Blighted Empire: Ch. 8
Lightbringer
A landscape of ice stretched before him, broken up by pockets of void or an awkward section of library, protruding from the blanket of white or simply levitating.
Dorian struggled to remember what he'd been doing- or where he was. There were some similarities to his own dream- the snowfall from his Harrowing had never dissipated. However any discernible structure had been- for the most part- scraps of Tevinter.
Here, the scraps were quite different- yet still familiar.
Pressing onwards, an epiphany struck him the more he absorbed.
Spires and tablets, riddled in script that often faded into torturous red.
Evallan's writing!
Of course- he walked the Keeper's dream! Those familiar pieces- clearly the Ferelden Tower, now that he examined closer. Not just any place in the tower but the library- which caused Dorian to halt, feeling oddly bashful.
Where we studied- really?
It was that significant to him..?
A tremendous sound ripped him from those thoughts- like a broken bell, repeatedly smashed. It reverberated through the dream and his own skull. Keeling over, he embraced his head until the discordant chimes ceased and only managed a few steps before they restarted. This time he was more prepared, merely wincing while stalking for the noise.
There was no question in Dorian's mind- this cacophony would lead to his goal.
Traversing snow and misplaced bits of tower, he reached the edge of Evallan's dream. Ice and library ended abruptly, revealing a jagged tear in the world itself, open to the void. Beyond that tear- exactly the thing- or being- Dorian aimed to help.
To someone unschooled in the Fade it would have looked like madness- an iced over library with an abyss in the middle, a dimension of sprawling glass and light on the other side. However he understood- their dreams were bound. Now they drifted apart.
Therefore Lightbringer's containment had shattered. From his place at the brink of the void he could see her- or what he assumed had to be her- a humanoid form built from light, radiance leaking into the Fade. As he observed she morphed, shrank or grew with the surreality of an abstract painting.
When inevitably, she could no longer stifle her own will, it exploded in a mad display of chimes and colour, before wrangling her projection into order once more. Flinching, senses dazzled, he called out;
“Lightbringer! Over here!”
Fighting to convey a rigid and humanoid form, she whirled for the edge. If Lightbringer had eyes, Dorian was sceptical he'd be able to view them through the glow- either way, it was obvious he had her attention.
“Do you remember me!? Dorian Pavus!?”
She tilted her chin knowingly, the gesture seeming to pain her- as if her neck wished to extend passed her intent.
“I'm here to help! But, I, ah...” Trailing off, he examined his surroundings- even above their heads, blackness encroached. Dorian imagined Evallan's consciousness trapped there somewhere- scooped right from his own sacred place and pocketed in the dark Fade.
“We...we need to seal this, yes?!”
He hazarded, staring desperately towards the amorphous Spirit. She nodded.
“Well how are we to do that?!” Glancing around, he saw nothing that could aid them in stitching shut a wound in the bloody Fade!
Between his glances he noticed Lightbringer- pointing squarely at him. Blinking, he furrowed his brow.
“Well yes- me, but how will I-”
A bright streak launched from her fingertip to his chest, piercing like frostbite. Yelping, he patted the offending sting and glared downwards- only to note something he hadn't before.
Dim but very much present- a dot of light, shining from the centre of his chest.
“Oh, Maker!” He lamented with a startled laugh. “When did that get there?!”
All the while she stared at him meaningfully, still pointing.
“Yes- you're right- that doesn't matter right now!”
Dropping his hand, he calculated.
“If I have this...that means you can connect to Evallan's dream through me! Then when he gets back- you should be safe and sound waiting for him! Have I got that right?”
Her own hand lowered, nodding.
Sighing in relief, Dorian puzzled further.
“Your host told me not to act without his say, but...” He snorted, flashing a grin. “I think we both know there's no time for that- for once, he really is going to have to trust me.”
They seemed to be in agreement- she continued watching expectantly, her colour still oozing.
“Alright, well...” Straightening, he hardened his features. “Whatever you have to do...I'm ready for it!”
There was quite an anti-climatic moment of mutual staring.
Then the Spirit's hand ascended, targeting Dorian's chest.
He readied himself, expecting another stab of discomfort.
Something flickered across the void and embedded into his ribcage, cold enough he shuddered.
“Well...” He relaxed, chuckling. “That wasn't so bad.”
Lightbringer watched him, passively waiting.
“...I don't like that.” Dorian mumbled, frowning at her. “What does that mean? Why are you looking at me like- AH!- OW- OW!”
It was as if he'd just bitten snow- his brain ached intolerably, a frost that swiftly encapsulated each limb, forcing them to crumble. On his knees, the world became a haze of white, nerves muffled, all senses drowned.
A numbing sensation possessed his body yet he was still cold. Shivering violently, it slowly dawned there were shapes in this haze- a gust of breath in the chill air, small dents and hills within snow. For some reason he was awfully exerted- gasping and shaking and so, so tired- but knowing he couldn't stop.
Stop what?
Lightbringer- hello?
What are we doing..?
Upon closer inspection he spied two hands half-buried in white. Clearly a child's hands- small and pale but inflamed from low temperatures.
He already had a guess as to who they belong to- still, a voice clarified-
“Evallan...”
Dorian was unable to place it initially. Not too concerned, he observed as tiny hands dragged upwards, feeling the scrape against his knuckles.
I see now.
I'm in his memory.
We're piecing it back together.
Unwinding from his curled position, the youthful Evallan snarled as he beheld a ruined wall ahead. Painted lines dictated targets and icicles riddled the uneven surface- all noticeably swayed to one side, missing points that seemed to be marked higher.
Target practise? How charming!
That wall looks like they've been at it for generations.
“Evallaaaaaan!”
Ignoring this, Evallan pounced to his feet, tossing a fistful of ice which only landed further to the side. Promptly falling over, he took his rage out on the snow, fists slamming into ground impotently.
Melodious laughter rang over them- this time Dorian was certain he knew that voice.
“Villyen sleeps, he is exhausted! We should return to camp.”
Evallan turned his head and Dorian saw clearly now- Amrallan, though years before their brief acquaintanceship. He sat in a pile of furs, the tiniest Lavellan snoozing in his arms.
Unquestionably it was time to retire- but Evallan couldn't allow himself. He about-faced, stubbornly muttering.
“No...No, it is still so off-centre.”
While he prepared his stance- slowly and deliberately, Amrallan considered in his sing-song manner;
“You know, Evallan...when I was your age, I could not hit the centre target either.”
Swiftly glaring, Evallan spat, indignant-
“How off-centre, compared to mine?” Then, scowling for emphasis. “And do not lie! You know we cannot lie to each other!”
Amrallan sighed with the wistful air of a long-suffering sibling.
“Perhaps a few degrees inwards of your mark, brother.” He admitted, shrugging and smiling.
“That is what I thought!” Spinning from him, Evallan focused on his spell- he would concentrate this time- really concentrate. The only thing obstructing success was himself!
“And why is it so important? We return tomorrow- you continue practising, you will hit that mark eventually!”
With a burdensome exhale he met his brother's gaze. His brother for whom everything came so easily, whose runes always functioned on the first try, whose spells always landed perfectly, whose first attempts were always astounding successes.
'Naturally gifted', as the Elders called him- in part because despite these achievements, he would rather play than work. Amrallan never strived for brilliance- he was of the lucky few for whom brilliance is second nature.
“It is because...” Evallan struggled to express himself, eyes pinning targets.
“I simply cannot!- I know I can do better- so I must!”
“What am I to say?” Amrallan signed with feigned exhaustion. “Do better then, brother!”
Taking that to heart, Evallan threw out his hands and this time an icicle- just one- stabbed the middle point and remained there.
Over his shoulder there was hooting and clapping, Amrallan cheering him- while Villyen whined.
“Mythal smiles on you, Evallan! Are you satisfied now?”
Gathering cool air into his lungs, Evallan savoured with a smile.
“Yes, brother.”
Mist clouded Dorian's vision, the memory blown aside.
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