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feynites · 6 years

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Sharp and Shiny Circle AU

The latest (well, written) Aili x Uthvir AU! Co-written with @lillotte17, wherein Aili is a Circle Mage (of sorts) and the Nightmare is the tower’s resident haunt.

Aili is six when her magic first comes to her. Trapped and screaming in the dark of a small cave. Petrified and all alone. Her desperation manifests in an explosion of heat and flame that nearly kills her along with the scurrying beasts she had been trying to fend off. As luck would have it, the blast also manages to knock a fair amount of stone and earth loose from the mouth of the cavern where it had collapsed in on itself earlier when a deafening crash of thunder and lightning had sent the whole place quaking. It takes nearly twenty minutes of burrowing on her part, but she escapes, filthy and crying and slightly singed, but wholly alive.

Even if she is also somewhat scraped and bruised and terrified.

The storm that had caused her to seek shelter in the first place is still raging, though not quite as fiercely as before. She finds herself soaked through, and much farther from Clan Lavellan’s campsite than she had meant to wander, as night begins to fall in the forest. She makes attempts to find the hunting trails her mother had shown her. Halla tracks. Underbrush crushed flat by the wheels of their aravels. But everything looks the same to her eyes in the failing light of day.

Aili trudges aimlessly for a while; slathered in mud from her bare toes clear up to her knees, in what she thinks must be the direction she came from. She can hardly see anything anymore, and her teeth are chattering from the cold settling into her bones, and she wonders if she could maybe make the fire in her hands again. Just to keep warm, and help her find her way.

The first few tries yield no results, but after a while, she discovers that if she screws her face up and concentrates very hard, a half dozen or so tiny sparks will flare around her fingers. She can't quite seem to hold it, so she just keeps walking, and shooting out little puffs of fire every now and then to get a better sense of where she might be headed.

Eventually, she comes upon a road. Which is distressing. The Dalish do not typically use roads, unless the terrain offers no other safe means of travel. Roads mean human settlements. Bandits. Templars. Danger.

Aili crouches down by the foot of a tree and hides her face in her hands. Crying hard, and finally resolved to the fact that she is utterly, hopelessly lost.

Hours pass, until night has well and truly fallen, and there is nothing to see by except for the faintest pinpricks of starlight through the trees. She is stiff with cold, and her clothes are stiff with mud. Her stomach growls loud enough to rival a bear. And she finds that she is almost too exhausted to fall asleep.

Too exhausted to notice when the sound of creaking wooden wheels and a rattling cart being drawing closer to her on the road.

She jerks suddenly into wakefulness, thinking that perhaps it is the sound of an approaching aravel. Bounding to her feet with a joyful cry. A few more of her little sparks to come bursting out of her in excitement.

The horse shies and rears, making a terrible screeching whinny, that has her dashing back towards the side of the road again.

But it is too late.

A pair of figures get down from the cart. A short scrawny man, and a tall dark-skinned woman holding a lantern. They seem mostly interested in seeing to their horse, and making certain the creature does not turn their cart over, and Aili hopes against hope that if she stays very quiet, perhaps they will not think to look for her.

"Here now, Bess, what's got you all a flutter?" the man asks his horse, peering out into the darkness. He seems genuinely surprised when he catches sight of her, and Aili wonders if it would be worth it to try and run away. "Hello there, little one! What are you doing out here in the dark?"

"Raff, you don't suppose tha' flash of light came from her, do ya?" the woman beside him mutters in a deep sooty voice.

"Calm down, Vel, " Raff chides her, "It's jus' a little girl."

He turns back to Aili with a smile. As he walks a few steps closer, she can make out the pointed tips of his ears. Her shoulders relax slightly.

An elf.

Even if he is travelling with a human woman, surely one of her own people would not let anything too terrible happen to her.

"D'you drop your candle in the mud, sweetheart?" he asks her kindly.

Aili knots her fingers together, and shakes her head 'no'. Papae always told her to tell the truth, and Mamae said to respect her elders. And both of them told her not to leave the boundaries of the campsite on her own. They're going to be so mad at her…

The man makes a face, and the woman makes a sound of smug triumph.

"You can make lights with no candles or lanterns?" Raff checks, eyeing her up in a way that makes her wholly uncomfortable. She thinks that he does not want the answer to be 'yes', for some reason. She almost feels brave enough to lie to him about it, but before she can quite muster the courage, the fire poofs out around her fingertips again. He jumps away from her with a curse.

"Get back in the wagon before she sets the whole woods ablaze!" he hisses at his companion, taking her firmly by the elbow. The woman wrenches herself away from him, and gives him such a scathing look, that Aili doesn't imagine he could look more cowed if she had hit him.

"What kind of man are you?" Vel snaps in reply, "You really gonna leave some child out here by her lonesome to get et up by bears and wolves? Probably some poor little urchin cast out by them wild elves that camp in these parts. They toss em out when there're too many wot got magic, don't they? Don't even try to send them to the Circles for proper learnin'. Better off dead than with humans, or some tripe like that. Shameful is what it is."

The man gives her another assessing once-over, and Aili is not quite sure what they are talking about anymore. Wild elves? Magic? Do they think she is a Keeper?

When Raff steps over to her again, he seems wary, but also strangely sad.

"Are you hungry?" he wonders softly.

"Yes," Aili lisps out, too desperately famished to hide it.

"You come with me an' Vel, we'll get you taken care of," he tells her, reaching out to take her hand. "We'll get a nice warm meal in you, and clean you up good and proper, and in the morning, we'll make sure you end up where you belong."

"I wanna go home," Aili says in what is almost a sob, her fingers tightening around Raff's. He has very warm hands. Callused and rough, like her father's.

"It'll be home soon enough," he promises.

It is not often that the Nightmare finds itself trapped, in any significant capacity.

Carelessness, it thinks. A lack of precaution. It is always a lack of precaution which leads to such things. The trick, of course, is knowing what precautions to take. It thought it had, but, time had proven that arrogant. The twisting layers of its realm had been cracked an age ago, when The Body, up above, had finally been destroyed. Blood and lyrium and torn pieces. It had rushed to try and gather what it could, before the memories were all torn away. It would be easier to forget, of course. Easier and more peaceful. But...

That is a luxury they offer to others. Not themselves.

Itself.

Regardless, past is past. The Nightmare had hurried to try and hold onto the pieces, and in so doing, had finally been dislodged from the nest it had built up across the centuries. Dragged closer to the currents of the Waking World, the place it was drawn to; the place most dangerous to it. It would need to build another nest, to go back to its waiting ways. Feeding, in the darkness, on fears and the foreboding dreams of a broken world. But with the memories it had scrambled to catch, the siren's lure of the Waking World had called that much more strongly to it.

Folly.

The mages which had tried to bind it had failed, in part. They had been easy to overwhelm. Their fears were dark, and deep, and in the throws of their terror and paranoia, they had turned on one another. Thoughts of betrayal became a reality, as the trio tore into one another. But their trap was less easily rent apart than their flesh. The Nightmare found itself restricted to a certain quarter of the Fade. Looming and lingering in it, in the shadows below a Circle. And in circles, it wandered. Never starving, of course, for the Circle of the Waking World knew no dearth of fears and dread. But it was too weak to simply break free. To return to its half-forgotten quest, of waiting and seeking safe ways to return.

So, it remained. Feasting on nightmares, growing and growing, as other, lesser demons clustered in its wake, seeking to prey upon the mages above. Seeking folly, for these demons were young, and did not understand the bite of blades, or the heavy weight of the world they sought. They had never known it.

The Nightmare had.

It remembered. Not perfectly. But enough.

It is there for a long time, before it meets Her.

Another mage. Elven. Small. She has been in the Circle for some years. Bad dreams, of spiders and shadows, and losing people. Being lost and trapped. Forgetting. Normal fears for any Circle mage. The Nightmare had not seen her fully until the Harrowing. That was when it saw most mages for the first time. Pulled into the Fade, trapped among the demons, with swords at their backs. It had made a habit of watching many Harrowings, but rarely interfered. Most of the mages of this Circle were humans. Round-eared, pale-faced, caught in fleeting years. They did not seem... right, for any opportunities beyond providing sustenance. The templars were always close, on the other side.

But this... She is different.

An elf, yes, darker and more fair than most of the others in this place, small and bright-eyed and steady as she walks into the dream. That alone would not be enough to capture its interest, and yet, the Nightmare finds itself drawn in. There is something about her face. It does not quite grasp what, but the fact that is drawn at all compels it, and brings it in further. It remembers... a woman of importance. Or women? Someone. She?

The Lady?

A beating heart. Heartbeat...?

The mage has one of those, certainly, though as with all others who come to be Harrowed, the continued beating of Her heart hangs on a thin thread.

The lesser demons move in. A demon of Anger is the most potent in this region, apart from the Nightmare, but it is still not much compared to them. Fear is the most potent resource in this place. The Nightmare is drawn into the dream as well, though. Unprecedented. The Harrowing trap is not strong enough to hold it, not like the ancient summoning, built into the lines of this Circle. But its own interest in Her is enough that they are swept up by the currents of summoning anyway.

They could leave. The Lady is dangerous, they know that. The mage does not seem to be much of a threat, but appearances are deceiving.

But...

They have seen mages killed by the lesser demons in these Harrowings. By the templars, too. Their deaths echoing through the Dreaming, as they are cut down before it is done. The fear they feel in those moments is potent. The Nightmare has built minions of it, a thousand spiders that lurk in the corners of the Circle, and gnaw at the walls of their prison. If She dies, then they will never know what has drawn themselves to her. That could be dangerous as well. A persistent mystery, perhaps bound to strike again, at a less opportune moment.

The Nightmare culls the lesser demons in the dream. Spirits drawn in of their own volition flee, before it can catch them. It calls spiders to close off the edges of the dream, and silences the summoning. Snuffs out most of the lights, until the dream is all but empty, save for shadows and the clicking of dozens of legs, crawling over stone floors. The little mage stands in the middle of a chamber, and hastily summons a light. She clutches her staff close. The Nightmare can feel her fear growing, rather than receding. Despite the fact that the lesser demons are all gone, now.

They move closer. Their wings stretch out from their back, nearly as dark as the darkness they have called, and their own many legs tap across the floor with a louder, less hurried clack-clack-clack.

The fear grows. What's coming, what's that, where did all the spirits go, why has it all gone dark, what's moving in the shadows...?

She brightens the light in her hand, and sets it onto the top of her staff. Bracing her feet apart. Her grip is white-knuckled, and her fear tastes familiar...

She does not like spiders.

The Nightmare does not know where the knowledge comes from. Not the usual place of knowing such things, although... perhaps it is? It is disorienting, for a moment. The light is brittle and too bright, and it cannot remember if it is hunting or seeking, or if it is afraid of this Lady, or if it is here to listen to the beating of her heart. It draws closer, and spreads the darkness. Swallows the light. The mage tries to make another, but they catch her before she can. Her skin crackles with magic, and her staff slams against their wing. Hard enough to hurt, but, as they touch her. the Nightmare almost knows... knows...

"Vhenan."

I don't want to die!

They let go of her.

The dream is starting to come undone. The templars are moving closer in the Waking side. The Nightmare considers for a moment, and then withdraws. With no demons to hold the Harrowing, the dream breaks, and the dreamer wakes.

The Circle never feels like home.

It is a cold, cramped place, with bars across the windows, and a lone flat courtyard with high stone walls. The only place Aili is permitted to be outdoors, where all the mages practice the approved fighting spells, and tend to herbs and flowers. And she occasionally slips her shoes off and wriggles her toes in the soft cool grass, and tries to recall the distant smell of forests.

She cries a lot in the early days of her captivity. Frightened of the faceless metal masks of the Templars. Of the flat-toned Tranquil with their blank expressions. Of the thought of never seeing her parents or her clan again. Of the dark spindle-legged monsters that chase her through her dreams.

Aili tries to explain to the First Enchanter that there has been some horrible mistake. She was naughty, but her parents would never simply abandon her. She tries to convince them that she is not a mage, tries to hide her powers as best she can, but her anxieties seem to bring it to the surface, manifesting in sparks of lightning and tiny spurts of flame.

There are very few elves in this particular Circle, and she is the only one not from an alienage. 'Everyone is equal here', they insist, but she find it is not true. A handful of the human mages are from noble houses, and they wear finer robes, have thicker blankets on their beds, and a few even get permission to visit with their families on special occasions. With Templar supervision, of course.

The elves have nothing, even if it is supposedly the same nothing that the common humans have. Most of them came from large families packed into tiny crumbling houses where there never seemed to be enough food to go around. The Circle is a blessing in that regard. Three meals a day, a bed you don't have to share with anyone, and a better education than any of them could possibly hope for.

Half of them don't even believe her when she told them she was Dalish. And after a while, she starts to doubt it herself. The snorts of the halla, the smell of leather and cookfires. The stories Hahren Theron taught them. Her mother's voice. Her father's eyes. All growing hazy in her mind like a passing dream.

The years roll by, and Aili grows. Trying to find her place. To balance who she is now, with who she feels she was born to be. There are not many books about her people, and the few she finds seem incongruous with the memories she has managed to keep hold of, but she holds fast to them regardless. She seeks the truth of their past, trying to align what she can remember with the skewed perspectives of human historians.

She hopes to be granted permission to leave this place someday. To continue her research into Elven histories and magic. To study the ruins that she has only ever seen in drawings.

To find her way back to her clan. Her family.

Aili is awake when they come for her in the middle of the night. Taking her to be harrowed. Forcing her to dream. To face her demons.

She does not relish the thought.

In the twelve years she has spent trapped here, she has yet to have a pleasant night's rest. Even in her good dreams, there is always something lingering at the edges of her perception. Some dark spirit. Some old wound waiting to reopen. She is never lucid enough to quite make out the shape of it, but it always leaves her with a deep sense of unease. This place has seen too much pain, she thinks, and anyone who is sensitive to it is liable to be drawn in.

It is worse than she had imagined.

The smaller demons and spirits are all chased off, and everything she can perceive about this corner of the Fade is shrouded in inky blackness. Thousands of skittering feet all scrabbling towards her. Indiscernible shadows that somehow shape themselves into one her oldest fears. And ocean of hungry chittering spiders. Massive dark wings. Sharp grasping claws.

Aili tries to keep her head. Be brave. Make light. Take no deals. Fight back. But nothing she does seems to hinder the creature that seems to have caught her at long last.

It lifts her in its strange conglomeration of arms and claws and long, spindly hands. She draws in a sharp breath, tries not to scream. Wondering if she is about to be possessed, or eaten, or destroyed entirely.

I don't want to die!

The thought shakes throughout her entire being, and for half a second, the dream around her disappears.

Thick, heavy manacles around her wrists, binding her magic and limiting her movements. A filthy cell far beneath the earth. A sense of impending doom.

I don't want to die!

The words had burst from her in a flash of panic, despite all her efforts to hold them in. She had wanted to be brave. There are eyes in that room. Not hers. Dark and anguished, surrounded by lines written in blood.

She had not wanted them to see her in her moment of defeat.

Run! Leave! Escape this place!

Unaccountably, the demon lets her go. And when it does the vision disappears. The dream fades, and she is pulled back into the waking world. Surrounded by anxious Templars with their blades drawn.

They spend a long time checking her over for signs of corruption, but they cannot seem to find anything amiss. So, they let her go. Let her return to her books and her studies, and her penchant for taking naps in odd places. A fully recognized Mage of the Circle.

Aili is glad for the scant freedoms that it brings, and she certainly had not wished to be slain, or have her connection to the Fade severed, but…

The dreams are getting worse.

She is too scared to tell anyone, for fear that they will take it as a sure sign that she had not left her Harrowing completely as herself, but the vague presence she had noticed when she was younger has grown closer. A dark shape standing at the edge of her sleep. Watching her silently.

And there is more.

Faces and voices of strangers which nearly bring her to tears. Scraps of songs that she has never heard, in a language she has never learned. Brief flashes of memories that are not her own. A shinning city. Hungry golden eyes. A palace in the woods. A figure in red.

She tries to sleep less. To only doze for an hour or so at a time. Drinking strong teas, and reading late into the night.

It makes her a bit…peculiar. Twitchy and jumpy, and even more prone to dropping things. A few of the children that she tutors seem concerned for her health, but thankfully none of the Templars seem to think she is acting suspicious.

With all the unrest brewing in Kirkwall, it is hardly surprising that they have less attention to focus on a young mage suffering from sleep deprivation.

She can only hope it stays that way.

The Nightmare watches the Lady, after she leaves the harrowing dream.

She reminds of them things. Of memories, buried and broken, and long thought by them to be lost. It is like a light, shining on pale words still imprinted upon weathered, torn pages. The closer they draw, they more clear things become. But so slowly. Bit by aching bit, and they must gather up the newly illuminated text of their memories. Must secret them away, to where they will not be lost again, nor confused for any others. Whether they are their own memories, or the Lady's, or the body's, or the old, bright and burning Glory's... that is harder for them to sort out, at times.

They are painful memories, and full of fear. Yet the Nightmare cannot escape the persistent, compelling impression that they must find more. That in finding more, they will find something important. Something they have been looking for, for... ages. For long enough that they cannot recollect the start of their search.

The Lady dreams of Arlathan, and of palaces long fallen to ruin, and other places which the Nightmare can also recollect. One night she dreams of a stable. Halla mill around a verdant pen, as She lies in the soft grass beside one of them, and turns a flower over and over in her hands. Staring at petals that look like glass, and a stem that curls into a delicate bracelet. A piece of jewellery that would once have been considered modest. But She smiles as she wraps it around her wrist, and the glass petals flutter. A gift. The Nightmare thinks...

It moves. Red rather than shadow. Blood in place of darkness. She looks up at them, and for a moment, She smiles.

"You're finally back! I thought..."

At the joy and welcome in her tone, something in the Nightmare twists. Such an unaccustomed reaction to their presence. It does not know what to do, and in the moment of confusion, the sky darkens, and its form slips back into a more customary shape. Thoroughly enough so that they cannot recollect the one which they had been holding before. The Lady's face pales, and the halla rear; the Nightmare calms the illusion of them by seizing control of them. White forms and carved horns warp into spindly spider shapes, dark and hard, but easy to command. They scurry off, but the Lady screams.

The pervasive sense of danger and deception, hidden threats suddenly leaping out, overcomes the dream. The Nightmare moves, trying to find the cause of the disruption. It gathers the Lady to them, and covers her light, so that they might hide. But the sense of dread only grows, until there seems no recourse but to break free of the dream and flee. So the Nightmare does, carrying the Lady through the Fade, down into the deeper recesses where its makeshift lair has accumulated. Far enough that the tether between her mind and body begins to tremble, and only then do they recollect, and stop themselves.

If they take her too far, she will break.

Shatter, they think. Pain, and ruin, and empty husks left behind.

The Lady struggles in their grasp. Their hold on her is like heavy shackles. They have seen her shackled before. They wanted to break them, but they couldn't... but these shackles are their own doing. They loosen their grip on her, but tighten it again when she nearly strikes out and escapes it. If they leave her here, others might find her. Others will hurt her. They cannot leave her here, but they must get her free. They carry her up, back towards the Waking. Far as they might go, and they find it is further than they expected. They have not ventured so close to the Veil in centuries. Have not tested it in far longer than that.

Yet, the prison which bound them seems to hold them more tightly in the Fade than it does at the Veil itself. They carry the Lady back to her body, and find themselves filling up the shadows of her room. The small square space, with its tiny cot, and worn oak wardrobe. Half-finished tea on the bedside table, and a book lying open on Her body's chest. Her dreaming mind slips from their grip and back into her body.

The Nightmare lingers, curious. Watching as she opens her eyes, and lets out a breath of relief. As she runs her hands down her face, and then sits up, and goes still.

Staring at the shadows.

She stares at them for a long moment, fear pounding into her heart. How did it get out of the Fade? Her hand reaches, slowly, for the staff beside her bed. Eyes still fixed towards the corner of the room. The Nightmare moves into the shadow in the opposite corner, and the Lady pauses.

And then she closes the last inch of distance between her hand and the staff, all in a rush, and aims a spell directly at it. Magic flaring, wind knocking over a chair as the book slides off of her book, and a lamp beside them flares to life. The Nightmare redirects the spell with a bat of its wings, and it breaks into dozens of light motes. The flash draws notice from the hall outside. The sound of heavy boots, and the feel of suppressing spells. The Nightmare withdraws, reflexively. Pressed further down into the Fade as the door to the bedroom opens, and two armoured figures rush inside.

For half a moment, Aili is profoundly relieved when the Templars burst through her door and crash into her room. After all, they are supposed to be specially trained to ward off demons, aren't they? Whatever has chased after her from the Fade, they will slay it, and she may at last be able to have peaceful dreams.

The hope is a fleeting one, as they close in on her. Angry faces and drawn blades. She flinches reflexively, and she can sense the creature in the shadows shift, as though aware of her concern.

A fear demon, then. But she has never read an account of one this large or powerful. It must have been laying beneath the tower for centuries, gorging itself on the terror of those held captive within.

But why has it chosen to plague her, specifically?

"Why were you casting battle magics in your room?" one of the Templars demands, leveling his sword at her chest. An older guard, Cedrick by name, firmly Andrastian, and steadily growing more brittle and temperamental as the lyrium vials he drinks regularly slowly eat away at his mind.

The other is Hester. Young. Rigid with commands, but reasonable with her mercy.

It is she that Aili chooses to fix her gaze on when she answers, her tone just shy of pleading.

"I fell asleep," she tries to explain, "I had a bad dream, and when I woke up there was…something. The demon must have followed me out of the Fade somehow, and when I saw it was in my room, I tried to kill it. Or at least drive it back into the Fade."

"There is…something here," Hester agrees after a moment, looking around the room with a frown. The demon seems to have withdrawn deep into the shadows, pooling beneath her dresser, and tucking itself into odd corners. Aili cannot see it outright, but she can tell that it has not left her chamber.

"Only one way for a demon to follow a mage out of a dream, " Cedrick grunts.

"I didn't summon it!" Aili insists with a hint of panic.

"Even if you did not mean to, you must have accepted some offer from the creature, if it was able to leave the Fade with you," Hester says, her voice filled with a vague sense of pity, "I have heard of mages who did not even realize they had been possessed, until it was too late. The demon had taken hold of their body and used them to commit atrocities without their knowledge."

"I'm not possessed, I'm me!" AIli swears fervently, unconsciously backing towards one of the shadowed corners. "Whatever this thing is, it's been following me for years! I don't feel any different than I always do when I wake up from a bad dream. Please, you have to believe me!"

"As if you'd just admit to it," Cedrick scoffs, "Listening to all those rumors about Kirkwall, were you? Thought a little rebellion sounded good, eh? We're a smaller Circle; summon a few demons to help you out, round up a few followers, and suddenly you're free as a bird, is that it?"

"No, I promise, I haven't done-" she begins as the pair of them slowly begin closing in on her.

"Even if what you say is true," Hester interrupts, "There is a demon following you. You've attracted it somehow, and that's a serious risk. We can't just let you endanger everyone else."

"I'm not dangerous!" she shouts, raising her hands and attempting to make a barrier. If she could just call the First Enchanter…

Cedrick makes a gesture with his hand, and Aili's shield shatters around her, slamming her back against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of her lungs. She gasps, reaching for her stave, but even as she takes it in hand, Hester begins draining her of her mana. Her body grows sluggish, dizzy, as she sees Cedrick's sword arcing through the air, aimed for her throat.

A cold gust of wind rushes through the room from nowhere, there is a terrible screeching roar, and suddenly everything goes pitch black.

It has been a long time since the Nightmare fought beings of flesh and blood. Bone and sinew.

But it remembers how.

The gruff one draws his blade on their Lady, and they know that he means to cut her down. That cannot be allowed to happen. The Nightmare's own fear is potent, intrinsic to its nature, and runs down to something even deeper in it. Something that is answered in magic, and a rush of power more potent than anything it has felt since being trapped here. Fueled by a memory of chains and blood and the thought that they did not save her then, but they will not watch the blade fall this time. The shadows break, and the windows of the little room do, too, and the sword is halted with a shriek by the black feathers of an extended wing.

The world feels so heavy.

But the templars are afraid, and blinded by their darkness.

They try to make the world heavier. The fight moves quickly, as they call prayers and the second one tries to strike down their Lady. The Nightmare pulls her away, drawing her into the darkness of itself, and unfurls spiked tendrils. Like jagged legs and blades combined, they burst through the templars' armour, and pin them, twitching, to the floor. Blood runs. Power in it, power to defy the heavy nature of the world, like liquid fire. The Nightmare ignites it, holding their Lady close as the templars breathe their last gasping breaths, and the door the room blows open. Red flames licking at black shadows.

It surges out into the hall. Into the tower, the Circle cage. But on this side of the Veil, it is full of gaps and openings. If only it can find them.

There is much fear, as it races through the halls in a rush of darkness. Even though it can taste it, though, the nature of it all is harder to parse. Slower. There are screams and more footsteps, blades drawn, staves lifted. The Nightmare cuts down two more templars, and uses the rivers of their blood to burn through the floors. A spell crackles against the edges of one of its wings, and it nearly cuts down the caster, too, but the Lady cries out.

"Don't!"

They stop. Escaping is what matters. They wind down through stairwells, seeking the path that will lead to an exit. Doors are locked and halls are barricaded, and there are places where the air drags and their magic does not come as quickly or strongly as they need it to. The power is still there, but the templars can push it back. The Nightmare targets them, in turn. If they would hide away its magic, then the Nightmare will take their blood, and use that instead. It takes five templars to burn through the stone of one of the outer walls.

Breaking out through the Circle, even in the heavy, woken world, is a profound relief.

The Nightmare's wings stretch outwards, and it veers away from the rooftops of the few nearby buildings. Arcing towards the calling shadows of forest and trees, with its Lady clutched tight to itself. Its shadows cannot hold the darkness well here, in the light of dawn. Their Lady draws in a gasp as they turn beneath the clouds. And then she releases a long breath, and the Nightmare glimpses her eyes wide as it carries them both into the canopy of the trees.

It does not stop, though. It is fear, and it is running, and so it goes and goes and goes. Traversing the heavy world as best it can, crossing over streams and clearings, and open fields, and yet more trees. It needs to hide, to rebuild, to find a place to nest, but somewhere far away. The hunters are coming. In one moment it sees templars, in another, it sees elves in pelts and armour, but the ends are the same. The hunters are coming to kill their Lady.

But at length, it finds it - a hollow cave, wedged between the roots of two old and weathered trees. Surrounded by overgrown ruins, and already occupied by some creature which has not returned in at least a day. Nothing fierce enough to worry the Nightmare, however. As it tries to enter, however, its Lady struggles in its clutches. The staff in her hands gleams, and the Nightmare drops her as the unexpected burst of magic burns them.

They let out a hiss, confused for a moment. Before recollecting that it is the purview of Ladies to cause them pain. And then they relent, withdrawing themselves, and watching uncertainly as their Lady rises to her feet.

They remember something of how to act, when they have displeased their Lady.

"...Apologies," the Nightmare manages, in a voice rough from disuse, and unaccustomed to speaking in so heavy a place. It echoes around them, called up by magic until they remember the shape of a mouth with which to speak, and create one to use instead. "My Lady."

Aili stares at the creature that has kidnapped her, heart pounding in her chest. Gripping her stave with both hands.

It almost defies description. Wings and arms and half a dozen legs and other appendages all shifting and reforming themselves at random. Dark as the deepest shadows with only the vaguest suggestion of a mouth. With sharp sharp teeth.

She's not certain what they were planning on doing once they got her into that cave, but she's willing to bet that it wouldn't be anything pleasant. It stares at her expectantly after its strange, gruff apology. Or at least, she thinks it does. It's hard to make out any eyes in the area she supposes must be its face.

Without a word, Aili turns on her heel and makes a mad dash into the woods.

She has no idea where she is, and even if she did, she wouldn't know where to seek aid. Most of the common folk would not be willing to pit themselves against a demon for a stranger, and any Templars she might meet would likely have the same reaction to her story as Hester and Cedrick. If they even bothered to wait for her to explain.

All she can do is run. Run and run, and hope that whatever interest the monster had in her is worth less to them than the exertion of pursuit.

She can hear it behind her.

A flurry of scrabbling legs racing after her through the underbrush. The sound of their large wings snapping low branches off passing trees. A strange whine of what almost seems like distress.

Aili does not look back. She does no turn her head to see how close it is to catching her. She doesn't want to know. All of her focus is put towards the effort to keep moving. Keep hold of her staff. Keep pumping her legs. Gain distance. Get away.

Her lungs burn. Her eyes sting with exhaustion and tears. Her feet ache, and even after this comparatively brief burst of exertion, she can feel blisters forming on her toes.

Her foot catches on a root, and she falls hard. Palms scraped and lip bloodied. Too tired to force her limbs to rise.

It has been so long since she slept.

The beast comes for her, and Aili presses her eyes shut. Bracing for death. For whatever end it might have in store for her.

Instead, she finds herself scooped back into their arms. She struggles weakly, but there is almost no strength left in her after her last bid for freedom. She is held firmly against the shifting blackness of their body as they turn unexpectedly, and head back the way they came. Back to the cave.

They do not attempt to enter right away, as they had before, circling the perimeter a few times. As though wanting to ensure that nothing has happened to it in their absence. They set her down near the entrance and venture a few feet inside. Inspecting.

"…Safe," they manage to burble at her a few minutes later, as though they are still not quite used to using their mouth, "My Lady. Here…it is safe. For now."

Aili looks them over again. Still deeply unsettled, but also somewhat curious in her exhaustion and mild delirium.

They have not actually…tried to kill her? At least, not yet. And, in fact, they had almost certainly saved her life back in the tower. Although, her life might not have needed saving if they had not been stalking her in her sleep.

Still.

"What…do you want with me?" she asks, not entirely certain it is a question she wants answered.

The Nightmare pauses at the question.

What does it want?

The question is a trap, probably. Ladies can trap them, can ask questions that are riddles, that need right answers. But this Lady does not quite match with that image. Even though she tried to hurt them. She is huddled by the cave. There is blood on her lip, and mud on her robes, but her face makes them think of other things. Of heartbeats, that must keep beating or else suffering will follow. Of softer touches, and a different sort of fear.

They can almost remember...

"I want you safe," they say, because that much is true. Whatever else the Nightmare might still be wrestling with, they are certain that they will get no further in any of these affairs if something should happen to their Lady. Particularly if she should die, but also if she should come to any sort of harm.

The Lady sits up a little. She picks up her staff again, and despite their assurances, moves further away from the cave. The Nightmare ventures outwards too, and lets loose a hiss of protest. It has come into the Waking World, somewhat, and it never expected to do it... like this. However it has actually managed to do it. It is not entirely certain, But, it has, and it knows beyond a doubt that the Waking holds more dangers than the Dreaming does. Here, its minions are too far to call. Here, it has no nest, no spirits to devour, nor demons to enthrall. All is heavy and harsh and resistant to reshaping.

It is also vital and bright and solid in a way that they have missed for so long, they forgot how to articulate the longing. But they never lost it, either. The Lady moves further away, watching it. Her brows are furrowed, and she is frightened. Frightened of lurking dangers, of her own confusion at the situation, and of...

...Oh.

Caves.

Their Lady... does not like caves?

The Nightmare hesitates. Caves are good to fortify, but it could find a lair somewhere else. But not quickly. It must find a place to establish itself, to make certain things are safe. But if their Lady deems this one unacceptable, then there is little for it. They move the rest of the way out, letting their shape fold down into one of shadows, and wings, and a blackened, skeletal form.

Their Lady raises her staff.

The Nightmare waits, to see what she will do. What she might command. They hope she does not run again. It is dangerous, here. There are wild things about, and hunters looking for them.

After a long moment, their Lady lowers her staff a little, and leans some of her weight against it instead.

"Why would a demon want to keep me 'safe'?" she asks them.

The Nightmare hesitates, uncertain of the question. Is it a trap?

"I... do not know all demons," they finally settle on saying. Their voice is getting better, now. Their mouth more distinct, their shape more akin to the one of the Lady across from them. "But I must keep you safe. You are my Lady. I failed you, once before. I cannot fail you again."

Their Lady is still afraid, as her brow furrows, and she regards them silently again. This makes sense - the Waking World is dangerous. But the Nightmare is having troubles grasping what she is afraid of. Too many things at once, perhaps. Perhaps she is too uncertain of the situation to know what to be afraid of. They move a little closer, and fold their wings against themselves. Hoping to help offer some clarity. Immediate dangers are the greatest concern. But as the air around them darkens, their Lady raises her staff again, and they halt.

"The cave is safe," they say, again. "For now. I can defend it. But... if my Lady knows somewhere else to go, I will take her. So long as it is safe."

For all that she does not want to take shelter in the cave, or any other small space that might be easy to trap her in, Aili can concede that she does not have any other ideas about places to make camp.

Going back to the tower is clearly not an option, the Templars there would kill her on sight. She is surprised at her own sense of loss at the situation. She had always meant to leave, of course, but she had a few friends there. Colleagues. Students. The institution of the Circle had been oppressive and terrible, but the people… They were the closest thing she has had to a family for the larger portion of her life.

She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Aili frowns down at her muddied boots for a moment, sucking her bloodied lip into her mouth.

"If… If I left," she begins slowly, shifting her gaze to watch them, looking for potential signs of danger in their body language, "If I tried to go somewhere else…would you follow me?"

"Yes, my Lady," the demon answers easily, "I will come with you and make certain that it is safe. If I do not go, my Lady might be injured. If the place my Lady wishes to go is not safe, we should not stay there."

Aili sighs. She had suspected as much.

"This person…this 'lady' that I remind you of…did you possess her?" she wonders, tightening her grip on her stave again.

The question seems to confuse them.

"Possess… Yes. We were possessed," it mumbles after a few minutes of thought, "The Lady possessed us, and we were hers. Yours. The body was a gift from…someone. But we gave the other parts willingly."

Aili makes a face at them. What they claim doesn't make any sense; mages can't possess spirits. Can they? Perhaps, it means that the lady bound them?

"This lady bound you in a body and you had to obey her commands?" she asks. "You were a person before?"

The demon's expression falters. Its form ripples. Shuddering and becoming more amorphous for a few moments in apparent distress.

"No… Never a person," it admits with something that almost seems like shame, "I came to the body when the other fled. Shattered. We were permitted to…pretend. To survive."

Aili swallows hard. She honestly can't make heads or tails of most of their story, but it seems to strike a chord within her all the same. She feels strangely…sorry for it.

"Is there any way I could convince you that I am not your 'lady'?" Aili asks finally, sounding as tired as she feels.

The demon tilts its head at her. It looks vaguely elfish now, which is almost more unsettling than its other shape, in a way.

"But you are my Lady," it tells her flatly.

"And you expect the two of us to just spend eternity camped out in this little cave?" she wonders.

"No, that would be unwise," it replies, "A secure nest is important, but if we stay in one place too long, the hunters will come, and it will not be safe."

Hunters… Her mind turns to the blood the Templars took from her after her Harrowing. Her phylactery. No matter where she goes, there will always be the risk of someone coming for her. After all the knights that were killed during her escape, they will be out for revenge.

"I…didn't exactly get a chance to pack for this trip," Aili points out, "I don't have any spare clothes or supplies. I haven't held a bow since I was six, and hunting with magic tends to end up with things sort of…exploded. Or so I have been led to understand."

"I can hunt," the demon says with an air of confidence, "I can keep my Lady safe."

Aili lets loose a gusty sigh. Resigned to her fate. For now.

"Do you have a name?"

The question gives them pause, again. They have been called many things - mostly the things that they are, or have been. Sympathy. Fear. Demon. Doll. Pet. Hunter. Abomination. Nightmare.

But these things are not names. They have had a name, and they think they can remember the shape of it. The sound of it. It was theirs for a very long time, though, not in terms of years. A long time in terms of forming themselves. They had forgotten the name for a time, but it had been waiting for them in the ruins of the body that was destroyed. In the memories they scavenged, written in defiance. I will endure. They are still here; the promise has wavered, but not broken.

"...Uth...vir," they manage. "Uthvir."

Their Lady blinks at them.

"...Your name is Uthvir?" she asks. She seems surprised.

"You do not have to use it," the Nightmare assures her. "If it displeases you. I am called other things. Nightmare. Terror. Fear. Demon. Monster. My Lady once called me..."

Vhenan

They do not say it, though. They feel a lurching moment of confusion, for surely their Lady never called them that. But also, She did, unquestionably. The Nightmare recedes, as their Lady watches them. They consider the situation again instead, shying away from the matters and the memories which they are struggling to parse. They will have to acquire things, to make certain their Lady is safe and well. Shelter and the nest are good, but bodies have needs that must be met. Food, warmth, weapons, books. Things of that nature. The Nightmare will have to acquire them, and if they cannot leave Her to do so, then She will have to come along.

So, rest must be had first.

"Uthvir sounds like an elven name," their Lady notes.

On her tongue, the syllables feel familiar. The Nightmare pauses, as an odd ripple passes through it. Uthvir.

They have not heard it spoken aloud in a very, very long time.

"It is elven," they admit.

Their Lady ventures a bare step closer.

"Did an elf give it to you?" She asks them.

"No," they say. Somehow, she feels dangerous, but not in the way of physical threats, or a looming strike. She is too bright and near, they think. Near to something that feels fragile, that could break with only a whisper. Something they are only tentatively grasping - something they are afraid will shatter, before they can fully understand it.

"Where did you get your name?" She presses.

"Myself."

"Do you speak elven?"

This question is easier. The Nightmare tilts its head, and realizes for the first time that they are not speaking elven. It had not consciously noted the shifting of languages. In the Fade, meaning is more important, and linguistics was never something it had felt inclined to take note of, before. Nor really even consider much of a subject. While there had been variations, there had only really been one prevalent language in the days before the Veil. Though it knew of others, eventually, and had managed to work the concept into its understanding, it had not stopped to truly consider all of the implications.

"I speak it," they confirm, discovering how to shift their voice back to the language they had first learned. And yet, cannot ever really recall learning.

Their Lady's expression turns towards one of startled happiness.

"That was elven!" she exclaims. "What did you say?"

"I said that I can speak it," they admit, switching back to common. For some reason, this makes their Lady let out a long breath, and close her eyes for a moment longer than a blink. She does not truly let down her guard, though. Which is good. They are still in the wilderness, though nothing dangerous is nearby now.

"I must make this place safe," the Nightmare asserts. It gestures towards the cave again, using four limbs and a wing for emphasis, even as it bows deferentially. "Please, my Lady, it will be safest in there. I will not go far. I will find you food." They can detect the persistent, low-grade fear of prey animals, near enough that they are within range of the cave. That will change, once they know the area is dangerous. They will have to take their Lady with them to venture out, past a certain point. But at least, for now, there will be sustenance, and safety.

"Please," they ask again.

They must keep her safe.

Aili glances over at the cave warily.

“You’re going to leave me in the cave…alone?” she wonders.

“I will not go far,” the demon promises, “I can put a barrier over the front of the entrance to ensure that nothing gets in.”

“It would also ensure that I could not get out,” Aili notes dryly.

“It is safe in the cave,” it blinks at her in confusion, “Why would my Lady need to get out?”

"Oh, I don't know, all sorts of reasons," Aili shrugs, "Fresh air, exercise… Maybe needing to go to the bathroom? Just to name a few."

The demon tilts its head at her and she sighs.

"I see humor is not something they teach people in the Fade," she huffs with a brief quirk of her lips, "Look…Uthivr…I am willing to…compromise. In this instance, anyway. I will go into the cave, like you want, but I will set the barriers, so I can get out if I want to."

"If…that is what my Lady wishes," Uthvir replies, sounding doubtful at the prospect.

"And my name is Aili, not 'my lady'," she asserts firmly, keeping a good amount of space between them as she edges her way just past the lip of the cavern entrance.

"…Aili," Uthvir repeats slowly, as though turning over the shape of her name in their mouth. It sends a strange trembling shiver down her spine. She clutches her staff tighter as they take a few steps closer to her. Looming. "My Lady Aili, please stay where it is safe. I will not be gone long."

So saying, they move farther back from the cave, and shift into some sort of monstrous black bird. They hover for a few moments, inspecting the area, and perhaps waiting to see if she will make another attempt to run. When she raises her barrier across the mouth of the cave, however, they seem to decide that it is safe enough to leave her to her own devices, and wheel around towards the surrounding trees.

She waits until they are out if sight before pulling her barrier down again.

Aili doubts she could make it very far if she made another run for it. She is still physically wrung out, and lost, and the demon seems to be capable of sensing her somehow. It is a notable list of detriments to her plans of escape.

But she also has no intention of standing around in a cold damp cave, of all places.

She wanders around the outside of what is potentially going to be her home for the next little while, checking around for any good hiding places in the crumbling ruins and large roots of old trees, in case her new 'friend' decides to turn mean, or she finds something worth secreting away. Perhaps she should make a private stockpile of rations, just to be prepared for when the opportunity to get away presents itself. It would probably help if she could remember a bit more about which varieties of plants were safe to eat.

Eventually, she starts gathering up twigs and branches to make a fire. She's not likely to have anything soft to sleep on tonight, so she might as well be warm if she can't be comfortable. Besides, she's not about to eat whatever wriggling thing they bring back for her without cooking it first.

The wood is damp, and it takes her a few tries to really get the fire going, and when it does, there is enough smoke to make her sputter and choke for five whole minutes. And yet, when it is finally done, and she can sit just inside the cave and be warmed by the heat of the fire she built herself, she feels…oddly proud of herself. Even if it is a bit…haphazard.

Aili curls into herself and lets her mind wander. Turning over the events of the previous night, and the day that had followed. She does not trust this demon. This Uthvir. Not by a long shot. But she can't quite shake the feeling that they don't want to harm her.

Whether or not they might harm her unintentionally is another matter entirely.

Still. If she can be clever and cautious, there is a potential for enormous intellectual gain to be had here. A demon fluent in ancient Elven! If only she could convince it to translate some of the texts that had been found scattered among the ruins of her people. Or better still, if she could get it to teach her how to read it. She has always felt that if she returned to her people, the Dalish, she should bring some sort of tribute. A token of her intentions and her loyalties, to prove that she had never forgotten them.

Her joints are stiff, and her muscles are sore, and she has not slept for a full night in so long. And the fire is warm, making her eyelids heavy. The light in the forest is fading. The wind whistling through branches, as though the trees are whispering to one another.

Stirring up old memories.

Halla out in their pen. The sails of aravels rustling in the breeze. A hunting horn. Her mother's hands, slender and callused, fletching arrows and humming to herself. The light scent of citrus and spices and leather. A warm kiss pressed into the curve of her neck.

…Uthvir.

Their Lady Aili needs food.

It has been a long time since they hunted for things of flesh. How much is enough? They do not remember. Their memories can offer feasts and halls. The food from the Circle kitchens, served in a long dining hall. The food on older tables. Vast spreads of venison and goat and rabbit, Beasts of Best Parts, and other foods, too. Not just hunting, but foraging as well. The Nightmare... Uthvir remembers this. When their name was theirs, and their duty at times was to fill tables. Their Lady must have feasts.

The forests are not as replete as they could be. It takes long and at first they catch only two nugs, but then they track and find a herd of wild goats. The one with the biggest horns they take, in a snap of talons and magic. A clean break to the neck, and a single bleat before silence. The rack of horns will look impressive, for their Lady. They shift forms and use black threads of themselves to tie up their kill, and remember more of the shape that walks with fresh prey carried on its shoulders. The scent of blood follows them.

But so does the heaviness of Waking. So does the scent of pine, and the curl of the wind. Leaves, and bark, and bushes. Wild trees. They find some berries, but they are only the kind that is good for birds. The bushes lead on towards others, however. Tangled shrubbery and trees, and near a clearing, closer - but still not close - to the dangerous flat farmlands, they spy fallen fruit on the ground. Worm-eaten, but only just. Uthvir looks up and sees several fruit still on the branches. Ripe.

Aili likes apples.

They... think?

Their hands hesitate for a moment. Something is whispering to them, memories and dream-things. Their Lady is calling for them - they have taken too long, she is impatient, perhaps. They reach with clawed, grasping limbs. Up into the tree, to where the fruit is. They pull down as many as seem fit, and then begin to make haste back to the sanctuary. The wind grows stronger as they speed through it. Their shape more formless, as they adjust, and try to hurry. Sprouting wings and scurrying legs, to climb over logs and flit across narrow animal trails. They move faster, sharper and more focused when they see the flickering of an unfamiliar light.

Enemies?!

Uthvir bursts into the clearing. Flames flicker, from a small space outside the cave.

Their Lady is lying down. Lying down and not in the cave, with no barriers. No protection. They call up shadows and seal away the whole clearing as best they can, tired and uncertain. Their catch is dropped. The flames flicker, and their Lady Aili curls up more tightly in on herself. But the movement permits them to calm, at least a little. She is still alive. They can hear her heartbeat, and her breaths. Warmth that is from her as well as from the flames.

Why fire? It draws attention... but, they remember. Banquet halls. Fires to prepare food.

Their Lady Aili fell asleep waiting for them. They took too long. Uthvir hesitates for another moment, unsure of what they should do now. The memories prod - prepare the kill. Keep Aili safe.

The cave is safer.

Uthvir moves to where their Lady is sleeping, and lifts her up into their grasp, to carry her there. A soft breath escapes her, and her arms wrap around them. It... reminds them. They have held her like this before. Their shape changes again, as it did when they were carrying their catch back to the clearing. An elf-like shape, the shape of the body they once had, solidifies. It is still imperfect, they think. But they cannot pinpoint the specifics; whether they have put sharpness or softness in the wrong places, whether they have too few or too many limbs. It suffices to carry their Lady Aili to the cave, but then they encounter a new problem.

Their Lady will not let go of their neck.

Uthvir attempts to put her down several times, but her grip is too thorough to break without disturbing her.

Safest is with me.

Perhaps their Lady is wise. The cave might be the safest location, but their grasp is still a more immediate refuge from danger. Uthvir carries her back out again, and gathers up their offerings, and brings it all back to the mouth of the cave. They set about cleaning their kills, extending new limbs to the task as they keep their arms around their Lady.

And, unbeknownst to them, they begin to hum.

Her dreams are washed in reds.

The dark auburn of her father's hair falling into his eyes as he bends down to inspect one of the halla's hooves. Brushing the stray curls away with the back of his hand as he speaks to the creature in a low steady voice. Sweat on his brow and dirt on his clothing. His face is harder to make out, but she can tell he is smiling. Content.

The leaves in the forest turning, as though the cool autumn air has ignited them into a great roaring fire around their clan's campsite. Her mother takes her hand and guides her through the twisting secret paths that only the hunters seem to see. Aili picks up the vivid leaves from where they have fallen, and brings them back to show her mother her treasures. Her mother's smile is a thin white curve, a sliver of waxing moon, as she takes the offerings in her hands. Turns them over carefully to show her the differences in their shapes. Telling her the names of the trees they came from. What uses their barks and roots might have. Which wood might be the best for crafting.

The scarlet robes of the senior enchanters. The emblems of flaming swords blazing on Templar armor. The red ripe apples hanging in the Circle's small garden.

And then there comes a figure swathed in bright crimsons. A warning, and a signature, of sorts. Small, but strong, she thinks. A contradiction of sharp and soft. Danger and safety. Love and violence. They are…very far away from her. Facing in another direction. Beyond reaching.

If she called out to them, would they turn? Would she see their face? Would she know them?

She distantly feels arms around her. Warmth and comfort. A familiar voice humming a familiar tune. It makes her ache, but it is a strange, pleasant sort of ache.

Her voice speaks words she does not understand. Something in her chest thrums briefly. A chord plucked by careful fingertips.

Vhenan?

The figure turns, but she finds herself blinded by a flash of golden light before she can see them. The vision breaks, and her body trembles. Dropped into a sudden darkness.

She can smell something burning. Flesh sizzling at contact with heat. Between her lungs. Along her wrists. Around the base of her neck. The taste of something metallic in her mouth.

The red of blood.

She feels warm and heavy. Drugged, perhaps. The arms that had been holding her are chains now. Pinning her in place so that no precious parts will be lost in her struggling. The blood must flow into the proper channels to fuel the magic needed. To serve, as she is meant to serve.

There are golden eyes. Cold and calculating. Picking her to pieces. Cutting and slicing and burrowing deep. Making and unmaking her over and over again for all of eternity.

The gaze shifts to other eyes in other rooms. Blue as a winter night. Icy and possessive. Furious.

You love me! You are mine. You were built for me. Every part of you is a celebration of my greatness. You love me and only me! Say it!

Hands move to her throat, grasping and clawing. Tightening the leash. Her vision blurs, and the world feels as though it is melting around her. Her whole body spasms, desperate for air.

She screams with all the strength left in her.

And wakes in the multitude of Uthvir's arms.

She wakes in violence.

The scream ripples through them, as does the flare of her magic. The lashing of limbs. Uthvir tenses and tries to react, to perceive the danger that they have missed, or the error that they have made. The fire spits and their Lady strikes them, pushing and struggling until they realize that it is their grip that she objects to. They let her go, and let their being flare backwards and out. Shape distorting as they fall into the fear of the moment, and can only tell that something dangerous is happening. The cook fire snuffs out, as they lift a barrier around the clearing.

Their Lady is moving. Running. What is chasing? They look for hunters, for predators. Danger, danger, no, no, no... something twists inside of them, and echoes through old, broken memories. Like a different sort of light, flaring before eyes that have not seen it in centuries. It hurts, in a way that no lashing nor spells so far have. It pulls at them from the inside and drags them down, as their Lady reaches the barrier and smacks her fists against it. The magic is sharp. It lashes back out.

For a moment, then, everything goes still as Aili is repelled through the air. As she hits the ground in a heap, with red on her hands.

Bleeding.

No.

Uthvir grasps her and pulls her, drags her into the cave, and ignores her struggles as they set a firm barrier before the entrance. Closing them both off into the darkness, and verifying the thrum of their Lady's pulse. They hold her until her struggles and her spells have stopped. Until the only sound they can hear is the ragged in and out of her breaths. The two of them, safe in the total darkness, as Uthvir's form aches from bruises and burns, and the scent of her blood grows no stronger.

When she has stopped moving, they grow another set of limbs, and begin to check her over. Feeling for damage. The skin of her hands is split, and she has bruises of her own. But only superficial. The fear in her is stronger than the pain. But they do not know what else to do for it; they have no safer place to take her, no better spells nor barriers to offer. They wrap themselves around her, and try to offer that shield, too. Yet, it only seems to make things worse. And after a time the fear breaks into sobs, and Aili's voice, shaken in the dark.

"Please, stop," she says. "Please, just let me go. I want to go home."

There is more to the words than just themselves. They ring deep, as Uthvir holds her. As they see caves and towers, the Circle and the darkness. Templars and demons. Chains, always chains, binding and constricting, holding fast against all strength. Too heavy to escape. Even when they are invisible. Cages of all kinds, and trapped, so trapped, I want to go home, Mamae, Papae, I want to go home please I'll be good I'll never wander off again I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to...

Understanding slots into place with all the fervency of their being. Fear. They know what she fears; they know why it is not working, now.

With a thought the barrier in front of the cave drops. Uthvir carries Aili out into the evening air again, as she cries, and then lowers her carefully down to the ground. If she runs, it will be dangerous. But they can follow. They will keep pace. It is the caging she fears; it is them, and that will not do. They are not chains. They did not mean to do this to her.

"I am sorry," they offer.

Aili sucks in several long breaths, and does not respond, at first.

After a moment, when they are sure she does not mean to immediately get up and run, they relight the campfire. No new dangers seem to have presented themselves, in the midst of their chaos. And the prevalence of fear in the air at least makes them strong, as they gather up their things again. The meat is not finished yet, but it is still on the spit that they managed to make. They consider Aili for a moment, and then scoop up some of the apples.

Very carefully, they extend a single limb, and set one onto the ground in front of her. It is too ripe, perhaps. But a moment more and their Lady's breaths have calmed. And then she reaches forwards, and carefully picks the offered fruit up. She does not wipe it off or bite it straight away. Her eyes stick to it, and though her unease does not suffuse the air, it feels as if it should.

"I am very tired," she says, at length. "I know you probably don't understand, but nightmares ruin my sleep. If you give me bad dreams, I won't get any rest, and I... I can't keep going without it."

Uthvir hesitates.

They do not want to refute her, but they have conjured no bad dreams for her.

On the other hand, they know how to prevent such things. They should have considered that; but it has been so long, and they had forgotten. Had not considered. The oversight is theirs - so perhaps it is still their fault, in that sense.

"No more bad dreams," they promise. They will safeguard her against them - as they should have done before.

Aili nearly begins crying again when they promise to let her sleep peacefully. It feels as though a millstone has been lifted from her shoulders. Potent, visceral relief. The Fade is never truly safe for mages, but at least she can be assured that nothing will be actively seeking to torment her dreams.

"Thank you," she manages to scrape out, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Uthvir nods, and returns to their task of roasting whatever dead thing they have dragged back to the clearing. A goat or a sheep by the looks of it. And either a pair of nugs, or some very large rabbits.

Silence hangs between them for a time, as Aili observes them quietly, turning her apple over in her hands. She's covered in bruises and the scrapes across her palms still sting, but she doesn't have the energy to do much about it now. As she looks them over, she sees that Uthvir is not quite free of wounds themselves. Nothing serious, but still, it must be at least a little painful for them. And she caused it.

Aili sucks her bloodied lip back into her mouth, worrying it nervously. If they don't trust her, it will be likely be much harder to get away from them later on. She cannot really be held accountable for her reaction to a dream, especially not if they were the reason she was having it, but… The incident had seemed more like a misunderstanding than anything else. Perhaps Uthvir cannot help but cause bad dreams when they are near someone who is sleeping. It is their nature, after all.

She rolls the apple between her palms; thoughtful.

"I'm…sorry," she begins, not quite meeting their eyes, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I was just…afraid."

Uthvir tilts their head at her.

"I know," they reply, sounding a little nervous themselves, as though uncertain where this conversation might be heading, "My Lady Aili was afraid because I was careless and did not find the proper means of keeping you safe. You were right to punish me for it. I will do better in the future."

"N-no, that's not-" she stammers, shaking her head in a strong negative, "It was an accident! I wasn't trying to punish you, I just needed to get away from… From something. Someone. It…was not a happy dream."

"No more bad dreams," Uthvir reiterates. Aili nods in agreement.

"No more nightmares for me, and no more accidental singeing for you," she says, hesitantly extending a hand for them to take, "Sound like a fair deal?"

"Yes, my Lady," Uthvir agrees simply. They extend one long shadowy limb with something vaguely like a hand attached to the end. She does her best not to shudder when she takes it, but she does. She shakes it once and quickly lets them go.

She glances at the food they are cooking.

"You brought a lot back for just the two of us," she notes, trying for a more casual subject, "Do demons need to eat that much? I thought you subsisted on the energies of dreamers and weaker spirits. Although, I don't rightly know what a spirit thrives on when they aren't in the Fade anymore…"

The nightmare pauses, considering their meal.

"Is it too much?" they wonder after a moment, sounding unsure, "Do you not wish to eat, my Lady?"

"It's fine!" she assures them hastily, "I am very hungry, as it happens. I just… Well, I don't think I could manage to eat all of that on my own, that's all."

"You did not eat your apple," Uthvir points out slowly, "If that one is unsatisfactory, I brought others that might be more acceptable."

"Oh," Aili remarks eloquently, stopping to look down at the fruit in her hand, "I just forgot I had it, I guess. There's nothing wrong with this one though, really. I like apples."

"Your favorite," Uthvir hums, nodding once in agreement.

Aili blinks in surprise.

"…yes. They are."

Uthvir's form ripples slightly as they fix her with a look that she supposes is somewhat expectant, seeming oddly pleased with themselves.

She wipes off the apple on the cleanest corner her sleeve the that she can find, and takes a bite. It is a little soft, but the taste is still good. Sweet with just a hint of tartness.

She offers them a thin smile.

"Delicious."

Lady Aili approves of the apples, which makes things much better.

Uthvir cooks their kills for her, as she finishes her apple, and then has another one, too. She seems dubious of the meat for a moment. Worried about the quality, which in turn makes them concerned that they may have prepared it incorrectly. They do not have seasonings, nor any sauces to serve it with. But roasting is good, they think? When Lady Aili ventures a bite, however, her worry ebbs. After a few moments she begins to eat ravenously, and then mentions thirst. Uthvir ventures far enough to find clean water, and brings it back to find their lady still devouring a haunch of goat. She glances at them uncertainly for a moment, before murmuring thanks at the drinking vessel they offer her. It is conjured. She examines it extensively before her thirst seems to override her interest in it, and then she drinks until there is no more left.

"Are you going to eat anything?" she asks them, afterwards. There is roasting grease on her face, and her voice and movements have grown more sluggish.

Uthvir considers.

They are supposed to eat with their Lady, they think. And they remember eating. But that was back when they had the body. The body has since been destroyed, and with it, the need for food. Except... they are in the Waking again, now. And there is something corporeal about them. The specifics elude them, but they can feel a change.

So... perhaps they should?

They leave the apples for Aili, because they are her favourites, and instead pick up a segment of goat. Meat and bones, juicy and burnt towards one end, where the heat had been uneven. They recollect eating, and what they witnessed from Lady Aili's own recent actions, and they make a mouth. Sharp teeth and an open maw splitting the void of their face. Lifting the bone and meat, they shove the entirety of it into the opening. It feels very heavy, and hot, and it crunches and cracks as their teeth gnash through it. Juices spill down something like a throat. Shards of bone settle in the approximate middle of their being, along with shredded meat. For a moment, they think that they have made a very bad decision. But then something in their being interacts with the food, and they feel it all begin to disintegrate.

As it does, the rest of them starts to feel just a little bit heavier, in turn.

That seems to keep in line with their memories. Somewhat.

Lady Aili's eyes are wide as she regards them, afterwards. There is a fixation in her that they can pick up on for several moments. Teeth and crunching and unease, but after a few moments it passes, and they do not follow it very well. A nebulous fear, perhaps. Those are very common, and often do not linger much beyond a single situation. They decide to do a sweep of the clearing again, just to be certain that things are safe. Lady Aili settles next to the fire, as they do.

By the time they have finished, she is asleep again.

Uthvir settles down next to her. Now, they must attend her - properly. As they should have done before. They rest a limb against her, and pull a barrier over the space around them. It is not so secure as the cave, but it will do. As Lady Aili's breaths fill up the silence, along with the steady crackling of the fire, they let some of themselves sink into her - and into the Dreaming, in turn. It is not possession. Nor is it a crossing of the Veil. It is only a pathway, through fear and a sleeping mind, and they would be easy to dislodge if she wished to be rid of them. But it is also the best way for them to call their minions on the other side of the Veil, and to ensure that her rest is undisturbed.

For their own part, it is a bit like dreaming, too.

Rooms with pelts and trophies, pieces of armour and weapons settled on racks by the walls. A wide bed and a private bath, and doors that lock and seal. Windows that can close out the world, so many safeties written in blood and rune and sigil, alarms and warnings and barriers. None will get in without permission, save one person, and if She comes then it will be warned of. Night has fallen. Moonlight is pooling on the floor, and the lamps glow softly. They sit at a desk. Papers and books around them. On the bed, Aili turns in her sleep, and lets out a sigh. She stretches her arms, and then pats the mattress next to herself.

"Vhenan?"

They move. Somehow they know she is calling for them, as they cross the room, and settle onto the bed beside her. The mattress dips. Aili turns again, and settles a hand onto them. Her eyes gleam in the moonlight.

"You're wearing armour, still," she murmurs. A glance down, and they see it is true. Hard coverings. Sharp spikes. They think that they are supposed to take it off - or at least some of it? - but they do not remember how. Aili does not seem to know, either. Her fingers fumble with latches and buckles for several minutes, trying to take off their gauntlets, and then moving to the more obvious prospect of their belt. But none of it will give way. She frowns a little, and then sighs at them.

"Not taking it off?" she asks.

"I forgot how," they admit.

"Hmm. Well, I guess we'll just have to manage," she says. And then she pulls them down to the bed. Lumping the blankets between them, and using a pillow to block off several spikes, until she can wrap her arms around them. Then she makes a sound of satisfaction. Uthvir brushes the points of their fingertips through some of her curls, and finds the arrangement pleasant. Warm. They linger in comfort until the light begins to shift, and the silver moonlight turns to a grey morning. As it does, the window grows larger. The bed beneath them becomes a grassy meadow, and the walls become a cluster of tree trunks, with long, sheltering branches.

They slip into the ground. Not horrifyingly; it just sort of happens. The grass folds around them, and they are still there. But they are no longer in Aili's arms. She looks around, puzzled for a moment. They worry over the unhappiness in her expression. There are no untoward spirits to chase off, however. And after a moment, her displeasure gives way to the dreaming, again. Her eyes land on some small flowers, growing in abundance around them. She begins to pick them, and starts weaving them together. Forming a crown, as she hums softly to herself.

By the time Lady Aili wakes, the flower crown is finished.

Aili wakes to the light of a new day to find that being well-fed and well-rested have worked wonders on her mood. She's a little stiff from sleeping on the ground, but the demon doesn't seem to have maimed or terrorized her at any point during the night, so it seems like a small grievance in the grand scheme of things. She can't remember the last time she saw a sunrise that wasn't through the barred windows of the tower.

Her situation is still a precarious one, to be sure, but the evidence seems to be mounting that her kidnapper has no plans for harming her. At least not immediately.

Uthvir is sitting close to her, but not so close as to be alarming, tending to their small fire with one set of limbs, while another puts the finishing touches on what seems to be some sort of floral wreath.

"Good morning," Aili greets them quietly, scooting a little closer to the fire in order to warm her hands. Her palms sting as she stretches her fingers, reminding her of her injuries from the evening before. She takes a moment to look them over before murmuring a healing spell and effectively seals the wounds shut.

While she is still looking downwards, she feels something settle lightly over her ears.

"Good morning, my Lady Aili," Uthvir returns, pulling their now empty hands away from her.

A quick brush of her fingers confirms that she has most definitely been adorned with the flower chain they had been working on earlier. It tickles a little, but there don't seem to be any thorns or bugs in it. It's strangely endearing, and she finds herself feeling more surprised than anything.

"You…made me a flower crown?" Aili wonders, adjusting it a bit so it sits a little further back on her head. "Why?"

Uthvir pauses, uncertain of what answer they should give perhaps.

"My lady dreamt of flowers, and I suppose…I thought you might want some when you awoke," they explain slowly, "I apologize if I presumed too much…"

"I'm not upset about the flowers," she assures them hastily, "Though looking in on my dreams is a bit…odd."

Uthvir blinks.

"But…my lady bade me to fend off bad dreams," they remind her hesitantly, "I cannot protect your sleep if I do not watch."

Aili sighs, she supposes that having them watch her dreams is better than having them meddle in them.

"Did you not sleep well, my Lady Aili?" they wonder.

"I did," she confesses, "Thank you for letting me rest."

"And…you are not displeased with the flowers?" they continue curiously.

"…No," Aili reassures them, smiling a little despite herself, "They're actually sort of…sweet. How do I look in my new fancy headdress?"

"My lady looks beautiful, as always," Uthvir replies easily, their form rippling slightly. In pleasure or amusement, it is difficult to say.

For her own part, Aili can't help but laugh, knowing full well that she's completely mussed and covered in mud and likely looks like she lost a fight with an especially crabby tree.

"Well, then, you should have one, too," she decides, picking at a few scattered clover flowers and little daisies that happen to be blooming near her, "I haven't been good for much else out here."

"Lady Aili is skilled at many things," Uthvir states with a surprising amount of certainty, "It is best that I should hunt and gather. My lady should stay where it is most safe."

They begin cooking the nugs that did not get eaten the night before. She watches them silently for a while as she continues her task of braiding a multitude of tiny flowers together. Thinking over all that has happened.

"So…how long are we going to stay here?" Aili asks them.

"Until it is no longer safe to stay, my Lady," Uthvir hums in reply, picking up another one of the apples and moving it so that she can reach it easily, if she likes.

"And where will we go?" she presses, taking an absentminded bite out of the offered apple.

"Does my lady have a place she wishes to go?" Uthvir asks instead, turning slightly to look at her.

"Well…sort of," Aili hedges nervously, getting to her feet with her newly crafted flower crown in hand, "But I'm not sure how to get there."

"If it is safe, I will help my Lady Aili find where she wishes to be," Uthvir promises.

Aili reaches up on her tip toes trying to place the wreath of flowers over what she assumes must be their head. They are a little more firmly elf-shaped this morning, but it is still hard to tell. Uthvir bends slightly to accommodate her wishes, and she finally plops the garland around the vague shapes of their ears.

"I want to go back to my clan," she tells them quietly, "I want to go home."

Uthvir pauses, as Lady Aili explains that she wants to go home. Home is... what? It is not the Circle tower. It is a clan? They cannot fathom that concept, however. Clans are distant things. Stories and whispers, and dreams of their Lady's. Fogged over and old. Clans are old things. Home is an old thing, too, and for a moment they think of a dangerous place. A place full of hunters, and hiding, and fights. Always fights, to keep from becoming the weakest, to try to be the strongest and to serve their Lady.

"...Home?" they repeat, carefully. They know where the place is, in a sense. The palace. They know the parts of it that are in the Dreaming, and they think they could find it in the Waking World as well. Is the clan there? Are hunters there...?

It is far from here. They can tell that much.

"Yes, I want to go home," Lady Aili confirms, however, with a long sigh. She reaches up, and her fingers brush the flowers they have placed on her. Their own flowers feel heavy. But, pleasant, in a way. Like an anchoring weight. A gift, from Aili. They think they like gifts. To receive them and give them both. The flowers are a success, because that has happened in each case.

"I don't know where my clan is," their lady admits. "I was very young, when I got lost. Humans found me, and took me to the Circle. But I know I didn't travel that far. I didn't cross the sea. The wilderness is wide, but, if I could just find a campsite I could find... there are signs, sometimes. And the clans come back to the same places when it's safe to, because they have what we need. Even if no one was there, eventually, someone would come..."

Uthvir considers this.

"Does my Lady Aili's clan have Hunters?" they wonder.

They do not think they should take Lady Aili to the palace. It would not be safe.

Lady Aili blinks at them.

"Um... yes?" she says, as if she is not sure of the answer. Except that she seems to be. "Not like the Templars, though. They don't hunt mages. Or demons. They're just... like this kind of hunting." Moving her arm, she gestures towards what Uthvir has provided. "They hunt food and things for the clan. And they protect us, and sometimes find lost people. I'm sure some of them tried to find me, when I..."

Lady Aili swallows, and trails off. She stares into the fire.

Uthvir does, too, though they can see nothing particular within the flames.

"I will try to find the way," they offer. "But if they are too dangerous, then we will go."

Lady Aili looks surprised. She moves a little closer to them, and stares intently at their eyes. There are only two of them at the moment, so it is easy enough for her own pair to manage.

"You could find them?" she asks.

Uthvir inclines their head. They are a hunter. They find things, just as she described. And there are ways to find persons in the Dreaming, and in the Waking, too, though they are less versed in the latter state. With the Veil, it is much harder. But, not impossible, perhaps. They try to explain this. They are not certain that they do it correctly, as their Lady Aili seems hesitant over many things. She does not seem to know what they mean, when they speak of a palace, or the ways in which hunters and magic and old currents of belief can weave themselves together.

"There's a... palace in the Fade? Where you think you can find hunters?" she surmises, after several attempts.

Uthvir supposes that is the best explanation.

"It is a dangerous place," they say.

Lady Aili bites her lip.

"I couldn't ask you to go somewhere dangerous," she tells them. Then her brow furrows, and she taps one of her apples with the tip of her finger. "But if it's a place in the Fade, then there must be a correlating place on this side of the Veil? Right? What if we went there together?"

Uthvir shakes their head, and hisses in displeasure. Lady Aili pales, and the fire goes out.

"No," they say. "Much too dangerous."

"But-"

"No."

They cannot take her there. She will die. But if she commands them...

Lady Aili only raises her hands, however, in a gesture of placation.

"Alright, it was just a thought," she replies. "I guess we will have to find another way. If... you want to help me?"

Uthvir waits, to see if there is some trap or reprimand waiting to fall. But when Lady Aili only regards them for several minutes more, they tip themselves forward, in a bow of agreement.

"I will help, to find Lady Aili's home," they agree.

#aili #uthvir #aili x uthvir #sharp and shiny ship #sharp and shiny circle au

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