Dragon Age 1. Prologue- To Observe the Unseen

**So, here begins my re-take of a Dragon Age fanfic. This took a freaking ****_age_**** (no pun intended) to write. Quick shout-out to Kamic Acumen for generously agreeing to beta this, 'cause you're awesome like that. Anyway, reviews are always welcome, flames maybe but anything I deem to be excessive WILL be removed. Anywho, now my mini-rant is over, ONWARD!**

* * *

Dylan swore as, once again, the fireball he'd summoned imploded in his hand, mildly burning the flesh of his palm. He hissed as he took in the small blackened circle on his hand, no larger than a silver coin. _Third time today_ he grumbled in his head, despairing at his lack of success. _Of all the times..._

Placing three thin tomes under his left arm and held Irving's personal journal in the other hand. He walked down the hall towards the First Enchanter's study, which also doubled as his main practise had been in the Circle since he was four, after nearly burning down the entirety of one of Denerim's most profitable warehouse districts in a childish fit of rage after the guild master had thrown his father into the harbour to die for simply being Tevinter-born and not a native Fereldan.

His mother had been horrified, quickly bundling up their meagre belongings and fleeing the city. But the Templars had caught them almost as soon as they had left the city walls. He had knocked four of them to the floor before being subdued, by his own mother no less! They had dragged him to the Circle Tower, kicking and screaming until the Enchanters cast a sleep spell on him. Afterward he had been perpetually angry, snapping at even the smallest provocation and flickered unpredictably between unstoppable rage and long, dark sessions of brooding.

That all changed when the First Enchanter took the young mage under his wing and helped cool his burning rage, piece by piece. Where others sneered and spat at him, Irving praised and encouraged. Where others were cruel and demeaning, Irving was kind and gentle. He didn't bat an eye when he started bringing his plush dragon- the only reminder he had of home- to some of his classes. It wasn't long before Irving replaced the man in the Denerim harbour as his father-figure, quickly acting more as a father than a teacher.

Over time, Dylan managed to find other friends, eventually shedding the dark air of perpetual danger he had wrapped around himself for so many months. Eventually, the other inhabitants warmed up to him. Maybe they saw him as a scared, lost soul in need of sympathy when they took him into their fold. The senior mages taught him control, soothed the aches of his old life, and begun the process of integrating him into Circle life.

Eventually Neria, an elf girl with eyes like emeralds and apprentice to Wynne, had forced her way into his life. She had first appeared when they had been partnered in a simple control exercise: She would raise a shield whilst he attempted to break it. Their first attempts had gone as well as could be expected from twelve year-old mages just grasping their true potential; Dylan's shield couldn't even last a good minute before collapsing, and Neria couldn't even tickle it with any of her spells.

When they swapped roles the results were staggering. Neria's shield was almost unbreakable, not even Uldred could make a dent in it (he suggested Irving tried, but both stopped when Dylan glared at them with his gold-brown eyes). It was Dylan, however, that drew the majority of the attention. He wielded fire as if born to it, his flames dancing through the air like fish in a lake.

During their later sessions they stayed such for well over an hour, Dylan bombarding his friend's shield with fire, ice and lightning whilst she remained unmoved, an immoveable object against Dylan's not quite unstoppable force. Soon after, they were thick as thieves amidst their peers, they skill bordering on the incredible. But as they grew, their tastes in magical practices began to divide.

Neria wanted to focus of healing and defensive spells, only attacking when absolutely necessary. Dylan, on the other hand, wanted to capitalise on his affinity for fire, to expand his knowledge on the destructive arts of primal magic, as well as delving deep into the mysteries of Entropy. The only thing they shared was a passion for herbalism, byt they made the most of it. Many hours were spent poring over old tomes and brewing strange concoctions in whichever laboratory happened to be free.

The amount of times they had emerged after an explosion had rocked three floors of the tower- their faces blackened by the charred remains of their latest experiment- were innumerable, and it wasn't on one occasion when the Templars and older apprentices laughed at the matching grins they sported after Greagoir had stormed off with smoke figuratively- and sometime literally- spewing from his ears.

Soon, five years after the two had had their first lesson together, Jowan and Anders were drawn into their little fold, and together they became known as the 'Terrors of the Tower', playing pranks on anyone and everyone. Their preferred targets were the Templars who didn't stay true to their oaths, and abused the system that the Chantry had put in place to protect the mages. They made life for those few as hard and degrading as possible, all whilst never getting caught.

Unfortunately for them, these Templars were more cunning than they had anticipated, and had caught wind of their reputation. And soon, the tables had turned completely, forcing Anders to escape yet _again_, Jowan to seek solace in the chapel, and for Dylan and Neria to glance over their shoulders every second of the day.

It was during one of these days, three years ago, that Neria ran into Cullen, a new recruit from Denerim. It was also on the same day that Dylan nearly turned the tower into Fereldan's largest matchstick.

He remembered it as if it were yesterday:

* * *

_Dylan was walking quite calmly towards the library, already planning the next set of tests he wanted to run on the batch of fire crystals he'd procured from the stockroom. He hummed as he walked, the tune all but forgotten but the melody still safe in his mind. He nodded to some of the kinder Templars as he passed, smiling as they nodded back. _Always good to remember they're not all mage-hating simpletons_ he thought as he continued on his way, descending the stairs to the second floor. _

_Soon, however, his hackles began to rise as he saw an abnormal number of apprentices running about in seemingly a mad panic. He grabbed one by the shoulder. "What's happening?" he asked, his face a mask of polite inquiry. The mageling- no older than thirteen- looked like he had come face-to-face with a rage demon. _

_"There's muffled screaming coming from one of the quarters" he explained, his tone as quick and shaky as the rest of him. The message was clearest in the finger pointing down the east corridor, and his eyes were wild and unruly. _

_Dylan's mental barriers immediately slammed into place, his mind going from 'something's strange' to 'someone's in danger' in less time than it took to blink. _

_As he turned to go down the corridor, the mage called out "It happened right after some Templars dragged some elf girl in there and ordered us out!" _

_He stopped, his blood turning to ice in his veins. "This elf girl" he said, very slowly so as to make sure his words were not garbled in his fear, "did she have black hair and green eyes?" The apprentice nodded, and Dylan's heart froze in his chest. Before anyone could react he was sprinting towards the source of the screams- which he could now clearly hear. _

Oh Neria_ he lamented, _you had to choose today to go walkabout didn't you? _He barreled through a large horde of people, his pace never slowing, before he arrived at a wooden door behind which the shrill screams and repeated cries of "No!" and "Let go!" came from. _

_Without thinking, Dylan kicked the door open- magic flared and easily compensated for his lack of body strength- hoping to stop whatever actions the Templars had planned before they could take place. He was too late. There, tied to the posts of a bed Neria lay, her robes in tatters and blood seeping from multiple wounds, tears streaming down her elegant face. And, standing around her were six Templars, each in a different state of undress._

_Some were shirtless, others lacking in trousers, whilst the boldest were completely bare. _

_Behind him, he heard the slight clank of armour, and a strangled gasp of surprise, but that was all secondary. What mattered right now was Neria's bloodied body, strapped to a bed by the belts of her attackers. The edges of his vision began to shimmer, like how a heat haze affects the surrounding air. _

_"Well well!" one of the Templars, now recognizable as Ser Bryant Oswick, sneered. He had gained a reputation for cruelty and sadism amongst the Circle, and seemed to enjoy tormenting anyone he deemed beneath him. He stood, remarkably calmly for a man naked before his fellows "if it isn't the Terror of the Tower himself. Come to join your little friend here?" _

_The others laughed cruelly at his questions- sycophants!- and Dylan's hands clenched tightly into fists, the shimmering now completely encompassing his vision, and he swore he heard a dull roar in the back of his mind, like that of a large enraged beast. _

_Then another voice spoke, a voice no one expected to hear. _

_"Dear Maker, are you idiots mad!" the heavy boom of Cullen's voice startled everyone; never had they heard such fury from the soft-spoken recruit. He stood, holding his sword in a death-grip, his pupils so large they dominated his eyes, the blue completely obscured by the black. _

_Bryant simply smirked, before gesturing at Neria's bruised form, saying "Jealous Cullen? You could join in you know. No one's stopping you. In fact I was planning on taking the knife-eared whore myself, but now you're here I'll safe a bit, just for you." _

_Dylan's teeth ground against each other with a terrible creak, and his body thrummed with barely-restrained emotion. Some people see red when their rage becomes unbearable, others see black. _

_Dylan only saw fire. _

_He felt heat blossom within his chest, and power surge through his veins. With a bellow of rage he thrust his arm outwards, creating a wave of fire that crashed into the group, sending them tumbling to the floor. Cullen quickly cut Neria free of her bonds and carried her bridal style out of the room. _

_But Dylan's focus was centred purely on the figures before him. Sprawled on the ground, moaning in pain or hissing as fire licked at their skin. Dylan distantly wondered if he'd blacked out at any point – the bastards seemed to have turned into terrified wrecks absurdly fast – but then his eyes fell on Bryant again and logic gave way to fire again. With a wave of his hand he summoned another wall of flame, sending it twisting and spinning around him, creating a vortex of fire with him at the center. _

_Bryant wouldn't be getting past him and to the door._

_The Templars who weren't knocked down by the first blast paled in terror as he walked towards them, the vortex following him across the room like a second shadow; a deadly, fiery, crackling thing. Those lucky enough to be knocked behind him fled out the door, heedless to their state of undress, the fear all too present in their eyes. Those who remained were either screaming as they were burnt alive or trying to escape the raging inferno and a similarly grisly fate. _

_Bryant was quivering on the floor, somehow inside the flaming column without being singed, his eyes fixed on the wild mage before him. The templar looked as if he was seeing someone or something he hadn't laid eyes on before. Dylan smirked at the sight, knowing he must have become quite the figure. His hair whipped around him in the flaming wind, the tails of his robes flapping like wings behind him. It was strange that Bryant was staring at his face instead of any of that. _

_A reflection of his face in the glass of a picture frame told him why. It was his eyes. They were no longer the golden brown everyone knew. T__hey had become a horrifying amalgamation of gold, black and deep crimson, reflecting the light of the flames like two lanterns embedded in his skull._

_"__**Scared, Bryant?**__" he mocked, his voice having dropped several octaves; sounding powerful, otherworldly, nothing more a low draconic rumble. He would have relished this new sound if he weren't so overcome by rage. Dylan advanced, dragging the now shaking Bryant into the air with a telekinetic grip around his throat. He suspended the grovelling Templar just before the writhing wall of flame. _

_"Pl-please" Bryant coughed, spluttering as his air supply was cut, grappling desperately at the intangible clamp around his neck "have m-m-mercy" _

_The laugh that answered him was nothing short of demonic, a chilling sound that slithered over his skin like an overly large snake.__"__**Sorry**__" came the scathing reply, Dylan's eyes hardening as his grip tightened "__**all out of mercy.**__" _

_He then began chanting in Ancient Tevene, the dead language of old Tevinter and her Old Gods It wavered between the tone of a man pronouncing final judgement, and the snarl of something not quite human. _

_But behind him, the thunder of a dozen steel boots could be heard, undoubtedly the Templars had caught word of what had happened and had decided to intervene. '_I'd like to see them try'_ he sneered within the confines of his mind, his grip unconsciously tightening around Bryant's throat as he continued, the flames beginning to roil and writhe around them even harder._

_"Dylan!" Ah, the thunderous voice of the Knight-Commander. No day was complete without it. _

_The mage glanced over his shoulder; never breaking his chant, to see Greagoir, Irving and half a dozen Templars standing in the doorway, the recruits looking halfway between awe and sheer, bowel-clenching terror at the flames that billowed out around them and out into the hallway. Greagoir was, understandably, seething, his sword partway out of its sheath on his back, his eyes locked on the tear-stained face of Bryant. It was Irving, however, that seemed to reach Dylan furthest, without actually doing anything._

_ His eyes, old and wise, cut through his anger like sunlight cuts through mist. Dylan felt the fire wither and die; the flaming wall winking out as he fell to his knees, suddenly exhausted. A pair of arms caught him before he buried his nose in the rugs, nearly fainting from exhaustion. He made out the blurred figure of Irving, saying something he could not hear, his hearing having apparently given up any hope of returning in the near future. _

_The only clear thing he saw, however; was the sight of Bryant rising from his prone spot on the floor, with a large serrated knife in his hand, a snarl of humiliated outrage contorting his face. _

_"__**NO**__!" the cry tore itself from his lips before his mind could register the sound, his hand shooting forward, seemingly of its own accord, casting a bolt of crimson energy. It collided solidly with Bryant's head, sending it snapping backwards with a sickening crack. The Templar fell, boneless, to the stone floor, and didn't move. Dylan suddenly lurched to his feet, the adrenalin still flooding his veins. _

_Both Templar and mage alike attempted to restrain him, and he struggled mightily against them. But ultimately, his series of stunts had worn him down so far that he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. The last thing he remembered before the darkness claimed him was seeing Neria standing in the doorway, her green elven eyes wide as dinner platters and her face white as a sheet. _

_He last thought was laced with shock and underlying terror:_ She had seen everything.

_And in the end, the consequences of that were not what he'd expected._

* * *

Dylan shook his head to clear the unpleasant memories, bringing his focus back to the here and now. He was just outside Irving's office, with his hand braced against the wall, his books spread across the floor. He sighed and began gathering up the dropped tomes.

"Wow" a melodious voice floated down the hall, tickling his eardrums "and here I thought you couldn't get any clumsier." He looked up to see Neria casually walking down the corridor, the hem of her sapphire robes swishing around her ankles like water lapping at her legs. It seemed to hug her figure without being too unseemly, and seemed to amplify her existing charm.

He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the sight of her carefree grin, her eyes two sparkling emeralds.

Then she saw the shadow lurking in his eyes, the lack of the usual spark that burned there, and her smile dropped.

"What did you see?" she said softly, using their traditional phrase they'd developed so others would know when he was close to losing control. He had an array of response words, each one signalling a different state of mind.

He simply smiled at her, trying to disarm her and drive her off topic. Instead of distracting her like he had intended, her gaze sharpened and hardened, becoming like silverite daggers.

"What. Did. You. _See_?" she reiterated, enforcing each word by poking him hard in the chest. He swatted the offending finger aside, before latching onto her wrist to halt her assault.

"The beginning" he deadpanned, his voice bland and apathetic. Neria's anger melted instantly, being replaced by soft sorrow. She didn't say anything, simply wrapped her arms around his ribs and hugged him, tears slowly gathering in her eyes. Dylan looked down, his heart almost tearing itself in two at the sight of Neria in tears. He gathered her in his arms, rubbing small comforting circles in the small of her back whilst whispering soothing words into her hair.

If there was one thing that could be said about Dylan Amell, he was insanely protective of his friends.

"Ah, there you are!" Dylan looked up as Irving and Wynne rounded the corner, Neria shifting slightly in his arms. Wynne gave them a motherly smile before motioning Neria to follow her. The she-elf slipped out of Dylan's grasp and scurried after the older Enchanter, turning back only to wave goodbye before disappearing behind the wall.

Dylan sighed, gathered up his books and accompanied Irving into his office. The vast room was as much a home as the hovel he remembered from Denerim's residential district. He set the tomes down on a nearby shelf before proceeding to Irving's desk, taking his usual seat opposite the First Enchanter.

Irving sifted through the chest in the corner, searching for Maker knew what- it was nearly impossible to tell what went on in that man's head when he was in certain moods- before emerging triumphant with five scrolls clasped in his gnarled hands.

"Ah, here we are" he said, his time-worn voice amazingly cheerful, his wizened frame moving with such ease to bely his true age. He spread one of the scrolls across his desk before passing another to Dylan's waiting hands. "This is for you; I trust you'll know what to do with it."

Dylan nodded before unrolling it, studying the words for a few moments before rising form his chair. He turned to leave, and had almost reached the door when Irving called "Oh Dylan?" He glanced over his shoulder as Irving continues, "I've set your Harrowing for two days' time, right after Neria's." The older mage looked up into his protégé's eyes, a sly smile on his lips. "Try not to demolish the chamber whilst you're up there? I think I've endured as much of Greagoir's ranting as an old man can stand."

Chuckling at his mentor's wry humour, Dylan left his office and began the return trip to the Apprentice Quarters, to prepare for the final stage of his apprenticeship.

If he'd known what long and dangerous road had just opened for him, one that would lead him and his friends to honour and glory through the fires of the worst hell imaginable, he probably wouldn't have been quite so amused at the prospect.


	2. Chapter 1- A Harrowing Experience

**Aaaaand I'm back! SO sorry for the late update, just came back from holiday and had to crash for a bit so my mind could reboot. Anyway, here's the beginning of the Origin quest, so enjoy and review.**

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Dylan awoke to the sight of Templars entering the chambers. Well, 'awoke' was the wrong term. 'Forcefully dragged out of his bed in the dead of night and his face dunked in ice water' would have been a far more accurate description.

"Andraste's tits man!" he swore, spluttering as he shook some of the water out of his hair "do you have any idea what time it is?!"

Cullen grinned down at him before seizing the mage by his armpits and hoisted him to his feet whilst others dusted himself down, smoothing the creases out of his robe before getting his bearings.

"It's time, isn't it?" the words were out of his mouth before his sleep-addled brain could completely process them. Cullen nodded solemnly, his usually bright eyes sombre and subdued as he and another Templar flanked him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. _Damn_, Dylan thought as he began the long climb to the Harrowing Chamber, _they actually care_. He walked quietly, not willing to wake anyone else at this Maker-forsaken hour, although the effort was ruined when you have two heavily armoured goliaths clomping beside you.

He glanced around as they entered the main hall, his mind dredging up a thousand memories of days spent here. He could almost hear the phantom voices, laughing and shouting as only children can, and pictured them running through the halls with bright smiles on their faces.

He sighed, feeling inhumanly tired and unnaturally old. _This is what happens when you get woken up during the wee hours of the morning_ he thought, bewildered by how he could feel old at the tender age of twenty.

_Is this how Irving feels every day?_ Dylan pondered, feeling a stirring of sympathy for his mentor as he felt heavy weights seep into his bones. They were quickly banished as he raced forward, eager to get this entire process out of the way.

"Damn Dylan, slow down!" came Cullen's amused shout from behind him, the two Templars thundering down the halls in order to keep up. Dylan just laughed and ran on, dodging through old hallways and cold, empty rooms.

It was at the base of the stairs leading to the Harrowing chamber, as he slumped against the wall, that the full seriousness of the situation hit him like a High Dragon tail to the face. There was a very real chance of him dying before the sun rose, of him never seeing the sun rise again, or the stars in all their mysterious glory. He had thought of death before, who hadn't, but the fact that he could die today was most disturbing.

Most people thought of death to only occur in their twilight years, or on some bloodied battlefield which would quickly fade from memory. But for Dylan, the fact that he could die in the next few hours- hell, the next few minutes- was like a dragon's talon digging into his chest.

He stumbled and fell, his hand shooting forward to slam into the rough stonework of the wall to prevent his face from connecting with bone-crushing force, his knees scraping against the rugs through the fabric of his robes, as tears began to build in his eyes. He savagely swiped them away, despite the tightness in his chest. One of the cardinal rules of the Circle that was drilled into every new apprentice by the elder ones: show no weakness.

So as Cullen rounded the corner, Dylan's face was his usual mask of humorous nonchalance, burying the fear and terror deep beneath. As they rose through the levels, Dylan began the lengthy process of preparing his mind for every possible situation that could occur. And so it was, with the air of a condemned man walking to the headsman's block, the young mage took his first step into the Harrowing Chamber.

* * *

The first thing that struck Dylan about the Harrowing Chamber was the sheer amount of light. Barely any torches lined the walls, instead vast volumes of moonlight shone through the many windows in the circular wall. The silver beams illuminated the room better than any number of candles or torches ever could. The next was the unmistakable bulk of the Knight-Commander standing tall next to the silhouette of the First Enchanter, before one of the great windows.

"_Magic exists to server man, and never to rule over him_" Greagoir quoted, striding forward with a determined gait. "So spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but also a curse. Demons of the dream realm- the Fade- are drawn to you; and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." He looked over Dylan's shoulder and gave a slight nod, indicating a change in spokesman.

"This is why the Harrowing exists." the wizened and very much welcome voice of Irving resounded in his ears as he walked behind him to stand at his right shoulder, "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

Dylan blinked owlishly, his mind going into overdrive to comprehend what he had just heard. Face a demon? With barely any preparation? It made sense, to some degree, as it recreated the most likely conditions of a possible demon attack, and when a mage would be at their weakest.

"What happens if I do not defeat the demon?" he asked, more out of a sense of morbid curiosity than anything else. The thinning of Irving's mouth and the tightening of the skin around Greagoir's eyes spoke volumes.

"Then you will become an abomination, and we will slay you where you stand." That was the only answer Greagoir needed to give, but the words still chilled him to the bone.

This was why Templars were universally despised and feared by mages; their apparent Maker-given-right to execute any mage they suspected of being possessed. But in this case, it was the only hope of salvation he had. He looked Cullen dead in the eye, catching the slightly terrified gleam in the Templar's iris, and sent a single message across the gap. _Whatever you do, don't hesitate_.

His gaze then drifted to the pedestal in the centre of the room, the turquoise glow making it an immediate eye-catcher. Greagoir, noticing the direction of his eyes, elaborated. "This is lyrium, the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."

Dylan's eyes narrowed as he stared at the pool, then he noticed the hungry leers of some of the Templar's in the room. Poor sods he thought, remembering that lyrium addiction was how the Chantry leashed the Templars and kept them in line. All mages knew that, and the Templars knew that they knew, but each side pretended they didn't. Irving then seized him by the shoulders and turned him round so he faced the First Enchanter.

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity child" he explained, giving his protégé a soft but firm shake "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you." He released his grip on Dylan's shoulders before continuing, using his hands to emphasise his points. "Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real." Greagoir took a step forward, his disapproval plain to see.

"The apprentice must go through this test _alone_, First Enchanter." Irving may have been chagrined at being interrupted, but he gave no sign as he stepped away. Greagoir gestured towards the pedestal, stepped aside so as to grant clear access.

"You _are_ ready" his words left no room for misinterpretation; Dylan either accepted the test, or he would be slain were he stood. Taking a fortifying breath, and one final glance at Irving, the young mage straightened his spine, pushed his shoulders back and marched to the pedestal. He glanced down at the light blue liquid, a sliver of hate emerging at the sight of the substance that had caused so much pain over the centuries, and slowly placed his hand on the centre.

A bright light engulfed his hand as the specially-treated lyrium infused his skin. He stared at it in mild confusion before the light grew in intensity, blinding in its brightness, and darkness claimed him, whisking him away from the world.

* * *

Dylan awoke with a pounding head, rising from the dusty ground, a hand clutching his skull. He blinked as his mind caught up with current events.

"So this is the Fade?" he asked rhetorically, glancing around the mind-bending landscape, soaking it in. "Not bad" a sly smirk slithered onto his face and his eyes began to twinkle with a familiar mischievous gleam "Not bad at all."

He noticed a path off to the right and turned to follow; barely hearing the slow, deep thuds off in the distance, like a great pair of wings in flight. He strolled through the Fade, observing everything with a critical eye and occasionally blasting the few wisps that attacked him. Yet the wing beats- as he referred to them- continued, and seemed to grow closer.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever?!" Dylan immediately looked around for the source of the voice, before glancing down at…a rat? Yep, a talking rat. He was definitely going mad. "It's not right they do this, the Templars. Not to you, me, anyone!" the mouse exclaimed, in an oddly human voice, which made Dylan raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You're…a rat. A talking rat." Despite the obviousness of the statement, Dylan couldn't stop the words slipping out.

The mouse laughed before saying "You think you're here? In that body? You look like that because you think you do!" it sighed before continuing "It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?" the rat suddenly flashed with eye-stabbing brilliance, causing Dylan to throw up his arm to shield his sight. When the light faded, another mage clad in crimson robes stood before him, his arms open in greeting.

"Allow me to welcome you to the Fade" he said with a sarcastic drawl, dropping his arms as the deprecating smile fell from his face "you can call me…well, Mouse." Dylan snorted at the irony of the name, rolling his eyes before glancing pointedly at the spirit.

"Not your real name, I take it?" he asked, arms folded across his chest, using one hand to gesture whilst raising an eyebrow in query. Mouse shook his head, replying "No. I can't remember anything from…before." He began to pace, hands folded primly behind his back, as he explained. "The Templars kill you if you take too long, you see" his said, his voice slowly gaining passion as he built up his rant "They figure you failed, and they don't want anything getting out." He swept his arms forward beseechingly, his eyes pleading for understanding. "That's what happened to me, I think. Now I have no body to go back to!" Dylan blanched at the thought of never being able to return to his body, never being able to see any of his friends again.

Then Irving's words rang in his mind, back from one of his very first lessons: s_pirits and demons rule the Fade, do not trust everything they say or do_. Dylan suddenly became very, very cautious, unsure if this was all an elaborate ruse. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at his new friend. Mouse blinked, his mouth agape as though the answer was as obvious as the sun rising in the east.

"Are you so cynical that you would even think I would allow another poor soul to suffer through the same torture I did?!" the question was more of a distorted screech that clawed at Dylan's eardrums. He grimaced in pain, hands twitching at his sides to resist the urge to slam them over his ears.

"Can't really blame me" he grunted, shaking his head to eliminate the residual ringing "this IS the Fade, after all." Mouse stopped suddenly, every muscle in his body freezing before speaking, his voice curt and clipped. "There's something powerful caged here, just for you. That's your way out." With a flash of light he transformed back into his rat form, scurrying toward Dylan's boot. "I'll just stick around; make sure nothing does too badly wrong."

Dylan sighed as the rat crawled into his shadow, rubbing his temples with the thumb and ring finger of his right hand. Things were never simple, were they? He abandoned his musing in favour of continuing down the path, at a slightly quicker pace than before. He passed an enclosed arena, with flames flickering against the back wall. He ignored Mouse's comments in favour of observing with his own two eyes. Soon, he saw a spirit clad in what appeared to be Templar armour, with weapon racks surrounding it bristling with swords and axes, whilst it held a finely wrought staff in its hands. "Another spirit here" Mouse said with exasperation "it never lived up to its name, to me." Dylan ignored him as he strode towards the spirit. Noticing him, the spirit carefully leant the staff against one of the racks before turning to face him fully.

"Another mortal thrown to the flames and left to burn, I see" the spirit said conversationally, its voice seeming to echo across the Fade as it resonated in Dylan's ears, masking the sound of beating wings that had been diluted by the ambient noise. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, then to be sent unarmed against a demon."

Dylan found himself nodding in agreement, saying "I agree, but didn't have a choice." The spirit nodded, replying with a quick "Indeed; that fault lies with those in your tower" The spirit's tone turned thoughtful, and it shifted back onto its heels as it continued "That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come!" Bubbling with curiosity, Dylan asked "What virtue are you, _spiritus bonus_?" tilting his head in puzzlement, the Tevinter phrase sliding in unconsciously.

The spirit laughed, a deep booming laugh that rolled through the air like mist. "I am a Spirit of Valor, mortal" it replied, the humour never leaving its voice "It would appear that not all apprentices are of limited knowledge of the Fade as most would assume." Suddenly, Valor's head snapped around to look Dylan dead in the eye, all other sounds fading to almost nothing aside from one.

The beat of those infernal wings- their owners refusing to show themselves- seem to flood the air and pound against his eardrums. Then the sound of a mighty roar shattered the air, the noise resonating across the Fade and deep in Dylan's bones.

"You know that sound, do you not?" Valor asked, his tone knowing as his eyes bore into Dylan's skull. Dylan cocked his head to one side, listening intently. The sound was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Listen well, burn it to memory." Valor said sagely, turning back to his staff "for when you here it again, it will be the day your life is forever changed." Dylan didn't respond, still deep in thought with placing the sound. He was dragged from his musing when he heard the shimmering sound of magic.

He glanced at Valor's staff, then at his bare hands, and asked "What would I have to do to earn one of your weapons?" The question came so suddenly that even Mouse squeaked in surprise. Valor merely blinked, saying "Defeat me in honourable combat, and you will have earned your staff" He then selected a sword from a nearby rack. "Are the terms understood?" the spirit asked as he began to circle the cornered mage. Dylan merely nodded, then dived to the side as Valor lunged at him to avoid getting gored through the ribcage. Summoning ghostly fire, he shot a stream of superheated flame at the spirit, watching as it engulfed his heavily-armoured form. To ensure the spirit was defeated, he threw a bolt of arcane energy into the conflagration, hearing a satisfying ping as it collided with armour. "

You have proved yourself, mortal" the voice of Valor echoed from behind him, and he spun around to see the spirit burn free, holding the staff in question in his hands. "Per the rules of our duel, this staff is yours." As his fingers closed around the haft, Dylan internally gawped at the sheer amount of power that coursed through it. He gaped for a few seconds before a strangled "Many thanks, noble spirit" emerged from his throat. He then turned on his heels and began to walk away from the spirit. Valor watched him leave, waiting until Dylan was out of earshot before muttering a quiet "_Honor meus est, o Princeps Dracones_" and disappearing back into the Fade.

* * *

Dylan, unaware of the spirit's final words, continued his stroll through the realm of dreams. He had to dispatch three spirit wolves when they got a little too inquisitive, marveling at the abilities of his new staff. Soon, he saw what appeared to be a Bereskarn sleeping near a wall.

"Careful, there's another spirit here, not the one hunting you, but still…" Mouse trailed, unable to finish his sentence. The point was clear enough; if it was another demon Dylan would have to be on his toes. As he approached the beast stirred, opening one amber eye to stare them down.

"Ah, so you, are the mortal, being hunted?" the voice sounded refined if weary, each small phrase followed by a slight yawn "And the small one? Is he to be a snack-" another yawn "-for me?" Mouse suddenly transformed into his human form, saying "I…don't like this. He's not going to help us. We should go." The hostility in his voice was almost palpable, which immediately got Dylan curious. The spirit sighed, lumbering to its feet with a mighty thud. "No matter. The demon will get you, eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left." The relish with which the spirit said that sent chills running down Dylan's spine and confirming his fears. But, like everything that ran through his head, he had to be sure.

"What kind of spirit are you?" It was Mouse who answered, much to their mutual amazement. "It's a demon." he said simply "Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you." Dylan sighed, his fears confirmed. The demon echoed his actions, before crying "Begone! Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already." As Sloth lowered himself to the ground, Dylan tried a different tact. "I need help defeating a demon" he started, fully aware of Sloth's most likely answer, yet still wanting to try and gain aid. Sloth yawned- predictably- before sighing "You have a very nice staff. Why would you need me? Go; use your weapon since you've earned it. Be valorous." Dylan snorted in annoyance, if there was ever an embodiment of laziness; it was the demon lounging before him.

Mouse cocked his head to one side, examining Sloth before saying "He looks powerful. He could teach you to become like him." That caught Dylan's interest. He had heard of mages that could change their forms at will, mages living far beyond the reach of the Templars, in the distant corners of the world. He had researched these 'shapeshifters' extensively, scouring nearly every book on the topic- both from the extensive library and those he…acquired, elsewhere- learning everything he could possibly find about them.

Many of these 'hedge witches', as they were known, had learned the art of copying the form of any animal they came across. To assume its form, they had to study it; it's lifestyle, its movements, its diet, how it thought, how it acted. They had to literally learn how that animal lived so as to create a near exact replica and interpose it over their own bodies. This gave them a plethora of advantages over their more civilised kin. They could traverse any terrain, provided they possessed a form better suited to it than their human one. They could quite easily survive in the wilderness, whereas others not trained in their art would most likely struggle. He had begged Irving to teach him, or send him to someone else who could, some of this seemingly lost magic, but each time he had been turned down. So the idea was not a new one, but the chance to actually try sent Dylan's heart a-pounding.

His hopes were once again dashed as Sloth chuckled, again lazily opening one eye to stare incredulously at them. "Why would a mortal change to another form? They seem too attached to their current one to even be inclined to." Dylan had to concede that much was true: humans were incredibly attached to their bodies, and it was very hard to convince anyone to let go of their own senses and see the world through the eyes of another, 'lesser' creature. _Unless it's a dragon_ he thought wryly, imagining how many mages would jump at the chance to transform into one of those majestic beasts. Then another thought struck him, astounding in its simplicity, yet incredibly useful if utilized correctly.

"I may not be able to change" he suddenly declared, turning his gaze meaningfully to Mouse "but _you_ can." A look of mild amusement passed over the mage's face, before being replaced by abject terror. It happened so quickly Dylan doubted anything had actually happened.

"Uh, I don't think I'd make a very good bear" he said quickly, his eyes darting to the shifting ground "how would I hide?" Dylan's patience had finally reached breaking point, Mouse's constant 'avoidance' of his problems were what had landed him in this mess to begin with. "Sometimes you can't run from your problems!" he snapped, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended, but his frustration overrode his common sense. It had the desired effect though; Mouse froze as he had before, every muscle going tense for a few moments.

"Alright, I see your point" his response was followed by his entire torso slumping forward. Sloth eyed him, not wary, nor overly excited. Simply curious. "Teach him how to change" Dylan said, his words more of a demand than a request, but he had little patience left. Sloth sighed, before giving a simple proposition. "I give you a test of riddles. Pass, and you shall have you seek. Fail, and I shall devour you both. Deal?" Mouse looked at Dylan in alarm, his eyes as wide as dinner platters. Dylan mulled the problem over in his mind. On one hand, he didn't know that the demon would keep his word and not simply devour them on the spot. But on the other, they really needed the help. "Very well" he declared "I agree to your terms, Sloth." Mouse started looking truly afraid whilst Sloth lay back down, resting his massive head on his paws.

"Truly? This gets more and more promising. The first riddle: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?" Dylan smiled at that one; that had been the most common riddle used in the mental dexterity tests Uldred often ran, to help mages increase the flexibility of their thinking.

"A map" he said confidently, certain that he had got the answer. There was a slight pause, where silence filled the air and tension grew. "Hmm, correct" was Sloth's slightly chagrined response, obviously feeling cheated of his meal. "The second riddle: I am rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?" Dylan paused, examining each and every part of the riddle, going over it word by word. This was tricky, he actually had to think about the answer. _Better than becoming demon munchies_ he thought, still mulling over the answer. "My tongue?" he said slowly, his voice rising at the end so it sounded more of a question than an answer.

Obviously Sloth was used to such answers, and sighed with "Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try, shall we?" Dylan smiled slightly in triumph, his skill with deduction and word play wasn't completely rusty it seemed. Sloth seemed to grow agitated, knowing he only had one last chance to trick them and gain his meal. "The last riddle:" this he said with a note of finality "Always will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee; I'll amuse you an entire eve but alas, you won't remember me. What am I?" Dylan stilled, as motionless as a granite statue, his mind working furiously to try and find some hint, some detail that he could use to find the answer. Moments passed, yet he could not find one. Sweat beaded his brow as his mind became a whirlwind of possibilities, each one nearly as ridiculous as the licked his lips, sensing his impending meal. Mouse looked on nervously, both fear and something else warring in his eyes, something decidedly not quite human, even for a mage.

Dylan screamed in frustration, little more than a very low shriek, the sound of his cry echoing unnaturally across the Fade, bouncing like a stone skipping over water. It was the sound of the echoes that gave him the thread he had been grasping for, his mind going back to Greagior's words before the ritual: _Demons from the dream realms- the Fade- seek to use you as a gateway into our world_. And what lasted an eve yet no one ever completely remembered but a dream?

"A dream" he said, spinning to stare Sloth straight in the eye "the answer is a dream." The silence that followed seemed to stretch infinitely, the tension thick enough to cut with a dragonbone knife. "Hmm, you are, correct" came the rather annoyed response "rather apropos here in the Fade, no?" It was all Dylan could do to stifle the urge to bounce around in celebration, something he hadn't done since he was seven. Sloth once again lumbered to his feet, his eyes burning with indignation. Although he may have lost, demons were nothing if not businessmen (_business-spirits?_) and so stuck to the original deal they had made.

Thus Sloth was bound to his word, teaching Mouse how to transform and utilize his new form. "Go then, defeat your demon" were Sloth's parting words as he disappeared back into the haze, his eyes boring into Dylan's whilst seeming to say: _and good luck with that_. Dylan shrugged, he'd gotten this far, no point stopping now. He strode back towards the arena he'd passed earlier, a now bear-formed Mouse lumbering beside him.

They encountered more spirit wolves on their way, dispatching them even quicker than before; Mouse's claws slashing through the wolves' ethereal forms like a hot sword through butter, whilst Dylan dispatched the others beyond the bear's reach with fire, ice, lightning and the odd boulder. But as they neared the arena the air grew hotter, like walking nearer to a dwarven furnace, sweat beginning to soak into Dylan's robes whilst the staff became slick in his hand. Mouse was surprising unaffected despite the thick layer of fur that coated his body, which Dylan found strange. The Fade is a place of illusion he thought, trying to rationalise the phenomenon this heat could simply be another. When they arrived at the arena proper, there was something already waiting for them. A creature of flame, shapeless yet not, nothing more than a blob with arms and burning orange eyes, crawled out of the ground, liquid fire spewing from the chasm left in its wake. "And there is a spirit of rage" Mouse explained, narrowing his eyes at the demon. Dylan swept his staff up into a ready position whilst calmly approaching the demon (he was inexperienced, not stupid.) As if sensing him, the rage demon swung its gaze to land squarely on Dylan, its eyes glared balefully and filled with hate. "Soon I shall see the world through your eyes, mortal" the demon said, its voice as malevolent as its appearance, low and threatening, and so full of certainty as to border on arrogance. Dylan raised a condescending eyebrow, probably not the best idea but at this point he really didn't care.

"If you want me" he challenged, baring his staff before him and setting his feet "come and get me." The demon narrowed its eyes yet further, reducing them to nothing more than mere slits in its head. "Oh, I shall" it snarled, glaring at him before noticing Mouse at his side, in human form this time. "So this is your gift to me Mouse?" it asked, gesturing to Dylan with a twig-like arm "I thought you could do better." Mouse bared his teeth in a savage snarl, apparently having gained some courage during their little jaunt.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore!" he cried, raising his hand in a 'come at me' gesture "I'm not doing anything for you any longer!" The demon quieted, saying only "Aw, and after all those meals we shared" before turning his gaze back to Dylan. The mage's mind swam, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Mouse had been a thrall to a demon? The idea seemed absurd, almost impossible. But he had no more time to think, for the demon had decided to charge him. Sweeping his staff up and over his shoulders, he grew in every scrap of fire surrounding him, creating a small flaming wall behind him. It was a good idea, because not a second later six wasp wraiths appeared around them, four of them getting caught in the flames. Mouse charged the other two in bear form, trying to bat them out of the air as a cat might do to a sparrow.

Dylan had his hands full of rage demon, desperately trying to juggle both dealing damage and not getting hit, which is actually a lot harder than it sounds. The small number of ice spells he used seemed to have the greatest effect, but they took time of cast, time that right now he didn't have. The demon swiped at him with its claws, aiming for his abdomen and meeting the haft of the mage's staff halfway. It looked up just in time to receive a lightning bolt straight to the face, followed by a rather small ice blast. Dylan could feel the fires around him, each one like a beacon in his mind.

_Fire, flames… rage?_

His idea was ludicrous, but that would explain why the demon stuck out so clearly to his senses. It was like a walking furnace, churning out such vast quantities of heat you could have melted red steel in it. He tried to draw from the demon's fire, to try and separate at least a part from the original body. Hence his surprise when the demon all but screeched as one of its arms detached from its shoulder, falling to the ground in a puddle of liquid fire. The demon roared at him, trying to charge him before he could try anything else, sliding across the arena as fast as a man could run.

But before the demon could inflict its terrible and- most likely incredibly painful- retribution, Mouse blindsided it in a shower of sparks and cinders, dragging it to the ground as he tore at its face. Dylan stood panting, leaning heavily on his staff, as the demon slipping back into the fiery chasm from whence it came, and disappearing back into the ground. Mouse transformed into his human form again, standing in the middle of the arena, a small smile playing across his face.

"You did it!" he cheered, his smile transforming into a full-blown grin "you defeated your demon and proved your worth as a mage!" Dylan smiled, but couldn't help feeling he wasn't missing a rather piece of the puzzle. "I don't know" he said, doubt knowing at his gut "it seemed a little too easy." A flicker of doubt appeared on Mouse's face, but gone in less than a heartbeat, but it had been there. "That's because you are one of the worthy, one of the truly great mages." Then Mouse's expression turned coy, and Dylan knew that the demon he'd faced wasn't the true test. "And maybe there's a place for me somewhere in there? A little help, perhaps?" the statement was phrased as a question, but the entire idea sent a dangerous shiver down Dylan's spine.

"The people who trapped you, what were their names?" he asked suddenly, apparently out of the blue, which was his intent. Mouse mentally staggered, completely off guard by the sudden topic change. "I'm…not sure. I already told you, I don't remember anything from before!" the indignation with which he said it confirmed Dylan's hypothesis; every mage knew the names of the Templars that took them to their Harrowing, even if only in passing. Surely the Circle hadn't changed that much?

"I get a feeling that demon wasn't the true test." Dylan stated, his narrowed gaze fixed firmly of Mouse. His jaw dropped slightly whilst his eyes widened. "What? Of course it was!" Mouse shouted, outraged at the suggestion, "What else could possibly challenge an apprentice of you potential…" Mouse trailed off as he caught the triumphant gleam in Dylan's eye: the bastard had figured him out. "Huh, aren't you a smart one?" Then Mouse's voice changed, becoming lower, deeper and much less human.

"**Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust…Pride.**" And with that, Mouse transformed again; rising to over nine feet tall, his skin changing to purple scales, his head expanding and gaining extra eyes, teeth becoming sharpened fangs, until Dylan stood before the most dangerous of all Fade denizens: a demon of Pride. He staggered back, shocked at the change in size and appearance. Chuckling, it said "**Keep your wits about mage. True tests…****_never end_****.**" and just as Dylan began to leave the Fade behind, he heard it warn "**Beware the dark Call, Dragon Prince, lest it lead you astray from the path...**" before returning to the waking world.

_Review please! Box is waiting!_


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