. In front of the mirror, he reached out to touch her image, bewildered and confused. She wore the same Grey Warden armor as Elissa - the same daggers around her hips.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes falling to the amulet around her neck.

Remember me - she mouthed voicelessly, touching her fingers to the necklace. Something moved behind him, but he was too transfixed by the girl's eyes to look and see what it was.

Remember...

"Why? Who are you?"

Remember me…

Alistair gasped when the back of his head exploded in pain. Dizziness assailed him, and he dropped to his knees then to his side. On the way down, he hit the mirror with his arm. When he looked up, he saw that it was tilted so he could still see himself in it. The girl had vanished like a ghost. Goosebumps ridged up his arms and torso. The man staring back at him looked terrible. His hair was mussed and his jaw unshaven. His skin was pasty and colorless. His gaze looked dull and listless. He thought to try and stand, but then something happened that paralyzed him with shock and fear.

His eyes, which were normally a fickle hazel, changed. Color drained from them as though through a funnel until they turned a shimmering silver - the hue of grey metal in sunlight. He jerked when he heard movement behind him again. His eyes focused past his reflection's shoulder in the mirror, and his breath froze. A pair of glowing red eyes flickered in the darkness. Something huge and shadowy appeared from behind his bed. Alistair tried to turn, but the reflection had him mesmerized once again. As he fought against its hold, the shape stepped into the light of the candles, revealing a hairy black snout, ghastly scars, and rows of elongated sharp fangs.

"Maker," he whispered. "What are you?"

Remember everything - the creature snarled in his mind right as it opened its jaws and clamped them around Alistair's throat.