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Chapter Text

CULLEN

“Protect the Inquisitor!” I shouted, unsheathing my sword as I dug my heels into Stormheart’s flanks.

  The signal fires of the watchtowers were lit, our soldiers that had been on duty, dead. But I prayed that the signals being lit meant warning had come in time. Please, Maker. Smoke was on the horizon, hazing the sky and obscuring any view of Skyhold.
  Stormheart’s steps were true as he galloped up the pass, his gait as smooth as always. I could feel his anticipation as it mirrored my own. He was bred for this—just as I had been. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins. Dread dared to pool in my gut as I thought of the demons and abominations that could be waiting. 
  We will not run from here, Inquisitor. That’s what I had promised Ellana. That the same mistakes in Haven would not be made here. ‘The center never changed’. No, we would not run. I would not run. Not this time. 
  I heard the pounding of hooves behind me and turned to find a great halla galloping up to my side. An intelligent eye met mine. Meira.
  ‘I want to go home’. No, I would not run. Whatever came, I would face it. For her. For us. For the Inquisition. Giving her a nod, I turned my eyes back to the pass. She kept pace with Stormheart as we climbed the mountain.

…

  The village was on fire, the fields razed and livestock slaughtered. I thanked the Maker that there seemed to be no one present within the village—alive or dead. I growled under my breath, however, when I noticed the siege engines for Adamant we had begun constructing were completely obliterated. No doubt their intended goal.
  I knew…I knew something would happen. I should have demanded I be left behind. Our enemy seemed to have pressed on to the stronghold proper when they found no one within the village, if the multitude of footprints were any indication.
  I urged Stormheart on, approaching the bottom of the barbican’s shaft. Meira came to a halt next to me, her breath curling out of her dark nose as she breathed out. Roars sounded from within the barbican, Red Templars charging at us. I kneed Stormheart and stormed them, shield taking arrows aimed at me.
  Meira raced next to us before she jumped and in mid-air transformed into her mortal form. Her Fade-born armor appearing, she landed upon the ground and from her, ice erupted. The magic engulfed everything, freezing the templars in place, before her spirit blade appeared. In a single swing, she shattered the Red Templars apart.
  More spilled from the barbican, Meira snarling as she stepped in and out of the Fade. Ice, spirit blade and her very touch downing her enemies. Atop Stormheart, I fought. The stallion pushed enemies down in his wake, my blade putting an end to them as the stumbled. Circling Meira, those enemies she froze, I struck and shattered apart. 

“Are we late to the party?” Dorian’s voice sung as the rest of them arrived, his staff lit, fire swallowing the Red Templars that charged them. 

“Darling, we are the party,” Vivienne laughed as her spirit blade appeared and she threw herself into battle, Ellana following suit. 

  Together, we made quick work of the pathetic ambush. Dorian set the templars aflame to stop the lyrium from spreading. We turned to the barbican to find the platform and winch system destroyed.
  The only options were to repair the platform and have a mage raise a few at a time or for us all to separately climb the precarious steps—though they were hardly steps, instead pieces of stone set far apart so one would have to jump from one to the other—jutting from the wall. I said as much to the others.

”Let’s repair it,” Meira stated, her hands lighting with magic, “We need to get up there as quick—“

I felt it a split second too late. “—No! Wa—“

  She’d set off a magical glyph written in blood. The glyph had illuminated as soon as she’d summoned her magic. Tendrils of blood erupted from the glyph, but before they could reach her or the others, light burst forth. Blinding for a moment before I could see, Stormheart raising onto his back legs as he whinnied before I wrested him back under my control.
  Surrounding Meira, the cursed blood and glyph vaporized at the contact, stood Purpose and two other spirits. Not physically, but apparitions. Great tower shields in their hands. Shielding the rest of us were other spirits whose names I did not know. The others disappeared once they were certain we were unharmed.

“Purpose?” Meira questioned.

”Need to be quicker with your barriers,” Purpose flashed a smirk—my smirk—at her.

”I’ll remember that,” she breathed, “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Be wary,” he warned his gold eyes flicking between us, “Your enemy is out for blood.” He looked at Meira. “I am watching over you.” With that, he disappeared.

“My, my,” Dorian chirped, “What a handsome spirit. Almost reminds me of someone.”

Meira cleared her throat, erecting a barrier around all of us. “Let’s try that again,” she grumbled.

”Commander,” Ellana called as she and the other mages finished helping Meira repair the platform, “What’s the plan?”

I looked to them all. ”It depends on what we find up there. If they still haven’t breached Skyhold, we must take back and hold the neck. I left instructions that if the worst should happen, they are to destroy the bridge,” I stated, “We’ve enough of a supply inside to last half a year.”

”And if they blow the bridge while we’re on it?” Dorian demanded, “What then? We all plummet to our cold deaths?”

”I said if the worst should happen, Pavus. As in, we all die,” I retorted, “But if they do, you’re mages, are you not? Surely you could come up with something? Besides, it won’t matter if we reclaim the neck.”

“A very inspiring speech, Commander,” Dorian scoffed.

I curled my lip at him. “Only a few of us will be able to go up at a time as a mage will have to raise the platform. Stormheart and I will go up first and charge them. Knight Enchanters fall behind me. Archers will provide cover. Warriors will push as rogues flank. Remaining mages…cause as much chaos as possible, but keep us protected.”

”What about demons? Blood mages?” Bull questioned.

“Priority targets,” I stated, “Then aim for the mortal.”

”And if they’re already inside?” Ellana questioned.

I clenched my jaw, fear for my sisters who were still here cropping up. “If they’ve gotten inside…we have to get inside as swiftly as possible. It will be easy for them to get to the people if they break through any defenses. They should barricade themselves within the castle. The mages are to set glyphs to keep them from getting inside, but given what red lyrium is…We must pray we can get to them in time.”

“Lead on, Commander,” Ellana ordered.

”I‘ll stay and lift the platform,” Meira said causing me to look at her. Her eyes met mine. “I’ll be the fastest up.”

I nodded. “You have your orders. Andraste, give us strength.”

…

  Red Templars, Venatori and demons swarmed the neck. Arrows flew from the arrow loops in the walls of Skyhold and back. Magic was hurled at the walls of the stronghold only to be met by barriers. Mages were trying to force the drawbridge down. Our own dumping all their will into keeping it up.
 Red Templars roared as they rushed the drawbridge, hurling themselves at the fortress’s walls. Several fell to their deaths, but more made it, limbs replaced with red lyrium punching through the stone walls as if they were no more than air. In horror, I watched as they began to climb at a supernatural speed. A few of the mages atop the wall dropped their barriers to aim for the creatures, but there were too many.
  We were too far for the mages’ magic to reach them, it was up to me to open a path. ‘It was not lyrium’. Sword and shield in hand, Meira’s commissioned mabari helmet in place, I kneed Stormheart in the sides. 

“For the Inquisition!” I bellowed as we stormed the neck.

  For a few heartbeats, all I heard were his hooves upon the stone, the roar of adrenaline in my ears, the rush of the wind slicing through the air. Then with a slam that threatened to unseat me, we bashed into the enemy, splitting them like a plow in the field. Some on the outermost sides were pitched off, screaming as they fell to their demise.
  Vivienne and Ellana were to either side of me, great spectral blades hissing as they swung to keep the furrow I’d opened cleared. Shouts weaved through the enemy ranks as they rallied to face us, but still I charged on. Sword thrust into openings in armor, shield taking arrows and blows.
  War cries issued behind me as a few of the others entered the fray. Screams erupted from the walls of Skyhold as the Red Templars breached the top. The creatures that were once men and women tore through our soldiers and the mages that had been helping them. Shouts of panic sounded, arrows flew, magic shone everywhere. 

“Inquisitor! Vivienne!” I shouted now that we were close enough, “Bring down those Red Templars on the wall! Now!”

But it was too late. The drawbridge groaned as it fell, banging against the stone. They’d killed the mages keeping it up. The Red Templars on the neck shouted, swords or arms raised as they charged.

“Commander!” Rylen’s voice bellowed, “Get out of there!”

  Outrage could be heard as they met the surprise waiting for them. Arrows flew through the openings in the lowered portcullis. Rylen had amassed a small army within the gatehouse.
  Archers in the front, footmen behind them if the attacking force managed to get through. Rows of Red Templars fell as the projectiles tore through their ranks. I got my shield up just in time to block one that had zoomed towards my face.

“Pin them here!” I ordered.

Turning Stormheart, I swept my sword around him to parry a few swings aimed at the horse before spirit blades cut down the would-be attackers. Hunching over so that I was as low on Stormheart as I could be, I pressed into the stallion’s flanks once more, he nickering before charging back towards the barbican. Arrows whizzed passed, but I felt a barrier ripple around me, any others disintegrating before they could find their marks. More fell off the sides.

”Brave boy, Stormheart,” I murmured to the stallion, his ear flicking back to me.

“Cullen!” Ellana’s panicked voice shouted, “The portcullis!”

  I turned and that was my mistake. A creature that was more red lyrium than human darted out from the cover of the others and rammed its crystalline arm into Stormheart’s chest. The stallion let out a short noise of alarm before he buckled beneath me, flinging me from the saddle. I caught myself at the last second, rolling as I hit the ground and coming up on my feet.
  Eyes darting to get an assessment, they caught on the handsome charger. He was dead, had been the moment he hit the ground. A twinge of guilt in my chest, I told myself I would mourn the stallion after this battle, but for now, I had to stay focused. The portcullises had been raised, the force within the gatehouse in danger of falling as the Red Templars swarmed them.
  I prayed they’d had time to follow through on my orders. If we were ever sieged, in the case of a breach I had ordered that trenches be dug in the lower bailey. Blockades set up to the west and on the northern and southeastern stairs. Archers and mages were to line the surrounding high areas to attack.
  An inhuman screech sounded, pulling my attention to before me. Red Templars were coming for me. Nausea rolled in my gut as I felt the hunger—the thirst—claw at me. The smell of red lyrium so pungent, it was hard to think or breathe. I shoved it away, bringing my shield and sword up. Andraste, give me strength.
  The creature that had taken Stormheart raced towards me, faster than its brethren. It shrieked at me and I snarled at it. Launching itself in the air, it spun, its crystalline arms descending as marksmen released their arrows. I ducked behind my shield, lifting it up just slightly to catch the creature and block the arrows. The strikes fell, the arrows pinging. I felt a weight at my back, heard the release of a bow. A shriek of pain issued, followed by a thud. 

“Eat it!” Sera’s voice taunted at my back. “Ate it! You just gonna sit on your pretty bum, Cully-Wully?” I turned, seeing that the rest had arrived, save Meira.

“Get to the lower bailey, they’ve broken through,” I ordered, “Do not let them get to the keep!”

”On it,” Bull nodded, “Get behind me, all of you!”

  Doing as he asked, I signaled the others to get into a wedge formation. With a terrifying bellow, he charged head first into battle, slaughtering the enemy as he went.
  With a shout, the rest of us charged behind him. A great roar, one that made my hair stand on end as it dragged my mind back to the night in Haven, rent the air. A great shadow overhead.

“Dragon!” I shouted over the din of battle only a second before corrupted fire rained down on us. I grabbed Sera by her waist as she was stood beside me and pulled her under my shield. Barriers erupted just in time, the enchantments upon my armor protecting me as well, but the sheer heat of the dragon’s flames was enough to make me cry out.

”Friggin’ archdemon, friggin’ Coryphallus!” She started howling like a wild cat, curses enough to make a mercenary blush spilling from her mouth. “Let me go, Jackboot! Need to put a few more arrows in their faces!”

I let her go, standing and taking a blow from the Red Templar before it landed on her. “Where is it, Sera?!”

”Circling! Gonna come back!” She shouted back.

  Ice erupted to either side of us, encasing the enemies around us. I looked over my shoulder, Meira had made it. Her face was frightening. Her starlight eyes burning like molten silver, frost dancing off her eyelashes, hair, ears and fingers. Snowflakes curling out from her parted lips.
  She Fade-stepped, in one hand her spirit blade—far larger than usual—and in the other a conjured blade of shadow flames. Cracking like lightning as she moved, her blades swept through the Red Templars. She popped into existence before me as behind her they burst apart.

The dragon roared in fury and a second too late, I shouted, ”RUN!”  

  Turning as I grabbed Meira’s hand, we ran for the drawbridge. The neck beneath our feet shook violently as the dragon crashed into it. I stayed on my feet, pulling Meira to my side. Pulling, I pushed us forward, the stone buckling from under us. The others were before and behind us, Bull’s gap in the enemy quickly closing. I heard Meira grunt as she froze those in our path, but the neck was crumbling too quickly. We wouldn’t make it.
  I let out a yell as it gave way beneath us, Meira’s hand slipping from mine. Something hit my back, shoving me towards the drawbridge. I threw my sword, it clattering and skidding into the Red Templars slaughtering the force within the gatehouse. I grabbed the edge of the drawbridge and yanked myself up. Panic tore at me, my eyes searching for Meira.
  I spotted her and watched as she phased in and out of the mortal plane, Fade-stepping off of the falling debris. My heart threatened to pound out of my chest. Please, Maker! Andraste! The debris paused, magic wrapping around it as it began to rise and piece itself together, but she was too far ahead of the magic’s reach.

Meira launched herself off a final piece, ice jutting out as it hurled her, hand outstretched to me. “CULLEN!”

I slammed flat to the drawbridge, extending my hands out. For a terrifying second, I thought I wouldn’t be able to catch her. Then her hand was in mine. The force of it nearly dragged me off the drawbridge, but I caught the edge in time and she froze my hand and arm to it. We dangled off a second before I pulled her up to my chest, my muscles screaming, before I sat her on my arm. We were both panting and sweating as we looked at each other.

”This isn’t the right time,” she gasped for breath, “But I’d really love to kiss you right now.”

”We live, beloved,” I panted, “You’re free to kiss me all you like.”

”I’ll hold you to that,” she breathed.

I nodded. “But I did promise to catch you.” She laughed breathlessly. The dragon was circling back, we needed to get up and fast. “Forgive me for this.”

  ”For wh—“ She began before I lifted her up by her rump, palm firmly pressed against it as I pushed her up onto the drawbridge. She flipped onto her belly and iced herself into place. Holding her hands out to me, I took one. She helped pull me up by my hand and chestplate, using her magic to bolster her strength.
  “You’re so heavy!” She grumbled in frustration.

”You expected me to be light?!” I groused back, exasperated, both of us pulling until I could get a leg up. Letting out a unified noise of relief, her ice melting away, we tumbled upon the drawbridge, I thankful for its sturdy build and heavy chains.  

“Not how I would’ve had you touch my bum for the first time, but beggars can’t be choosers,” she wheezed at my side before rolling to stand.

“This is hardly the time for jesting, love,” I growled as I pushed myself up to stand. Bull, Cassandra, Vivienne and Dorian were there doing what they could to aid those in the gatehouse.

”We both just nearly died, I think I’m entitled to a joke,” she panted as she conjured an ice blade and handed it to me, “If we’re going to die, might as well do it with a smile on our face.”

I took the blade and readied myself to charge the gatehouse. The dragon made to attack again, but this time the ballistae shot volley after volley causing it to veer off course. “We’re not dying,” I vowed.

”I’ll hold you to that too,” she challenged as a barrier of her’s rippled around me.

Together we ran until we slammed into the fray within the gatehouse. It was chaos, but I found my senses cleared with the adrenaline of battle, able to push out the red lyrium with it and the barrier around me. Shield took blows and dealt them. Blade parried and struck. But we were stuck, unable to get to the lower bailey. One of the Red Templars shattered the ice blade with a spear of red lyrium, leaving me with only a shield. The Red Templar made to attack, only to have it’s head cleaved.

“Nice of ye to join us, Commander,” Rylen called as he kicked the body off his sword and pressed up against my back. He passed me my metal blade. “Blighters arrived three days ago. Barely got everyone inside in time.”

”Why didn’t you send word?!” I hissed.

”Tried,” he grunted as he blocked a blow with his shield, “Shot down the birds.” He thrust his blade into his attacker. “Guess they’re raging because they weren’t invited to yer ball.”

“How did the portcullises open?” I demanded.

”Afraid we’ve another rat,” he hissed.

”Maker’s breath,” I swore before bashing away a blow and slicing open the belly of a Red Templar, their insides that spilled out were coated in red lyrium and where any blood should have poured, the substance grew instead. “Andraste, preserve us. What have they done to themselves?”

”I’m not sure who’s leading this force,” Rylen stated.

”I just thank the Maker you were here,” I growled.

”It was truly providence, Cul,” he replied, his voice earnest.

  The neck repaired behind us, I saw the others racing across. The dragon tried to attack again, but the ballistae atop the towers fired more volleys, magic now mixed in as mages came to the soldiers’ aid. It screeched in agitation, pulling back before it could get close. Instead, it turned its attention to the castle, but magic was hurled at it there as well. A great roar that did not belong to the dragon tore through the air as Ellana got closer, the templars behind us rallied, coming to flank us.
  Rylen and I turned just in time to be slammed into by a hulking mass of corrupted flesh. Arms crushed around us as the monster picked us up. I lost all sense of orientation as the stench and cacophony of red lyrium overwhelmed my senses, too close to drown it out. Using us like shields, it barreled through the line of soldiers into the upper bailey before throwing us to the ground. We quickly rolled to our feet.
  Several of the Red Templars fell into the trenches, meeting a brutal death on the ends of pikes. Venatori mages revealed themselves from within our soldiers and sealed them up. Maker’s breath, we have got to stop leaving the gates open for anyone to enter. The Red Templars had broken through, fighting erupting all around, arrows raining down from above. We have to hold them here. Rylen and I stood together and faced our attacker.

”Well, well, well,” a familiar voice ushered from the hulking creature’s hideous mouth, “I was hoping I’d run into you. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Rutherford? I assume it’s you anyway, she said you wore fur about your shoulders.”

”Who are you?” I demanded. “Who told you?”

”Of course, you wouldn’t remember,” the voice sneered, “No one wants to remember templars like me. Not even the Chantry for whom I threw my life away. But the red…the red gave it back.”

“You’ve turned your back on everything you swore to,” I snarled.

  ”They turned their backs on us,” it hissed back, “Used us up and then threw us away.” Its crimson eyes looked at me, most of its twisted face exposed.
  “You know it’s true. You left. All they’ve ever done is use us to keep their precious magickers penned up like good little monsters. Fed us lies about some righteous and noble cause, told us we were servants of the Maker Himself—Andraste’s own bloody soldiers. Gave us lyrium and told us the pain, the hunger, the addiction had purpose. That as our mind slips away, it’s an honorable sacrifice for the greater good. And when we’ve lost our minds? They send us off to some quiet place to die in agony as our lyrium runs out.” He smiled and something in it tugged at memories.
  “But not the Elder One. No. He gave us the red, gave us life anew, gave us real purpose. He’ll tear down the lie that is the Chantry, that is the Maker, and give us a faith that’s realized. A god who’ll care for his followers. Mages, templars, common folk, all living in peace as together we worship the Elder One.”

”You just leave out the part where any one who doesn’t worship your darkspawn will be killed for disobedience,” I bit back, “I think I’ll stick with the Maker who gives us the choice.”

The creature shrugged and chuckled. “I think a certain…acquaintance of ours would find you entertaining. He’s rather obsessed with choices.”

  As he kept talking, I surveyed the battlefield. Our soldiers were holding their own against the Red Templars, all paths out of the lower bailey blocked. Arrow after arrow flew, whittling away at their numbers.
  The able people of Skyhold were doing their part as well—running arrows, water, flammables and medicinal supplies to the soldiers. Past the blockades, my eyes caught on hair the same color as my own. Rosalie and Mia were among the runners. Panic flooded in my chest for a heartbeat before I willed it to calm.
  Of course they would do their part to help. Curse our foolish stubbornness. At the sight of them, I launched myself at the creature. It was surprised for a moment before it recovered, I blocking an incoming swing from his arm.
  “Protect our people, soldier!” I ordered, “I’ll deal with this!”

”Ser!” Rylen shouted back.

  Past the creature’s shoulder, I could see Vivienne, Ellana and Meira’s spectral blades blazing through several templars and Venatori as they arced through the air. Sera and Varric had joined the archers, tallying who’d killed the most. Bull had found The Chargers, he on a bloody rampage through the enemy. Dorian was raising the dead, my hair standing on end, to fight for us. Solas’s rift magic tore through the Red Templars, lightning arcing through the metal armor and burning them within. Blackwall and Cassandra led small groups in a charge. Cole was flitting around the battlefield, his daggers finding those who’d left themselves open. For the moment, we had the upper hand.
  The creature and I fought, I clearly the more skilled with weapons. But what he lacked in skill, red lyrium made up for in speed and strength. It took everything I had to block his strikes, to roll and parry, and though I refused to admit it, the red lyrium was getting to me, leeching through the barrier.
  The song, the smell, the heat wafting off of it was worming into my mind. It was becoming hard to breathe. I got my shield up again, the force of his swing sending vibrations up my arms. 

“How long has it been, Rutherford?” The monster questioned, “Over ten years?”

”I don’t know you!” I barked.

”I suppose I have changed a bit on the outside,” the creature sighed, “I should give you a little hint.” Another grotesque smile as he seized my shield with his bestial hands. “You still owe Godwin and I a favor.”

I stood upon the dock overlooking Lake Calenhad. The walls of the tower had felt too tight, the screams of the others ringing in my ears, the barracks too empty. It had taken all I had not to run out of the tower. Sweat dripped down my back, the still new scars from Desire and the blood mages itching at the sensation. The water of the lake lapping against the dock reminded me of my boyhood escape and calmed my nerves a fraction as I thought of home.

”Rutherford?” A voice called from the shadows and I turned. “Out here again?” Carroll, the templar whose main post was to ferry people to and from the tower stepped out. 

“What of it?” I bit.

  ”Always so touchy now,” Carroll sneered, “It’s not my fault I was posted to the ferry and you were inside. Greggles refused to let anyone through but the Warden and her companions.”
  I crossed my arms over my chest, rage abating only slightly. I had grown jealous and contemptuous of the other templars that had survived. That had remained safe behind a locked door at the bottom of the tower. That did not bear scars beyond counting, both mental and physical. I ran a hand over my face, pulling myself out of my thoughts. My hand was shaking. I grabbed it with the other, trying to still it.
  ”Starting to get to you, is it?” Carroll questioned, a brow quirked.

”What?” I hissed.

”Your hands are shaking.” His eyes looked over me, assessing. “Nightmares?”

”So?” I clenched my jaw and looked away.

”You need more lyrium.”

A wry twist of my lips. “I’m not allotted more.”

”Just because you’re not allotted, doesn’t mean you can’t get more,” Carroll stated, his voice hinting that he knew how.

That hunger clamped down on my throat as I knew slaking it would quiet the screams. “What do you mean?”

”See the mage, Godwin,” Carroll said, “Tell him I sent you.”

  ”Carroll?!” I exclaimed as I pulled myself from the memory, shame and anger washing through me.
  I had sought Godwin out, taken more than I was rationed until Greagoir had caught me. Between my changed behavior towards the mages and this newfound addiction, he’d sent me to Greenfell both to help and as a warning. If I did not get myself sorted out, he would expel me from the Order.
  While my attitude towards mages was not softened, the templars and sisters at the Chantry, as well as being away from Kinloch Hold had helped me curb a severer dependency upon lyrium before it begun. The only thing that spared me from dismissal after beating those three mages was the discovery that they too had been acolytes of Uldred—not that it truly made a difference, but to the Order, it was excusable. Instead, solitary confinement and the transfer to Kirkwall were my punishments.
  A part of me wished now that Greagoir had cast me out of the Order. For in Kirkwall I was allotted more lyrium—which I did not question—and my rage towards the mages had only grown. Until…everything had happened. And perhaps in that, I realized, the Maker had kept me in the Order to break me of my anger. 

  ”Knew you’d get it,” Carroll laughed, those memories and thoughts passing in seconds. The sound of his laugh was like metal scraping on metal.
  “You had such a terrible time sleeping after Uldred’s little revolt. Until, I pointed you to Godwin. Tell me, Commander, do you still have trouble sleeping?”
  He jerked the shield, my bones straining as it hit me in the chest. The air in my lungs whooshed out. “As I recall, there was a certain someone at the center of your nightmares.”
  He bashed me again, pressing his weight down on me, my knees buckling. “Neria, was it?”
  He ripped the helmet off my head before a great fist collided with my face. “She returned to the tower you know, after chasing you to Kirkwall. That nasty little brand on her forehead. Had Greggles and Irving all out of sorts it did.”
  His fist hit me again. “Was that your doing? Heard you were Knight-Captain. Can’t blame you if so. Certainly made her more…agreeable.”
  Once more his fist collided with my face, my nose breaking, water streamed from my eyes as blood poured from my nostrils, black on the edges of my vision. “Never was able to test out how agreeable, though. Irving, the mother hen that he was, kept a close eye on her. Greggles too. Was satisfying to run them through with my blade. Then she and another little knife-ear escaped the tower before I could find them.”
  He kicked me to the ground, I could hear distant shouts of my name. Something had shifted in the battle. The Veil had thinned, inhuman roars that were not the Red Templars filling the air. Demons. “Pity.”
  He pulled me up by my hair. “How does it feel to be brought low once more, Rutherford? Once so high and mighty, now weak in the face of true sacred power.” He threw me to the ground.

“Cullen!” A familiar voice screamed, closer. Rosalie’s voice. 

“What’s this?” Carroll laughed, “A lovely little gnat?”

”Get away from him, you monster!” She shouted.

Grinding my teeth, I breathed past the pain and forced my mind to clear. I opened my swollen, watering eyes to find Rosalie charging Carroll, a blade in hand. “Rose!” I bellowed, “NO!”

  Carroll laughed again as he caught her by the throat before she’d even landed a swing. “Venatori! Show these maggots what real mages look like!”
  More inhuman wails sounded. Demons erupted all around. Carroll broke Rosalie’s sword arm, screams of pain tearing from her as her bones protruded, and threw her down a little ways from me. I tried to crawl to her, but he pinned me beneath his boot.
  “Duhaime! I’ve a wonderful sacrifice for you!”

“Cullen!” Rosalie cried, her scream so hoarse, so full of pain it tore at my insides.

  I saw the abject terror in her eyes, tears streaming down her beautiful face, as she stared wide-eyed at the malicious mage stalking towards her, a sickening grin on his face. Dagger dragged across flesh, crimson floating on an invisible wind before clinging to Rosalie’s skin. Panicked sounds came from her parted lips as she frantically tried to wipe it away with her good arm.
  It only clung harder to her, webbing across her body. She lifted a delicate hand to her face, watching the blood grow. Her hand shook before she began screaming at the top of her lungs, falling back in convulsions, her broken arm flopping grotesquely.
  Maker! Andraste! Please! Please! Please!
  I howled like a wounded animal, fingers clawing at the ground in my vain effort to get to her.

“Wishing you had the lyrium in your veins now, eh, Rutherford?” Carroll mocked above me. “Such a shame something so pretty must perish in so nasty a way.”

“I’ll kill you,” I spit as I turned to look at him, “I swear—“

  He kicked me in the face, something else breaking. “—You can’t even stand. You don’t even have the strength to face me. No, you’ll lay here helpless in the dirt and watch her die before I gut you like a pig.”
  He kicked me again, breaking a few ribs as my armor dented. He rolled me onto my back, before plunging my sword into my gut. “How does it feel, Cullen? To have failed so miserably? To watch her suffer as you did?”
  Carroll laughed, driving my blade further in. “I heard your pathetic screams as they tortured you. We all did before the so-called Hero rescued you. And now listen—“ he paused to hear Rosalie’s broken cries, “—how sweet is that sound?”
  His armor creaked as he bent to me, sinking my blade all the way through to the ground. Through my blurred vision I could make out a crystal of red lyrium. “You could help her you know? All you need to do is join us.”

“Never,” I gasped.

  I laid upon the ground, wounds seeping, ears filled with the sounds of Rosalie’s pain, the tides of battle turning, eyes streaming with tears. I felt my heart thudding in my chest, once so strong as it pumped lyrium through my veins and now I was no more than a mortal man. I let out a shuddering breath as I realized I would not save her and I would die here just as Carroll said.
  He laughed once more as he stood, wrenching my blade out, before kicking me hard to roll me over where I could not look away from Rosalie. Her mouth was open in a silent, never ending scream as cuts continued to erupt along her skin feeding the blood mage torturing her. I reached a hand out, her name on my lips.
  Maker. Andraste. Is this what you’ve called me to do? To die an arm’s length away from her as I fail her once again?
The thuds of my heart were slowing, growing weak in my chest. As if mocking, so faint I could barely hear it, the song of lyrium hummed in my mind. A melancholy tune, as if in mourning, calling out to me.
  Rosalie’s terrified eyes met mine. ‘If an apostate tried to hurt me, would you save me, Cul?’

“What the h—“ I heard Carroll begin before the ground beneath me shook at an impact.

Blinking, trying to focus, to keep my soul on this side of the Veil a moment longer, a figure stood before me. Shadowy wings spread wide, armor made of the Fade itself and ice magic so cold it seemed to sap the life out of the very air around whomever stood before me.

“You will not touch him again,” the figure spit.

Armor clinked as Carroll laughed once more. “Oh, goody. Samson told me about you. His elven lover, I assume? The other must be a sister given how much she looks like him. It seems I’ll have the pleasure of robbing him of the both of you before he bleeds out on the grass.”

That cold grew even colder, but tendrils of warmth wrapped around me, spreading through my veins. “Samson has never faced me. Nor have you. I assure you, you will not make it out of this fortress alive.”

“So scary,” Carroll scoffed, “Like any mage, even you can be subdued. I will thoroughly enjoy bringing you to your knees.” I heard the noise of snapping fingers. “Besides, a little birdie told me how to deal with you. Would you care to join us, Elizabeth?”

  Carroll and the Venatori maleficar stood to either side as before me a monstrosity limped out from the fray. Demons were everywhere, Red Templars even more corrupted than they had been were slaughtering our soldiers by the dozen. It was taking everything they had for the others not to fall.
  But the most horrific thing I had yet seen in this battle was the woman shambling towards me. She had been pretty once. Flame-colored hair, pale skin covered in freckles, brilliant sapphire eyes and a brazen spirit that knew no master. This ghost before me was her shattered remains.
  Black veins webbed across her mutilated skin, crimson eyes bespoke horrors untold, and blood-red crystals were jutting out of her. They’d cruelly shaved her head and beaten her nearly beyond recognition. As she approached, her one arm that remained unchanged held her stomach, the other dragging behind her, a great spear of red lyrium.

“You see, we found the little rat along with your other spies in Emprise du Lion,” Carroll began, “I’m afraid none of them faired well during their stay. Little Lizzy made a choice. But I think she’d choose differently if given the chance.”

  Rosalie cried out again. Everything slowed, a strange quality to the air. The figure before me turned, now bathed in starlight. Silver eyes met mine, moon white hair dancing on a wind, and a face so devastatingly beautiful I believed it a creature of the Fade.
  “My lion,” it called, something stirring in me, “It’s time to rise.” Those silver eyes burned brighter as healing magic knit me back together, my heart beating harder in my chest. That song growing louder.
  “I know your past haunts you, but it does not define you. Stop being afraid of it. Listen, my knight. Listen and sing.” Sing? At those words, I heard that melody that sounded in my nightmares now, a song I drew strength from to face them. I wondered if this were some fever dream, brought about from my dying. But time sped up again, the mortal world returning as I heard Rosalie scream for our mother.
  “Remember the Fade, my love. The chains do not hold you. She needs you, Cullen. Save her.”

‘Uldred marked you but did not make you. You stayed you.
The center never changed kept safe like a coin in your pocket’.
  My mind quickening in its pace, I realized who was before me. Meira. The Fade. My mind went to those moments of her before me. The demon had become Alrik, feeding on her shame and I’d watched the female I loved break before me. Always so strong, so beautifully strong; the terror, the pain, the sorrow I’d heard in her voice had stirred my very soul. I’d been chained by the demon, encased in that magical cage believing I was unable to escape—that I was powerless. At Meira’s being in danger, something had roared within me. A single need—a single purpose—to protect her.
  Rosalie screamed, the Veil tore and a greater pride demon clawed its way out of the Fade. Meira sank to her knees and wailed in agony. Demons had surrounded her, the blood mage draining Rosalie of life using her to call forth more demonic servants from beyond the Veil. No matter what power she had gained, it seemed Meira’s tie to the Fade and its denizens left her vulnerable to their corrupted versions—at least, the more powerful ones.

“Cullen,” Purpose’s voice commanded, “This is what you swore yourself to. To defend against evil and dark magic. We cannot help her. The demons, the blood, the summoning circles. We’ll be corrupted as well and pull her with us. It’s up to you. They need you. All of them. Stand.”

   ‘Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.In their blood the Maker’s will is written’.
  Could I take that stand again? Did it even mean anything? The Order had been a lie. Templars as they were within the Chantry were no more than leashed dogs to keep the mages under subjugation.
  For that was what I had become. I had stood by and let mages suffer for no other reason than fear and vengeance. The mages in the Circle, those that had done no wrong, I allowed to suffer as much as any maleficar. The Chantry had fed me lies, twisted the Chant to justify it and fed me lyrium to compel me into obedience.
  Time slowed once more, in cadence with the beats of my heart. I watched demons stalk towards the female I loved—a mage—the maleficar attacking my sister, my soldiers, my friends, all those who I’d come to care about, something burned in my chest. The mages we’d allied with, Fiona leading them, fought to defend us. Red Templars cut them down, mercilessly, brutally. The greater pride demon boomed a laugh as it looked around, scoffing at us. Those few templars that were here, led by Rylen, charged it, weapons glowing white.
  ‘Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter’. ‘It was not lyrium’. ‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written’.
  I knew little of righteousness. If I’d learned anything in my years as a templar, it was that I knew less than nothing. The world was not always black and white. Magic not evil, templars not righteous. For magic could be wielded for righteous causes and lyrium to wreak vengeance upon the weak. I had done so, had stood by as it was done.
  I’d had my innocence stripped from me at the hands of magic and believed from that point on any who wielded it were to be distrusted. To be locked away. To be branded or killed all in the name of some greater good another defined for me. I’d shoved my humanity away in the name of duty.
  But here, amongst the Inquisition, a new ‘greater good’ was taking shape. One where mage and templar could fight together. Where mages could be free. Piece by piece my humanity was being restored as I looked not to the Chantry or the Order to define what was the greater good, but the Maker. Where Meira and I could be that girl and boy, in love, and it did not matter if I was a templar and she a mage.
  For not even that had stopped me from loving her. Because it didn’t matter. For as I loved her—a mage who used her magic to help, to heal, to fight alongside me for the same cause, the same dream—I remembered the truth. All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands. All. Mage, templar, mundane. It was the evil in the hearts of some mages that spurred them to use their magic to harm others. But she and those mages like her used it—just as I used my sword—to serve and protect. And as she had shown me that again and again—and through both her love for me and her own faith—had reminded me of the man I wanted to be. Through her magic had called me from my shame and challenged me to be the man I was meant to be.
  Could I truly rise above all that I had done? All the sins I had committed? Could I help that dream become reality? I who had once turned my back on all that I had sworn myself to? Had failed those I was meant to lead? Had failed those I was meant to protect? Could I take that stand once more? Fight for peace, fight for justice, fight for righteousness as the Maker, as Andraste, as the Chant of Light defined it?
  No, magic couldn’t be made safe, mages still needed help learning control—especially those who had no one to teach them—but could I help shape a world where that help didn’t come in the form of a cage? In the form of fear? Could I have a hand in steering the templars towards a new path? Was I even worthy of doing so? I left that life, no longer wanted it, and yet…
  In their blood…in my blood I could still feel it. Lyrium. Not the philters, but the original infusion. The lyrium that had sundered me and rebuilt me into something new. Into a templar. Untainted, unchained, unafraid. Is it the Maker’s will?
  Hesitating, I focused my mind and reached. I reached out until I felt the hilt of a sword in my palm. Brimming with power, with light. I gripped that sword with all my might. That power, that strength, I never thought I’d wield again filled my being. The song loud once more.
  But it wasn’t the same. There was no taint to it, no compulsion beyond the want to reach for that ‘other’ that made me a templar. It was mine and it answered to me. The song was my voice, bold and strong, singing the harmony to a melody of that something greater.
  The warmth of Meira’s healing magic faded as my wounds were healed. And instead of the harsh slamming of the Fade closed, it was a gentle push to her magic. It was still there, not silenced nor dampened. Just softened.
  Taking deep breaths in, my strength renewing, I grabbed my sword that Carroll had dropped next to me. And there was the proof, the white light as my hand made contact with the hilt. A bittersweet feeling pooled in my gut. The Order could be free, but we would never be free of lyrium—not truly. It had changed us within and that change was permanent; but the hope—the silver thread—was that lyrium could be ours to control. A tool, a weapon, wielded by us as we wanted, not how anyone else demanded.
  It was a freedom the Red Templars sought in red lyrium, but they’d only found a crueler master. A master that twisted and corrupted. A reflection of lyrium as it was wielded by the Chantry.
  Time sped up, my heart thundering in my chest. Rosalie and Meira’s screams filled my ears. Demons shrieked all around as they closed in on us.

  Carroll wrenched Meira up by her throat. “Why don’t we find out what red lyrium does to a mage, hmm?”
  Fast as lightning, Elizabeth plunged her red lyrium arm into the Venatori before wrenching it up and splitting the man in half. Turning, she lunged at Carroll, slicing off the arm that held Meira. Carroll let out a roar of pain.
  “Stupid wench! You should be driven mad by the red! We should have just killed you!” Meira fell to the ground seemingly unconscious. Carroll’s missing limb became solid red lyrium as he turned on Elizabeth. Demons leapt. 

“Cullen!” Elizabeth’s distorted voice ordered. “Now!”

  Clenching my jaw, I rose. My heart pumping harder and faster as if it knew what was coming, desperate to fill me with as much lifeblood as it could, the white upon my blade growing brighter, I bashed it against my shield. Pulling from that place in my core, that part of me that was ‘other’ and permanent and filled with lyrium, I roared in both defiance and pain as I stripped the lyrium from it and wrenched my sword towards the sky.
  ‘O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
  O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me.
Stand only in places You have blessed.
Sing only the words You place in my throat.
  My Maker, know my heart:
Take from me a life of sorrow.
Lift me from a world of pain.
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.
  My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to Your approval.
  O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death.
Make me one within Your glory.
And let the world once more see Your favor.
  For You are the fire at the heart of the world,
And comfort is only Yours to give’.
  Pouring all of my will—the will to fight this evil, to protect, to see a new future—I pulled my blade down to the earth. A blinding pillar of light slammed upon the ground and swallowed up the demons. They shrieked in panic, clawing at their eyes, curling in on themselves to hide from the light. As they were stunned, I smashed my shield and sword together, golden light bursting forth as I wrenched the Veil closed, the solid, mortal world immutable.
  My knees buckled, hitting the ground hard, my body utterly spent and wracked with pain. Numerous lesser demons died instantly, but above them, a rift was open in the sky and the greater pride demon remained. Carroll and Elizabeth roared as they fought each other. Meira had crawled to Rosalie who was now healed, but both lay still.
  My heart thudded slowly, strenuously, dark creeping into my vision as I gasped for breath. The others were still fighting, the demons and Red Templars proving too much. But Meira and Rosalie were alive, spared for the moment. I prayed my sacrifice would not be in vain.

”Maker, hear my cry,” I prayed bitterly before collapsing upon the ground.

…

  Hands pulled on me, pulled me up onto my feet. Placed my sword in my palm and my shield in my hand. The hands were warm, beckoning, urging me to get up, to keep going, to keep fighting. My heart pumped wildly, energy and strength renewed. I opened my eyes, heaving in breaths. I’d only been out for mere seconds, but as I looked to where Meira and Rosalie had been, I found Meira standing, though there was pain on her face, and Rylen carrying Rosalie back to safety.
  Her silver eyes met mine, a smile of relief briefly showing. She had done that. Had called upon the spirits to restore me. Her relief was momentary as more demons poured from the rift. I readied my weapons as she came to stand next to me. We stared down the pride demon’s back as it attacked the others.

”You nearly killed yourself, Cullen,” she snapped, “Don’t ever do that again.”

”Die to protect you?” I retorted, “I’d do it a thousand times.”

“As gallant as that is, my knight,” she hissed, “I don’t want you dying for me. I want you to live.”

”Then let’s kill these monsters,” I growled.

”Gladly,” she snarled, “But I can’t get close to that pride demon. It’s too powerful. What do we do?”

  But before I could reply, a great, green light exploded into existence. The pride demon, Red Templars and Venatori beneath it all screamed as the light tore them to shreds, pulling them into something akin to a rift. Beyond the fray, Ellana’s marked hand was glowing, her eyes burning green. She let out a feral shout before the strange magic ended.
  As it did, she howled again as a tether of light lashed out to the rift above us all. Her Mark burned brighter as she yanked on the tether, the rift slamming closed. All the demons that had come from it, died instantly. The Red Templars and Venatori were stunned a moment, the entire battlefield stunned in the wake of Ellana’s power.

“I had no idea she could do that,” Meira breathed, “She…she opened a rift to pull the demons inside? What is the Mark?”

But we had no time to ponder the question as the tide of battle shifted back in our favor. “We have to end this now!”

  Meira nodded, her spectral blade shining into existence. Side by side, we charged into battle. A barrier rippled around me and with each strike Meira landed it seemed to only grow in strength. Back to back we fought, moving around each other as if we were one. One sword, one shield, one being.
  Where I left myself open, her blades or spirits protected. At her back, I kept any enemy from flanking her. I could hear her mana singing, even more clearly than before as it whispered to that ‘other’ melody in my core. As we regained ground, I rallying what remained of the soldiers as we charged the enemy, the Venatori mages turned to blood magic.
  The Red Templars fed each other their red lyrium, shifting into nightmarish monsters. The very air became difficult to breathe as the poison of red lyrium grew beyond baring. Cursed blood cut down wave upon wave of our footmen. The tides were shifting again as little by little we whittled down to only the Inquisitor’s inner circle remaining. One of the far towers exploded as the dragon landed a fireball.

“Battalion!” A familiar voice bellowed from the gatehouse, “Let’s show our Lieutenant-Commander what we learned!”

  Lyrium-imbued arrows and magical ones flew through the air, finding their marks. Dozens of Red Templars and Venatori fell. As I blocked a swing and thrust my blade into my enemy’s throat, I watched as the Reformed Battalion charged from the gatehouse.
  Barris and Solana led them, fighting together. Mage and Templar fought, protecting, aiding, encouraging each other. Magic rained down, lyrium-empowered abilities shut our enemies from further access to the Fade. Mages healed those of our footmen that could be, templars shielded them from attacks.

“Amell!” Barris shouted, “Push them back!”

Fire burst from within the battalion as the fire-being that was Solana emerged, glyphs alight on her dragon-hide armor. Red Templars and their corrupted lyrium erupted into flames at the sheer heat of her fire if they stood too close. Amell led her unit in a flanking maneuver, her spirit blade in hand, mage and templar working together to funnel our enemy back to the gatehouse. Barris’s unit kept them from escaping across the bridge. 

“Archers!” Solana shouted, “Release at will!”

  The Venatori mages now cut off from the Fade, they turned fully to blood magic only to be met with blades, magic and arrows. It was a blood mage’s one weakness: they could not heal themselves when using their magic. If you could get past the cursed blood, could live long enough to strike, nearly any wound of significance would be fatal.
  The Red Templars abandoned the Venatori, feeding each other what remained of the lyrium growing from their bodies. With cries of agony, several behemoths grew. Madness taking hold, they rampaged through the bailey, destroying blockades, sweeping away dozens of the soldiers behind them. Picking some up, they used them as projectiles to hurl at the archers. Earth was wrenched from the ground and thrown at the castle. Stone exploded from the walls, great holes in our fortress.

”Take them down!” I roared at the same time Meira did.

”Alain! Trap their feet in the earth!” Barris yelled.

Alain and several other mages that manipulated the earth ran forward, the templars shielding them from their corrupted reflections. Meira charged forward as they trapped a behemoth in the earth. Ice spurt from the ground, hurtling Meira at the creature. Ice spears forming in the air before slicing through the enormous monstrosity, glacial magic fracturing across its crystalline skin. Spectral blade shimmering, she swung in a great arc, severing the creature’s head from its body. She landed on her feet and turned.

  ”Everyone! Get ready!” Meira commanded the breastplate of her magical armor appearing, the temperature of the air plummeting. Magic swirled around her, white-blue light in her hands before she slapped them together. With a cry, magic pulsed out of her, the freezing magic spewing from her hands glaciating the remaining behemoths. The dragon roared overhead, but more volleys and magic sent it flying away.
  “Now!”

All together, those closest to the beasts swung their weapons at them or released their arrows. I threw myself at the one nearest me, ice forming beneath my feet to push me further. Swinging my shield to bash one, it shattered completely. Hitting the ground, I rolled and came up to my feet.

“Rutherford!” Carroll’s voice roared. I turned as he charged me, Elizabeth lying prone behind him. She’d taken from him before she fell, an arm and leg of his missing, replaced with red lyrium, all haughtiness gone. 

I readied my weapons and waited. It would be hard for him to slow his momentum, I would roll at the last second and attack from behind. But before he even made it to me, an arrow sprouted from his throat. Then another and another, tearing his throat open. He fell hard. I looked for the archer. It was no one of the Inquisition, instead, they wore a cloak and bore the armor of a Grey Warden.

”It seems we’re late to the party,” Hawke’s voice issued from behind the mysterious figure as she appeared.

”Late?” Fenris’s resonant voice questioned, “I believe we’ve arrived right on time. Why spoil their victory? They’ve fought for their home. Their loved ones.”

”But why let them have all the fun?” Hawke retorted.

”True.” Fenris chortled.

”Is every battle a game to the two of you?” Stroud’s voice questioned.

”Not a game,” Hawke laughed, menacingly, “A pleasure.”

  Together, the three launched into battle. Between them, the Battalion and the rest of us—as exhausted as we were—we slew what remained of our intruders. When the dragon seemed to sense the battle was lost, the ballistae and mages assisting still keeping it from getting too close, it flew off.
  Gasping for breath, the strength that Meira’s magic had lent to me was quickly draining. The consequences of using my abilities crashing down upon me. My eyes landed upon Elizabeth’s still form and I went to her. She was still alive, but only just. 

“Talitha! Amell!” I shouted as I gingerly took her in my arms, avoiding contact with the lyrium growing from her. I knew it was pointless, but still, I called.

Her eyes opened at the sound of my voice. Crimson burned where sapphire once shone. “Cullen.”

”Elizabeth,” I said, “Thank you. You save their lives. My life.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m glad.” Meira and Solana knelt beside her. They both met my eyes and shook their head. Elizabeth looked at me again.
  “I’m sorry. I tried to help the agents. Tried to get word to you.” She yelped in pain, the crystals in her skin growing and shifting. I tried to breathe through my mouth, to push away the hunger that clawed at my insides—intensified with having used my abilities. She held up her good hand and I took it, still careful not to touch any of the crystals. There was a wad of parchment in her palm.
  “This was all I could find out. But Sahrnia. Go to Sahrnia. Samson was there.”

“Lizzy?!” Henry’s voice shouted across the bailey.

Elizabeth gasped again. Her hand surprisingly strong as she pulled me down to her. “Forgive me. For all of it.”

“You are forgiven, Elizabeth,” I murmured earnestly, squeezing her hand, “Go to the Maker in peace.”

”Lizzy!” Henry sobbed as he dropped to his knees beside her.

Her crimson eyes shifted to him. “Henry,” she smiled, “I’m afraid I must ask you to be brave, little brother.”

Henry ripped his helmet off and took her in his arms. “What are you talking about? You’ll be alright!”

Her hand cupped his cheek. “I am in agony. It’s eating my insides and it’s all I can do not to go mad. End my suffering before I hurt someone.”

“Don’t ask me to do this, Liz,” Henry sobbed, “We can figure something out. Dagna? The mages?”

Elizabeth shook her head, a cry of anguish slipping from her lips at the motion. “It’s too late for me.”

”Please, Liz!” Henry begged.

”Forgive me, Henry,” she stroked his cheek with her good hand, as a mother would, “I should have told you about Lucius.”

”Don’t worry about that now,” Henry demanded, “It’s forgiven.”

Elizabeth smiled before plucking the dagger from his belt. “Be happy, Henry. Live for me. Tell her how you feel. Take care of our family.”

  ”Liz!” Henry tried to grab the blade from her, but it was too late. Elizabeth shoved it into her throat and jerked, severing the artery there but leaving the blade in as to limit the amount of blood that would spill.
  “LIZ!” He held her as she died, rocking her still form as he sobbed. Discreetly, Meira froze Elizabeth’s body so the lyrium would progress no further. Knowing he needed privacy to mourn, I placed a hand on his shoulder briefly before standing.

  I surveyed the battlefield, rage burning in my chest. So many were dead. Skyhold damaged. Any progress made on our siege engines destroyed—which I assumed had been their ultimate goal; the attack secondary, but both meant to hamstring our progress towards marching on Adamant. The village below obliterated out of spite and to instill fear.
  For the second time, they had attacked us. Attacked our home. Took lives and wreaked destruction. I thanked the Maker that it was not worse, but it did not abate the fury boiling my blood.
  I went to where I saw Rylen stood over a still unconscious Rosalie, Meira checking her vital signs. Mia held her hand, worry on her brow as tears streamed down her face. Rosalie’s eyes were closed, her lips parted, but I could see her chest rising and falling.

”How is she?” I questioned on my approach.

Meira didn’t turn as she answered. “I made it to her just in time. She lost a lot of blood. Any longer and…” Meira breathed out a sigh of relief. “She’ll need plenty of rest, fluids and red meat, but she will recover.”

Mia sobbed as she cradled Rosalie to her. “Mia, I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Her brown eyes looked up to me, red rimmed and glistening with tears. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Cul.”

“Cullen, look out!” Rylen’s voice shouted suddenly as the ring of his sword leaving its scabbard sounded.

  I turned to find two soldiers rushing us, magic alight in their hands. The remainder of our rats. I ran at them, a snarl tearing from me. One cast fire, the other lightning. Reaching for the lyrium again, I slammed my weapons together. The Veil closed, their magic dissipating before it could strike.
  My legs shook as my body was drained further, but I bashed one with my shield and split the belly of the other. Twisting, I cleaved the first’s head from their shoulders. Gasping for breaths again, black on the edges of my vision, my knees nearly buckled.

”Easy now, Commander,” Rylen’s voice spoke as he caught me, “Can’t have ye lookin’ weak in front of the soldiers.”

”Shut up, Captain,” I slurred, exhausted but glad to see the man.

Meira came to my other side, the warm tingling of her magic blooming from my chest where her hand sat and spreading. “Are you alright?”

”I could use another week in bed and a desk laden with food,” I grumbled, “but otherwise, I’m fine.”

A breathy laugh came from her lips as they helped me sit on the stairs. Rylen gave a salute before leaving, Meira tending to my injuries. “Still against using your abilities?”

I pondered her question a moment. “I do not think I can ever go back to that life. But to use them when needed to protect the innocent and the vulnerable from evil…that I think I can do.”

Her silver eyes met mine. “Isn’t that what being a templar is about?”

”In its purest form,” I nodded, “yes.”

”That’s all you ever wanted to do, Cullen,” she murmured, “Was protect the vulnerable. You don’t have to be a templar to do that. But you were once, you have abilities mortal men do not, can protect against evil magic and demons. To use them for that purpose…there is no sin in that.”

I looked away from her. “But am I worthy of wielding them?”

  Her hand came up to gently turn me to her. “Forgive me for insubordination, Commander, but yes, you are.” My lips twitched.
  “Can you at least accept that it does not have to be one or the other? That you can use them in dire need without having to be a templar?” Her eyes flicked between mine.
  “The other templars, they look up to you. Look to you for an example. Through you, they see what they could be. And after that display, it will be even more so. Can you not help them?”

I studied her. “For you, I’ll try.”

  She shook her head. “Not for me, Cullen. Do it for you.” Something easing in my chest, I nodded. She passed me an healing potion from off her belt which I gulped down, feeling some of the pain in my body ebb.
  “Can you stand? I want to check your ribs and that wound in your gut, but you’ll need to remove some armor.”

  I swallowed thickly, but nodded and pushed myself up. The stairs brought her to my eye level and I had the impulse to kiss her. Her eyes dropped to my lips as she seemed to have the same idea. Instead, we leaned back, I not having realized how close we’d been. I followed her up to the infirmary.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

”Yes,” she said, “Seemed to have fared better than you, anyway.” I chuckled at that.

 Once inside the infirmary, which for the moment was empty as field triaging would be occupying the healers, she directed me to a cot. She pulled a screen out for privacy as I sat. Once again, she helped me out of my armor until I was down to my linen tunic. I was thankful for its removal as the part Carroll had dented was digging into my side making it hard to breathe. That done, Meira handed me an apple and some bread from what they kept on hand while she cleaned herself up.
  I could hardly keep my eyes off of her, mindlessly eating the food. Using my abilities seemed to have only heightened my awareness of her mana in their wake. I could hear it, could feel it humming along her skin as her fingers grazed along my nose and right eye, her magic ascertaining that the breaks had healed correctly.
  Gently, she washed away the blood on my face, scrubbing my stubble and my neck. I tried to keep silent as her hands worked over my head and arms. I had forgotten the intensity of it, of this feeling, but prayed it would again lessen with time as it was very distracting.

  She cleared her throat, a blush on her cheeks as she looked at me through her lashes. “I need you to remove your tunic.”  My breath hitched, but I obeyed. Fingers pulling on the opening resting on the back of my neck, I worked my way out of it. She’d turned a little, and though she tried to hide it, I caught her looking, her throat bobbing a little as she did.
  “Could you lie down?” She murmured.
  Again I obeyed, my breath hitching more as her fingers whispered along my torso. Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Does it hurt?”

”No,” I breathed, holding her eyes. Her blush burned brighter as she looked down to clean off the blood and check over the wound sights. Finished, she met my eyes which had not left her face. I’d watched her blush grow deeper and deeper; her eyes looking over me from beneath her lashes and her hands lingering longer than was necessary. And now there was something burning in her eyes as we met each others’ gaze that made my stomach tighten. Slowly, I sat up, my heart beating faster as my blood heated and pooled in my gut.

”Everything seems to have healed properly,” she practically whispered before she began to turn, her demureness winning out yet again, “I’ll let you—“

  In one fluid motion, I had stood, gently grabbed her elbow and turned her before I kissed her soundly. She melted into my mouth as she whispered my name against my lips. Sweet Maker. Then the image of her falling, of Carroll nearly taking her from me, flashed through my mind and ardor overtook reason. Fingers snaking into her hair, I pressed her lips open and forgot about the world.
  I flattened my hands against her back, pulling her flush to my chest. Her arms flung around my neck as she curved harder against me. Moving, I backed us against the wall and crushed her between me and it. We broke, looking at each other. For a painful moment, I was reminded of just how small and fragile she was.
  She was strong, I knew that, and capable, her magic probably better at protecting her than I ever could be, but that wasn’t the fragility I was reminded of. Instead, it was the fragility of our life: how close we’d come to losing each other yet again. 
  I had left her in Kinloch Hold. Could have lost her in the bowels of Kirkwall and never had known. Lost her to Tranquility until a miracle brought her back. Then I’d nearly lost her in Haven. Today she could have fallen to her death or Carroll could have taken her from me with one jerk of his hand. 
  The image of her mutilated, bleeding and broken in the snow swam behind my eyes. How many more times would we be able to brush death and escape? The fear of losing her sprang up and choked me. I knew in that moment that I could not live without her, but I also knew there was nothing I could do to keep her out of harm’s way. And it terrified me.

“Meira—” I rasped.

”—I know,” she whispered, “I was too. When I saw you…Oh, Cullen.”

  She met my lips again. Hungry, desperate, her hands clawing at my shoulders before they snaked into my hair. I captured her in my arms, pressing our hips together, wanting her as close as possible. My blood on fire, senses overwhelmed, heart pounding and lungs burning for air, I broke away. I kept my eyes closed a moment as I panted for breath, she doing the same. Slowly, I released her, my hands coming to cup her face. I gave her a chaste peck on her kiss-swollen lips, but she deepened it. I broke away again before I lost all reason.
  My thumbs caressing her cheeks, I breathed, “We’re alright, love.” I wrapped her in an embrace. “We’re alright.”

We simply held each other for a few heartbeats until the tension drained. Her hands dug into my back as she stood on tiptoes to press a kiss under my ear. “You smell different. Like hot metal, but mixed with something sweet and clean,” she murmured against my skin, her nose skimming along the column of my throat. “I like it.”

  “Fighting always gets me hot too,” Bull’s deep voice grunted behind us, causing us to snap apart, faces burning. He was clutching cotton to a wound on his arm and had a few arrow shafts protruding from his shoulder. But he was leaning against the wall with his good shoulder as if he’d been standing there for a while.
  “Just something about the rush of possibly dying, blood everywhere, everybody angry and sweaty and panting…” He made a sensual growling noise as he looked over the both of us. A grin pulled his mouth, his one eye glittering as he looked at me. “Sorry, I won’t be ducking behind a board, Cullen. I like watching.”

”Sweet Maker!” I shouted as I dragged the screen to block us from his view, Meira laughing into my shoulder.

…

  The evening was spent caring for our dead. More names to add to the list. More letters to be written. The needs of Skyhold and the village grew nearly overwhelming as everything that would need to be repaired was brought to my attention. The infirmary was overflowing now. Several of the inner circle and Battalion injured as well as our soldiers. All minor, but still enough to add salt to wounds.
  Anger and sorrow were palpable on the air, like the ash in our mouths from the pyres and fires lining the bailey. The whole of the Inquisition was within Skyhold’s walls. The young and old closed up beneath the main hall, the rest spread out all around. Rations were passed around, Giselle and the other Chantry members offering comfort where they could. Maryden sang a mournful tune:

“Maker, have you left me here?
Temple
Sacred Ashes
Tragic
Mark upon our land
Sky fall
Let darkness reign on thee
Now flee
From the dragon’s heart
Warring
Battle-scarred eyes
Breach
Into the Fade has come
Demon
Please spare my life and our sons.”

“Commander,” Sela’s voice called, “You’re wanted in the War Room.”

  I nodded, handed her the various requisitions I’d signed off on and headed into the castle proper. The Battalion was within, Meira speaking with Barris and Solana. Mage and templar stood shoulder to shoulder as they spoke in angry voices. But not towards each other, towards our enemy that had taken even more from us. I met Barris’s green eyes, rage in them. We nodded. Meira’s starlight eyes looked to me and she excused herself from the others. Together we passed through Josephine’s empty office.
  A hole in the wall had been opened presumably from one of the behemoth’s throwing chunks of earth at the castle or from the dragon. Moonlight streamed in. I intwined my fingers through Meira’s, but we quickly broke apart as in the shadows ahead, two bodies moved into view. My hand went to my sword until I saw they bore Grey Warden armor. I had expected Stroud and Hawke’s other contact—whom my mind registered with some surprise—but instead of Stroud, another stood before me.

Rage burned to near blind fury. “You?!”

“It’s been a while, Knight-Captain,” an oddly distorted voice spoke, eyes burning with magic.

Anders had come to Skyhold.

Chapter Text

CULLEN

I put my hand on my sword. “YOU!”
  My voice echoed in the hall, discordant in my ears. The torches crackled as the flames within flickered, dust floating on the beams of moonlight streaming in from the openings in the walls from where the dragon or the Red Templar behemoths had caused damage to Skyhold. Anders stepped fully into the light as he lowered his hood, blonde hair falling to his shoulders and into his face. His eyes were absent of pupils, instead shining with magic as he met my gaze. Sadness clung to him like a cloak, but it did nothing to mask the sheer power housed within him. My hair stood on end, gooseflesh erupting across my skin.
  ”What are you doing here?” I barked, but he said nothing. It only piqued my rage more.
  “We should have you chained! Chained and sent to Kirkwall to face a trial and execution!”

  “Hypocrisy was always your strength, Knight-Captain,” Anders spoke, his voice strange and unearthly, but empty. He wasn’t angry. He was apathetic.
  “Hypocrisy, bias, self-righteousness and mercilessness.” 

  “And you operated so much better, did you?” I demanded, failing to ignore the sting at the reminder, “You used magic to blow up a chantry! Killed hundreds, if not thousands! And countless more have died in the wake of the rebellion you ignited!”

  ”And in your sanctimony, in your blind obedience to Meredith, how many did you cause to suffer, Knight-Captain? You. Meredith. Elthina. For all the Chantry’s talk of the Maker’s care for the lesser of his creation, all you who belong to it are only too happy to keep we lesser beneath your boots,” Anders answered, but still was not roused, “And when we dare rebel against your abuse? You squash us beneath them. Claiming it is your divine right to do so because your Chantry says we mages are an affront to the Maker. That we belong beneath you.
  “I did not start the war. You templars imposed further and further restrictions in the wake of what I did until war was inevitable. Just the same as Meredith. Just the same as you. Tell me, Knight-Captain, how much blood did you get on your hands in your pursuit of holy dominance?”

“Far too much,” I spit.

”Cullen!” Meira cried out as her knees buckled, I caught her before she fell. She was cradling her head.

”What are you doing to her?!” I hissed.

Anders’s magic-filled eyes flicked to Meira. “A dreamer. Like the boy, Feynriel. Interesting.”

I drew my sword, pressing Meira behind me as I pointed it at him, my teeth bared. “Don’t touch her.”

“You dare raise your blade to us, Knight-Captain?” Anders demanded, his voice now that of two, “You, who stood by as injustice after injustice was done upon your charges? You, who did nothing until The Gallows ran red with the blood of mages? Only acting when it was convenient to do so. You dare—“

”What is going on out here?” Ellana’s voice snapped as she stepped through the wicket door.

”Inquisitor,” I addressed her, “Anders has come to Skyhold.”

Her burning green eyes landed on me. She had a few nicks on her face, dissecting the white vallaslin with angry red marks. The arm with her marked hand was in a sling and exhaustion lined her face. Yet, she stood straight and arched a brow at me. “And?”

”Inquisitor?” I questioned, my brow knit.

”I sanctioned his coming,” Ellana stated, her chin lifting a fraction as her eyes narrowed.

“You…knew?”

”I did,” she nodded.

”Why?” I demanded, “And why was I not informed?”

  ”I was not planning on returning to Skyhold and finding it under attack, Commander,” Ellana scoffed, “As to why, he has firsthand experience fighting Corypheus. He fought at Hawke’s side when she faced him. Between he, Hawke, Fenris and Varric—as well as Solas and Dorian’s research—I have hope that we may actually form a plan to tackle our enemy. I thought you, as our military and tactical advisor, would understand gathering all advantages and information we could in order to form a plan of attack.” She leveled a hard look at me, her eyes burning brighter.
  “And since his crimes against Kirkwall, he has been serving as a Grey Warden—re-conscripted by Warden-Commander Theirin. When last I checked, for the whole of Thedas, conscription into the Grey Wardens expunges the crimes of the conscript.” Defiance colored her features as she drew herself up to her full height.
  “For there is something noble in the act of conscription into the Grey Wardens, is there not? Allowing someone a second chance to fight against the greatest of evils facing Thedas?” Her eyes were like flint as she stared me down, her Mark sparking.
  “Rather like the Inquisition, wouldn’t you say, Commander? A place for second chances, new beginnings, a shared purpose?” Her gaze was searing, the mask of the Inquisitor firmly in place.
  “A place to atone?”
  Like a knife straight to the heart. I said nothing, but I didn’t look away. Her eyes flicked to Meira.
  “And lastly, for many years prior to his crimes against Kirkwall, Anders operated as a charitable and, from what I understand, very skilled spirit healer. I thought—as did Solas and Dorian—that such a mage might be able to aid Talitha in what ails her, should she so choose.”

   And with that last statement, she emasculated any argument I could voice. Not that I could think of any. I clenched my jaw.
“As you command, Inquisitor,” I flicked my eyes to the other Warden who remained hidden beneath their cloak, “Will you account for his actions, then?”

  The other warden lowered their hood. Dark brown hair fell out in a long braid, evergreen eyes stared me down, noble features—though now older—marked the woman as Queen-Consort Evelyn Theirin née Cousland. Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens.
  I was not prepared for the tug into memories that happened as I came face to face with her. I nearly buckled at it. The hall felt too tight, too hot. That hum of the magical cage vibrated along my skull, the squelching of the walls beyond it sounding in my ears, the stench of my friends’ decaying bodies cloying in my nose. I felt suddenly disgustingly filthy as if all the grime I’d accumulated within that cage had never truly been washed away. It was somehow even sharper than previously with Evelyn before me, just as she and the others had been all those years ago.
  Sweat had been running down my back, nausea rolling in my gut, rage such as I had never known coursing through me. Fueled by the exhaustion and pain racking my body; the sorrow I couldn’t let myself fully feel; the betrayal; the pressure in my skull from the times they’d invaded my mind with their magic; but more than anything, the fear. The potency of those memories, combined with the hyper-awareness of the lyrium that still remained within me at having used my abilities, had the thirst that had been bearable as of late crawling up my throat with a vengeance.

  “Commander Cullen Rutherford. Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. Former Knight-Templar of Kinloch Hold. Fereldan. Born near Honnleath,” she greeted, and I focused on her words to pull myself out of the thoughts clawing at me.
  Her eyes flicked over me, “If memory serves, you alone of your templar brethren survived the tragic events that ravaged the Circle tower of our homeland. It was I and my fellow companions, including your Spymaster, that put an end to the nightmare that had seen you trapped within a magical cage, unable to escape.”
  She was silent, a brow raised as if expecting an answer. Anders’s eyes flicked between us. Clenching my jaw, I gave a curt nod.
  Nodding to herself, she continued, “If I recall correctly, you wanted to quote ‘wipe the mages’ taint off the face of Thedas’ after your pity had been stripped from you. I know some of what became of you in Kirkwall. And Hawke told me that she had divulged what had become of Anders following his crimes, so you know full well he is with me as a Warden in effort to repay his crimes. Now, Anders has done nothing but reveal his presence and yet here you are, sword drawn, demanding he be sent to face execution. It seems I shall need your Spymaster to clarify how she defines the word ‘progress’. Or was she correct in her seemingly generous assessment of you?” Slowly, I put my sword back in its sheath.
  Her eyes flicked over me once more, “My husband speaks highly of you, Commander. As I understand, you trained together for a time as templars before he became a Grey Warden. He was rather glad to cross paths with you again when he visited Haven. The state we found you in over a decade ago was hard on him. He’d always considered you of resolute character. Fair-minded where mages were concerned, honorable and valiant in conduct even if you disagreed on your beliefs concerning the Chantry. I dismissed your behavior in the tower, having witnessed first hand part of what it is you endured, but we are a decade beyond that. Is my dear husband’s good opinion misplaced? Leliana’s?”

  I felt akin to a recruit being dressed down by my senior templar. I swallowed thickly, those words she stated even I had forgotten but now they stuck in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. Meira’s delicate hand curved in my elbow. I could feel her trembling. You complete and total fool, Rutherford.
  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” I began, “But you must understand my…apprehension of having him here.”

”Of course,” she nodded, “But he is here. As a Warden. The crimes he committed are being punished through his conscription and service to the Grey Wardens.”

”But he is an abomination,” I challenged.

A smirk pulled her lips. “And last I heard, the Order and Circles are no more. In fact, the entire system that was devoted to the control of and the protection from the arcane, the maleficar and the apostate is no more. So, Commander, I ask: what does it matter?”

I blinked at her. “What does it matter?”

  Her gaze was unyielding. “Yes, Commander. What. Does. It. Matter?” She looked to Anders, who was suddenly very preoccupied with dust on his cloak.
  “There are far greater things to be concerned with currently, is there not? Besides, Anders is no ordinary abomination. Not the raving creature bent on the destruction of anything in its path. Together, we’ve figured out how to keep Anders’s more…hostile side calm. So long as he isn’t threatened—and in dire cases we have a cat—Anders and Justice live in a harmonious state. When that is not the case, Vengeance makes himself known.”

“That does not change what he did,” I pressed, “Or what he is capable of doing. I am to allow him within Skyhold? Should his ‘more hostile’ side—as you so flippantly call it—not remain under control, he could very well destroy this entire mountaintop and all upon it. As he did in Kirkwall.”

”And what of her?” Evelyn looked to Meira, “Is she not capable of such as well, should she become possessed?”

  Anders laughed. A dark and sad sound as he ran his hand through his hair. “And with that single question, I know for certain blowing up a chantry served no purpose.” Surprised, I looked to him. The magic gone from his eyes, brown ones met my gaze as his face fell. The power I had felt wafting off of him now silent.
  “I…cannot take back what we did,” he looked away, “Maker forgive me…in some ways, I wish I could.” He clenched his jaw and lowered his gaze.
  “But if I hadn’t gone through with it…would things have ever changed? When even my dear friend holds that attitude?” Evelyn started to speak, but Anders waved his hand. “I know what point you were trying to make, Evie.”

”And you think this is better?” I demanded, “Is this what you envisioned when you blew Kirkwall apart?”

He flicked his eyes back to me. ”Mages free? Thedas seeing the Chantry and Order for what they are?” A smirk pulled his mouth. “What do you think?”

”Inq—“ I began to protest.

”Cullen,” Meira said, gently, her voice laced with pain, “Please.”

  I looked to Meira, finding sweat upon her brow as her fingers rubbed across her paled forehead. They were shaking. You fool, Rutherford. I took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as I squeezed her fingers before pulling her to my side.
  “What’s wrong?”

”Being close to him…it’s painful,” she panted, her eyes screwed shut as they had been since we’d drawn close to Anders, “It’s…more so than normal.”

“Andraste bless me,” Anders laughed in shock, “You—you fell for a mage? The world truly has gone mad. Or, I finally, truly, have.”

  I blinked and looked at him. His gaze flicked between Meira and I. No matter my anger, there was a truth I couldn’t deny: without him, without his actions, I would never have walked away from the Order. The Inquisition would never have been needed.
  And Meira and I would never have found each other.
  He was right. Nothing would have changed. I would not have changed—or at least, be trying to change.
  Swallowing, I cleared my throat and said the last words I ever expected to in the times I had thought about crossing paths with him again: “Forgive me for…drawing my sword.”

His brows rose in surprise. “An apology, Knight-Captain?”

  ”Commander, actually,” I corrected him, “I am no longer a templar,” I looked to Ellana, “My apologies, Inquisitor.” I looked to Evelyn, “I leave it to you to account for his actions. I do not like having him here, but the Inquisitor leads us. Not I. I understand her reasoning.”

Evelyn gave a nod, her face softening. “As you say, Commander.”

“Consider me dumbfounded,” Anders chuckled, shaking his head, “Of all the scenarios that ran through my head, this certainly wasn’t one of them.”

“We’re of the same mind there,” I grumbled.

“You are Anders?” Meira murmured, causing us all to look at her. She was now looking at the man, confusion knitting her brow and recognition on her face. 

“Last I checked,” Anders nodded, “Well, Anders plus one.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but decided against it. “What are you?” she questioned instead.

Anders smirked. “As he said,” he nodded towards me, “Abomination.”

”But,” she breathed, shakily, “There’s more to it than that.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Meira hadn’t taken her eyes off of Anders, a spark in her gaze and pucker in her damp brow indicating that she was mulling over a problem. “I’m not entirely sure,” she murmured, “but…I can sense it.”

“If you’re all quite finished, can we proceed with this meeting so we can get back to taking care of our people?” Ellana ordered before turning back to the War Room.

  Anders held the wicket door open for Evelyn to pass through before I motioned for him to go on ahead. I held it for Meira, frowning at the strain plain on her face. Our eyes met briefly, she giving a small nod of assurance. I watched her as she took her place at the War Table as I strode to take mine. The others were already within, with the addition of Hawke and Fenris. Anger, exhaustion, and grief were all shared between we members of the Inquisition.
  Ellana stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rage unbridled as her green eyes burned brighter. I could’ve sworn her eyes had become an even more unnatural shade of green, a part of me wondering if the strange magic she’d utilized to open a rift was the reason behind it. Is the Mark—Anchor—still trying to claim her life? The more she used it…was it taking more than any of us realized?

”Inquisitor,” Leliana addressed Ellana, “May I introduce Warden-Commander Evelyn Theirin. Queen-Consort of Ferelden.”

”And my other Warden contact,” Hawke added.

”A pleasure to finally meet you, Your Majesty,” Ellana bowed, briefly, “Thank you for coming.”

  ”It is I who should be thanking you,” Evelyn began, “Leliana sent word informing me of the Orlesian Wardens’ actions along with a report on Corypheus and his dragon. When she described the creature and informed me of your suspicions in regards to his enthralling the Wardens, I knew I had to help. Word came soon after from Hawke, asking that Anders return with me. Anders and I left the other Fereldan Wardens to pursue another matter and made our way to Adamant where we crossed paths with Hawke. Together, we learned all we could.”

”And?” Ellana questioned, a dark brow quirked.

”They are summoning a demon army using blood magic, as you suspected,” Evelyn stated, “But that is not the worst of it, I’m afraid,” she sighed heavily, anger twisting her features, “They are trying to open the Veil itself. To bring forth…something big.”

”What?” I demanded.

Evelyn looked to me. “I believe whatever it is will lead the rest of the demon hoard.”

”They are sacrificing other Wardens in order to use their blood to open the Veil,” Hawke added, “It seems Corypheus passed on his knowledge to Erimond, if he is indeed one of the magisters of legend.”

”That is the other reason I came and wanted Anders along,” Evelyn murmured, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the map of Thedas, “For he is not the first such darkspawn we have encountered. Another, who called himself the Architect, crossed paths with us some time ago. He shared many similarities to how you describe Corypheus.”

”You…encountered another?” I asked, astonished looking between Evelyn and Anders, “What was this Architect like?”

We all listened as Evelyn and Anders recounted the events surrounding their meeting of the Architect. I was unsure what emotion I felt more: disbelief, awe or fear. Disbelief that anything they told us was the truth. Awe at the wild tale they spun. And utter fear at the notion of what strange things lurked within the Deep Roads, what secrets dwelled within its labyrinth, how little of the world I really understood. One thing was for certain from what they recounted, this Architect certainly shared likenesses with Corypheus.

”The Architect was free-willed, not subject to the Calling of the archdemons,” Evelyn added, “But in comparison to Corypheus, he was far more…benign. Focused on freeing the darkspawn from their Calling instead of enslaving them to himself. But his methods for attempting to do so…had grave consequences. We killed him,” she looked up then, looking to Hawke, “but you said you killed Corypheus?”

Together, Hawke, Fenris and Anders recounted their adventure in the Vimmark Mountains where Corypheus had been imprisoned. They described in detail how he fought, how impossible it seemed to down him until he finally lay dead. They had carefully checked him over, assuring that he was truly dead.

“And yet he lives,” Evelyn stated before she looked to Anders, “What if…what if the Architect, yet lives?”

Anders visibly shuddered. “Andraste preserve us if that is the case.”

“There is more,” Leliana revealed, her blue eyes sweeping over the rest of us, “Dorian has discovered that ‘Corypheus’ can be translated to mean ‘conductor’ in the ancient Tevinter tongue. In the Chant of Light, the Canticle of Silence speaks of the Conductor going to the Architect. Both were high priests to the old gods. Dumat and Uthemriel respectively. If they are one and the same, Corypheus and this Architect are two of the seven Magisters Sidereal referenced in the Chant. And Corypheus? He is the head of them—the one promised godhood by Dumat, the Old God of Silence—should he enter the Golden City.”

A strange sensation came over me at her words. If it were true…My Maker, what did we do?

”Could they be working together?” I asked.

”We’ve had no indication of that,” Evelyn assured, “But…the Wardens…something is happening within our order. Therefore, I cannot make any guarantee—that is, if the Architect even lives.”

”Evie,” Leliana interjected, “Is there anything else you can tell us of Adamant?”

”Only that we cannot delay,” Evelyn urged, “The ritual they are performing…it sounded like it would take time, but…I would not have us wait a moment longer than absolutely necessary.”

”What can you tell us of the fortress itself?” Ellana questioned, looking between all of us, “Is there anything we should be aware of before we march?”

“Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” Leliana stated.

”Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment,” I added, “Unfortunately, the Red Templars  ensured the siege engines we had been constructing were destroyed in their assault. We’ll have to construct more if we have any hope of breaking the fortresses defenses.”

”How long, Commander?” Ellana inquired.

”A month at the soonest,” I clenched my jaw, “Between raw materials needing to be gathered, the time to assemble them and to ensure they’re in proper working order? A month.”

”You’ll forgive me, Commander,” Josephine interjected, “But I took the liberty of sending word to Lady Seryl of Jader seeking aid upon seeing the destruction of our siege engines. She has trebuchets and competent personnel at her disposal. I await her response, but I am confident she will be pleased to assist, given how the Inquisitor settled tensions in Orlais.”

”Let me know at once when you receive word,” I turned to look at her, relief flooding me, “I will send troops to defend them and speed their journey. Thank you, Lady Ambassador.” She inclined her head, a small smile on her mouth.

”We await Lady Seryl, then. Anything else?” Ellana probed.

”With the siege engines, the Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons…” I began, trailing off. How many will there be? How many of our men will we lose?

”There are plenty of choke points you can use to limit the field of battle,” Hawke offered.

”I’d also recommend ladders,” Evelyn suggested, “If you can breach the gate and get your forces up on the walls, there will be plenty of cover for a small team to push through to the middle of the fortress where the ritual is being performed,” Evelyn looked to Ellana, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be part of that small team, Inquisitor.”

”Why is that?” I questioned.

”The blood they are spilling for the ritual, it’s being absorbed by a large rift,” Evelyn explained.

”Of course,” Ellana hissed, curling her lip before flicking her gaze to me, “Anything to add, Commander?”

  ”We may not be able to defeat them outright with our current numbers,” I stated, “Therefore, I suggest we cut off any means of reinforcements.” I looked to Fenris.
  “What did you discover of the Venatori? Calpernia? Could reinforcements come from the Hissing Wastes?”

  The elven male looked at me with his large, green eyes. “The Hissing Wastes are crawling with Venatori and given its proximity to Adamant, it is possible. They are in search of something, but what I was unable to discover. My concern was focused on the numerous slaves they were holding captive.” The strange markings upon his skin glowed slightly at the word “slaves”.
  “There were also Red Templars present, though fewer in number. They seemed to be trying to establish a red lyrium mine with little success. As for what they had captive slaves for…all those whom I rescued could tell me was that it had to do with the red lyrium.” His jaw clenched.
  “As to Calpernia. She was not there.”

”I have more to offer there, Commander,” Leliana stated as she gestured to a small metal cage atop the table before her. Within, the memory crystal spun. She pressed a finger to it, causing it to awaken and glow.

Just as before, strangely disembodied figures appeared. Their forms clear and yet not. Calpernia appeared first, but seconds later, the large creature that was Corypheus loomed behind her.

”Master,” Calpernia greeted, “Forgive me, I didn’t expect—“

”The time for your ascension nears. Tell me of your preparations,” Corypheus commanded.

“They go well enough,” Calpernia assured, “Although I’m distracted here. If I could train at the shrine…”

“Only Dumat’s faithful may enter,” Corypheus admonished her, “Continue as before…or would you see the Imperium’s rebirth stalled by your lack of focus?” He turned to leave her.

”I will be ready,” Calpernia assured, “As the Vessel, and Tevinter’s champion.” Once he was gone, she turned. “Another deflection. And…why, a dwarven bauble. As if mine were miraculously returned to me! Let’s give your new owner a glimpse of her fate. Venatori! We leave!”

  ”That is all the crystal recorded before she found it,” Leliana explained as the crystal dimmed to blackness once more, “But I think it may be enough.” Leliana looked to Fenris.
  “She was in the Wastes, but she left once this was discovered. But whatever they are after is too valuable to completely uproot. You found nothing as to what they were looking for?”

He shook his head, his white hair swaying as he did. “That particular area has numerous dwarven ruins and the Venatori were camped near them. Perhaps there is something the dwarves left behind that the Venatori wish to recover?”

Leliana nodded. “When you return, I will send some of my agents with you to look into it further.” She turned to Ellana.
  “What is important here is the mention of a shrine to Dumat. Where Calpernia is forbidden to go.”

“You mentioned Dumat before,” Ellana crossed her arms over her chest, “The Old God of Silence? While I have studied your Chant, the Blights, even some of Tevinter’s history, I still do not understand.”

  Leliana gave a wry smirk. “I fear if you did, you would be the Herald the world claims you to be. For it is the mystery surrounding the Old Gods and the Magisters Sidereal that Thedas’s most prominent faith may very well hinge upon.” I gave her a hard look as did Ellana.
  “A jest, in poor taste, I agree.” She clasped her hands behind her back.
  “Before the Imperium, the tribes that would later form it worshipped dragons. Believing they to be their fallen warriors reborn. At some point before the Imperium came to be, members within these tribes began using magic. It is claimed the how of it was taught by the dragons through visions. Wether that is the truth, no one now knows. But with that teaching came the exultation of these first mages to kingship and priesthood as the tribes turned to worshipping these dragons as gods. Dumat was worshipped in ancient Tevinter as the Dragon of Silence. He was the first to rise as an Archdemon and bring the Blight. Truly a god fit for Corypheus—even if he is not the Conductor referenced in the Chant.”

”What is this ‘Vessel’ Calpernia speaks of?” Ellana questioned.

”We do not know,” Leliana pursed her lips, “I have my agents looking into it. Ser Dorian is looking as well. It may be a rank within the Venatori, or a title within ancient Tevinter, though I doubt either. She is meant to hold something—something Corypheus values, otherwise ‘Vessel’ would not be the chosen word.”

“If Calpernia knows we were listening, will they move locations?” Ellana questioned.

”She is gone from wherever she has been hiding, but this shrine sounds too important to Corypheus. Perhaps he believes it is sacred and that is why Calpernia is forbidden from entry,” Leliana mused, “More likely, he’s hiding something from Calpernia. And she suspects it. I have sent agents to locate the shrine. We should investigate—carefully. I doubt Corypheus has left it unguarded.”

”Find it,” Ellana commanded, “As swiftly as possible.” Rage colored her features. “I want him to pay for what he and his templars did to us today.” Her eyes flicked to me. “What about Samson? Where are we?”

At the mention, I recalled Elizabeth and the crumpled parchment she’d shoved into my hand before she’d died. I’d stowed it in my pocket and forgotten about it in the wake of the battle. “Trev—Lady Elizabeth said we must go to Sahrnia. That Samson was there. They’d captured our agents and Elizabeth.” I pulled out the parchment and smoothed it upon the table’s surface. Anger burned in my chest. She’d written everything she’d discovered in her own blood.

Main source. Here. Soil favorable.
Red lyrium. Grows in soil. Grows in people faster. Feeds on the blood. Mine it from the bodies.
Red Templars. Take just enough to change. Too much and they become monsters.
Demon here. Old. Powerful. Terrifying.
Samson’s armor. Made of red lyrium and magic. Never seen anything like it.

Maker, it’s painful. Eating my insides. Tell my family I love them, but I made a choice.

I flipped over the parchment to see if she’d written anything else only to find a letter in a different hand. A hand I recognized.

To Besen,

Maddox needs twice the usual red lyrium to modify my armor properly. Have the amount ready in three days, and you and your squad will get a chance to serve as Corypheus’s honor guard. 

My own proving goes on. When I first donned the armor, I thought I was drowning in fire. Without Corypheus to stop me, I’d have torn my own skin off. Now the armor’s settled, I can march for days without rest, break a man like kindling.

Maddox may come to you to work on my armor’s modifications. If he gives you instructions about the lyrium, follow them to the letter. Treat Maddox like you’d treat me.

Samson

’Maddox’. My skull pounded in earnest as I was pulled yet again into more memories at the mention of the name.

  ”You cannot do this, Meredith!” Orsino’s voice protested. We were in Meredith’s office, the elven mage standing behind her. Meredith stood looking out a window, hands clasped behind her back.
  “The boy has committed no greater crime than having a sweetheart!”

”’No greater crime’?” Meredith turned to the First Enchanter, her blue eyes piercing.

I stood at attention, waiting to debrief Meredith on the findings of my latest investigation into the Mage Underground. Meredith and Orsino argued often, much the same as Greagoir and Irving. But where Greagoir and Irving’s arguing held no true malice because they often came to a compromise, Meredith and Orsino rarely compromised. Whatever Meredith ultimately decided, Orsino had little choice but to submit. Now, they were arguing over Maddox—the boy currently in solitary confinement—after Samson had been caught passing letters between Maddox and his sweetheart. Samson was to be punished as well, but first, Meredith wanted to deal with Maddox.

”What, that he convinced your templar to pass the letters for him?” Orsino scoffed, his lip curling, “Everyone knows Samson will do anything for another drop of lyrium!”

”Silence, Orsino,” Meredith ordered, her eyes hard, “I will worry about my templars. This meeting is about your charge. He knew the rules—“

”Ridiculous rules and you know it,” Orsino hissed, his nostrils flaring. My hand inched towards my sword. “You strip us of most of our freedoms, now you must strip us of the freedom to love amongst one another as well? Do you do the same to your templars? Last I heard, a group of them makes regular trips to the Blooming Rose—a brothel! How very pious!”

“Enough!” Meredith demanded, “I know full well the mischief my templars get up to and I will see them properly punished. As to Maddox, how do we know the boy is not under the influence of a desire demon? That he did not use blood magic to compel Samson to deliver these letters?”

Orsino flung his hands into the air. “You assume every infringement is because of demons or blood magic! Have you considered that he’s a seventeen year old boy? Do you not remember what is was like to be young and infatuated?” My mind flashed to Neria, her beautiful eyes, kind smile, melodious laugh. The gentle way she’d used her magic once she’d gained control of her fire. How I had admired it. Our friendship. As she’d fought by my side. The love and hurt in her eyes when I’d pushed her away. Something pricked at me with Orsino’s words. “He was sending her letters, Meredith! Letters!”

”And he used my templar to do it!” Meredith argued back, “If he had done this on his own, his punishment would have been minor. But this…he has corrupted one amongst my ranks.”

”Corrupted?! You cannot be serious!”

”I am perfectly serious, Orsino,” Meredith retorted, “It is yet another example of the complacency infecting this Circle. I have set rules in place for a reason. Maddox willfully disobeyed and convinced one of my templars to aid him in doing so. I cannot allow it to stand, Orsino.”

The elven male narrowed his eyes at Meredith. “What are you saying?”

”Tranquility,” Meredith stated.

I snapped my head towards her at the same time Orsino stood. “No!”

”The boy is not even a year past his Harrowing, Orsino,” Meredith replied cooly, “And yet he is already balking at the system that is designed to keep him safe—from both those beyond the tower and himself.”

”I will not allow you to make a boy Tranquil for sending love letters!” Orsino roared.

”It is not the letters,” Meredith shook her head, her face sympathetic, “He corrupted the moral integrity of a templar.”

”Moral integrity! The only thing moral about Samson—“

”I will hear no more,” Meredith cut him off, “The boy is either made Tranquil or he will die.”

Meredith placed a piece of parchment upon her desk. I knew what it was—a form requesting the ability to perform the Rite of Tranquility. It took the agreement of both the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter to approve such a thing to be done upon a mage.

“I will not sign that without speaking to Maddox,” Orsino spit.

Meredith looked to me. “Bring him here, Ser Cullen.”

  I had collected the boy from solitary and brought him to Meredith’s office. He had been frightened, but resigned. As if he knew what was coming—had known from the moment he’d been caught. He’d sat quietly as Meredith and Orsino argued or questioned him. He answered their questions, but did not defend himself. Until, finally, he asked to be made Tranquil on the condition that Samson not be punished.
  Meredith made no such promise, but Maddox had still submitted to his fate. The next time I had seen the boy, he’d had the brand upon his forehead and all emotions gone. The girl he’d been sending love letters to wept when she saw him. 
  Though I had questioned Meredith, all it took was a few lines of reasoning and I’d convinced myself that it was done for the greater good. To ensure mages respected the rules, as well as the templars. To stop worse things from happening. Had relived my torture at Desire and the blood mages’ hands. Letting my fear and anger blind me once more.
  But I had been only fooling myself. He had not deserved it. It was as true then as it was now, I had simply been too blind to see it. Hypocritical. Sanctimonious. Merciless. Anders had not been wrong.

“Samson?” Anders questioned, his brow furrowing, “As in Raleigh Samson?” He looked to Hawke, “That’s who is leading the Red Templars?” Hawke nodded. “But he…he aided the Mage Underground? Helped smuggle mages out of Kirkwall. Worked with Ser Thrask to oust Meredith?”

”He betrayed your Mage Underground,” I stated, my lip curling, “In exchange for coin. Just as he wanted to rejoin the templars after aiding Ser Thrask—claiming Meredith was right about mages—to regain his access to lyrium. He was a templar and in the end, he remained a templar. But all he was ever truly after was lyrium or the coin to get it.”

Anders turned slowly to look at me, that power rising in him again. “That’s how…that’s how you found them.”

  I looked away, recalling the young man who’d tried to beg for his life before I shoved my sword into his throat when I’d led templars to storm a hideout of the Underground. The crimson flowing along the fuller, thick and condemning as it dripped off the blade. His eyes as the light had left them. I clenched my jaw.
  ”Samson’s only loyalty was to himself,” I chided as I looked back to Anders, “And I am sure now is no different. Corypheus is just a means to an end.”

“Just as Ser Thrask had been a means to get Meredith out,” Hawke added, “But he was more than happy to go back to her when he saw what the mages were willing to do. To prove his loyalty by getting the other ‘loyal’ templars. By getting you.”

Her blue eyes were staring me down when I looked to her. “And now he serves a darkspawn bent on becoming a god, grows red lyrium from people and fights alongside mages who use blood magic.”

”He does…what?” Hawke questioned, her raven brows furrowing.

  ”Lady Elizabeth wrote this in her own blood,” I indicated the parchment, “It says they’re growing red lyrium inside of people. Then, they mine it out of the bodies,” I clenched my hands into fists, “It feeds on their blood.”
  “And the Red Templars? They take just enough to have their powers. Too much? And they become the…grotesque versions of themselves.” Had Cassandra not come, had Hawke not come before that…Had I not opened my eyes…Would I have been one of them? 
  “And he knows full well what he’s doing to them. I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous! We have to put an end to him!” I looked up at them all.
  “And his armor…he moved with unnatural speed and strength in Haven. And this says it ‘eats magic’. And now? She wrote this on a letter written by Samson. It’s being modified. Perfected. We have to find a way to stop him!” I jabbed a finger at the map.
  “We have to go to Sahrnia!”

”We will,” Ellana assured, her finger absently tracing the map where Emprise du Lion was, “What else does it say?”

”The letter mentions Maddox,” I murmured, “A name I did not expect to hear.”

”Maddox?” Ellana questioned.

I looked away from her, “Maddox was a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. Eventually, Samson was caught—that’s why he was cast out of the Order.” I straightened and looked to Meira. “Maddox was made Tranquil, and became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have…rescued him.”

“You stood by while she made a man Tranquil over a few love letters?” Anders demanded.

”The official charge was ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a templar’,” I stated not taking my eyes off Meira, “Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, believe me.”

”You think that excuses it?” Anders hissed, “And you all honestly wonder why we’d had enough?”

”It doesn’t excuse it,” I retorted, “I should have done something. But—“

”But nothing, Knight-Captain,” Anders curled his lip as he slammed his hand on the table, his apathy gone, forcing me to look at him, “You stood by while mages were abused to the severest degree sanctioned by the Chantry over minor infractions. Your prejudice—your fear of mages blinded you. People—mages—died for that.”

”And you? How many people died for your hatred?” I spit.

Anders merely leveled a look at me, his brown eyes holding fire. “I know my crimes. Do you know yours?”

I clenched my jaw. “What would you have me say? The truth of what I did haunts me. There is no excuse.”

”And yet here you are, commanding an army,” Anders snorted, his eyes narrowing, “And I am here. Forced to hide amongst the Wardens to not be ‘chained and sent back to Kirkwall to face trial and execution’.” He quirked a brow. “You get no trial. You do not have to fear execution. Why do you think that is, templar?”

“Because he left the Order and joined the Inquisition,” Ellana interjected, “The Inquisition whose primary writ, given by Divine Justinia, was to restore order between the mages and templars. To challenge the Chantry.”

  Anders scoffed as he threw his hands out. “And your solution was what? Having them all join your ranks? Make them work together? As if that will last past this shared enemy Thedas has. It’s no different than any war mages have fought in in years past. As soon as it’s over, the mages are shoved back into their towers and forgotten.” He glared at me.
  “The same will happen here. The mages will be punished and the templars, him included, will get away clean. As they always do.”

”’Get away clean’?” I curled my lip, “And what Samson is doing to the templars under his command? Is that not punishment enough?”

Anders crossed his arms. “It’s a start.”

Rage boiled in my chest and I opened my mouth to speak.

  ”Stop,” Ellana cut me off, her voice a warning, “I’ve indulged this long enough. This is not a meeting for you to air your grievances,” she turned to Anders, “You’re right. That first writ has been neglected. Our Mage-Templar battalion, led by Talitha,” Ellana gestured to Meira, “is the closest we’ve come to addressing it. She’s implemented changes in hopes of fostering true peace, but Corypheus has had to take priority.” She was silent a moment.
  “What you’ve said has given me an idea. But for now, we must focus on the task at hand.” Her eyes flicked to me.
  “As for Commander Cullen, to the onlooker, his crimes may seem immeasurable. And for his inaction and neglecting of his responsibilities to the mages within his charge, I would agree. As would he. But within the structure of the Chantry and the Order, he is not guilty of any direct crime deserving of death or imprisonment. He followed the orders of his superior, but in the end forcibly removed her from command before she went too far.”

”’Went too far’?” Anders seethed, “She annulled an entire Circle when she had no authority to do so!”

”Wrong again,” Ellana challenged, eyes hard, “When you blew up the Chantry, you removed the final obstacle between her and absolute authority over the city. With the Grand Cleric dead, Meredith—in accordance with Chantry law—had the right to call for and approve the Right of Annulment.”

”She would’ve found another way to annul The Gallows,” Anders objected, his jaw clenched, “She called for the Right long before I did what I did.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Ellana agreed, “But we’ll never know now. As for punishment for the Commander, the Divine herself demanded he make recompense by leading the forces of the Inquisition should it be needed in order to bring peace and reform. Before that, he was chosen by the Right Hand of the Divine, with full knowledge of what had occurred during his time as Knight-Captain. She chose him because he was one of the few Knight-Commanders remaining after both the Circle and the Order broke away from the Chantry who did not abandon his post and charges. After Meredith fell, he’d been working on aiding the city and looking after the mages that remained. Because of this, Seeker Pentaghast believed him the best choice.”

”Her bar must be set pretty low, then,” Anders snorted.

”Just a step up from blowing up a chantry, in fact,” I bit.

”It is the Chantry that’s at the heart of all this,” Anders glowered, “And yet here you all are. The ‘Inquisition’. Wasn’t it your predecessor that joined the Chantry and formed the Order that keeps mages like myself locked up like good little monsters? After slaughtering their way through any who opposed the teaching of Andraste and the Maker?”

”We are not the Chantry,” Ellana threatened, “Nor are we our predecessors.”

”Whatever you say, Herald of Andraste,” Anders retorted.

”That is quite enough, Anders,” Evelyn interjected, “You are here as a Warden. Act like it.”

Anders crossed his arms, looking please with himself. “I beg your pardon, Warden-Commander.”

”You were saying, Commander?” Ellana questioned, “Maddox? Why would he need rescuing?”

”When the mages rebelled in Kirkwall, the worst battles took place in The Gallows, in the Circle itself,” I began, placing my hands on my pommel, “I thought Maddox had died in the fighting, or was eking out a living on the streets—a hard fate for a Tranquil in Kirkwall. Samson must have found him. Taken him in.”

“‘Battles’? The worst battles took place in the Gallows?” Anders and Hawke protested.

Hawke’s bright blue eyes stared me down. “A battle implies a fair fight, Cullen. It was a slaughter.“ She crossed her arms over her chest. “You helped pluck some of the mages who would surrender out from that slaughter because I helped you do so.”

“You’re—“

  ”And you didn’t look for this Tranquil?” Meira questioned. Her gentle voice slicing through the tension in the room. I was hesitant to meet her eyes. When I did, the emotions playing out in her gaze made my stomach hollow out.
  “For Maddox?”

  ”Many of the mages who perished were unrecognizable. Those who were unaccounted for, Bethany and I decided should be allowed their chance at freedom given what they might have suffered within The Gallows,” I murmured, “We templars would only intervene should a true threat occur. We didn’t go looking for them, we only fought against the obvious threats that remained in the city. We never heard anything of Maddox, so we assumed he’d perished as time went on.” I looked to Hawke.
  “You are right, in part. But, Meredith gave the mages a chance to prepare, to fight back. It doesn’t make what happened right, but she did not expect them to lay down and die.” I clenched my jaw. “And yes, you helped facilitate the sparing of those mages who surrendered.”

”Who submitted, you mean,” Anders challenged.

I ignored him. It was not he to whom I had to answer. It was the Maker. It was Meira. I looked to her. Her eyes studied me. The man I am is an ugly truth, Meira. Should you choose to walk away, I will let you go.

”Perhaps there’s something left of the man Samson used to be,” she murmured.

Irritation coursed through me. Would she allow her grace to extend even to him? “Or he’s shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource.”

“Having an inside man among Samson’s forces would be invaluable, if we could convince him,” Ellana stated, puzzling at her chin, “Is there a way we could get to him?”

“I couldn’t say,” I shook my head, “I’ve been around Tranquil most of my life, and I’ve never understood them.”

”And who would?” Anders spit, “Stripped of everything that makes them people.”

  ”That isn’t true,” Meira hissed, anger in her voice and face now. I winced internally at the words I had said. You idiot. 
  “Tranquil are stripped of their emotions and magic. But they are still perfectly capable of reason. Maddox would have reason enough to know that helping Samson was the best way to escape whatever fate he’d been subjected to prior. Reason enough to remember how Samson had helped him before. Perhaps even reason enough to agree with Samson’s cause.” Her eyes flicked to me.
  “Based on what Carroll said to you earlier, what Florianne said to the Inquisitor and now what we’ve heard from Calpernia, Corypheus’s generals follow him because they wish to see this world torn down for a new one. For the Red Templars, to see the Chantry torn down. For Florianne, it had been to see the Empire torn down. For Calpernia, to see the Imperium rise once more. All centering around a “god” that will be attentive.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing.
  “For Maddox, why would he not aid Samson? He was made Tranquil over a few love letters. Why would he not want to see the Chantry fall?”

Anders looked at Meira with interest. “That’s been my point all along.”

“I did not say I agree with him. Or you.”

“But you agree that the Chantry is to blame?” A smirk curved Anders’s mouth.

Her eyes burned a little brighter, the room growing cold. “I believe the evil in the hearts of some men are to blame. Wether those men reside in the Chantry, in the Circle, in the Order, in the Wardens, or just in your average village.”

Anders made a non-committal noise, his eyes narrowing. “But your lover? The evil in his heart wasn’t enough to steer you away?”

  The blood of the mages I had failed felt slick upon my palms. Their screams echoed in my ears. I could feel the rain pinging off my armor, the blood sloshing against my boots. Their fixed eyes staring at me in judgment. I thought of Maddox, his brand fresh. Of all the Tranquil that had been branded for minor offenses that I had not prevented. Of the dead lying in the streets of Kirkwall because I had been too angry, too cowardly, too lyrium-addled to act.
  Because I had trusted the Order. Because I had trusted the Chantry. The same Chantry that convinced the female I loved that she was a monster. The same Order that demanded she be locked up in a cage all her life, only given freedoms if she proved useful to the Chantry. My fist clenched. Something has to change.

The air around Meira grew even colder, frost spreading across the entirety of the room, the candles and sconces guttering. “I will not deign that question with an answer.”

Anders shrugged. “I suppose evil is in the eye of the beholder.”

”Creators, I’ve had enough,” Ellana barked, jerking her good hand to the door, “Get out of my War Room. All of you. I wish to speak with my advisors.”

”I will not—“ Evelyn began to protest.

  ”Yes, Your Majesty, you will,” Ellana bit, Josephine flashing a panicked look, “I have sworn no fealty to you or your husband. You are in my fortress, seeking my aid. For now, I am asking you to get out because your subordinate cannot bite his provoking tongue.” Her eyes flicked to Anders.
  “Make sure he is with you at all times.”

“Inquisitor,” Anders gave a mock bow.

  ”Enough!” Evelyn shouted, whirling on Anders. “I came here seeking aid, Anders! The Grey Wardens, my order—our order—is in trouble! The entire world is at stake and you cannot set aside your bitterness for five minutes?!” She stretched her hands out to him, pleading on her face. A look of shock crossed Anders’s features as he beheld her.
  “I brought you here in an act of friendship, in good faith. I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working to atone alongside us. We all have. But we come here and all of it…all of it gets thrown aside? Andy, please! You know what I walked away from. How important this is to me. Please, don’t jeopardize this!”

  He took her hands. “Evie, don’t beg.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath.
  “I’m sorry,” he turned to Ellana, placing a hand on his chest and bowing, “Inquisitor, my sincerest apologies. I will wait out in the hall with your guards. Do not dismiss the Warden-Commander,” he looked to Hawke and Fenris, “Or my friends—”

“You presume, Anders,” Fenris warned.

Anders’s shoulders curved almost imperceptibly, but kept his eyes on Ellana, “I am to blame. No one else.”

“Be that as it may,” Ellana lifted her chin, “I need to speak with my advisors alone. I will speak with you all again at another time. Tensions are high, everyone is exhausted. Get some rest, cool off. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

With that, he and the other visitors left the room. I grabbed one of the goblets upon the table, poured water from the pitcher and chugged down the liquid. The thirst was burning in my throat. Clenching in my gut. Eyes flicked to me, but I ignored them.

”What are we going to do about Samson?” Ellana questioned.

I cleared my throat. “Elizabeth states Sahrnia is their main source and by the sounds of this letter, Maddox was to travel there. That may have already happened, but…”

”Do you think Samson would remain in Sahrnia?” She probed.

  “It’s difficult to say,” I admitted, “But if Maddox is the one who made the armor, maintains it…If he’s in Sahrnia…We need to try.” I clenched my jaw.
  “But we also need to eliminate the possibility of reinforcements from the Hissing Wastes. While readying our army for Adamant.”

”The Battalion, then?” Meira proposed.

”No,” I shook my head.

Her eyes flashed up to me. “It’s the best option and you know it. We could divide and go to Sahrnia and the Hissing Wastes while the main army marches towards the Western Approach. We regroup at Griffin Wing Keep before moving on the Wardens.”

”No,” I pushed.

”We’re not even sure Samson or this Maddox are still in Sahrnia,” Leliana argued, “This is—“

  ”I will not let you go to Samson without me at your side,” I spoke over Leliana as I stared down Meira, “I agree we’ll have to divide the Battalion, but we know Samson could be there. We do not even know what his armor is fully capable of; that’s not even acknowledging the fact that they could be expecting us to go to Sahrnia now. Their attack, Elizabeth—it could be bait as much as retaliation. And Elizabeth notes the presence of a demon there. An old and powerful demon.” Anger flashed in her eyes as we held each others’ stare.
  “You nearly collapsed in the presence of Anders. Were in pain as we fought in the courtyard. I know how it was for you in the Fade. What would you do in the presence of a powerful demon? You’ll need all the support we can afford because we have no idea what you’re walking into! So far as the Hissing Wastes, Fenris has already scouted the area.”

”The Inquisition cannot afford to lose its Commander right now—“

  ”And its Commander cannot afford to lose his Lieutenant-Commander,” I retorted, panic twisting at the thought of her facing him alone. I’d seen him in his moments of desperation. Now? He had nothing left to lose. And the Red Templars? Andraste preserve us, what are they capable of?
  I looked to Ellana, “Inquisitor, I ask that I be allowed to lead the Battalion and a contingent of soldiers on Sahrnia. Wether Samson is there or not, the Red Templars do have a stronghold there. One we need to eliminate before we march for Adamant. To cut off reinforcements, to remove a possible threat once we are marching and to see if we cannot gain more information on our enemy.” I looked to Meira.
  “I do not ask this merely for selfish reasons, Lieutenant-Commander, if I know anything of Samson, he will at the very least have this source of lyrium guarded fiercely. If Maddox is there, it is a chance to find a weakness. We must move on Sahrnia and we must do so in force.”

”What of your tourney? Your sisters?” Ellana questioned, clasping her hands behind her back, “Preparations for Adamant?”

  ”This is hardly a time for a tourney, as the Warden-Commander said we cannot afford to waste a single moment, but we must wait on siege equipment,” I countered, “As for my sisters…” I thought of Rose bloodied and screaming, “Rosalie will not be well enough to travel and I would rather keep them here should there be any threats on the road in the immediate future.” I met Ellana’s eyes.
  “The tourney and my sisters must wait.”

“And preparations here? Planning our assault on Adamant?”

”Rylen has returned, he can see to them while we follow this lead,” I answered, “You have Hawke and the Warden-Commander besides. Once we’ve eliminated the threat, we will establish a post there. It sits close to the Imperial Highway, which we will have to utilize to move the siege equipment with any sort of haste. When you march, we can meet you and march together. We will finalize our plan of attack once we reach Griffin Wing Keep.”

Ellana sighed. “Very well. You leave as soon as we have word from Lady Seryl,” Ellana ordered, looking between Meira and I.

I saluted. “Inquisitor.”

  “I am exhausted,” Ellana murmured, “Our people are in mourning. I will go to them. We will meet again before you leave. For now, rest and see to what you must.” She looked to Meira again.
  “Talitha, I wish to speak with you privately after I make my apologies to our guests and ensure they are seen to lodgings. Remain here, please.” I could feel her gaze on me, but I did not meet it. “Leliana. Josephine. Commander, you are all dismissed.”

  I gave her a nod and listened as she left. Angry, exhausted, the thirst causing my mouth to dry, pain tugging at my joints, I was unsure what to do. I stood staring down at the map of Thedas. Staring particularly at Emprise du Lion. There was nothing I wanted to do more than march straight there and find Samson, but I knew I had to wait.
  I clenched my fists. Rage, dark and familiar, was burning in my chest. Rage and fear, old enemies, clawing at me. And with it, with the knowledge of what lay ahead—Demon. Old. Powerful—the thirst burned. Not as strong as before, but it was there, mocking the thoughts I did not want to think.
  The song of Meira’s mana grew louder as she came to stand beside me, a gentle hand coming to my face. I jumped at it and she began to pull away. Desperation for that tender gesture roared fiercely within me and I pulled her into my arms.

”It’s alright, Cullen,” she murmured, softly, “It’s alright.”

”How can you say that?” I demanded, more harshly than I meant.

”We will face what is ahead,” she assured, “As for the rest, I have never been blind to who you are, my knight.”

“You must be,” I growled, “For how else could you love me?”

I felt her stiffen in my arms. ”Do you doubt…me?” she asked, quietly.

I jerked back from her, cupping her face in my hands. Her silver eyes burned as I looked into them. “No! I did not mean that…I just meant…” I dropped my hands and sighed, “I do not even know what I meant.”

She placed a gentle hand on my cheek, willing me to look at her. “I will see you shortly.” I nodded and left.

Chapter Text

CULLEN

  I closed the wicket door behind me. The guards saluted, I nodding before making my way down the hall. As much as I wanted to retreat somewhere, I needed to find Rylen. To tell him what we had planned and to discuss repairs for Skyhold.
  Despite the anger I felt at the terror that had been unleashed upon our stronghold and its people, the damages opened the door for not only repairs, but improvements. Our master builder had been hesitant to do to much to the ancient structure for fear of shifting the foundations, but now…there wasn’t much choice. Before seeking out Rylen, however, I needed to check on Mia and Rosalie.
  I set my course for the infirmary; putting one foot in front of the other, I let my mind wander to the darker thoughts and emotions roiling within. My craving for lyrium had returned, I’d taken my frustrations out on Meira who did not deserve it and I had handled myself in a spectacularly miserable fashion before Anders and the Warden-Commander. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the slight tremble in my fingers as I did.
  It had been nearly four years now since Anders’s attack on Kirkwall—even if there was truth to his need to pay for his crimes legally, there was even more truth in what Ellana had said. He was a Grey Warden now—he could atone there by protecting the world from the Blight. Just as I could atone within the Inquisition.
  And in the end, how different were we really? How many had I caused to suffer in my sanctimony, as he’d said? No less than he had in his—and his cause…had far more merit than mine had.
  I clenched my jaw at the thought. Was that really true? Did I really believe that?
  Magic couldn’t be made safe, there were dangerous mages and there were people who sought to harm mages just for having magic. But Meredith—I—had gone too far in The Gallows, even before the Annulment. No matter what was “acceptable” within the eyes of Chantry law.
  And there was the problem, what was acceptable within the eyes of the Chantry and the Order…was it truly acceptable? And whose fault was it? The Chantry for the stance they took on mages or the Order for the way they treated them?
  I let out a bitter laugh. Were they not intertwined? The Order sought faithful soldiers; faithful to the Order, I had come to learn, to the Chantry, did not necessarily mean faithful to the Chant. I looked to the likeness of Andraste painted upon the sign of the Herald’s Rest as I passed by the tavern to reach the infirmary. When did the Chantry stop being synonymous with the Chant? When did the Chantry begin serving itself? I thought of Meredith, of how the templars had broken away—when did the Order begin serving itself?
  ‘I vowed to never again question the Order’. ‘After what happened in Ferelden, I told myself I would never again question the purpose of the Order. But it grows harder each day to tell wether I'm serving the templars or only the Knight-Commander. It may be that they are no longer one and the same.’
  And now? I was full of questions and it was far too late. And the Order? I thought of Barris and the others. Of the Battalion. Of all Meira had begun implementing amongst the Inquisition. Something has to change.
  But how did we make that change and make it last? To ensure to the best of our ability that we did not pave a new path that only led to the same outcome again? Had the Chantry—had the Order—truly intended to become what it had? Or was it as Meira had said to Anders: the evil in the hearts of men that had slowly corrupted it over time?
  I looked at my hands. I had proven that we could be free of our lyrium chains. Not entirely, perhaps, but repeated use, a steady supply, might not actually be necessary. And if it wasn’t necessary, it couldn’t be manipulated against us.

”Cullen?” Mia’s voice spoke, cutting through my brooding. 

  I stood in the doorway of the infirmary, pursing my lips at the scene before me. The gravest of the injured were inside, Rosalie an exception as she had been healed, but Bethany had wanted to keep her under close observation. She was not a mage and according to Solana could have a harder time with magical healing. Mia sat upon her cot, no screen for privacy as Bethany wanted full view of Rosalie as she worked on the others—the rest lay behind screens.
  Towards the back of the infirmary, I noticed Ser Stroud and Dorian standing together at the foot of a cot. I met Elolora’s eyes as she looked to me, exhausted as she was, but gave a nod of reassurance as she mouthed Mahanon’s name—the male had been injured in the fighting. I could smell the magic upon the air from Bethany’s healing as well as lyrium. Not only from the potions she was no doubt using to bolster her mana, but also from the man that I had not expected to find within: Rylen.
  Rylen stood near Rosalie’s cot on one side. On the other, near Mia, stood Blackwall. Confused, I looked at the two men. Both of whom grew fidgety at my arrival.
  I looked to Mia, her brown eyes looking me over, concern in their light. I came closer to the cot, noticing that Rosalie was pale, her brow knit and damp with sweat. Her arm that had been broken, the bones protruding before Meira healed her, was wrapped in bandages that bound poultices to her skin. Though all the cuts she’d suffered at the maleficar’s magic were healed, the pallid tone of her skin indicated there was still damage beyond what the eye could see. I stooped down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

”Be strong, Rose,” I murmured before whispering a prayer over her.

”So let it be,” Mia breathed when I had finished.

I met her gaze. “Are you alright?” Mia nodded. “Try to get some rest. If you need anything, I shall be in my tower.” She nodded again, but made no answer, so I straightened and looked between Blackwall and Rylen. Raising a brow when they didn’t meet my gaze. “Captain Rylen? Ser Blackwall?”

”Commander Cullen,” Blackwall greeted, bowing his head slightly.

”Commander,” Rylen saluted, “Orders?”

“I’ll meet with you privately,” I stated, “My office. One hour.”

Rylen nodded. Both men looked guilty and sheepish, eyes flicking towards…my sisters. The pieces clicked. I had noticed Blackwall seemed to always be nearby whenever Mia was present, speaking with her if he was able; but Rylen had been around Rosalie once as he carried her in his arms. I’d seen the man around women he was attracted to and it was very obvious he felt something for Rosalie. Oh, for Andraste’s sake. 

“I…wanted to check that the lass was alright,” Rylen finally spoke, looking slightly embarrassed—like a pup that had been corrected.

”Well, I appreciate it,” I said, trying not to clench my teeth, “But I ask that my sisters be left alone for the remainder of the evening,” I glared at Blackwall as well, who also took on the demeanor of a scolded puppy.

Rylen ran a hand through his hair and I stiffened. The smell of lyrium wafted off of him and saliva flooded my mouth. Maker, I thought the worst of this was over. I spotted a phial on his belt, the sweet song faint as I stared at it. I have to get out of here.
“I have to go,” I stated, hurriedly, before leaving the infirmary and forcing myself not to run.

Bethany passed me, a thought occurring, so I stopped her, her brown eyes looking at me as her brow quirked, “What is it, Cullen?”

”As soon as you deem her able to move, Rosalie and Mia are welcome to my quarters in the castle,” I stated, “It will be safer and free up space for you in here.”

”Of course,” she nodded, “Once she’s stronger, I’ll see her moved.”

Outside, there were several bedrolls upon the ground. Mages working as healers passed between them, assessing injuries, administering potions and poultices, or healing severer injuries with their magic. As I passed, my ears pricked at Anders’s name.

“I heard Anders is here,” one of them whispered.

”Anders? The Anders?” the other replied, “I wonder why he’s here?”

”Can’t be sure, but I wish I could talk to him, learn what really happened in Kirkwall.”

”You don’t believe what’s been said?”

”I believe there’s more to the story and the Chantry is covering it up.”

”What about our leaders? Surely—“

”The ‘Inquisition’? Led by the Right and Left Hands of the Divine? Kirkwall’s previous knight-commander its commander? You honestly think they’d let the truth out?”

”Then why are we here?”

”Where else would we go?”

  Nerves rolled in my gut at their words. What would Anders’s presence bring about amongst the people we’d gathered? Would it strain the tentative understanding that had begun to develop between the mages and templars here? Destroy it?
  No matter how hard we tried, word spread through the fortress like wildfire. And if the mages knew…so did the templars. And I knew exactly how they’d react.
  Sighing, I made my way past the practice dummies to the stairs near the armory. Climbing them to the battlements, I walked through the easternmost barracks, the few soldiers within snapping to attention. I took a moment to offer them some praise and encouragement before pressing on. I hesitated outside the guest room above the Herald’s Rest, recalling Bull’s words to Meira and I when he’d caught us in the infirmary. Fighting the flush in my cheeks, I strained to listen; ensuring there was no illicit activities underway, I knocked and tried the door and passed through the—thankfully—empty room.
  I headed for my tower, groaning as I noticed that the top of it had been taken off, my hope for solitude dashed as I was met with a crowd within. The hunger for lyrium grew to a fever pitch as the room was swarming with templars—all of which had been freshly dosed with lyrium not hours prior. Head pounding, hands shaking, saliva pooling in the back of my throat forcing me to swallow, I was frozen in place as they all turned to me. Their eyes glowing with the fresh lyrium in their blood.

I wanted to scream.

_____________________________

“And you’re not going to do anything about it, Commander?” one of the templars demanded, “He’s the reason we’re in this mess!”

”It’s mages like him that make templars necessary! Make the Circles necessary!”

  I’d spent the last hour listening to the templars rage about Anders being within Skyhold, walking free. With each complaint, each argument, each angry statement, it chipped away at the tangled thing in my chest. A mess of knotted chains, emotions, questions, fears whose roots had been boring throughout my being since Kirkwall.
  Though Anders’s method for bringing about change could never be condoned, I couldn’t deny the parallel between he and I. We’d both wrought our hatred upon the world, we’d both been forced to face the cost and consequences and we’d both joined causes that fought for the world at large in an effort to find atonement. Anger rose, the want for Anders’s blood grew obvious.
  Slowly, I stood, having been leaning upon my desk, arms crossed as I listened. I clenched my jaw. Something needs to change. I looked at them all as they grew quiet. 
  “No. The reason we’re in this mess is because we forgot what it meant to be templars. The Order forgot what it stood for,” I looked a few square in the face. Barris stood, arms crossed, a pensive look on his face. Rylen had joined us, leaning against the far wall. Wilhelm stood towards the back. Laren, Asaala and Amelia were amongst the templars as well. I looked away from all the eyes upon me, heat prickling across the back of my neck. My gaze landed on the few phials of lyrium that sat upon my desk. In the aftermath of using my abilities, I had realized there’d been no euphoria in their use, no sense of empowerment or fearlessness usually brought about in their wake. And I realized it had always been the lyrium that brought about those feelings, never the abilities themselves. The ‘righteous fervor’, the ‘blessing from Andraste’ we’d been told such feelings were was nothing more than a lie—a lie to cover over that it was nothing more than a drug-induced state of ecstasy. And despite the rage at such a revelation, I found myself desperate to taste that bliss.
  “We’d grown drunk on power and at the fear of losing it, we pressed our boots upon the necks of the mages until they fought back,” I clenched my fists, hating the words coming from my mouth no matter their truth. For was it not true? Was that not the very reason I had left? Because the Order I had naively believed as a boy to be some stalwart bastion of defending the weak and innocent, standing for what was good and righteous, had slowly revealed itself to be none of those things.
  “And when they fought back? We pointed at it and said, ‘See?’” Nausea rolled in my gut. For what else would happen when the people vilified by the Chantry and the Order rebelled against the system put in place by those two powerful and trusted entities? “We became what they claimed we were.”

”You cannot honestly think that,” one of them argued.

  ”Am I saying the mages are innocent? Of course not,” I curled my lip as I pinned the arguer down with a look, “But we are no less guilty.” I paced before them.
  “The Order imposed further and further restrictions upon the Circle in the wake of the rebellion in Kirkwall. Limiting mages’ freedoms until they had next to none,” I scowled, “Knight-Commander Meredith did the same within the Gallows before her threat was ended. Her harsh methods kept people safe, I don’t deny that, but what was the cost? Where did it lead?” Silence swept through the room.
  “Yes, the return of the Circles may bring peace for a time, if only because people crave stability. But how long would it last?” I stood before them. “I have watched Lieutenant-Commander Talitha help bring about camaraderie and understanding between you and the mages here. You are learning about one another, working together, fighting side by side, would you have it end with the Inquisition?” 

“But Anders—“

  ”Is now a Grey Warden,” I cut the argument off, “And we cannot touch him. We will not touch him. So long as he remains a Warden and does his duty to them, his past is his past.” I looked them all in the eyes.
  “Lest you desire for the Inquisition to start purging its members who also have sordid pasts to keep from hypocrisy?” They looked away at that. I placed my hands on my sword pommel to hide the shaking that had begun.
  “For I would be the first to be dismissed,” I looked away, “The greatest of betrayers to the vows we took as I stood by and let the Order harm our charges for the sake of safety. For the greater good. In the name of the Chantry.”

“It ends with us,” Barris’s voice spoke and I looked to him, his green eyes burning, “It has to.”

I quirked a brow. “And how would you bring it about, Barris?”

  ”As I said before, a new order. Mages and templars working together, focused on protecting the people,” Barris stated, “No longer focused on keeping the mages locked up in Circles, but on protecting Thedas from the real threats. And Thedas being the mundane and the mage.” Anger rose in his face.
  “Perhaps if we had done so in Kirkwall, the city would not still be in turmoil. Perhaps if we had done so in Haven, the Divine would still be alive. Perhaps if we had done so, I would not have had to watch as a crowd tried to kill one mage because he’d newly come into his magic; having accused him of being an abomination. The man, Noam, courageously faced his would-be killers to spare those trying to protect him on our behalf. The Battalion intervened. It is only because templars were present that the crowd would listen to reason. Now, Noam is here and eager to begin his training under the Lieutenant-Commander’s curriculum, grateful for not only the mages amongst the Battalion’s assistance, but ours as well.
  “Before that, mages and templars fought together against a Venatori threat—their mages using their magic to subjugate the people of Val Colline. We disrupted their magic and the mages put an end to them. And Ansburg? Demons plagued them. Our mages fought temptation and the demons with greater zeal than even some of us. Captain Amell chief among them with every call we answered. What right have we to deny the mages the ability to prove themselves? To also fight for the world they live in?” He clasped his hands behind his back.
  “A mage leads the Inquisition. A mage leads the Battalion. Have they not led us true? Despite what we’ve been taught? Have the mages we fight alongside not done so with as much skill and passion? Have they not stood against the temptations we now know they face, kept their magic subject to their control and served the Maker as they aid us against those who would harm his children?” There was murmuring amongst the templars. My head was pounding, gut churning and the want for lyrium growing maddening the longer I was amongst them, but what Barris had said brought hope.
  ”No, magic can’t be made safe,” Barris continued, “But we now know that it can serve outside the Circle, alongside us. Should they fall to temptation, there’s other mages and lyrium available for the ritual we all know can save them from possession.”

  Shame flickered through all of us. We knew such a ritual could be done, knew if it was done swiftly, if the mage’s consciousness remained, the mage could be spared. Evelyn had come to Kinloch Hold seeking such aid, saving those of us still within as a means to secure it. She had returned to Redcliffe, the mages with her, and had saved the boy, Connor, from his fate. He’d come to Kinloch some time after, afraid of his magic, but had learned with a passion in order to never fall into temptation again.
  But too often the ritual had been ignored—citing lack of time and resources as the reason. Citing the mage’s inability to resist as a sign of their danger. Citing the “greater good” as more important. Because mages were tools. Just like we templars.
  I clenched my jaw at the thought. It was more complicated than that, I knew, but what had once seemed so black and white to me was now infuriatingly grey. Something needs to change. 
  My mind went to all the Harrowings I’d attended, but focused on Meira’s. The mages had called a demon—had actually sought out a demon—at the behest of the templars. Through the lyrium, the demon was able to possess her, because we had allowed it. And it was only through her will, through her fight, that she had not succumbed to the possession. Yes, she’d had years of training and preparation prior to the test under her tutelage, but did that justify it? She had no idea what the test was, so how prepared could she truly be? Whereas the vigil for templars was fully known about prior to our facing of it. What did the mages have to fear in the face of their Harrowing? Possession and death. For a templar during their vigil? Falling asleep. Nausea rolled in my gut once more. But what is the answer?

“Commander?” Barris’s voice spoke as if far away, drawing me back to the present. He and all the others were looking at me, eyes intent.

I cleared my throat. “Something needs to change, that much is obvious, but we won’t solve everything in one evening. This day has been long. The Battalion will be going on more missions soon, so I suggest you rest while you can. We can continue this discussion in the future. But for now, stay the course and Anders is not to be harmed per the Inquisitor’s orders. The Maker will judge him, for we shall not.”

They saluted and I offered a salute back before they left the tower.

”Well, Barris is certainly coming into his own,” Rylen’s spoke as he came closer.

”Why do they come to me for answers?” I growled, “Barris is their best hope. The man has more sense than I ever have—seeing right through it all.”

”It’s not hard to have more sense than ye, Commander.”

“I’m serious, Rylen,” I shot a glare at him.

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “They come to ye because ye see what needs to become of the Order, even if ye don’t realize it. Ye designed the Battalion. Ye stopped taking lyrium. Ye left. Why do ye think I followed ye, Cul? Ye saw through the keech of the Order long before any of the rest of us. Saw it in Meredith.”

”You’re giving me too much credit, Rylen,” I turned away from him.

I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and I met his blue eyes. “No, I’m not. Ye give yerself too little.”

”If I had done my duty and seen through her sooner—“

”Then all those mages ye helped—begrudgingly or no—would’ve ended up branded or dead,” Rylen cut in, his fingers digging into my shoulder, “Ye did yer duty. Now it’s time ye look to the future. They’re asking ye where the Order should go.”

”Why?” I implored.

”Because like it or not, Cullen, yer still a templar. Still a Knight-Commander. Barris is coming into his own, but he’s still seeking direction.”

”I left because the Order is broken,” I urged, “I don’t know how to fix it.”

A smirk pulled his mouth, twisting his tattoos. “I think ye do, Cul. I think ye do.”

I clenched my jaw as those thoughts I kept pushing away resurfaced. “It doesn’t matter. Right now we have to focus on our people. On Samson. On Adamant.”

Rylen gave a nod, allowing me to change the subject of the conversation. I spoke with him of the repairs I had in mind, writing out requisitions. He pointed out my own tower’s need for repairs, so I made a modest request for it as well.
  That seem to, I listened as he debriefed me on all that had occurred in the Western Approach and informed of the state of Griffon Wing Keep. I wrote out a few requisitions for the Inquisitor to sign off on in order to ensure the Keep would be prepared once we marched on the Approach. The Keep would have to act as our base of operations for as long as we remained in the Approach to deal with the Wardens and Adamant. Any final preparations would have to been seen to there. I wrote out another requisition and orders for more soldiers to be sent ahead to ensure our enemy could not cut off our supply lines as we were planning to do to them. Once that was finished, I told him of our plan to attack Sahrnia and go after Samson.

”Are ye sure that’s wise, Cullen?” he questioned. “Going after Samson?”

“Wise or not, we have little choice,” I stated as I continued to write, my eyes flicking to the phials of lyrium on the desk every so often as the smell of it on him made my mouth water repulsively, “If Maddox is in Sahrnia, we have to take the opportunity to get to him. If Samson is there…we have to opportunity to rob Corypheus and the Red Templars of their general.”

”And your lass?”

I met his blue eyes. “I will sleep better knowing I am at her side. I nearly lost her again, Rylen. If I can aid her against this threat—and as I’ve already told you I have legitimate reasons for going with her—I will.”

”I suppose I can’t blame ye, just…don’t be an idiot and get yerself killed.”

A smirk pulled my mouth. “I’ll try.”

  ”I mean it, Cullen,” he said in a tone I rarely heard him use. It was serious and even bordered on threatening. I met his eyes.
  “Yer too good a man to lose on some blighted crusade of self-sought atonement. Ye ain’t Samson and it ain’t yer fault he ended up how he did. Ye don’t have to hunt him down to prove it. And yer lass? Ye think she’d go on living without ye?”

I set down my quill and straightened. “I have no intention of dying, Rylen. Nor am I trying to prove anything in regards to Samson. He’s a monster who serves a monster. He must be stopped.”

He nodded. “Then I pray the Maker guides yer steps, Commander.”

There was a knock on the door before it started to open, “I know it’s no table laden with food, but I—“ It was Meira. She stopped when she saw Rylen. “Oh, pardon the intrusion. I’ll—“

Rylen stood and gave her a slight bow. “It’s no intrusion, my lady. We’ve just finished. I’ve duties to see to, so he’s all yours.”

She chuckled and came the rest of the way inside. She’d changed out of her armor and cleaned up. She was now wearing leather leggings, a long knitted wool sweater and fur-lined slippers. The hair of her wig was loose as it tumbled down her shoulders. Her silver eyes flicked to me, worry in them. There was a tray of food in her hand. Though the kitchens had been damaged, the cook had been able to salvage some utensils and ware enough to prepare simple fare from what food remained in the castle’s larder. 

“Thank you, Captain,” she offered Rylen a smile, “It’s good to have you back.”

”Ye’ll make this no-good Captain blush, lass,” he chuckled, “But it’s good to see ye again as well. If yer up to it, ye’ll have to regale me of yer adventure in the Oasis sometime.”

“I shall, Rylen,” she nodded as her eyes took in the state of the tower, “but for now, I need to see to our stubborn commander.”

”Of course, my lady,” he bowed again before sweeping from the room. 

I let out a breath and sagged back into my chair, my legs shaking. I pinched the bridge of my nose, thoughts swirling in my pounding head. “Maker’s breath,” I sighed.

“Talk to me,” Meira’s gentle voice spoke as I heard her come closer, the tray of food clacking on the surface of the desk.

I opened my eyes to find her leaning against the desk. I said nothing, only taking one of her hands and pulling her to me so she stood between my legs. I encircled her in my arms, but she pressed me to her. My ear against her chest, I could hear the steady beat of her heart, the gentle intake of breath into her lungs. “I’m sorry for my harshness in the War Room.”

Her fingers ran through my hair as she hugged me tighter. “I will be glad to have you by my side as well, Cullen. I meant only for you to be focused on what is most important.”

I curled my fingers into her sweater. “You are what is most important.”

She leaned back at that, her gentle fingers lifted my face to her before she cupped my cheeks. “I love you for saying that, but you and I both know we must focus on our enemy now.”

I pursed my lips. “I know. And that is why I want to accompany you. We must put a stop to Samson. But his desperation makes him as dangerous as Corypheus.”

”I know,” she chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed, “From people? Can it be true?”

”I will have to ask Dagna what her thoughts are, but I believe she was close to concluding the same,” I informed her.

”Maker have mercy,” she breathed.

I pressed a kiss to her jaw as I held her to me. “We will stop him.”

”Cullen? Are you…shaking?” she questioned. Andraste’s pyre. She leaned back and looked me in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

”I’m just tired…and hungry,” I said, telling her the partial truth.

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s more than that.” I looked away, but she took my chin in her fingers. “Don’t shut me out.”

I curled my fingers tighter into her sweater, burying my face in her stomach as I pulled her to me. “I want it.”

Her hands ran through my hair. “Want what?”

”Lyrium.”

  Her hands paused. Maker do I just want to drown it all out. Slip into the sweet oblivion of the song. My skull ached, my body trembled, nausea rolled in my gut.
  I didn’t want to face the questions rolling around in my mind in the aftermath of Anders and the templars. I didn’t want to hear the answers my mind was already formulating of its own accord. Questions I had buried so long ago. The same questions I had begun to ask before Uldred. Questions that shook me to my very core. Shook my faith.
  Doubt. That is what filled me now. Made me question it all. Who was I to lead in any capacity? To order the templars? To order the mages? To order even the mundane men?
  It was so much easier when someone else held the authority. When I just had to follow. But now they were turning to me. Me. I wanted the bliss of willful ignorance. Not this…burden of consequence for every decision I made resting solely upon my shoulders. Not this ever present fear.
  I shuddered at the cowardly thoughts. It wasn’t the truth. It was the addiction talking. And that only made me more disgusted with myself.

”Tell me,” she murmured.

I pulled away, taking her hands and kissing the backs of them. “It’s…shameful, Meira.”

Her fingers grasped my chin and pulled it up. Her eyes were gentle and full of understanding. Maker, she’s beautiful. “Tell me, Cullen.”

I sighed, “I am an addict, Meira. When I used my abilities…I should have known. I should have known that it would…draw everything back out. I used them, with no more than my will. A part of me is elated at such a discovery, but…it does not change the fact that I won’t be able to protect you from this demon should we come across it in Sahrnia. If I use my abilities, I’ll exhaust myself.” I clutched at her back, dropping my voice to no more than a whisper.
  “I’m so tired…and it hurts. How do I keep you safe? How do I—“

She straddled my legs, sitting upon my lap and causing my heart to thud unevenly in my chest. Her eyes were intense, her hands cupping my face. “You do not need lyrium.”

”Meira, I—“

”No,” she said, her voice firm.

”But I—“

”No, Cullen.”

”I have to—“

  She pulled my face closer to hers. “You do not need lyrium to serve. You do not need lyrium to be strong. You do not need lyrium to be brave.” Her thumbs caressed my cheeks.
  “We will protect each other.”

I sighed heavily and dropped my head onto her shoulder, my hands digging into her hips. “Alright.”

She held me close, rubbing soothingly along the back of my neck. We sat like that for a time before she climbed off my lap. “Come on, you need to eat something.”

I grabbed her hand. “I should patrol.”

She gave me a hard look. “You need rest and food. Besides, Harrit is fixing your armor, you shouldn’t patrol without it. And I have the Battalion on a guard rotation to fill in for the wounded soldiers.”

”And I should join them,” I began to stand, only for pain to shoot through me, causing my knees to buckle. A gasp of pain escaped my lips.

”Cullen!” She shouted in alarm as she caught me and pushed me back into my chair. She took my face in her hands, her eyes frantic, “What’s wrong? What can I do?!”

I put a hand over hers in reassurance, panting slightly at the pain and weakness, “I’ll be alright. It will pass.”

She simply looked at me for a long moment before she straightened. She held her hand out. “Come with me.”

_______________________________

  Threading our fingers together, healing magic flowing into me and renewing my strength, she’d led me through the keep. It was quiet as everyone was either patrolling or sleeping. We’d run into a few guards, but they’d pointedly looked the other way as we’d passed.
  She’d been silent the entire way, careful to keep the tray of food in her other hand balanced. Instead of going to my quarters, however, she’d led me up to hers and sat me upon the couch before she’d sat upon my lap, scooped up the bowl and offered me a spoonful of stew.

I met her eyes as I opened my mouth to speak, but her fingers pressed against my lips. She let out a deep breath and looked me square in the face, her gaze hard as she began to speak, ”Since the time you were thirteen, you’ve been told that ingesting lyrium is the best you had to offer the world,” she began, “For five years you were prepared for when you would take that initial draught. Daily subjected to physical training and indoctrination to condition you to believe that whatever came once you were put through initiation was in the name of the greater good. Was an act of devotion to the Maker and Andraste.
  “That to subject yourself to lyrium—to the life of a templar—to sacrifice all you had ever dreamed of for yourself was the best you had to offer the world. That your only use was to be the bulwark between the mundane of the world and the potential threat that mages posed.” I opened my mouth again to speak, but instead she shoveled the food in, which forced me to chew.
  “Alongside that, you were conditioned to never question orders. To never question your superiors. To never question the Order. To give all you had to the Order. To the Chantry. On behalf of people who would never thank you and on the behalf of charges that would most likely hate you. A life of service and sacrifice, as you said.” Again, she spooned food into my mouth.
  “But despite all of that, you were kind to us. Wanted to treat us fairly; to treat us like people. Because what you truly wanted was to be a knight in all that it meant. To serve and protect people with honor and chivalry. Then, your life was torn apart and you learned to fear us. You grew angry and bitter and fearful. Believed all you’d been conditioned to believe. Until the corruption you ignored pointed a sword at you. And then you stood against it only to find your world torn apart for the second time. You stood amongst the rubble unsure who you even were anymore, for you had been just as much a part of that corruption as she had.
  “You’d given the Order everything and it’d used you. Used you and corrupted you. But who are you without it? Who are you without lyrium? What else do you have to give? Everything that made you, you was stripped from you—twice over. First by mages and magic. Then, again by the Order and lyrium.” She fed me more.
  “No, you are not an innocent bystander, but you were broken. And the Order kept using you anyway.” Tears slipped down her cheeks as she set aside the bowl. Her hands slid up my chest, one coming to cup my cheek. Maker do I need her touch. I leaned into her palm, covering her other hand with my own.
  “Now you are here. You are free. But you still believe all you have to offer is you the templar. Lyrium. Sacrifice.” She ran a thumb over the scar on my lip.
  “Oh, my lion, the Inquisition does not wish to use you. Your soldiers want to follow you. Ellana and the others want to work with you.” She leaned closer to me, pressing her forehead against mine.
  “And I want to love you. You. As your own man. I know you’re unsure who he is, but…” She leaned back, pressing her fingers over where my heart thudded.

I put my hand over hers. A single one of mine large enough to hold both of hers. I swept away the tears on her cheeks with a thumb. “Why do you cry for me, beloved?”

  Starlight burned as it pierced my heart. “Because, my love, you have a soul that’s been battered and bruised. You have been the best and worst of yourself. Your spirit shattered. And yet you, piece by piece, have been putting it back together with your own two hands.
  “Because you thirst for righteousness, for redemption, for atonement. And you’ll fight to your last breath for it—not for yourself, no, because you believe yourself unworthy, but for the Inquisition. So that it may rise where you fell.” Her fingers curled into my shirt.
  “Because you are strong. You are brave. And you are good.”

  I brought her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I am none of those things, Meira. Not a half hour ago I wanted to run. To take lyrium. And I said things that hurt you. I am weak. I am a coward. I am a wretch.” I tipped her chin up.
  “I did not act when I should have in Kirkwall because of those very things. Inaction and willful ignorance were my sins. Prejudice. Anger. Vengeance. Hate. Burying my humanity beneath my duty.” I clenched my jaw.
  “Yes, I swallowed the lies I was fed—by Meredith, the Order, the Chantry. Myself. I ignored the whispers of the others. The signs. She allowed abuse of the mages. I didn’t stop it. She wielded the brand wrongly. I didn’t question it. She kept things from me. I didn’t look into them. She called for the Right of Annulment when it wasn’t even justified—not really. But I cut down mages right alongside her. She told me her design to arrest Hawke. I would have gone along with it. She’d gone mad and I didn’t even realize until, as you said, she pointed her sword at me.” I looked away.
  “I let her puppet me because it was easy. It was easy to pass responsibility on. To be the obedient, ignorant dog.” I ground my teeth. The floodgates had opened again, she’d cut to the heart of the issue. Lanced open my festering wounds and I couldn’t stop the pouring out of the foul truth.
  “That’s all I’ve ever been. An obedient dog. Obedient to the Order. To the Chantry. To Meredith.” I gave a bitterly derisive snort. “And what else would I be? That’s what my name means: ‘young hound’.” I met her eyes, studying them for a time before wrapping her in my arms and burying my face in the crook of her neck.
  “I have been such a fool.”

Gently, she pulled away from me, taking my face in her hands.
  “Cullen,” she said my name with command, willing me to look at her, “None of that is true. We are mortals, whose only hope is in the Maker’s grace. It is time we started acting like it.” She took my chin in her fingers.
  “You made mistakes, but I fear you assign yourself greater sins than you committed. You were no puppet. You did take care of the mages when you could. You saw what the Order had become. You left. You’re here. You’re trying.” I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it. I stared at her. My heart. The mate of my soul. My equal. Her thumb ran along my cheek.
  “No one is beyond redemption that seeks it.”

  ‘A mage of all things’. The Maker certainly has a sense of humor. Oh, Rutherford, you fool. Would there have ever been anyone else? For who besides a mage would ever have been able to remind you of the man you wanted to be? I swept the hair of her wig off her shoulder, cupping her cheek.
  “Your grace will be my undoing, love,” I murmured. She turned to kiss my palm. “I have been such a fool. But not here. Not this. Not ever again.” I pulled her in to kiss her gently. “Thank you…for talking sense into me. For stopping me from considering lyrium again. I’m a stubborn fool, beloved. Forgive me.”

  She pressed a kiss to my forehead. “This is simply another battle, my knight. A battle of will. You’ve spent nearly ten years with lyrium in your life. A few of them spent using it as a means to drown out the past. It will not be so easily set aside—no matter how strong you are. But you will learn to defend yourself against this, Cullen. Give yourself time. There is nothing to forgive.” She hugged me to her and I crushed her against me, pressing a featherlight kiss to her pulse.
  “But that’s the beauty in all this. Leaving the Order. Giving up lyrium. Leading the Inquisition. They’re the first decisions you’ve made for yourself in nearly two decades. You’ve given yourself fully to the Inquisition because through it you see what could be. You work yourself to the bone for that future. You’ve been focused for so long on a single purpose, but now…now you can find a new one. One that is yours. But you’re afraid,” she met my eyes again and I swallowed thickly. There was no judgment in her face, but her starlight eyes saw right through me. Saw me as only she did.
  “So very afraid because you don’t know what that purpose should be. Or, you do and that’s what scares you more.” She was silent then, waiting for me to speak.

  I was quiet, contemplating, praying. What was the call I felt? The pull? Clearing my throat, I attempted to put the thoughts I’d been desperately trying to ignore into words.
  “I want…I want to help the templars find freedom. I want…to help better the lives of mages, to help them find freedom as well. Lasting freedom. But I’m not the man to make those changes for mages, to decide those things. Magic cannot be made safe, but I do not wish for my fears to compromise what is needed. But for templars…I agree with Barris. A new Order. Autonomous. Focused upon protecting the people, not guarding mages. And for those templars who wish to leave lyrium behind…a proper means to do so. But am I the man to be part of any of those things? I don’t know.”

“I believe it is your very mistakes that make you the best candidate.”

I chortled. “I believe you are biased, love.”

She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Perish the thought.”

I drew her close, kissing the corner of her mouth, before sitting her upon the couch, her dainty feet in my lap. Gently, I removed her fur-lined slippers and began kneading her soles with my thumbs. “What would you see for mages?”

  ”An autonomous system as well,” she began before groaning softly, “Maker, that feels good.” She picked up the bowl and began eating what remained.
  “A college of sorts, like the fraternities within the Circle. Independent of the Chantry, but not hostile towards it. Bound together by the commonality of being mages and wanting independence, but focused upon moral conduct with magic. A place of education, but mages are free to come and go as they please—as in, they can visit their families, live at home if they’re close to the college itself and once their education is finished, they can pursue careers beyond the walls of the institution. Like the college Celene built in Orlais.” She turned, using magic to call the rest of the food tray over as I continued to massage her feet. She broke a roll, tore off some and held it out for me to eat.
  “But in truth, I like what we’ve built here: the Battalion. Templars and mages truly working together. Fighting side by side. I pray it is the beginning of something more.”

”As do I,” I nodded, “And I too pray it doesn’t end with the Inquisition.” I stared off. “In truth, I believe having mages be part of the Order…may be a piece of the puzzle to finding a lasting solution.”

”Do you think if the Conclave hadn’t been destroyed, such an end could have been reached?”

I snorted. “Not in a thousand years.”

She sighed. “I suppose you are right. It took the Inquisition. It took us.”

I laced my fingers through hers. “It took you, darling.” I kissed the back of her hand. “I may have proposed the Battalion, but you…you have led it. Molded it. Gave Barris and Solana the means to make it flourish.”

She blushed a little. “It’s far from over, but to see how they worked together today. It brought hope.”

”Hope Thedas desperately needs,” I agreed.

A smile tugged at her mouth. “I suppose we shall see in Emprise du Lion, won’t we?” Her eyes met mine. “Did you ever believe you’d say those words? That mages and templars would fight together? Would be the hope we need?”

“Not in a thousand more years,” I chortled.

”It seems I’ve corrupted you, Ser Cullen,” she smiled impishly, “Just as Greagoir feared.”

I laughed before leaning over and kissing her soundly. “So it would seem,” I hummed. My mouth tugged into a wicked smirk. “But you haven’t lured me to your bed quite yet, so I’d say your corruption is not wholly complete.”

Her eyes flicked to the object in question as I felt her toes curl. “I don’t know, we’re only a short distance away, I dare say I’m close.”

  I chuckled against her skin as I peppered kisses along her throat. She tilted her chin up, her fingers curling into my tunic as she curved into me.
  “Not yet, my love. Not yet,” I murmured against her skin. She shuddered slightly.
  “My earlier floundering aside, I will continue to properly court you, beloved, until we are wed. Or did I not promise such?”

  She leaned way to pull at a delicate chain around her neck. Out from the “v” in her sweater came my coin, now fashioned into a long necklace.
  “You did.” I felt my face soften as I held the coin.
  “I wanted to keep your promise close to my heart,” she murmured, “For it is—it always has been—yours.”

  I met her eyes. “An apt setting for it,” my lips twitched, “As my heart is always with you.” I flashed an impish grin.
  “And I’m rather fond of your bosom.” 

Her eyebrows shot up in shock at my meaning, her mouth falling open even as it tugged into a smile, “Cul—“

  I silenced her with a searing kiss, a slight moan on her tongue that sent me reeling. Breaking away, I kissed her gently before leaning back and resuming my ministrations upon her feet.
  “Forgive me, that was impertinent,” I smirked. There was a heavy blush on her face, she peering up at me through her lashes. We were silent for a time, until I cleared my throat.
  “What was your opinion of Anders?”

“I…recognized him,” she said after a time.

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  ”He…he was a mage from Kinloch Hold. He was older. Kept to himself mostly. No one knows his real name as ‘Anders’ is what everyone started calling him when he refused to give his true name—not that I can’t relate to that. Very rarely was he actually at the tower, however. He was constantly escaping.” She paused before chuckling.
  “One time he escaped by swimming across Lake Calenhad. I have no idea how he succeeded at that, but he did it. Greagoir and Irving restricted our outside time for months after, even after Anders was caught a week later, but no one else was…determined enough to attempt escaping that way.”

”I don’t recall Anders being at the tower,” I stated.

“When he escaped again…the templars put him in solitary confinement for a year,” she murmured, “That was shortly before you arrived. He escaped again not long before…Uldred. I don’t know how, but—“

”There were a few templars that were killed when a mage escaped,” I murmured, “We sent them to the Maker, Greagoir sending a sizable party out to track down the mage responsible. He never stated who it was, but…he and the templars he sent seemed to take it all personally.”

”Like I said, he was rarely at the tower,” I murmured, “and when he was, he kept to himself. I believe he was close to only one person, but that mage was sent to Kirkwall and his escape attempts only increased in frequency after that.”

“Do you remember anything about him?” I questioned.

She chewed on her lip. “We never interacted, but even then it was obvious he hated the Circle.” Her face darkened. “And it still seems that he’s a self-righteous fool.”

I chortled. “Many would say the same of me, love.”

She snorted. “Me as well, I suppose.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to make of him, to be honest.”

”You said his…possession is something more. What did you mean by that?”

She looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. “It was as if the two of them were no longer separate entities—they are one and the same. There is no Anders and there is no Justice. When he is calm, they seem more separate, but when he is aggravated…they are one entity. One will.”

”Why does it worry you?” She still refused to meet my eyes, worry on her brow. I took her hand, lacing our fingers. “Talk to me, love.”

  Her silver eyes finally met my gaze. “If they are no longer separate entities, there may be no hope of ending his possession—which I sense both of them want. And if there is no hope for them…what of me?” I rubbed my thumb along her knuckles.
  “I do not think I can separate myself from what lies within me, but for us to become whole? A single entity? What will happen?” She worried her lip more.
  “No, she’s not a demon in the traditional sense, but she is something supernatural. Something that can take over. What if her will is stronger than mine? What if I…disappear? If bit by bit we are melding and I don’t even realize?’”

I squeezed her hand. “Meira, you have the strongest will I have ever known. Do not doubt yourself.” She gave me an appreciative smile. “What do you believe she is?” 

She played with my fingers as she spoke, her skin soft against my callouses as the pads of her fingers traced them. “I believe…I believe she is much like Shame was to you—something born of me. But what, I am not certain. All I know is that she is tied to…him…and to you.”

I furrowed my brow. “Me?”

”Purpose—Desire,” she corrected.

”Oh,” I murmured before looking away. I recalled as she had yelled at me in the Fade, cursing me for hurting Meira again. If Purpose as Desire had worn my face…had hurt her in such a way as to bring whatever this darkness was about…it was no wonder it despised me. I felt Meira’s gentle hand on my cheek as she turned me to her. I met her loving eyes.

”I do not blame you,” she breathed, “Do not blame yourself.” I took her hand and kissed her palm. “In regards to Anders, there is only one way to find out if the two can be separated.”

”Entering the Fade,” I said for her to which she nodded.

”But only if he—if they—even desire it,” she added, “For now, we must deal with the immediate: Samson.”

I clenched my jaw. “It will not be an easy task, but we will see it done. And once Samson is dealt with, we must face Thedas’s Grey Wardens. Her heroes of gravest sacrifice…how could they have fallen so far?”

”Do you trust Evelyn?” she questioned.

  ”I would be dead or mad if not for her,” I murmured, “When she found me, I was in a sorry state. The things I said to her about mages, about you, were…unkind. Untoward. I regret them now.” I pressed a kiss to her cheek.
  “Forgive me, Meira.” She nodded.
  “I owe her much. Her anger towards her fellow Wardens seems genuine. And she seemed to have left a mission of great importance to set right their wrongs.”

“She mentioned Alistair. His opinion of you. I saw that he and Leliana were witnesses to—“

“Yes, they were both with Evelyn in the aftermath,” I stated, meeting her eyes, “Leliana has been…kind enough not to speak of it outside of a private conversation. I was…well, despite her abrasiveness towards me at times, she is kind.” A smile tugged my mouth before it fell. “And Alistair…”

  I began to tell her of my time in templar training. The years following leaving home. It had been a long time since I had thought of them. I recalled the homesickness, the loneliness, the rejection I felt by many of the other trainees—especially those that came from noble backgrounds as I was a commoner from a village many knew nothing about. But it set my focus upon my studies and my faith, finding distraction and purpose in the former and comfort in the latter.
  After a time, a group of fellow misfits formed. Alistair, Annlise, Beval, Farris and I. We’d had each others’ backs when it came to the bullying from the others. But Alistair and I were the closest, bonding over our love of the training and all it entailed, over being outcasts and our views on mages, but we never agreed on the Chantry or the Order.

“Alistair never trusted the Chantry or the Order,” I told her, her head now on my shoulder, fingers playing with mine again as she listened, “I had dismissed it as resentment for being forced into becoming a templar, but now…now I wish I had paid more attention.”

“What would he say?” She questioned.

”That the Order is truly just an army at the Chantry’s disposal. That our abilities were far more akin to magic than they would ever want to admit, the only caveat being that they only work against mages. But what truly earned his scorn was the first Harrowing he attended. Even when we’re not fully knighted templars, we are squire to a knight. We are their attendants and we go where they go to observe their duties. Including Harrowings. He had to help them put an end to the girl that was being Harrowed.”

”That’s awful,” she murmured.

”And then when he found out about lyrium—the truth—I dismissed it again. He admitted he couldn’t be certain, but he feared the whisperings enough that…well, I was happy for him when he became a Grey Warden,” I stated, “Being a templar…it wasn’t something he wanted.” I chuckled darkly. “And now look at me. He’d happily rub it in my face that he told me so.”

She breathed a chuckle. “How so?”

”The addiction. The Chantry’s use and leash upon templars through that addiction. That lyrium may not even be needed to use our abilities.” I frowned. “Maker, he was always smarter than I. Why didn’t I listen?”

”What is it, Cullen?”

”I used my abilities with nothing more than my will, pulling on forces within myself. Like…like magic.” I looked at her. “Like a mage. What if…what if he was right? If you were right?” I swallowed. “If it’s true…” I chuckled bitterly. “Anders was right. Hypocrisy has always been my strength.”

A gentle hand turned my face. “Cullen, it isn’t true. Not fully. As you said, your abilities only work against mages and demons. My abilities work on whatever I wish.”

”But how could I be so…so blind?”

“It does not change the fact that there are evil mages in world. Evil magic. Demons.” Her starlight eyes flicked between my gaze. “Templars can stand against those things more effectively than a mage. Than a mundane person.” Her thumb ran along my cheekbone. “You wanted to protect the innocent from those threats.”

”But am I not…is the Chantry not hypocritical in doing so?” I questioned. 

“You cannot harm anything that is not Fade-touched with your abilities,” she stated again, “Mages and demons.” I was silent as I mulled it over, until I felt her shift. My heart stuttered as she straddled my lap once more. “All we can change is the future, Cullen. The past is the past. We must let it go.” I nodded after a moment. She nodded in response before curling against my chest. “You are free, my lion.”

I cupped her cheek and coaxed her to look at me. “Whatever my sins, Meira, know that I will not let them keep me from you. I may stumble, but I…I cannot be without you.”

”Then forgive yourself, Cullen,” she murmured.

”How can I?”

”You have suffered enough,” she whispered, “Been at war within yourself for far too long. When will it be enough?”

I took the coin hanging from her neck into my hand again. “What if it never is?”

She leaned back slowly, a tenderness in her eyes. “You are worthy of happiness, Cullen.” She put a hand to my cheek. “You are worthy of love.” She pressed her forehead to mine. “You are worthy of forgiveness. You need only to let go.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I sighed, my breath shaky, “The dead do not forgive. And some ghosts cannot be laid to rest. But for you…I am trying.”

“I know, my knight, I know. And I will be at your side every step of the way.” Her lips met mine and for a moment, it all slipped away.

We kissed for a time before she slipped off my lap. She stood, her eyes meeting mine as color bloomed in her cheeks. “Stand up, please.”

I quirked a brow, even as I did so. “What’s this about?”

”My feet feel wonderfully relaxed. I thought I’d return the favor,” she murmured, her blush darkening as she circled me.

”What do you—“

  My words died as her fingers came to my shoulders, pulling my surcoat off. She draped it over the bannister before she came to my front once more. Heart beginning to race as her fingers skimmed across my chest as she unwound my vest from my sword belt before pulling that off as well for it to join the surcoat. Heat lanced through me as her hands worked to remove my sword belt, though my sword had already been removed, it upon her desk.
  The laces on my leather doublet were next, she undoing those at my wrists and neck. I pulled the doublet over my head, passing it into her hands, our fingers brushing causing my skin to tingle. That done, she pressed her hand to my chest in a silent command to sit back down upon the couch. She sat beside me, but grasped my shoulders as she pressed them so I would turn my back to her. 

“Is it alright if I use magic?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  I turned to look at her from over my shoulder. Her face was flushed with color, but she met my gaze. “Yes,” I murmured before turning back to look out the door to the balcony.

  She’d gotten a fire going in the fireplace, it crackling as the flames danced. Stars shone in the sky above, clouds drifting lazily. I felt her hands through the thin fabric of my tunic as they pressed into my back, warmed by fire magic from the feel of them. She started at my neck, thumbs digging into the hard knots, the warmth in her hands leeching through and causing them to relax. She worked down my neck, to my shoulders, and slowly down my back. Then she cooled her hands with frost magic, bringing relief to my aching body as she reworked over the muscles she’d loosened.
  I made a groan in my throat of approval. She did the same along my arms before she stood. I met her eyes. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees. Her hands went to my boots, beginning to work them off.

I reached down to stop her, a sudden feeling I couldn’t describe washing over me, “Meira, I can take off my own boots.”

Her silver eyes met my gaze. “I know. But allow me to do it.”

”Why?” I nearly choked out.

She took my hand. “Because I want to take care of you.”

I squeezed her fingers before kissing her knuckles. “Alright.”

I watched as she undid the straps, buckles and laces of my boots before sliding them off my lower legs and feet. She even pulled the wool socks off, folding them to set them next to my boots. That done, she stood. “Lay on your stomach.”

  Again, I obeyed and thanked the Maker the couch was long enough for me to stretch out. Otherwise, she might have asked me to lay upon her bed. If she did…I did not know if I would be able to leave it. Once more, I felt her hands set to work. Kneading down from my thighs to my calves.
  Once finished, she helped me to sit up before taking one of my hands into her own to massage my wrist, my palm and even my fingers. Her own traced the callouses upon my skin, the scars. Some old and some new. The callouses different from my right to my left; ones from holding a sword, others from holding a shield.
  A fire lit in my gut with each touch along with a thankfulness I did not know how to express. She sat upon the floor, taking one of my feet into her lap. She warmed her hands again as she pressed her thumbs into the arch of my foot and I couldn’t stop the groan of relief that slipped past my lips as I slumped against the couch. I felt the pain, the soreness, the aching that had been consuming slowly subside.
  She stood, walking out to the balcony, rubbing some of the potted lavender there between her hands. She sat, crossing her legs as she rested against the arm of the couch before pulling me down to lay my head in her lap. Her fingers magically cooled, she weaved them into my hair and began to massage my scalp. I could’ve wept at the relief it brought.

I looked up at her. “Meira—“

”Shh,” she hushed me and continued to work her fingers through my hair.

  She began reminiscing of our time in the tower together and her years before. I joined her, telling her of my years training to be a templar, my life within the tower when not with her. Though such tales were tinged with sadness, laughter filled her chambers as we recalled the happier moments.
  As we recalled who we’d once been. Who we were hoping to be once more. And in her care, in that moment, I felt a few of my doubts quiet.
  In time, she began to hum, still massaging my scalp. I couldn’t fight the sleep that tugged at my eyes. I felt her shift, her lips pressing to my nose. I blinked my heavy eyelids open, my fingers curling into her hair as I pulled her down for a sound kiss.

”I love you,” I whispered, “And know, that for you, I will never stop fighting for the future.”

”Neither will I, Cullen,” she breathed, “Sleep now, my lion.”

A final time, I obeyed. Surrendering to sleep, feeling safe as I did for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

CULLEN

I awoke some time later, my sleep surprisingly restful as I felt Meira’s presence by my side through each nightmare. My head still in Meira’s lap, I was careful as I sat up, fighting back the chuckle at her sleeping form. Her lovely mouth slightly agape, the tension lessened in her features. But as she was slouched against the back of the couch, the blanket having slipped off, I knew she had to be uncomfortable.

Gently, I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, I tucked her beneath the covers before pressing a kiss to her brow. As much as I desired to hold her as she slept, there was too much to do before our departure for Sahrnia and before that…there were answers I sought.

Scribbling a note to Meira before leaving her rooms, I changed clothes in my own chambers. Flagging down one of Leliana’s people, I requested coffee and breakfast be sent to Meira’s room before heading for the chapel. Relief poured over me as I found Mother Giselle within, the older woman’s dark eyes falling on me as if she’d sensed my coming. A slight nod and soft smile before she gestured for me to sit.

“You were expecting me?” I questioned.

She quirked a brow. “No, but I had hoped.”

“Why?”

“I pray for you daily, Commander.”

“Meaning?”

She chuckled slightly before sitting beside me. I was surprised as she placed a hand over mine, giving my gloved fingers a gentle squeeze. “What is it you wish to ask of me?”

“What does the Chant say about magic?” I demanded, my voice harsher than I meant it to be. “Not the Chantry. Not the Order. The Chant.”

“Have you not read the verses, Commander?” She questioned.

”Of course I have, but I want to know what you think. You hold views contradictory to the rest.”

She studied me. “What is this really about, Cullen?”

So perceptive. I clenched my jaw. “I used my templar abilities without having taken lyrium in months. I used nothing but my will. Like a mage.” I stared her down. “Does the Chantry convince templars that they are some bulwark against magic and then…equip us with magic?”

She pursed her lips. “What do you believe?”

”Don’t give me that,” I hissed.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I ask because it is important to know whether you truly seek answers or if you have already made up your mind.”

I stood, pacing before her. “All I have been told my whole life as a templar is of the evils and dangers of magic,” I growled, “I have been at the…mercy of them. But it has not stopped me from loving a mage. From seeing the good in magic and mages. The wrong in the Order. How both mage and templar have been used. How desperately we need change.” I stopped and looked at her. “But is it the Maker’s will? Or my own guilt?” I faced her fully. “And if my abilities are…magic…if the Order is built on no more than lies…does it even deserve to remain?”

She was silent for a long moment, measuring her words. “When you wield a blade, does it have a mind of its own? Or do you control it?”

“I understand that the danger of magic stems from the morals and will of the mage,” I dismissed, “Barring they are not possessed.”

“And should the Order cease to be, who would protect the innocent from a possessed mage?”

I met her eyes. “Other mages. All they need is enough lyrium.”

“And proper timing,” Giselle added. “Do you truly see no benefit to templars?”

I looked away. “Perhaps, but—“

“I cannot answer your question about your abilities, save for this: magic is meant to serve man, never to rule over him. I believe Our Lady would have meant all forms of magic.” Her dark eyes found mine. “If you believe what you fear is possible, then should templars rule over mages as they have for so long? Or is it as you said, a time for change?” She looked up to the likeness of Andraste. “The Chant does not teach that magic is evil. It teaches that pride is evil and does not corrupt only mages. You have found this to be true, have you not?”

I made a face, crossing my arms. “I have fallen to such sin.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the Order is told to believe itself superior.”

“And how does one remedy such pride?”

“By putting mages on equal ground.”

“And what do you mean by equal?”

I let out a breath. “What the Divine intended.”

Giselle chuckled. “Justinia intended much. Perhaps too much. But I understood what she was after, agreed with much of it.” She looked to me once more. “Your beloved has set them on the path, but to reach the end? Can she do it on her own? Can she alone steer them?”

I looked to Andraste as I pondered her questions. Though I believed see meant them rhetorically, I still answered when my mind had settled. “No.”

“You doubt her?”

“Not for a moment,” I shook my head, “but she has already made it clear that she alone should not be responsible. And she is right. She’s set them on the path, given them the tools, but only they can decide how this ends. She’s held one assembly already, but it was amongst those within the Inquisition.” I clenched my jaw. “This must be settled amongst a larger group. And perhaps…” I dared not finish my thought.

“Perhaps?”

I tightened my lips. “Perhaps having the apostate that started this all there would…make a difference.”

“Do you believe that wise?”

I snorted. “No.” I sighed. “But between he, Hawke and I…” I met her gaze. “There are so many questions surrounding Kirkwall. And before that, my…experience at Kinloch Hold. Talitha’s story—what she is willing to share of it. If we are to change minds…to change the course of the future…perhaps it is time that old wounds be laid bare and allowed to heal.”

There was a subtle shift in her features. “I shall pray, Cullen. For all of it.”

“Thank you,” I nodded before striding out the small chapel.

…

I sat within my office, seeing to a few pressing matters before returning to Meira. The sun was just beginning to rise when I heard a knock upon my door.

“Commander Cullen?” An Orlesian accent called through the wood.

“Yes?”

The door opened to Abernache and the Avvar chieftain. Confused, I set aside my work to give them my full attention.

“I’m sure you’re rather surprised at our coming to speak with you, seeing as our duties usually put us at the mercy of your Ambassador, but word has spread of what awaits you in Emprise du Lion. And the difficulty your people have had in getting there—particularly unseen.” The Orlesian lord spoke.

“We’ve lost everyone we’ve sent ahead to scout, yes,” I stated, “We were going to escort Scout Harding next. She’s the best we have.”

“Another thought?” The chieftain spoke in his deep voice. I was still taken aback at the sheer size of the man as he stepped forward. Another head and shoulders on me and nearly twice as broad, he was truly massive.

“Go on.”

“My tribe may hail from the Mire, but I’ve relatives in the Basin. Live there. They’ve called for me to ask for the Inquisition’s aid on their behalf. They can get you up, keep you hidden. They’ve the horses, the furs and the warriors. They’d guide you, protect you and shelter you.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Clever,” the chieftain chortled, “but no deception. They’ve a town valued in trade past the mountains. Your enemy has cut off those supplies and a means of survival by it. Your enemy is their enemy.”

“And you can guarantee this?”

“No guarantees in the Frostbacks, but I can swear by the Lady of the Skies that they will do their utmost.”

I looked to Abernache. “And you?”

“If the Inquisition can secure and stabilize the region, I can guarantee coin in your pocket and more Orlesian lords in your debt and allegiance.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll speak with your Ambassador about the particulars.”

I looked between them. “Very well. Speak with the Lady Ambassador, Abernache. And Movran, speak with Scout Harding. Coordinate your people and ours. Our time is limited, this must be done as swiftly as possible.”

Abernache gave a slight bow. “Commander.”

Movran put a fist to his chest. “Young chief.”

With that, they left the tower and I let out a breath in relief. If we had a way up the mountain and a way to remain undetected…perhaps we could surprise Samson after all. Seeing to the last of what was pressing, I left the tower and made my way past the stables towards the kitchen entrance. But before I could, I was stopped by Mia.

“Cullen!” She called, a broad smile on her face.

“What is it? How’s Rosalie?”

“Rose is resting, but recovering. But come on, you have to see this!”

With no further explanation, she grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the barn.

…

MEIRA

“Fadewalker,” Prudence’s voice called as I was pulled from dreams to the Fade.

I met her gaze to find it fully of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I have searched the Fade. Spoken to many a spirit about your predicament.”

“And?”

“And it would seem what I have feared is most likely the truth.”

“What you have feared? What do you mean?”

“You wish to put an end to the shadow that haunts you. To that being that allows you to bear the armor. That makes you not quite mortal, yet not quite abomination.”

“Only if there is a way to keep possession of the armor.”

“I thought there was a way, but feared what it would take. I spoke with others to see if there were any other option, but given the nature of the armor and how it came to be…it was obvious there would be no other choice.”

I furrowed my brow. “What choice is that?”

Her sapphire eyes bored into my gaze. “Blood magic.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“You asked for an alternative. This is the only one. I have given you the knowledge. Only you can decide what to do with it. It would take your blood upon the metal and magic to command it to submit to you. There is no guarantee it would truly work, given its complexity, but that is the general consensus.”

“Blood magic isn’t an option,” I growled.

“As I said, I’ve merely given you the knowledge. You alone decide what to do with it.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Prudence.”

“Be well, Fadewalker.”

…

I awoke to the smell of Cullen saturating my nose. I’d been moved to my bed, the soft mattress and pillows beneath me, the curtains whispering in the gentle breeze. Over me, Cullen had laid the blanket I had covered him in when we’d slept upon the couch. I blinked my eyes open, dawn just beginning to fracture across the sky, mingling with the sleepy heavens as the purplish-black of night yielded to rays of bronze, rose and fiery orange that reached for the last silvery stars.

I stretched gently before rolling to my other side. Upon the bedside table I found a cup of steaming coffee and beneath it a note in Cullen’s hand. Sitting up, I grabbed the note.

Beloved,

Forgive me if I have not returned before you wake. I needed to seek answers. If you do wake before my return, wait for me? I wish to speak with you of what I discover. Moreover, I wish to give you a proper thanks for your care.

All my love,

Cullen

As I finished, I heard the door at the foot of the stairs open. I listened as Cullen breathed a curse as the door creaked on its hinges before his deliberately quiet steps. I pulled the sheets to my mouth to stifle a laugh. I watched the top of the stairs until he reached the landing. His eyes found mine and softened before he leaned against the balustrade, arms crossed as he looked at me.

He was dressed in a fresh shirt and a leather jacket that was open, darker leather pants and his boots. In the mixed light of the fire and dawn, he shone and his eyes smoldered like molten bronze. A crooked grin tugged on his scarred lip and I couldn’t help the blush blooming in my cheeks.

“Maker, you are a lovely sight in the morning,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

He made his way to the bed and sat down on its edge. My heart skipped a beat at the way he was looking at me. He seemed almost relaxed, odd given what we were to face. His skin cold as he cupped my cheek, his thumb caressed my cheekbone before taking my face in both hands and pulling me into a tender kiss.

“Good morning,” he breathed when he broke away, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thank you for last night.”

I chuckled softly. “Good morning. I’m glad I could help.”

“As am I,” he chortled before giving me a light kiss.

“So what were these answers you sought?”

He leaned away from me, his eyes tinged with sadness as his jaw clenched, that relaxed state slipping away. “I went to speak with Mother Giselle about what the Chant says of magic and mages.”

I quirked a brow. “And?”

He clenched his jaw harder. “She guided me, but gave me no plain answers.”

“So what did she guide you to conclude?”

His eyes found mine again. “What I feared.”

I took his hand. “Meaning?”

He was silent a few moments, looking out to the balcony facing the rest of Skyhold as his fingers slid across my skin causing gooseflesh to erupt in the wake of his touch. “We must have the Conclave. A chance for mages and templars to come to a new conclusion. A new compromise. New purposes. Magic is meant to serve. Templars are meant to protect. It is time we remembered those truths.” His fingers squeezed mine. “After Adamant, the Conclave. Once that is done,” his face softened before he caressed my nose with his, “I face the trials, triumph, and finally marry you.”

“The Conclave?” I questioned.

“Officially, yes,” he nodded before a smile pulled his mouth, “But that is tomorrow. First, a surprise before we must face what lies ahead. Get dressed and I’ll walk you.”

“Surprise?”

He flashed a mischievous grin as he stood. “It’s not a surprise if I tell you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he only chuckled before stooping down, hands pressed upon the bed, thumbs grazing my hips as his lips met mine in an eager kiss. Straightening, he made for the stairs, gave me a final look before taking the stairs two at a time. I heard the door open and close.

Getting out of bed I quickly dressed and made my way down the stairs. Opening the door, Cullen was leaning against the wall. A hand came out to wrap around my waist and pull me to him as he kissed me deeply. His fingers brushed my cheek before he offered his elbow.

Together we made our way down to the main hall, to the door near Josephine’s office before descending the stairs to the bowels of Skyhold. I noticed construction beginning to take place as we passed through the keep and on to the kitchen. Bread and cheese were pressed into our hands before we exited to the lower bailey near the stables.

He took my free hand, fingers twining with mine, as we passed into the stables. I noticed Dennet, Mia and Blackwall near one of the end stalls. Dennet looked up as we entered.

“Made it just in time, Commander,” he stated, “She’s just finished.”

I looked to Cullen, curious, and felt my heart stutter at the broad smile on his lips. He was smiling, really smiling. His near perfect teeth showing as he did. He looked years younger and…happy. Not that he hadn’t been since we’d become an item, but to see him happy despite what weighed upon both our shoulders…something eased in my chest at it.

His amber eyes flicked to look at me and that smile widened, causing my knees to feel weak. The others parted as he led me to the stall. Within, Dennet’s mabari, Marcia, laid as she was nursing pups. Half a dozen tiny things suckled, but one smaller than the rest was having trouble finding its way. Eyes shut and ears closed, it had to rely on smell as it made its still foreign legs move.

Cullen knelt to scoop the pup up and move it closer. Not too close as to let it find its own way, but enough that it was not so far away. At the move, the pup seemed determined, slowly wiggling its way. Mobius, who’d been observing, nudged the pup a little further, causing Cullen to chuckle. It kept going until at last it found what it sought. Mobius let out a noise of contentment before laying down upon the hay.

“Seven pups,” Mia murmured, “That’s quite impressive.”

“You’re welcome to one,” Dennet stated, his dark eyes studying her, “You and your brother.”

“Bran would surely like a pup to grow up alongside Samuel,” Cullen stated.

Dennet snorted, “I meant you, boy.”

Cullen startled, turning to look at Dennet. “Wh-What do you mean?”

Dennet’s mouth twitched. “Seeing as how ya saved my life twice now, least I could do.” He nodded to Mia. “And she’s in need of new blood.”

“But I—“

“Don’t start with that nonsense,” Dennet crossed his arms over his chest, “They got two months before they can leave Marcia. Two weeks before they open their eyes. And I’ll be more than happy to care for the pups until you’re ready to take ‘em full-time.”

“Well, I…thank you,” Cullen murmured.

For a few moments he was silent, his eyes focused upon the pups. Gently, I squeezed his hand. When his eyes found mine, my chest bloomed with warmth at the emotion in them. I knew it wasn’t simply due to the prospect of having a mabari—a lifetime dream of his—but the notion of what it meant. It meant he could have a life, a future, that was his. And slowly, little by little, that future was getting closer. We said nothing, just looking at each other.

“I should speak with the Inquisitor,” he said after a few moments, “I’ve something to discuss with her.”

“And I should speak with Solana and Barris,” I nodded.

“I’ll see you later?” He questioned, a brow raising.

I smiled. “I know where to find you.”

He chuckled. “That you do.” Then he grew serious again. “As I know where to find you.” There was an undertone in his voice as he said those words that denoted the comfort he took in that truth. The same comfort I took in knowing he was always close when we were both in Skyhold.

I nodded and we stood, saying our goodbyes to the others. Leaving, Cullen flagged down one of Leliana’s people to ask where we would find Ellana. It seemed she was in the War Room.

…

The day passed, I preparing the Battalion and Cullen seeing to his preparations. Word came from Lady Sybil, pledging her men, trebuchets and other war machines from Jader. Ellana sanctioned whatever plan Cullen had proposed to her and word was sent for the Battalion to meet the Commander and his chosen men at the village gate below. Cullen had instructed to pack only the essentials as any equipment needed would be acquired on the road.

“I wish I could come with you,” Ellana’s voice sounded from behind me. I turned to find her sitting on the couch, worry on her brow. She met my gaze. “Promise me, you will be careful.”

“As careful as I can be,” I nodded.

“Let Cullen protect you. Let the Battalion fight. Don’t try to do it all on your own.”

I looked at her then. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel uneasy about this,” she admitted, looking away, “I just want you to be careful. But I would feel better if I were going with you.” I came to join her on the couch where she promptly pulled me in for a hug. “I cannot help but feel the worst is ahead of us. I know I cannot prevent it nor can we sit by, but…”

“All we can do is pray, Ellana,” I murmured, “We all have our duties. We have all committed to seeing Corypheus ended. We must see to it.”

“I know,” she breathed, “but Creators, some days I wish this would never have happened to me. To you. That we’d never been born with magic or—“

I leaned away and took her hands in mine. “But we were. And it has. And no matter how difficult it has been, there is a reason we have gone through it. We must cling to that hope. That there is a reason and at the end, all of it will be worth it. No matter what comes.”

Anger flitted across her face. “And if you were to lose Cullen, would you still feel that way? Or he you? What about me? How could I live with myself if I lost you?”

I was quiet a moment. “Da’len. Din’an nadas.” She looked away. “Death is inevitable, Ellana. What matters is the time before it.”

I watched as her jaw clenched. “Telanadas.” Her burning green eyes met my gaze. “I will not lose you.”

“Ellana, what is this really about?” I questioned. “You seem…shaken.”

“I had to look into the eyes of those who follow me and see—yet again—sorrow as our enemy surprised us and took those they loved. I failed them. Again. Rage stirs my heart. Stirs us all. But we cannot be blinded by it. Do not let Cullen be blinded. Do not become blinded yourself.” She leveled a look at me. “We cannot lose our way.”

“I will look after your Commander,” I stated, my lips twitching despite the seriousness of my voice, “And your Commander will look after your Lieutenant-Commander.”

The worry in her face ebbed a bit as she rolled her eyes. “He’s not my Commander.”

“Nevertheless, I will see him to Adamant.”

“I will hold you to that.” With that her worry fell away. She hugged me once more before descending the stairs. She opened the door and threw over her shoulder, “Enjoy your time with the Avvar.”

“With the what?”

She simply laughed and closed the door.

I left soon after to make my way to our designated meeting spot when a thought occurred. One I had not expected to have and yet it pricked at me. Calling upon the armor, I disappeared as I made my way through Skyhold and on to the village below. Ghilani followed, but to anyone it would look as if the wolf were alone.

Once below, I made my way to the tents that housed Clan Lavellan. Moving amongst the Dalish, I headed for the most prominent tent. My fingers brushed the fabric and I hesitated. Were I to take this step…would they hurt me once more?

Pushing away the doubt, I stepped inside. Ma and Da were within, Fioren toddling about their feet. My other siblings were nowhere to be found. Removing my armor, I cleared my throat. I watched them turn, surprise evident on their faces as they took me in.

“M—Talitha?” Ma questioned.

“Da’len?” Da called.

“I just wanted to say goodbye before we left,” I murmured, fiddling with my fingers, “I won’t see you again until after Adamant. And the last time I was gone for that long—”

They both enveloped me in a hug before I could finish.

“Be careful,” Da said.

“And be safe,” Ma added.

“But most importantly, defeat them,” Da growled.

“We will.”

…

We stood at the village gate, awaiting the others as they said their goodbyes to loved ones. My heart ached as children cried and clung to their parents or spouses clung to each other and wept. Some of the wives had round bellies, their unborn child soon to make an appearance.

Ellana was right, rage did burn through us all. Rage for those we’d lost. Rage for all that still lay ahead. We would lose many more. More children would be left without a mother or father, some never to meet them. More spouses left without their beloved. All because a would-be god and his servants decided to tear an already broken world apart. They had been one step ahead of us from the beginning, but now we had a chance. A chance to strip Corypheus of one of his generals and I understood Cullen’s drive to do so.

Upon his shoulders was the weight of all those we’d lost. I’d found the ever growing list of soldiers who’d perished in service to the Inquisition that he’d been keeping. The letters he’d handwritten to send to their families. Each unique. I’d asked him how he knew each soldier, but he said he hadn’t. Instead, he would go to those they fought beside or who had known about them to learn what he could in order for the letters to not be meaningless. The soldiers were people, not tools to be used and discarded. He would not let them be forgotten through a few lines of repeated text offering empty condolences. Their sacrifices meant something and they deserved to be recognized.

I watched him as he moved through the soldiers joining us, his usual commanding presence emanating from him. But despite his seriousness, he spoke with them. Laughed with them. Treated them like people. I watched Barris and Solana do the same amongst their units. I was perhaps the leader of the Battalion in name, but it was Barris and Solana who were leading it.

“But you gave them the tools. Showed them how,” Cole’s voice spoke from beside me as he appeared, “They look to you. And to Cullen. They watch you more than you realize. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“I just hope I can lead them true.”

“Yes. Hope. Conviction,” he murmured, “Good.”

Confused, I looked to the boy spirit, but he had vanished. Solana and Barris approached, offering salutes. I nodded.

“We’re ready, Lieutenant-Commander,” Barris stated.

I looked to Cullen who gave a nod in return before turning to those who’d gathered.

“Inquisition,” he called, “We make our way into the mountains in the hope of bringing a blow to our enemy and justice to our loved ones who lay dead because of them. Pray that the Maker is on our side.” Hollers sounded in response. “For the Inquisition!”

“For the Inquisition!”

At that, he mounted his new horse. A pinto coated Dalish All-Bred mare. Willow, he’d chosen to call her. Not as fiery as Stomheart had been, but brave. I climbed atop Mouse, Ghilani at her side, and together we marched.

Chapter Text

MEIRA

“We’ll rest here for the night,” Cullen directed as we reached a clearing.

It was obvious that it had been used once before for a large camp. Now, only a few tents remained along with some Inquisition soldiers. They saluted as Cullen dismounted. A chill wind blew through the clearing, causing my hair to stand on end as something pricked at the back of my mind. I dismounted to find Ghilani at my feet, silver eyes on me and a whine slipping out.

“What is it?” I questioned.

She simply looked at me, nosing my hand. I stroked her fur and as I did, I felt a strange sensation emanating from her. My brow furrowed. It was like when Solas and I had been training, he having me use Ghilani as a target within the Fade. I reached out towards the sensation and felt my mind being pulled across the Veil. As I was, I saw through Ghilani’s eyes. Brief flashes full of snow, sorrow and fear. A broken body lay upon the ground, nearly unrecognizable except for the moon white hair.

That’s me, isn’t it? I was mutilated. Limbs at wrong angles; the snow beneath me, crimson. Cullen hunched over me, tears upon his face as his lips moved with a whisper. Screams rent the air as others hoisted me up. My screams. I watched as I nearly died. Solana’s desperation. Cullen’s fear. Witnessed as Solas and the spirits helped bring me back. Just as suddenly, I was back in my own body and mind, blinking as I met Ghilani’s eyes. I pet her reassuringly.

“I understand,” I breathed, “Thank you.”

With that, she trotted off to hunt. I looked around the clearing with new eyes as I understood this was the initial camp after Haven was attacked. Where I had nearly died. Where so much had been lost, but then found. I felt Cullen’s eyes on me and I met them. There was concern there, but I shook my head and mouthed the word “later”. He gave a curt nod and went about directing the soldiers to set up a larger camp and guard rotations. I turned to the Battalion and directed the same.

“Mages, see to fires and then wards. Templar archers, join the soldiers and find us some food. The rest, see to tents,” I directed.

Salutes swept through them before they set to work. I led Mouse over to the other horses and helped complete the rope pen they would stay in before removing her saddle and my supplies. Brushing her down before looking after Cullen’s horse as well.

“Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander,” an elven soldier saluted who looked slightly worried, “but I can take it from here. Commander’ll have my hide otherwise.”

“Happy to be of help,” I assured before gesturing to Cullen’s saddle. “Carry the Commander’s saddle to his tent and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he dipped his head.

Carrying my own saddle and supplies, I headed into the now mostly assembled camp. Fires crackled, water was being boiled and I heard laughter as I watched a few soldiers, Amelia, Laren and Barris return to camp, a doe slung across his shoulders. I looked for a spot to set up my tent only to find my saddle being plucked from my hands.

“You’re going to be with me,” Solana ordered, “There’s enough room for both of us and if I don’t snatch you up now, you’ll be by Cullen and he’ll keep you all to himself.” She looked over her shoulder at me, her blonde braid slipping off of it to fall down her back. “You need to be amongst the Battalion. We’ve missed our Commander.”

I flushed at her words, embarrassment and doubt flaring. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked and stopped, turning to me. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Talitha. Everything you have done that has taken you away from us has been important.” She sighed, brown eyes rolling. “Besides, it took your absence to get us—to get me—to realize how horribly we were failing. But your soldiers need you now, not as their leader alone, but to get to know who you are.” Her gaze flicked to Cullen where he stood amongst the soldiers who’d been posted here getting updated as to recent movements. “While he’s still held in high respect in the eyes of his soldiers, they see him for the man that he is. As for you, you are some immortal being of legend to your soldiers for whom they hold a near reverent fear. They need to see Talitha the mortal.”

I swallowed hard. How do I make them see something that even I doubt exists? I shoved the thought away. I have not lost myself. Not in that cell. Not in that temple. And not now. “Lead the way.”

…

“And you’ve no idea what kind of magic it was, Lieu?” Rion questioned, fascination on his face, his food forgotten.

Apparently, the Battalion getting to know “Talitha the mortal” meant me recounting tale after tale of my adventures. They’d wanted to know how Ellana and I made it out of Haven. About my dreamer magic. Where I’d obtained my magical armor. About the Winter Palace. Anything I was willing to share. We all sat around a crackling fire, one far too small for the whole of the Battalion which now sat either upon logs or furs or the ground in rapt attention directed at me. I’d used my magic to form a bubble of sorts around us to keep us all warm as the night had grown cool.

It still amazed me to see mages and templars sitting together, at perfect ease. Joking and teasing each other, even a few flirtatious looks passing without fear of repercussion. Such a contrast to how things had begun prior to the Conclave’s destruction. Mages and templars separated, glaring at each other with hatred.

Cullen had talked of hosting the Conclave. Had expressed the desire to be part of it; for me to speak at it. He saw a future full of hope. Full of change. And where he had once doubted his right to have a hand in shaping that future, he now sought the chance to help lay the groundwork. Bit by bit, I was seeing him step into the man I had always known he could be—the man he was always meant to be—and I knew, much the same as myself, he had to go through all he had in order to become him. In the Battalion, I too saw hope.

I shook my head. “It was a mixture of ancient Tevene and ancient Elven magic it seems, but what had made it so long lasting were the demons. Trapped in decaying mortal bodies. They were held to a vow that only someone like me could fulfill.” I’d found truth in the temple at the Oasis, peace, but now…I found myself doubting at every turn once more.

“Someone like you?” Barris questioned.

Unease pooled. I saw my shadow self as Pride had pulled her from me. The darkness in her eyes. Felt her whispering behind the door. They did not need to know the whole of it. “A dreamer.”

“Are dreamers truly so rare?” Henry questioned.

“Rarer than a templar without a sword up his jacksie, Trevelyan,” Rion joked, causing the others to laugh.

“What about mages, Rion? To find one without his staff rammed so far up there is next to impossible.” I’d come to learn that Rion was from Ostwick’s Circle Tower which was also where Henry Trevelyan had been assigned before the War had broken out. The two had known each other and been cordial. Rion had expressed he was happy to learn one of the few decent Templars he’d known in his life had survived.

“No wonder we all walk so funny then,” Rion shrugged, “Except Lieu here. Never seen a finer walk…or rump.” I flushed red. Rion laughed as he winked at me. “Ah, pay no attention to me, Lieu. Just know any male here would happily march behind such a Maker-blessed bum if only to stare at it a little longer.”

“Pretty sure that’s why most of Cullen’s soldiers follow him,” Solana chimed in, “Who wouldn’t follow that?”

“And to think Lieu here has probably touched it,” Belinda sighed dreamily.

“Who do you think has the finest rump amongst our leaders, Rion?” Barris questioned his tone completely serious despite the ridiculous nature of the question, taking me by total surprise.

“Oh, that is a tough one,” Rion grumbled, “but obviously the Inquisitor. Why else would we all follow her?”

“Because she’s a good leader?” Asaala questioned, a smirk pulling her mouth.

“Because she’s blessed by Andraste Herself?” Amelia chimed in.

“Because she has the Anchor.” Laren spoke, her voice matter-of-fact.

I was glad that the newly made templars were joining us this time. For in Asaala, Amelia and Laren it seemed the other templars found a renewing of pride in their vows. In them, they saw an opportunity for a new cause for the Order. What it would be, how it would take shape, I did not yet know, but I prayed they would find their way.

Prayed that perhaps Cullen could even help steer them. For though he resisted their desire for his leadership, guidance and counsel, I felt that it was something he needed. He needed to help shape the templars’ futures even more than he needed to help the mages. Both for their sakes and his own. I believed it would bring him closure to do so; to feel that he could truly leave that part of himself behind if he could help them restore their honor and find a new purpose.

Rion shook his head. “All noble answers, but lies.“

Laughter broke out. I shook my head. “This is how you all talk of us?”

Several eyes looked at me. Solana chuckled. “How else do we keep you humble? Or mortal in our eyes?”

“Meaning?”

“If we didn’t joke about you, you’d all be too big for your breeches,” Rion clarified, “Or we’d be too afraid of you because you’re all doing the impossible.”

“Be that as it may,” Cullen’s voice cut in, “I’d prefer if you didn’t speak of the Lieutenant-Commander’s hindquarters.” There was anger in his eyes as he stared them all down, his arms crossed over his chest. “Or mine, for that matter.”

Rion stood and stretched. “Can’t make any promises, Commander. But these tired bones need sleep. ‘Night all.”

The rest followed suit, except for Solana who stood to face Cullen, hands on her hips.

Cullen arched a brow at her, his perfect mouth twisting down in a frown. “What reprimand am I to hear now?”

“Just that Talitha is bunking with me. So, tell her goodnight.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Very well.” His gaze met mine and his face softened. “Sleep well.”

“And you,” I breathed, “I’ll be by your side.”

His eyes turned molten, but he said nothing, simply nodding before shooting Solana a glare. She stuck her tongue out at him before he turned to head for his own tent.

I followed Solana, the both of us readying for bed before settling into our bedrolls. I turned to her, casting a mage light to float upon the air. “So, how did your missions go?”

…

”Are you ever going to tell me what actually happened in that temple?” Solana questioned as I had been fighting sleep. “I could tell you were holding a lot back when you were recounting it to the Battalion.”

I startled a little at her question. “It…it’s too painful, Sol. Some of it, anyway.” I told her what I could bear to tell her, my shadow whispering to me as I did. “In truth,” I began before sighing heavily, “In truth, Sol, what happened in there...What I became…even though I know it is what I am meant to be. To do. I…it terrifies me, Sol. It terrified me when Deshanna described my abilities to me. But when I actually used those powers…” I looked at my hands. “And then again when I helped Cullen. Even though I know I helped him…it’s terrifying.”

She propped her jaw on a fist as she looked at me, buttery-blond hair loose from its usual braid and pooling on her bedroll. Her dark eyes were intense as they met mine. I looked away, tears pricking my eyes. Her other hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Why?”

”I can’t help but feel…that no one should have the power I do, Sol. Even without the armor.”

”Did you feel that way when you first came out of the temple? After helping Cullen?”

I met her gaze. “Does that matter?”

”It matters.”

I rested my chin on my arms that were folded beneath me, watching the mage light as it bobbed around. The answer came and I wondered if it were the right one. “No.”

”Then, why do you feel that way now?”

My lips twitched. “Reflection.”

She chuckled. “I think you mean overthinking.” 

”Perhaps,” I sighed. 

”And what did I tell you when we were kids?” She raised a brow at me in challenge.

”That the Maker created me with magic,” I said to her just as much as to myself.

”But now we can be even more specific,” Solana corrected, “He created you with this form of magic. To be a dreamer with all the abilities you have. He allowed all that has happened to you in order that you alone could wield the armor you now have. Would you have that power in the hands of anyone else? Could you imagine what someone who did not have your faith, your heart, would do with such power? What Corypheus would do?”

I shuddered as that image of me in the future Ellana had seen with Dorian flashed through my mind. “But if I fell to possession—“

”You didn’t while at the mercy of Alrik,” Solana challenged, “Why would you now?”

I let out a sigh. I had so much more to lose now. My shadow whispered angrily. I would not give in. “You’re right.”

She tugged on my hair. “You know, the mages of the Battalion often talk about what we would do with such power. What it must feel like. Do you know what all of us have concluded? We would not trust ourselves with such power. Not even me.”

I looked at her, brows raised. “You? But you’ve always been so confident in your magic?”

She shook her head. “Half of that confidence stems from knowing my limits. What I can handle. I know myself well enough to understand I would abuse such power.” She looked out the tent flap, her face more stoic than I had ever seen it. “That through me…only destruction would come.”

”Sol,” I began, but she shook her head.

”No, Meira,” she met my eyes again, “I am glad that it is you. You are too noble, too selfless, too caring to abuse what you have been given. Why else do you think you were chosen? Why else do you think you had to go through all you did? It is what shaped you. Prepared you for this moment. You had to be broken in order to be strong enough to bear it all. To bear the armor. To bear the responsibility of the power you have.” Tears swam in her coffee eyes. “I am just sorry that I was part of that breaking. For abandoning you. For failing before when you entrusted me with the Battalion. For failing you so many times.” She looked away, shame on her face. “I am…I have never been as strong as you.”

”Solana,” I started to get up, but she pressed on my shoulder, her eyes intense.

”Meira,” she began, “I…”

I waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. Her eyes looked at me intently, as if begging me to understand what she was trying to tell me without her having to speak the words. “What is it?”

She closed her mouth. Her lips twisted into a smirk before she shook her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Nothing. I’ve been drippy enough as it is.” She laid down and turned away from me. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. We should get some sleep.”

I studied her back for a time, hoping she would change her mind and tell me whatever it had been she was going to say, but she didn’t. So, I slipped into the Fade.

…

”Purpose,” I greeted the spirit.

”Meira,” he inclined his head, gold eyes shining. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

”Why am I struggling again?” I questioned.

He looked at me. “Why do you think?”

I clenched my jaw before pulling us into my part of the Fade. I stood us before the door. Darkness was leaching out around it, vining across the stones of the cell. I could feel her behind it. Pride had broken the seal Deshanna had placed upon it, rendering her sacrifice to be one made in vain. But I had thrown her back inside, sealing it myself and that seal seemed to hold. Or had been holding. Now, it seemed to be cracking. Literally, as I looked at the stones surrounding the door, cracks were spiderwebbing across them.

”It’s what she is, isn’t it?” I whispered.

“What is she?” Purpose questioned. I clamped my lips together. I didn’t want to voice it. I’d known from the moment Pride pulled her from me. In truth, I knew I’d understood from the very beginning, but to admit it… “What is she, Meira?” Purpose asked again, his voice gentle.

“Doubt,” I breathed.

I heard her howling with laughter behind the door. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

I glared at her through the door. “Yes.”

She cackled. “You’ve known all along but didn’t have the guts to face me. Why is that, little Meira? Afraid of the truth?”

I looked to Purpose. His eyes were gentle. Behind him, the other spirits appeared. Serenity, a Spirit of Peace or Demon of Hunger. A Spirit of Perseverance or Demon of Sloth. Ardor, a Spirit of Love or Demon of Rage. Charity, a Spirit of Compassion or Demon of Envy. A Spirit of Joy or Demon of Despair. Intent, a Spirit of Purpose or Demon of Desire. Prudence, a Spirit of Wisdom or Demon of Pride. To Purpose’s left stood Embrace, a Spirit of Grace or Demon of Shame. To his right, Faith.

What would faith become when corrupted?

Her fire eyes met mine. “What must be corrupted to give way to doubt?”

”Is that what she is?” I questioned them. “Did I—have I lost my faith?” I looked away from them, shame filling me. “Have I been lying to myself all this time? Trying to convince myself of something, knowing all along—”

I felt a hand on my cheek, warmth in it like a gentle fire. “No, Meira.” I looked into the eyes of Faith. “You’re so close. Don’t let her win. It’s not faith that you lost. For if it were, you would not have been able to call me to you.”

”Then what?” I begged. I felt as if I were missing something obvious. I heard her laughing beyond the door. As if she knew. Just as I knew what she was, she knew what I was missing.

“What did you lose in that cell?” Purpose questioned.

Desperation rose in me. “Why can’t you just tell me?!” My voice was pleading, sadness flicking across their features. Frustration on Purpose’s face. “Why will you not guide me? Is that not your purpose?” I shouted at Purpose in particular. “HELP ME!” When they said nothing, I screamed in rage and despair. I summoned a sword of shadow and attacked the door. It cracked. “I hate you!” 

“Meira,” Purpose murmured.

I swung the sword at him, his own meeting it. I bared my teeth at him. “I hate you, too.”

”Meira, don’t. Don’t do this.” His face fell, his form flickering. I noticed they were all flickering. Their corrupted versions fighting to be free. “Not when you’re this close.”

”Prudence said I can’t be rid of her and wield the armor. Not without blood magic,” I spit. “What does it matter anyway?! I can’t be free of her! Not yet! Not until I see this through.” I laughed, the sound coming dangerously close to madness. “That is what you all tell me. But do you want to know what I think? I think you all know, that she—that demon, that thing—could possess me fully at any moment. Like when I tried to help Cullen against Shame without knowing its other nature. Until Cullen faced it. I nearly lost myself. She nearly took over. Just as she would if I tried to face her now. I am an abomination, but you all are keeping her in check. Just as Purpose has been doing all along.” Their eyes became averted, except Purpose, his gold eyes burning. My breathing became ragged. I felt the Fade shifting around us, their forms flickering more intensely, their corrupted selves lingering. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?!” They remained silent. “TELL ME!” My voice was her voice.

Purpose wrapped his arms around me. I howled screams, thrashing in his arms, sobs tearing from me. “Meira.”

”No!” I screamed.

”Meira, please,” he murmured.

”NO! I won’t listen to you anymore! You won’t help me! You’re not helping me! You’re failing, Purpose!”

”MEIRA!” He shouted, his voice commanding. “BE SILENT!”

I began sobbing. “Why can’t I just…conquer this?!”

”You are right, Meira, she is a demon. In part. But not wholly. You have to face her in order to be free of her. You have kept her behind the door instead of facing her.” His arms tightened around me. “But you can’t face her until you know what she is. Until you understand it fully.”

”Why?” I cried.

”Because she is the embodiment of what you lost in that cell,” he explained, “To face her now when you are still so lost, you would succumb to what she would wield against you. You must have something to keep you whole. Something to cling to. What is the opposite of doubt? Of your doubt?”

”I don’t know!”

”You do! You do, Meira!”

I shook my head, fighting against him again. “No!”

”What would cause Doubt to come about? Like Cullen’s Shame? His Shame gave way to a Spirit of Acceptance—that is what Embrace is. Acceptance! It’s what he needed to do. To find. Acceptance! Forgiveness! Grace! He had to accept what happened so he could move on. So he can find his new—his true—purpose. So he could continue to persevere!” He turned me to him, grasping my shoulders. He shook me. His gold eyes burning, his perfected version of Cullen’s face fierce. “What is it that you need to find? That you lost? That you are afraid of?”

Doubt roared beyond the door. Sounding like a great beast within. Like the dragon I had battled all those months ago in the temple. She was the dragon, I realized. Not me. I was the halla. She a beast of rage; of hatred; of darkness. She was made of ice. Void of anything. What did you lose in that cell? 

What did I lose? What do I need to find? What am I afraid of?

I heard a howl. But not Doubt’s. Not mine. Purpose released me and I blinked. Before me sat…

”Ghilani?”

It was her spirit, brilliant in the darkness. Her eyes like silver stars as they met mine. Once she had my attention, she stood and turned. As she moved, she became akin to a mage light. Instinctively, I followed. I felt Purpose at my side, but ignored him. Ghilani’s pace quickened and I hastened to catch up with her. As we approached wherever she was leading me, I heard the sounds of fighting. Cullen.

We arrived to find him facing down Shades. For I had left him alone in his nightmares too long. And in so doing, Shades came for the feast that his mind laid before them. Though Shame was gone and Embrace protected him, something had caused a crack in his defenses.

Embrace appeared beside me. “You cannot lose yourself and expect me to remain. It is you who gave me form.” I met her eyes. “Yes, I am Acceptance. But Acceptance can only be found through perseverance. Through purpose.” There was anger in her face. “We are all tied to you now, Meira. If you fall, so do we.” She looked to Cullen. “You must continue to endure.”

”I’m sorry.”

”Do not apologize. You are mortal. To fail is to be mortal. Such a burden has been placed upon you.” Purpose placed a hand on my shoulder. Embrace on the other. “But you can do this.”

”Don’t forget what it is you can do as a dreamer,” Purpose reminded, “What you are meant to do.”

I watched Cullen as he fought. Where there had once been fear, now there was determination on his face. He met his nightmares bravely. My lion, proud and strong. No longer cowed by Shame. No longer bound by lyrium. He shone bright and golden, like a flame amidst the darkness, burning brighter and brighter as he devoured it. I had helped release him from the chains that had held him. My magic. And he had thanked me for it. He who had once been scarred by magic. Made to fear it. Twisted against it. He’d thanked me for it. I raced for him, cutting down Shades in my wake. Coming to stand next to him, I felt his resolve calling me to my own.

“Meira,” he panted.

”Forgive me for taking so long.”

”It’s alright, love,” he spoke as he cut down another Shade, “You’re here now.”

We fought side by side, just as we had done every night since freeing him of Shame’s prison. As echoes of his nightmares, his memories, faded with the last of the Shades, a thought came to me. “Cullen?”

He sheathed his sword, his honey eyes meeting mine. “Yes?”

”Have you ever heard of a demon of doubt?”

His brow furrowed. “Doubt?”

”Did the Order ever mention them?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes going unfocused as he thought. “Whenever doubt was spoken of amongst the Order it was in the abstract. Usually as a shaming tactic. To doubt our calling, our orders, our superiors was wrong. It was to doubt the Maker and the Chantry. But it was never discussed as if it could be…given form.”

I clenched my jaw. “If you had to guess, what type of demon would you think would embody doubt? Pride?” For that is what Scorn claimed I struggled with. It was Scorn who’d pulled her from me.

He thought for a moment. His face filled with anger as an answer came to him. His mouth opened to voice it, but as it did, everything went black.

”Cullen?” I called, but there was no answer.

No answer except my own voice echoing. The sound of water dripping, running down stones. My skin crawled as I felt something watching me. Sensed something moving within the dark. Lips pressed against my ear as bony hands seized my arms. A cold so biting in their grasp, I was frozen in place. A single word whispered, the sound akin to a death rattle, the smell of its breath like carrion.

“Run.”

…

I jerked awake, gasping for air, my skin slick with sweat as my heart pounded in my chest. I looked around the tent, Solana sleeping soundly next to me. While my elven eyes could see far better in the dark than a human, there were shadows along the canvas and in the corners. The shadows seemed to breathe, to watch, the longer I looked at them. An unnatural coldness bleeding across the ground from them as they stretched out to devour me. Panicking, I lit a mage light and the darkness scattered.

Solana began to stir, mumbling. I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

So as to not disturb her further, I left the tent. Dawn was close, the air already warming as I stepped outside. But I could not escape the chill that clung to me. ’Run’. I shivered, goose flesh erupting across my skin. I had recognized the voice. It was mine. Something writhed within my gut at the realization. At the realization of what she was. The writhing spread from my gut, up my chest and under my skin. The sensation like a thousand insects trying to claw their way out of my flesh. I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. Throwing myself into the trees nearby. I stumbled on roots, felt my skin scratched by low hanging limbs, the squish of wet earth beneath my feet.

‘What did you lose in that cell’? ‘You’ve known all along, haven’t you’?

But fear rose up to choke me. Yes, I knew what she was now. Yet, I did not know what I had lost. What I needed to find. Again I had the sensation that I was missing something obvious. The answer on the tip of my tongue, but my mind kept drawing blanks. If she were Doubt…what had been corrupted in me? I forced myself to stop. To stop running. Running was my problem. I needed to start facing this, to think it through.

Looking around, I found myself surrounded by trees, but before me was a small stream. I followed it for a time, finding a tranquil spot where the water ran over smooth rocks, the sound calming. Perching upon a rock, I pulled out the small sketchbook from within my cloak and began drawing. Page after page, I drew. Drew everything I had witnessed and experienced in the Fade. The door. The temple. All the spirits I had befriended. Cullen. Shame. Embrace.

I flipped to another blank page. Setting aside the fear, I pondered what I had felt before that voice had whispered to me. I had called her Doubt. Why? As I mulled it over, I drew absentmindedly. Why doubt? I knew I struggled with such an emotion, but what would be at the root of such a demon? Was it pride as Scorn had claimed? I let out a growl of agitation before swiping my hand across the sketch. I blinked. At first glance, the page seemed to simply be filled with charcoal. Black. But the harder I looked, despite the smear, I could make out something within the darkness. It was hunched, skeletal, the darkness both clinging to it and emanating from it. No eyes could be seen, only felt. No eyes, but a wide mouth. A smile. The skin pulled back in a grotesque grin. The grin of a predator that had finally found its prey.

“It seems we had the same idea,” Cullen’s voice spoke and I nearly fell off the rock.

I slammed the sketchbook closed. I felt his warmth at my back, his legs coming alongside mine as his arms slid around my waist. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my neck before resting his chin upon my shoulder. Steadily, his heat seeped through my layers, his heady smell causing me to relax as I sank into his embrace.

”What idea was that?” I murmured when I’d finally calmed.

”A walk and some solitude.”

My lips twitched. “I needed a reprieve from Solana’s snoring. As to solitude…” I took the edges of his surcoat and wrapped myself in it. “I don’t think this is the accepted definition, but I like it.” 

I felt the rumble of his breathy chuckle in his chest. “As do I.” 

We sat in silence for a time, listening to the water and the songbirds as they welcomed the dawn. I would feel Cullen’s arms tighten around me every so often, a gentle kiss pressed. 

“Talk to me, love,” he finally whispered, “Something is bothering you.”

”Ghilani showed me what happened here,” I answered.

“Showed you?” 

“Dreamer mage, remember?” I teased.

“How could I forget?” He chuckled. “But that is not what is bothering you. Not really.” I tensed at his words, but he merely held me closer. “Talk to me, Meira.”

Doubt clawed at me. I opened my mouth several times to tell him, each time losing the words as that doubt only grew. What would he think of me? I shoved it away. I had to stop running. “Shame was your battle. It seems Doubt is to be mine.”

”Doubt?”

”I asked you last night as we fought against your nightmares if you’d ever heard of such a demon,” I began, hoping he would remember whatever his answer had been, “You seemed to have an answer, but before you could tell me it—“ Fear dripped down my spine. “You never finished.”

”I have never heard of such a demon, love,” he confessed.

”But—“ I heard her laugh reverberate in my mind. Of course. It had been her, mocking me again. “Flames,” I swore.

He pressed a kiss below my ear. “How did you defeat Shame? All the demons in that temple? You’ve described your abilities as being able to will upon others what you want them to see. Is it like that?”

”In a way,” I answered, my voice clinical, “But it is less willing upon them what I want them to see and more what I want them to be. But I cannot draw that from nothing. I will upon them their other nature. Something that is already there; it’s just been corrupted. I draw out their virtuous self. There is an established truth there, a substance to draw from to make the change have permanence.” I thought of the image I had drawn, my hand smeared through it. The charcoal seemed to have bled onto the blank page next to it. What had been white, clean, was dirtied. Foul and corrupt. “I do not know what its other nature would be. What is the antithesis of doubt?”

He was silent for a time. “Do you know why I chose you to lead the Battalion?”

I hesitated and then shook my head. “No, Cullen, I honestly don’t. There are so many other mages that would have been better options. Bethany. Rion. Vivienne, even.”

”No, love,” he challenged, “It is not merit or talent alone that such a responsibility earns. Requires.”

“Leliana said it was because you trusted me,” I murmured, “but how could you trust me with something so important knowing how…broken I am?”

”Why did Cassandra trust me to lead the Inquisition’s army knowing how miserably I had failed?” He retorted. “How unworthy?”

“I hate it when a question is answered with a question,” I grumbled.

”It is because of your struggles that I chose you,” he continued, ignoring my comment, “You understand the precarious nature of magic. You understand the need for accountability. You are humble and cautious when it comes to magic while simultaneously understanding that you cannot be afraid of it. For to be afraid of it is to allow it to become twisted. To let it control you instead of the other way around. But aside from all of that, you also do not dismiss templars. You sought to give them a second chance. You want true change just as much as I do. And in the Battalion, through your leadership, they have all found purpose—a determination to right the wrongs of their forebears.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “But I fear this thing, Cullen. What if it—“

”Did you fear Shame before you entered my mind to help me?”

”No. I had to help you. And I knew I could.”

He took my hand out from his surcoat and kissed the back of it. “Then have the same assurance for yourself, love.” 

I chuckled, darkly. “You make it sound so easy.”

”I think you’re overthinking,” he challenged.

I sighed. “Solana said the same thing.” I watched the water, curling further into Cullen. “I just…we know so little of dreamer mages. Their abilities. Strengths and weaknesses. Feynriel and Solas are the only others I know that exist. I don’t know if our abilities are even the same. I can’t ask Feynriel and Solas is about as forthcoming with information about himself as a rock. No, I take that back, I think I’ve actually met some rocks that are more candid.”

Cullen laughed. “Have you asked him, beloved? I mean really asked him?”

I grumbled. “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “He’s trained me, sure, but no I haven’t asked him about his own abilities. How I would go about confronting this thing within me. What would happen if I were to fail. I’m not sure he’d even give me a straight answer, if he would even know. It’s not like it would matter. I know how he feels about the Fade’s inhabitants. He’d probably go into some elaborate diatribe as to the idiocy of the Circle only for me to realize at the end, after he’s conveniently irritated me enough to cause me to forget what I was even asking him in the first place, that he never gave me an actual answer.” I let out an agitated noise. “You cannot begin to understand how long those days were as we travelled to the Oasis. How Ellana broke through that shell is beyond me. How she had the patience to do so.”

“He’s enigmatic to be sure,” he agreed, “but I sense that he is more like the Fade’s inhabitants than we realize. He thinks as they do because he spends so much time among them, studying them and the Fade. That is why I suggest seeking him out for advice. And though I know he irritates you, don’t forget that were it not for him…we’d still be in this clearing and you…I wouldn’t be holding you and laughing about him.” 

I turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

His face was soft, a gentle smile on his lips. He kissed my nose. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, beloved. Everything that happened following Haven…it was needed. For all of us. I found you. And now I hold you in my arms. I just pray I never have to do so again in order to keep you alive.” I leaned my head against his chest, listening to the strong thuds of his heart. “Did I ever tell you what your mother said to me? Before I found you?”

“No,” I shook my head. He was changing the subject, knowing I needed to talk of something else.

He told me of Ma’s kindness and how she had treated him; that it had brought back thoughts of his own mother. There was sadness in his voice. Longing.

“I sought them out before we left,” I murmured, “to say goodbye.”

“You did?”

“I…was hesitant at first. Surprised by the want to do so, but…it was just Ma and Da. It was a start.”

“I cannot claim to know how you feel about it all, love. It was I who hurt my family, not the other way around. But know that I am here for you.”

“I know, Cullen. And that is of more comfort than you realize.” I sighed. “But I cannot deny that things between my family and I…have gone far better than I had imagined they would.”

He held me tighter. “I’m glad.”

“But I cannot shake the doubt that, in the end, I will still be hurt.”

“And I cannot deny that I doubt myself,” he breathed, “that I will not fail again. But I hope you do not doubt this. Doubt us.”

I turned fully to him at those words, hooking my legs overtop his thighs. My shadow whispered, hissing that I should, but I knew the truth.

“No, Cullen,” I vowed, “Maybe before. But not now.” I looked away, heaving out a breath. “Like you, I doubt myself more than anything.”

He gently turned me to look at him, holding my chin as he held my gaze. “Don’t.”

“Take your own advice, Commander,” I teased, causing his lips to twitch though his eyes remained sad. I hugged him then, his arms holding me as close as possible in response. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he breathed. We held each other for a time until he sighed heavily. “We best get going. We’ve Haven to go through and a few days ahead of us before we meet up with Scout Harding. She’s to rendezvous with the Avvar.”

“Not Movran?”

Cullen shook his head. “No. Something about breaking an oath if he crossed into the Basin.”

He took my hand as we walked towards the camp and I had a thought as I studied his profile. He’d said we would pass through Haven. “How bad is it?”

His eyes met mine, a dark brow quirking. “How bad is what?”

“Haven.”

His mouth tightened. “Haven is lost. Nothing remains. However, the Marquis DuRellion made a request of our Lady Ambassador that a monument be commissioned. I sent soldiers to help with excavation and construction while Josephine found the money—this was shortly after we’d found Skyhold. We’ve done our best to make it commemorative of not only the Divine and the Conclave, but…of all those we lost.”

Minaeve. “Is there…does Minaeve have a grave?”

He looked away. “She confided in Asaala that were she to perish, she wanted to be given the same rites as all the Inquisition members. A pyre. Though we could not find them all, we had a ceremonial one. Every name of those that gave their lives or lost their lives are etched upon the monument.” His fingers tightened against mine. “I hope you find it honors her.”

I leaned against his arm. “She would’ve just been embarrassed by it.”

“I’m sure you miss her,” he murmured.

Tears pricked my eyes. “I do.”

“We’ll pay our respects once we reach Haven,” he stated, “Properly.”

Those tears burned. “I’d like that.”

He leaned to press a kiss on my cheek before we were in eyesight of the camp. “It is past time I told her thank you. Not only for bringing us together, but also for her brave stand before the Chantry.” I looked up at him and watched his jaw clench. “To tell them all thank you.”

I stood a little straighter, squaring my shoulders. “Soon, we may bring them the best thanks that we can.”

He nodded, understanding. “Samson.”

…

It was an odd sensation as we rode towards Haven. A part of my mind and even body knowing I had been along the same path before. Ellana’s broken sobs and voice raging at the howling wind in our native tongue echoed in my ears. Her desperation as she dragged me along. It had been the catalyst she needed to accept the mantle designed for her. While she doubted that any of this was “fate” of the Creators, I was just as certain as I had ever been that this was the Maker’s purpose for her. That He had spared her from the destruction at the Temple so that she could lead the Inquisition; that we—and by extension our family—could be reunited and perhaps even reconciled; and now it seemed He may have even intended her and the Inquisition to set to rights so many wrongs within Thedas. 

As we approached the mouth of the mine where Ellana had found our escape, soldiers standing guard saluted Cullen before approaching us. Cullen had informed me that in the initial days after we’d found Skyhold and the Chargers had investigated the remains of Haven, he’d sent a contingent of soldiers to set up a posting within the mine. While the surface of Haven was lost, that did not mean that the Inquisition had to lose a means of spying upon the enemy should they remain. Some of Leliana’s people were within the tunnels, more having been discovered as time was found to excavate.

Above, Haven appeared as no more than ruins, as he had said. The snow removed and a statue erected, but below within its bowels the Inquisition was as alive as ever. Few knew the extent of it and Cullen had sent word ahead that the majority of those posted needed to make themselves scarce to make the posting seem far less vital than it had become. He would not make the same mistakes again. None of them would. Spies were inevitable, we’d already learned that much in Elizabeth Trevelyan.

We would camp within the tunnels for the day before pressing on again to the Basin once night fell. We were forbidden from going up to the surface in any large group in case Corypheus had eyes watching the area. From Haven on, we would have to travel only at night in order to move with any secrecy. As an added measure, I would cloak us with the Fade to keep us hidden. It was imperative we kept ourselves secret. Not only to protect the Avvar, but to arrive in Sahrnia without our enemy being the wiser.

The waiting was agonizing, but I spent the time socializing with the Battalion. I learned more about Kirkwall and Knight-Commander Meredith from Alain and other mages who’d come from The Gallows. Learned of Ostwick from Rion and his fellows. A few mages had even come from Kinloch Hold and I thanked the Maker that I was unrecognizable to them for fear that I would be found out. I did my best to answer their questions, trying to be as honest and forthcoming as my false identity allowed. Cullen spent the time meeting with his troops, getting updates and selecting those of whom had traveled with us that would stay at Haven and who would continue on with us to the Basin.

During a meal break, I noticed as Solana nodded her head towards something behind me. I turned to find Cullen, Inquisition uniforms and cloaks in his hands. He indicated for me to follow. Dressing and pulling the hoods of our cloaks over our heads, he led me up to the surface of Haven. The sun was just beginning to set as we climbed out of the mine. Where the village had once been was no more than mountaintop. But within what I estimated to have been the village’s center now stood a massive statue.

It was not yet completed, but seemed to be close. The statue at first appearance seemed to be of Ellana herself. As I studied it closer, however, the statue seemed to change. The being was elven and a regal leader one moment, human and mundane soldier the next. A staff, sword or bow in their hand at one angle or a flag bearing the Inquisition’s heraldry. The shining sun of the Chantry wreathing their head, horns like that of a qunari, or the flames of Visus surrounding their helmet. The statue itself was carved of marble; gold comprising the armor pieces, flames and accents. At the base, etched upon polished obsidian, were dozens upon dozens of names. Above the names read an inscription:

Bare your blade
And raise it high
Stand your ground
The dawn will come

In dedication to all those who stood that the night would not stretch on forever. Rest now in glory.

”The Inquisitor wanted it to represent us all,” Cullen murmured as I scanned the names, “I will admit the craftsmanship is of incredible quality. How one can carve something out of stone that seems almost alive is quite mesmerizing.”

”It’s beautiful,” I agreed as I found her. My fingers followed the letters of her name. “It’s perfect.”

He came to stand next to me and placed a hand upon the statue. Closing his eyes, he began to recite the Prayer for the Despairing. I followed his lead, my palm against Minaeve’s name. The sun continued to fall beneath the horizon as we prayed over those we’d lost in both thanks and to beseech the Maker on their behalf. 

“Draw your last breath, my friends,” Cullen began to conclude, “Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be forgiven.” He straightened, a sigh of long-suffering slipping through his lips. “Maker, how many times am I to say that prayer in my life? How many more am I to lose?”

I took his hand and squeezed it. “They knew what they were fighting for.”

He met my eyes. “I know. Like you said, bringing down Samson—and his master—is our best way to thank them.” He squeezed my hand and turned me towards him. “That is why, Lieutenant-Commander, you can no longer live in this shadow of doubt where your magic and your role is concerned.”

”Cullen—“

”I am your Commander, Lieutenant,” he spoke, his voice in the tone he used with his soldiers. I looked at him in surprise. He never used this voice on me when we were in private. His face was serious as I met his eyes.

”Commander,” I saluted.

”I understand your hesitation. A reverent fear for magic, for your magic especially, is not a bad thing. So long as it keeps you within the boundaries of respect for it, but not crossing into a paralytic fear. You must use what you have been given whenever the need calls for it. Without hesitation. To hesitate is to fail your Battalion. To hesitate is to put them in danger. To put yourself in danger. The Battalion is counting on you. The Inquisition is counting on you. I am counting on you. Am I wrong to do so? Was I wrong to make you Lieutenant-Commander? To lead the Battalion?”

Anger sparked in my gut at his words. At his challenge. I lifted my chin. Defiance and certainty silencing the doubt. “No.”

He studied my face, his unreadable. “Prove it to me, Lieutenant.”

I placed a fist on my chest in a salute to him. “Yes, Commander.”

”Do you swear to lead and defend the Battalion?”

”I swear.”

”Do you swear to protect the Inquisitor and her people?”

”I swear.”

”Do you swear to use your abilities, both Maker-given and mortally honed, to protect the vulnerable and the innocent? As you did all those months ago here?”

”I swear.”

He placed a fist on his own chest. “Nothing has changed, Meira. And everything has changed. Your magic is your own. Given to you by the Maker for you alone to command it.” Maker, I love him. “I have faith in you. It is time you had faith in yourself.”

”Commander,” I nodded before grabbing him by the shirt and crashing my lips against his. 

“This is insubordination, soldier,” he growled, though there was humor in it.

”Shhh,” I shushed him with another kiss.

It was well into the night before we returned to the tunnels below.

…

”Welcome to the Basin,” Lead Scout Lace Harding greeted as I revealed Cullen and I, “Commander. Lieutenant-Commander.”

The dwarven woman seemed worried, her red brow knit, pulling on the constellation of freckles that decorated her face. Her green eyes kept flicking all around us, surrounded as we were by dense forest. Cullen had explained that most Fereldans, especially those who lived in the shadow of the Basin, held superstitious notions about the place. It was feared for few who ever came here returned. Lace Harding was a born and raised Fereldan who’d most likely grown up with the same stories that Cullen had about the Avvar and their Alamarri ancestors. 

Kinloch Hold had once belonged to an Avvar tribe, long before it became the Circle. A few tomes on the Avvar and Alamarri had sat within the Circle’s library, though few had ever read them. Not quite as exciting as the tomes on magic or as entertaining as the fiction serials often chosen instead. But as a Tranquil, when I had been tasked with cataloguing and organizing the shelves, I had read them. 

The Alamarri had crossed the Frostbacks to escape what was only ever referred to as a “shadow goddess”. No further information could ever be found and the scholars that had studied the Alamarri people—in pursuit of further knowledge about Andraste who’d descended from them—concluded it was most likely a natural disaster of some sort and the Alamarri referred to it as a “goddess” due to their superstitious culture. The Avvar came from the Alamarri tribes that had settled near Lake Calenhad, separating under the leadership of Tyrdda Bright-Axe and returning to the Frostbacks after a dispute with another tribe. Through Tyrdda, the Avvar formed alliances with the dwarves and together they built Kinloch Hold and Vigil’s Keep during the reign of Tevinter. Kinloch Hold became the home of the mages and Vigil’s Keep that of the Grey Wardens when Avvar power waned.

Withdrawing to the mountains and scattered across Ferelden, the Avvar became relatively shrouded in mystery. Through our alliance with Movran, we’d become privy to more knowledge about them. We had been briefed on what we would need to know in a War Room meeting prior to our departure, I now curious to meet these tribesmen. They reminded me of the Dalish to some extent; a reclusive people that worshipped a pantheon who despised those outside their culture but relied upon them for survival. Their culture seemed both simple and complex, the hierarchy of the tribes making for smooth governance. It would take witnessing the Avvar firsthand for me to understand them.

”What’s wrong, Harding?” Cullen questioned, his voice low and tense as his hand went to his sword.

”Movran said they would send a representative of sorts to meet us,” Harding stated, her hand on her bow which was notched with an arrow, “We’ve been here for two days. No one has come.”

”We were assessing what sort of people you were,” a strangely accented voice spoke from within the trees, “For we’ve been walking in step with your hunting party for a few days now. And observing you, lady dwarf.” The owner of the voice stepped forward. “We’ve no unfriendly eyes upon us. Reveal yourselves.”

Harding turned toward the voice, bow raising slightly. “You first,” she demanded.

As she did, towering warriors bedecked in furs and swirls of war paint bled out of the forest itself. Everything about them was meant to make them blend with the trees, the perfect camouflage. Weapons drawn, though not bared, we found ourselves surrounded.

“How have you followed us?” Cullen questioned. “We have been hidden.”

”You are not the only ones with whom the spirits are friends. Nor the only ones among whom magic walks.”

Cullen clenched his jaw, but nodded at me. With a sigh of relief, I released my hold upon the Fade and revealed the whole of our party. The Avvarian scanned our people before nodding his head. I seized the Fade once more and hid the troops. 

”We friends of Movran greet you,” the Avvar uttered before the call of a bird sounded.

Most of the warriors melted back amongst the trees, disappearing within the trunks and foliage. A small group remained, the leader of which waved for us to follow. There was something eerie about the woods and the people at whose mercy we were now subject. I saw Cullen’s hand tighten upon his sword. Our eyes met before he squared his shoulders and strode to Harding’s side. Letting out a breath, I made my way forward.

Chapter Text

MEIRA

We passed through the woods in silence, I watching our Avvarian guides as they moved amongst the trees. They seemed to be one with them, fading in and out of view. My elven eyes could barely separate their forms from the trunks of the trees, the painted camouflage upon their skin done with that amount of skill. They seemed to be kin to the forest, much like the Dalish, and I found myself fascinated by them. I had to avert my eyes every so often, however, as it seemed an Avvarian custom for their warriors and hunters to wear as little clothing as possible; they were naked beneath the body paint, fur and armor covering only their forearms, shoulders, legs and unmentionables.

When not studying our allies, I studied the forest. Within, I saw many a strange creature lurking. Hunting. Some studied our party for a time, but all the predators deemed the potential prey not worth the threat. Brightly colored birds flitted through the branches, their calls unfamiliar. Various rodents climbed the great trunks of the ancient trees. The smell of the coming summer wafted through the air.

It had been early morning when we'd arrived at the rendezvous with Harding. It was well into the afternoon before our guides signaled for us to stop. The leader, who had said his name was Erik, from before stuck a hand within one of the massive tree trunks and withdrew a couple bundles from the hollow. He passed one to Cullen and one to me. 

"The strange templars and their mage cohorts patrol these lands," Erik stated, "Best you appear Avvar from here on." He looked to Harding and the other scouts with her before his eyes turned to me. The color of them was hard to make out with the swirls of paint upon his face. "Extend your cover to them. The less of us there are, the better, but I would not have all of you hidden. For we do not know you yet."

I nodded, pressing my barrier to encase Harding and the scouts. I was amazed at the ease with which I did so and continued to hide so many with my abilities. I could feel each of them. The strumming of their hearts, the rhythm of their breathing. But more than that, I could feel what they felt. Some were afraid, some were curious, some were calm. Though I kept myself from doing so, I knew I could slip within their minds, into their thoughts, with no effort at all. I fought back a shudder at the knowledge as I pulled the skins and furs over my travel clothes. What would they think if they knew? If they really knew what I was? What I was capable of?

"You know what they'd think of you. What they'd do. It's why you shy away from the truth. Why you lie." I ignored her voice. Cullen knew and he did not shy away. "Does he really know? Does he truly understand that you could drive him mad with but a word? A thought?"

I felt a hand grip my elbow tightly and pull. I slammed hard into a warm body. Blinking, I looked up to find Erik’s gaze boring down at me. "Watch your footing, lowlander, lest you court death." I looked down to find that I'd nearly fallen off the side of a cliff. He pulled me closer to him. He smelled of smoke and fur. "Something troubles your mind, little elf."

I brushed away his hand, which was large enough to wrap around the whole of my elbow, as I straightened. "Thank you."

"I know little of magic, but all we Avvar are sensitive to it. It is how our gods speak to us," he began, "You have been touched by the gods for you have walked their lands. Our Augur has spoken of you. Seek him out when we reach the Hold and your business with the Thane concludes. Perhaps he can help you."

I met his gaze. His eyes intense as they looked me over, causing me to feel uneasy. I nodded before returning to Cullen's side. The Avvarian was still studying me as I looked towards him again. His gaze flicked between Cullen and I before he continued on. 

"Are you alright?" Cullen murmured, worry in his eyes and voice, once there was distance between our guide and us.

"Yes." I could tell he didn’t believe me, but knew now was not the time to press it.

We'd left the forest behind for open ground consisting of steep cliffs that we descended to flatlands and swamps. The air was warm and muggy out from the cover of the trees. We traveled the harsh terrain, our Avvarian guides cautioning us as to where it was dangerous to step and where it was safe. Defending us from the dangers of the swamps—both fauna and flora; some of which was familiar, much of which was not. As they had said, we spotted patrols of Red Templars as we passed. They further up in the mountains that surrounded the Basin, but still easy to see with their red lyrium glinting in the dying sun. It was nearly nightfall when we reached a small grouping of huts that sat at the shore of Cloudclap Lake. As we approached, we heard arguing voices. Our guides held up their hands, indicating for us to stop.

”Stay here,” Erik whispered before walking forward.

”What is this?” An aggressive voice questioned, “Are the fishers of Stone-Bear Hold too rude to share a meal with friends?”

”Can the Jaws of Hakkon not catch their own fish?” A mocking voice answered, “Or are those jaws only good for flapping?”

Though humans would not be able to see at this distance because night had fallen, I could see who was speaking. A man dressed in similar furs to our guides stood with his arms crossed in front of a fire, while two warriors dressed in garish body paint of black and white were across from him, weapons in their hands. Upon their faces, their jaws had been accentuated with a skeletal design. I noticed that their weapons glowed with an ice spell. And where the tribesmen of Stone-Bear favored brown leathers and furs to make them appear akin to bears, these tribesmen wore dark skins that appeared reptilian.

“Mind your tongue, Bog-Walker. Stone-Bear Hold may not always shelter you…and you will need shelter when the cold winds come.”

”Yet I feel only hot air,” he snorted.

”When the Jaws of Hakkon rule, you will wish you had been more generous if your weak Lady has not already picked your foolish bones clean.”

“I suggest you return to your Thane, lest tensions grow,” Erik called out once he was within the light of the fire, “You’ve thrown enough insults our way. You are not welcome at our fire this night.”

Hesitating a moment, seeing more warriors from Stone-Bear arriving, the Jaws of Hakkon relented. ”Fools,” the aggressor spit before they turned to leave, disappearing in the shadows.

”Avrid,” Erik called once they were out of sight, “Is all well?”

”Aye,” Avrid nodded, “Just the Hakkonites trying to stir up trouble. I suggest you take our guests up to the hold, though, not safe to have them camp here. Helsa says there’s a group of them camped for hunting close by.”

Erik nodded. “Send a bird ahead, would you? And may the Lady keep you.”

Avrid nodded before Erik led us past the group of huts and began to ascend once more. To our right, Cloudclap Lake's waves slapped against the rocky cliffside we were now upon, seagulls crying as they flew over its waters. To our left, another mighty cliffside rose. The further we ascended, the more signs of occupation began to crop up. 

“The Jaws of Hakkon?” Cullen questioned Erik at one point.

”Worry not about them,” Erik shook his head, “They are trouble, but for now they hold to their oath—as do we. But be wary, lowlanders. They do not take kindly to other Avvar. You they will not hesitate to kill if given the grounds, even if you are under our protection. Any act on your side will be perceived as hostility and justification to attack.”

Torches were lit along the lakeside path. Manmade steps within the ground. Fences. Then we came to a wooden bridge. Across it, there were great bears carved of stone on either side of a large gate. Within the open maws of the bears were fires which glowed into their eyes, making for a rather intimidating entrance. Guards stood before the gate, weapons in hand.

The warriors nodded to one another before the gates were opened to us. We climbed a short distance further up the cliffside before we reached the Hold. Dwellings dotted the entirety of the cliffside, some freestanding, some built within the cliff itself, torches on the outside illuminating their homes. The Hold stretched from where we stood to near the very top of the cliffside. Avvarians going about their nightly routines stopped to see us pass. 

“Our Thane bids you welcome and asks to speak with you who lead your hunting party,” Erik spoke once we had entered the Hold proper, “The rest will find lodging in our feasting house.” He gestured to one of the women watching us. 

She approached, giving a slight nod of her head. “Blessings be upon you. You are safe here. Your enemy does not wander this far for fear of our wrath. And the wrath of the Jaws of Hakkon. And our gods will warn us should they seek to do us harm.”

Letting out a breath, I released my grip upon the Fade that had kept the Battalion, scouts and soldiers hidden. We watched as they followed the woman past the mouth of a great cave and down to a bridge suspended across open air connecting the cliffside to a large rock nearby. There, a large building with warm light spilling out of its windows and smoke billowing from the roof sat. Our guide waved for Cullen and I to continue on with him. We were led towards the cave opening, the Veil thin here as I felt it tingle against my skin. I could feel spirits watching, whispering, pressing against it. I tangled my fingers in Ghilani’s fur for comfort.

The craftsmanship of the Avvarian homes was impressive; bear motifs were carved within the doors, beams and even the smokestacks throughout the hold. Across from the cave opening, a carving not quite finished stretched towards the sky, illuminated by braziers. We crossed the stone threshold of the cave, finding a large fire pit alight within, the walls and floors decorated with furs, trophies of successful hunts, torches, and what I guessed to be sacred artifacts. On the other side of the fire pit sat a great throne carved of stone. Adorning the throne, a set of jaws from some huge beast. Carved within the throne were faces and animals which I suspected to be the gods of the Avvar. And upon its seat sat a middle-aged woman, at her feet two great mabari slept. And near the opening of the cave, a great bear lay.

“Our thane,” our guide gestured to the woman, “And here I will leave you.”

“Thank you, Erik,” the thane stated as he left. Cullen and I stood across from her, the fire in the pit betweeen us hot and crackling. Her eyes flicked to Cullen and I. “Commander Rutherford. Lieutenant-Commander Talitha. Come share my fire and let us speak. I am Svarah Sun-Hair, Thane of Stone-Bear Hold. You and your people have guest-welcome here. Your Inquisition has done much to heal the holes in the sky. We are grateful. You’ve come far from the safety of the lowlands to seek our aid.”

”Our thanks to you, Thane. Our people have been unable to reach Emprise du Lion unnoticed,” Cullen began, “Movran the Under spoke of your hold’s connection to a certain town being vital to your trade and survival.”

”Sahrnia, yes,” Svarah nodded, “the Elfsblood River is frozen solid—unnatural for this time of year even for the Highlands. Sahrnia sits at its mouth—between the river and her quarry, she was an ideal spot for trade with the Orlesians. The river being frozen, however, has cut off our ability to trade depriving us of coin, supple leather and many things that help us weather the winter.”

”You suspect that our enemy is behind the river being frozen?” Cullen questioned.

”I do not suspect, I know,” Svarah stated, “I sent a few of my hunters up there to scout out the area. The town is a ruin, the quarry occupied by strange templars and some grotesque mineral the color of blood covers nearly the whole of the landscape. What’s more, the gods speak of something powerful there. Something that keeps the waters of the Elfsblood frozen at the behest of the templars and their god.”

Cullen and I looked at one another. The demon. Cullen looked to the Thane once more. “We were warned of this. It is a demon.”

Svarah processed this news. “It is no wonder the gods fear it, then. To be so powerful.” Svarah looked to me. “And you who has walked the Land of Dreams, the gods have spoken animatedly of you the closer to our hold you have drawn. Our Augur wishes you to speak with him.”

”That is twice now I have been told such,” I spoke, “What do you know of me?”

”Not I, but our gods,” Svarah corrected, “I am no augur nor mage. Speak with my augur if you wish to know more.”

“Thank you,” I nodded.

Svarah looked back to Cullen. “Commander Rutherford, in exchange for our goods and aid, I ask that you and your people eliminate this threat. If it be a demon that holds back the waters of the river, end it. If it be your enemy that holds sway over this demon, root them out.”

Cullen placed a fist on his chest. “We will see it done.”

”But before I can grant you our goods, our aid and even our warriors, you must face the Trials of Hakkon to prove you are worthy.”

“That was not part of our agreement,” Cullen argued, “We traveled here under the pretense that your aid was already promised.”

”You are in my hold, Commander,” Svarah warned, “Guest-welcome. That means you have a right to our protection, our beds and our food. Much as any lowlander who would welcome a guest in their home. But you have not earned our trust or oath. You are not your Inquisitor, who has healed the very sky. To not further insult me, I ask that you hold to our traditions that earn one respect amongst our people and hold.”

”But our enemy—“

”Will not move without my knowing of it,” Svarah cut him off, “I do not ask this of you lightly.”

Cullen’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

Svarah cracked a grin. “Aye you did, lowlander, but such is the way of young men. Foolhardy. Many of my warriors are the same. Should your blade prove as quick as your temper, you’ll have our respect soon enough.” She looked to me. “The Augur communes with the gods in the late hours. Should you wish to seek him out, he will be at the top of the cliffside.” She stood then, looking to Cullen once more. “And your hunters, my Master of the Hunt has spoken of some of the game acting strangely, particularly those who dwell near the holes in the sky. The gods have warned us away from them.”

“Our scholars at Skyhold have been studying the effects of the Breach and the subsequent tears in the Veil upon the wildlife,” I stated, “It has made them far more aggressive, especially those who are close to any tears.”

Svarah nodded. “Perhaps the Inquisition would do well to set up a camp in the Basin?”

”If you would allow it?” Cullen questioned.

”I do not own the Basin, Commander,” Svarah chuckled, “But we would welcome the trade.”

”I will send word to Skyhold and have our scouts find a suitable area while we are here.”

“Good. It will take us some days to gather the remainder of the supplies you’ll need to make the journey to Sahrnia. All I ask is that you pay respect to our ways in the meantime.” She grabbed a torch from one of the holders dotting the cave and gestured for us to follow. “Come. As you are the leaders of your party and guest-welcome in my hold, you’ll lay your heads under my roof.”

We followed her out of the cave and up a different path than the one the others had taken. Huts were dotted all along as the Thane led us to another cave entrance, but this one had a door and some windows carved into the rock. She opened the door, kissing her fingers and then the post where another motif was carved. This one was of a woman. In one hand she held fire and in the other a swaddled infant. Svarah stepped inside and then stood, waiting for us to cross the threshold.

She noticed my curious stare at the motif. ”Rilla of the Fireside,” she explained, “The goddess we honor for protection of the hearth and for the making of babies.” Cullen coughed awkwardly at her last statement, causing her to smirk. “No doubt our ways seem strange to you, lowlanders. You worship but one god, yes? Pray to it? Except perhaps you, lady elf? Your people have a pantheon much the same as we do?”

”The Dalish elves worship a pantheon, yes,” I explained as she led us further within her home, “But not all elves are Dalish nor do all elves worship the pantheon.”

”And I take it you are such an elf?” 

“I am,” I stated, “I worship the Maker and His Bride.”

”Andraste,” she said, “Her tales are interesting, to be sure, but here our gods appear. Have you ever seen your god?”

”We have not earned the right,” Cullen stated.

”Why worship a god that abandoned you?”

”Did he abandon us or did we turn our back on him? Twice?” I asked.

”Fair enough, but I’d rather worship a god I can see,” she declared, her tone suggesting the conversation was over. She stopped before a door. “Here you are, Commander.” Within was a bedroom that housed a bed carved of stone and covered with furs, and a washbasin. The floor and walls were bedecked in furs; a fireplace held a cheery fire with a chimney carved out of the earth itself; a tapestry hung above it, the thread woven to tell some tale of the hold. A table laden with food sat in the corner across from the bed. “I bid you a good night and may the Lady keep you.” She waved for me to follow as Cullen stepped within his room. “And this one is yours, Dreamwalker.”

She opened another door to a similar bedroom. The layout much the same, furs lining the walls and floor, a bed, and washbasin. A different tapestry hung above the fireplace, another tale woven in its threads. More food sat on the table within this room, my stomach growling at the sight. When Svarah left, I removed the furs I’d been offered as well as the outer layers of my travel clothes before washing up. I ate some of the food, the selection being cheese, dried meat, some dried fruit and bread. Sated, I crawled into the bed, finding it surprisingly comfortable. But as I tried to fall asleep, I felt the Veil thin even more. Excited whispers sounding in my ear. 

“I could get used to a place like this,” Purpose’s voice spoke suddenly, he appearing at the end of the bed. He turned, his gold eyes burning as he flashed a crooked grin. “These humans worship spirits. Can you imagine? To not be feared or reviled, but worshipped?” He grabbed at the food, incorporeal food that mirrored what had been offered appearing in his hand. “And you? They are curious about you, what you can do, instead of fearful.”

“I’m sorry for the other night, Purpose,” I stated.

He waved a hand. “You were upset and you’re angry. You’ve been asked to bear a burden no one should. I can hardly blame you for lashing out once in a while.” “Because he is to blame.”

”Will the spirits here let me sleep?” I questioned.

He chuckled. “No. Once your mind enters the Fade they’ll be drawn to you.” He stood, beginning to fade. “They’re eager to show you their history. You will not find dreamless sleep here, but if you wish them to do so calmly, best find this augur first.”

With that, I slipped from the thane’s house as quietly as I could.

…

The whispers grew incessant, they beckoning me in the direction I needed to go. But I knew even without their help, as the augur’s hut had odd smelling smoke pluming out the middle of the roof and the light within was tinged blue where it sat along the cliffside. Ghilani walked with me for a time before trotting off to hunt. I followed the paths within the hold towards the hut and paused before the door. Lifting a hand to knock upon it, the door opened before I made contact. 

“I was hoping you would come,” the man I assumed to be the augur said by way of greeting. He was impressively tall, lean but muscled, not as old as Svarah, but not as young as I. Swarthy skin and dark eyes stood out amongst his features. He turned and yelled in a scolding voice, “Don’t throng!”

The whispers quieted. He stepped inside and gestured for me to come in. Within the hut I found a strange sight: in the middle sat a great fire pit, the flames a greenish-blue akin to veilfire, and candles littering the ground with flames of the same color. Smoke danced off the flames of the pit, the plume appeared thick but did not choke the air and the smell brought to mind finely roasted meat with herbs. As I stepped inside, the Veil thinned and numerous spirits pressed through to become visible. Their forms reflected the Avvar people as they were dressed in furs and leathers, but as to what kind of spirits they were it was difficult to discern. For they were not merely the concepts of virtues or vices given shape, but more.

“Behold, worthy ones!” The Augur began, “The one who is called Fadewalker, your kin; for she is friend to you and dread to demons. Blessed by the gods to walk amongst them, who have made her shine as the stars. I am the Augur of Stone-Bear Hold. I greet you, friend to she whom blazes like a fire. As do our gods and the gods of our ancestors.” At the last, the whispering grew to shouts of excitement before a great shift was felt in the room as the Veil thickened and the spirits vanished. “There!” The Augur cried out, gasping for a breath, “It is done. Now come, be welcome!”

“Did you just…introduce me to spirits?” I questioned, “You summoned them?”

”The gods of the Hold clamored to see you. Not only for your own merit, but for your kinship to the one who bears the mark upon her hand. I obeyed. For I am their voice and their augur and if I didn’t show you off, they’d hound me for months,” the Augur explained, humor in his voice. “Do not act as if it were some strange thing, Dreamwalker, for I feel your spirit kin tied to you. You, surely, do not believe as the other lowlanders do about the gods of the Fade? For word has reached us even here of how you share your hold with them.”

“I…,” I swallowed, “My knowledge of them is much changed in recent months, yes.” I looked to the fire pit, the flames now a kaleidoscope of oranges and yellows. “How do you—how do your spirits—know of me?”

“To those beyond the Veil, the hand of the one which you call Inquisitor burns like a watchman’s bonfire. They are drawn to her. And whom should they find beside her, but you? One who can walk amongst them. Through you, they hope to speak to her. But fear is rooted deep within she who bears the mark.”

I couldn’t speak for a few breaths. All that he had just revealed. ‘What is the opposite of fear?’ Cole and the others had not just been talking about my fear. Just how much did Ellana keep hidden from me? From us all? “Ellana…is afraid?”

”Would you not be to have the eyes of the gods so intently drawn?” The Augur questioned, the tone of it indicating he already knew the answer, before spreading out his hands. “Here we revere the gods. Do you lowlanders—wether you be elfkind or human—revere the gods?”

Even amongst the Dalish, particularly the Lavellan clan, the Fade and its denizens were feared. “No. We are taught to be afraid of them. Them and the Fade.”

”And with such teachings, the inevitable follows,” the Augur sighed, he gestured to the ground where furs were spread, “Sit and share my fire.”

I nodded and sat, crossing my legs. “So because of the Mark, the spirits of the Fade can see her? Know where she is?”

”Only those nearby, but thoughts spread quickly amongst the gods,” he explained, “They tell me strange things. She muddied time’s waters where the cliffs are red, and returned again. She faced the ancient creature and his mighty dragon; the creature tried to steal her gods-given gift, but the gods declared her worthy of it. It is now part of her, the gift permanent. And in that blessing, she can now command the very Veil itself. Open and close it as she wills.”

“That is what she did at Skyhold,” I mused aloud, “She opened a rift and it killed everything within the immediate area. The power that emanated from her…how she appears in the Fade…what is the mark on her hand?”

He shook his head. “That I do not know; and if the gods do, it is not for mortals to know as they do not share that knowledge.”

“You said the spirits hope to speak to her through me. What do you mean?”

”I am an augur,” he began, “To your people my title may have no meaning, but to the Avvar…Not all mages amongst our people are augurs, but all augurs are mages. I give counsel to other mages and the Thane. In turn, an augur takes counsel from the gods and shares it with the Hold. I make their will known to us and ours to them.”

”To our people, you would be akin to an ambassador for the local spirits,” I surmised.

”And you could be as such to your Inquisition.”

“What do you mean?”

”Our gods protect our Hold. They help drive off spirits who’ve gone bad with rage or gloom. The gods live with us. Ignore their offerings, offer them nothing, and it weakens us all.”

”But you believe the spirits are divine beings,” I stated, “We do not share that belief.”

”The spirits watched us even before we came from the North. They shaped themselves into our gods and we grew to love them,” he mended the fire, the flames having diminished, “No, you may not share our beliefs, but what they can offer you remains the same. Their secret gift is this, Fadewalker: They reflect us as water does the sky. They show what we wish to be. That image gives us strength. For that, we thank the gods.”

”Forgive me as I mean no offense, I am simply trying to understand,” I began, “You understand that they are the reflection of what you believe. They become your gods by giving form to what they see in your minds—in your dreams. They are neither spirit nor demon, but both. They have to be in order to give form to that which you worship. Do I understand?”

He nodded. “If the gods need be explained, that is as good an explanation as any.”

“So it is you who gives them power?”

”We do not give anything, Fadewalker, we offer. It is they who choose what to do with that offering.”

”What does that mean?”

He gave a gentle smile, full of patience. Clearly, this was a conversation he’d had before. “The gods offer to us. They offer to guide us, teach us, share their knowledge. Your people have the Circles—prisons in which other mages teach you how to use your gifts. But those gifts are restricted, watched, by your templars. If they go beyond what your Circles and religion allow, you are killed or cut off from communing with the gods. We have the gods as our teachers. The young mages are bonded to one to learn how to use their magic. Not to be frightened of it. It is a gift, bestowed by the gods. The gods are magic, therefore who better to teach us how to use it?” He mended the fire again. “In turn, we offer our bodies. We offer our dreams. We offer our food. In so doing, they grow stronger. Is not the same of the spirits you come into contact with?”

”For us, it is the emotion or concept which a spirit—or demon—reflects that gives them form. The stronger the emotion felt or the more clear the concept thought out, the stronger the spirit.”

”It is as that for our gods,” he nodded, “But instead of a singular expression, our gods are beings. Complex. Ever changing and yet constant. A convergence of several to create a whole. As it is with the spirits you have influenced.” 

“How do you know this?”

His eyes were intense as they met mine. “As thoughts have traveled quickly about the Inquisitor, so too have they traveled of you.” He mended the fire and threw a bundle of dried herbs within, along with a few bones. Suddenly he went very still, his eyes unfocused. The Veil thinned and I sensed within him a presence. When he opened his mouth to speak, the voice was not his. He was possessed.

“Demon!” I shouted as I made to stand.

“Be still!” The thing roared, “I am no demon. I speak through him because he allows it. I will depart as soon as I have said what I must.”

“Then why not seek me out in the Fade? We could have just as easily conversed there!”

”I do not wish this conversation to be overheard,” it explained, “For within the mortal, I can hide myself—for a time. Now be seated and listen.” Wary, but curious, I sat. “The spirit of wisdom that calls itself Prudence sought me out, Fadewalker. In search of an answer to that which haunts you. A wisp beckoned her here. You sought to eliminate that which lies within you in order to have full control of the armor you wield. But perhaps you were asking the wrong question, seeking the wrong end? The mortals here do not abide by your laws and as such have discovered ways of living harmoniously with us that you would never consider. But they are not without their failings. Nor are we immune to corruption because of it.”

”What if I can’t destroy her?”

”Then you would have to find a new solution, would you not? Whether or not it is true as you will not wield the magic that uses your very life force?”

“Is there another way?”

”That is for you to decide,” it stated, “Heed the Augur’s words, Fadewalker, for in them is truth. Truth you will need in the coming days.”

”What do you mean?”

“We reflect,” it clarified, its voice becoming distant, “You are one who can walk amongst us, nay shape us to your will. The mortals here have done that for us over numerous generations. You can do that with but a touch. A thought even, for those weaker spirits.”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with Doubt?” At the question, the flames within the hut guttered, the temperature dipping as I felt her growl.

The thing within the Augur looked at me. “What did you unwittingly birth in the dark? What is mirroring you? For it is not always a beautiful thing we reflect. But what is more, you can change the nature of the mirror.”

“I don’t understand.”

The thing looked over its shoulder. “I cannot stay. It sees me.”

“What sees you?”

“The other reason I came,” it whispered, “I was with the hunters the one they call Thane sent north. The demon there; it is no ordinary demon.” It looked over its shoulder again. It’s voice was fading as it spoke. “Keep your wits about you, Fadewalker. This one will be your undoing.”

”Tell me what you mean!” I urged.

Its eyes met mine. “It will force you to make a choice, but do not trust it.” At that, the flames went from the blue hue to warm oranges once more, the burning offering no longer smelling pleasant. The Augur shook his head slightly. “Apologies. I should have given warning.”

”You…you let one of them…possess you?” I stammered, gooseflesh erupting across my skin.

He shook his head. “It is not possession as you think of possession. It is not permanent. The rite demands the spirit return to the Fade.” He met my eyes. “The gods have only as much power as we allow them. We have our rules, lowlander, despite what you may think. Our own traditions and boundaries to safe-guard both our gods and our people. The spirit-touched within our hold are offered a sacred gift from the gods. We share a bond with them for a time, both souls swearing an oath to release the other when the teaching is done.” He mended the fire again. “For some that are too weak, however, their teacher remains with them. Both souls watched by the gods for signs of corruption. Should corruption occur, should the mage become a threat to us…the gods release them both to the eternal rest.”

“They kill them.”

He made no answer. “That bond and oath are sacred. To willingly break that oath is to endanger the hold and the gods.”

“You have no way of parting the two? Of reversing the corruption?”

He shook his head. “It has been tried. But a god corrupted…” His eyes met mine again, the sense that he knew something in their light. “Their wrath knows no bounds. And the mortal who is joined to them? They have become a shadow of themselves. Unknown to us.”

”A monster,” I murmured. “It is what you are, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.”

He nodded. “But you, Dreamwalker? Are you not the bridge between god and mortal? Could you not succeed where others have failed?”

”But how?” I urged.

He looked at me sadly. “I wish I had the answer for you. But the god who spoke to you imparted its wisdom. Perhaps in their words, in what you are to face, you will find what you seek.”

I returned to Svarah’s home with even more questions echoing within my head. The spirits, the Augur, even my own mind seemed to all know something. To know the answer to a question I didn’t know how to ask. That I was missing something obvious about Doubt. The more I tried to grasp it, the quicker it slipped through my fingers.

‘What did you unwittingly birth in the dark?’ ‘We reflect.’ ‘You can change the nature of the mirror.’ ‘What did you lose in that cell?’

The answer was on the tip of my tongue, like an echo I could not hear, but feel. It was enough to make me want to scream in frustration. The flames of the candles and the burning hearth guttered as I let out a growl and threw myself onto the bed. I slipped past the Veil to lose myself within the Fade.

My dreams were filled with memories of the Avvar people. Great battles, exuberant feasts, marriage ceremonies, daring feats and hunts. Their “gods” wanting to show the Dreamwalker their people. For as the augur had spoken of loving the spirits for what they offered them in giving life to their gods, so too did the spirits love the people for letting them taste mortality. In all their deeds, the Avvar invoked the gods and when they did, it thinned the Veil enough for them to pass through and observe within the mortals that called to them. But always, they returned to the Fade, sated by what they had experienced. The occurrence of corruption seemed a rare thing. 

“Do not let them fool you,” Purpose spoke beside me as I watched a young soon-to-be thane face the Trial of Hakkon.

”What do you mean?” 

“It is not so rare as they would have you believe.” His face was hard, his arms crossed.

I met his gold eyes. “You know something. What is it?”

He shook his head. “No matter how amicable the relationship, there are always those who seek to abuse it. Who want more.”

”What changed? You spoke of how they worshipped spirits and admired it.”

He pressed his lips into a hard line. “I do long for mortals to not be so frightened of us. But their practices lead to more than just a lessening of fear. It leads to some forgetting it entirely.” He let out a breath. “The road to the Abyss is paved with the best of intentions.”

I chuckled without humor. “An abomination?”

”Yes.”

”Should we be worried?”

”Not yet, but it may need to be dealt with.”

”Thank you for telling me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, making me think of Cullen as he did so. “Mortals,” he mumbled before disappearing.

I laughed softly before going to find Cullen and be beside him as he faced his nightmares.

…

”Where did you go last night?” Cullen questioned from the door as I finished pulling my boots on that morning. “I came to your room, but you were absent.”

“The Augur,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes, tying my laces.

“What did this augur tell you?” He questioned and I could hear the wariness in his words. “It is because he does not trust you. Not truly. He fears you. The more powerful you grow, the more obvious it becomes.” I let out a breath and explained all that had happened. All that had been discussed. When I finished, I finally met his eyes. His face was hard with anger, but his gaze was gentle. “Maker’s breath,” he said exasperatedly, “I knew magic here would be used differently but…”

”I know. It is dangerous, but it is their way. We cannot force them to practice magic as we do.” My lips twisted into a smirk. “Unless you wish to use the Inquisition to perform an Exalted March?”

He breathed a laugh. “Maker, no.” He let out a sigh. “The sooner I get through this trial the better. Whatever the demon is, it needs to be dealt with swiftly. And the sooner we’re away from here the better.” He shook his head. “I’ll try not to worry about it. But mages who willingly submit to possession…who subject children to possession…” His lips pressed into a hard line.

”Your Chantry and Templar Order have no place here, Commander,” Svarah spoke from behind him, her voice deadly. “Do not even think of invoking it upon us lest you call the whole of the Avvar upon you lowlanders.” Cullen straightened. “We have our ways and we will die defending them.”

”I have no wish to impose upon you beliefs you do not hold,” Cullen stated, “but you’ll forgive me if I remain cautious.”

”Cautious is fine. Impertinent is not. You will not insult our gods.” Her eyes burned and her words were like the hissing of a cat, full of venom. “They care for us, especially the little ones. They would never willingly bring them to harm.” She looked to me. “Perhaps she is the better candidate to undergo Hakkon’s trial? I fear the gods may spurn you and cause you to lose, little pup.”

I bit my lip and hid a laugh as I watched Cullen’s ego be wounded. “That won’t be necessary,” he assured.

”It is your choice, but I’m of half a mind to add an extra challenge to your trial for your the bad manners you’ve had since you’ve entered my Hold.”

”Thane, if you’ll—“

”Is this how all you lowlanders are? You walk into the houses of others who have invited you as a guest and pee on their furniture?”

“Truly, I—“ 

She snapped her fingers. “This will be my demand.” I could tell the woman was fighting a smile as she spoke. “For your poor manners, you will face Hakkon’s trial in the garb of an Avvar warrior. And with weapons from our armory.”

At first, Cullen seemed confused as to why this would be a punishment. ”In the garb of—“ The it dawned on him and he went red at the tips of his ears. “Please—“

”So you do have manners,” Svarah chuckled. “Too bad they come too late. I’ll send the augur to instruct you on preparation.”

“Please, Thane—“ But she pretended not to listen as she left her home. Once she was gone, I let out my laughter. Cullen glared at me, his face red with embarrassment. “This is not funny.”

”It’s hilarious!” I cried, holding my belly.

”You realize what this means, don’t you?!” He growled. “I have to fight—“

”Half-naked!” I teased, “You’ll forgive me, my lion, if I look forward to your punishment.”

He went even redder. “Why do I get the feeling that this is some elaborate prank?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you know something?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

His eyes narrowed further, his mouth opening as the Augur lumbered into view. In his hands he held a few jars. His eyes flicked between us, a slight smirk on his mouth. “Thane Svarah sent me to prepare you for Hakkon’s Trial. It seems she asks you wear the traditional warpaint of our warriors and their armor to honor the gods.” He looked at Cullen. “They tell me you’ve slighted them, but find this a fitting offering.” He looked to me and held out the jars. “But they’d prefer you paint him.”

All gaiety within me died as heat rose in my face. “What?”

His lips twitched. “We all enjoy invoking Rilla and she’s more than happy to answer.”

I heard Cullen mutter “Sweet Maker” under his breath. It was full of exasperation. If I could have crawled into a hole and died, I would have. I made the mistake of looking at Cullen. We were both flushed bright red. “But I’m not—“

”This is the offering the gods request,” the augur cut me off, raising a brow, “do you wish to further anger them?” I could hear the gaggle of the spirits beyond the Veil. I let them know just what I thought about this in my mind. Laughter was their only response.

Cullen grabbed the jars out of his hands. “So be it.”

”I’ll return with some armor. You’re about as tall as the Master of the Hunt.” He looked at me. “Paint him however you’d like. The paintings can tell a story, if you wish. But it has to cover all of him. The paint is an offering to the gods to ask for protection and aid in battle.” He chuckled. “Particularly in those areas you wish not to disfigure,” he bumped Cullen with his elbow, “Or lose.”

I swallowed hard. Sweet Andraste. He laughed as he left. Cullen and I met each other’s eyes and went redder. He rubbed the back of his neck as I bit my lip.

”Maker’s breath,” he breathed, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. “We, uh, we better j-just get this over with.”

I looked at him from beneath my lashes. “I suppose you’re right.” I stood and turned my back to him. “I’ll let you undress.”

He cleared his throat again. “R-right.” The heat from my blush spread to my cheeks, to the tips of my ears, to my chest as I listened to the sounds of him undressing. The brush of fabric against his skin, the hitches in his breath. I swore I could even hear his heart pounding. He cleared his throat before saying, “R-ready.” To my relief, he’d only removed the layers on his torso. His arms were crossed, his jaw clenched as he looked away. “I will not allow them to put you in a compromising situation for the sake of their entertainment. It is ridiculous.” He met my eyes. “Besides, they did not say I had to be unclothed. They only said the paint had to cover all of me.”

I swallowed hard as I nodded. “You have a point.”

Slowly, I stood and went to the jars on the nearby table. Opening one, the color within was a warm reddish-brown like the clay earth of the Hold’s cliffside, the other a darker shade like the bark of rain-dampened trees and the last an off-white like crushed bone. ‘The paintings can tell a story if you wish.’ I smirked a little at that as a story came to mind.

Dipping my fingers into the first jar, I covered my palm with the paint before turning to Cullen. Instead of seeing the man I loved half-naked before me, I now saw the blank canvas of his skin. While paint was not my usual medium of art, I was no stranger to it. I took hold of his wrist with my clean hand and led him closer to the table, sitting him upon the stool.

I could tell he was tense, so gently I placed my hands on his broad shoulders before leaning to murmur in his ear. ”Just trust me.”

He let out a breath. “I do.”

At those words, I began to paint him. Muscle became landscape, scars and freckles the starry sky, veins trees and water but all woven together to tell a story. To tell his story. On the left side of his chest, I painted the golden boy from Honnleath: for him, the depiction was warm and kind, the white and red-brown mixing to create the amber shade of his eyes to illustrate the village I had seen in the Fade when facing Shame. His family surrounding him as he left home.

On the same side of his back, it was tribute to the boy of Kinloch Hold. The dark brown coloring the Circle tower as it stretched towards the sky from the middle of the lake, but it was broken at its foundation. On the other side of his back, the waters of Lake Calenhad bled into The Gallows. The red-brown the blood of the mages, the dark brown Meredith’s shadow where his silhouette was white but from his hands the red-brown dripped.

Wrapping around his rib cage, the red-brown gave way to white as I painted the Inquisition. The symbol of our cause over his heart, the flames like a burning sun that shone upon him raising his sword in defiance to the darkness before him. His arms I painted a solid color, that reddish-brown stretching from his shoulders to his hands. Upon his knuckles, I painted talons. The same solid color over the leathers of his pants and boots.

Last was his face, which I noticed was a deep red, his pupils huge as he looked at me. I thanked the Maker for the focus of painting him distracting me from the fact that I was painting him. My hands touching him more intimately than they yet had. I cleared my throat at the same time he did, our eye contact breaking, as I painted the face of a lion over his own.

The work complete, I blew upon his skin, pouring a little fire magic from my armor into my breath to make the paint dry. When I met Cullen’s eyes again, his lips were slightly parted as his gaze was intent upon my mouth before it shifted. His eyes burned bronze as he looked at me, his hands suddenly upon my hips, fingertips digging into the swell of them as he stood. He towered over me a moment, I having to bend back slightly to keep eye contact. His fingers fisted in my hair as he pulled me to his mouth.  

“Finished?” The Augur’s voice called as he rapped his knuckles upon the door, our lips were a breath apart.

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. “Sweet Maker!”

The Augur laughed before throwing a bundle of leather and fur at me. “His armor. Then to the armory. The Trial begins in half an hour.” He looked Cullen up and down, nodding with approval. “You’ve talent, Fadewalker.” With a smirk, he noted Cullen’s lower half. “And it seems you lowlanders are not so simple as you appear to find a hole in our request.”

With that he left. Cullen took the bundle from my hands and put distance between us. Quickly, he dressed in what little clothing there was. Leather bracers on his forearms and a bit of leather trimmed in fur over his shoulders was all that made up his “armor”. Over his pants and boots he tied hardened leather greaves.

Finished, I looked him over and chuckled. “You know, you could almost pass for an Avvar.”

He glared at me. “I am not a barbarian.”

“I know, my lion. But you would make one handsome one, if you were.”

He flushed red again before rubbing his neck. “W-we have work to do.”

”Of course,” I teased.

…

“My bet is on the warriors of Stone-Bear,” Solana joked.

We were sat in the stands overlooking the training arena. The whole of the Hold seemed to be in attendance as well as the Battalion. The Hold was rowdy with excitement, bets being placed upon how Cullen would lose, how many warriors he would take down before he lost and the like. One particular bet had me irritated as the women of the Hold bet how many of them he’d bed later that night or if Svarah would want him for herself. As I heard a couple of them chattering about how handsome he was and how good in the bedroll they thought he’d be, I sat with my arms crossed, teeth biting into my cheek, as the others bantered.

”So little faith, Amell,” Barris clicked his tongue, “The Commander is one of the best soldiers I’ve ever sparred with. I have no doubt he can hold his own.”

”Wonder if they’ll send any mages in?” Rion questioned.

Worry flickered in my chest at that question. Around me, Cullen had grown comfortable with magic, but with other mages? Those who intended harm upon him, even if it was good-natured? Would he be alright?

“Even if they do, Cullen’s proven he can use his abilities if need be,” Asaala interjected, “The real challenge would be to not use them.”

”You don’t have to worry about mages,” one of the women in front of us turned to say, “Hakkon’s Trial is about prowess in battle. As much a trial for our warriors as your Commander. Magic and the gods cannot aid them. They have to prove they can hold their own without them.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, we wouldn’t take too kindly to templar abilities being used here.”

”The Commander will win,” Laren stated with full confidence, “For a shem, I’ve never seen a quicker blade. He’s got a sharp mind, fast reflexes and experience. How many battles have these Avvar seen? Real battles?”

”I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss them, Laren,” Henry argued, “Cullen’s an excellent swordsman, but has he faced their type of battle before?”

”He’s adaptable,” Laren shrugged.

Solana snorted. “Cullen? Adaptable? You’re joking right? The man’s as adaptable as a rock.”

“People of Stone-Bear Hold!” Svarah called, bringing everyone to attention as the Battalion stifled laughter which only was egged on as Rion and Solana swapped nicknames for Cullen the rest of the army seemed to have come up with for him. “Commander Uptight” and “Ser Stick in the Mud” among others. The excitement of the crowd grew to a crescendo as a burly Avvarian came to stand before us at the behest of Svarah.

”I am Arrken Feldsen. Known to you of the Hold, but stranger to you guest-welcome,” Arrken began before his eyes flicked up to where we sat, “Though I hope no stranger to your bedroll should Hakkon favor your Commander and we hold a feast in his honor.” Whistles sounded through the crowd. “I prepare warriors for the gods, for I am your Arena Master! Our warriors want your measure, Inquisition! Stone-Bear Hold would know if the spirits favor you. A battle against our best. Wit and muscle and steel against steel. Not to death, just surrender.” He gestured to Cullen who’d walked into view. “In case you’re afraid.”

“That’s a relief—wouldn’t want to widow the entire village,” Cullen challenged, that smug smirk on his mouth.

Jeers and boos came from the crowd in response, but Arrken laughed. “Oh, I like this. Bring the stomach to match those fine words! Come, Commander, step into the grounds, Hakkon’s trials await.”

I watched as Cullen strode inside the arena. Whatever nervousness he’d had earlier as I’d helped him get ready was gone as he stood tall and proud awaiting his enemy. He made his way up to one of the elevated spots before the gate on the other side of the arena opened. He took a moment and looked back at me. We were close enough we could make out the details of the paintings that decorated his skin. And to see his eyes as they burned with some intense emotion. I watched as he mouthed the words, “I love you.”

It earned jeers and elbow jabs from the others as he turned to face the opening gate. But to my heart, it brought ease, knowing that I was the only one who held his heart. That the only bedroll he’d occupy until we were wed was his own. And I felt foolish for letting the Avvarian women’s comments get under my skin. “It’s because you know the truth.”

…

To watch Cullen fight, was akin to watching Solas paint his frescos. Each cut with his blade was precise, purposeful. He maneuvered his shield as if it weighed nothing, blocking arrows and blades in equal measure and with equal swiftness. Without his armor, he moved with incredible speed. Using the arena to his advantage, he outmaneuvered his opponents as he traversed the landscape. His feet clambered up the rocks like a mountain ram, his legs carried him across gaps with the grace of a giant cat, while he raced across bridges with sure footsteps. All the while, his sword and shield were extensions of him, moving to defend him from his enemies weapons with a quickness that seemed to move faster than his mind. Every move he made caused the picture of how he was planning the battle out in his mind to come to life. A real life chess match, moves and countermoves.

While the Avvarians were not without skill, a few getting hits in on Cullen, they did not match him. While they no doubt practiced with their weapons daily, Cullen had lived and breathed swordsmanship from the time he was a child. Cassandra was the only other warrior I had seen with more skill and she had admitted it was only her longer years of experience and more lithe form that gave her an advantage over Cullen. And in watching him against the Avvar, I knew he had held himself back in every spar he’d partaken in amongst those of the Inquisition. He trained them to be as skilled as he was, but had never made them face the brute force of which he was capable. 

While at first the people of Stone-Bear Hold had mocked him, shouting for their own warriors’ victory, as they watched Cullen bit by bit take them down, the tides had turned. They began calling his name, shouting praise as he performed unexpected moves and daring feats. My mouth went dry as I observed him. He was not only beautiful, but powerful. His handsome face, strikingly fierce. He was agile, clever, and a force of nature as he moved around the arena. Steel met steel, but a quick turn of his blade disarmed his opponent. Shields locked, but Cullen used the environment to bolster his strength after he’d led his foe into a trap. Arrows tried to pierce him, but he’d find cover, catch them with his shield or use an enemy to block them. With each wave of challengers, piece by metaphorical piece, Cullen slowly took them off the figurative board.   

His final opponent was a massive Avvarian whose weapon of choice was a giant hammer. While Cullen was tall and brawny even by human standards, he was small compared to the warrior. But what seemed to be a fight Cullen couldn’t win by strength, he won by wit. Instead of meeting his enemy head on, he used his bulk against him. He couldn’t move as fast as Cullen could between his weight and the weight of his weapon. Before the crowd knew what had happened, Cullen had lured him into a spot within the arena that was too narrow for the Avvarian to turn swiftly. Cullen had scaled the rocks like a goat, gotten around the barbarian and kicked his legs out from under him. Before he could stand, Cullen had his sword to this throat.

Cullen stood over the final Avvarian, victorious as he surrendered. He was panting for breath, his hair and body slick with sweat—though the paint upon his skin seemed to have a charm of some sort as it stayed intact. The crowd was silent for a moment before it broke out in deafening applause. As it did, Cullen’s gaze once again found mine. I was captivated by him in the aftermath of his raw display of his swordsmanship, the effect it had upon him. He was burning with pride, his body  stunning as his muscles had swelled with the exercise, his curled hair and eyes like gold in the afternoon sun. The way they were fixed upon me was enough to steal the breath from my lungs. 

“We have our victor,” Svarah announced, “What a battle! For such prowess and such quality entertainment, we shall hold a feast in our guests’ honor this night! For they have not only earned our respect, but our oath to help them hunt their prey as well. Hakkon be praised!”

Whoops and hollers echoed through the Hold as the crowd broke to prepare for the coming festivities. Stone-Bear’s warriors went to congratulate Cullen and walk him out of the arena. I made my way through the throng of people down to where he was exiting. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him amongst the Avvarians—for whatever their differences in culture or beliefs, warriors had the same passions. He wore a broad smile, smug even, as they swapped techniques. His eyes met mine and warmth pooled in my belly at what they held. The other warriors noticed his stare and started bantering suggestively back and forth at his expense. I blushed, but Cullen smiled gently at me.

”Commander!” Scout Harding’s voice shouted over the noise. “Commander!”

Cullen’s gaiety died as the face of the Commander returned. Harding’s voice was panicked. “What is it?”

”We were attacked, ser!” Harding began. A hush fell over the crowd at those words. Cullen had sent her and the scouts out to find a suitable spot for the Inquisition to set up a more permanent camp. “By the Jaws of Hakkon. We lost a researcher, ser. I fear one of the other scouts has gone to seek them out for vengeance.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “We must find them, before they’re lost as well.”

”It’s not him I fear for, ser.” It was clear Harding meant something in her words as her eyes flicked to me.

Cullen dismissed himself from the warriors and waved for Harding and I to join him. “Speak plainly, Lace,” his voice dipping so only we would hear.

”Grandin, ser. He’s a mage,” Harding explained, her eyes flicking to me again, “The rage in his eyes…I worry what might happen.”

Cullen and I exchanged a glance, understanding what she was implying. “We need to find him,” I said.

Cullen nodded. “Ready the Battalion. We leave in fifteen.”

Chapter Text

MEIRA

”What happened, Harding?” Cullen questioned as we exited the Hold.

I had us hidden within the Fade, our group smaller than it had been, though still comprising the majority of the Battalion. Cullen had requested their presence in the case that we were dealing with an abomination. Both for the training exercise and for the templars to be present should things get out of hand. Harding was leading us back into the forest proper to where they had found a decent spot to set up the Inquisition’s future camp.

”They came out of nowhere, ser,” she began, “Though they must have been following us nearly the whole time. The Thane had sent some of her hunters with us. We were all disguised, but…well, a dwarf to an Avvarian? Pretty sure they saw through that. Should’ve climbed up on one of their shoulders; that probably would’ve been more believable. As soon as we got any distance between us and the Stone-Bear hunters, they attacked. The researcher, Jace Turbot, spotted something that got him really excited. He mentioned the first Inquisitor, Ameridan, before he…died.”

“I remember,” Cullen stated, “Part of Gaspard and Celene’s show of friendship to us. University students to aid in our research and restoration of historical artifacts lost or destroyed in the fighting. Helisma requested his presence in order to gather more information on the Basin. Do you think the Jaws of Hakkon were protecting whatever it was?”

”Hard to say,” she stated, “It could’ve been that or they just saw their opportunity. Seems we know why not many people have traveled here and lived to tell about it.”

”Why would Grandin abandon his post for Turbot?”

“They were close friends, and Jace…he was unarmed,” Harding’s face turned dark. “I’d promised Helisma no harm would come to the boy so long as he stayed with us. Grandin and Turbot became quick friends on the road. Something in him just snapped and I worry he’s going to do something stupid. We’ve all lost someone—either at Haven or when Skyhold was attacked. I just don’t think Grandin could take another friend dying.” 

Cullen shifted on his feet. “I understand,” he murmured before clearing his throat. “As you said, Grandin is a mage. Why didn’t he join the Battalion or work with the other mages at Skyhold?”

”I didn’t know before now, ser,” Harding explained, “He let it slip while we were scouting today. Jace and he were discussing the Hakkonites’ weapons, what they might be enchanted with and Grandin spoke like he knew. I was going to have him report to you and the Lieutenant-Commander, but the Hakkonites attacked.”

”Maker’s breath, how many other soldiers are hiding such a secret?” Cullen growled, “And why?”

”How many of us do you think fear we’ll be right back in a Circle when all of this is over, Commander?” Solana questioned, “Why wouldn’t mages who can hide it not take the chance to do so? And then slip away before they go back to their prisons?”

“That will not be the Inquisition’s fate,” Cullen promised.

”The attack happened near the river,” Harding stated, “Grandin snuck away while we saw to Turbot’s body.”

We came upon the remains of the pyre, the other scouts and the hunters from Stone-Bear standing guard around it. Uncloaking us from the Fade, we fanned out to investigate. Harding questioned the scouts as we fanned out looking for signs of Grandin. I noticed Cullen take a piece of parchment from his cuirass, he now back in his armor and looking far more comfortable, and scratch something down. I could only assume it was the list he carried of all those who’d fallen and he wroteTurbot’s name in order to write to his loved ones. I looked around, crossing the river when I found nothing on the bank where the pyre burned. On the opposite bank, there were footprints in the mud.

”Harding!” I called.

Lace came running to where I pointed, she kneeling to the ground and studying the footprints. Her forest green eyes flicked about, her face pulled in concentration and auburn hair falling loose from the intricate braid she had it in. There was sweat on her brow, the marshy environment lending to muggy evenings as the sun began to dip towards the horizon. I waved off the buzzing insects trying to nibble on my ear, doing my best to ignore the sweat dripping down my back.

Her fingers traced the outline of a few of the footprints. “Inquisition boots, standard issue. Wearing them beneath the furs.” She looked up to pick out the matching prints from among the others. “It’s Grandin.”

”Harding’s found a trail!” I shouted to the others.

Quickly, they fell in behind as I followed Lace, keeping us hidden within the Fade once more. The footprints led us further into the forest, along the riverbank. As we drew closer to what appeared to be the remnants of a camp, I felt a thinning in the Veil. Something was wrong.

”There!” Harding pointed.

Ahead of us, we could just make out someone leaning against a boulder. As we got closer…no. They weren’t just someone; the garish paint indicated a Hakkonite. And she wasn’t leaning against the boulder, she’d been impaled to it. The glow of the ice spell still upon her sword where it cleaved through her chest. She was clawing at it, eyes frantic even as her blood was spilling out faster the more she moved. Upon the ground, however, was more blood than just one person’s body held. Yet only the Hakkonite was near.

“Let me help you,” I offered once we were closer, healing magic glowing in my hands.

The Hakkonite spit at me, a horrible coughing fit following the action. Blood was on her lips now, she gasping for breath, yet the sound was full and wet. I sensed it then, the blade had pierced or severed a lung, blood now pooling in her airways slowly causing her to drown in it. There would be no saving her, only easing her passing. But despite the pain I could feel her enduring, despite my offer, she looked at me with hatred.

”May your blood be upon our blades, lowlander,” she hissed, and I recognized her voice from the night before, “You had no business here. I spilled blood for Hakkon, but he spurned my offering. My blood pours as a better one.”

”What happened?” Cullen demanded. “Who attacked you?”

Fear flickered in her eyes, even as they began to dim. “He was dead. I’d gutted him right and proper.” She coughed again, gasping. “Blood everywhere. But then he…he stood. And it…wasn’t him anymore.”

Cullen looked at me, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t good.”

I shook my head. “No. The Veil is thin here. And there’s far more blood spilt than one human body holds.”

Cullen looked to the templars with us, including Barris, Henry, Asaala, Laren and Amelia. “Ready yourselves.”

I tried once more to help the Hakkonite woman. “Leave it, lowlander! I was bested because Hakkon allowed it. My death is deserved.”

I withdrew my hands and walked away from her, feeling her pain and the fear in her mind as raw as if it were my own. She let out a few more shuddering breaths; each one fuller than the last until she was spluttering, gasping, but no air could pass into her lungs. A few heartbeats thudded and then she was gone. My eyes had been closed as I’d kept moving forward, trying to put distance between the dying woman and I. As her soul slipped past the Veil, I opened my eyes and gasped.

Dread was like ice in my veins as I took in the scene before me. All around were the mutilated and charred corpses of Hakkonites. Scorch marks pocked the ground, blood was splattered everywhere. Some of the victims were only half-burned, part of their body still intact while the other was charred down to the bone.

Standing within the carnage, I could sense what had happened. The spirits just beyond the Veil whispering of it. I listened to the whispers, followed to where they were strongest. One of the bodies had a dagger sticking out of its chest. I had not known that Barris was beside me until he bent down to examine the body.

”An Inquisition-issued dagger,” he stated as he pulled the dagger from the body.

Harding came to stand by him, taking the dagger. “You idiot, Grandin.”

”He’s not here,” Cullen observed. “So where is he?”

Harding pointed further along the riverbank. “His footsteps continue that way.”

Asaala drew her blade from where it had been sheathed down her back. “As do the bodies.”

”Maker,” Cullen cursed under his breath.

I looked at him, gauging how he was handling the situation. All the evidence pointed to what waited at the end of this, if Grandin wasn’t dead. The last abomination he’d faced had been Ella and he’d faltered. What would happen this time?

He met my eyes as if sensing my thoughts. “No matter what we find, I want you to try. If you can. You weren’t there when Ella fell. I wished you had been. Perhaps then…there would’ve been hope.”

Could I do as he’d hoped? Would I be able to help this Grandin? “Or will you fail? And prove to him that there is only one way to deal with an abomination? Only one way to deal with  you?”

The carnage only grew worse the further up the riverbank we traveled. More burned bodies, many beyond recognition, others burned so that their bodies had melted where they’d been cowering in fear. A few had burned so hot and fast that they were no more than silhouettes of ash upon the rocks.

It was like that all along the river until we came to the mouth of a cave, more dead Hakkonites at its threshold. Ghilani bared her teeth, her ears erect as we approached the cave. I felt out through the Fade towards the cave. Within, I sensed him—sensed them. Grandin was no longer simply mortal, but more. He was not fully corrupted, but I did not know if the two could be separated. Beyond them, I sensed someone else and with them, another spirit.

”He’s inside,” I murmured, “And he’s not alone. He’s possessed, but there’s someone else in there.”

Cullen turned to Harding. “Harding, stay here.”

”But—“

”That is an order, Scout,” he barked. Lace was angry, I could tell, as her face hardened and lips pressed together, but she didn’t argue further. Cullen turned to the Battalion. “I want a few of you to keep watch within the mouth of the cave. Stay hidden should any more of these Hakkonites appear, but stay alert. The rest of you: come with us, but do not get too close until the Lieutenant-Commander gives the order.” He looked to me, I surprised. “This is what the Battalion was created for and you are its leader. I shall follow your lead.”

“Lieutenant,” Lace called to me and I met her forest green eyes, “He’s a good kid. Bring him back?”

I swallowed hard. “I‘ll try.” I looked to Cullen. “Let me talk to him first.”

He gave a sharp nod before I led us further into the cave. It was eerily silent within, more dead along the path. I had to cover my nose as the air was foul with the stench of burning flesh. Moisture dripped from the stalactites, the sound bringing to mind dark memories of that cell and the water dripping down the stone walls. I fought a shudder and forced my mind to focus.

A little way into the cave, the floor changed from natural rock to carved stones. The stones gave way to a large room, the walls made of the same blocks. Torches were within, illuminating the room. The architecture was unfamiliar to me, but the structure was a great culvert, for at its center sat a metal grate which had water flowing beneath it. More charred bodies were inside and among them—

”Grandin?” Cullen called, his voice purposefully gentle.

Grandin turned towards us, away from the other person within. He was an elf, young, a little taller than myself and the points of his ears were peeking out of his chin length, blond hair. His skin was pale, unnaturally so, in the firelight. His eyes flicked to the two of us and then between us as he spotted the others. I sensed the spirit within him grow tense, but Grandin seemed at ease as he began to speak.

”Commander,” he greeted with a salute, his voice full of embarrassment. “I’ve abandoned my post, haven’t I? I had cause. Just missing the permission part.” As he spoke, he seemed to do so with difficulty. “Ran into one of the other Avvar, not a Hakkonite.”

The other person stepped around Grandin. She was a young woman, most likely no older than Grandin himself. Dark hair and eyes were framed by a wary face. She wore the leathers and furs of Stone-Bear Hold. “You should not be here, lowlanders.”

”Who are you?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

”If I tell you, will you leave us be?” We made no answer and she let out a huff. “I am Sigrid Gulsdotten, Augur’s Apprentice. I exiled myself from Stone-Bear Hold. As I was gathering food along the riverbank, Hakkonites were fleeing from something. They broke around me like water ‘round the rocks in a river. Normally, they are not so far west. Behind them, this elven boy charged, fury like no other in his wake. I sensed that he was sky-touched, sensed one of the gods within him, so I followed.” Her eyes flicked to Grandin, who was unnaturally still. “When I came upon him, he nearly killed me as well, but stopped at the last moment.”

”You’re not them,” Grandin spoke, “There would’ve been no purpose to your death.”

”We know about your friend, Jace,” I began, my voice soft, “I am sorry.”

The spirit within him stirred at that, Grandin’s face twisting with rage and sorrow. When he spoke, I could hear the whisper of another voice behind his own. “He was studying at the university. Those Hakkon devils.” His voice changed again, softer, the other voice quiet. “Jace wasn’t a soldier—he wasn’t even armed. After this, he was going to show me Val Royeaux. I’ve never been. I thought we might…” He cut himself off and I felt the Veil shift. The spirit stirred again and the room began to grow hot. “I can’t let this happen.”

”Again, Grandin, I’m sorry,” I stated, before looking to Sigrid, “Did you help him fight the Hakkonites?”

“We have an oath.” Sigrid shook her head. “Hakkonites lay burned throughout the forest. I followed the trail of dead here. The boy was inside, finishing his work when I found him.”

Grandin’s eyes met mine and in them burned a darkness that was not mortal. His face stretched into an unnatural smile, full of malice. The boy looked grotesque as he let out a spiteful laugh. As he did, that other voice echoed off the stones. I felt Cullen tense beside me. But Grandin collected himself before he spoke again.

“I wasn’t a soldier either, not before this. I lived in the Circle,” he looked between Cullen and I, “I apologize for lying. I wouldn’t have been a good fit in the Battalion. Never had the skill for combat spells, so I picked up a sword and joined the main army. I wanted to fight for the Inquisition. The Jaws of Hakkon almost ended that, too.” He began panting for breath, his body shaking, as if he was so full of rage he could hardly speak. When he did, he was practically spitting the words. “I was bleeding out when it saw me. It knows what I know.” His struggle grew worse, the spirit within stirring and I felt their essences melding. Rage. When Grandin spoke again, his voice was no longer his own. “They will not kill more people. Not like Jace. I will protect them, Lieutenant.”

”You’ve been twisted, my friend,” Purpose’s voice spoke beside me, drawing Grandin’s gaze. “The boy had purpose, cause, justification for seeking the blood of his foe. You wished to help him see it through. But you should have let him be when he fell. He’s too weak to keep from corrupting you.”

A baleful light shone in Grandin’s eyes at those words, the irises disappearing. It was the voice of the spirit that addressed Purpose. “Too weak? He chased after his enemy with valor; with the intent to protect. How is that weakness?” Grandin’s face twisted again. “And who are you to judge me, Purpose? Did you not do the same?”

”He’s too far gone, Dreamwalker,” Sigrid spoke.

I stared her down. “And you? I sense the spirit in you.”

”She is the abomination I spoke of,” Purpose murmured.

”I am bound, worthy one, not possessed,” Sigrid spit at Purpose. “My will is my own, just as my guiding teacher’s will is his own.” Her eyes met mine. “Just as your will is your own and all the spirits bound to you are theirs. The gods walk with you, not through you. It is the same for me.” She gestured to Grandin. “Their will is one and the same. There is no hope for them.”

”I do not believe that,” I argued. “I cannot. I remain separate because of my abilities as a dreamer mage. Because of magical armor. How do you?”

“That is not your business, lowlander,” Sigrid hissed.

”I spoke with your Augur. He told me of your ways. How your young mages are bonded with a spirit until your teaching is done. Unless the mage proves too weak to be without their teacher. They are watched for corruption and should it occur, they are killed.” I looked her over. “Is that why your teacher remains? Why you are in exile?”

When she did not answer, I reached out with my abilities, sensing her and the spirit within her. Their bond was akin to Grandin and his spirit, but where Grandin’s possession was malevolent and twisted, Sigrid’s possession was…amicable. Two separate melodies but where they connected was a harmony, neither melody vied for dominance. And I dared to say there was love in the notes. I slipped past the Veil to find the spirit, time on the mortal plane slowing.

“I greet you, Fadewalker,” the spirit spoke. He was a handsome spirit and had made himself appear as young as Sigrid. His eyes were teal, his features mimicking the Avvar. He flashed a gentle smile before speaking. “Sigrid tried to fulfill her oath to release me, but when it came time, she was unable. I am a Spirit of Knowledge. My purpose is to teach and to do so with kindness and patience. I have been at Sigrid’s side since she was a small child. I helped her to lose her fear of her magic, taught her how to wield it to aid her people.
“But even amongst the Avvar, those with magic can sometimes be outcasts. Sigrid is lonely and I…care for her. To release me, she knows, is for me to leave her permanently. For her ritual of Thanks-giving removes me from her. It must be this way so that I may remain uncorrupted and can return again to teach a new pupil.” He let out a sigh. “I will do as she wishes. Stay or go. But I love her too much to force either choice upon her. And she must choose.”

”But you know what you should do, Knowledge,” Purpose challenged, “How you should guide her.”

Knowledge looked away. “I do. As does she. She loves her people and longs to fulfill her role as their augur when the time comes. But it means sacrificing the only true friend she has ever known.”

”What is this ritual of Thanks-giving?” I questioned.

”It is a rite. Avvar magic, Fadewalker. Too complex for me to explain in the limited time we have as the true abomination is swiftly losing its battle. But in essence, it is the mage making the choice to release their spirit teacher—to be free of their possession as you would call it. Those mortals and spirits joined who have done so on amicable terms are able to separate, but the host must choose to let go. Not all mortals are willing to make that choice.
“All a spirit, benevolent or malevolent, needs is for the mortal to want to let them in; once they have allowed it, the only thing that can free them is to choose to exile the spirit before their will is corrupted entirely. Or to have a mage enter the Fade and slay the spirit. A malevolent spirit that is crafty enough and of a strong enough will, can take possession of a mortal and erase their will before such a choice can even be made. A benevolent spirit who has become corrupted by its host will corrupt in turn and both will be lost. And when the joining is done by force? There is no going back. What was is gone.”

”But what about spirits of our own making?”

”There is no such thing.”

”But—“

”You can influence a spirit. Cause it to become something more complex. As you know, we spirits derive our power from the complexity of our concept host. The more complex the concept, the more powerful. But that concept is influenced by mortals. And a mortal such as yourself? What could your influence bring about?”

”But what about Shame?”

”We are running out of time, Fadewalker,” the spirit warned.

”Please, please don’t go! I have to know!” I begged.

The spirit flickered. “Careful.” 

“Forgive me,” I apologized, “but please explain.”

His teal eyes flicked to Purpose. “Your abilities grant you a kinship to us. While you cannot create a spirit, through you, concepts could converge to make something far more complex than most spirits.”

”But Shame was Cullen’s doing. Cullen is no mage, no dreamer.”

His voice was gentle as he spoke, his face full of sympathy, “Was it?”

It clicked then, a thought that had been gnawing in the back of my mind. No. No. No! “A fitting punishment. And then you had to go and free him.” Panic gripped me. “That can’t be true! How would that even be true?!”

“When you entered his mind accidentally in Ferelden,” Purpose murmured, “When you touched him.”

”I told you. Does he really know? Does he know that you could drive him mad? Does he know that you almost did?” She cackled. “Well, I almost did.”

”He had drawn a spirit of contrition to himself, but when you touched him within his mind, you influenced it. You shine like the stars in the Fade, a mighty gem. When you touched him, you drew it in and refracted the spirit. Without your magic to guide it, however, its nature passed through your corrupted facet—which you call Doubt.
“Dispersed by your magic, Contrition mingled with Doubt, reassembling into a powerful concept: Shame. What is shame, but guilt amplified by doubt? To doubt one’s worth, one’s right to be, one’s right to want because of wrongs one has committed?”

My knees gave out and I hit the ground. ”I did that to him?” I breathed. ‘Foul and corrupt.’ Maker, oh, Maker! I looked to Purpose. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

”Do you still not understand?!” Purpose scolded, his face—Cullen’s face—twisted in agitation. “The more you know, the more influence you have upon her! The more you change her. The more complex she becomes!” His gold eyes burned as he looked at me. “If you had known that you had caused it, you wouldn’t have helped him or she would have brought something worse about! The less you know, the better!”

”It is because I didn’t know that it happened. That I did that to him!” I yelled. “I am a monster!”

”No, you’re not,” Knowledge cut in, voice gentle, “You are a dreamer. You are akin to spirits. You did not mean to give form to Shame. But then? You saved him from it, used your abilities to influence it into something else. For because you did not know, she could not influence Shame any further. Doubt had already done her work. But you? What did you bring about?”

”Embrace,” I murmured, “A Spirit of Grace.” 

“More than grace. Mercy. Acceptance. Three powerful host concepts converging because of you,” Knowledge clarified, “Grace for what he endured, mercy for what he brought about because of it and acceptance of his desire to atone. All things he feels in your loving embrace. Given form through your magic and the armor you now possess. For as much as it empowers you, you empower it. You bring them together.”

”I told you,” Embrace appeared, “I could not be without you.”

”Be silent, Knowledge! You are meddling!”

”You are not a monster, Fadewalker,” Knowledge challenged, ignoring Doubt, “You are simply unique. While you cannot create spirits, you can change them. Influence them. Not all dreamers are capable of such, but all dreamers are uniquely touched by the Fade. For you, you can be both the wound and the balm. The means and the end. You can recall a demon back to its original purpose or corrupt a spirit. You are capable of great things, if you’ll only allow yourself.” His teal eyes burned. “Set aside the doubt. The fear. Become who you are meant to be.”

”You cannot be rid of me! I AM YOU!”

“Tell me, do you know what Doubt is? How I am to deal with her?”

”There is not much more I can offer, save this: if Doubt is a spirit you have influenced—unwittingly corrupted, even—what would her original purpose have been? What sort of spirit would have aided you against what is the concept host of doubt? You must discern what is doubt. What is your doubt? What sort of host concept would be the opposing nature of such a malignant purpose?”

“What lay at my heart? At your heart? They can counsel you all they want, in the end, they understand the truth. Just as you do. You must face yourself to mold me. And we both know you cannot do it.”

”Don’t listen to her,” Purpose urged, “You are stronger than she wants you to believe.”

“Are you, little Meira? Do you remember yet? Oh, little light, what did you do?”

At her words, the vaguest memory played in the back of my mind. I could not make out any details, but I could feel something. That thing I had drawn back in the clearing near Haven. “Oh my Maker,” I breathed, “What did I do?” I looked at them all. “But how? How would I have influenced a spirit prior to breaking the Rite of Tranquility? My dreamer abilities were suppressed by Deshanna’s magic.”

”It is no different than Shame,” Knowledge explained, “Whatever helped to shape Doubt, you drew to yourself in that cell. It was already there. Just like your beloved, once the Rite of Tranquility was broken, once your true magic reemerged, you unwittingly influenced it into something more powerful. All that is left is discerning what it is at your core.”

Purpose nodded. “Which is why we cannot guide you further. You have the power to influence what Doubt could become. As it was with Shame. But she will do everything in her power to sway you.”

“Because I am you. That is why they cannot help you. For if you fail, if I influence you, what you fear will be unleashed.”

”Why are you telling me this?” I questioned her.

”Because you needed me. And when you come to face me, you will remember why. And we both know you will wish to forget once more.”

”You must go now, before she brings about ruination for Sigrid and the boy.”

With that he pushed me out of the Fade. My head felt like it was splitting, so many pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, but the most important one—how I dealt with her—stirred fear within my heart. Yet, I knew, I was running out of time to face her. But first, we had to deal with Grandin.

Inhaling sharply, I focused on him. Unlike Sigrid, the song of his possession was not harmonious. It was discordant chords; harsh, sharp. Their individual melodies were unraveling, forgetting their own notes. What notes remained began sounding in a new rhythm, creating a new melody. And that something new was not benevolent.

I looked to Grandin. “I understand that you want to fight, Grandin, but this is not the way. You’re corrupting each other.”

Grandin turned spiteful again. “Before the spirit came, I was mediocre with my magic. Now? I feel unstoppable. We’ve seen your power, Lieutenant. We know where it stems from. Why should you alone have such power? What makes you worthy?”

I wish I didn’t have this power. More than you know. “Focus, Meira,” Purpose called. Purpose. It gave me an idea. “When your purpose is done, will you stop or will the rage take you?” I questioned.

”I will serve your cause, mortal,” the spirit stated for Grandin, “I swear it.”

”I know you believe that, but you are not meant for this world, Spirit of Purpose. Once the cause with which you were drawn to him is done, you will have no purpose. The corruption will be complete and both of you will be lost. Is that what you seek? It doesn’t have to be that way,” I pleaded, “Release Grandin, spirit.”

The light diminished, Grandin returning as his eyes glared at me. That new song was beating faster, the notes harder, sharper, sounding like rage. Their voices mingled as they scoffed a laugh. “Release? The spirit remains because I want it to. I will protect our people. I want to fight, Lieutenant.” ’The host must choose to let go.’

“I cannot allow the corrupted to wander the Basin, Dreamwalker,” Sigrid challenged, “I may be in exile, but it is my duty as an Augur. Even if I am an apprentice.”

”Do not interfere,” I commanded, “You do not release your spirit for selfish reasons as well. Who are you to decide this boy’s fate?”

She looked as if I’d slapped her. ”H-how do you know that?” She collected herself, turning her staff upon Grandin. “It does not matter, the elf boy is gone!”

“If you stop me, then I cannot stop them. I won’t allow it!” Their individual melodies were coming to an end, a single note of each remained. Grandin went to attack us all.

“NO!” I screamed in defiance, fade-jumping towards him, fingers pressing to his forehead at the same time I heard the others shouting my name. 

All of us clashed together in an orchestra of discordant chords. It was like Anders, the pain searing through me nearly unbearable. Being near demons was normally painful, but a pain I had learned to focus my way through unless they were particularly powerful. This pain was amplified—like a thousand knives lacerating my skin, screams unending echoing within my mind. It was as if I were drowning within the Fade, unable to make heads or tails of it. I could only think that it was because Grandin and the Spirit of Purpose were melding, twisting into an abomination. Something about the mortal and immortal combining amplified the malevolent force at work. And it rendered me weak.

When I had met Anders, it had been in the physical world, the pain affecting my physical body. But here it was as if their corruption was attempting to infect me as well. With a grunt of effort, I reached out with my magic. I could feel an echo of their individual melodies sounding in my mind. The Spirit of Purpose was easier to reach, its melody turning into a dark harmony as it perverted into Rage. I grasped onto it, a blazing inferno meeting my touch, threatening to burn away all I knew.

”Meira! You must hurry!” Purpose shouted.

I turned towards his voice. I was within a great fire, flames wreathed around me as they were twisting upon themselves, joining into amorphous lava. Beyond it, I saw Purpose. He had his sword and shield in his hands. Alongside him were the others. Prudence, Serenity, Ardor, Perseverance, Charity, Joy, Intent, and Embrace. Shoulder to shoulder they all stood, weapons at the ready as a great cloud of bitterly cold darkness rushed at them.

The inferno that was Rage threatened to overwhelm, its power seeming to be amplified by Grandin’s magic. With effort, I tried to soothe that fury with my ice magic, within its coolness a gentle call to its benevolent nature. As I did, I felt beneath the rage and overwhelming grief. At it, a hand reached out from the firestorm and grabbed my wrist painfully. Yanking me further into the flames, I came face to face with Grandin. His eyes were two great baleful lights, his brow furrowed and teeth bared.

“I did not ask for your help,” Grandin spit.

”Please, Grandin,” I begged, “Let me help. If you don’t, they’re just going to cut you down.”

”I am dead already.”

What I had frozen burst forth as blistering lava clawed at me and I screamed in pain. Grandin and the spirit slammed together, melding into one. They were gone. Rage’s great talons of fire raked through my mind and I threw myself from the Fade. Reentering my body, I collapsed as Grandin screamed a roar. Above me he was wreathed in flames, the fire dancing upon his skin, but not burning him. His eyes disappeared, only the baleful light of the rage demon shone. Molten lava began pouring from them like tears. Fire erupted in his hands, a firestorm blazing to life. 

”I told you!” Sigrid shouted as she hit him with an ice spell, but Grandin only laughed.

Pressing myself to stand and Fade-step away, I growled, “No! I had a chance! I would’ve succeeded, but Grandin chose. He chose possession. Chose to be an abomination!”

”And why wouldn’t I, Lieutenant?” He mocked, his voice now a mix of his own and the demon’s. “It’s no wonder the world fears us. Look at me! Look at what I can do!” He shot an inferno from his hands as the templars raced ahead of us to slam their shields together. I conjured an ice wall to protect us from the heat of it, but the raw power he now held was beyond what the templars’ and my ice wall could shield against. “The Jaws of Hakkon shall know fear—I will sear it into their bones!”

”Then there is only one way to deal with him,” Cullen breathed.

“You see?” I met his eyes. Where once there might have been anger, I saw only sorrow. Regret. ‘I do so with a heavy heart.’ “You helped him get here, Meira,” Purpose spoke in my mind, “Acceptance—Grace—is what he needed. He needed Embrace. It wouldn’t have been possible without Shame first.” I pray you are right.

Cullen looked at me sympathetically, “It was enough that you tried, love. He made his choice. Now, you must lead your men.”

With a heavy breath, I turned to the Battalion. “Fire mages, stay back! You’ll only bolster his power, but do what you can to protect the others from the firestorm! Barris, Trevelyan, pin him down and rally the others! Asaala, Laren, spell purges! Amelia, cover them and aim for the eyes. Alain, don’t let it escape! Rion, Serena, Talwyn, to me!” Summoning ice into my hands, I stooped to the ground and began tracing glyphs as Rion, Solana’s sister and the mage from Redcliffe, Talwyn, came to stand at my sides. “Rion, conjure a blizzard to try and tame his firestorm. Talwyn, keep hitting him with a Cone of Cold. Serena, keep him distracted and bottlenecked with ice walls and Winter’s Grasp. Buy me time while I create an ice mine. It’s going to take everything I’ve got to freeze him. Once he’s frozen, we’ll have to hit him all at once! Go!”

In unison, they assaulted Grandin. Templars suppressing his magic, mages attacking with opposing magic. Grandin laughed mockingly, taunting us with the sheer power he now possessed. His fire magic was even hotter than Solana’s, which I did not think possible.

Cullen stood over me, shield before him, blocking fireballs while I worked hurriedly on the glyph. I summoned the breastplate, my ice magic bolstered, causing the glyph to be intensely cold. So much so that my fingers were solid ice as I wrote it out.

Selena’s ice walls shattered, Talwyn screamed as he went flying towards the mouth of the cave. Rion shouted obscenities at the abomination as he fought to keep his blizzard alive. Asaala and Laren were shouting that they couldn’t hold him back much longer. Barris and Henry warned that they were going to use Wrath of Heaven. The heat of Grandin was coming closer. Ghilani whimpered and I told her to go. With effort, I paused the glyph to cast a barrier around those closest to me. 

“Talitha!” Cullen yelled.

”Almost there!” I shouted back, “Just a little longer!”

Barris and Henry summoned the great pillar of light that was the Wrath of Heaven. The fighting paused a few heartbeats, Grandin’s magic evaporating. I scrambled to finish the glyph in the respite. But it was too brief as only moments later, the firestorm erupted once more—with interest. Rion gave a shout, dropping his staff and clutching one of his hands as it’d been badly burned. Grandin lunged for him, his hand becoming molten lava claws as it swiped at Rion. Rion cast a barrier in the nick of time, but Grandin’s power was too much for it. The barrier burst and the force of it knocked Rion off his feet, sending him rolling. Smoke curled off of him where he lay, unmoving.

“You will not stop us!” Grandin roared, “The Jaws of Hakkon must burn!” The flames burned even hotter, all but the fire mages having to retreat for fear of melting.

”Lieutenant!” Barris shouted, “We can’t hold him!”

“Talitha!” Cullen urged.

”Only a few more runes!”

Molten lava spurt across the floor, the fire mages racing forward, summoning their own fire to try and absorb the heat. Selena conjured ice wall after ice wall, they melting faster than she could conjure. Talwyn recovered, limping towards the front line.

“Talwyn! Ice arrows!” I shouted.

He nodded before he waved the few templar archers within the Battalion forward. He enchanted their bows and arrows to be covered in ice magic. They released a volley, Grandin roaring in response. A few seconds later, massive fireballs flew overhead. Talwyn and Serena getting an ice wall up just in time, but boiling water splashed on those behind it, hissing against barriers. Grandin’s heat was just on the other side of Cullen.

”You will not stop me, Commander,” Grandin threatened, “You are too weak.”

“TALITHA!” 

Sigrid slid along the ground to sit next to me, furs and hair singed, her fingers glowing with magic as she wrote the last few runes. They were archaic, but would finish it. “There!” I hollered as we finished, the glyph glowing with magic as it primed. “MOVE!”

Sigrid Fade-stepped away from Grandin. Cullen turned, arm crashing into my waist, as he scooped me up and threw us away from Grandin. We rolled across the ground, he coming up in a lunge, his shield before him as he protected me with it and his body just as the ice mine exploded. Grandin let out a shout that was cut off as the ice consumed him.

“Now!” I ordered as I pushed myself to my feet and Fade-stepped at Grandin.

Conjuring my spirit blade, I cut through him just as the others did with their own blades. After a heartbeat, what had once been Grandin shattered into a thousand pieces. The Veil thickened once more. Anger and shame burned hot in my chest.

“Andraste’s pyre!” I hissed as I stared at the shattered remains of Grandin. “I shouldn’t have waited so long. I should’ve done more. I should’ve forced him!”

”No, Lieutenant,” Cullen said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder, “That would have only made it worse. If revenge is what he sought, he would have found it. Whether on his own and been killed or by summoning another demon and killing more.”

“But what if—“

He shook his head. “You cannot dwell on what could have been. It will drive you mad.”

I met his eyes. ‘When you touched him.’ I shook off his hand and walked towards Grandin’s remains. Summoning the greave from Ardor, I set it aflame and murmured a prayer on his behalf. That done, I went to Rion whom was already being treated by Sigrid. Solana was seeing to Talwyn and a few of the other injured. Barris directed the templars to cleanse the area and see to gathering what remained of the Hakkonite bodies. 

“Is he alright?” I asked Sigrid.

Her dark eyes flicked up to me before focusing on Rion’s injuries. “He’ll be fine, lowlander. A good burn and a few broken ribs is all.” She looked over her shoulder at the lingering flames that were burning away Grandin. She let out a sigh and met my gaze. “You know my shame, Dreamwalker. And the lad reminded me of why it is something to be ashamed of.” She searched my face. “But can you understand? I hear lowlander mages see the gods differently. But you’re a Dreamwalker, surely…I made no offering. I prepared, I began the spell to release the spirit here with me…” Her voice grew thick. “I could not do it! I have no close companions in the hold! No kin! I cannot lose my only friend.”

”I do understand,” I admitted, “but I also know that once the spirits who walk with me see their purpose through, I must release them. They may bring me companionship, but I also know the influence I can have upon them. I would not wish to unwittingly corrupt them. You’re given a teacher to guide you as a child. You are no longer a child.”

She looked away, her voice knowing her argument weak as she spoke, “Some mages need the help of a god all their lives.”

“You do not need help, Sigrid, you desire companionship. And the tighter you hold your grip, the more you cling to that desire, the more risk you take.”

”The gods change, the gods can die, and yet…” She sighed. “I do not want to lose the one who loves me.”

I knelt to her level and hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Truly, I do understand. I understand what it is to be lonely. To be alone. It would be hard to let go of such a friendship.”

Her jaw clenched as she held in tears. ”It is. Yet I swore an oath. I think the Augur knew. All this time, he knew I never cast the ritual. It is not right to stay in pity. I will confess to him. And seek his advice. I will return with your party to the Hold.” She stood and went to Barris, telling him to gather the Hakkonite bodies together at the mouth of the cave, that their Hold would want to see to their funerary rites.

”How’d we do, Lieu?” Rion questioned as he came to, pain lacing his voice. “Not bad for our first abomination?”

”Rion, you got handed your magical rear and then decided to take a nap,” Asaala ribbed.

“I meant to do that, you know,” he chuckled and then hissed as I began healing his injuries. “Not so much the nap part.”

”At least you aren’t dead,” Henry quipped as he came to stand beside me.

”Would you’ve wept for me, Trevelyan?”

”I would’ve danced on your ashes.” Henry smirked.

”Aw, you do care, Templar,” Rion cracked a grin.

“Is everyone alright?” Belinda Darrow questioned as she led those who’d been posted at the cave’s mouth inside.

“That Avvarian woman told us the boy became an abomination?” Briony questioned at her side. “Is it slain?”

”Grandin fell to his grief and rage,” I stated as I stood, staring Briony down before looking to the others. They lowered their eyes, humor evaporating. “Can we remember that the abomination was an elven boy only this morning? He lost a friend, as we all have in recent months, and sought revenge. In so doing, he was slain by his friend’s murderers. As he lay dying, a spirit offered aid to him. Together, they burned their way through the Hakkonites. And when it was done? He couldn’t let go. I tried to help him and the spirit separate, but he did not want my help.”

”And this is why we had the Harrowing. The Rite of Tranquility. For such mages as he,” Briony stated, chin lifting.

”Templar,” Barris barked, “Now is not the time.”

Briony shot a glare at Barris. “It is the truth.”

”Or does such a thing happen because of the Harrowing? Tranquility?” Solana argued. “We live in fear of our own power, of our ability to become abominations, of one bloody misstep that when we can no longer keep it bottled up we lose control completely. Decades of fear-induced repression coming to a head so forcefully that there is no other alternative?”

”So the only alternative for mages when something grave occurs is to become the very thing the Order teaches us you are?” Briony challenged. “Have you not just proven our argument in your statement?”

Anger flickered in my chest at their bickering. “Enough! A boy lay dead! A boy! He is not some pawn in your arguments!”

”He’s dead?” Harding’s sorrow-filled voice echoed softly off the culvert’s walls, silencing us all. “Maker…Another one gone. Just like that.” Her forest green eyes shone with tears as they flicked to Cullen. “You never get used to it, do you? Losing someone under your leadership?” Cullen pulled his lips into a hard line and shook his head. Her lips quivered even as they pulled into a sad smile. “Maker, I’ll miss him. The boy was great company. Terrible jokes, but that was part of his charm, you know?” Cullen gave a nod. Harding’s face fell. “We should return to the Hold. Spotted more Hakkonites.” A final look around the cave as if searching for Grandin, Harding left.

Briony cleared her throat as her eyes flicked to me. “Apologies, Lieutenant. Whatever our differences, I am sorry for the boy.”

”Just try to keep in mind that for most mages, we cannot even grieve properly for fear of drawing demons,” I challenged, “We must constantly restrain our emotions in order to remain free of temptation. To fully feel is a gift few of us are allowed without consequence. Do you have such a struggle, Briony?”

“The area is cleansed, Lieutenant,” Barris reported, filling the silence when Briony did not reply.

”Then let’s get out of here.”

…

“Praise to the Lady!” Svarah called as she stood from her chair in the Feast-Hall, “For we have two reasons to celebrate this night! In honor of our guest and his offering to our Hold.” She gestured to Cullen, who sat in the chair beside hers upon the dais as the guest of honor. “And in honor of Sigrid’s return!”

The Feast-Hall shook with the force of the answering hollers of praise. We sat within the large building, the Battalion, Harding’s scouts and Cullen’s soldiers and I at one of the long tables, the Hold’s denizens at the others. While the tables were not the fine, smooth craftsmanship of the long tables at Skyhold, they had their own elegance. The feet were carved to look like bear feet and claws, the trestles whittled into bears standing on their hind legs and the stretcher between etched with the tales of Stone-Bear.

Upon the surface was a bounty: roasted game and fowl smothered in mushroom sauces; baked fish wrapped in large pungent leaves; clay bowls filled with roasted potatoes and gourds drizzled in herbed goat butter; wooden bowls of greens both grown and gathered tossed with oil and salt; wooden trays stacked with fresh baked bread; and pies of baked goat cheese, topped with apples dripping with honey and sprinkled with nuts. Great tankards of mead lined the tabletop. In the middle of the room, more meat roasted on a great spit over a large fire pit in offering to the gods, the smell of the the herbs filling the air.

The stone floor was covered in furs, the wood planks of the walls with woven tapestries depicting Avvarian feasts. Braziers lined the tresses. Where Svarah and Cullen sat, studded leather curtains hung behind them separating small tables laden with tankards that were sat within alcoves. Before them, their own personal feast. As Svarah opened her mouth to speak, she paused. A hush fell over the room as the great bear that had been in the Thane’s throne room lumbered into the feast hall. 

“It seems Storvacker would give us her blessing and join us this night,” Svarah commented as the bear approached their table.

Cullen watched the bear with a sort of fascinated caution. Storvacker grabbed one of the roasts from off their table, dragging it to the floor. But instead of eating it, she lifted her great head and looked straight at Cullen. She pawed her way over to him, sniffing at him as she did. Cullen’s eyes flicked to Svarah, a brow raised. Then, Storvacker’s large nose nuzzled Cullen’s face before she licked him.

“It seems Storvacker thinks you’re a bear cub with mange given that fur about your shoulders.” Svarah gave a hearty laugh as the rest of the Hold burst into laughter. The tips of Cullen’s ears were red, but he kept his composure. ”Now come! Let us not be strangers! Feast and make merry!”

At that, the Avvarians stood from their tables, grabbed some of the Battalion and the soldiers to bring them to their tables. A few sat with those of us who remained. Erik, our guide from before, sat across from me, his blue eyes intense. The Augur and Sigrid joined us as well, sitting to either side.

”Sigrid tells me I have you to thank for bringing her back to us,” the Augur spoke, “I am sorry about what happened.”

I looked to Sigrid, her dark eyes studying me. “Forgive me if I was harsh with you,” I apologized.

She shook her head. “No need, lowlander. Your words were true. I have not decided wether I will go through with the ritual yet or not, but I no longer need feel ashamed.”

”I am glad and wish you luck.”

”So tell us, Dreamwalker,” the Augur began, “What is it like to walk with the gods?”

…

”You actually spoke with him?” Sigrid questioned. “Could see him as clearly as I see you now?”

I nodded. “He is a kind spirit. Wise.”

Sigrid’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I do not suppose that you could…introduce us? For though he has been with me all my life, I have only seen him as all spirits appear in this world.”

”If it will be of help to you,” I agreed.

”What would you know of us, Dreamwalker?” The Augur questioned. “A great burden weighs heavy on you. The gods speak of it. I can sense it. For helping Sigrid, I would offer help in return.”

”I would know more of your magic,” I said, “And more of how you and your spirits have come to share the bond that you do.” I looked to Sigrid. “Sigrid mentioned the gods changing, dying…yet, you’ve worshiped the same gods for generations. If they have changed or passed on, how are they the same gods as your ancestors worshiped?”

”It would be easier to show you, Dreamwalker, then to try and explain,” the Augur stated, “But tonight, we feast.”

The Augur and Sigrid stood to move to another table where Solana and a few of the other mages were now sat. I fought back a smile as I watched the Avvar’s curiosity of us get the better of them. Many wary at first were soon in animated conversation. Serious conversation gave way to laughter and the swapping of tales. Even Cullen seemed to be enjoying Svarah’s company and she his, despite their abrasive introduction.

Once the feasting was over, Svarah led us out of the feast hall, across the bridge and to the space before the cave where her stone throne sat. A few braziers had been lit and as our group drew nearer, a few of the Avvar broke away to take up instruments as a young woman began singing.

The Avvar began dancing, their dances not the refined choreographed steps of Orlais, but the repetitive moves born of tradition and emotion. Svarah asked Cullen to dance with her as her honored guest and though he tried to refuse, she would not take no for an answer. Laughing, I watched as she led Cullen in a rigorous dance. Solana laughed gaily as one of the young Avvar warriors swung her around. The others joined in, not caring that they didn’t know the steps of the dance, but simply enjoying a moment of merriment after the events of the day. Lace eventually joined in, rescuing Cullen as the two performed a traditional Fereldan folk dance.

I had stayed back, laughing and clapping. Suddenly, I felt large hands at my waist as Erik grabbed me and led me in a dance. One that seemed to involve his hands being upon me constantly. It made my skin crawl.

“Tell me, lady elf,” Erik’s voice spoke, a huskiness to it, “are you unclaimed?”

“I beg your pardon?”

A smirk curved his mouth. Sensual. “I ask if you are unwed.”

”I am not wed,” I stated, “but I am betrothed.”

He quirked a brow. “I am unfamiliar with lowlander ways. One is either wed or one is not amongst my people. Intentions may be stated, but until the Rite of Knots is performed, one is free to do as they please. Is this not how it is amongst lowlanders?”

”Rite of Knots?”

”Our matrimonial ceremony.”

I cleared my throat, uneasy about how he was looking at me and the nature of the conversation. “For some lowlanders it may be that way, but for others there is a step in between. To be betrothed is to be promised—intentions have been made clear and a promise has been made. An agreement between the two betrothed to remain faithful until they are wed.”

“A strange custom,” he mused, “for in the Frostbacks we know nothing is permanent. Things are quick to change. Our marriages are temporary, if we want them to be. If you desire to be wed, why not wed?”

“Marriage is not a temporary thing for most lowlanders,” I explained, “It is a lifelong commitment and comes with its own ceremony. One that takes some preparation.”

”All the more reason to enjoy bringing worship to Rilla,” he murmured as he pulled me close to him. “The praises I could draw from your lips. What sweet music it would be.”

My heart started thundering in my chest, anxiety pooling in my belly. Doubt began growling and I felt my control on my magic slipping. I knew the Avvar most likely did not intend me harm, but fear gnawed at me anyway.

”Ser Erik!” Solana laughed gaily as she took his hands from me and pulled. “Dance with me!” 

The Avvar hesitated, his eyes on me, until another hand grabbed mine and spun me. Cullen’s familiar scent washed over me and I relaxed as he held my waist, his other hand lacing our fingers. Solana met my gaze, giving me an imperceptible nod. Cullen pulled me close to his chest, his hold both protective and possessive. I placed a hand on his shoulder, looking up to find him glaring after Erik. He felt my stare as his amber eyes met mine, his face softening as he led me in a simple dance to the rhythm of the music.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Are you alright? You’ve seemed distracted ever since…this morning.” ‘When you touched him.’ I stiffened. “What is it, love?”

How did I confess such a thing to him? “Cullen, I—“

”Stone-Bear Hold!” A deep voice barked. “I come to seek recompense for the breaking of your oath!”

The merriment died swiftly at the voice. A large Avvar wearing the war paint of the Jaws of Hakkon came storming towards us. He wore a large headdress, bedecked with great curling horns. In his hand, a massive war-hammer that glowed with the same ice magic as the other Hakkonites. The design of the paint upon his face was the symbol of Hakkon Wintersbreath. Behind him, a group of warriors and archers.

Svarah weaved through her people, her hands indicating that they needed to stand down. “Thane Gurd Harofsen, I greet you. We have broken no oath.”

”Lies,” Gurd spit, “My people lie dead!”

”Your people attacked the guests of my hold,” Svarah challenged, “Without grounds to do so. One of their people sought blood as retribution—against orders—and killed your people.”

”They were trespassing upon Hakkonite land,” Gurd argued.

”I can attest that they did not,” Erik stated, “For I was with them and assured we kept them from your Hold.”

Gurd hesitated, but his anger remained. Svarah seemed to be calculating in her mind. “Our guests do not know our ways. Let one of them face your chosen champion in a test of my choosing. Should they lose, I shall make an offering to you on their behalf. Should they win, you shall sheath your blades.”

Gurd seemed to consider this a moment before nodding his approval. “So be it.”

”You are welcome to remain, Gurd,” Svarah offered.

“We will camp down below and return at first light,” Gurd stated, “I request that I choose their champion.”

”Very well.” Svarah nodded. With a final glare towards us, the Hakkonites turned and left. “Bull-headed fool.”

”Have we brought trouble to you, Thane?” Cullen questioned.

She shook her head. “We are glad to have the Inquisition as allies, Commander. The Hakkonites are tiresome fools and they have forgotten the Old Ways…but we have pledged peace with them. I will protect my Hold and seek peaceful ways of settling matters whenever I am able. The Hakkonites do not own the Basin, Commander, and your people did nothing to provoke them. But Gurd Harofsen thinks only of battle and war. He seeks a reason to slay us. I will not give him one.” She looked to Cullen. “A climbing contest, Commander. Gurd will choose someone from among your people that he perceives to be weak and slow. While he will choose his strongest and swiftest. Pray that your god favors you or that ours would aid you. If you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night.”

”Maker’s breath,” Cullen mumbled under his breath as the music resumed, “Perhaps this will get us out of here sooner at least.”

“Not enjoying experiencing a new culture, Commander?” I teased.

“I am glad of the ability to travel—to see more of the Maker’s creation—but this is a rather hostile experience,” humor colored his voice, “I have had enough of those in my lifetime.”

”Maybe one day we’ll get to take an enjoyable leave of absence?”

His eyes met mine, his perfect lips pulling into that half-grin before he tried to school his face into neutrality. “Perhaps.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

He grew flustered, looking away. “N-nothing.”

”Hmm,” I hummed to which he cleared his throat.

We enjoyed the festivities a few hours longer and then slipped away into the shadows. Fingers laced, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. I looked up at him, seeing that he was content despite all that had happened. ‘When you touched him.’ “What will he think of you with this new revelation?”

”Cullen—” I began, causing him to look at me, that softness he reserved only for me spreading over his features. “Abomination.” 

He studied my face when I didn’t continue, his only softening more before he suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled us behind one of the huts. Pressing me up against it, one hand on my hip, the other cupping my neck as he tilted my chin. He kissed me deeply.

“Whatever it is, love, you do not have to tell me,” he murmured softly, “I just want you to know that you can talk to me. I see you struggling, see that something is heavy on your mind. I wish only to help lighten your burden, if you need it of me.”

When I said nothing, he kissed me again. His mouth slanted over mine, his lips soft. I knew I should tell him. Tell him what had been revealed. What I feared was the truth. That I was an abomination despite Purpose and the others saying otherwise. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I threw my arms about his neck, twined my fingers into his hair and lost myself in his kiss.

…

We walked back to Svarah’s home, the Thane still awake as she sat at her dining table. Separating for sleep, I found Sigrid in the Fade and introduced her to her spirit teacher. I sat by as the two conversed in length, I coating them in a barrier so I could not overhear. Purpose appeared, throwing himself down to sit next to me as he raked a hand through his hair. I looked at him and found a weariness to him that had not been present before.

His gold eyes met mine. “We’re doing what we can, but you’re running out of time, Meira.”

”I know.” I sighed. “But I still don’t have a plan for how to deal with her.”

”I don’t think you can have a plan,” he said as he laced his fingers over his knees. “I just didn’t want you to go in blind.”

”But you couldn’t tell me for fear of influencing her further. I had to come to understand on my own,” I explained for him.

He nodded. “I’m sorry that I cannot be entirely forthcoming at all times.”

”Forgive me for not understanding,” I apologized as I leaned against his shoulder. 

He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I cannot guide you any further, but know that I will be at your side when you decide to face her.”

”I know.”

”But know too, Meira, that when you do…” His gold eyes studied Sigrid and her teacher beyond the barrier. “I will not remain.”

I whipped my head at him. “What?!”

His hand held my cheek, his thumb running along my skin. “It is as you said to the Spirit of Purpose that Grandin corrupted. I will be without a purpose after that. For me to remain…would be to bring you to harm.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I will never be responsible for that again.”

“But-But—“

”Meira,” he hushed me, “You will not need me anymore.”

”Purpose,” I croaked.

”It is not time yet, Meira,” he murmured as he wiped the tears from my cheeks, “Do not shed your tears for me. You have shed far too many already.” I threw my arms around him, sobbing as I did so, holding him in a tight hug. “Remember your faith, Meira. It is what you need more than anything in the days to come.”

Chapter Text

MEIRA

When morning came, we followed Svarah toward the mouth of the cave. Next to it, was a wall, the Hakkonites and people of Stone-Bear crowded at the bottom of it. The battalion and soldiers were also among them. Thane Harofsen stood upon a platform, warhammer held like a staff, awaiting Svarah. 

“Thane Sun-Hair,” Gurd greeted, the horns of his headdress dipping in the barest of bows that bordered on impertinence. I couldn’t help but wonder if he slept in his warpaint and dress. “Name your terms.”

”You will present a champion,” Svarah began, “and choose one from amongst our guests.”

”Is that all?”

”Aye.”

Thane Harofsen scanned our people, his eyes landing on Lace. “The she-dwarf. I hear word that the spilling of blood was under her direct command. Only fitting that she be held responsible for it.” Svarah looked to Harding. Lace stared Thane Harofsen down, unintimidated, and gave a curt nod. A smug smirk pulling his mouth, Harofsen stepped aside as he gestured to someone behind him. “And my champion.”

The Hakkonite that stepped forward was a tall and lean hunter. Haughty in his stance, he eyed Lace. “Pray that their weak Lady can rise to the challenge, she-dwarf. For Hakkon smiles on me and the blood I have shed for him.” Lace said nothing.

“At the sound of my whistle, the challengers will run at the wall and climb. First to reach the top will be victor,” Svarah explained.

As one, we all turned our attention to the wall. Lace stripped down to her tunic and pants, even removing her boots, before rubbing dirt between her hands. The Hakkonite studied her and barked a mocking laugh. Svarah joined Thane Harofsen on the platform, her face unreadable. A few heartbeats passed before she put her fingers to her mouth, and blew a crisp whistle. At the sound, Lace and the Hakkonite raced to the climbing wall.

In two strides, the Hakkonite overtook Lace and leapt at the wall. Strong hands and arms pulling up a good way before Lace even began her climb. We watched as she launched herself at the rocks. The Hakkonite was nearly a whole length of himself ahead of Lace as she began her climb.

He looked down at her and barked another laugh. ”I thought you small before, she-dwarf, now I can hardly see you.”

Once again, Lace ignored him. Instead, she grasped onto a rock that was jutting out with both hands, searched above her and then threw herself up with a grunt. She grabbed onto another purchase and closed a decent gap between the two of them. Cheers broke out. She did the same again, but the Hakkonite remained ahead.

“The she-dwarf seems tired already, Thane Sun-Hair,” Harofsen mocked, “What offering shall you make to me?”

”The test is not over.”

”It will be soon enough.”

With another grunt , Lace launched herself up, bare feet scrambling along the cliffside and sending her further up before her hands grasped another rock. What she lacked in stature, Lace was making up for in speed, but would it be enough? 

“Come on, Lace,” Cullen breathed, “Andraste, give her strength.”

Lace kept throwing herself from purchase to purchase, scrambling up further with her feet in between each move. The Hakkonite looked to see that she was gaining on him. He tried to throw himself further up the climbing wall, but this was where Lace had the advantage: she was lighter. Where the Hakkonite grabbed, the rock gave way, causing him to slide and lose some of his lead.

Lace took her opportunity. Faster than before, she scurried up the wall, using hands and feet to push the gap between them closed and then climbed past her opponent. The Hakkonite let out a growl of frustration as he clawed his way up trying to catch her. The Hakkonite was a skilled climber, but Lace’s petiteness lent more purchases to her—ones too small for the Hakkonite to use.

Soon enough, she was ahead of him, the top of the wall close. We cheered her on and I prayed for her victory. The Hakkonite gained, but not fast enough. With a final cry, Lace threw herself up and grasped the top of the wall. With a grunt, she pulled herself up just as the Hakkonite grasped the ledge.

”The guest of Stone-Bear has taken victory in sight of the Lady of the Skies,” Svarah announced, “She is released of her blood-guilt. Thane Harofsen, you and your Hold will seek no more the blood of our guests while they remain in Stone-Bear.”

”Aye, Thane Sun-Hair,” Harofsen growled, “But once they’re no longer your guests, we will remember.”

”Then your blood be upon your own hands.”

”Should Hakkon deem it so,” Harofsen hissed, before turning his attention to us. “You’ve made an enemy of the Jaws of Hakkon, Inquisition. Do not forget it.”

We watched as the Hakkonites took their leave, the people of Stone-Bear barely containing their disgust. Svarah approached Cullen once Harofsen was beyond earshot. “A few more days and then we will guide you out of the Basin. Best to do so in the cover of night—both to avoid the eyes of your enemy and the eyes of the Hakkonites.” Her hard face relaxed. “But that is the future. Right now, I must thank you.”

”Not me,” Cullen shook his head, gesturing to Lace as she ran towards us, “Scout Harding.”

”I thank you, Scout Harding, for your skill. The gods smiled upon you.”

”Thank you,” Lace gave a slight bow, a grin on her face. Her cheeks were pink from the exertion, sweat on her brow. “Years of climbing after sheep and Fereldan boys teasing the dwarf, you learn a thing or two. And I owed it to Grandin.”

“Should we expect further trouble from the Jaws of Hakkon?” Cullen questioned.

”Not while you remain guests of my hold,” Svarah assured, “but I would not venture from here again. Not without a larger force of your people.” Cullen nodded his understanding. “We’ve a few more things to finish for your supplies, Commander, but we will have you on your way within the next few days.”

…

The rest of our time with the Avvar was spent within the Hold. Sharing their communal meals, Cullen and the soldiers practicing with their warriors in the arena, I and the Battalion speaking with their Augur and mages. One evening after the Battalion and I observed the Augur, we got into an argument in the feast hall.

”All of these people should be abominations the way they practice magic!” Briony hissed.

”It just lends credence to the lies of the Order and the Chantry that they’re not!” Solana spit back.

”Or, it simply shows the truth of Our Lady’s words: all magic can serve,” Barris debated in his calm, collected way.

”You cannot be serious!” Briony shouted, disbelief in her voice.

”Is the lieutenant-commander not proof enough?” Barris probed. “She has eight spirits walking with her.”

”Ten, actually,” I corrected.

Barris gestured to me in a “see” sort of way. “If anyone should be an abomination, it is her and yet she remains uncorrupted.”

”She is a dreamer mage,” Briony dismissed with a wave of her hand. “We do not even know what such mages can do.”

”Why can you not accept that perhaps your Order got it wrong? That the Chantry got it wrong?” Solana argued.

Briony pinned her down with a look. “The fact that magic is dangerous has not changed, Amell. The scars left in the world from the Blight that mages brought about—one of whom is currently walking the earth—still remain. Still crawl out of the dark and slaughter thousands every so often.”

”And it was mages who turned the tide in the Blight, earning Drakon’s favor for doing so. No, Briony, the fact that you cannot abide that magic is not as dangerous as you think it is has not changed,” Solana declared. “That is the fault of every templar. Your inane stubbornness. Your pride.”

”Our pride?” Briony sneered as she stood abruptly from her chair. “We soldiers who do nothing but sacrifice and serve all our lives so that others may be safe—including you. We keep you safe in order that you may practice your magic. The very magic you claim I overestimate the danger of. Do you not see what magic has done?”

”But it wasn’t magic, Briony,” Belinda interjected softly. “It was a mage who intended evil. Magic is just a tool. No different than our blades.”

”I have lived with magic all my life, templar,” Rion added, anger on his face but not in his voice. “I know I could wield it for evil, but I choose not to.”

”And demons? What of them?” Briony demanded. “Will they let you choose? Will they let a child choose?”

”You saw the mage children here,” Rion pointed out. “Were those spirits malevolent demons?”

”This is a dangerous game you are playing at, Lieutenant,” Briony glared at me. “Such practices with magic will lead to pride and the inevitable fall.”

”I wanted you all to see up close how they practice magic here,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest. “Not with the intention of emulating it, but to show that what we have been taught is not the whole of it. There is danger here, to be sure, but perhaps it is the very dogmatic teachings to fear magic that leads to the dangers we face. If mages were less afraid of their magic—of the Fade—if templars understood more fully, mages could learn to wield their magic and defend themselves against the dangers of the Fade with more confidence. And templars would only be needed when those mages who choose to be willfully malevolent try to bring their corruption upon the world.”

”Like the Grandin boy did,” Briony slighted, hazel eyes flashing.

”Briony,” Barris cautioned.

”The Lieutenant said it herself, the boy chose.”

”And so we acted,” I reminded her, “Together.”

”Which is all the Lieu is trying to get us to do—to make a way forward. Together,” Rion stated.

Briony looked at us all, her face hard. I could see the thoughts playing out in her eyes. The war she was having. It was the same war Cullen had gone through within himself. To see it gave me hope. Hope that she would find her way. She let out a breath after a few heartbeats before giving a curt nod and resuming her seat.

”You lowlanders are nearly as eager to fight each other as we Avvar,” the Augur chuckled from behind us. I turned in his direction, his eyes landing on me. “Dreamwalker, if you would come with me. I’ve something to show you.”

I stood from my chair, excusing myself, before following him out the door. He led me up to his hut, the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon coloring the skies in corals and turquoises. Cullen would soon be leaving the arena with the troops to join the others for the evening meal. Despite being amongst another group of people, we had fallen into our usual routine. He with the troops, I with the Battalion, not seeing one another until meals or right before bed. I’d try working up the courage to speak with him about Shame only to find the words dying in my throat as soon as I laid eyes on him. I knew I was being a coward. Deceitful even.

”It is because you know. Should he come to know the truth, what he fears of magic, he will once again fear in you.”

And as she said those words, I realized she had been right all along. I was afraid. I doubted. It wasn’t that I doubted Cullen, but that I doubted myself. That I could ever keep control of my magic, that I would never hurt him, that I was not a monster. 

”In the absence of light, shadows thrive,” Prudence whispered, “Remember, Fadewalker. Remember what it is you realized when you faced me.”

”That is the point, Wisdom, she does. And she realizes that what you said as Pride was the truth: her hope, her faith, is nothing more than a false reality. A shield she uses to guard her from her true reality.”

Again, I felt that memory at the back of my mind. Faint and foggy, the details muddled. As if it no longer knew its own shape. I reached for it, my fingers brushing against it. At first, biting cold met my fingertips, but as I felt the other spirits fight against Doubt despite her maddened ravings, something warm burned beneath the ice. In that warmth, I could hear singing. The singing was both my voice and not, but the other voice was one that was somehow familiar.

Like the gentle touch of my mother. The guiding hand of Mother Surana. The safety of my father’s arms when he’d held me as a child. Greagoir’s arms as he’d carried me from the crowd. Irving and Solana’s voices as they’d encouraged me to not be afraid of my magic. Ellana as she’d thanked me after I’d hurt her with my magic and then tried to heal the hurt. The first time I’d heard the Chant speak of how my magic had purpose. And Cullen’s voice as he’d told me he did not think I was a monster. I couldn’t make out all the words of the song, but a few came through, humming along my bones, caressing my soul and renewing it.

‘I am not alone. Though I am flesh, Your Light is ever present, and those I have called, they remember, and they shall endure. I shall sing with them the Chant, and all will know, we are Yours, and none shall stand before us.’ 

“Remember, Meira!” Purpose urged.

Doubt let out a maddened howl, but I reached out for her. For the door. It was frigid, but at my touch she stilled beyond it. Gently, I pressed it closed again. I understood, then, what had happened. I’d realized at Solasan what Doubt was, that she was more complex than just a demon. I’d drawn her to me in that cell. In the midst of what I’d suffered as I’d clung to faith. I’d drawn her—a Spirit of Hope. Because that is what was at the core of my faith, what had sustained me in that cell, and what I had lost: hope. 

And it was why Doubt was certain I could not face her. Could not face what had caused me to lose hope. Because without hope, I had nothing. I was nothing. My faith, my love, my future—it was all meaningless without hope. For if I had lost it once, would I not lose it again? I pressed my forehead against the door. “I am sorry.” I had done this to her. A benevolent spirit that had come to my aid in my darkest moments and I had twisted her against her purpose. How did I face—how did I correct—such a grievous transgression?

”It is your duty, Dreamwalker,” the Augur’s voice spoke, drawing my mind to the mortal plane. I met his eyes. “Fear not, I do not know the details, but the gods whisper of your struggle.”

”And if I go to undo this mistake, how do I not also lose myself?” I questioned, more to myself than to him. “And Purpose…”

”Come,” he waved me into his hut. “You may be comforted in this.” He gestured to something on his wall. Curious, I walked closer to it. Nearly hidden, except for a glimmer when the light hit it at the right angle, were a collection of glyphs. “The god-runes took me months to carve, but if you would know more of our magic, these will teach you.” 

“What is it written with?” I questioned.

”Veilfire,” the Augur stated. “Have you no experience with it, she-elf? I hear tell that it originated with your people.”

“I do,” I said, recalling the magical flames within the temple, “but I have never conjured it myself. It was a magic…banned by our Chantry.”

“Banning knowledge. Fools.”

My lips twitched with a smile. “A friend of mine said the same.” Dorian had requested that Veilfire: A Beginner’s Primer with Numerous Teachings be brought to Skyhold’s library and more specifically the mage tower so that we could study the magic. I’d read the primer, understood the theory behind it, but hadn’t been able to conjure the magical fire. “I have read the theory behind the mechanics of it, but fire magic is not my strong suit at the moment. I am barely able to conjure ordinary magical fire.”

”That should not hinder you. You are a dreamwalker. Veilfire is the flame of the gods, full of their memory and their emotion. Do not think of it so much as fire that burns and brings warmth, but as light which illuminates and clarifies.”

“I had not thought of it like that,” I admitted.

I held my hand out, thinking as he had suggested and after a few moments the bluish-green flames lit in my palm. As he said, it was neither hot nor cold, but simply a light. Instead of smoke curling off the flames, it was the sounds of spirits whispering. Once the magic lighted in my hand, the glyphs upon the wall flickered to life. The sensation of the Fade washed over me and before my eyes the vague impression of a great battle in the distant past played out before my eyes.

A spirit protectively watches over Avvar from Stone-Bear Hold as they corner a rival tribe in a forest. Joining in battle, hollers of challenge rise over the crash of blades and shields. As they fight, the spirit turns aside blades to protect the Stone-Bear warriors. The snap of arrows sounds in my ears, a lash of magic blazes my sight blinds momentarily. The rival Avvar fall, bu so does the spirit. 

Time skips forward. The dim silhouette of a great ceremony of mourning comes into view. I watch and listen as the Avvar from Stone-Bear pray and sacrifice offering to the spirit destroyed in the last battle. I feel as months pass, but an impression is left that the prayers do not fall deaf upon the Fade.

The last scene plays out before me. Another ceremony, brimming with excitement and anticipation. I watch as Stone-Bear Hold celebrates a nighttime festival around an altar piled high with offerings of food and drink. The thane of the time begins a song. I cannot make out the words, but it speaks of beckoning. Welcoming. The Hold joins the thane. Through the night, the tempo hastens as the song rises to a crescendo. Just as the sun rises, breaking the horizon and coloring the sky brilliant with reds and oranges, a blazing spirit appears above the altar. It has the same name of the spirit that fell in the battle. The name eludes me, but there is the impression it bears the same honorific. The spirit remains for a time, recalling the prayers the Hold had offered up in the wake of the previous spirit’s death. The new spirit is both the same spirit as before and a different one, shaped by the Hold as they recall their previous guardian. It understands its purpose and it’s for that purpose it has come. The Hold releases an ear-splitting roar of jubilant reception, the echo of it in my ears even as the visions fade.

”How is that possible?” I questioned as I looked to the Augur. “How do your people bring spirits back?”

“You are a wise one, Dreamwalker,” The Augur noted as he studied me, “but I thought it explanation enough.”

”You just…remember it?”

”Mountains crack, forests burn, the gods change and die. It is the cycle of renewal. When a god dies, we must be willing to let it go. For only when it passes on is there a chance of it returning. It will not be the same, but if we hold on to their memory strong enough, the gods mold themselves to fit the shape we’ve created.”

”So Purpose could return?”

”It will not be your Purpose, but it could remember you. The difference is that we call the gods to a purpose and that is what gives them the power to mold themselves to it. It was the encouragement Sigrid needed as well. Despite it being one of the stories taught to us as children by the skalds, we sometimes need reminding. The gods are never gone, not truly, they are simply reborn. If you could call your Purpose to a new role, perhaps you could guide something new to be reborn.” He gestured for me to sit. “Rest and speak with the gods, if you need to. I have duties in the Hold.”

I did sit, Ghilani curling up beside me. I petted her, pulling us both into the Fade. I opened my eyes to find Purpose’s gold eyes studying me. Alongside him were all the others. They all looked at me expectantly.

“Why Hope? Why not Purpose, Faith or Perseverance?” I questioned.

”But what is at the core of faith, Meira? Of perseverance?” Purpose asked, a gentle smile on his mouth. “Hope.” His eyes were warm as he looked at me. “And what is more vital than hope? Nothing. For without it, what can any mortal do? One must have hope or all is lost.” He spread his hands out, gesturing to the others. “For at the core of each is hope.”

”What do you mean?”

”What is purpose but the hope for meaning? What is perseverance but the hope for strength to prevail against all odds? What is faith but the hope for something unseen? The three are so intwined they can be hard to differentiate, but each has its own importance. But what would you have done to call Hope to you? Not Purpose, not Perseverance, not even Faith, but Hope?” He took my hands.
“Yes, you are a dreamer Meira which makes your magic possible, but you also embody hope. You called me, a Desire demon back to my benevolent nature: Purpose. You called each demon within that temple back to their benevolent nature: Scorn to Prudence, Impulse to Intent, Despair to Joy, Envy to Charity, Rancor to Ardor, Sloth to Perseverance, and Famish to Serenity. You could have just killed them all, but that is not who you are. You hoped for better. It is that virtue that so shapes you that it enabled you to call them to their spirit nature without killing them. To call me back to mine.”

”But…Doubt.” I considered a moment, thinking beyond that cell. Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I don’t want to be a monster anymore. ‘Meira!’ ‘Filthy knife-ear.’ ‘Rabbit.’ ‘Magicker!’ ‘Abomination.’ ‘Monster!’ I don’t want to hurt them. ‘Foul and corrupt.’ ‘It is your nature, your disease!’ ‘In the end, you all choose to turn to that Void you were born of.’  “Even before Alrik…I have not always had hope,” I admitted, feeling ashamed.

”And that is the mystery of it,” he agreed, “Yet in all my time observing mortals, I find that often the virtue a mortal reflects most clearly is the one they struggle with the most. No, you never struggled with faith or perseverance, but hope? Too often you have been afraid to hope. Gave in to fear. To doubt.”

I let out a breath, unable to meet his eyes as I asked, “What is she, Purpose?”

”What is the antithesis of hope?”

I flashed a glare at him. “You know, I hate it when you answer a question with a question.”

His lips twitched. “I have to teach you while I still can.”

Despite it all, I gave the barest smile. “I know.” I mulled it over, going back to lessons in the tower:

Wynne stood before us all as we sat at our lecture on demons. She had told us that much of what she was to speak on came from both mages’ and templars’ experiences with the malevolent spirits of the Fade. It had been a long lecture, the only respite found in Jowan and Solana passing me notes full of teasing as Cullen had been on duty overseeing the lecture. Try as he might, he seemed as fascinated with it as some of the mages. I tried my hardest to keep my attention on Wynne, but he was so very distracting, especially when his amber eyes kept flicking to me, my hand tingling with the memory of his touch.

But Wynne grabbed our attention as she nodded her head to one of the Tranquil, named Humbert, that had stood patiently by, he in charge of depicting each demon and then wiping the chalkboard clean. Humbert began to draw as Wynne spoke, reciting an excerpt written by a templar who’d made a career as a demon hunter:

‘Once upon a time, we classified these as demons of sloth, but we learned that despair demons are something quite different. They are not the antithesis of justice or valor, but rather of hope. They form nightmares tearing away the foundations of self and purpose. When brought into the world, they are most attracted to places the downtrodden populate: alienages, slums, prisons, and the like. The miasma they spread can lead to extreme behavior. We look for a rash of unexplained suicides, men and women so filled with grief they lash out. The most intelligent of these creatures are to be feared, for they not only feed on despair, they understand its causes... and seek to bring it about. From the shadows they ruin lives, drinking the tears of those who have no idea the cause of their misery is not random chance.’

Wynne looked up from her notes. “We are often made to feel that demons of pride or desire are the most powerful entities within the Fade, but I must argue this. I believe we have been fooled into thinking they are by those malevolent spirits that wish to remain undiscovered. Pride and desire we mortals often feel. As with rage or sloth. They are indeed hard things to thwart, but not impossible.
“But despair? Only one thing can defeat despair, can protect us from it. But if we lose it, if we surrender to despair…it is the end. The dark with no light. The torment with no escape. For despair drives us to our basest instincts. To surrender to fear, to desperation and to uncertainty. A demon of despair is as close to death personified as will ever exist.”

We looked to the board as Humbert finished drawing. 

I blinked, confused. The board was empty and the room had gone silent. Dark. But I felt it there, in the shadows, the barest whisper of fabric against stone. A death rattle its breath. Skeletal hands grabbed ahold of me and I felt those cold lips against my ear, the smell of carrion in the icy breath spreading across my neck. At it, I could think only of what I had drawn back in the clearing before Haven. That creature shrouded in darkness. Death personified. 

“Do you remember yet?”

I felt something yank on my wrist and I slammed into Purpose. His gold eyes were frantic as he searched my face. “Are you alright?”

“Despair! I gave in to—“ My triumph at puzzling it out swiftly died with the realization. “I…gave in to despair? But I…I don’t remember that.”

Purpose placed a hand against my cheek. “It is the last of the memories you need to recall, but as I said, she has them. Hoards them. Feeds on them.”

”How bad are those memories, Purpose?”

”It is not so much the memories, Meira. You drew Hope in the midst of your suffering, but…” he let out a deep breath, “I told you that you became a void. No longer you, but you enveloped in darkness. I think you…broke. Fractured. Into two halves. I think when you broke, it also broke Deshanna’s curse upon you. So when I—when Desire—made you forget, in the process you refracted and dispersed Hope within your mind—as you did Contrition within Cullen’s. The fractured pieces of Contrition touched by Doubt melded into Shame. For you, Hope fractured and I—Desire—touched it. It melded into Desperation. I tried to destroy it, it a challenge to my dominance over that part of the Fade I had built in reflection to Alrik’s prison.
“I thought I had succeeded, but Despair is powerful. The remnant took those memories. You ‘forgot’ and the majority of you, the benevolent and true you, was restored. Unbeknownst to me, the barest whisper remained, feasting on those memories to cling to existence. But I was part of those memories and I think that is what kept me alive and why I wear Cullen’s face permanently. It inadvertently reshaped me by reliving those memories to feed on them—as the Avvar showed you they do with their ‘gods’. And once Alrik was dead, once you were left to slowly die in isolation, we both grew stronger again. But it is what happened after your true magic was released that has led you to where you are now. You restored me to Purpose and I…” He looked away, shame on his face.
“You needed to remember what happened, but in so doing…I helped you to inadvertently alter her further.”

“You said she has a purpose. You said Despair is powerful. What more could she be?”

“Think about it, Meira,” Prudence questioned as she appeared, her sapphire eyes burning, “What is Despair? If she is not just Despair, the question is: why? In Embrace is several host concepts…perhaps because of the armor you bear. It holds the power of seven spirits. Through it and your magic, Embrace was able to be so much more than just Grace. Given that, couldn’t the reverse also be true? If she hoards a piece of your soul, a piece of your mind, what has she been weaving in the dark? The breaking of Tranquility. Haven. Solasan. Shame. As you have evolved, so perhaps has she.”

Purpose claimed the memories of Desire had influenced Despair. Desperation. Faith and Cole had warned me against Fear. Scorn had said I struggled with Pride in the form of unbelief. ’You shine like the stars in the Fade, a mighty gem. When you touched him, you drew in and refracted the spirit. Without your magic to guide it, however, its nature passed through your corrupted facet—which you call Doubt. Dispersed by your magic, Contrition mingled with Doubt, reassembling into a powerful concept: Shame.’ What would come of Fear, Despair and Unbelief? Doubt.

I looked at them. “How does one regain hope after it has been lost?”

”Have you nothing that brings you hope?” Prudence questioned.

”I do,” I nodded, “but she is certain I will falter at the memories she hoards.”

Prudence shook her head. “If you do, all that you’ve gained, all that you hope for will be lost. What is of greater importance to you? Your past or your future?”

”What if it is too much to bear?”

Prudence placed a hand on my shoulder. “What is stronger than fear? Than desperation? Than unbelief? Than despair?”

”Hope,” I murmured, “but—“

Prudence shook her head, her silver tresses swaying with the movement. “Where does your hope spring from?”

”My faith.”

”Why?”

I looked to Purpose. “Because it gives me the assurance that my magic has a purpose. That I have a purpose. That all I have gone through and will go through has a purpose.”

”And what is that purpose?”

I met her sapphire eyes. “I…am uncertain.”

”And there is her power over you. Your uncertainty. It is the question you will have to answer in order to triumph.”

”But I don’t know the answer.”

Her eyes were gentle. “It is a question many never find the answer to,” she looked off to the distance. “Seeking some noble purpose, some grand answer to the question: Why was I born?” Her lips pulled in the ghost of a smile. “It is a question that comes down to one’s perception of one’s importance. Many are blinded by pride. Inflating their sense of self to shield themselves from the truth that they are of far less significance than they want to acknowledge. When one is proud, one is unable to admit they make mistakes and learn from them. They are even less able to learn from others because they believe the beginning and the end is the self, treating all others with scorn.
“Others are mindful of humility. Understanding that they are but a small thing in the vast universe and ever flowing river of time. When one is humble, one is able to learn from their mistakes and the experiences of others. Having dignity is not wrong, it is simply through which lens we view it that matters. Pride leads to folly. Humility to knowledge. And through the garnering of knowledge, one finds wisdom. If the root of wisdom is humility, how do you believe one who is wise would answer that existential question? How did you when you defeated my counterpart?”

 All I need to know is that I am but a tool of the Maker, a sword forged in the fire to be wielded by Him as He pleases. The Maker created me and I am His. All that He has guided me through, both shadow and light, He did for a purpose. To forge me into that sword. My life belongs to the Maker and whatever His purpose for me, He will see it through. “That I am a sword to be wielded by the Maker.”

“If you are a sword, what does a sword do?” She continued on without waiting for an answer. “It strikes fear in the heart of its enemies and inspires hope in the hearts of those it protects.” She pulled the sword at her hip from its scabbard and held it across her palms. The metal was beautiful, glistening.
“The forging of a sword is as delicate a process as the carving of marble. The metal must be strong, yet malleable. Too hard and the sword will shatter upon impact, too soft and it won’t hold its edge. Often, it is melded with other materials, those that would make it stronger. To do so, the chosen materials are melted down in a crucible that molds it into a form easier to shape into a blade.
”Once this is done, the alloy is heated in the flames of the forge until it is malleable enough to be sculpted by the pounding of a hammer. The process repeated over and over until the metal has become a blade. The process ends as the blade is tempered—heated and then plunged into a vat of either water or oil to harden it—to quench it. If water, it will be brittle and easily break. If oil, the quenching takes longer but in the end the temper is of greater quality.” She sheathed her sword.
“Purpose told you in the beginning that mortals are capable of true change. That we spirits are not. We can only be one or the other.” Her sapphire eyes met mine, cobalt flames. “But you, Fadewalker, are the bridge. As with a sword, you can mold us into alloys. Shame. Desperation. They are the malevolent results of your magic uncontrolled. Tell me, Kin to Spirits, Dread to Demons, what could your magic sculpt? What could come of Doubt redeemed?”

…

I left the Augur’s hut, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Now understanding what plagued me and beginning to have a plan as to how to deal with Doubt, I sought Cullen out. I saw the other soldiers and Avvar warriors leaving the training grounds, most of them still sweaty and panting from the effort, as they headed for the feast hall. I did not spot Cullen amongst them.

Making my way through the group and following the path to the arena, I stood rooted in the spot as my eyes found him. Alone, he stood at the stall the Arena Master usually occupied to oversee the spars. He was shirtless and in the middle of taking a deep pull from his canteen. His dark brow furrowed, his hair damp from the exercise of practice, the wet curls sticking to his skin at his brow. Mesmerized, I watched the water dribble from his mouth, slipping past his chiseled jaw and down the thick cords of his neck where his throat bobbed. Sated, he proceeded to pour the remainder over himself.

The water flowed from his curled hair, caressing his nose, his perfect lips, down the column of his neck to his defined chest, wetting the darker blond hair there. It continued down the center of his muscled abdomen before it dampened the bit of hair under his navel and finally slipped beneath the laces of his leather breeches.

Once again, my fingers itched to draw him. The way the shadows from the low sun outlined his muscular torso. From his broad shoulders, to his powerful arms and chest, to the multiple sinewy ridges of his abdomen, to the deep cuts defining the tops of his narrow hips and falling beneath his breeches. The scars across his tanned skin. The spattering of freckles at the tops of his shoulders. The tight cords of his forearms as he let out a “Maker’s breath” before running his strong, beautifully sculpted hands through his hair; droplets of water catching the sunset and coloring his curls bronze. His long fingers tangled in the curling strands as he smoothed them back. Involuntarily, I licked my lips and realized my fingers tingled with more than a want to draw him—I wanted to touch him. A furious blush burned in my cheeks at the realization. 

That half-smile pulled his lips before his bronze eyes found mine from beneath his long, dark lashes. A dark brow quirked before his easy smile turned virile. ”Did you enjoy the show, Lieutenant?” 

Flames. Caught again. Bashful, my mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Folding my arms over my chest, I looked away as I mumbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He came to stand before me, his movements like a great cat in their power and grace. I was unable to meet his eyes as my face burned. Air caressed my skin as it stirred with the motion of him pulling his tunic on. His heady scent intensified with the exercise and water, the heat coming off of him, his nearness, the virility and pride with which he’d looked at me, catching me once again staring, were all enough to make my head spin. His cool fingers grasped my chin and tilted my head up to look at him. His eyes burned into liquid honey. The scar through his bow-shaped upper lip pulling as my gaze dropped to them.

“Liar,” he whispered, a breath from my own mouth. “I do so adore when you look at me like that.”

”Like what?” 

“With wide-eyed wonder,” his voice had dropped low, husky. “As if I tantalize you. It is enough to drive me mad,” he practically growled the last word before claiming my lips, the callouses of his palms pleasantly rough against my cheeks. He pressed my mouth open as he pulled me closer. I clung to him, his tunic damp in my palms. My eyes stayed closed after he broke away. He caressed my nose with his own, leaving a trail of water droplets along it. “Now, beloved, as much as I enjoyed preening for you, I doubt you came here just to gawk at me.” I chuckled sadly, burying my face in his neck. His arms wrapped around me. “What is it, Meira?”

I met his eyes. “I must beg your forgiveness, my lion.”

”Whatever for?” He questioned, brow furrowing as his addled features sharpened with focus.

“Shame,” I uttered, looking away. “I…I did that to you.”

He was quiet a moment. “What do you mean?”

”Do you remember when we left Haven to go to Dennet? When I entered your dreams by accident?”

“Yes.”

”When I touched you within your nightmare about Kinloch Hold?”

”I do.”

”When I was trying to help Grandin, I spoke with a Spirit of Knowledge to see if it had answers as to how to help him, but also  if it knew how to help me with Doubt. I thought perhaps Shame and Doubt were both spirits—demons—that we had created from feeling an emotion so strongly we gave them form. But the spirit told me that is not the case. That such a thing isn’t possible. We can influence spirits, but we cannot create them.
“However, because I am a dreamer mage, I can influence them into something more complex than simply a malevolent or benevolent spirit born of a single host concept. I can cause multiple spirits to conjoin into something greater.” I swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “When I touched you, I unwittingly influenced a spirit of contrition you had drawn to yourself. Through me—through Doubt—they joined to become Shame. That is why…everything grew worse for you.” I buried my face as tears pooled.
“I hurt you. With my magic. Again.”

He was silent for a long moment. Fear and doubt gripped me. 

“He’s going to reject you. Just as you’ve always known he would.” 

Gently, his fingers wrapped around my wrists and pulled my hands away. His lips were tender and gentle as they pressed against mine. He broke the kiss, bronze eyes smoldering.

“And with your magic, you aided me. Through your magic, you guided me. Without your magic, I would have no hope of ever overcoming my fear of it.” I went weak at the knees, tears pooling in my eyes at his words. “I needed Shame. I needed you, as you are, every piece of you, beloved.” He held my face in his hands, blurry through my tears, but I could see him smiling gently at me. “You do not need to be afraid, Meira. You do not need to doubt. Rest assured, my heart, that I love you more now than ever.” My lip trembling, he took it between is own as he kissed me again, his arms wrapping me in a reassuring embrace. “Is that what Doubt is as well?”

”Yes.”

”Then we will face it. Together.”

…

We departed Stone-Bear Hold under the cover of nightfall. Svarah had provided us with horses born and bred in the Frostbacks, warning us that they were not quite tame as the Avvar believed just a touch of wild kept them brave and bold beasts. The Inquisition would bring Cullen and I’s horses with them as they marched ahead to Adamant, we were to meet them at the rendezvous point in a few weeks’ time.

Along with the horses, they’d given us Avvar leathers and furs to help with the frozen Highlands. They would help keep us disguised from our adversaries when we could no longer use the night or my magic to hide. Climbing gear in the form of specially crafted axes. Warmer tents and bedrolls along with rations. To my dismay, Erik was sent to guide us along the spine of the Frostbacks, following a path known only to the Avvar themselves, to the Elfsblood River. 

The days were long, trudging through the snowcapped mountains. The evenings longer as we tried to stay warm. It became the routine that Solana, Laren, Amelia, Asaala and I all huddled in a tent together, much of the Battalion doing the same in order to stay warm. We couldn’t risk fires in case our enemy had watches along the mountain path. We’d pass the nights discussing the Circles and the Order, debating what the future should look like for the two factions. It was the first time Laren and I had truly interacted. Though awkward at first, we found ourselves staying awake when the others had fallen asleep to talk privately.

”They talked about you,” Laren spoke one night. “When they thought we were all asleep.”

”Who?”

”Ma. Da. The Keeper,” Laren clarified, her dark eyes studying me. “The whole clan tried to pretend it never happened. That you never existed. Even Ellana got to a point where she pretended. But Ma…Da…they couldn’t. We’d hear Ma weeping in her bed. Overheard them talking about you. Your name was taboo. I said it one day, asked who you were. Ma started crying and ran off. Da scolded me. Ellana screamed to never say your name again. It was like you were some ghost that haunted us. Some dreaded cloud that hung over all of us.”

”I’m sorry,” I murmured as I stroked Ghilani’s head.

She shook her head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You were a child. It should never have happened.” Her gaze became piercing. “It is the reason I decided to become a templar. To help steer the course of the future to ensure that it never happens again.”

I was shocked at such a confession. “But…why? You didn’t know me. You have no reason to pledge your life to such a cause for—“

”For a sister I never met?” She raised a dark brow. “Why is that not reason enough?”

”Because—“

”And then meeting you? Coming to realize that you truly were this ethereal creature they’d made you out to be. Having faced hardships untold at the hands of templars only to come out of it seeking the good of both mages and templars? Falling in love with one? Calling both sides to the best of themselves? I am proud to serve under you and to aid you in bringing what you hope for to pass.”

”Well, I…thank you.”

”You should know,” she whispered as she tucked herself into her bedroll, “Ellana has been made whole since finding you again. She’s terrible at showing her emotions, but it was like living with someone undead. Full of wrath and sorrow. Since joining the Inquisition, it is the first time I have seen Ellana smile with true joy.”

…

Eventually, we descended the mountains. We left the mountaintops behind, but what should have been spring in the Highlands still appeared to be winter. Snow was everywhere and from where we stood within the cover of the trees, the great river before us was frozen solid. Erik stopped us before we broke through the trees, signaling for us to hide.

”General Samson is certain the Inquisition will try again?” A deep voice spoke.

Two Red Templars appeared, archers from what I could make of them as they had bows in their hands. Their eyes glowed that crimson red, red lyrium crystals hanging from their necks and growing from their skin. They seemed to be on patrol.

”If that Trevelyan hellcat had the chance, she would’ve told ‘em everything. Anything she knew. Which wasn’t much, but wasn’t nothin’ either,” a voice replied.

 “Then why do we remain here?”

“General Samson hopes to draw out the knight-captain. Or someone of importance. Maybe his elven whore.”

”Why?”

”To deliver a blow to the Inquisition,” the other replied, his voice agitated, “They ready themselves to march on Adamant.”

”Tell me again why we aren’t going to aid the Wardens?”

”Our work is too important. ‘Sides, they have demons to fight with them. And Adamant Fortress is defensible. Given the cockup that was Haven? Then Skyhold? The knight-captain is no strategist.” They shared a mocking laugh. “But Fornier said it’s more than that. The Elder One doesn’t wish to put all his eggs into one basket, so to speak. If we go to aid ‘em, who’s gonna mine the lyrium?”

”True enough.”

”And if we left, that village might start gettin’ ideas.” We watched as they continued on, we silent within the trees. 

Once they were gone, Erik turned towards us. “There is the Elfsblood,” he pointed at the river just beyond the pines. It was a large body of water, but it was clearly frozen solid. “Your enemy patrols and camps all along the hills leading to Sahrnia. There are patrols along the river, but if you follow it within the trees you should remain hidden. You will come to a waterfall just below the settlement. Climb it and you should find a gate leading into the village. From there, you can press on to the quarry in the hills where you will find your enemy.” He turned back to look at us. “I will eliminate the patrol that just passed to ensure they do not come upon you. May the Lady keep you.”

”Thank you,” Cullen nodded.

Dismounting to leave the horses with Erik so he could return them to Stone-Bear, we moved as carefully as possible, I using magic to ensure we were not seen and did not leave footprints. Ghilani stayed as close to me as she could, offering her warmth as she sought comfort. Her ears kept pricking as she heard wolves calling out to each other amongst the heady pines.

Night began to fall before we made it to the waterfall, the dark beginning to swallow us nearly impenetrable. It made eerie as the only sounds were the haunted moaning of the tree trunks as they swayed in the icy wind and the cracking of the ice echoing through the valley. As I studied the night for signs of the Red Templars, the shadows seemed to come alive; moving, watching, breathing.

I shut my eyes tight. It’s not real. It’s just her.

I ran into Laren, her hand steadying me as she studied my face. Cullen had motioned for us to stop and was moving back towards me. 

“Talitha, Laren, you can see better in the dark than we can. We need to make it to the waterfall. Lead us,” he commanded.

Laren nodded and trudged to the front through the snow. I let out a breath, the living shadows gone as I blinked. Going to join Laren, we walked together as we continued to follow the river from within the pine trees. As she scanned the trees for danger, her eyes caught on Ghilani as she walked between us.

”Mahanon is quite impressed with your wolf companion,” she stated, her voice so low only I would be able to hear it.

”Why is that?”

”He says it proves our people’s fear of Fen’Harel to be misplaced. For why would the Trickster send one of his servants to be your companion? Unless the wolf is going to betray you in the end.”

”Do you believe in the gods? Does Ellana?”

Laren was quiet a long moment, a soft snow beginning to fall. In the gentle wind blowing the snowflakes, I swore I heard someone humming. Mmmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. I strained to listen, but it disappeared as Laren answered.

”Sometimes it is hard to know if I truly believe or if it is born simply of tradition. Or if we do so out of hope and respect. Respect for our ancestors and hope that we may flourish as they did.” She looked up to the stars.
“I have hope that it may be possible that something more than the desperate scraps we cling to may come about now that Ellana has given power to that elven woman in Orlais, but…will she truly seek the good of the People or herself?” Her lips twitched.
“As for Ellana…she’s hated the gods for taking you from her, at least somewhat. But who else was she to pray to on your behalf? For your safety? Your joy? That by some gift of the gods, you would be reunited?”

”How has she taken Corypheus? Some say he—and even Ellana’s Mark—proves that the Maker, that Andraste, are real.”

”What do you say?”

“If I needed proof, it wouldn’t be faith.” Laren rolled her eyes to which I chuckled. “That said, he proves that something happened. That something lies within the Fade. And in the Fade, you can see the Black City. There is a truth there, but what the whole truth is…we may never know this side of Heaven.”

”And if you’re wrong?”

”Then I’m wrong,” I shrugged.

”I find the gods and the bits of history we know of our people fascinating. I thirst to know more, as Ellana does. But do I have faith in them? I do not know. In truth, I think all the gods—ours and yours—sound like pompous as—“

“There’s the waterfall,” I pointed as I spotted it between two trees before looking to Laren. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “We need to focus.”

I doubled back to Cullen, telling him we were close to the waterfall. I had to admit he was quite handsome in the Avvarian furs and leathers. It gave him a bit of a wild look compared to his usual meticulousness, especially when his lips curved into that half-smile of his.

He moved up to lead again, Laren directing him. We waited within the pines, watching for another Red Templar patrol. When none came, I dropped my Fade cloak and we exited the trees in small groups. Cullen and the scouts went up first, leaving the climbing axes in the ice for the rest of us to follow.

Once at the top, the scouts waved us forward. The ice beneath our feet crunched and groaned, the pines moaned in the wind, wolves howled. Far above us were the remnants of something massive, the pillars homages to what appeared to be a desire demon and a warrior akin to the armor Venatori warriors wore. A gust of wind blew from the direction of the village, carrying the stench of death.  

We pressed against the wall, moving slowly in a single line. Cullen signaled for us to stop. The entrance to the village sat just where Erik said it would. I guessed normally there would be fishing boats sitting at the shore of the large lake we’d crossed, the shore stretching up to a path leading into the village. The gates sat open, but before them stood Red Templars. 

“What’s between General Samson and the Inquisition‘s general?” One of them asked.

“You don’t know?” Another replied.

”I wasn’t in Kirkwall.”

“To sum it up, General Samson sees through the Chantry’s lies. The Inquisition is just the Chantry under a new name. The Elder One, the red lyrium, the General, our Order—its to get rid of the Chantry. General Samson says if anyone should understand our cause, it’s the Inquisition’s general.”

”Why?”

”I don’t know the details, but they were friends once. The General has his reasons.”

”But Samson wants to kill him?”

”Only if we have to. He’d rather flip him. Or seed him. If he hears the song, he’ll understand.”

I looked to Cullen. This was the second time the Red Templars had hinted at something between Samson and he. I had seen Samson in Cullen’s memories—in the memories Shame had used to torture him. The few times Cullen had spoken of him, there was something in his voice. What had happened?

”He does not tell you everything.” 

My thoughts were interrupted as there was a sudden movement in the shadows across from us. Steel flashed in the light of the braziers sat by the iron gates. A few templars fell before the others even realized they were under attack. The others drew their swords, but the assailant moved too quickly. The templars were down within minutes of the attack beginning, leaving the mysterious attacker standing above the bodies now illuminated by the firelight.

He wore armor of a purple metal trimmed in gold and on his breastplate there was a gold lion’s head. He stood there briefly, assessing the dead, before returning to the shadows. Cullen signaled for us to move forward, weapons at the ready as we snuck into the village. 

The picture that met us was one of misery. All that seemed to remain of the village was a corpse that had been picked nearly clean by scavengers and a few ghouls shuffling through the carcass. Dead bodies were everywhere, most wrapped with a written prayer and their name attached to their burial shroud as they were stacked upon makeshift stretchers. A mound of them ringed the bottom of a statue of Andraste, she alight with an unsettling glow from the dozens of lit candles littering her base.

A member of the Chantry was on her knees before Andraste, her voice hollow as it was carried upon the bitter wind. ”Oh, Maker hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places.”

I shuddered as those words dragged me back to that cell, the shadows on the edge of the candlelight writhing and whispering at it. The cold breeze caressing my skin seeming to snake across it and wrap around like tendrils of the shadows reaching out to pull me into the dark. There were a few weather-beaten tents with the Chantry’s sun upon it and small fires in the village, those still alive sat around the flames, unseeing. None seem to even notice our presence as we moved through, Cullen giving silent directions for us to fan out as he led some soldiers to the northern entrance. I led part of the Battalion and Harding to the southern gate. 

I tried not to jump as an older woman, eyes unseeing but alight with madness, crept from the shadows. She kept rubbing at her ring finger, my stomach twisting as I realized the skin had been chafed off at the repeated action, it now angry red, raw and bleeding. She was muttering under her breath, her thin lips moving until they pulled as her whole face twisted with black hatred. “Templars. Bad templars. Demons with trusted faces.” She continued on, not even seeing us. 

“Maker,” Harding breathed, “What’s happened here?”

A desolate cry rent the air. I didn’t want to look, but my body did so instinctually. A woman cradled a small body against her. The child’s hand not covered by the ratty blanket grotesquely thin, skin stretched too tight over bone. “Oh Maker, why have you allowed this to happen?!”

I felt those words on my own tongue. Bitter in my mouth as they were mixed with the salt of my tears, the metallic tang of blood and the grime upon my skin as I beseeched the stones above my head. My cry echoing, each reverberation going unanswered. No. Whispers sounded in my ears, swirling around my skull and crawling through my bones. With a shuddering breath, white vapor curling from my lips, I whispered, “They’ve lost hope.”

At the entrance, we found more templars dead. The same man as before pulled his blade from one of the templars. As he straightened, he noticed us. Hesitating, his hand gripping his sword tightly. The snowy wind curled around him, in its breath I heard that strange hum again. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm.

”You’re not from the village nor are you Red Templars. Who are you?” He questioned.

”We’re from the Inquisition,” I stated.

He lifted his visor at that, revealing a handsome face. There was anger in his features as he looked at me. “Where in the Void have you been?” 

“I beg your pardon?”

”Your enemy is embedded here. A large operation. Allowed to fester and harm these people. Why has it taken the Inquisition so long to arrive?”

”We tried to get scouts and small bands of troops through with no success,” I explained, “The Red Templars discovered them and…killed them.”

He looked me up and down briefly before nodding. “We secure the village, then we can speak more at length. I have taken down the Red Templars guarding the entrances, but there are more patrolling the woods just beyond. We need to put an end to them before they alert the camp in Highgrove and send the whole of them upon us.”

”Our Commander is at the northern gate.”

”Follow me,” he waved a hand.

He hugged the wall, staying in the shadows as we made our way to the northern gate. I spotted a few torches in the pines beyond, the crimson glow of red lyrium swaying with the gait of the templars baring them aloft. We found Cullen and the others standing amongst more dead templars just outside what had once been a gated entrance. Cullen looked to me before his eyes flicked to the man leading us.

”I am Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s Forces. Who are you?” Cullen demanded.

”Michel de Chevin,” Michel introduced himself as he again lifted his visor, “At your service. Never expected to see the Commander of the Inquisition himself.”

”Michel de Chevin?” Cullen questioned. “I know your story. You were Empress Celene’s personal guard, later disgraced and banished from the Orlesian Court for treachery.”

”As I know yours,” Michel challenged, “The knight-captain who stood by as his knight-commander went mad and pressed her boot to the throat of the mages until one blew Kirkwall off the map, or so the story goes. There’s much more than that to both our stories I’m sure, but they end the same. What does it matter? Despite all, I have a strong arm, a stout heart, and I still serve Orlais. As you do the Inquisition. Red Templars patrol the woods, we should see to them before they alert the others.”

Cullen gave a nod. “Harding. This is your area. Take them out, quickly and quietly. We need to keep our presence here hidden for as long as possible.”

Harding gave a nod, palming her bow and nocking an arrow, before leading the other scouts into the pines. We waited in silence, it taking only an hour for the scouts to take down the nearest patrols. Harding returned, her team falling in behind her. “There’s a large camp sitting further up at the mouth of a cave.”

”Alphonse’s Pass,” Michel clarified, “It is the most direct way to the heart of your enemy’s main camp.”

”I don’t know how much time we have before the patrols should rotate.”

”Morning,” Michel informed her, “These templars have unnatural stamina.”

”It’s the red lyrium,” Cullen stated.

“And that’s the bad news, Commander,” Harding spoke, “Red lyrium. It’s—“

”Everywhere,” Michel finished for her, “All along the land. Spreading. The worst of it at the quarry. I tried to get closer, to observe, but the main force is split between the Tower of Bone near the quarry and Suledin Keep, beyond it.” 

Cullen gave a nod. “Did you come to aid the people of Sarhnia?”

Michel shook his head. “It was not my original intention in coming here, but I have as much as I can. Though I fear help may have come too late. I hunt a demon. This one calls itself ‘Imshael,’ and has settled in the keep. Now that the Inquisition is here, perhaps the Red Templars who guard the keep can be routed.” Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. “All I need is one chance.”

“Imshael?” Cullen probed, “We have it on good authority that this demon is the cause of the unseasonable cold. The freezing of the Elfsblood also its work.”

”A desire demon,” Michel began to explain, “more cunning than anything I have encountered…and I have played the Game. Imshael has roamed the land for some time. If anything, he will have only grown in power. Why he is here in Emprise du Lion, however, is anyone’s guess. Perhaps he gained the cooperation of the Red Templars, or vice versa. Imshael is free because I made a mistake. I will see him destroyed.”

”What can you tell us of the quarry? The keep?” Cullen inquired.

”As I said, I couldn’t get close enough for fear of being caught, but they are up to something. Most of Sahrnia’s people have gone missing. I saw some cages near the quarry with shackles inside. Mistress Poulin, who has been doing her best to help the people, suspects the missing are the Red Templars’ doing. They’ve been providing rations and protection, but maybe they’ve been taking them to work the quarry?”

”It’s like Valammar. Cadash said the same thing. The Red Templars took people into the thaig, but when we routed the templars, there was no evidence of them. They were simply gone without a trace.”

”What about the keep? What’s happening there?” I asked.

”More Red Templars, so far as I could tell. And Imshael. Suledin is an elven fortress, left to crumble. Mistress Poulin informed me of a local superstition that it is the haunt of ancient elven spirits and the people avoid it.”

”Where can we find this Mistress Poulin?”

”She and the few people who have not fallen to madness will be within her home weathering the night. I arrived only a few days ago, Poulin gave me shelter and food in exchange for my attempt to free them from the Red Templars’ grip. I have done what I can, but I am only one man. And while I would happily give my life for the people of Orlais, I will not give my life in vain.”

“We will speak with her later. Let us dispense with the Templars and this demon,” Cullen decided, “Harding, I want you and your scouts to lead all the archers up to the larger camp. Get into positions above them and await my signal. The rest of us are going to surround the camp and ambush it. Mages, cut off any reinforcements that may come from within the pass.” He turned to the soldiers directing them to remain at the village to guard the people within.

“Will you find them? Will you bring them home?” A raspy voice questioned from behind us.

It was the woman from before who’d been holding a child. The child was still in her arms. I didn’t want to look, fearing the worst, but as I did I saw the shallowest of breaths expand the little boy’s chest. He lived, but his spirit seemed to be weak within him, wandering just beyond the Veil. I went to her, hands alight with healing magic.

She tore the child away from me, eyes full of hatred as she hissed, “Do not touch him filthy knife-ear! Your magic is foul! The boy needs food and his father, not your sinful curse upon him!”

”You see? This world will never accept you. Not really. In time, even he will realize.”  Be silent. “This is my purpose, little Meira, to remind you of the truth. To shield you from false hope.”  No. Your words are poison. That is all.  You came to me as Hope. Feeding my faith, guarding me from giving in to despair, calling me to remember why I fought. “And when you stopped fighting?” Did I stop fighting? 

At her silence, I looked at the woman, felt her fear and desperation, could sense something more behind it. I reached out with my magic and saw all that had happened here. Attacks from demons pouring from the open rifts. People disappearing overnight. The Red Templars’ oppressive presence. All that she had lost. This child was her last, the older ones having disappeared or dying from hunger and exposure. Twining my fingers into Ghilani’s fur, I pulled the wolf and I to the Fade.

Ghilani looked to me expectantly. ”Find the child and guide him home.” I watched as she trotted off before studying the Fade.

Oddly, while the town had been constructed, it was without color and empty. I could hear whispering. I strained to listen, but the harder I did, the quieter the whispering became.

”Do you not feel it, Meira?” Purpose clenched his jaw. “Whatever this demon is, it is powerful. It rules over the Fade here and it is preventing me from seeing it.” I watched as Ghilani led the boy back. I touched his forehead, feeling as he slipped back into his body and took a deep breath. Purpose looked at me. “You need to be very careful.”

As those words left his mouth, Shades erupted in the mortal plane.  

Chapter Text

CULLEN

”To arms!” I hollered as Shades erupted all around us. “Get the people inside!”

The creatures roared as they swarmed upon us. There were so many, my very soul was oppressed by the weight of their gluttony. In the darkness, they seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, only the smell of mottled flesh and a single, baleful eye set them apart. Screams sounded from the few cognizant townsfolk, but the soldiers and Battalion quickly leapt into action.

Mages casted barriers, one rippling against my skin, and shielded the innocents as they led them to safety. The templars slammed their swords against their shields, the metal thrumming as it alighted with the white light of lyrium-imbued power. Harding and her scouts scattered to find perches and down as many with their arrows as they could in the light between the mages’ fireballs.

Claws raked across the surface of my shield, I took the blow pushing the creature’s arms up as I thrust my sword into its belly and yanked, gutting it. Black ichor splattered out, the fetid blood of demon polluted the air. The thing raged, but a slash across its throat silenced it and it fell, painting the stuccoed wall with its putrid blood. Another came. Block. Slash. And another. Parry. Thrust. The air grew foul, the rank of the demons choking my nose, filling my mouth, overwhelming my senses. My eyes began to water and I had to rely on instincts alone. Just as I thought we would be routed, the Shade before me froze just before I punched my sword through its skull.

Pulling my blade from it, I shook the rotted blood from the metal as I looked around to find what had happened. Meira stood, her mana an orchestra beneath her skin, silver eyes incandescent with magic against the dark. She was still, her eyes unfocused even as they were alight with magic. There were Shades frozen mid-attack around her, the last remnants of the spirits protecting her shimmering as they disappeared on the cold air. With the Shades’ fall, she reanimated causing her mana to calm and her eyes to dim. She put a hand out, steadying herself against a wall.

”It seems Imshael knows we’re here,” Michel stated.

“That was the demon’s doing?” I looked to the Chevalier, part of his face cast in shadows from the torch he held.

“It was. Imshael is no ordinary demon. Commanding lesser demons is the least of its powers.”

“Will it alert the Red Templars?”

”I cannot say. Imshael has roamed the land for some time. If anything, it will have grown in power. All I can say is that it likes to play.” The man’s grey eyes looked to the hills beyond. “Either way, our enemy awaits.”

I nodded, reiterating my previous orders. Harding and the other archers disappeared into the shadows. The rest fell in behind me, Meira coming to stand at my side. I looked to her, a brow raised in a silent question. She gave a small nod in answer. My gaze lingered, spotting the signs of weariness that seemed to be making themselves more and more plain as of late. She’d confessed the truth of Shame and through it I had realized that she still doubted that I could truly accept her for who and what she was. That she was worthy of my love or trust because of it. ‘Heal her scars’. It was becoming abundantly clear that her scars were numerous and far deeper than she let on. I had begun to doubt that I could heal them. Fear crept in, I worried that bit by bit, she was slipping away from me.

I watched her as she moved forward, leading the Battalion. A moment slower than she, I waved the others on and caught up with her. We moved as quietly as we could toward the upper camp, I praying that we would go unnoticed and be able to ambush them. We split off. Harding and the other archers taking the high ground. The soldiers and Battalion mixing as I tightened my grip on my sword.

”Do you hear that?” Meira whispered.

I strained to listen, but all that met my ears were the sounds of the pines. The occasional wolf. And as we drew closer to the Red Templars’ camp, the unintelligible sounds of chatter. From how she posed the question, I guessed she meant something not expected. “No.”

Worry flickered across her face briefly before she shook her head. We drew close to the camp, staying just beyond the reach of the torchlight. We waited, I counting down in my mind how long I estimated it would take Harding to get into position. I was relieved from doing so when I saw the barest flicker of white from Amelia. 

With a bellow, I led the others to storm the camp. Taken by surprise, but not unprepared, the Red Templars met us. Shield and blade met, a great cacophony of metal scraping against metal, the angry whispers of the red lyrium, the monstrous voices of the corrupted templars all crashing together in my ears. Even through the layers I wore, I could feel the heat of the red lyrium burning—aching—to get inside. I locked shields with a corrupted templar, crystals growing out of their skin, it mottled and stretched. A lipless mouth pulled back from animalistic teeth as dead, crimson eyes glared at me with hatred.

”I’ll grow a crystal garden in your skull!” It threatened, its voice like the grinding of rocks with a whisper behind it.

I felt Meira at my side, a flash as she swept a hand over me. An odd sensation leaching down through my layers to my very skin. The runes of my armor she’d commissioned for me, I had not used them yet, wary the sensation of magic against my skin would send me back there, distract me from battle. And though my hair stood on end for a moment, it passed and with it strength filled my limbs. 

The corrupted templar had been strong, nearly as strong as Carroll, but with the runes activated in my armor, I met its strength with interest. And it wasn’t just strength I felt coursing along my skin, but speed and a hyper-awareness. It was as if the battle slowed around me. My foe pressed against my shield and I let them. Using it to propel myself to twist, I flipped my blade into a reverse grip as they stumbled forward from their own momentum. They now open, I punched my sword into the unprotected space beneath their arm and yanked upwards. Their arm severed, but where blood should have poured out, red lyrium grew.

They bayed a vengeful howl, crimson eyes glowing as they mutated further. Weaving through their maddened swipes with their lyrium limb, I sliced off their other arm in an arc that also sent their head rolling. Their decapitated body crumpled to the ground, red lyrium consuming what remained. 

Foe after foe I met, magic bolstering my stamina and speed. Block. Thrust. Duck. Sweep. Again and again. The maneuvers I’d practiced hundreds upon hundreds of times. Volleys of arrows felled some. Familiar magic froze dozens more. The more that fell, the louder the angry whispers grew, tempting tendrils slipping inside my helm, caressing my ears and worming its way into my mind. Parry. Jab. Punch. Guard. 

An arrow sprouted from my last foe’s neck, causing them to pause just long enough for me to slice their head from their shoulders. When no more remained, I realized I had barely broken a sweat nor did I feel drained. Taking a quick inventory of their camp, cataloguing what we could use, I felt Meira approach. 

Meeting her eyes I asked, “Any wounded?” She shook her head. “Good. Burn the bodies. Have the Battalion take lyrium rations. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

”Should we wait until morning?”

”No. We need to hit them hard and fast so they don’t have time to regroup and send reinforcements.” She nodded, her eyes studying me for a moment, unspoken words in them. “I’ll be fine.”

”You better be,” she warned, “You owe me a wedding.”

My lips twitched. “I shall honor my word, love. I will marry you.”

Though her features did not change, the same weariness and worrying lack of joy in them, she teased as she turned, “I’ll hold you to it, Commander. Wouldn’t want you dying a virgin.”

Blushing beneath my helmet and ignoring the heat that flared in my gut, I growled, “Lieutenant.”

Looking over her shoulder, a feline smile curving her lovely lips, she arched a mocking brow as she purred, “Just giving you motivation, Commander.”

Maker’s breath. “See to your troops, Lieutenant. We leave in ten.”

…

It was a night of much bloodshed. 

We marched through Alphonse’s Pass, Michel leading us as Harding scouted up ahead. She returned to report there was another camp at the mouth with a few small patrols within—which they’d silently taken out so as to not alert the larger camp. Once we were moving along the pass, I was tempted to remove my cloak and warmer layers as the red lyrium upon the walls made the air stifling.

Braziers had been set every few feet, between their fire and the glow of the lyrium we could see our way clear enough. Turning to ensure no red templars were trying to flank us, I noticed the mages seemed to have a hard time breathing in the tight space, sheens of sweat on their pale faces. It helped when Meira froze the lyrium as we passed it, the heat and the song it emitted dampening. Towards the middle of the pass, there was a statue of a wolf. I heard a misstep in the march and turned to see Laren break off to give a bow to it, her lips moving with a prayer before rejoining.

”Fen’Harel,” Meira murmured as she turned to look, “The Dread Wolf.”

”A Dalish god?”

She nodded. “God of Betrayal. Of Nightmares. Lord of Tricksters. Though the Dalish bear no love for him as he is blamed for the disappearance of the other gods, they still regard him with respect, lest he hunt them. I may not remember everything, but there are some things that stick with you. The Dread Wolf was a figure of fright to keep children from misbehaving or wandering too far from the camp.” Her lips twitched. “Him and templars.” I cleared my throat. “Thankfully, the latter did not prove universally true and I’ve never had to deal with the former.”

We exited the pass, seeing large formations of red lyrium on the hills above us and the banner of the Red Templar Order unfurling on the snowy breeze, the red of the flag like blood in the glow of the corrupted lyrium.

”I would venture to guess the Red Templars prove the warning true,” I fumed.

”They are not templars, Cullen,” she challenged.

”Perhaps not, but in the years that follow the Inquisition, how will templars be remembered? As murderers, butchers and jailers. The line between the Templar Order and the Red Templar Order will be blurred with time.”

”Then we have to build a new order that’s worthy of remembering. And surpasses the old.”

”How do we salvage this?” I begged, the song of red lyrium angry as it swirled in my mind, humming along my bones.

”We don’t. We destroy it. Burn it to the ground. And build something new from the ashes.”

I nodded before raising my blade, a war cry tearing from my throat as I charged at the dark shadows that had always been within the Order. Now, they’d just been given form. The red of the lyrium the blood of countless innocent and non-innocent mages alike. Mages that had been slaughtered out of fear. Fear sown and then exploited by religious indoctrination to fool naive, idealistic men and women into believing they were serving the Maker by jailing the mages and calling it protection. And if they had to strike them down? It was for the good of all; to protect the mages from themselves. The angry whispers were their cries of outrage. The mutilated forms of the Red Templars was the corruption of the Order made apparent. Like Meredith. We cut our way through each camp as we came upon it, our enemy growing more and more grotesque as Michel led us to the Tower of Bone near which the quarry sat.

Creatures of man and lyrium shrieked and roared. Shards of lyrium splintering as I rammed my shield and cut with my blade. More grew. It was everywhere. In the ground, consuming buildings, sprouting from skin and teeth and bone. I fought the paranoia that it was on me—in me. That I would become one of them. That I already was.

My throat grew sore as I screamed during the battles. Screamed in challenge, in horror, in rage, in fear. Challenge that I was not them, horror at what had been done to them and myself, rage that any knight would become this, fear that I already had been a monster—that I could so easily have been one of them.

Hacking, slashing, bashing, blocking. I had to block it out. How many of them there were. How many had fallen for this, turned to Corypheus. How many had done so willingly? How many unwillingly? How many in desperation to not face the withdrawal? Some were so young. So unbearably young, yet they fought like ravenous beasts. Some seemed to be troubled, to be in pain, to be utterly terrified, but still they fought. Fought as if compelled to do so.

As I caught the blade of one, he spoke as if in both challenge and warning, “The song—the song cannot be denied!”

Maker! Andraste, have mercy! Do they suffer compulsion as well but of an even more malignant form? Yet he fought on, even as I told him to surrender, that we could try to help him. He refused. I knocked his blade aside as he thrust and drove my own up under his cuirass all the way to the hilt. Perhaps my imagination, but I could have sworn he whispered a thank you before he died.

I stood at the base of the Tower of Bone, our enemy routed, mulling it all over as I stared up at the giant banner hanging from it. It ruffling in the howling wind as dawn brought a red sky. Giant chains stretched from the great tower to bury themselves in the ground. Michel had said the legend was that the tower itself was possessed by a powerful demon of pride and the chains were to keep it in place. It only added to the evil that seemed to infect the very air here. Solana and the other mages saw to our wounded and burned the dead. A couple of mages and templars had fallen.

”Commander!” Harding called as she bounded across the scaffolding the Red Templars had built to move mined red lyrium out of the quarry. “You’ll want to see this.”

I followed her down, past the tents and fires the Red Templars had been meandering around not moments ago. Though it had been night, none of them seemed to sleep. She led me towards the back of the camp to where prison wagons were now visible in the morning light. Meira stood outside of one, staring, rage plain on her face. Within were shackles, most of them empty, but inside one…

”Is that—“

”Red lyrium…growing from the body,” Meira spit, her voice shaking with rage. I understood why. Rage stirred my own heart. “Dagna was right. They use blood to speed the growth.” She met my eyes. “Whether they are living or dead.” Her mana was welling up within her, the air growing colder. “What in the Maker’s name do they think they’re doing? What could justify this?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

”You claimed Samson was a decent man,” she hissed, her anger not at me, I knew, but it was still biting. “What decent person would be capable of this?”

I looked away. “I’m certain someone asked the same of me in Kirkwall.”

“And yet you stand here, with the Inquisition, and he stands with Corypheus.”

I stared at the remains in the cage. “I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous. We have to put an end to him.”

”Then let us pray he is here,” she said. The tone of her voice saying that if he was, he’d be lucky to make it out alive.

”Do not forget the armor he wields. What I witnessed of it in Haven…he will not be easily thwarted.”

She nodded, her eyes looking up and I turned, following her stare. On the top of a hill some distance between us, in the fog rolling down from the mountains, the shadow of a great keep could be made out.“My guess, Imshael and Samson are in there. If Samson is here at all.”

”If he is not, I pray that Maddox remains.”

”Michel says the entrance to the keep is to the west while the quarry is to the east,” she informed, “What do you want to do?”

”We should storm the quarry first. If there are any townsfolk in there and they still live, we should get them out before we face whatever lay inside the keep. If we do not, I fear the templars guarding the quarry will kill them.”

”And if we do find people in there…what do we do if they’re all infected, Cullen?”

It wasn’t a thought I wanted to consider. “We shall deal with it once we see this through.”

”Andraste, preserve us,” she breathed.

”Take inventory,” I stated, “everyone will need another dosing of lyrium. The bulk of their force will be in the quarry as it will be the most heavily guarded, but their most seasoned officers will be in the keep. Once we hit the quarry, they’ll know for certain that we are here as we’ve lost the dark. They’ll hit us with everything they have got. We’ll have to ensure they don’t flank us or maintain a high ground with their archers—we’d be as fish in a barrel. This is going to be arduous.”

”What if the red lyrium is too much in there? The Pass was nearly overwhelming.”

“I want the mages focused on rescuing any survivors within. We’ll cover them. I want you and the other ice mages freezing any lyrium we see. We’ll figure out how to deal with it once Adamant is done.” I clenched my jaw. “Whether or not we would have known them, it is our duty to put an end to Samson and his ilk.”

She studied my face a moment before nodding. “Don’t let him get to you.”

I furrowed my brow. “And what if I do?”

”You’re not him.”

Before I could argue, she walked off. I looked back to the cage. ‘What could justify this?’ I swallowed hard, the weight of my sins settling upon my shoulders for a moment. It was easy to justify anything when fear was your motivator. But I did not think fear was what drove Samson and those that followed him. No, it was something equally malicious as fear. Those templars that had been cruel to the mages, not because of some misguided idea of protecting them from themselves, but because they desired to be cruel were not driven by fear alone. They were driven by hatred. But what was the object of their hatred? It wasn’t mages as they worked alongside the maleficaric Venatori. It was something deeper—bigger. What happened, Samson?

…

We charged the quarry, my shield held aloft as archers posted at the entrance sent a small volley down. Magic barriers protected us. Lightning arced through the air, catching the templars’ armor and searing them within, though the red lyrium’s antimagic abilities kept them from dying. Archers of our own—both mortal and mage—answered their arrows, downing a couple. Earth mages scooped up chunks of frozen ground and hurled it at them, shattering the scaffolding they stood upon and burying them beneath.

We pressed our way in, spotting miners that weren’t red templars down further in the pits of the quarry. Resistance came swiftly. The corrupted templars seemed to be larger here, no longer the normal sizes of men or women, and there were many of them.

The mages were struggling, the very air noxious. Those who could encase themselves in their chosen element, did so. The shapeshifters also used their animal forms, it wasn’t as effective at blocking out the fumes, but their animal forms seemed to give them a modicum of protection. But if either got too close, either to the lyrium formations or the corrupted templars comprised more of it than of flesh, their magic was disrupted. Ice and fire seemed to be the only things that caused any damage. 

The templars, soldiers and I stood together, a bulwark, as the mages descended into the quarry to rescue any survivors they could find. Our shadows came, more monsters than men, and it was not lost on me that this was the very image most mages had held of templars: monsters.

…

The quarry was even worse than I had imagined. Instead of stone and rock, the people who’d been taken to work it mined bodies. All within the walls of the quarry, now more lyrium than rock, were people—or what remained of them. Both living and dead, if someone having consciousness as they were slowly consumed by red lyrium counted as living. 

Suspended above the main veins of the quarry were strange mechanisms that held large red lyrium crystals, warming the earth and stone beneath, seeming to draw more corrupted lyrium from the earth. The few survivors—those not infected by red lyrium—when lucid, spoke as if the templars regarded the whole quarry as more of a garden than a place for mining. The people seeds from which red lyrium sprouted. Those that lived through the initial “seeding” produced greater and richer red lyrium than those who died. Blood was the water, the quarry the rich soil and the people the fertilizer.

Those who were mining—or in this case pruning and weeding—the quarry had either already been seeded or were waiting. Those who survived the seeding would continue to care for the quarry until the red lyrium became too much. Those who died served to feed what had already grown. Those who had not been seeded still suffered ill-effects from the exposure to the red lyrium. 

It made me sick.

“What is Imshael’s role in all this?” Michel mused aloud at my side. “What has it to gain?”

“You said it was a demon of desire?”

He clenched his jaw. “It claims it is a spirit. A spirit of choice to be precise.”

”Choice?”

He glanced at me. Though we were certain we’d cleared the quarry of threats, we stood ready. He held his sword casually, but not loosely. My shield in one hand, sword ready in the other. Harding and the scouts were combing the quarry, looking for information. The templars were going through the quarry, giving a merciful end to any who remained conscious as the lyrium ate them. Miera and the mages saw to the survivors, guiding them back to the Tower of Bone to give them beds and food before they needed to make the trek back to Sahrnia. I prayed the return of even some of their people would restore hope. 

“It offers its prey a ‘choice’. Or what it believes to be a choice. It offers you what you want most at the cost of something that will benefit the demon.”

“So it makes a bargain. A contract.” I gripped my sword tightly as memories of the demon played in my mind. “It sounds no different than any other desire demon.”

”Be wary, Commander. While it may operate the same, it is far craftier. And far more powerful. Despite offering a deal, it still fooled me into freeing it when I refused. And this demon…it did things that were far more akin to man than to demon.”

”What do you mean?”

”A demon, no matter its evil, is still a spirit. Influenced by emotion. Limited by it. Imshael was creative. It killed in a way that I would not have considered a demon capable of thinking about.”

“I know the craftiness of demons well enough.”

He shook his head. “It is hard to explain. Just know that you cannot underestimate Imshael.”

…

The quarry dealt with, the people safe at the Tower of Bone camp, it was down to Michel, the Battalion and I to storm Suledin Keep. We readied ourselves, checking over weapons and armor. I stood before Meira, checking over her armor, tightening buckles and ensuring there was no damage to it. Straightening, I found her looking to the keep.

”Suledin means ‘endure’ in the elven language,” she spoke almost wistfully, “Well, Solas would say it is ‘the concept of finding strength in enduring loss or pain’ as the elven language is more conceptual than definitive.” Her lips twitched with the ghost of a sad smile. “Given that each elven place I’ve visited has held lovely surprises for me, I wonder what this one will hold?”

”Given our luck, love, I doubt it is anything good.”

”Ever the optimist, my lion,” she gave the barest chuckle.

”Just promise me that we will face it together.”

She met my eyes. “And promise me that no matter what happens, you will trust me.”

”I do trust you.”

Laren approached us, we stepping apart as she did. “Lieutenant, may I speak with you?”

Miera nodded, a final glance my way. I noticed that with Laren was a handful of elves. They huddled with each other, speaking animatedly. Meira was both concerned and relieved by whatever they were discussing. Barris approached, the group falling into a hush. Barris saluted to Meira, spoke and Meira nodded. They were ready.

I gave final orders to Harding and the soldiers to look after the people and move them when they were ready. I instructed Harding to send a message to Skyhold to request aid be sent by our friends in Orlais and to alert Dagna and the mages about the red lyrium here. All that seen to, we faced the bridge that would lead us to the keep.

”Why have they not sent reinforcements? Or this Imshael more Shades?” I questioned aloud as we marched.

”Perhaps they simply wait for us now,” Michel spoke, “Perhaps Imshael has convinced them to let it make a deal with the Inquisition.”

”Can you sense anything, Lieutenant?” I questioned Meira.

She shook her head. “The demon is blocking the spirits from seeing anything.”

“Then we need to be prepared for anything.”

As soon as we came close to the doors of the keep, they burst open, two great behemoths of red lyrium roaring as they stormed out. We scattered, but Meira let out a bellow before she slammed her fists upon the ground. In her wake, ice exploded and swallowed the behemoths, freezing them solid. With another shout, Meira threw dozens of shards of ice at them, shattering them apart before she raced inside, that magical armor fading away, Ghilani on her heels.

The rest of us followed, I exchanging a glance of worry with Solana. It was the same as we made our way through the keep. Meira charging ahead, an unstoppable force of ice. Her body encased in it. If templars stood in her way, she shifted into her Halla form and barreled though them, freezing them if they came in contact with her. The rest of us swept behind her, making quick work of them. 

We kept as close behind her as we could, following the sound of her battle cry, something driving her forward. Almost as if she were frightened. There were too many red templars within for me to speak with her, wave after wave. We pressed further in, spotting what seemed to be experiments along the way. Meira grew more frenzied the further we went, using her magical armor to bolster her power, but as we drew nearer to the top, something changed.

She was humming some strange tune, her body slowing. We cleared another area and climbed up more stairs. Meira let out another cry, but this was one of pain. I heard the humming coming from behind and beside me. All those humming the song were elven. Meira cried out again and I went to her, standing at her side, my shield up.

”Please turn back,” I pleaded, as I met the blade of a red templar.

 “I can’t,” she panted, “You won’t be able to face the demon without me.”

”Lieutenant, something is happening. You and the other elves—“

”I’ll be fine.”

She ran ahead and I followed. Fighting our way through, we eventually spilled into a courtyard, panting, exhausted. But as we did, the last of Meira’s strength gave out. She cried out in pain, Solana catching her before she fell to the ground. But Solana fell too, crying out. All of the mages followed suit, holding their heads, their skin blistering.

Above and strung all along the courtyard was red lyrium, mechanisms like those in the quarry. The heat was stifling, the angry whisperings deafening. Beneath the red lyrium were more red templars, these impossibly more monstrous than those we’d faced before. And in the middle of the courtyard, beneath the largest crystal— 

“Ah, the heroes arrive,” a suave voice spoke, “But are they heroes or murderers? It’s so hard to tell.”

The voice belonged to a man. Simply dressed, plain in his features. Nothing notable about him at all, save the oppressive malice that emanated from him. And to his left, his strange armor glowing, filling the air with the fumes of red lyrium—

”Samson,” I growled at the same time Michel barked, “Demon”.

”Ahem,” The plain man, whom I assumed was the demon, Imshael, clicked his tongue. “Choice. Spirit.”

”Whatever you may call yourself, you are a demon. And I am here to undo my mistake,” Michel promised.

”And you’ve brought friends, I see. They’re very violent. It’s worrying,” Imshael feigned anxiousness. “But I, too, have friends. And they are even more violent.” This caused the Red Templars to laugh. Samson’s lips in a haughty smirk as he looked at me. He raised his chin a fraction, a challenge. His eyes were almost completely red—irises and whites. “However, true to my name, I will show you that you have a choice. It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

”No,” Michel pointed his blade at the demon. “You will not talk your way out of this.”

”I talk my way out of nothing,” Imshael shrugged, spreading his hands in a non-threatening display. “It is as simple as this: we don’t fight, and I grant whomever convinces the others to stand down power. Shower them with riches. Or maybe virgins. Their pick. Then we all live happily ever after. Well, not all of us. But who’s counting?”

”Virgins?” Samson chuckled as he raised a greasy brow.

”Admittedly, I should really stop offering virgins. Everyone always chooses them, and I can never find any.” This made Samson and the Red Templars laugh again. The demon’s eyes landed on me, his mouth curling with a serpentine grin. I fought the urge to recoil, to grab for lyrium on my belt that wasn’t there, as I felt the all too familiar tendrils of the demon whispering through my mind. It made my skull ache. “Oh wait. There’s one. My, my how is that possible? You’ve had nigh endless suitors and yet you still—Oh, oh I see.” His eyes flicked over me and then to Meira. “Oh, this is delicious. You’d be a fine prize, but…” He cackled. “Really, Michel, are you still uninterested in what I offered to grant you all those months ago? I can still do it, you know. Or have you changed your mind, Michel? She is rather lovely, isn’t she? Ears and all.” His eyes flicked again to Meira.

”Shut up!”

”Oops, struck a nerve, did I?” His smile widened, his eyes searching. ”What about you, Solana?” Imshael called, making a show of looking for someone amongst our group. “You came here under the guise of aiding your friends, but we both know what it is you truly seek. Convince the others to stand down and I will reunite the two of you.”

”Sol-Solana?” Samson questioned, his haughty demeanor faltering for just a moment, his red eyes searching.

”Oh, yes,” Imshael said with delight in his voice. “Your little Fireheart joined the Inquisition. Of course she wanted them all to believe that it was for some noble purpose. Some desire to see mages and templars come together. But in truth, it was all to get to you, my rascally friend.” His smile broadened at Samson’s dumbstruck look as he found that it was Solana holding Meira up. Solana’s coffee eyes glared at the demon, but she offered no defense for herself. Meira stirred at the demon’s words.“Seems I’ve spoiled the surprise.”

Meira struggled to right herself, stumbling, as she shoved Solana off of her. The temperature of the air plummeted, frost coating my armor. Meira shouted as she looked at Solana, “It was him?! All this time, all the times your mysterious templar lover came up, you never once thought to maybe divulge that it was SAMSON?!”

”Talitha, please—“ Solana begged.

”NO!” she roared, her voice not quite her own, magic in it that caused all of us to flinch. “You have lied to me again and again. Lied to me, insulted me because of the man I love when you have spoken of devotion for him?”

”I tried to tell you, but—“ A sharp slap rent the air. Solana held her cheek, her eyes wide, an imprint of Meira’s hand blooming across her skin.

”Shut up!” Meira spit, frost dancing off of her. Her mana was off, the sounds harsh and discordant. Something was wrong. The elves in the battalion began humming that song again, quietly, almost too quiet to hear. “This is the last time you will stab me in the back, Solana Amell. I will hear no more of your self-serving words.”

Solana’s brown eyes shimmered with tears, her hands reaching for Meira until she stumbled away. Solana drew her hands back, them and her head dropping in shame.

“Oh what delectable entertainment,” Imshael clapped his hands as his gaze shifted to Meira, the hunger of a glutton in their light. She stiffened as his eyes settled on her. “But no, none of you thirst for something strong enough. Not enough that you would let us go free to fight another day. None save for you.” He pointed at Meira. “The mortals call you Talitha. My brethren call you Fadewalker. He calls you beloved. He called you foul. But what is the one name you wish to hear most?” Meira turned at a blazing speed, despite the pain she seemed to be in, hurling a spear of ice at Imshael. The demon caught it in his hand, the force of her throw causing the air to whip behind. He shattered it as he tightened his fingers. “Naughty,” he clicked his tongue as he shook his head. Meira screamed as she fell to her hands and knees, cradling her skull. “Be polite.” Meira lifted her head, panting for breath, blackest hatred on her face. “Come on, now, I’ve asked you a question.”

She bared her teeth at him, blood was dripping from her nose. “No.”

”Very well, I will answer it for you—” Imshael shrugged.

”Do not dare,” Meira commanded.

Imshael’s smile broadened, but when he spoke, the voice wasn’t his. It was the voice of a child. “Mamae.”

Meira wrenched herself up, her breaths angry rasps. “Do not dare use her voice again!” Imshael only smiled wider.

”Be silent, demon,” I growled, stepping towards Meira.

”Choice. Spirit,” it corrected again, though its eyes didn’t leave Meira, dismissing me as no more than an annoying gnat. “I offer you this choice, Fadewalker. Allow me to go free, Samson and his ilk as well, and I will do the one thing that not even your Maker has done or could do for you.”

”SILENCE!”

”I will heal you. Silence those cries that haunt you. Fill your arms that feel so unbearably empty.”

Rage searing through me, I made to charge the demon, but before I’d even taken two steps, I felt my body still against my will. Meira held out a hand to signal for me to stay where I was. I looked to her, finding her entire body shaking violently with rage and pain. Blood was trickling from her nose, her ears. Ice encased her fingers, the points of her ears, the ends of her hair. Her mana was haywire, out of control, and some dark melody swirled beneath it, but she was fighting for control. I worried for her, but as she turned to look at me, her eyes were bright silver and full of sadness, an even sadder smile on her lips. “This is my fight.”

I fought against her hold, but she did not release me. Her face filled with frightful retribution as in one hand her spirit blade expanded as the hilt appeared in her hand. And in the other, one of black flames so cold it froze the snowflakes falling in midair. Imshael stared her down, a gleeful smile on his face. Meira exploded, Fade-stepping across the courtyard. Samson made to attack, his armor starting to hum louder, but Imshael waved him off as Meira swung at him. Something invisible deflected Meira’s blades. She swung again, and again they just bounced off of him. She let out a cry of outrage, all of us just standing, watching. I felt helpless. Useless. She said it was her fight, but I wanted to help her. Meira let out another frustrated noise before Imshael punched her in the chest. Meira flew backward, landing in a heap at my feet.

Her magic disrupted, I bent down to her. “Love, please.”

She pressed herself up to her hands and knees, panting for breath. Her mouth was agape with it as she stared at the ground, at her shaking arms. I noticed that her canines were sharper. Her eyes flicked to me, they no longer the clear, pale light of stars, but blackness speckled with it, her pupils slits. “Stay out of this.”

”Beloved,” I whispered urgingly.

She whipped her head at me, baring her teeth. The face looking at me was not Meira’s. I felt it, that darkness she’d been fighting for so long. She was losing. She closed her eyes, pain twisting her face. Then her features softened, her eyes silver once more as she blinked at me, her teeth dulling. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “but he’s too powerful.”

”Then let me help you,” I told her.

”Mamae! Mamae, come play with me!” Imshael antagonized again.

She whipped her head at him, a sound coming from her that was not mortal. I placed my sword on the ground and cupped her cheek, turning her to me. “Beloved, please. You don’t have to fight alone.”

She melted against my hand. Some emotion I couldn’t name colored her face, twisting it, settling over her like a shroud so heavy it made my soul ache. “You can’t. If you do, you’ll die.”

”And this is killing you.”

She held fast to my hand, her eyes sweeping closed, tears upon her dark lashes. “Do you trust me?”

”Come, beloved, she wants us to play with her,” Imshael spoke again, this time with my voice.

”I do,” I choked out, “But you promised me. You promised me that we would face this together.”

She clutched at my hand, pain in her face. “Then trust that I have a plan. And wait for the opening.”

”What do you mean?”

But she was gone. She’d moved so fast, my eyes were unable to see her. I searched frantically, as did Imshael, his cool mask slipping for just a moment. 

“Shall I?” Samson questioned.

Again, Imshael shook his head. “She will give in. It is what she wants most. Like a starving man sat before a feast. A caged bird whose door finally opens. She cannot deny this desire. This one chance to see it rewarded. She knows I can do it. It would be fool—“

A blade appeared at Imshael’s throat, then a hand, an arm and eventually Meira was revealed. That armor of a metal that seemed alive swirled upon her before slowly fading away once more. She was utterly terrifying, silver eyes lit with magic, ice magic swirling about her. “No. You die, demon.”

Just as she was going to drag her blade across its throat, Imshael, oddly, began humming. “Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm. Mmm-mm-mm. Hm. Hm.” Meira froze. Her mana silenced. Slowly and unnaturally, almost as if she were a puppet, she withdrew her blade. She was fighting, I could tell, but part of her knew there was no winning this fight. Her eyes met mine, unbearably sad. Terror gripped my heart. “Trust me.”

But with her assurance as she mouthed those words, I watched as her beautiful face twisted into something dark. Her silver eyes filled with ink. Her canines sharpened. Her entire being was enveloped in darkness. A great crack hit my ears, the sound painful as the whole courtyard was covered in ice. Those black eyes locked onto me and I slipped from conciousness.

…

”It seems nothing can break you,” an oily voice sneered. No. Maker, no. “Not even Desire’s loveliness tempts you.” I was on my knees in that magical cage, feeling its hum as much as I heard it. I cried out as I felt malicious claws in my mind. “You are a difficult one. Such resolve. But I think Reyna, dear girl, didn’t delve deep enough. Thought only of the superficial, the flesh. Not that I can blame her, really, so many mortals are driven by their fleshy needs. Oh, but not you. Not you. Or her.” I cried out again as I felt those claws pluck something from my memories and drag it out, just as I felt something sharp drag across my skin, hot blood pouring out. 

I blinked my eyes open. Before me stood Uldred, but in his eyes was something so malevolent and inhuman it was hard to maintain eye contact. I was strung up by some magical force, armor gone. He glanced down at me, removing his hand from where a taloned finger had been cutting into my skin. But instead of the blood flowing down, he conducted it, caressed it on the air and gently guided it. His fingers twirled and with it, a circle filled with blood formed. That thing he’d plucked from my memory played out in its middle.

It was my siblings and I at the lake. I was young, we were playing templars and apostates. It was the day I declared I wanted to be a templar. “When I’m older, I will be a templar,” I heard myself say, “I will be a knight who protects people.”

Uldred stuck a finger into the blood, pinching at something. He moved his hand back and forth, memories playing out in dizzying speed. The times I had watched templars before deciding I would become one. The times after where I had trained with them. My own training. After. Now. It was all melding together, my head splitting.

”I see,” Uldred spoke, “You became a knight in order to protect. Because you believe templars to be noble. Because you believe mages—nay, magic—is something people need to be protected from. You believe it dignified.” He continued watching the memories. “I suppose you’re not wrong, it is dignified in a way, even if some of your lesser brethren use it to abuse the mages in their charge. But not you.”

”It’s my duty to protect them, demon.”

“Ah, yes. Duty. Such a funny word. To feel morally obligated.” He gave a small nod, as if in approval. “Again, you do believe it.” He met my eyes. “I dare say you are honest and noble, templar. Not usual for your ilk.”

”Every templar here embodied those things. Until you and your ilk slaughtered them.”

He smiled, almost patiently. “And naive, it seems.”

”Begone, demon. I will hear no more of your lies.”

His smile fell sharply. “I am Pride, boy. You will not dismiss me so easily. You will listen, or I will kill you. And that girl you love.”

My eyes went wide. “She…lives?”

He smiled again, more malicious. “For now. So long as you cooperate.”

”What do you want from me?”

His smile widened, beyond what was natural. I shuddered. “To learn.”

I recalled it all. Every question, every cut, every rifling through my mind. Each causing it to fray more and more. Pride was a scholar and I its object of study. It wanted to learn, but not to better itself. It wanted to learn how to break me. Because every question had to do with me and nothing else. Wearing me down, bit by excruciating bit. I began to forget. Forget everything except why I was a templar. Why I had become a templar. Why the world needed templars. The answer for each was the same: to protect people from magic. Again and again he scoured my mind, looking for something, but coming up empty. Until at last, my mental guards fell away, I too exhausted, too weak and too broken to keep them up.

Pride plucked at the blood before it, I crying out as my mind felt so worn that it could shatter. He let out a noise of triumph. “Ah, there it is.”

Before him played out both a memory and a thought. It was the first time Meira and I spoke. I had gone to bed that night trying not to think about her and failing. With a sigh, I allowed myself to pull out thoughts I had forbidden myself from having for many, many years. Thoughts of the life I could’ve had if I had not become a templar. Thoughts of what life could be like if templars weren’t needed. Thoughts that asked the question, why were we needed?

The Chantry taught it was because people—both mage and non-mage alike—needed to be protected from magic. But during my time in the tower, the question had dripped in the back of my mind. Unanswered as I watched the mages, all the way from the children to Irving, lead normal lives. They learned how to control their magic and did so, without incident. Those who questioned their ability to wield magic chose Tranquility of their own accord. The few who were discovered to be dabbling in blood magic were stopped and reviled by their own. The mages and templars agreed on the dangers of magic. 

I had begun to doubt.

Cracks in my armor, in my worldview formed. And as much as I tried to patch them up, they simply kept growing. The Chantry and the Order abhorred blood magic, yet they used it to create phylacteries to keep control over mages. The Order claimed it was created to protect people from dark magic, to stand between the demonic and the innocent and yet they summoned a demon to try and tempt mages during their Harrowing. If they failed, they were cut down. We claimed mages were dangerous and yet I saw the dangerous and malicious mages to be the exception, not the rule. Yes, evil magic was dangerous, but was all magic evil?

And with that question, I allowed my mind to wander to her. What would it be like if life were different? I just a boy and she just a girl with beautiful and kind magic? If we’d met under different circumstances? I’d begun to allow myself to picture it, visiting it from time to time. Meeting, falling in love, I wooing her with courtly pursuit. Winning her heart and her hand. Marrying her. Owning a farm, working it, side by side. She using her magic to aid both ourselves and those around us. I using my hands not to harm, but to create and grow things. The life I had left behind. 

It was not what my heart truly wanted, at least, not when I’d set out to be a templar. I’d wanted to serve. To serve something greater than myself. To serve the Maker. To make my family proud. But as I’d allowed myself to doubt, I began to wonder if I could do so by changing things. Perhaps I could steer the templars and mages within the tower to a better future. With her at my side. I set aside the dreams of a different life and began to dream of what could be here. It filled me with purpose. The want for a better future. It drove me.

I was able to reconcile my doubts, my sympathies, with what I had been conditioned to believe. What the lyrium compelled me to believe. People did need to be protected from magic, but perhaps there was a better way. In fact, I was certain there was a better way. While I doubted the words of the Order and the Chantry, I did not doubt that magic was meant to serve, just as I was meant to serve. And it was something that perhaps templars and mages could accomplish together. It had been a noble dream. One I had asked her to join me in pursuing. A light in the dark of doubt.

Or so I thought. 

Until that doubting had led me to overlook dangers. Until the leniency and trust with which we templars had conducted ourselves within Kinloch Hold was betrayed. Until the majority of the mages had chosen to side with Uldred and revolt. Until the warnings of the Chantry and the Order that I had begun to doubt and ignore came to pass. I had been a fool, thinking that I knew better.

”Honest. Noble. Naive. Tell me, templar, why do you doubt?”

“I never should have,” I spit, thinking of my friends, everyone who’d died. Because of magic. I glared up at him. “I doubt no longer.”

”Oh? And why is that?”

I bared my teeth. “Because the Order was right.”

He smiled broadly, teeth showing as malice burned in his dark eyes. “And so it was.”

I screamed as his tendrils within my mind ripped at it. Coloring those dreams black. But it wasn’t him, not really, it was my own mind. My own fear and hatred telling me that magic could not be trusted. And because of that, mages could not be trusted. She could not be trusted. Even if he told the truth and she lived…

“Tell me, templar, what would you like to do about the mages now?”

I thought of her. Her loveliness. And then watched as she used magic, felt it manipulate the very reality around me, the lyrium within me recoiling at it. Her face twisting into an abomination in the illusion the demon played out for me. Neria was good, but she was a mage. And her magic…

That was what the Order warned about. Because she had magic, she was always at risk of becoming a monster. And now? She’d been under the influence of blood mages. Just as I had. My mind was coming apart. Hers—theirs—had to be as well. And for a mage to lose themselves…

I looked at Uldred. To lose themselves was to loose a demon. He’d done it willingly. And she…how long before she did too? Before they all did? And even if they didn’t give in…I looked to the bodies of my friends, mutilated and mutated by demons being forced within them. How many of them were possessed anyway? What would they unleash upon us? Upon the world?

I growled. “Wipe their taint from the face of Thedas.”

He cackled, gleefully. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Tell me, templar, what nobility is found in slaughtering people for the threat they might pose? Tell me, templar, what honesty is there in slaughtering people out of fear? Tell me, templar, where has your naivety brought you?”

Templar. Templar. Templar. What’s my name?! I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember anything beyond the terror of the tower. The death, the screams, the pain. All of it, everything needed to be ended. Even that dream.

“To the end.”

”And so it arrives.”

With that, he left, and all that remained behind him was a boy once full of ideals, utterly gnarled and shattered. The pieces of himself unrecognizable. I could remember nothing outside of one thought: Protect people from magic. Nothing else is real. Is true.

And then she’d returned, the demon, with her. Neria. A mage. With magic. The demon called me to bow to her in order to spare Neria. Protect people from magic. I knew my duty. And I would never question it again. So I thrust that sword into her gut so hard it punched through the demon. 

And with it, that light of hope snuffed out.

”But that isn’t where your story ends,” a voice spoke. A familiar voice. “It’s where it began.”The memories faded away as before me stood Purpose. “For slowly but surely, you’ve worked your way back to that purpose. And because you lost it once, you pursue it in earnest now. It defines you. And what has drawn me to you. But you can’t do it alone. Because she is the one that made you hope it was possible.” He offered me a hand. “It is as you said, there is no purpose without hope and there is no hope without purpose.”

”If you’re here, that means she is not lost.”

He shook his head. “No, she is not lost.” He flashed me a wide grin. I noticed there were wrinkles in his face now, grey in his hair. “Your beloved is clever. Very clever. All of this was by design. I cannot say more lest I risk her plan, but you must call her back from the precipice.”

”How?”

”Remind her of her promise.”

With a gasp of air, I came to. The scene before me took a moment to register. All the elves that had been with us were now attacking their comrades. A glazed look in their eyes, smiles on their faces as they hummed that same strange song the demon was humming. Even as they cut down their friends, their blood splattering on their faces, they kept smiling. Meira was different. Still being used as a puppet, but there was no glazed look to her eyes, no smile. What was on her face was malicious glee. 

Several members of the Battalion were on their knees, grasping at their heads, screaming and crying. I could only guess they were where I had been. A moment of wrestling with doubt and losing. She had them caged within their own memories, feeding off of it. Solana’s screams were the worst, tearing at my insides. And Doubt’s eyes were transfixed on her, vengeful. 

“I can shield you only for a few moments more before she realizes you’ve broken free,” Purpose spoke in my mind.

”What am I supposed to do?”

”Call to her.”

”What about Imshael? Samson?”

”She said to look for the opening.”

At those words, I watched as Ghilani bounded for Imshael. The demon too focused on keeping his concentration on Meira, he didn’t notice the wolf. Or perhaps the other spirits were keeping him from seeing her. I looked around quickly. Above us was the red lyrium which was weakening the mages and if the whisperings in my mind were any indication, distracting the templars. Following one of the chains, I saw that they were connected to strange columns dotted around the space. I ran for the one nearest me and just as Ghilani launched herself at the demon, I struck the chain.

I felt the malice settled over Meira break and instead, sensed the war within her. She won for a moment, but it wouldn’t last. “Mages! Freeze the elves! Templars! Hit Imshael with everything you’ve got! Earth mages! Break those pillars!”

She slapped her hands together, healing magic lighting between them before she hurled it at them all. It was powerful, invigorating even from here. It pulled them to their feet. They rushed to listen to her orders. The Red Templars hesitating in the confusion causing the battalion to have a moment of surprise. They slammed together.

Imshael was cursing at Ghilani, I heard the wolf whimpering, but she did not stop biting and tearing at the demon. From Meira, all of the spirits that walked with her became corporeal and they joined the fray, attacking the Red Templars. Samson let out a shout, his armor beginning to hum, but from the crowd Solana ran at him, a great flaming demon of rage as she yelled his name. For a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. I heard Meira scream, an animalistic sound. Time was up. I felt her turn her attention to me.

“Talitha! Please!” I called.

”I will rip your heart out and feast on it, mortal,” Meira hissed as she stalked towards me. I felt Purpose near, shielding me. “For all the doubt you sowed in her.”

Pushing the fear down, I thought about what to do. Meira had never asked for this. I couldn’t save Ella. Grandin had chosen. But Meira…’Remind her of her promise’.

”You asked me once what I would do if you were possessed by a demon,” I called to her. She bared her teeth at me. “And I told you that I would do everything in my power to not let you succumb to that fate.” Fighting every instinct within me, I lowered myself to my knees, dropping my sword and shield. I spread my arms wide. I could tell she wanted to kill me, but she kept that leisurely pace, as if…as if she was fighting herself. “But I also said that I trusted you to do everything in your power to never let that fate come to pass. You assured me you would. You asked if I trusted you. I said I did.” She rushed at me, then, snarling. Fangs out, eyes black, a blade of shadow flame in her hand. “Assure me once more that my trust was not misplaced.” Still she came, her sword swinging through the air to slash my throat. I looked into her eyes and felt the song beneath Doubt. Heard Meira’s song. “You are no monster, beloved. You never were. Never have been. And never will be.”

Her blade sliced through the air, the snow curling around it. I stared into her eyes, black as night. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. I closed my eyes and thought of her. Her beautiful eyes, her soft mouth against mine, her whispered “I love you”, the hope that burned within her. Meira. The cold of her blade whispered against my skin and everything went white.  

Chapter Text

MEIRA

  It had happened in an instant. Imshael had hummed his tune, that hum I’d heard from the moment we’d stepped foot near Sahrnia. At first a whisper and then growing louder; to the point of madness. Only the elves among us seemed to hear it and it agitated us. When Laren and the others came to ask me about it, I knew then that it was most likely our enemy. Why it only affected us, I did not know, but as soon as he hummed it, I recognized it for what it was: blood magic.

I’d acted quickly, throwing my consciousness into my own piece of the Fade. To the door. For if she could reside there while I had been Tranquil and survive, I could reside there while he worked his magic and survive as well. In so doing, Purpose and the others would remain intact and I could keep her from the armor.
 
I grasped the handle of the door, as I felt that hum leech into my very bones, reverberating all around in my piece of the Fade. And as I had all those months ago in Solasan with Impulse and Despair, I let Doubt win, keeping only the smallest sliver of myself alive. She rose to the surface as she’d been fighting to do since Imshael used her voice, had tempted me.
 
‘I can heal your body’.
 
I felt the power emanating from Imshael. He was something different, something old and something very powerful. I knew he could do what he offered and I had wanted to accept. But at his words, Doubt had whispered: ‘Your Maker will never restore you. Accept and be whole. Take his gift and let the templars go to fight them another day.’ 
 
At her words, I knew his own had a double meaning. He would fulfill his promise, but in a way that only brought him more power. In healing me, would he simply push me into an illusion, one I couldn’t escape and let Doubt seize control of me? He promised to restore my body—a vague offer. To silence the cries that haunted me, to fill my arms that were so unbearably empty. None of it was a specific promise, all of it vague, meant to cause me to assume what he meant. A clever trick. But I had faced Desire before and it was a liar. An erroneous facsimile. For nothing it could conjure could truly satisfy. 

‘Mamae’.

I heard her voice. Smelled her sweet scent. Felt them both in my arms. Their tiny hands in mine. Heard her laughter and his sweet babble. But those memories had given Imshael a foothold. Had weakened my resolve and allowed Doubt to slip past my defenses just enough. I felt the ache, the hollowness, I so rarely allowed myself to feel. I closed my eyes.

You had your time with them. And if you give in, they will be lost.

They would live on in my memories, but if I gave in to the demon, gave in to Doubt, I would be lost and thus, so would they. No, now was the time to fight. Unbeknownst to her, I had been feeding Doubt, letting her grow in strength. As I had trapped Impulse and Despair in Solasan, so too would I use her own sustenance against her. I knew what I needed to do and when I triumphed, I would use the power she’d gained to turn it against Imshael. He was too powerful. Even with the armor, with the others, he could defeat me. I needed something more. I needed the one thing that nothing could stand against: hope.

I tightened my grip upon the door handle. My heart beat wildly, my stomach in my throat. I tightened my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. I knew that what lay beyond the door, those memories she hoarded, would be my undoing. And I feared that despite all my planning, despite knowing what I needed to do, I feared I would fail. My Maker, know my heart. Andraste, give me strength. Two hands came to rest on my shoulders. I looked to my left to find Embrace.

“I said I would be with you when you were ready,” she murmured, her voice gentle.

I looked to my right, my heart breaking as I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, “Purpose.”

He’d aged even more. There was silver streaks in his hair and full beard. Wrinkles around his eyes that crinkled as he smiled broadly at me. He was reminding me what I was fighting for: I was fighting for Cullen, for our future, the hope that life would be worth fighting for. “It’s time.”

But despite knowing what I was fighting for, the thought of losing this spirit who had become so dear to me caused me to ache. “I can’t…I can’t ask this of you.”

His brow knit and his smile fell. “Why ever not?”

“You’ll die,” I stated as my voice broke.

He came to stand before me, gold eyes gentle, his hands cupping my face. “Only to be born anew. Free of the painful memories of hurting you.”

“So you’ll forget,” I breathed, “You will forget me.”

“Possibly,” he admitted, though his voice sounded uncertain, “but…you changed so much of me Meira, I do not think I can be reborn without you being part of the new me. In some way.”

“Why would you willingly…do this for me?” I questioned.

“Is that not what friends do for each other?” He challenged with a raised brow.

I laughed weakly as he wiped my tears away with a thumb. I’d never realized how warm his hands were. “You know I hate it when you answer a question with a question.”

“I know,” he teased. He took his place at my side, both of them taking one of my shoulders. “You can do this, Meira,” Purpose stated, “But I am sorry, for whatever happens. Remember your faith and your love, it is what feeds your hope.”

“And remember that you must face it,” Embrace warned, “You cannot run from it.”

Nodding, I shoved down my fear and readied myself to open the door. ‘Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken there ‘pon the mountain, a voice answered my call. ‘Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone’.

I was not alone. And the others needed me. He needed me. My mind filled with him: his smile, the warmth of his eyes, the gentleness of his touch, the kindness in his voice. For him, I would do this. For them, I would fight. For all whom I loved and cherished, I would endure. Again. Yes, what lies within may be my undoing, but if I face it, if I triumph, it will set me free—make me unbroken. After a deep breath, I pressed the door open and stepped inside.

…

The chamber within seemed impossibly vast as I walked on and on in the pitch black. There was no light here, not even the familiar green of the Fade. The only sound the faint trickle of water on stones. The ground beneath my feet was solid until I nearly tumbled into a yawning cavern. I threw myself backwards, landing with a thud that echoed, before scrambling away from the edge.

Panting for breath, my heart beating wildly, I tried desperately to summon fire in my hand. But nothing came now, not even the wisps I had been able to produce even without Ardor’s piece of the armor. And I dared not summon the armor lest she be able to obtain it. 

No, I was alone in the dark. As I sat there, uncertain of what to do to call Doubt out, I felt it once more. There was something watching me in the darkness and what had seemed stagnant as I’d walked, I now realized was alive. The shadows wriggled, whispered even. My hair stood on end as dread pooled in my belly.

’You cannot run from it.’ Clenching my jaw, I stood and faced the abyss. “I am here.”

All at once, those shadows silenced. And moved.

“So you are.” The words were a whisper in my ear, her coldness biting as I felt her at my back. “Come and see that which you have forgotten.”

Pushing down the fear, I let out a breath before racing towards the edge. With a cry that sounded more like a scream, I leapt.

Down, down, down I fell, the air growing colder and colder. But there was the smallest pinprick of light. It grew larger the closer to the bottom I came until I jerked to a stop, suspended a moment before finding my feet.

Before me was the cell again, but this time it was enclosed. I was looking at the outside of it, the hidden door. Next to it was the torch holder, evoking memories of the only time I saw light while I’d been down there was when Alrik opened the door. Except for those rare times I defied him by summoning mage lights. At the memories, I knew what she wanted. I took the torch from its holder and pressed the door open, the glow of the fire illuminating what lay within. 

It was me.

Broken, emaciated, naked. And atop me was not Alrik, but Cullen—Desire as Cullen. His fingers were digging into the fresh wounds upon my back, lashes from Karras’s whip, reopening the furrows. I was screaming, screaming at the top of my lungs. Screaming until no sound came. Reality shifted and his torture turned to passion. Instead of the demon’s talons opening my wounds, it was Cullen’s fingers upon my back as we danced slowly.

I’d fall for the illusion, mind frayed from the pain, the isolation, the hunger, the trauma, all of it. The pieces of my splintering psyche desperate to stay together, desperate for a reprieve, accepting this as truth in order to stay whole. The moment I felt a bit of respite, Desire tore away the illusion.

The pain would come crashing back, the reality of my situation hitting me in full force. My mind would splinter further and I’d scream. The illusion came, but different. Instead of a dance, we were more intimate. Cullen’s lips planting loving kisses. He’d let it play out, my mind desperate for solace. Our lovemaking would reach its height and he’d thrust me back into reality. But it was still Cullen’s face, still Cullen’s hands. Only now he was hurting me. I‘d break, sobbing and screaming and fighting to get away.

He would laugh then, his face contorting to reveal the demon beneath for a moment. Then he’d clench onto my wrists, before straddling me, a great tongue lashing out to lick the tears from my cheeks. His torture was hungry and cruel. A violation beyond anything Alrik had ever done to me. I’d remember Desire’s words the first time it’d come to me—the promise it’d made. My broken self would weep uncontrollably, begging for him to stop. He would and would disappear, but not before slicing my flesh with the blade. I watched as I lie there and wept. Deep, broken sobs that gutted me to listen to, for they could only be described as hopelessness personified.

“Maker,” my broken self uttered, my voice hoarse, tears spilling from my closed eyes, “Let me die.” 

Silence met me. Both in the present and the past.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually my past self stirred. I was muttering to myself. At first, I thought it maddened babble until I came closer. Curled as tightly as could be against myself, I protected the smallest flicker of Fade-born light. Illuminated by it, I saw what my past self was looking at; there in the metal of the shackles that chained me, I had scratched words with a loose bit of stone: Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart. Below that: Only the Word dispels the darkness upon us. On the other shackle: The deep dark before dawn’s first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises. 

I let out a shuddering breath, one that spoke of long suffering, before I closed my eyes and began to sing. I wasn’t just speaking the Chant, wordlessly mouthing it to myself, but singing it as we did in chantry services:
“But my faith sustains me.
In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know Your Light remains.”

Despair returned again, this time, I did not fight as he resumed his torture. He shifted us into the Fade, changing reality into passion. Back and forth it went.

“I have faced armies with You as my shield,
and though I bear scars beyond counting,
nothing can break me except Your absence.
I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself.
The Maker is the rock to which I cling.”

He cackled, taunting me, cutting into my flesh as he assured me there was no Maker and my faith was pointless. That he could give me what I wanted, all I had to do was ask. Tears poured down my cheeks. I felt it all, everything I had felt. The disgust, the longing, the anguish. It was brutal, gruesome, disgusting.

“Maker though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the Light,
I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created,
No one can tear asunder.”

Desire let out a growl, growing desperate, and forced me to remember every time it had tortured me before. I felt it all at once, it crushing down upon me. What is left of me? They’d stolen everything. Destroyed everything. But something told me not to give up, to hold on to hope, to keep singing.

“I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.
Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.”

He let out a hiss of frustration before disappearing. I lay upon the stones, bleeding and broken, little more than a husk. There was nothing left, not anymore. Nothing but the desperate need to hope that somehow, somehow the Light would prevail. And it was that desperation that made me sing all the louder. Alrik came then, commanding me to be silent as the torture became real. I didn’t listen. He spit at how vile I was, a monster, a thief, a sinner. Foul and corrupt. Unredeemable save the Rite of Tranquility.

I lay there, staring up at the stones, empty of everything but the Chant. The will to fight gone, the will to cling slipping away. I was utterly broken. For what good could come from this? I would die down here, shattered and alone. I stared up, beseeching the Maker as Alrik violated me again and again, rage at my unwillingness to break.

But I was broken. So utterly broken. What real hope had I of ever escaping? Even if some miracle happened and I left this cell, I would never truly leave. For within it, everything that had made me, me had been stripped from me. My dignity, my care for others, my conviction. I fought, but had forgotten why. I would never see him again. And even if I did, how could he ever love me? I was broken, tainted, and a mage—a creature that wielded magic and manipulated reality itself—which he had grown to fear.

How could anyone ever love me? How could I ever be whole again? What hope had I that life would ever be worth living again? For who had gone in this cell would not be what came out. Alrik and Desire had corrupted me into something hideous. The only salvation I had was death and even that I was not granted. And despite it all, despite the whispers within my own mind that my faith was a falsehood, I knew the truth. The Maker allowed nothing without purpose. Even this. I cried out a final time, reaching, clawing, clinging to hope.

“O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest night.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me.
Stand only in the places You have blessed.
Sing only the words You place in my throat.
My Maker, know my heart:
Take from me a life of sorrow.
Lift me from a world of pain.
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.
My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to Your approval.
O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death.
Make me one within Your glory.
And let the world once more see Your favor.
For You are the fire at the heart of the world,
And comfort is only Yours to give.”

Where usually silence had met me, a voice answered. “I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice. Your Light is ever present, and those I have called, they remember, and they shall endure. I shall sing with them the Chant, and all will know, we are Yours, and none shall stand before us.”

I blinked and turned my head. Alrik atop me, his ravaging unceasing, he did not notice. Perhaps it was my imagining, madness bearing fruit, or perhaps I had fallen unconscious and entered the Fade. No matter the truth, I couldn’t deny that beside me sat a spirit.

It was made of light, features indistinguishable, but blinding and beautiful. From it, came an exquisite song, and I wanted nothing more than to hear it. It stretched out a hand and I grasped it. The melody sang within me, so stirring as it poured into my soul and soothed the pain, mended the tears within my mind, quenched my soul’s thirst. It filled me with peace, renewed my strength, and called me to look to the future.

“For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes towards flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

Whether I lived or died, if I did not lose myself, I had nothing to fear. The Maker waited for me past the Veil, His love would embrace me and restore me. Make me whole. And I would rest forever in eternity in the warmest places. And if I lived, if I escaped this cell, someday if I clung to hope, to His assurances, I would be restored. Whether in this life or the one beyond the Veil, I would eventually see the Light again. And in that realization, my will to endure increased tenfold. I wept, not with hopelessness, but joy.

There was hope. There was always hope.

The reprieve was short lived as I was slammed with the Wrath of Heaven. My mind fractured apart and I felt something deep within me crack.

…

”You told me no other demons could wrest control from you! That you’d been fattened up enough that you were too powerful to be challenged by others!” Alrik screamed over my prone body.

”Demons, yes,” Desire shrugged in Cullen’s form, “Spirits, no.”

”What?”

”Spirits. We’re not all malevolent, we who rule the Fade.”

”Then what was it?” Alrik demanded.

”Hope,” Desire stated matter-of-factly.

”Hope?” 

”A spirit of hope,” Desire enunciated each word as if Alrik were unintelligent.

”What did it do?”

”I suppose it tried to possess her, after a fashion.”

This gave Alrik pause, his voice far calmer when he next spoke. ”Did it succeed?”

”Only one way to find out.”

The torture began again, but this time something was different. The demon’s smile faltered. All that emanated from me was darkness, void. I was frozen inside; ice in its purest form. Unfeeling, void of warmth—of life. I had died. Not physically, but emotionally, spiritually, mentally, I was gone. And in my place—

“Despair,” the demon whispered, the mask of its illusion fading and I saw what it was. The demon snapped its fingers and I fell unconscious. It’s true form turning to Alrik as he stood in the shadows. 

“What do you mean?” Alrik asked.

”Do you not know, man of the faith? He who seeks only the salvation of his charges? You should be well acquainted with me, for you are a great servant who would bring me a feast. Tell me, what comes when hope is lost?” 

I had spoken, my voice so full of mockery. Just as hers always was, every word meant to cast doubt. To twist the truth. Both of them startled and turned. I stared at them with black, fathomless eyes. Ice and shadow creeping along the stones towards them. “Cast aside Desire, for I can grant that which you seek. Your brethren keep my kind at bay, but let me in and I will deliver every mage into your hand. Only let me spread my miasma and they all will fall. For is that not what you seek? To save them all?”

True fear crossed Otto’s face as he took a step back. My face twisted then, the black in my eyes draining. “No,” I cried, my voice weak, “You will not have me.” I was fighting the demon.

Desire snapped its fingers and I fell unconscious, the shadows and ice dissipating. Rage was on its face as it spoke, “Despair! It has not fully possessed her, but…we cannot allow this. If Despair takes root here…it will grow too powerful and you will not be able to contain it.”

“Can you reverse the damage? Kill it?”

“Yes and no,” Desire offered.

”Speak plainly, demon,” Alrik snapped, “Lest I cut you and that abomination down.”

”She isn’t an abomination,” Desire argued, “Not yet. But I am not a benevolent spirit. I cannot fight Despair. Nor can I wrest control from it—not in her. To try to do so would be suicide. For she feels despair every waking moment. As it said, you have prepared a feast for it. The best I can do is make her forget. Deprive Despair of its food and starve it out.” Alrik stared at my unconscious body. “You would so hate to lose her, would you not?”

“I would,” Alrik murmured, possessiveness in his voice. “She is mine.” He continued to stare. “But why would I not just make her Tranquil now? If a demon truly resides in her, I need only to sever her connection to the Fade to kill it. Then she would truly be mine. No more fighting. I could place her in The Gallows, her salvation clear upon her forehead. Her knight-captain would see her rendered docile but learn that she is mine.”

“Or so you believe,” Desire scoffed. 

Alrik jerked his head at the demon. “You disagree?”

The demon gave a slight bow. “I have looked into the dreams of this knight-captain to better understand their connection in effort to gain her willingness. If he saw her, he would not so easily let her alone. He would seek her safety, especially if he believed her harmless because of Tranquility. Soon enough, he would discover you.”

”Then I’d kill him and throw his body into the harbor,” Alrik promised, his voice full of dark malevolence. 

“And you believe Meredith would accept this? Her prized pupil suddenly gone? One whom she personally mentored because of his devotion? One whose word she favors over yours? Did she not reject your proposal? You who have been in her service far longer than he has?” The demon approached Alrik, circling him. “Is it not more satisfying to keep her down here, merely layers beneath his feet, enjoying everything he never did? Never will? Keeping her all to yourself? Have you not found another in need of salvation?”

”Ella,” Alrik breathed, in that single word was all his lustful desire.

”Yes, Ella. Such a pretty girl. I will tell you she is planning to run. You need only bide your time. Then you could save her, have her. In the meantime, I would keep working upon this one. Will it not be all the more satisfying if I get her to submit? Or perhaps you even deny her salvation since she continues to resist. Then, even in death, you keep her from her knight-captain?”

Alrik mulled over the demon’s words. Desire was manipulating him, yet he seemed not to notice. Or he did and that was why Alrik cut it down when I finally gave in to it. “You believe you can still succeed?”

”I do, if you but allow me the time,” Desire bowed again.

”Do it,” Alrik commanded, “Even if I jeopardize this, I want that whelp to suffer. He took what should have been mine. So I will deal with him in kind. Call me when you succeed.”

“I shall,” Desire dipped its chin, “It should not be long. I shall make her forget everything I have done and try a new approach. I believe I understand what she desires now and how to get her to submit.”

“Very well,” Alrik gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned to leave. He stopped and looked back at me. “You say it was a spirit of hope?”

“I did.”

Alrik smiled cruelly. “Comfort her. Offer her innocence.”

Desire chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.”

Alrik left and I watched as Desire worked for a time as I lay unconscious. It once again donned Cullen’s face before waking me. It was the moment when it tempted me with the gentle illusion of Cullen and I in the hall. When I had given in.

“He says I am to comfort you,” the demon Cullen spoke.

Suddenly, darkness filled the pit. The cell and the projected memories swallowed up by it. My heart started pounding, the feeling that I was being watched causing gooseflesh to bloom across my skin. I still held the torch, though the light seemed insufficient in the face of such overwhelming darkness. Then before me, my emaciated self stood. Her eyes were empty, no light, no emotions, nothing. Yet, a smile spread across her face.

“I have been waiting,” she spoke, “You’ve kept me locked away for so long, I’ve had to entertain myself.” She flicked her hands and the scenes of the desire demon’s torture played out over and over. Ending with when I had given in to Desire and broke in the aftermath.
“So, I watched myself be born again and again. Isn’t it beautiful? Alrik broke you when he slammed the Veil closed. I forgot myself amidst that horrid place, cut off from the Fade. Such a miasma had already spread within it. It would have been a kingly feast for hundreds of spirits of despair. Yet, even in that state, a part of you still refused to give in to despair. But you were broken, lost, so I hid amongst the wreckage. He tried to make you forget in order to fix you.
“When Desire worked his magic, he poured a little too much of himself into you. You see, in his own twisted way he’d fallen for you. He wanted you for himself. He made you forget every time so you didn’t have to live with seeing the man you love destroy you over and over again. So, that when he wore his face, you would want him. Little did he know that I pulled a piece of him with me. Struggling as it did, but I held on. Then Alrik killed him and that little piece of him became a part of me. A part of you.”

I was trembling as she smiled at me. Her teeth bared, her black eyes unblinking. “You are not me.”

“Oh, but I am. I am neither demon, nor spirit, nor you, but a little mix of all. You as you should be—as you would be had you succumbed to what broke you. To the corruption you inflicted upon me. For if you’d accepted Desire’s offer, you would not have been some simple abomination, but more.”

I could feel her growing in strength, feeding on the despair on the mortal plane. “Why didn’t you take over when I was Tranquil? I wouldn’t have been able to fight back.”

She paced before me, eyes never leaving me. “Once Alrik was dead, I tried, but I sensed him—Purpose. Something had happened when Alrik killed him. You had called him back to his benevolent self as you laid dying in the aftermath of Alrik’s final assault. When Hope had reached out to you, when Alrik had used the Wrath of Heaven upon you, the seal upon your dreamer abilities had cracked. Unwittingly, you used them as you approached the precipice of death. We fought for dominance. But we both quickly realized something.”

”What was that?”

”We couldn’t kill each other without killing you. We are what sustained you all that time in the dark. So we waited, feeding off you, off your mana, in order to stay alive and gain strength. When they used that dreamer to try and erase your memories, we fought again for you—for if they erased your memories, would we also cease to be? Or vice versa—if we ceased to be, would you? Purpose suggested this and I relented. They put the brand to your forehead and to our amazement, we remained. And did you, but you were…disconnected. We did not understand it, but before we could come to terms with it all, Purpose called for Feynriel to trap me in a prison within you.” She gestured around us.
“So, I was cast into the darkness and Purpose stood guard at the door. He’d watched you, learned about you and how he still remained, realizing that I had helped keep him alive because of the memories I had taken. Feynriel had reshaped the memories of Alrik. The memoires of Desire were already gone, hidden with me in the dark, where I feasted on them to sustain my power. We were two parasites catching a free ride within your hollow meat sack. Then the unthinkable happened.”

“Haven.”

She nodded. “You nearly died, but Purpose offered to sustain your life force even knowing I, too, would remain. So he kept you alive, every moment trying to guide you as to how to deal with me. But you kept running away. Closing the door. Unwilling to face me. And he began to realize something was different. I was no longer simply Despair. For as much as you had unwittingly used your abilities upon him, so too had you been using them upon me. I had changed when he died, those bits of him becoming part of me. Then I changed again in Haven. And again in Solasan. Each time made all the worse because you kept refusing to face me. All this time I have been growing in the dark, biding my time.”  
She looked at me, hatred burning in her black eyes. The darkness in the room slithered back, crawling up her limbs, shrouding her like a cloak before flaring out like great membranous wings. The temperature plummeted, the torch going out, frost crawling upon my skin. I watched as she grew like a shadow cast by the low sun.
“And how I have grown.”

Terror gripped me hard. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She smiled and I felt those tendrils of icy shadow licking my skin. In them were the whispers of all I suffered. Everything that had fed her all these months since I’d awoken and all those years in that cell. ‘You cannot run from it’. I cried out as those tendrils hooked into my flesh.

“I smell your fear.” Those tendrils wormed their way beneath my skin, into my bones and burrowed into my soul.
“You reek of it.” She picked me up, I screaming as those hooks tore at me.
“How pathetic you are. How utterly sad. To have escaped that cell only physically. You’re still trapped there, still broken. Still so afraid. So afraid of yourself, so full of your doubt—that you are a monster incapable and unworthy of being loved. You are too broken, too disgusting, too weak to be worthy of the time you have been given. There is no hope that you will ever truly be happy or whole again because of all that was stolen from you.” She brought me close to her face, despair seeping into my soul and infecting it, consuming me, melding with me. She caressed my cheek.
“There is no Maker waiting across the Veil. Cullen will come to realize what you are in time. He will remember why he fears mages. They will all reject you after seeing you for what you are. After tasting Doubt. Rest here with me, era’harel. For you are broken and nothing can make you whole again.”

She was right. I knew she was right. I should just give up and let the others slay me. Put an end to all of this misery. ’Fight, Meira,’ Embrace whispered. My eyes fell closed, the darkness having nearly burrowed through every inch of me. Every bit except that spot where I could feel Cullen’s coin cool against my skin in the mortal plane, right over my heart. I listened to my heart beat slowing, echoing in that chamber of darkness, everything but the doubt fading away.

”You asked me once what I would do if you were possessed by a demon,”  Cullen’s voice sliced through the deafening blackness burning brightest gold and warming the bitter cold. I felt Purpose and Embrace guiding those words to me. My eyes snapped open, Doubt growling as her concentration was broken.
“And I told you that I would do everything in my power to not let you succumb to that fate. But I also said that I trusted you to do everything in your power to never let that fate come to pass. You assured me you would.”

‘Remember your promise, Meira,’ Purpose commanded. ‘You cannot run, you must face it.’ I am a sword forged by the Maker to be wielded by Him. ‘What could come of Doubt redeemed?’ 

”I will kill that pathetic templar!” Doubt raged, her concentration slipping just a little more. I could sense her moving my body towards Cullen. Could almost see him—was he on his knees, his weapons on the ground? What is he doing?! I had to stop her, she was going to kill him! “I will walk right up to him and slash open his throat! I will feast on his despair as he bleeds out on the stone!”

”You asked if I trusted you. I assured you I did. Assure me once more that my trust was not misplaced.”

What is Despair? The absence of hope; the absence of faith. What is Doubt? The absence of trust; the absence of conviction. Had I ever been without any of those? Even in my darkest moments? I had clung to hope so tightly I had called a spirit of hope to me. Hope had come and had renewed my strength. Then he’d trapped her there and she’d been corrupted. Corrupted further when I gave in to Desire and then despair at my failure.

I had to make it right. There was always hope and right now, we all desperately needed it. Right now, I had to save the man I loved as he was trying to save me. Because there was hope, even in the doubt. Even in the despair. It was just hidden.

I knew what I needed to do. I closed my eyes and as carefully as I could, I felt along her tendrils, past the whispers, ignoring the biting ice. Beneath it all, there was the tiniest flicker of warmth. Of light. The gentlest whisper of that beautiful song:

‘Whatsoever passes through the fire
Is not lost, but made eternal;
As air can never be broken nor crushed,
The tempered soul is everlasting! Remember the fire.
You must pass through it alone to be forged anew.
Look! Look upon the Light so you
May lead others here through the darkness,
Blade of the Faith!’

“You are no monster, beloved,” Cullen reassured me, “You never were. Never have been. And never will be.”

‘For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.’

With a cry, I reached for that tiny bit of light. 

“NOOOOO!” Doubt screamed realizing at the last moment, but it was too late.

As I seized that flicker, I burst into brightest, purest flame. Burning and consuming those icy tendrils of shadow and illuminating the dark abyss. There was no escape for her. Her shadows fed the light, it growing and growing, filling me as they had, fanning out from that small spot that had stayed me. Doubt was screaming, screeching as she threw her hands over her eyes. She tried to flee, but there was nowhere to run.

I burned and burned, all the power I had allowed her to gain now feeding and growing my own. At it, the ice in my heart melted away and I felt peace invade my every fiber. I opened those pools of mana, cold as they were, and let the light shine upon them. The light of life, warmth, joy, passion, faith. Hope. Burning and burning within my heart. My soul. It was time to let go of doubt.

”I am sorry for what I brought upon you,” I whispered as I embraced her, the flames of light wreathing around her. “I am sorry for what we endured.” Her black eyes stared at me, the flames absorbing her. Black tears pooled in her eyes, but didn’t fall. I held her as the light burned her away, that song growing louder and louder. “But there is no reason to doubt any longer. For there is hope. There has always been hope.”

“Do not forget,” she begged, “Do not ever forget that.”

”I won’t,” I promised as I pulled away from her. “Thank you for coming to me when I needed you most.” I placed a hand over her heart. As I did, another hand laid over mine. And another over that. I looked to see Purpose and Embrace to either side of me. They smiled, tears in their eyes. I didn’t want to let them go, but I knew I had to for all our sakes.

“We must leave you now, you are ready,” all three of them said together.

“I will miss you,” I said.

“And we you.”

Purpose cupped my cheek with his other hand. “You’ve finally remembered.” I chuckled sadly as he smiled gently at me. “I love you, Meira,” he murmured, “And I thank you for giving me this taste of mortality. Now please, go put an end to that demon. To the Red Templars. To Corypheus. But most of all, put Cullen out of his misery and find happiness.” He kissed my cheek. “I have fulfilled my purpose.”

“What about mine?” I questioned.

“You’ll know when the time comes,” he promised.

They faded, but an idea came to me. What the Augur had shown me at Stone-Bear. I had to let them go, but I could remember them. Invite them to mold into something new. All of them. Renewed, redeemed, free of everything we’d endured. As Doubt was about to be free. As I was about to be free. But they would be something more, because my magic was something more. My heart beating strong, proud, in defiance of all Alrik had done, of all he had told me, tried to convince me of, I reached for that magic. For the magic of a dreamer and called for it to will something new into being. Something good, something beautiful, something pure with the magic the Maker had given me.

“Now remember your purpose and embrace it,” I called to Doubt, to them all.

The last bits of her melting away, she smiled, a single tear falling down her bony, sunken cheek. She caught it in her skeletal hand and pressed it into my palm. I held hers and watched as she faded, like ash on the wind, her eyes sweeping close with the greatest sigh of relief. A burst of light blinded me for a moment and I felt a heavy weight grow in my hand.

I blinked and looked down. In my hands, was the most beautiful sword hilt I’d ever seen. Fashioned in the form of two dragons twisting around each other; the grip was of smooth ebony wood while the pommel and guard that was their heads of carved white, iridescent mother-of-pearl. Both had gemstones for eyes: one of onyx, the other emeralds. Between their open maws they held an oval diamond of the finest quality. Tears fell as I gripped the hilt, the wood warming at my touch, the eyes sparking with light and the diamond between flickering before fire roared from it into a magical blade that danced between gold and purest white flames. 

“Thank you,” I whispered as I cradled it against my chest.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find a new spirit. He was young in appearance, no more than a teenager, though he was tall, broad-shouldered, with flaxen hair and olive skin. He had one eye of pure gold and the other was of pure silver. His features were a mixture of Purpose, Embrace and Doubt. A combination of Cullen and I, I realized and my heart swelled with joy.

“Thank you,” he spoke, “You’ve set them all free.”

I couldn’t speak, tears overflowing as I felt myself knitting back together. Wholly me, wholly healed, wholly free. 

“Out of your desperation and doubt, I was born. Out of your endurance and faith, I was made new. I am Assurance.”  

I studied him. “Assurance?”

His eyes sparkled. “Promise. Certainty. So many mortals think of hope as some delicate thing. And because of that, many spirits of hope stay away from the mortal world, knowing we would be easily corrupted. But Hope is not delicate. It is an all consuming, unquenchable fire, snapping and snarling as it rises again and again from the ashes. Nothing and no one can stand against hope. You cannot kill it, you cannot imprison it, you cannot defeat it. Hope is made of dreams, light, music, love; it enables perseverance, purpose, peace, charity, patience, wisdom and faith.
“What is the opposite of fear? Some say faith, but for you…for you it is hope. You looked into the darkness, into the fear, and hoped. Hoped light and love and joy would come once more. You never doubted your faith, never stopped hoping in what you believe. What you doubted was the hope that life would ever be worthwhile again, but even so, you clung to hope.” He smiled gently.
“To call hope, one must act with the will to hope in the darkest of moments. I am the assurance that hope will be answered. The promise that suffering and sacrifice are not in vain. Certainty to dispel the doubt.” He gestured the hilt.
“Take their gift. It is their wills fashioned into a tool that will obey you like no other. Both I and the blade will allow you to wield the armor. Use both to bring hope to the others.”

“I will,” I said softly, but not weakly.

He offered a hand. Taking it and using the staff to pull myself up. The darkness and abyss gone, only the cell remaining, I watched as around me it crumbled. I wept. Cried so hard, I didn’t know if I could stop. Finally allowing myself to grieve and mourn all that had happened to me. All that had been done to me. All I had lost. But I was no longer angry. No longer despairing. No longer doubting. I wept for the girl that had died in that cell, but rejoiced for the woman who now stood within it. Renewed, redeemed, restored and reforged. I watched the last bits of stone crumble to dust.

Assurance. It was an apt name. For not all I hoped for could be gained immediately, but freed of Doubt, I was assured that they would come. I knew with certainty I would defeat the enemies we now faced. That I was not a monster. I had never been one. And I would fight no matter what to never be.

Taking the hilt in my hand, feeling the hum of the power within it as flames burned once more, I looked toward the great river that was my mana. I ran towards it and threw myself in once more. I grabbed it and pulled, pulling it down to meet the one below it and the one below that. They converged and as they did, I summoned each piece of the armor upon me. The power was nearly overwhelming, but I held firm to the blade. True to his promise, the weight of the power eased. As it did, I unleashed my mana. No longer ice and shadow, but fire and light. Spreading it wide, I flew from the Fade.

Chapter Text

CULLEN

The cold of her blade kissed my throat, but instead of the pain I expected, it merely stayed. Pressed against my skin, but not breaking it, not drawing blood. The light dissipated, my vision blurred. The pressure eased, gentle fingers replacing the cold flames.
  I blinked furiously, she finally coming into focus. Meira seemed to almost glow from within as I looked at her, her silver eyes incandescing against the night sky like two brilliant stars, her mana positively singing. She dropped to her knees, time seeming to halt as tears spilt down her cheeks. She smiled gently at me and opened her mouth, but I swallowed her words as I claimed her lips with my own. I relished the gasp she let out, burying my fingers in her hair as I unleashed all of my passion into the kiss.
  “I love you.”

“And I you,” she breathed.

“Well, I hate to interrupt this little lover’s reunion,” Imshael’s voice echoed across the courtyard as it drew its talons from the unmoving body of Ghilani, “but you still haven’t given me an answer, Fadewalker.”

I stood and offered her a hand. “Together?”

She placed her delicate fingers in my gloved palm and I pulled her up. She gave a nod. “Together.”

  We turned to face our enemy. In the wake of Meira wresting herself from the jaws of the shadow that had been haunting her, magical energy had burst forth from her. It had knocked everyone down, but they were quickly recovering. Destroying the lyrium overhead had freed the mages of its poisonous effects, but it had done nothing to dampen Samson or the Red Templars. The elves that had been thrall to Imshael were, thankfully, still frozen.
  But as he rose, Samson met my glare and gave a haughty smirk in response. He stepped forward, a fist hitting the chunk of red lyrium set into his cuirass. The lyrium blazed to life once more, a great surge radiating out. Samson’s eyes glowed crimson at it, the other pieces of red lyrium set within his armor answering in kind. He drew his blade—Meredith’s blade—and lifted it into the air.

“Templars! The Inquisition stands for the Chantry and its false god. They come to stand against us, against the Elder One, to bring us to heel or to kill us if we do not submit. Let us show them what the templars of a true god can do!”

Roars sounded in a rallying cry before the courtyard was once more bathed in crimson. The Red Templars rushed forward.

“Inquisition!” I shouted, drawing my own blade, “For Skyhold!”

The battalion and soldiers ran to meet the corrupted templars, magic and the white light of templar abilities trying to push back the garish crimson. Meira and I made to join them, but she stopped in her tracks.

“Mamae,” a small voice spoke.

Meira began shaking. “You—You’re not real.”

I came to stand beside her. Before us stood a child. She was beautiful with her golden curls and brilliant jade eyes. I knew instantly this was the illusion Meira had seen at Solasan. Imshael was betting she’d give into temptation again when faced directly with it.

“Lieutenant,” I murmured.

  The battalion and the Red Templars were facing off. Samson’s armor was granting him devastating power, the red lyrium still potent to any who got too near. The mages kept their distance, freezing or burning the corrupted enemy. Our templars kept them from gaining on the mages as they slowly whittled the enemy down.
  But Samson could not be stopped or slowed. He swung his blade, the force killing any too close and knocking others back. He was like Meredith had been that fateful night when I’d stood with Hawke against her—nearly invincible. What was worse: Samson seemed unaffected by the lyrium. He was carving a path to the mages and if he got to them, we wouldn’t stand a chance. A few of the Red Templars noticed us and charged.

“Lieutenant-Comander,” I barked, more forcefully, readying my weapons.

  Solana was trying to get to Samson, a beacon of flame amongst the flashes of magic and crimson light of the corrupted templars, but his underlings kept cutting her off. Until she melted them: lyrium, flesh and bone. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought her a rage demon.
  I looked to Imshael, its gaze locked on Meira. The creature smiled, its eyes now blood-red—not the crimson of the corrupted lyrium, but the deep scarlet of actual blood—as demons manifested from the blood magic on the air. The child began crying; the pitiful wails of a babe, of another child, echoing. Meira let out a bitter sob, her arms cradling herself.
  Imshael cackled. Our people were faltering. The Red Templars roared. Samson and Solana came face to face.

We were out of time.

“Come on, Fadewalker,” Imshael goaded, “Look around you. All that surrounds you is death! All that awaits you is death! Take what I have to offer!”

“Be strong, beloved,” I commanded.

Meira looked to me and the sorrow, the grief, in her eyes broke my heart. “Cullen, I…can’t. I…need you.”

“And you have me,” I promised, “I’m right here. But I cannot do this for you. You must resist to break the hold. You had your time with them, but now…you must let go.”

Meira searched my face, understanding coloring her own, before nodding. She reached a hand out to the illusion, caressing the child’s cheek with the touch and care only a mother knew. “Ar lath ma, da’vhenans. Melava somniar, ” she breathed, her voice shaking with grief. At her touch, light bloomed across the illusion. The child held Meira’s wrist, nuzzling her cheek into Meira’s palm. A contented sigh before a happy smile as her eyes closed. The cries of a babe quieted, calmed coos on the air.

“Ar lath ma, Mamae. Suledin.” The light grew bright before the illusion winked out.

The temperature around Meira began to plummet. Meira’s eyes snapped to Imshael, full of a blazing wrath. “I refuse your offer, demon, and I shall send you back to the Void.”

“Oh for…Choice! Spirit!” Imshael snarled before letting out an inhuman screech. The creature folded in on itself. Grotesque sounds of bones breaking and flesh bursting clawing at my ears.

“Cullen, you need to help the others,” she spoke, her voice strangely echoing.

“You cannot do this alone!”

“I must,” she said calmly. The Red Templars that had nearly reached us screamed as they froze solid, toppled and shattered  upon the stone. “Imshael is more than simply a demon. It is something older, stronger and beyond the rest of you.” She met my gaze, her pupils and irises gone. Instead, her eyes were alight with magic. “You helped me already,” she assured, “And besides,” she laughed. “I am not alone.”

A great gust of wind blew through the courtyard, warm and full of a song I couldn’t quite hear. In its wake, the spirits connected to her armor manifested once more. Their faces familiar as I’d seen them around Skyhold. Except I noticed Purpose and Embrace were missing. I looked again and realized one of the spirits was unfamiliar, a young man that looked like—

“Assurance, mortal,” the spirit spoke as it’s different colored eyes met my own. “I am here to provide certainty where there was once doubt.”

I looked to Meira. She gave me a sad, but brilliant smile. “It’s you Samson wants. I need you to buy me enough time to wipe this thing from the face of Thedas. I must concentrate on Imshael. If Samson reaches me, I will not have the strength to defeat it. Get to Solana. Aid her. And if you can, tell her I am sorry.”

I swallowed down my protests. She was right. They were matched in power, but Samson’s armor would drain her mana. Just as it was doing to Solana, her flames guttering. She needed aid.

“Trust me,” she urged, once more bringing the runes upon my armor to life with a touch.

“With all I have,” I vowed before gripping my sword, raising my shield and charging into the fray. Maker, hear my cry.

…

MEIRA

I watched as my heart charged into battle, fierce and determined. I did not know if any of us would make it out of this alive. Samson was too strong, his armor negating any magic that came near and bolstering his brute strength. I hoped that Solana would be able to distract him just long enough. Imshael was something unknown, but its power was surging as it changed before me. The hum began again, but with the armor in place and I no longer at war within myself, I could drown it out. But how do I defeat the creature?

”You have the power of eight spirits with you,” Assurance spoke, drawing a blade from his sheath. “And your abilities are fully in your control. Do not doubt and do not be afraid. We are with you.”

A furious roar sounded before that darkness burst into flames. A rage demon, stronger than most, but still rage. Still fire. Gripping my swords, I waited for it to come to me as I called a blizzard into being. Frigid wind and biting snow swirling about us. Ice lacerated Imshael, drawing hateful shouts from it. Its baleful eyes glared, molten fire dripping upon the stones as it slid toward me. With a menacing laugh, I watched as the demon grew in height, its heat nearly blistering even at a distance. I felt my magic shift slightly and looked towards the source: Amelia, Laren, Asaala and Michel were running towards us.

”No! You cannot—“

”Shut up,” Asaala barked as she cut through one of the demons Imshael had summoned. Her normally purple eyes now burned with lyrium. “Our abilities are the strongest as we’re the newest templars. They are useless against the Red Templars. You need us.”

”And I have a vow to keep,” Michel countered, shielded by Laren, “You will not stop me.”

”So you dare face me again, Michel? After your last blunder?” Imshael goaded.

Laren rushed forward, sword and shield alight with her templar abilities—her eyes were glowing with the lyrium she’d just ingested. She was fast. When I thought she’d be hit by the ice storm, Ardor appeared, blocking my magic with a fiery shield. Asaala ran parallel to Laren, her giant sword in her hands, Perseverance defending her. Amelia drew her bow, Joy at her side. Michel ran down the middle, Prudence enveloping him in a barrier. Imshael growled in frustration. I had to find a way to immobilize him.

”Your blade is not just a blade, Fadewalker,” Assurance spoke, “If you will it, it will become a staff.” He turned to the others and gestured for them to follow him as he charged Imshael. 

  I looked to my Fade-smithed blade. With a thought, it became a staff. The dragons elongated, their eyes brilliant and the diamond dazzling as magic flowed into it. I pulled everything I could into the staff and Fade-stepped towards Imshael. I popped into existence before it, the creature distracted by Laren and Asaala’s blades that drew ferocious screams from it. Amelia’s arrows kept hitting it in the eyes causing it to swat blindly, flinging molten fire everywhere. Michel stayed back, the heat too much without lyrium granting him immunity.
  I swung the staff, concentrating everything I’d gathered into it. Runes spread down it before I slammed the end onto the ground. Ice burst from beneath Imshael, freezing it in its jaws. Michel took his opening and thrust his blade into Imshael.
  The ice cracked and then shattered, liquid fire raining down. I conjured a massive ice wall to protect us all. Imshael bellowed before spewing fire. I threw my staff up, another wall of ice erupting, but this time impaling Imshael. The creature exploded, hurling us all back. The spirits caught us before we were sent too far back, righting us.

”Why do you fight me, Laren? All you’ve ever known is rage. Lay down your blade and—“

”Fenedhis lasa, ir emah’la shal! Na din’an shalin! Ir bellanaris din’an heem, harellen!”  Laren snarled.

”I’ll take that as a no, then,” Imshael sighed.

Laren screamed in defiance as she swung her blade in a wide arc and severed one of Imshael’s arms from its body. The creature howled before that sentient dark returned. It disappeared a moment and then reemerged in a new form: Pride. Electricity crackled down its craggy skin, its many eyes staring down Michel. “What about you, Michel? Give up this pretense at honor. We both know you have none. But I could give you some. Restore your honor. Even reunite you with your precious empress.”

“I saw what you did to that elven clan,” Michel spit, “You know nothing of honor.”

”And you care so much for elves, do you? You who cannot even accept—“

  As they’d argued, I willed my staff back into a blade. The fire of it blazing white with heat. Laren and Asaala readied themselves to perform the Wrath of Heaven. The spirits rushed forward to strike as one. With a grunt, I swung my sword into the creature’s leg. Feeling all of the spirits bolstering the magic of my blades, they sliced through and severed the leg. Imshael bellowed as he began to topple.
  I felt the air charge with the Wrath and Fade-stepped away. A mighty pillar of light slammed down from above, engulfing everything. The spirits disappeared a moment, my blizzard dissipated, the Veil grew thick. As the Wrath dispersed, we found Imshael gone.

“Is it over?” Amelia questioned. As soon as the words left her mouth, darkness engulfed her. Engulfed them all. 

“Enough!” Imshael’s voice demanded, “Enough of all this! I am not the enemy! I made you a generous offer and you refused, so if you won’t be smart, be afraid!”

From the sentient darkness a creature of unspeakable horror emerged. An amalgamation of something arachnid, corpse and arcane horror. I realized the spider-like appendages that sprouted from its back had been what stopped my attacks before, they’d just been hidden beyond the Veil. They lifted Imshael up until its feet no longer touched the ground and then it…began to levitate. “What in the Maker’s name is that?”

”Imshael is in essence desire,” Intent spoke from my side, “but far more than that. It believes it is a spirit of choice. Therefore, it has the choice to be whatever it chooses. Now? It is Fear.”

Imshael let out a horrid screech, flinging its hands out. Assurance rushed to stand before me, letting out a war cry as he shielded me. “Have faith, Fadewalker! Imshael means to subdue you all with your greatest fears! It will feed off the terror! You must help the others!”

Imshael was claiming the others, capturing them in the darkness. The Red Templars cut those within reach and rendered helpless down. Samson commanded his men to let him deal with Solana and Cullen himself. They’re going to die! They’re all going to die!

”The armor, Fadewalker,” Prudence spoke as Imshael cackled gleefully, the gap between us nearly closed, the pain of its nearness threatening to overwhelm me. “It is time.”

Taking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and pulled on the Fade. I felt as the magical armor crawled into being across my skin. Every piece spreading and connecting, the Fade-born metal swirling as I opened my eyes. In my right hand, the new sword burned impossibly hotter; a blazing fire of brightest, purest white. In my left hand my spectral blade sang into being. Lastly, the helm spread from my brow to meet the rest. As it did, I felt the Veil thin around me; whispers on the air with my every movement. My mana replenished and then overflowed; surging and surging until I thought it would overwhelm me.

“Do not be afraid,” Assurance spoke as he appeared beside me, “And do not doubt. You are Hope. Fear cannot abide Hope.”

  With little more than a thought, I reached across the Veil to find the fearlings, demons serving Imshael, weaving webs of fears within the minds of those who still lived. I felt their fear, saw what Imshael fed upon. Each one, I called to, turning a fear into a hope. The fear of death into the hope of sacrifice. The fear of failure into the hope of success. I rallied them all, burning away the dark.
  I reached Solana. There was so much fear within her. The fear that she had betrayed me; the fear that Samson was beyond saving; the fear that she was going to die. I touched her mind within the Fade. 

“Forgive me, Sol. It was wrong to hurt you. I understand what it is to love. I forgive you. Try, Sol, for there is always hope.”

My mind returned to my body just as Imshael pulled back its taloned hand to slash my jugular. The others let out a war cry. Cullen bellowed that animalistic roar. Amelia, Laren, Asaala and Michel tumbled out of the darkness. Amelia came to a knee and shot arrow after arrow. Laren, Asaala and Michel’s blade sliced off the demon’s arachnid legs. One impaled Michel in the chest. 

”Xebenkeck! Gaxkang! Give me strength!” Imshael cried as his power surged.

The magic of the Fade poured into me like a raging river slamming into a dam. Flames licked across my body, pure white and blistering hot though they did not burn me. The very air rippled as the heat devoured the cold. Snow turned to rain. The ground beneath me became scorched. A torrid wind howled as I poured as much mana as I dared into a great spell. “Get out of here!” I screamed at the others.

Imshael swiped, I thrust my blades into its chest. My barrier burst, encasing much of Imshael in ice. The claws sank into me, the pain of the contact beyond imagining, yet unlike that of a normal demon. My mana reached its peak and I drew all of it to me.

”Really? Really? Now you’re just overreacting,” Imshael hissed.

With a cry, I unleashed the firestorm. A massive pillar of flame slammed down from the heavens, engulfing everything around me. It swirled, the roar of the fiery gale deafening. Red Templars tried to rush to Imshael’s aid as Samson commanded them to rush me, but they screamed as they melted upon the stone as if they were made of wax instead of lyrium. Imshael’s flesh bubbled and charred as it screeched.
  With a final roar, the firestorm consumed the demon before dissipating. The creature gone, the song too disappeared, releasing the elves. I unfroze them. Those still alive recovered swiftly, shaking their heads to dispel the daze, before they rushed into the fray. 

Before I could take a moment to breathe, Laren shouted as she pointed towards where the rest of the battle was taking place, “Lieutenant! The Commander!”

  Solana stood before Samson, only he and a few Red Templars remained. Her fire was gone, his armor negating her magic. Behind her was Cullen. Solana put her hand out to Samson, pleading.
  The only tell was a tightening of his jaw.
  I Fade-stepped, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. With his shield, he bashed Solana out of the way, sending her crashing into a nearby stone wall. She fell to the ground in a heap, unmoving. Samson raised his blade, crimson eyes full of bitter hatred staring down at Cullen. Cullen made for his sword, it and his shield some distance from him. Samson stomped on Cullen’s wrist, breaking it. Cullen let out an angry noise of pain.
  I tumbled out of my Fade-step, Samson’s armor like a solid wall when I got to its perimeter of effect. I held my armor in place, but it took all the mana I had left. A Red Templar swung at me. I dipped and brought one of my metal blades up to behead the creature.
  The others were still fighting. Laren, Asaala, Amelia, Barris, Henry and Wilhelm were all trying to get to Cullen, but were caught by more Red Templars. Samson picked Cullen up by the throat.

”You once thought yourself above me, Dog Lord,” Samson spit. “Now, I have power you can’t even imagine. You won’t stop me. I’m going to kill you and everyone you ever loved. Starting with that pretty elf. Her magic can’t save her. Not from me. Neither can you.”

Maker! Andraste! What do I do?! It was as if time slowed to a creeping halt. I saw the blade moving, the tip coming closer and closer to Cullen. His eyes found mine.

”Mana purge!” He commanded.

  I’d never done it before, but recalled the theory. I felt the magic of the Fade still slamming against the dam that was me, waiting to be unleashed, replenishing quickly because of the armor.
  Help me!
  Together, the spirits broke the dam—ripping the armor off and forcing that raging river to course through and out of me. A great boom sounded, the force too great. I let out a cry as all the built up mana whooshed out of me. Everyone was blown backwards. Cullen kicked off of Samson in his moment of distraction before the purge hurtled Samson away.
  Cullen landed, but before relief could find me, the ground beneath our feet gave way, the force of my strike having cracked the very earth. We hung, suspended in midair a moment before my bones felt as if they would come out of my skin. Alain and the other remaining earth mages did what they could to catch us, but we were falling too fast.
  I reached for the armor, but the purging of mana left me far weaker than I had been. I felt the weight of the power, my mortal body too tired to bear it. I pushed past the exhaustion and the pain, my mind slipping into the Fade. I felt the others, reached for them, before letting out a grunt of effort as I willed a massive barrier into place around us all and above us. Just in time as we hit the ground beneath.
  The battle was far from over as the earth above us buckled, falling into the crevice. My head was pounding, blackness on the edges of my vision. I heard voices shouting, but all my attention was focused on the debris falling that would crush us all beneath it.
  Maker. Andraste. Give me strength!
  With that prayer, I threw my hands up, pulling on every last drop of mana afforded to me by the armor. My barrier caught the weight of the earth crashing down on us, I nearly buckling at the heaviness. I felt the warmth of blood flowing from my nose, my ears, my eyes as my heart beat madly. I couldn’t stop until I was certain the debris had stopped falling. My bones strained with the weight, my barrier thinning. Just when I thought I’d break, an earthen barrier crashed into place beneath my own, thick enough to defend us. The last of my strength leaving me, I collapsed, unconscious. 

…

I awoke to the sensation of a gloved hand caressing my cheek. “You were brilliant, beloved,” Cullen praised, his voice soft. I nearly cried in relief.

I blinked my eyes open. I was upon a cot, the canvas of a tent above my head, sunlight brightening the fabric. I heard voices beyond. I did not seem to be in the infirmary tent. I met his eyes to find them molten and a gentle smile on his lips. He had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. I pressed his palm against my skin. “How many did we lose?”

His smile fell. “Far too many.”

A weight settled in my chest. “Who did we lose?”

Anger flitted across his features. “Several of the mages and templars. Nearly half the soldiers.”

So many gone. Maker! Oh, Maker! “Was it…it was my fault, wasn’t it?”

He took my hand with his good one, the other was casted and bound to his chest. “Do not blame yourself.”

”How many did I kill when Imshael had control? While I fought her? With the mana purge?”

He held my cheek. “You are not to blame. You did everything you could and saved as many as you were able.”

There was something beneath his words. Something he wasn’t telling me. “And Solana?” He looked away. I sat up, ignoring the soreness in my body, panic gripping me. “Where is Solana, Cullen?”

He met my eyes, his face full of empathy. “We can’t find her.”

”No!” I croaked. “Tell me it’s not true! Tell me she isn’t dead!”

He pulled me to his chest, his hand cradling my head. “She never got up after Samson struck her. Some of the keep is still intact and we’re sifting through the rubble. We’ve found…some of the others. A few who survived, but…”

“But what?” I demanded, tears hot on my cheeks.

”There is little rubble left to sort through,” he murmured. 

I buried my face in his fur and wept, guilt heavy in my chest.

…

”Lieutenant-Commander!” Cullen’s voice called.

  I looked up from healing Michel. We’d returned to the camp near the Tower of Bone. Harding, who’d remained at the tower during our assault on Suledin, had seen to getting it into order. Tents repaired or erected, soldiers and scouts seeing to duties, food and water supplied.
  The few survivors from the mine were separated from the rest of us, being kept under observation for any signs of red lyrium contamination. The few mages who’d escaped the ordeal relatively unscathed, myself included, saw to the healing of all the injured. Cullen, whose wrist I’d been able to magically heal, and the remaining templars and soldiers were still excavating the debris. We’d escaped via some tunnels beneath the keep that led back out into the mine. We’d found more bodies and pieces of bodies to help identify those we’d lost that remained unaccounted for—except for Solana.
  Samson had escaped, clear signs that the few remaining Red Templars had fled while we’d been buried beneath the keep. Cullen had given a sorrowful rage that it had all been for naught. Samson was gone and it seemed Maddox had been no more than bait. Samson was incapable of being fought outright, so to Cullen all we’d accomplished was solidifying that. I reminded him that we put an end to the mining operation, freed people from the mine and put an end to a powerful entity under Corypheus’s command. He’d ceded that I was correct, but he still couldn’t help feel that it had all been in vain. 
  We had lost many. I prepared for the news that she’d been found as Cullen strode for me. But instead of empathy in his face, there was rage in his eyes. He waved for me to follow him into his tent. I placed a hand on Michel’s shoulder, assuring him I’d return, before going to meet Cullen.

We’d barely stepped inside when he slammed a piece of paper onto a makeshift table. “She’s going after Samson! She abandoned us to go after him!”

I took the paper and read the letter Solana had written with magical runes:

Talitha,

Should you find this…know that I am sorry. I have never deserved your friendship. Now, even less so. I should have told you. The Maker spared me and I must use this chance. I will find him. And when I do, you’ll be the first to know.

Forgive me.

And know that you are forgiven.

Sol

I met his eyes, fury still alight in them. “If she is willing to track him down, I say let her.”

”You cannot be serious?” He balked. “She’s in love with him. What if she tries to reason with him again instead of informing us of his location?

“What if it was you?” I questioned, quietly. “Would you expect me to give up on you?”

The anger didn’t leave his face, but he snapped his mouth shut. He looked away. “If I’d become him…yes.”

“And you know I wouldn’t.” He clenched his jaw, but said nothing. “I…have to have faith, Cullen. Faith that if nothing else, she can lead us to him,” I murmured. “And if she does find him…” I rubbed my fingers over my palms. “I touched her mind, Cullen. As with you, I may be able to find her again, even at a distance, with the spirits’ help and the armor’s power.” I met his eyes to gauge his reaction.

Despite his anger, his lips tipped. “As I recall, you did the impossible by Fade-stepping all the way from the Approach to Skyhold. Then, you had quite the adventure inside my own mind. This is hardly a revelation.”

I gave him a small smile, but it quickly fell. “True.” He closed the distance between us, taking my elbows in his hands. “It still frightens me. The power I wield.”

”I know,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I trust you.”

I gave a nod and let out a breath. “She’ll find him,” I assured, “I know it. She will not let him rest after what he did to her.”

…

  After a few days of regrouping and healing our injured, we returned to the village to find hope restored. The Elfsblood had thawed, our friends from Stone-Bear having arrived with supplies to aid the villagers. We’d searched what remained of Suledin Keep—Cullen had sent word to Skyhold of what had occurred, Josephine had replied saying local nobility would aid in its restoration—and the mine for any clues about Samson.
  We’d discovered that Imshael had been experimenting with red lyrium on various organisms though we did not know to what end. Evidence of Mistress Poulin’s involvement in the selling of her own people to the templars in exchange for supplies was also uncovered. Cullen intended to arrest the woman for her crimes and have her returned to Skyhold for Ellana’s judgment. But we found no clues as to where Samson would go next.
  We held a vigil for the fallen. I sent Ghilani—whom I had been able to heal, though she had a scar from Imshael and was in need of rest—with the Avaar to be cared for by Svarah as she’d taken a liking to the wolf. Cullen left the remaining soldiers behind to see to rebuilding the village and setting up an Inquisition posting that would span from the village to the keep. Once we’d seen to everything we could, we made for the Imperial Highway to meet the Inquisition’s forces at Lake Celestine. We would march with the rest of them to Griffon Wing Keep before making final preparations before assaulting Adamant Fortress. Cullen and I hadn’t discussed what happened at Suledin Keep. He too courteous as to press by asking questions and I still in the process of digesting it all. After so long in the dark, after so long beneath the shadow of Doubt, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be free. To be whole. Everything felt new. The air fresher, colors more vibrant, the sun brighter and the whole of creation more beautiful.
  And Cullen…I had thought I knew the depths of my love for him before, but now…now when I looked at him, when he touched me, I burned. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, though I had to admit it was in the best way. I could hardly meet his eyes without wanting to blush. The barest touch made me weak at the knees. His crooked smile, breathy laugh and his endearments caused me to melt. 
  We’d been riding hard, stopping only when we had to in order to make up for lost time. We were only a few days’ ride from Lake Celestine, the stars and moons bright above our heads as we rode along when he came up alongside me. My heart thudded unevenly at his nearness, flitting in my stomach. The others were some distance behind us, meaning we would not be overheard. 

“How are you, beloved?” he questioned.

I glanced at him, finding his eyes intent upon me and I fought down the blush threatening to burn in my cheeks. “I’m…not entirely sure to be honest.”

He chuckled. “I suppose that would be the case.” He paused a moment. “Assurance…he is…did he…”

”They are gone,” I murmured, “Purpose and Embrace. And Doubt.”

”I am sorry.”

I shook my head. “They’re not really. They live on in Assurance. They became him.”

”And your sword? Or is it a staff?”

”Both,” I chuckled before shrugging, “Fade-smithed.”

”How is that possible?”

”My best guess? Because I’m a dreamer. And perhaps because of the armor. It is…like a piece of the Fade is always with me. I suppose because it is imbued with the essence of seven spirits.” We fell into silence, the horses’ hoofbeats the only sound. “Cullen,” I began, pulling his eyes to me. I looked away, keeping my gaze fixed on the road before us. “Why didn’t you kill me?” My voice was quiet, but not weak. The vision of him on his knees, weapons on the ground, hands spread out. His words as he called to me played in my mind. “You…why did you do that?”

He was silent for a long moment. “Purpose came to me.”

I looked at him in surprise. “He did?”

He nodded. “He told me you were in there. Fighting. That you had a plan. And I saw you break through when Ghilani attacked Imshael.” Burnished bronze met my eyes. “You asked me to trust you. I vowed that I would.”

I swallowed thickly and nodded. “If I ever did fall, will you promise me that you would be the one to end it?”

He gripped his reins tightly. “I stand by your vow: you will do everything in your power to never let that come to pass. Would I do it? Only to spare you from becoming a monster because I know how it would devastate you. But you must maintain your promise. And in that moment? You did.” He cleared his throat. “How are you faring now that Doubt is gone? What is Assurance like?’

My heart beating rapidly in my chest and a blush crawling up my cheeks, I cleared my throat as I thought of how to voice how I’d been feeling since overcoming Doubt. “I, um, all I can say is that I feel…different. With Doubt gone, I mean. I mean, I’ve felt different…well, for quite some time, but this…is a different…different.” I winced at my own words. “I-I mean…I’ll just stop talking now.”

He chortled. “It’s alright, love. Eloquently or no, I would like to know.”

I gave him an embarrassed, if not grateful, look. “I’m not sure how to say it. I just…think I might finally feel like…me.”

He met my eyes and I swallowed thickly. “I believe I understand.”

There was weight in those words and I studied his face in the moonlight. Of course he would understand, even if I couldn’t put words to how I felt. He would understand better than anyone. “Thank you.”

”Now,” he breathed, a hardness coming into his features, “We must prepare ourselves for Adamant.”

”Are you…ready?” I probed.

He nodded. “We’ve been preparing for this. It will not be like Haven.”

”I didn’t mean it like that.”

”I know. It is a promise. One I intend to keep.”

“I can’t help but feel as if…that if we lose people…it’ll be my doing. Is it like that for you?”

”If I ever lose the ability to understand the gravity of the position I hold, relieve me of command. I feel the weight of everyone under my leadership. I do not send them into danger easily, but if the Grey Wardens have fallen…if Corypheus is using them to bring forth a demon army…it is what must be done. I will do my utmost to protect as many of them as I can.”

I studied him then from under my lashes. He stared ahead, a fierce determination on his face. He sat proud atop his horse, his armor gleaming in the light of the moon. His sword at his side, his shield strapped to his back. I’d worried Suledin Keep would cause him to feel defeated, but he seemed even more determined now. A quiet rage within him aimed at our enemy. 

“Will you tell me about Samson?” I questioned, voice gentle. “I know we talked about him before, but…in your memories…I saw you give him coin. Appeal to Meredith on his behalf. Is there…is there more to it, Cullen?”

His jaw clenched before he sighed. “When I first arrived…he looked out for me. He was older, more experienced, less wary of mages and knew Meredith well—as well as anyone knew Meredith, that is. He tried to warn me about her, but…I was too angry. And I thought him weak.” He shifted in his saddle.
  “He struggled with feeling guilty about our duties. It’s why he passed letters for Maddox. And the little ones….” He sighed heavily. “I was the wrong person to appeal to for those feelings. I wanted every mage locked away, it didn’t matter their age or circumstances. But moreover, he was addicted to lyrium. Even more so than most. When Meredith expelled him from the Order, when she put Maddox through the Rite, it broke him. But he still longed to be a templar. That much was clear. Despite my anger, at the time, I was not so hard-hearted as I became.” He was quiet a moment. “But how he came to where he is now? He came to me when he and another templar, Ser Thrask, tried to help a group of mages and templars depose Meredith. Hawke was involved—they’d taken Bethany. One of the mages turned to blood magic. Samson believed that perhaps Meredith’s perceived paranoia had merit after all. I called it a convenient change of heart.” His lips twitched despite his anger. “Hypocrite that I am, I seem to have fallen to the same ailment, but in the opposite direction.” I gave a small chuckle. “Samson was never…a perfect templar, but I…I might have—I did—consider us friends at one point…and I never thought he’d fall so far. Bowing to a darkspawn? Red lyrium? Working with blood mages like the Venatori? I’m afraid I have no explanation for it.”

”You can’t think of any reason why Samson would turn to Corypheus? To red lyrium? Why he would hate the Chantry?”

Cullen looked away. “No reason that is justified.”

”We’ll find him,” I promised, “and stop him.”

…

  We reached the lake a few days later. The whole of the Inquisition’s forces met our eyes. Armor glinted in the light reflecting off of Celestine, the camp buzzing with life. Soldiers were shouting at each other, squires and pages running to and fro, laundresses hard at work and the smell of food roasting over the fires dotting around the camp.
  As we drew closer, a shout rang out for Cullen’s approach. The whole of the army came to a halt and turned to salute him. He answered, setting them all at ease and back to their duties. Stable hands came to take our horses to feed and water them before brushing them down. They’d be returned to Stone-Bear as our own mounts had traveled with the army. 
  A soldier directed Cullen to Ellana’s tent, which was the largest amongst them all. He waved for me to follow. As we made our way through the camp, the magnitude of what we were about to do—what we were about to face—started to weigh on my shoulders. But Cullen was right, we were ready.
  I saw it in the way the soldiers went through their practice drills, with focus and determination. I saw it too in the efficiency and professionalism with which the soldiers were conducting themselves. At Skyhold, there was always a touch of lightheartedness to the people under Cullen’s command. But not here. Here they were soldiers. Armed, trained and ready to fight. It both encouraged and saddened me.

”Commander,” Ellana greeted as Cullen lifted the tent flap, “Lieutenant-Commander.”

Ellana was inside along with Rylen, Cassandra, Evelyn and Hawke. Leliana and Josephine had remained at Skyhold. The tent was comfortably, but modestly furnished. The group stood surrounding a makeshift table upon which sat a rough map of Adamant drawn by one of our drafters with Evelyn and Hawke’s direction. Evelyn was in Grey Warden armor, her hair braided down her back, her forest-green eyes flicking over the fortress. Hawke’s eyes flicked to Cullen and then to me, calculating, as we approached.

“Inquisitor,” we greeted in unison.

”Commander,” Ellana addressed Cullen, “For what its worth, I am sorry Samson got away.”

He inclined his head. “As am I.”

”But eliminating Imshael was a decisive victory. From Lieutenant-Commander Talitha’s report I believe the removal of that threat will be to our benefit. I regret only the lives lost in the effort.”

”As do I, Inquisitor. I will ensure their loss will not be in vain.”

”It seems Captain Amell has abandoned us for a personal vendetta, Lieutenant?” Ellana questioned, hostility in her voice, as she looked at me.

”Solana is going after Samson, yes,” I spoke, “When she returns, she will no longer be Captain.”

Ellana looked surprised at this. “I expected more of a fight.”

I shook my head. “She’s chosen her path. While I understand, I cannot abide a captain who would abandon us on the eve of battle, no matter the reason.”

”Who do you recommend to take her place?”

”Rion.”

Ellana nodded her head. “Commander? Do you approve?”

”I do. Rion has proven himself.”

”Very good,” Ellana gave another nod. “Now, to business.”

Briefly, they caught us up on how the march had faired as well as the strategy they’d been working on during their travel. Cullen offered a few suggestions, pointing out weak spots in their formations for the soldiers, better ways of maneuvering the troops and more straightforward ways of breaching the fortress. They discussed logistics, the importance of getting Ellana in as swiftly as possible, who needed to accompany her and what needed to be done once we reached Griffon Wing Keep before pressing on to Adamant.

”What about Fenris and the others?” Cullen questioned, “It is vital that Adamant’s supplies be cut off should we be unable to breach the fortress. If all else fails, we need to starve them out.”

”How long exactly do believe the assault will take, Commander?” Evelyn questioned, “Could we not just get a small team inside the same way Hawke and I entered while using the main assault as a distraction?”

“That is the general plan, but I do not think it wise to leave the Inquisitor stranded within unsupported,” Cullen argued, “It’s been some time since your reconnaissance. I cannot, in good conscience, send the Inquisitor inside blindly nor without the full support of her army at her back. It is best we hit the fortress head on, in unison, and send the Inquisitor in the proverbial front door. Any other option leaves her at risk of being captured or worse.”

”Besides, they know we’re coming. Our scouts reported eyes on us. Any chance we might’ve had at slipping inside without them suspecting we could try, disappeared with their scouts,” Ellana pointed out before looking to Cullen. “Fenris was successful. They’re headed for Griffon Wing as we speak and should arrive shortly before we do.”

“Good,” Cullen nodded, “We will need to ensure our own supply lines are well guarded.”

”Leliana is already putting her people into place and I sent word to our allies to be ready in case we needed aid. Rylen saw to our outposts as we made our way here.” Ellana explained before sighing. “I think that’s as much as we can do for now. Get some rest and we’ll be off in the morning. We need to press hard for Adamant. We cannot afford for the Wardens to panic and hurry this ritual.”

”We will stop them,” Cullen vowed. 

…

  Over the next ten days, we marched. The lushness of the Dales and Orlais quickly giving way to the harsh desert of the Approach. Sand blew everywhere, a rare plant here and there and bits of crumbling Imperial architecture. My mind went back to all those months ago trudging through the sand alongside Solas as we headed for Solasan. So much had happened on the other side of this desert and it seemed that would be the case once more.
  I turned atop Mouse to look upon the army both before and behind us. At the battalion. Where once Doubt would whisper words to stir fear of failure, I found silence. As I looked at the people devoted to our cause, I felt pride. They knew what lay before them and yet, here they were, marching. Some marching to their deaths.
  I clenched my jaw in determination. This time…this time I would do my utmost to protect as many as I possibly could. My magic and my armor were fully in my control now. I looked to Cullen. My Commander had ordered me to use my magic. Just as Drakon had sanctioned the mages to unleash the full might of their magic upon the Blight millennia ago. We needed everything to face down our enemy.
  I would need everything to face down this enemy. I would face an army of demons. No matter how far I’d come in my resistance, I knew even I could not withstand an army.
  I looked to Ellana. To all those I cared about. I could not afford to falter. I could not afford to doubt.

“You’ve no reason to doubt,” Assurance said, “We are with you.” 

  The days passed in a comforting monotony. We’d push ourselves as far as we would dare before halting and setting up camp. Cullen established guard rotations to protect the siege equipment. We’d eat, rest, and sleep only to rise and do it all over again. With each day we came closer, anticipation became more and more palpable amongst the soldiers.
  When we finally caught sight of Griffon Wing Keep, that anticipation grew to a peak. The plan was to see to final preparations, check over the siege equipment, have all weapons and armor cared for and repaired if needed and for supplies to be restocked before we pressed on to Adamant in the morning. 
  The majority of the army would be camped outside the fortress walls, though no less defended as Cullen had ordered ballistas mounted on the keep’s outer walls. The higher-ranked officers and Ellana, along with her inner circle, would all be camped inside. With an efficiency that I was sure made Cullen proud, the soldiers set to work. Soon enough, we were headed within the fortress walls. Mouse was taken to be stabled as I would not be riding her into battle.

”Who ordered that a lion be carved into the rock, Curly?” Varric called to Cullen, “That’s got to mean something, right? After all, we’re not Orlesian and you’re the only one of us who wears a lion helm?”

”Nobody, Master Dwarf,” Rylen replied, “I decided upon it myself. An expression of my devotion to our illustrious Commander. He’s forgotten me, it’s true, but I’ll never move on. If he’s going to banish me out to this Maker-forsaken desert, I’d at least like something that reminds me of him.”

”I told you not to do that, Rylen,” Cullen growled. 

“And then ye sent me a stonemason,” Rylen pointed out, “The lad was eager to use his skills to show his devotion to our cause and didn’t feel that simple repairs were enough.”

”Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore.

”We get bored in this blighted desert, Commander,” Rylen ribbed, “Need to entertain ourselves somehow.”

”I rather like it,” I chimed in earning a wicked grin from Rylen that pulled his tattoos.

”Thank ye, my lady,” he inclined his head, “at least someone appreciates my vision.”

  I took in the mighty fortress before us. It was a sight to behold. The great stone walls, the iron reinforcements, the metal griffons sat atop the walls. Additions had been made using the same symbol that comprised Cullen’s markers back on the map of Thedas at Skyhold.
  Great green canvases sprawled from the highest point of the fortress to the lower bailey providing shade to the stalls that greeted us as we passed through the iron gate. Everything was orderly and the soldiers efficient. A sergeant could be heard shouting at recruits over the noise of the bustling lower bailey, his words assuring the men and women under his command would be in fighting shape in no time. Rich flags unfurled in the wind. Despite his words, it was obvious Rylen had taken great pride and effort in making Griffon Wing Keep worthy of the Inquisition’s army, her Commander and her Inquisitior.

”You’ve done beautifully, Captain,” I complimented.

”Ye hear that, Commander? ‘Beautifully’,” Rylen chided.

”Fine. You’ll have that supply of ale you requested. Doubled. When you return to Skyhold, a week’s leave. Paid. First choice of songs at the Herald’s Rest. Is that acceptable, Captain?”

”Perfectly so,” Rylen took my hand and kissed my knuckles, “Thank ye, my lady.”

“Of course, Captain. Even if he won’t admit it, you’ve earned it.”

”Once we see to Adamant, Commander, I want the whole of Griffon Wing to be awarded with festivities before we return to Skyhold,” Ellana added.

”Very well, Inquisitor,” Cullen sighed.

  The rest of the day was spent poring over the map of Adamant. There were tense moments as arguments came about. Everyone could feel the weight of what we were about to do.
  The Wardens had to be stopped. None of us knew what awaited us within Adamant. All of us knew time was of the essence, but our hands were tied as to how long it would take to breach the fortress. We had the siege engine. Catapults. Our soldiers. 
  Eventually, we’d come to a consensus: Getting Ellana inside and to where they were trying to open the Veil was the top priority. Evelyn would lead soldiers up ladders once the troops were able to get them up the walls. Once the gate was breached, Ellana would head inside with Hawke and her inner circle. The rest would bring up the rear.

“What about the battalion?” I questioned, “We are facing demons after all. You’ll need templars. And healers on the field.”

Ellana looked to Cullen. “What would you suggest, Commander?”

”The Lieutenant-Commander is right,” he paused as he studied the map. “Your first priority is helping to clear a path for the siege engine. Hawke and the Warden-Commander believe there are runes upon the door to prevent magic from bringing it down. The Wardens will likely throw rocks and have archers to slow its progression. Have your mages provide barriers and cover. The templars can assist the Warden-Commander against the demons. Their ability to rally could be sorely needed throughout the army. We should divide the battalion amongst the platoons.”

”Where would you have me?” I asked.

“Given that you are nearly a battalion unto yourself, Lieutenant-Commander,” he began and I could tell he was forcing his face to stay neutral, “I want you to take Alain, Asaala, Laren and Amelia to dig beneath this wall.” He pointed to a section in the outer walls that Evelyn and Hawke believed to be somewhat weak and had been relatively unguarded. “Find the rift or wherever they’re weakening the Veil. Clear a path for the Inquisitor. You’ll reunite with the rest of the battalion here.” His finger moved. “I need the battalion to cover the Inquisitor’s advance and keep the path clear for the bulk of the army to get inside.” 

“So you are sending in a small team?” Evelyn questioned.

”It is always best to have contingency plans,” Cullen offered, “Having multiple points of entry—and exit—is never a bad plan.”

We spent the rest of the time discussing signals and communication should something change. In time, Ellana called for everyone to break and see to themselves. Tomorrow would come and it was better if we were as rested as possible. We made our way to the tents and tables that served as an open refectory for dinner before I looked for my bedroll. 

…

  I kept tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep again without thinking about everything that would or could happen during the assault. How many would we lose? How many demons would there be? Would I lead the battalion true? What if Cullen got hurt? Ellana? Any of our friends? What if it was my fault because I couldn’t stand against the demons? What if I failed? What if I fell?
  What if, what if, what if. With a defeated sigh, I threw the covers off before wrapping them around myself and quietly padded through the numerous bedrolls and out of the tent.
  The uppermost level of the keep was where the majority of us were sleeping as it was the most well-guarded, unless a dragon attacked. Ellana had said they’d spotted a high dragon, but she’d kept her distance and there’d been no sign of Corypheus’s dragon. Cullen had his own tent, being the Commander and all, but it was still up here with the rest of us.
  The night air was chilly, the sound of the wind caressing the sand causing the dunes to make a delicate tinkling sound as the sand cascaded down them. Murmurings could be heard from the soldiers on guard. Braziers and cooking fires were lit. The stars and moons nearly as bright as the sun.
  I was torn between going to study the landscape from the parapets or visiting the tent which held the rough map of Adamant to review the plan once again. I, regretfully, had not brought my sketchbook with me, but the beauty of the desert and the haunting dark of the Abyssal Rift were both enough to stir sketches within my mind and distract me. But, alas, the pull to review the plan once more won out. I tried to keep to the shadows so as not to disturb the soldiers, but I found I was not the only one seeking their cover.

”Walking away from you,” the deep voice of Fenris sounded, “is one of my greatest regrets, Marian.”

”And now?” Marian’s voice responded, a huskiness to it that told me I should walk in the opposite direction.

  I turned, quickly, to give them privacy. Doubling back, I took the long way to the tent. I half expected to find Cullen within, poring over the map, but the tent was empty. I lit a small flame in my palm, relishing the ease with which it now came, before lighting a few candles.
  I looked at the markers indicating the different squadrons. Ellana would go in the front with her team, while I and the others would infiltrate from another area. We would meet at a central landing after I had seen to Ellana’s path to the rift cleared. She would press on ahead while I would cover her advance and aid the soldiers should they need it. I kept going over and over it in my mind.

“Were you unable to sleep as well?” Cullen’s voice sounded as a cool breeze sighed at the tent flap opening. 

I turned toward him, unsurprised that he was awake and dressed in his casual armor. The candlelight danced off his cuirass and colored his eyes bronze in their dim light. There was something in his gaze that made my heart beat just a little faster.

“No rest for the wicked, as they say,” I murmured, pulling my blanket tighter around myself.

He chortled as he came to stand next to me. Indulging me, he walked me through the plan again. He was patient, slow and thorough. I took comfort in his confidence. He knew things could change, but he believed in our people. As we fell into silence once more, my eyes upon the map, he placed a light hand at my waist and pulled me into his side. A swift brush of his lips to my temple. “There is no solace to be found here, love.” I turned to him as he held a hand out. “Walk with me? There’s something I think you’d like to see. At the very least, it will take your mind off of things.”

  I thought about teasing him, but the way he was looking at me, the offer of his hand, caused my mouth to go dry. So instead, I simply nodded and placed my fingers in his gloved palm. He tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and led me across the keep as if I were a lady dressed in the finest gown instead of in my nightclothes wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket.
  We passed by a few soldiers on patrol, they saluting Cullen and giving me a slight bow of their heads before I heard them whispering animatedly. The tips of my ears burned at it. Though Cullen had expressed a want to avoid gossip before, he seemed unbothered by it now. I peeked at him through my lashes. His ears were also red. Well, mostly unbothered. I thought he’d take me down the numerous stairs to the lower level, but we passed by them. Instead, he brought me to the base of a ladder.

“I’ll climb first,” he stated, “Keep your eyes closed once you reach the top.”

I quirked a brow at him, but nodded. I watched him climb, still unsure how he moved so fluidly in his armor. Once he was at the top, he gestured for me to follow, holding his hand out. I strung my makeshift cloak across my shoulders and ascended. I took his hand once I was high enough and felt as he took my waist to help me the rest of the way.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered, his lips barely touching my cheek causing gooseflesh to erupt in their wake. Keeping ahold of me, he walked me forward. I let him guide me, his hands gentle until he released me, his fingers resting on my low back. “Alright, now you may look.”

  The heavens met my eye. Like a painting so masterfully crafted upon an inky, black canvas. A polychromatic palette where deep, rich blues and greens gave way to brilliant golds and purples. Sat within them like dazzling jewels upon lush velvet was a pattern of shining stars. The Maker’s own canvas left me with a sense of bittersweetness so powerful, tears came to my eyes.
  “Blessed Andraste, Cullen,” I breathed, “It’s beautiful.” He said nothing, only resting his fingers on my low back as he allowed me to look for as long as I desired. “Is that…is it a constellation? Toth?”

”Archdemon of the Third Blight,” he confirmed, “According to Dorian, the Dragon of Fire.”

I straightened and looked upon the apparatus that had let me look upon the heavens. “Is this one of the astrariums Ellana has mentioned?”

”Yes,” he said when I met his eyes. I swallowed thickly at the warmth in them. He cleared his throat. “I thought you might like it.”

”Very much so,” I assured before cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He held my hand fast against his skin. ”I know there is no way of knowing what we will face once the siege begins, nor how long it will take to breach the walls, but I wanted to give you a moment of reprieve before I…before I have to send you into danger.” He closed his eyes a moment, the emotion he was really feeling breaking through.

“Cullen, what’s wrong?”

He took something out from his cuirass. “His Ma—Alistair, sent me this. And I cannot help, but empathize.” I took the folded letter from his hand and read it.

Commander Cullen,

To be a Warden again and able to march with you upon my lost brothers and sisters. If only for the chance to beg them to see reason. Instead, my highly overvalued hindquarters must remain here. “A king cannot march with an army into the kingdom of a rival nation without provoking war” and all that. So, that which I value most in this world must go. The Wardens, after all, mean a great deal to the both of us. She will do what she always does—fix everything, or try to. I must ask something selfish of you: do not let her. We have endured too much and been apart too long only for me to lose her to your Inquisition.

Take care of her. For me.

Alistair

”I cannot guarantee her safety,” he admitted, “nor yours. Yet, I must send you both into danger. Just when…” He closed his eyes, the pain in his furrowed brow piercing my heart. “Andraste, preserve me. A demon army, Meira.”

I grabbed his gloved fingers and squeezed them. “There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured, pulling his coin out from beneath my shirt. “I have luck on my side, remember?”

Despite himself, he chortled, his face softening. “That’s less comforting than I’d hoped.”

His knuckles brushed my chest as he took my hands between his own, the coin at the center of our joined hands. He pressed a kiss to my fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a spark in them that made my knees weak. I pulled him into an embrace, his arms wrapping around me as his fur swallowed me. I was engulfed by his scent and his warmth as he held me tight to him.

“For just a moment at Suledin…I feared I’d lost you. And I…I…” I could hear the pain in his voice. His arms tightened around me.

“Cullen,” I said, my voice thick, “I’m sorry.”

He let go only a little to press his forehead to mine. “Whatever happens, you will come back.”
  I put my hand on his cheek, tears in my eyes. My heart burning with the love I felt for him. That fire blazing bright and free of the damper I hadn’t realized was there. His eyes met mine, brilliant amber in the firelight.
  “The thought of losing you…I can’t.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as his hands came up to gently cup my face.
  “I should not speak like this on the eve of battle. But I…I—”

“Shh, Cullen,” I hushed, “I understand.”

  He kissed me then, urgent. His fingers wove into my hair as he slanted his mouth over mine. I flattened my hands against his cuirass, the metal cool beneath my skin. When he broke away, I sighed his name.
  Our gazes met. That fire burned a little hotter at what was in his darkened eyes. My lips parted, his gaze flicking to them.
  Grabbing his fur, I pulled him down to capture his lips with mine. My fingers wove into his hair, silky against my skin, as I pressed my body against him. His lips were warm, mine were firm as I urged him to part his. He obeyed. My knees weakened as he deepened the kiss, my lips softening as he poured all his love into it.
  We’d kissed numerous times, all of them enough to leave me breathless. But this…free of Doubt. It was electrifying.
  He groaned in his throat, and I found the sound made my entire body tremble in exhilaration. No dark memories rose to dampen the moment. The warmth of our shared intensity was radiating to my toes.
  He pressed harder, though his lips stayed soft, as his hands traveled from my back. My nails grazed his skin. His fingers dug into the swell of my hip. A gasp escaping as the leather of his glove brushed the point of my ear. He broke away, our ragged breaths mingling, before he pressed one last deep, lingering kiss. I was breathless, my heart pounding and lips tingling.

He held my face in his hands and I slowly blinked my eyes open. “I love you,” he murmured before giving me a soft, chaste kiss.

”I simply cannot fail now,” I teased, though the shakiness in my voice gave me away.

“No, you cannot,” he chortled before brushing his nose against mine.

“We will be victorious, Commander,” I vowed.

Chapter Text

MEIRA

I braced the wall as another round of shaking came.

  We'd snuck through the dry gorge that sat in the blind spot of the fortress. I had used my powers to keep us concealed as an added precaution until we'd come to the griffon marker and worked our way up the craggy rocks to pass through the middle of two large metal barricades. Cullen had said they'd most likely been constructed to deter a grounded archdemon from bashing the fortress walls should one have ever attacked Adamant. Stroud had confirmed this to be the case.
  Alain was using his earth magic to tunnel through the rock bed and bring us up inside the keep. I lit our way with fire in my palm, the others silent as we moved forward as the world stilled. We didn't dare speak, not after witnessing the scene that was taking place on the surface. It'd been days since our assault had begun. Adamant Fortress was aptly named, there was no doubting that much. Despite its age and history--some of which had been filled in by Cole, a tale that involved friends of Evelyn's, a certain Orlesian mage named Rhys, and a knight-captain named Evangeline--the fortress withstood our attack. Cullen had planned for as much, but had hoped time had claimed some of the keep's defensive capabilities. The only assurance we had that the ritual was not yet complete was that no demon army came pouring out to meet us.
  Instead, our fellow soldiers had charged the looming fortress, demons and Wardens plain upon the walls. Ladders had risen and fallen. Arrows had found their marks. And bit by achingly slow bit, the battering ram creeped toward the front gates. I'd spotted Ellana, her mark glowing to draw attention, where she covered it's advance with Rion and the battalion mages. Magical barriers and templar abilities alike worked to defend it. 
 I prayed the others had success in their duties. Hawke and Evelyn led separate bands: templars and mages with them along with Inquisition soldiers. Ellana drew the eye of the enemy as she marched with the battering ram while we worked in secret.

Another shaking came as more projectiles from the catapults found their marks.

"Whatever happens, Lieutenant," Asaala stated, her purple eyes unyielding as she looked at me. "You do not leave my side."

"I lead you, Ser Asaala," I teasingly reminded her. "And I am no defenseless mage."

"That may be, but I will fulfill my duty and protect you." She glanced at Alain's back. "Both of you."

"As will I," Amelia added as she ran her fingers along her bow. Something I'd come to realize she did to soothe her nerves.

"And I," Laren agreed, her face serious.

I looked to them, able to see them well in the dim light. They all stood tall, with pride and determination on their faces. They were ready to prove themselves as templars. To show what they believed being a templar meant. 

"Ready yourselves," Alain warned, "I can sense the surface."

I drew my weapons, the others following suit, just before Alain's magic breached the foundations. We came out to what appeared to be a storeroom. We could hear fighting all around. I watched the projectiles from the catapults burn across the sky. Flaming rocks crashed into the fortress, scattering stone and plaster alike. I erected a barrier around us to defend against shrapnel. We spotted fighting up on the battlements before I scanned for a way forward. There was a door to our right or stairs leading up. From the rough plans Hawke and Evelyn had provided, the battlements were the quickest way to make it around the fortress, but to do so would draw attention and slow us down. We needed another way through to locate the rift.

"Alain?" 

The man nodded, his dark brow knitting as magic lit in his hands. He punched a hole through a nearby wall. Upon its opening, demons poured through like cockroaches. Asaala, Amelia and Laren let out battlecies as their abilities flared to life. I coated myself in flames. Alain covered himself in rock armor. Grey Wardens came in behind the demons, battlecries of their own sounding. I spotted the mages amongst them as they were in control of the demons. They were my target. 

"Asaala!" I commanded, "With me!"

"Lieutenant!"

Side by side we rushed the mages. My spectral blade sang to life in my hand, my Fade-smithed blade roaring aflame in the other. Asaala cut through the demons as if they were nothing; I noticed at her side, her sword white with her abilities, the sting of the demons was not as potent. My mind remained clear, the pain duller than usual. She cut a shade in half, splattering the battlemage in black ichor. The first mage looked at me with nearly blank eyes, his staff sparking to life and free hand moving with magic as if there were someone pulling strings on his limbs, moving his body for him. A barrier surrounded him, but Asaala’s blade sliced through it as if it were air, causing the barrier to fracture before it shattered like glass. Getting closer, I could feel it: blood magic. It clung to every Warden mage. Can I help them? 

“There’s no time,” Asaala barked, breaking into my thoughts. “We cannot save them.”

The mage made to attack me and for the briefest moment, I hesitated. 

'Save those who can be saved, Meira. There are free souls here. They seek a way out, they but need the opportunity.' Assurance's voice came. 'These are too far gone. Ending them is the only way to save them.' 

Letting out a breath, I deflected the spell with ease before thrusting my magical blade through his chest. He didn't even react. Blank eyes continued staring until the light within winked out. The rest of the enemy Wardens and demons were cut down. Lyrium and magic working together to stop the threat. Panting heavily, we took a moment to collect ourselves, observing our surroundings. 

“We’re near the southernmost wall,” I stated, catching a few markers from the schematic Cullen had guided me through. “The main gate is in that direction.” I pointed towards where it would be, most of the noise concentrated there. “Hawke and Evelyn believed the ritual was taking place towards the middle of the fortress.”

”Then we make our way there,” Asaala stated, “Alert the commander that we’re inside.”

I nodded as magic lit in my hands. I threw it towards the sky as another volley released from the catapults. He’d be looking for it. My heart twisted with the thought of him as he would soon be putting himself in danger.

Andraste, preserve us.

  Asaala waved for us to follow. Her expertise took priority over rank. Infiltrating buildings was no stranger to Asaala from her time with her mercenary band. She took the lead, Laren and Amelia flanking Alain and I.
  Together, we worked our way through the fortress. Instead of numerous Wardens, we found mostly demons filled the fortress. I tried to feel with my mind, to find other minds, but it was painful. It even felt as if something were preventing me from doing so.
  We came to set of stairs. Working our way up and across a landing, we found more demons and bound Wardens. The shades growled as they swept toward us, their single eye glowing with malevolent light. The others cut them down with ease as we continued running forward. We had to keep moving. Time was not on our side. We had to find the center of all this evil and get back to the front gate in time to aid Ellana and then the main army.
  At the back of my mind, something had begun to itch. It was getting more persistent and painful the further into the fortress we traveled. As we cut down more demons, we found some scaffolding we could climb. Working together, we crest the battlements.

The air snatched from my lungs at the sight.

Towards the northeast was the center of the battle. Bodies swarmed the ramparts surrounding the main gate. Demons were interspersed through the flashes of metal. The clang of swords, rhythmic thump of bows releasing their arrows, and the cries of men and women dying filled my ears. The flaming projectiles of the catapults flew through the night sky, the fortress walls exploding upon impact. There was blood on the air, burnt flesh, the fetid stench of demons. That itch in my mind pulled from a different direction. And I began to wonder if it were not where the Wardens were slaughtering their own. 

“That way,” I pointed.

“I feel it too,” Alain stated, his dark eyes hard and face grim. “Blood magic.”

”We’ll cover you,” Amelia promised, her normally jovial face grim behind her helmet as she took in the scene before us.

  I cloaked us with the Fade, but with demons and blood magic present, I couldn’t say if it would keep us hidden. We crept along the worn stone, inching closer and closer to the main fighting. In the distance we heard a great booming sound and the Inquisition’s rallying cry. It seemed the battering ram had made it to the front gate.
  My mind kept wondering to Cullen, praying he would stay safe. But we both had jobs to do. We had to see them done. Warden bodies were strewn everywhere, fixed eyes staring blankly up at the sky. Many had their throats slit, the remnants of demons and summoning circles nearby.

“This is sick,” Amelia stated, her voice shaky but angry. “These are Wardens. They’re supposed to be our heroes. Our defenders against evil. Not…this.”

”We’ll stop this,” I assured.

”Won’t change what they’ve done,” Amelia shook her head. “Won’t change killing their own to summon demons. No matter the reason.”

”Thus is the nature of blood magic. It corrupts. Just like fear.”

We continued our way towards that pull Alain and I sensed. The Veil became thinner, my skin tingling and head throbbing. Normally when the Veil was thin in a space, the air seemed almost alive.

Here, it was different: the air felt heavy and dead.

”I feel it,” Laren murmured, her face hard and glowing eyes flashing. “It feels like there’s something watching us.”

 A catapult's payload flew overhead, crashing into a nearby tower and cracking it open. Wardens fled out toward where we were hidden. Behind us we heard a great crashing sound followed by the Inquisition's rallying cry. Another crash. The Wardens ahead of us froze, looking toward a signal on the easternmost battlements. Another great crash.
  From within the group of Wardens, a mage stepped forward. She waved her hand, dark magic lighting in her palm and along her staff. The sounds of wood splintering and metal groaning echoed across the fortress. Catapults launched again, payloads shattering bits of the walls. Panic rippled through the Warden forces. The battering ram was effective.

"Brothers. Sisters," the Warden battlemage called grimly. "The Inquisition threatens to stop us. We cannot let them. They do not understand the threat we face." She produced a dagger. "I must ask for your aid."

"This is not why I became a Warden!" One of the warrior's shouted. "I will not!"

The battlemage merely looked at him with blank eyes. "I will have it, willingly or no."

"No!"

"Asaala. Laren. Amelia," I murmured, "We have to stop this. Now."

The battlemage made to plunge the dagger into her flesh, but I Fade-stepped before bashing her in the chest with an ice shield. "This ends now." 

"NO!" The Warden mage screamed as she hurled magic at me, but Laren's shield caught it and dispeled it.

"Who are you?" One of the Wardens shouted, the sound of swords leaving their scabbards ringing in my ears.

"Lieutenant-Commander Talitha of the Inquisition," I stated, "You have been betrayed by your own brethren. Either join us or flee if you wish to live."

"You attack us for merely doing our duty! We stand against the Blight!" The mage snarled. "Do not listen to her lies!"

"You seek the blood of your own to summon demons!"

"We all hear the Calling! We are all dying! We must seek out and destroy the remaining Archdemons before Thedas is left without her defenders! We must do it by any means necessary!"

I heard their desperation. Felt their fear. Saw it in their eyes. "The Calling is false! A ruse. Crafted by an ancient darkspawn."

The mage hissed: "You lie! Lies!"

"Please, listen!" Amelia pleaded.

"Enough! Wardens, kill them! You know your duty. We cannot--" 

Blood splattered my face as Laren severed the woman's head from her shoulders. Her dark eyes met mine. "We don't have time for this. She was lost. Find the ritual site. Now. Asaala, go with her. Alain, with me. Amelia, cover them." She shifted her gaze to one of the other Wardens. "You have a choice. Make it." Weapons were gripped. "So be it."

As Asaala and I ran towards that pull, we heard the fighting behind us. The screams of the dying Wardens.

"Oh, Maker," I breathed.

"The only way to save them is to stop this. The only way to save more of our people from dying is to stop this. Focus, Talitha."

I nodded, pulling the Fade back over us. We ran across the stones, finding the Wardens pressing towards the front gate before we climbed the rubble of the partially demolished tower. Slipping through a crack at the top, we found ourselves within some barracks. I felt a strong ripple in the Veil, heard the spirits cry out in warning before suddenly going silent. I reached out for them. I could hear them, but the sound was heavily muffled. I let out a shout of pain as I cradled my head when I felt a malevolent claw in my mind. 

"Oh, little Fadewalker. You should never have come here. I can see you now."

The voice I heard was cold enough to stop my heart.

"What is it?" Asaala questioned as she caught me, holding me up.

"A demon," I panted, "There is a demon here. Something very powerful."

"Is it what they're trying to summon?"

"I don't know."

"Have they succeeded?"

I shook my head, my vision blurred. "It's still in the Fade, but...I think it rules the part of the Fade that's here. I can't hear Assurance and the others."

"Put on the armor, Talitha."

"I can't sustain it for long. Not all of it. Not yet."

"Then we need to find the rift and get you out of here."

"I need to--"

"You can barely stand. You can't be close to this."

"I will not sit by while everyone else I care about fights."

Asaala glared at me. "We cannot afford to lose you."

"I am not important, Ser Adaar. Ellana is. The commander is. Ending this threat is. I will do my duty."

Her great hands wrapped around my arms before she pulled me up to her face. "You are important. If we lose you, we lose them both. Do you understand me?" Her face was fierce. Her fanged teeth bared as she snarled the words at me. I nodded and she set me back down. "Where are they?"

Letting out a breath, focusing past the pain, I felt out with my mind.

"Careful, little one. Dark things lurk in the shadows here. If I find you, I find them."

"Do not listen, Meira." Assurance commanded, breaking through the muffling for a moment. "There."

I felt a painful jerk. Running to the opposite wall, I looked out the arrow slit. Below was a large courtyard. Within was one of the most gruesome sites I'd ever witnessed. "Maker of All. Blessed Andraste."

"What is it?"

"A mass grave."

  Body after body lined the courtyard. Blood had stained the sand upon the stones red. Numerous Wardens stood at attention looking towards a raised platform. Upon it stood an elderly woman, a mage given the staff strapped to her back. Surrounding her were multiple Warden bodies, laid to rest with as much dignity as could be afforded with slit throats and blood-coated armor. I watched as a few Wardens climbed the steps toward her. As they moved, I spotted a figure next to the older woman. This man was not clad in Warden armor, but clothes that reminded me of Dorian's robes.

"Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!" The elderly mage spoke, addressing the Wardens below her. Her voice echoed within the courtyard, reaching my elven ears even over the sounds of fighting.

"The Inquisition is inside, Clarel. We have no time to stand on ceremony!" The man urged.

"These men and women are giving their lives, Magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty." The man said nothing in response to this as an older Warden stepped towards Clarel. "It has been many long years, my friend."

"Too many, Clarel," he stated before he knelt before her. "If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do."

In the middle of the courtyard, mages surrounding it with magic alight in their hands, was the rift. It rippled and contorted almost like water. Within it I saw the fortress reflected, but every so often the image changed. What the reflection held then made my blood run cold.

I looked back to the elder mage who now held the older man in her arms in a grotesque embrace as she brought a dagger to his throat. "It will," she murmured.

Everyone watched as she sliced through the Warden's jugular, blood spurting towards the rift. The Veil thinned and the rift opened wider. That thing within the reflection, its multiple eyes, seemed to focus on me.

"We need to get back to the others. Now."

We rushed out, I no longer bothering to shield us. Alain, Laren and Amelia were fighting Wardens and demons now. With a grunt, I summoned arrows of fire and shot them at their enemies through their hearts. All fell instantly. The others turned, but I didn't stop running. 

"We found the rift. We have to clear a path for them to get through as swiftly as possible. Let's move!"

...

"Lieutenant-Commander!" Ellana called as we drew closer. 

She and her inner circle were fighting Wardens and demons at the head of the Inquisition's forces. I didn't see Cullen amongst them, and I guessed he'd wait to join the fight until Ellana was further inside the fortress. Inquisition soldiers were crawling up ladders to reach the battlements where the bulk of the Warden's forces were concentrated. They were trying to keep us trapped in the initial courtyard. Wardens and Inquisition soldiers were falling from above. Nauseating thuds and creaking metal their last sounds. Our people were struggling to advance. Ellana and Vivienne fought side by side Bull, Cassandra and Blackwall. Sera and Varric were doing their best to aid the soldiers as they reached the top of the walls. Dorian was raising the dead which frightened some of the Wardens but did little to deter the demons. Solas used his Rift magic to pull and toss Wardens and demons alike around the enclosed space, bodies breaking against stone. I signaled for Asaala, Laren and Amelia to join the rest of the battalion.

"Inquisitor!"

"We can't push them back!"

"We cleared you a path ahead," I shouted over the noise, concentrating on my words in order to not get overwhelmed. "You need to hurry. Whatever they're trying to bring through the rift...it is very powerful."

Ellana's burning green eyes searched my face, no doubt seeing the fear there. She nodded. "The commander is advancing the rest of the army in, but we need to clear the battlements. Our men can't get a foothold, and the Warden archers are picking us off. Barriers keep failing. Their mages are enchanting their bows and arrows. Hawke and the Warden-Commander are up there somewhere assisting Rylen, but..."

I glanced up at the battlements. They were swarming with demons and the Warden mages. I watched as our people fell, heard their screams, felt their fear. Blood dripped down the stones. I thought of the families waiting back at Skyhold. Of the loved ones who'd never return. The families that would never be whole again. 'The only way to keep more from dying is to end this.' It was time for me to lead the battalion. My jaw clenching, I began to pull magic from across the Veil. "Leave this to us!" Donning Perseverance's piece of armor, I shifted into the varterrel form. My great legs swept the courtyard, sending our enemy flying and opening the way for Ellana and the others. I watched as they ran ahead as blades began hitting the stoney exterior of my legs. Shifting into an owl, I flew through the battle. Dodging and weaving through swinging blades, crashing shields, flying arrows and magic. Spotting Barris and Rion, I shifted as I landed in front of them before drawing my blades.

"Where you been, Lieu? Taking a nap?" Rion ribbed as lightning shot from his fingertips.

"Battalion!" I shouted, magically amplifying my voice. "Let's show Thedas what mages and templars can do when we work together!" Lyrium and magic lit up the stones of Adamant in answer. "For the Inquisition!" The rallying cry shook my bones. 

I charged, the rest at my back. I could feel the oppressive weight of the demons, but with Barris and the other templars around me, the pain was less. I covered us all in a barrier and each successful swing of my spectral blade fed it, causing it to grow. Enemy archers aimed for those still vulnerable, their mages beside them. I took my Fade-smithed blade in hand; it transformed into a bow with a thought. Conjuring fire arrows, I shot arrow after arrow into the enemy and watched as bound mage after bound mage fell, but their leashed demons did not die with them. 

"Lieu! The ladders!" Rion shouted.

Taking out the archers meant nothing if we couldn't press in. More archers would be waiting as well as demons. We had to clear the battlements to make a path for Cullen and the other soldiers to keep the Wardens from flanking us and cutting off reinforcements. Spotting a clear path to a ladder, I Fade-stepped. Enemies froze solid in my wake. Grabbing ahold of the ladder, I scrambled up. The copper stench of blood hit my nose first, followed by the reek of burnt flesh and demon. My eyes caught on the numerous dead Inquisition soldiers; eyes fixed upon me that begged for justice. Before me stood Wardens and their demon pets. They were Thedas's heroes.

But her heroes had fallen.

War cries and demonic bellows sounded as I was spotted. The weight of the demons fell over me and I felt just how many of them there were. How many Wardens had died for this? How many had been willing? How many had been unwilling?

Gripping my swords, I opened my mouth to speak, amplifying my voice once more. "I have no desire to kill Wardens! If you surrender, you will not be harmed!"

"We stand against the Blight, and you would stop us?"

"You are being used! You are serving the Blight!"

"Don't listen! We must protect Clarel!" Swords sang as they were pulled from their scabbards. "For the Wardens!"

Together, fallen hero and demon stormed. So be it. Willing my Fade-blade into a staff, huge bolts of lightning arced from it through the rushing enemy force. The bolts perforated metal armor or demonic flesh like great crooked fingers, smoke curling off the fissures as their corpses convulsed with the electricity still coursing through them. I sensed the others climbing the ladder behind me, so I pressed forward. As we ran across the battlements, I spotted Inquisition armor in my peripheral. Some had made it up on the northern and southern walls, but the battlements surrounding the main gate, where the main army would have to march through, was the most heavily guarded. The Battalion would have to fight through to secure it in order for Cullen's forces to advance. I looked ahead. At the back of the host before us I spotted a few Warden mages. Demons stood beside them, but before them...

"Amelia!" I shouted. "Those mages!"

"I can't get a clear shot, Lieutenant!" 

"Andraste, preserve us!" I prayed as the mages' blades slit the throats of their Warden brethren. I felt the Veil thin, and demons press forward. 

"You are in my domain, little one. And they are mine."

I cried out as dozens of demons crossed into the mortal plane. Through the ringing in my mind, I heard terrified screams begin. Gritting my teeth, I opened my eyes. Corpses rushed at us, bodies of friend and foe alike, dead eyes alight with ravenous hunger. Their teeth clicked together with a nauseating ferocity. But the devouring corpses were not the only horror people were screaming about. Others were swinging madly at things that were not there. Alain, among others, had fallen to the ground, cradling himself as his eyes were wide with fear. 

Fear.

The demon is some variety of fear.

My blades cut through a few reanimated corpses as they launched themselves at me, teeth gnashing as foamy, brown saliva flew at my face. I fought down the fear that creeped up as I looked into their milky eyes and felt their supernatural strength. My knees started to buckle at the weight. A great sword punched through the skull of the one closest before slicing through matter and bone to decapitate a few more. Asaala's large hands caught me, her eyes aglow with lyrium. 

"What devilry is this? What dark force shows me...these horrors?"

"Fear," I shuddered. "This one is more powerful than Imshael's form."

Amelia and Laren came to stand beside me. As I looked around, it seemed that the templars were the only ones able to resist whatever the demon was making them see. Delrin and Henry were defending Rion and Solana's siblings. Belinda and Briony were doing the same for Talwyn and a few others. The templars were doing their best to rally not only the mages, but the rest of the Inquisition. They had some success, but not enough.

"Fenedhis lasa," Laren swore under her breath.

"What do we do?" Amelia questioned.

I was silent a moment while I thought. 'Fear cannot abide hope.' I spotted Ellana and the others caught on the southern battlements. Our soldiers were falling to the north. Just as we were faltering here.

Ellana has to make it to the rift. If she doesn't, we're all going to die. Cullen has to lead the rest inside or they'll trap us in here and we'll all die. 

I knew what I needed to do.  "Keep them off me."

The women nodded and came to stand before me as I sat upon the ground and closed my eyes. Just as I had at Suledin, I pressed my mind into the Fade in order to find Fear or its servants. I shuddered at what I beheld. Across the Veil, the demon's reflection of Adamant was no more than the decaying fortress having been consumed by what seemed to be a giant spider nest. My skin began to crawl as I heard thunder above. With a deep breath, I summoned the armor. 

I had a feeling this demon would take all my concentration.

...

CULLEN

  "Release!" I roared at the mage near me who was acting as a signalman. He sent up the magical signal that would alert the soldiers manning the other catapults that it was time for another volley. Within moments, the siege engines released their payloads, cracking against the fortress and wreaking more havoc as it rained debris down below. I had spotted Meira’s signal some time ago, both relief and dread at the sight. After, the battering ram had decimated the front gates and though it'd been hard fought, the Inquisitor and her team had gotten inside the fortress.
  Now, I awaited a signal to say it was time to march the rest of the army inside to cover her advance. Rylen had yet to send up a signal saying the battlements were clear, but there would be time before we reached the fortress. As I watched, I caught sight of the Inquisitor's signal on the skyline indicating that the Inquisitor had gotten through. I breathed a sigh of relief. While I would mourn the loss of our people, what mattered most was the Inquisitor stopping whatever this ritual was before the demon army they claimed to be building was brought to fruition. She was inside and, on the move, to do just that. I had faith the Maker would see her through it. But for now, it was our job to make sure they all had a way back out.

At the signal, I drew my sword. "For the Inquisition!"

The answering cry bolstered my spirits. Our soldiers knew the stakes and knew what they were fighting for. They believed in our cause. Believed in me to lead them. I would not fail them. Nor would I allow their Inquisitor to fall.

  As one, we marched toward the front gate, my eyes constantly sweeping the skyline for a signal indicating the battlements were secured. While we might not have yet won them, something had happened up there as our soldiers now had a foothold and were pressing forward up the ladders. I could only pray the others were safe. Could only pray Meira was safe.
  As we marched, I allowed myself the quick indulgence of thinking of her. Her lovely eyes, beautiful face, exquisite lips and generous curves. How captivating she was. How desperately I loved her. I gripped my sword tighter, pulled the mabari helmet down further and brought my shield up. I knew she was more than capable, but I prayed to the Maker for the chance to be assured of her safety. But our priority was securing the fortress.
  My breathing was uneven, I could hear it echoing in my helmet. I forced myself to calm, counting my inhales and exhales until I found my battle rhythm. I would face demons, possibly even abominations, without lyrium in my veins. I had done so already. I could do it again. But I couldn't fight the itching in the back of my skull, the warning, that said something was wrong the closer we drew to the fortress. Still, no signal came. We were almost to the front gates now. Then it hit. A malicious force that was all too familiar.

Demon.

Something powerful ruled here. Its power radiated from the very walls. As we crossed the threshold, I sensed a shift in the soldiers. 

Fear.

Andraste, preserve us. 

"Steady," I commanded, "What you feel is a demon. You must resist." That caused a few to square their shoulders while others gripped their weapons tighter. "Trust nothing but my orders."

"Aye, ser."

"Wedge behind me," I ordered the infantrymen, "Defensive stances."

"Aye, Commander."

I would not cower behind my soldiers asking them to face what I would not. I stood before them, leader and protector. Taking my defensive stance, I lowered down until my knees were slightly bent. I brought my shield up to just below my eyelevel and my sword to rest atop it. The others followed suit. Slowly, we made our way into the fortress.

...

We'd made it into the second courtyard when chaos befell us. Demons roared as they suddenly erupted all around us. But these were no ordinary demons. At first glimpse, I had seen something else, but when I blinked what I saw caused my skin to crawl.

Giant flies.

  It was the sound first. Bile rose in the back of my throat as at the sound of their wings vibrating brought memories of Kinloch Hold to the forefront of my mind. Beyond the hum of the magical cage itself, the only sound that had been my companion during that unending nightmare had been the buzzing of flies. The carrion--what had remained of my friends and charges--a feast and ideal nest to lay their eggs.
  I had watched the lifecycle of the disgusting insects unfold before my eyes within the bodies that had lain just beyond the cage wall. Another form of torture to see what remained of my friends further desecrated by vermin drawn to death. The buzz was the beginning. Then the writhing maggots that had eaten their way out of Beval's eye and poured upon the floor like a squirming heap of gelatinous vomit. They changed. Elongated and wriggled their way into the refuse only to emerge sometime later as hundreds of flies.
  The buzzing intensified. Growing deafening. I had heard it for months after. It hadn't been until I was on the sea that it had finally silenced, the constant sound of the waves crashing against the ship drowning it out.
  Now, I heard it again. The incessant buzzing, boring into my mind. Smelled it all again. The fetid stench of hundreds of decaying corpses filling the tower. But now, instead of hundreds if not thousands of tiny flies, I was staring down a fly the size of a small child as it charged at me.

I had to swallow the vomit that burned in my throat.

Along with the screams that were right behind it. 

I was not the only victim of the horrendous trick of the mind as many of the soldiers began screaming in terror. I did not know if they saw the same image that I did, but I could not blame them even so. But I had to keep them in order. Keep them focused on the task at hand.

"Steady! It's just an illusion! It isn't real! Steady!" I boomed over the noise.

A few responded, shaking their heads before attacking the demon before them. I raised my shield as a fly charged at me. Giant red eyes made of an uncountable number of facets, large bristly hairs along its back and a hanging maw of some unholy make were sent forward by multiple hairy legs. All the while the great wings on its back kept buzzing without ceasing. The sound bored into my mind just as it had all those years again. Feeling as if the writhing larvae were boring into my skull to feast on my rotting insides. Cold sweat broke out under my leathers as the arms grasped my shield.

"Fear not, Commander." 

At the voice, I felt my fear slip away. These were demons. No more and no less. Sent by some greater force. I had faced both in my life--armed and unarmed. I had triumphed. And we would triumph here. In my peripheral I saw the source: Assurance. I bashed the creature with my shield before plunging my blade into the center of its face. With a sickening sound for which I had not the words to describe, it fell. As it did, the illusion gave way to the Shade at my feet. "They are only Shades! Fear means to trick you! You must not let it!"

  Courage swept through them and with yells of righteous wrath they began to fight back in earnest. The illusion began to subside for me as I fought back. The flies gave way to the Shades, and I cut through them. There were so many. I prayed for Meira's safety. Prayed she could endure this. Prayed Asaala, Laren and Amelia were protecting her and Alain. They were not in this courtyard. I could only guess they'd gone up to the battlements knowing they needed to be cleared and secured. We had not yet had enemies from above, but we could hear fighting overhead and drawing near.
  Finally, to the north I saw a signal saying those battlements were clear. Shorly after another signal to the south. Yet the middle of the fortress still had not been secured. From the look of things, I could only assume the Inquisitor had needed to find an alternate route to the where the ritual was taking place. We would need to follow the same path, but we had to get the center battlements secured. With them, the enemy had the ability to move throughout the fortress or even to pin us down in the main courtyard. I knew Meira was likely above me, but...

"You must trust her. Your duty is to the Inquisitor. Trust that your Maker will protect her."

I looked to the spirit, my heart twisting at the sight of him. There was no doubt what form he'd taken was meant to represent. A child. Grown, yes, but a child between Meira and me. I did not know what she as a dreamer was fully capable of through her magic, but if she had influenced this spirit as she had the others, I could not help but wonder if she had not unintentionally willed it to take on a likeness that would represent the child we would never have. The picture of the one thing she hoped for more than anything. Or perhaps that was the very reason the spirit looked as it did. That in so doing, it fulfilled its nature by fulfilling the hope Meira had. It was a bittersweet thought. I looked up at the battlements and gripped my sword tighter. "Maker, hear my cry."

"She is all right, Commander," Assurance stated, "She fights the fearlings across the Veil. The templars watch over her. Do not doubt her."

"I don't."

"Then see to what you must."

With that, I gestured for a group of the soldiers to climb the ladders to assist her while the rest of us continued to press on.

...

"Commander!" Ellana shouted as we rounded a corner. 

She and the others were fighting off the Shades, though they no doubt looked like something they feared or something that at the very least unnerved them given the looks upon their faces. I raced toward the Inquisitor, ramming my shield into a Shade that was charging her. "Inquisitor."

"Have you seen my--Lieutenant-Commander Talitha?" Ellana questioned as her magic rippled through the Shades.

"I have not," I stated, punching my sword into the gut of a demon.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Ellana growled. She raised her marked hand and with a grunt of pain awakened the Anchor. Strange magic filled the air as green light swallowed the surrounding area. All the demons within the light evaporated with shrieks. "What in the Creators' name is going on?"

"I suspect a demon at work, Inquisitor," Solas offered, slightly breathless. "Some variety of fear, I would guess. It is why the Shades appear as they do. To unnerve us."

"Well, that's just great," Varric deadpanned.

"You said it," Bull grunted in agreement.

"Fenedhis lasa," Ellana swore, "By the Dread Wolf! What in the All-Father's name is wrong with you shems?!" Her burning green eyes flicked to me as she opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes caught on something behind me. "Hawke? Warden-Commander?"

I turned to find Hawke and Warden-Commander Evelyn running towards us. Blood on their armor and weapons.

"Inquisitor," Hawke nodded, "We were able to clear and secure the northern battlements. Your Captain Rylen and Fenris lead your soldiers to maintain the line."

"And we were able to clear the southern battlements," Warden-Commander Evelyn informed, "Anders and Stroud do the same."

"And the central battlements?" I questioned.

They both looked to me. "They were still fighting."

"Andraste, preserve them," I breathed. "Has anyone seen Lieutenant-Commander Talitha?" They all shook their heads. "Was there a signal?" Again, they shook their heads.

"Commander--" Ellana began, but at that moment, the oppressive weight I'd felt upon entering the fortress lifted somewhat.

"Commander," Assurance spoke as he appeared, different colored eyes burning, "Inquisitor. The Lieutenant-Commander and the battalion have taken the central battlements." Just then, a signal lighted in the sky above us. "Warden-Commander Clarel and her manipulator are close to achieving their goal. You must make haste." He disappeared again.

"Neat trick," Hawke commented, her lips twisting in a smirk. "Your lover is rather impressive, Cullen."

I cleared my throat. "Let's put an end to this."

Together, we charged into the main courtyard only to be welcomed by a gruesome sight. Dozens upon dozens of dead Wardens filled the space. Blood was everywhere. And in the middle of it all, the rift. Our eyes landed on an older Warden as she slit the throat of one of her fellow warriors.

"Stop them!" A voice with a heavy Imperial accent yelled. It belonged to a man with greasy black hair and a scraggly beard that was dressed in fine white robes that were clearly not of Southern Thedas.

"Erimond," Dorian hissed.

We all drew our weapons, but Ellana put a hand up before approaching the Wardens. "Clarel, if you complete that ritual, you're doing exactly what Erimond wants!"

"What, fighting the Blight?" Erimond scoffed, his dark eyes glittering maliciously even as he kept his voice convincing. "Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn't want that?" He spread his hands innocently. "And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

"We make the sacrifices no one else will," Clarel appealed, "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally takes your mages' minds for his real master: Corypheus!" Evelyn shouted, rage in her voice.

"Corypheus?" Clarel questioned, shock on her face, "But he's dead."

"These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel," Erimond urged as his hand gestured to us.

Clarel seemed to ponder it all for a moment, her hand coming to her forehead. But her fear won out as she said, "Bring it through."

Erimond flashed a sniveling grin at us as he stepped forward to direct the mages tied to the rift. The templars would be of help, but they were occupied with the battlements and ending the demon threat there. The mages stood within summoning circles, the rift drawing on their very lifeforces. We watched as the rift opened yet wider and caught a glimpse of what lurked on the other side. Maker, have mercy. It was the largest demon I had ever seen. Ellana charged forward, the Wardens doing the same at her move. The rest of us followed behind her, but not too close. Hawke and Evelyn came to stand on either side of Ellana and it was Evelyn who spoke next.

"I understand your fear, but, please, listen to me. The Calling you hear is not real. It is a ruse. A ruse by his master!" She thrust a finger at Erimond who merely sneered. "He is using you! Binding you to a darkspawn! You are not ending the Blight; you are serving it!"

"Be ready, Clarel," Erimond warned, acting as if Evelyn had not spoken. "This demon is truly worthy of your strength."

Rage bubbled up inside of me at his dismissal of her. The Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander. Queen. She was worthy of respect even from her enemies and yet he acted as if she were no more than an annoying insect. 

"Oi, Cully," Sera whispered, eyes full of murderous rage. "Can I put an arrow in his face, yeah?"

"Not until the Inquisitor gives the order," I commanded.

"Pfft. You're no fun." Her fingers ran over the feathers of her nocked arrow.

"It's worse than the last time," Cole murmured, daggers in hand.

"Listen to me!" Ellana shouted, desperation in her voice as she offered a hand in pleading. "I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could! I don't want to kill you, but you're being used...and some of you know it, don't you?"

"The mages, Clarel," a Warden spoke, fear in his voice as he begged his commander, "They're not right. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string!"

"You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!" Clarel reprimanded.

"He's not afraid!" Evelyn roared. "You are. You're afraid that you ordered all these Wardens to die for nothing!" She looked to the Wardens before her as she removed her helmet. There were a few gasps in response. "I am Warden-Commander Evelyn Theirin. Ender of the Fifth Blight. Hero of Ferelden. I know our duty. Our sacrifice. The stakes. I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters, but this is not the way. Look at what you have become! We are meant to be the best of Thedas. Her heroes! Yes, we are to give everything to end the Blight. In war, victory. But this is too far! You have gone too far! And you have done so as a result of trickery and deceit." 

Her impassioned address caused the Wardens before her to turn to their leader for direction. It had even seemed to move Clarel as she studied Evelyn from the platform. 

Erimond stepped closer to Clarel. "Clarel, we have come so far. You're the only one who can do this."

The Warden-Commander studied the man a few moments. "Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed."

Silence fell. The magister grew tense before letting out an irritated sigh. "Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally. He turned and walked to the end of the platform, stepping over the body of the Warden Clarel had killed not moments before. He started banging his staff upon the stone, magic sparking from the bottom. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!"

Maker, no. Moments later, the shriek that still haunted many of our nightmares from that terrible night in Haven split the air. A great shadow came to cover the light of the moons as Corypheus's dragon soared through the sky. We broke, racing for cover as it raced toward us before spewing its toxic fire down into the courtyard. It launched back into the air, vomiting more flames upon other parts of the fortress. Meira. The great wings flared as it turned and flew back, knocking over a griffon statue as it flew over us before landing on a tower with a great roar at the command of the magister. We pressed ourselves against the walls but caught sight of Clarel as she struck a vulnerable Erimond with a bolt of lightning. The Venatori fell with a cry into the slick blood of the dead Wardens, drenching his white robes in crimson. He flipped to his back as the dragon hissed at Clarel, gesturing for her to stop as magic lit in her hands.

"Clarel, wait..."

But she paid him no heed as she hurled her lightning at the dragon. Unfazed, the dragon spit a fireball at the Warden-Commander who jumped out of the way just in time. Several things happened at once: the dragon took flight, raining toxic fire down in its wake; Erimond fled; demons erupted all around; the mages under Corypheus's control began to attack and Clarel raced after Erimond with a charge to her remaining loyal Wardens: "Help the Inquisitor!"

As I watched evil manifest before our eyes and as death was carried on swift wings overhead, my mind could think only of one thing:

Meira.

Chapter Text

CULLEN

"Inquisition! To arms! Defend the Inquisitor!" I commanded over the shrieks of the horrors that roared into corporeal form before us.

I knew they were demons truly, but what my eyes beheld were far viler. It was not insects this time. Instead, it was the faces of those who haunted my dreams.

The faces of the dead.

  Of those I'd failed. Of those who'd never know justice because of how I'd failed in my duties. The faces that had littered the ground of the Gallows. That had stared at me from within the malevolent growth upon the walls of Kinloch.
  They shuffled towards me, moaning. Not some emotionless noise, but a lamentation full of fear and anguish. The same emotions they'd felt in their last moments uttered again and again as it stayed fixed in their decaying eyes. My hair stood on end as gooseflesh erupted beneath my armor.
  I had to fight down vomit as the fetid stench of waterlogged and rotting flesh filled my nostrils, the memory of moving the dead from the Gallows’s courtyard after days of hard rain had turned their bodies to some fabled creature that would be contrived to haunt a bog. Behind that reek came a worser one. The indescribable odor that had clung to me for months, if not years, that had emanated from all around Kinloch; no matter how much cleaning solvent had been used to scrub the stones—or my skin—in an attempt to erase it. 

My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to Your approval.

  The moaning grew to a near unbearable level, and I had to fight my own mind as it began to believe there were words beneath the unintelligible noise. My name. Pleas for help. Desperate calls for justice. The same sounds I'd heard as the tower had fallen. The same sounds that had haunted the very stones of the Gallows.
  Screams sounded all around me; not from the demon's servants, but from my own men. A few dropped their weapons to cover their ears as they began crying out in terror. I was losing them.

"S-Steady!" I choked out as the imagined stench of the corpses grew suffocating. "It’s an illusion! Steady!"

The screaming only continued, my voice unheard through the clutches of the illusion. At it, memories of Warden Cousland trying to draw me from my own delirium crafted by the desire demon surfaced. Could I reach them as she had reached me?

"Inquisition! It's not real!"

  A few screams were cut short only to be renewed with a vengeance as terrified, blood-curdling screams as the corpses began devouring them. I fought down the vomit churning in my stomach and the panic rising as those screams were threaded by echoes of my friends’ that had been slaughtered at the hands of maleficars, demons and the possessed corpses of our fallen brethren.
  All around us fighting had reignited as more and more demons pressed through the Veil. The blood, the fear and the Warden mages enslaved to Corypheus called them forth. Our soldiers—my soldiers—littered the ground, dead. Only to rise once more and turn on those of us who still stood.

Maker. Andraste.

  A great crack rent the air, the ground beneath my feet shaking as green light exploded into existence all around. The demons, possessed corpses and Warden battlemages were devoured by the light, dissipating like ash on the wind. The source of the magic was Ellana and her Anchor, the mark upon her hand aglow with the eerie magic. The veins on the left side of her body pulsed with the same faint sickly green glow that shone in her eyes.
  The screams ended as did the slaughter for the time being. Between us sat the rift, the image within nothing short of a nightmare. The tear in the Veil writhed on the air and I could sense demons on the other side attempting to press through. The respite would be short. Even shorter, I realized, as the shadow of the dragon passed over us.
  Tightening my grip on my shield, I lunged for Ellana and the others, hearing the fireball before the searing heat bled through my armor. I grabbed Ellana around the waist before throwing us both out of the way as the ground where she'd been standing blasted apart with the impact. The corrupted dragon roared. I rolled to stand, offering my shield to help Ellana up. She coughed a little before glaring at me.

"You need to find Clarel. Erimond," I commanded, "Leave the rest of this to us."

"And you need to find Lieutenant-Commander Talitha," she bit back, "We need her now more than ever."

"Agreed," I nodded, "Though she can do little against the dragon. Erimond has control over it. Perhaps if he is taken care of it will flee back to its master."

Ellana turned to where the dragon could be seen within the light of the moons. "He will pay."

"Erimond is mine," Evelyn growled, her green eyes flashing, "For what he has done to these Wardens."

"The Wardens did this to themselves," Hawke argued which caused Evelyn to whirl on her, wrath plain on her face.

"You—"

Shrieks sounded behind me just as the dragon roared overhead. Time is up. I gripped my sword tighter.

"We are out of time!” I barked. “Find Erimond! Aid Clarel! Leave this to me!"

Ellana hesitated a moment longer as the others ran off in the direction Clarel had gone to give chase to Erimond. Despite her fierce demeanor, the wrath that lined her body, I could see the genuine fear in her eyes and prayed it wasn't reflected in my own. Fear for our people and fear for Meira.

"I will find her,” I vowed.

 She gave a nod and then disappeared in the haze the dragon's fire had created as it began to engulf the fortress. What soldiers remained fought the demons and corpses, this time, it seemed, not deceived by the illusions. Light flashed before them. Then again. And again. Each time deflecting a blow and as it did, the illusion peeled back to reveal the truth.
  Fearlings. Dozens and dozens of them. Not the faces of the dead I'd failed. Not the flies that had all but infested my body in the wake of Kinloch.
  Raising my shield and sword, I charged into the fray, sending a prayer to the Maker and Andraste for those we'd lost as their blood splashed against my boots. Running to the front of the line, the illusion was stripped away entirely as doubt and fear were devoured within me; assurance sprang up in its place. As I joined the others, I caught a blow meant for one of the infantrymen with my shield before I plunged my blade into the fearling’s face and yanked to sever the creature in two. I thrust the sword between the glowing eyes of another.
  Our strength renewed, the nightmarish ruse shattered, we rallied as I bellowed our war cry. Demon and corpses alike fell until the courtyard once more grew calm. All the while, the dragon had been drawn off by Ellana and the others, its roars and firebreaths echoing in the distance.

"Commander," Assurance spoke as he appeared. As he did, so too did a dozen other spirits. "The Fadewalker fights a battle of her own within the Fade. The battalion defends her as do the other spirits. Your army needs you as the line of the northern and southern battlements falters." He gestured to the spirits behind him. "We are at your disposal."

I met his different colored eyes. I knew Meira trusted these spirits and while I had my reservations, I trusted her.

I gave a nod. "We must rally the battlements."

"We await your command."

  Turning to the lieutenant, we quickly pulled together defensive shelters comprised of fallen stones, broken timbers, and any fallen metal that could be carried in order to provide cover from both ground and aerial attacks. That done, I asked for volunteers to aid me in seeing to the battlements. A small unit comprised, we divided our resources: healing potions and arrows mainly. A few healing potions were reserved for the injured who received them in order of greatest need.
  Those unable to fight were carried into a secure spot before the courtyard with a guard set in place until a healer could come. All seen to that could be, I tightened the straps of my shield, cleaned my blade and prayed to the Maker we would see the dawn.

***

MEIRA 

  My gaze went white a few moments; I blinked furiously in an attempt to clear it away. Slowly, things came into focus. Webs decorated the far walls of the chamber before me; it appeared to be a dining hall of a sort—or had been at one time. The large tables were in disarray; most half-eaten by woodlice, the pungent smell of rotting wood cloying the air. Upon the walls were tattered banners, the heraldry unable to be made out.

"You must find the Aspect of the Nightmare, Fadewalker. And kill it. Doing so will weaken it," Assurance spoke beside me as he appeared, so low that only I would hear.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"The creature that stalks this place is the Nightmare," Assurance explained, "It is the form the demon is able to take because of the power it has amassed. But it has a lesser form. One it uses to protect its greater form. Find it and kill it and you will weaken the demon for a time."

"But it will only weaken it?"

"Nightmare cannot be defeated," Assurance stated, his voice firm. "While it may not be the first of its kind…it is the strongest in memory. Long has it fed and grown fat. It's source of sustenance too old and ever present to be rooted out completely. It can be weakened. Stalled. But even if you succeeded in defeating it, it would reform."

"What about calling it back to its original purpose?" I questioned.

"Perhaps it could have been possible once," Assurance acknowledged, "But no longer. It corrupted itself in its gluttony as it fed upon fears, delighting in the power afforded by it. There was no external influence. And what it was before…there is no word for it. No concept familiar to you. If you attempted to find it, you would be consumed in the process and they cannot lose you."

Uncertain how to digest that knowledge, I asked about the mortal plane. "How are they faring?"

"I will not lie; it is not going well," he admitted, his jaw clenching. "I am doing what I can, but…" He met my gaze. "You must hurry."

"Go to them," I urged, "They need you far more than I."

He stared at me for a few moments; a war of thoughts playing out behind his gold and silver eyes. "Find what you need and get out of here. I will do my utmost to protect you on both sides of the Veil. Remember your staff."

"What do I do when I find Nightmare?"

"Deny its feast."

With that he was gone and I was alone. Taking in a deep breath, I palmed my staff and willed light to dimly shine from the diamond at the top. I flinched in fear as I witnessed abnormally large spiders hiss and scurry back to the shadows in the wake of the light.

Of course Fear would take the form of those things that unnerve us. That cause fear. But where would a demon of fear hide itself? I swallowed hard as the answer came easily enough: Wherever it was darkest.

I would have to go lower.

  Slowly making my way through the empty dining hall to the far side where a rotted door stood ajar, the silhouette of a stair on the other side of its threshold. The sound of the spiderlings seemed to grow, as did the webs.
  At the door, the smell of rot mixed with something fouler and I had to fight down the instinct to run. Instead, I forged ahead into the inky black that seemed to be thickening. I kept a hand on the moist stone, not wanting to risk any more light from the staff, while forcing my breathing to be a steady rhythm even as the temperature began to plummet.
  At the bottom of the stair, another door stood ajar, wind whistling through. I stepped into an area that was open to what would have been the Abyssal Rift in the waking world, but here it was no more than the endless Fade. For a moment the fortress disappeared and I stood upon a verdant plain; the grasses vibrant with life. The Fade shimmered, the plain flickering from green grasses rippling in the wind to the desert wasteland the Approach had become.
  Thunder boomed overhead and I clenched my jaw as I forced myself to breathe through it. Lightning cracked; the quick light illuminating the ground littered with armor. I recognized the griffon symbol of the Order of the Grey, but the armor itself was old, the bodies within long gone. Crunching issued from beneath my boots and I found I was stepping upon bones, both human and not, as well as large feathers.
  Growls began to issue from the chasm below. Growls that I could almost…

"Darkspawn!"

  Feathers twirled down from above as overhead great wings beat. Looking up, I stopped in my tracks. The Fade shimmered again to restore that fertile land the Approach had once been while in the azure sky creatures that were part eagle, part lion and all ferocious beauty flew.

  I was looking at the memory of dozens and dozens of griffons.

  A bittersweetness washed over me at the sight of these creatures of revered legend brought to life. Sat upon their backs were Wardens clad in armor the likes of which I'd never seen. Armor made for griffon riders, I supposed, which were no longer a branch within the Wardens.
  The ring of swords leaving sheathes sounded, causing me to turn. A great company of Wardens stood at the ready. The commanding Warden, sat horseback upon the ground, gave a battle cry as darkspawn crawled up from the depths of the Abyssal Rift and climbed over the edge. Fear rippled through me as I watched the dreaded creatures prepare to attack the Wardens. Storming hooves sounded behind me as the cavalry surged forward. Monstrous growls issued from the darkspawn as they mirrored the charge.
  I had never seen a darkspawn in person; I had only read descriptions of them. My skin crawled as something nagged at the back of my mind evoking some primal fear at their appearance. Hurlocks, genlocks, shrieks and the hulking ogres. All dead yet intelligent eyes, fangs and claws with their tainted blood oozing from every orifice. I refused to give form to the frightful truth daring to form in my mind the longer I beheld these creatures that haunted our history and the dark recesses of Thedas.

Like corrupted shadows of our races.

  I pressed the thoughts away as the two factions crashed together, their ferocity nearly equal. Horse and griffon mimicked the unwavering bravery of their riders as they remained adamant in their stand to not give the darkspawn an inch. Blade severed bone, fangs tore flesh. Talons grabbed; arrows pierced. Tainted blood spilled out upon the ground.

Is this the Second Blight?

  Despite the melded awe and fear at the memory before me, it served only to bring a sobering reminder of what was happening on the mortal plane where our own bloody battle was being fought. I turned away from the violence only to find more behind me. Cries and screams sounded in my ears as I watched a crowd of people run in a singular direction. A few looked back with terror in their eyes.
  Blood-chilling roars that were all too human followed them; a great horde of possessed people came rushing up from the bowels of the fortress the others had escaped before tearing through the people. More became possessed; the whole of them now lost in a frenzied massacre until all that remained were possessed corpses.
  Fire followed, swallowing everything. The light became blinding as searing heat threatened to burn me. I cast a barrier just in time as I bore witness to a horde of possessed corpses—the same corpses—attacking a strange band of people.
  To my shock, I recognized Wynne amongst them. The others consisted of a middle-aged man with dark hair and a handsome face who also wore mage robes and held a staff. He was running to protect a woman in templar armor as another mage woman summoned a firestorm.
  Her eyes were red with the fire, flames licking off her body and hair as her magic engulfed all around her. The attacking corpses shrieked and howled as they burned, the gnashing of their teeth causing the hair on my neck to stand on end. Soon after, the party pressed on and as I watched, I gasped: Cole was following them.
  I was having a hard time understanding when I was in time. The far past? More recent? Gripping my staff tightly, I pressed on into the soupy dark.
  All noise faded away the deeper down I went until only impenetrable black and deafening silence surrounded me. Then the sound of my footsteps changed; no longer the echo of stone, but softer. I looked down to find that I stood upon a lush forest floor.
  The smell of rotting leaves filled my nose as the groans and creaks of bending tree limbs engulfed me. Upon the rustle of the leaves I heard the whispers of demons promising to aid me, to help me be unafraid. The sounds of the woodland creatures that prowled at night caused my ears to prick. My heart hammered in my chest. My whole body shaking with terror as the world seemed to grow bigger…or I grew smaller.
  Suddenly, the woods looked all too familiar and dread pooled in my belly as I knew that if I scrambled back at the sound of the baying wolf, I'd find myself within the hollow of a tree. A place of refuge for days as I'd wandered the forest until hunger and thirst had driven me out.

It seemed that Fear had found me.

  Instead of playing into its illusion, I stood my ground. The baying wolf continued to howl as the forest was cloaked in inky darkness. The air became thick and oily upon my skin.
  A foul putridity filled my nose. It was all I could do not to vomit at the acrid stench of rotting death now making it hard to see as tears streamed from my face. Grasping my staff tightly, I summoned ice and then fire upon a piece of cloth in order to soak it which enabled me to breathe more freely. Slowly, I moved forward, using the end of my staff to feel the ground before my feet.

I could feel Fear's eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.

I heard the scuttling of the spiderlings in the shadows all around.

  Soon the ground turned from solid to wet and the Fade began to rock back and forth. Tame at first and then growing ever more violent until it was all I could do to stay upright. Thunder boomed overhead; the world below shaking with the strength of it. The whole of me jumped at the noise. Lightning followed in a sharp crack and fracturing across the sky.
  Except I could not see it. Instead, the bright light flashed for only a moment through narrow slats above me. Pounding footsteps sounded on creaking wood. Voices shouting orders swallowed by the roar of the livid wind and the bellow of the ocean.
  Air and water, primal elements, raged beyond the fragile belly of the ship I was stowed away in. A furious battle as they fought for the right to destroy the ship. Would the wind rip it apart? Or would the ocean swallow its shattered hull?

I heard my cries. Felt my fear.

The waters rose and rose until I was pulled beneath them.

But on I walked.

And then there was nothing. Nothing but the vast ocean. Above, below and all around. Dark, cold and murky. I was suspended within its depths unable to discern surface from bottom as my lungs began to burn for air. What was more, I could not fight the feeling that there was something else in the water. Waiting. Watching. Prowling. Irrational panic began to claw at me.

It's not real. It's not real.

Something huge grazed my foot.

  Instinct took over and I kicked for what I prayed was the surface forcing my lips to stay closed. Up and up I swam, but still the break did not come. My lungs were screaming. I could hear Assurance. I knew it wasn't real. But I couldn't stop the panic.
  Darkness creeped into my vision and despite how I fought, my mouth gasped open and inhaled the briny water. It burned through my airway and down into my lungs. Like liquid fire scorching everything inside. Even my vision turned red at the edges. My heart was beating uncontrollably.
  Everything slipped away. I didn't know who I was, where I was any of it. Only that I knew how it felt to die.

And I was dying again.

Then I felt it.

The barest whisper of air moving against my cheek. Impossible. I was underwater. Drowning. Dying. There would be no air in the middle of the ocean.

An angry hiss. A slight thrum. My thrashing limbs now felt immobile.

The Fade.

This isn't real.

"Assurance," I breathed.

Like a flaming arrow he raced for me, a beacon in the endless dark ocean. Closing my eyes, I felt past the illusion to the reality of my predicament. I was immobile. Something strong and sticky enveloped me and I was upside down. Then came the clicking. Not the sound the spiderlings had made, but something much bigger.

"Fadewalker," Assurance spoke.

I blinked my eyes open, still seeing the illusion. Though I knew it wasn't real and despite how hard I tried, I could not dispel it alone. Assurance was looking at me as if waiting for me to speak.

"Can you help me?"

"Do you want me to?"

I knitted my brow. "What do you mean?"

"What is the one thing that can be as powerful as hope, Fadewalker?"

Resisting the urge to sigh, a pang of bittersweetness at the realization that there truly was a part of Purpose in Assurance in his insistence to answer a question with a question, I said, "At a guess? Fear."

"Have you wondered why this particular demon is difficult for you to face? Harder to find? Harder to resist?"

"Because Fear is the opposite of Hope?"

He shook his head. "Doubt is the antagonist of Hope. Fear is its twin."

My brows rose in response. "How?"

"They are drawn by the same feelings, but diverge in what they become. Fear is not always malicious in nature. There are benevolent fears. Vigilance, Wariness, Reverence as a few examples—they can lead to wise actions to avoid unfavorable outcomes. But give Fear too much sway and it can turn corruptive. Paranoia. Anxiety. Phobia. Cowardice. What keeps Fear from having too much sway?"

"Dare I say Hope?"

"How?" I felt the burn in my lungs again and struggled to keep control over myself. To remember that it was just an illusion. "Think, Meira!"

"It helps us overcome the fear."

"In what way?"

I had to think and despite my annoyance, it helped me to focus, which weakened the illusion's hold. "It gives us courage."

"Courage is formed by both Fear and Hope. It is the will to choose to act despite the fear because of the assurance given by hope."

I understood then. "I have to choose to face Fear and act despite it. That is how I deny its feast." I met Assurance's eyes. "Courage."

He gave a nod. "You are Hope. Fear your twin. Courage may be born of this battle of wills. Can you choose to face the Nightmare despite knowing what you may face? Knowing that you may fail? Or will you choose to submit to the Nightmare in order to avoid this confrontation, giving way to Cowardice?"

I clenched my jaw. "To the Void with this demon."

With a smirk on his mouth, the first emotion I'd witnessed in him beyond stolidity, he drew his sword. "I'm at your side."

"Andraste, give me strength."

***

"Do you honestly think that anyone could want you? That he could want you, little Meira? Discarded by all who ever claimed to care for you. Utterly ruined at the hands of Alrik and Desire. He saw what you are—what you truly are at that keep."

The voice had followed me since the moment I’d broken free of the illusion. At this taunt, the image had flashed in my mind of what I had been when Doubt had nearly succeeded.

Monster.

"And they say I am the Nightmare."

  I threw my hands over my ears as that dark laugh echoed all around again. The sound was unlike anything I could describe as it elicited terror, my whole body involuntarily trembling with fear even as it weighed heavy with exhaustion. Sticky threads of webbing grabbed at my fingers as they hung down from my hair, ears and everywhere else. It caused me to panic as I desperately tried to brush it off. The sensation of several hundred spiders crawling along my skin caused gooseflesh to erupt beneath my armor.
  Within the Fade, the demon's reflection of the decaying fortress of Adamant had been consumed by a giant spider nest where an ever present storm angrily thundered above as rain poured and winds howled. The reflected fortress was crawling with spiders—some normal size, some the size of a mabari, some even larger. Beneath the howl of the windblown rain, there was an unrelenting cacophony of clicks, hisses and the scurry of many legs as the webs thrummed in response, carrying upon the dissonant ripples the echo of every fear I'd ever known.
  I had fought through the bowels of the fortress. Pulling myself from the illusion, I'd woken within a spider's sac. How I was still alive, I did not know, but I thanked the Maker all the same. Using my magic, I'd burned away the silk and fallen to the bone-covered ground.
  Despite the layers of webs, I had realized I was in the demon's reflection of Adamant Fortress. Deep in its heart. With the dissipation of its illusion and the loss of its hold on me, I knew I had not yet reached the lair of Fear. But whatever had captured me had brought me close.
  Assurance had stayed at my side as I had made my way through in order to keep Fear from overwhelming my senses. We had found several of Fear's victims swathed within the spiders' silk. I had prayed we would find some of the Warden mages to release them from Corypheus's hold, but most were already too far gone. No more than desiccated corpses drained of fluid.
  Many of our own people had met the same fate, but there were a few we'd been able to awaken. When I had touched their minds, I had seen what the Fear demon was wielding upon the waking world through them. Every fear, every nightmare, every dark memory that it could sense and pull not only from the captured victims' minds, but also from the minds of those across the dangerously thin Veil.
  As I had loosed its hold upon those few victims that yet lived and severed the dark magic wielding those who were gone in all but consciousness, the demon had turned its attention fully to me. Great legs had risen from the ruined middle of the fortress, pulling from its dark depths a colossal arachnoid creature that was utterly repulsive. Hundreds of eyes decorated its body that was larger than even Corypheus's dragon; I watched as they shifted about before all locked upon me where I stood.
  Its gargantuan legs carried it forward at a creeping pace, the dread within me setting my heart hammering against my chest. I feared my skin would fall off with the rate at which I was practically vibrating as my very bones shook. My bowels turned to water; my lungs refused to take in air despite the rate at which I was breathing; my throat stuck as I tried to swallow.
  Instead of the normal mouthparts of a spider, this demonic creature had some grotesque amalgamation of both arachnoid and crustaceous origins. A pair of huge mandibles with great fangs dripping poison that curved out from the bottom had slowly splayed out to reveal the inner mouth with its rounded ends coated in teeth and surrounded by scraggly hair. This hideous maw had stretched open to a gaping, viscous mucosa where several leg-like appendages undulated as if in search of prey to snatch up and hold before the fangs punched into the helpless body to pump it full of toxin.

Terror such as I had never known paralyzed me.

I could not move.

I could not think.

I could not breathe.

  My heart had pumped in desperation within my chest trying to force my blood through my frozen veins, but I was trapped by my every fear playing out before my eyes as the creature's own bored down on me.
  When I'd hurt Ellana. When I'd been banished from the clan. Every night spent alone in the forest, starving and terrified. As the merchant raised his hand to hurt me. As the templars in the chantry hunted me. In the belly of the ship where thunder roared above and water crashed all around, my tiny self terrified the vessel would splinter apart. Fear as I watched Uldred torture those I'd known most of my life, as I feared for the fate of my friends and Cullen. Terror as I endured hell itself in the bellows of the Gallows. Haven. Solasan. Shame. Suledin. Doubt. 
 As if my conquering of them was no more than an illusion. A false hope. That nothing could conquer Fear.

Ba-dumBa-dumBa-dum

"In the pounding of my heart
I hear the glory of creation," Assurance had spoken within my mind.

As the colossal arachnid had neared, the words from the Chant had shaken me from my paralysis. Assurance’s words reminding me of reality: I had conquered those fears. Having disappeared with the armor's power, I hid.

"Clever little one, aren't you?" Nightmare’s voice had spoken from seemingly all around.

Low, raspy and utterly bone-chilling, there was an undeniable dark regality to it; because it sounded ancient.

"You cannot hide forever from me, Fadewalker," it had goaded, "For you are in my domain. Long have I resided here. I did so years before your birth and I will continue to do so far beyond your death."

"It is your twin, Meira," Assurance had urged, "You must make a choice."

Instead, I had kept running attempting to buy time. Darting in and out of hiding places within the fortress only to be discovered by the spiderlings and having to fight my way free all the while sensing as the great demon crept ever closer. I could only surmise the reason I was still alive was because the monstrous creature moved so slowly. I did not doubt, however, that if it drew too close, I would die immediately.

This creature seemed beyond me, even if I used the armor's strength.

And slowly, the fear had won out until I sat trembling in the dark feeling as the great demon crawled ever closer to devour me.

 "Where is all your 'faith', bastion of Hope? You claim to be a blade forged at the will of your Maker. This is your forging and I see you shattering. Tell me, Fadewalker, which one of you actually made it out? Is this you…or Doubt?"

I began muttering the Chant beneath my breath, begging the Maker for strength even as that terror gripped me, my heart drumming anew as cold sweat dripped down my spine.

"So much for Hope. So much for all you endured. You will die here. Your screams unheard as you're swallowed in the jaws of Fear. Abandoned and soon enough forgotten once more by all who claimed to love you."

I could see it. Feel it. The fangs plunging into my body, the venom burning through muscle, organ and bone until all within was held by my outer flesh as I slid along the stinking throat of the demon spider. I would scream for all those I loved, for Cullen, for the Maker to pluck me from the maw of death only for it all to go unanswered. For all of it to have been for naught.

We were all going to die.

And it would be my fault.

Abruptly, I calmed. Assurance sat beside me, a hand on my shoulder, Serenity on the other side doing the same. Together, they flooded me with peace and renewed my strength. I met Assurance's eyes.

"They are failing, Meira. Time is up. There is nothing more I can do and if you do not loosen Fear's hold upon them, they will all die. You could return to the mortal plane and use your armor and turn the tide, but it would leave Fear at its full might. You face it now and you could weaken it. You have this one chance. Will you take it?"

I studied his eyes as they burned through me. Then they flicked past my shoulder. I turned to find an open trap door. From it, darkness seeped out. It smelled of death. Promised it.

"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword," Assurance murmured.

Could I face Fear knowing I might die?

Could I lay down my life if I knew it meant they would win?

  Would all I had endured, all I'd faced, all I'd overcome culminate in this choice? This confrontation? Was this my purpose? Or would the Maker ask yet more even if I overcame this trial?
  Was that all my faith was? What He could give me? Or did I serve Him because of the love I had felt in every moment of my life? Because of the certainty it gave me to hope in Him? A hope that had only grown in that dungeon and in every moment since Cullen had carried me out and every moment before that had allowed me to endure it?

"Is this you…or Doubt?"

Closing my eyes, I thought of all my loved ones who were fighting on the mortal plane. Fighting against their greatest fears and were faltering because the demon was only growing more powerful. A power I had a chance to sever. I knew what every one of them would choose.

And I knew what I wanted to choose.

I was Hope.

Fear would hold no sway.

"Tell Cullen I love him," I stated as I clenched my jaw and threw myself at the trap door.

***

Down I fell into utter darkness.

It was no ordinary darkness.

It was the absence of light. Void. Nothing.

I felt my very life-force draining away.

"How very brave of you to come here, Meira," the voice called draining me even more, "Or is it foolish?"

I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.

When I felt it grasp hold, I did not resist. Skeletal hands wrapped around my arms as small claws worked their way down my back and hairy legs enveloped me. Cold, moist tentacles slithered across my face and down to my neck slowly working to tighten.

"Do you know what birthed me, Dreamer? Can you even fathom it? What I was before I saw the glory of what I could be?"

Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

The tentacles wound tighter. Putrid breath puffed into my face as I felt its hot mouth draw closer, it's voice no more than a whisper now as it held me.

"I was born with the First Blight, Little One. At first an aid to those who endured it. To those who sought to stand against it. I consumed their fear in order that they could bear the mantle of bravery. How I grew in the wake of that near unending nightmare.
But as is the nature of dull creatures, time lulled mortals into complacency. The Blight no more than a distant memory. A tale told to little children to keep them from misbehaving. A bad dream forgotten upon waking.
Then, the Second Blight came. How their fear grew. And so did I. And so, it continued. A repeated cycle.
With each lull, the people turned against their vigilant Wardens. Their fear of the Blight believed to have turned to paranoia. A weapon brandished to afford the once esteemed Order of the Grey awards beyond their purview."

A slimy tongue lapped at my cheek as I began to struggle against the pressure on my throat. It was not enough to kill yet, or to even render me unconscious, as the demon wanted me to hear its tale.

"When the Fifth Blight came, Urthemiel rising from the depths, how I anticipated the coming feast. The Wardens were no more than annoying gnats. A dying order of dying men.
But low, I was denied. Fear replaced with hope as The Warden surpassed her forebears as she ended the dreadful Blight decades sooner than any of the predecessors. And lived to tell the tale.
Can Fear feel rage? Whatever the case, I felt it then. And in my wrath, I waited, despairing that I would have to endure on scraps.
And then the Elder One came to me with an offer. Whisper the Calling into the minds of the Wardens. Lead a demon army. Feast upon the fears of all Thedas for eternity. It was at his hand that I came to be. How could I deny my Maker?"

Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.
Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side.

"How can I deny mine?"

  At those words, I summoned the armor in full and wrapped myself in bright, white flames. As I did, the Aspect shrieked in rage. Its hands, arachnoid legs and tentacles released me as its flesh burned, and it tried to scurry back into the darkness. Fade-stepping, willing my staff into the flaming sword, I plunged it up to the hilt into its head.
  The darkness recoiled away and my blade thrust into stone. The demon flailed beneath me and I found despite its appearance, despite its perceived sway, it was truly a pathetic creature. Perhaps it had no real desire to fight. Perhaps its true desire sat within its gluttony. So long as it was able to feed, it was satisfied.
  Perhaps it was something simpler, yet more profound: choosing to face it was what rendered it powerless. Yes, the demon had power, but no more than its prey allowed. So long as it could convince its prey of its own weakness, it had power. It was malicious and manipulative. The usual work of lesser creatures.
  Revolted, I drew every ounce of power I dared and conjured a blistering inferno. The pillar of flame engulfed the demon and everything around us.

"YOU CANNOT KILL ME! EVEN NOW I REGENERATE!"

"Perhaps not, but it will take time. And time is what I need."

"YOU LOATHSOME MORTAL! I WILL HAUNT YOUR—"

With a swift flick of my blade, I severed its head from its neck. "Be silent, demon."

I watched as it turned to ash and was blown away with the lingering wind of the inferno. Drained and exhausted, I fell to my knees upon the floor. "Thank you, my Maker."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "It is not over," Assurance stated.

I looked up to find the trapdoor above. "I know. The creature is the real demon."

He gripped my shoulder, drawing my eyes back to him. "That is not your fight, Fadewalker."

"But—"

He shook his head again. "You've weakened it. Drawn Courage, who will gladly fight. It will buy you time. That is all you need. You've done enough. Go."

I opened my mouth to argue, but something flashed in his eyes that left no room for argument. With a gasping sigh, I sent my conscious mind back across the Veil. I returned to the waking plane with a shout, my whole body shaking. Every inch of me hurt. My very bones weary. Asaala turned at the sound, and I caught the fear in her eyes before relief flickered in them. “Are you hurt?”

"Not physically," I assured, "but…" I shuddered violently.

The threat still remained. We had to finish this. Now.

"Good, because we've got another problem."

"It can't be any worse th—"

A familiar roar split the air. It stirred dread in my chest as the magical scar on my thigh prickled and burned at the memory of receiving. I looked up as great wings shadowed the moons.

"Flames."