Chapter 55: Negotiations

When I woke, I was lying on the floor. Not the ground, but a stone floor. I was confused – where in the Void was I?

I sat up cautiously, looking around. I was in a dusty corner of a large room. The walls were all stone, and there was only one tiny window that I could see from my vantage. All around me were broken tables, chairs with missing legs, and a variety of other rubbish I refused to think about too hard. I've apparently woken in a trash heap. Fabulous. I nudged something that might once have been a handkerchief away, before rolling over and slowly working my way to my feet. Once I was standing, I could see a little bit better; the half of the room nearest me was apparently a refuse pile, but the rest of the room housed bookshelves overflowing with enormous tomes, and tables all covered in open books, flasks, and other equipment that looked vaguely scientific. There were several doors, all closed.

I knew where I was. I didn't know how it could have happened, but somehow I was in Soldier's Peak, in, or near, Avernus' laboratory. I didn't see any corpses or cages, but given that almost everything in Thedas was bigger than the game made it out to be, I assumed I was in a room that served as the library, and one of those doors led to where he'd been experimenting on his former 'brothers'. I was a bit afraid to open any of the doors, not wanting to accidentally wander in to the charnel house I knew was around somewhere.

Just as I was pondering my options, one of the doors opened. A tall, deathly skinny, ghostly white-skinned bald man in robes came through, a stack of books in hand. The top book was open, and the man, Avernus I assumed, was studying something in it and muttering under his breath. He didn't appear to have noticed me at all, and I almost giggled; it was too cliché. He walked over to a table, shoved a bunch of stuff to the side with one arm, and deposited the stack of books in the newly cleared space. He turned around to exit via the same door he'd entered without even looking around.

I finally cleared my throat, and he jumped as he turned back. His eyebrows, white bushy things, tried to crawl up his forehead in surprise, though to his credit, he didn't shriek.

"Who are you? How did you get here?"

He turned towards a different door without waiting for an answer, and I felt his aura flare as he cast some sort of spell. It felt ... greasy, was the only word I could come up with for it. Wynne's magic always felt warm, Morrigan's felt sort of wild, but this was like taking a bath in lard. "My ward is intact, and the demons still survive. What are you, a demon who broke through? A fade spirit?"

He turned back towards me, and I actually thought for a moment he might just hit me with a spell. The intensity in his eyes was frightening, and I could feel the magic gathering at his command, though I wasn't sure what spell he was working on. Afraid for my life, I reached out mentally and seized his mana, interrupting whatever he'd been about to do. He staggered and went down on one knee, his breath hissing out of him with a groan. I felt bad – I'd no desire to hurt him – but I wasn't about to be lit on fire, or become his next test subject either.

"I'm not a demon or a spirit."

He looked up at me, disdain battling with fear on his lined face. "I can see that, templar." The title was spat at me like an epithet, and I sighed.

"I'm not a templar either, though I apparently have some of their abilities. Listen, I don't want to fight with you. Can we sit down like adults and talk for a minute? If I am convinced you won't immediately try to kill me, I'll give you your mana back." I walked over to one of the few intact chairs and sat down, gesturing to one opposite.

He struggled to his feet, face red in anger, but curiosity seemed to win, briefly. "What do you mean, give it back? That's not possible."

I sighed. "Sit. I'll try to explain. But I assure you, it is possible." As a demonstration, I gave him back a tiny trickle of his mana. His eyes widened, and he slid into the chair, mouth open.

"Explain, then."

"Why don't we try to be pleasant about the whole thing? First things first. You're Avernus. You're a Grey Warden blood mage; you summoned the demons out there and lost control of them, and that was centuries ago. You tore the Veil and more keep coming through. And you experimented on the surviving Grey Wardens looking for ways to improve the Joining."

His eyes got even wider, if that was possible, and he glanced around, as though wondering who else might have heard. I almost laughed.

"I'm Sierra. I'm ... well." I thought quickly. How to explain? "I'm from a different world. As in, somewhere other than Thedas. I'm travelling with three of the last surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but we got separated. I seem to be able to sort of ... appear, places. And for some reason, I have templar powers. The Grey Wardens I travel with should be here in a few days to clean this place out. The Commander is looking forward to meeting you."

He stared at me for a while, and I let him think about things until it seemed he was ready to ask me questions.

"If you're not from Thedas, where are you from?"

I explained Earth in basic terms; no magic, technology, different cultures. I explained the game, though I avoided calling it such, and used that as a jumping board to explaining how I knew him and my multiple alternate universe theory. He was intrigued by the idea of other worlds, and I briefly wondered if I shouldn't have told him – what if he managed to find another world? What if he made it to Earth? And then I laughed – he would probably be powerless, and get hit by a car in the first five minutes. The Earth would survive. He could join me on the psych ward, if he survived.

To my disappointment, he had no idea how I could have travelled, though he postulated that perhaps I somehow could physically enter and cross the Fade. It didn't make sense to me – my body was different in the different places – but I had to agree that the Veil and the Fade were likely somehow involved.

To my surprise, he had a theory on my templar abilities.

"It makes sense, if you think about it."

I was confused. He hadn't explained anything yet. "It does?" It was a bit surreal having the conversation, with Avernus of all people, but I was intensely curious.

"Well, of course. What traits make a good templar?"

"I have absolutely no idea. And neither did the mage I asked. Wait, do you know?"

He looked shocked, almost more so than he did at my presence. "How is it possible that people don't know? It's entirely obvious."

"From what I gather, even the Chantry isn't sure why some people are better templars than others."

He snorted. "That's hardly a surprise. What the Chantry knows would fit in a thimble. But how do the mages not know?"

He muttered under his breath for a bit about lost knowledge, and I had to clear my throat again to get him back on task.

"Right. The trait that determines whether someone will be an effective templar is resistance to magic. Everyone is born with a different inherent resistance to it. Those with higher resistances are better templars. They used to selectively breed it into the royalty of the various countries across Thedas – most of the Kings and Queens would make formidable templars. It also kept magic from manifesting in any possible heirs. If you grew up in a world without magic, I imagine you might have more magic resistance than has ever been seen here before. It makes sense you'd be an effective templar."

It was an interesting hypothesis, one we wouldn't be able to test without finding some way to bring someone else from Earth over, but it made for a fascinating possibility. It would also explain why Alistair, despite hating it, was such a prize for the Chantry – his royal blood probably made him a damn good templar, even ignoring the political gain. When I wasn't so pissed off at him, I planned to tell him about it.

He asked me what I was capable of, so far, and I described the shielding and the accidental blast that had killed multiple darkspawn at Ostagar and again at Redcliffe. He made me show him the shield, and I discovered that I could even shield myself. He was fascinated, and immediately grabbed a book filled with mostly blank pages and began scribbling furiously in it with a quill. He growled at me when I tried to interrupt him, and I finally sat back to wait it out.

When he was done, we sat and discussed things some more. Avernus had seemed to calm down, and I wasn't worried anymore that he would fireball me or something, so I carefully released my hold and gave him his mana back. His expression was wondrous, and I smiled at the childlike glee.

It was getting late, and he started to look haggard; I was guessing that staying alive this many centuries took a toll on his stamina, Grey Warden or not. He ushered me through a nearby door, warning me in no uncertain terms not to enter the door he'd come through – it was his lab. I was in a small sitting room, furnished with a settee, a couch, and a few chairs. There was a huge fireplace, which he lit with the snap of a finger. He didn't have a spare bed in his area of the fortress, but the couch was dramatically more comfortable that the vinyl monstrosity I'd accidentally slept on in hospital, and was even a far sight better than sleeping on the ground, so I didn't mind. He found me a blanket, and an old (but miraculously clean) robe, and showed me how to use the enchanted faucet that could pour cold water into a basin.

Another nearby room held a fireplace and a few tables that looked to serve as a kitchen. He had a number of vegetables stored – he told me he had a roof-top garden and promised to show me the following day. He told me he'd learned how to use preservations spells to keep the vegetables edible long after harvesting. There was a hook over the fire to hang a pot of water for heating. From what I could see, he was burning furniture, which made sense – after this long, any firewood would have been long gone, but he'd have been able to scavenge wooden furniture from the rest of the keep. The trash heap I'd woken in started to make more sense – he probably kept anything that would burn. And I was relieved to hear about the garden; I hadn't wanted to know what exactly he'd been eating for two hundred years, otherwise. He did complain about the lack of meat, but I figured I'd manage for the expected three days until my group arrived.