Hiya! Thanks so much for reading ^_^ It's my first fic so bear with me. If you have any suggestions I will be more than happy to add them in, or simply fangirl about anything/everything Cullen. Please be gentle.
Also, there is a slight rape trigger in this chapter, though I'll tag it when it comes around.
Magdalene Amell had been brushing her hair out before bed when she'd heard the first scream. Her head shot up, neck craned to the closed door with eyes narrowed before she tried to calm herself and turn back to her reflection. She'd just completed the Harrowing and though no one had mentioned side effects, she'd heard plenty of blood-curdling noises when she'd travelled through the Fade and they had sounded exactly like that. Her mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, noted her new pallor as she looked back to the mirror and hesitantly began brushing once more. Full lips pulled into a frown as she pinched at her cheeks, willing pink to spread to them once more. She'd been scared enough during the day to go to bed looking ill. Maggie heard another scream and she pursed her lips, determined to ignore the sounds around her. Suddenly the door slammed open and Liam, a young male mage, looked at her fearfully. His eyes quickly scanned the room and paid little attention to her before scurrying to the closet in the corner. "What are you doing?" she hissed, standing quickly. Men weren't supposed to be in the girl's dorms, though that rule was ignored more often than—
"What are you doing?" he asked, looking back to the door before hurriedly opening the closet. "There are demons out there and you're… what, brushing your hair? Hide, woman!"
A confused look overcame her face before true terror surfaced. Maker, the screams were… She dropped the brush quickly and moved to the still-closed door, placing an ear to the dark wood. She didn't hear anything and pushed it open, nearly running into an abomination. It looked down at her with its twisted face, one that looked frighteningly like her friend Anna, and opened its mouth to moan. It gave Maggie just enough time to startle into action, casting a winter spell that would allow her to move away from it. The mage wriggled her way between the monster and the door with a gulp before joining the other mages running toward the lower levels of the Circle. There were few of them moving toward the stairs and even less when Maggie moved to shut the doors against the impending attack. It was she and another female mage, Anais, who managed to shut the door. Anais, the older mage, cast a barrier against the door hoping it would impede the abominations. They continued to move quickly until they came to a corridor that held Wynne and a few of the children who had just arrived at the Circle days prior. "What's happening?" Wynne asked quietly, moving to Maggie as Anais moved to tend to the children.
"I do not know," Maggie said, pounding emanating from where they had cast the barrier. "There are abominations everywhere, I was in my room and –"
Wynne held up a hand. "Say no more." She ushered the children into the room, shooting a worried glance at Maggie. Wynne gave her a small nod and said, "Help me place the barrier." Between the three mages they were able to cast a strong barrier, but it held an otherworldly feel to it. Maggie cast a glance to the eldest mage who looked a bit pale but otherwise relatively normal. "It will hold," Wynne said, mistaking the concern in Amell's eyes. It was days before the doors behind them opened
She bends with a poultice in one hand and a potion in the other, her eyes searching the man below for wounds. There'd been more than a few templars injured, and of those many had already succumbed to their wounds. Those who were unconscious had no choice if they wanted help, but when they woke… She'd been strangled twice already and they'd refused what little help she could give them. She'd gone to Wynne and complained, saying that it was unfair that they refused such treatment, but the older mage assured her that it was their right. Even the white-haired woman had been refused for treatment, and she was the Circle matriarch. When she ran out of templars who either died or screamed at her, she sat about clearing rumble and bodies from the halls.
Every still body with dead, open eyes caused her pause. She was thankful when it was not a friend, but realized that the alternative meant they could have succumbed to becoming an abomination. Every time it took her a moment to catch her breath before she dragged her brothers and sisters to the makeshift pyre outside Kinloch Hold. If not for the group of warriors that had come through, all would have been lost to the Circle. She'd been present for Ser Cullen's outburst, for his request to kill any remaining mages in the tower, and – by the Gods – he'd looked straight at her as he said it. Her chin had trembled but she held her head even higher in a look of defiance. He was no longer the same man. Whatever he had experienced had broken him beyond repair and he no longer wanted to protect her, but destroy her. She still remembered the conversation they'd had after her Harrowing, how she'd flirted with him enough to make him run away like a frightened child. Now the analogy was even more real. He looked at her with utter distaste and contempt and she was powerless to escape it.
When templars came from the Kirkwall Circle to lend them aid, Maggie begged to leave. Her studies had all but halted and she wanted nothing more than to leave this destruction behind. Wynne was gone and there was no one else she knew apart from the remaining templars, and they all had the same feral look in their eyes. Greagoir was hesitant to accept the proposition, but the Kirkwall templars had raked their eyes over her and encouraged it. She should have known then.
A few other 'lucky' mages were also transferred to the Free Marches. Maggie tried to liken it to coming home; after all, her mother had always said she was from here, that she had been nobility! Surely that would go some ways, even in the new Circle. She should have known when she walked into the Gallows and all she could hear were screams of pain and cries of oppression. It took her a bit to acclimate to her new home. She had come from Ferelden feisty and headstrong, flirtatious and carefree. Even a few beatings over offenses so small as speaking to other mages didn't cull the girl's spirit. When it was clear she wished to bring a semblance of happiness to those at Kinloch Hold, she was subjected to an isolation cell in the basement. Her eyes finally adjusted to the low light and she moved to the iron bars, clasping them with both hands.
"Hello?" she called out, her odd eyes searching the cell opposite her. She squinted and was sure she could see a body curled on the floor and began grinning. While she wasn't in the position to make friends – none of them were, as it were – a bit of hope built in her. She wasn't sure why the templars would call this an isolation cell if there were others there, but they all refused to speak. Days went by with only a mouthful of water at the time and Maggie could feel her robes loosen almost daily. Occasionally she'd hear a door open and two templars would clank into the basement only to drag a limp, smelly body from the area. She don't know what possessed her, but she began to scream. Scream for the days she hadn't spoken to anyone and at the stupid girl who had willingly marched into this Circle.
*&* TRIGGER *&*
The door didn't close and she heard a soft thump before she heard buckles unfastening and metal being laid on the ground. Her brows furrowed and she moved back from the bars. Maggie's legs trembled as she pressed against the furthest wall, knowing the only thing that had kept her solidly up was leaning against the cell door. It opened with a slow creak and the two, now-unarmored men moved toward her. "You're not so high and mighty now, little bird." One of the men leered at her and there was just enough light in the room to see a smile on his face before he approached, roughly taking her bony chin between his fingers and angling her face up. "Pretty little thing, innit she?" the man asked his companion, who chuckled slightly.
"Won't be after we're done with her," the other templar said, a man that appeared much younger than his companion. "Hold her." Maker, did she scream. They'd flipped her into the cold dirt and all she could taste was dirt and bile. It wasn't long after that all her cries, those of pain and shame, ceased. She laid on the floor while they spoke between each other, then hoisted her into the air. They crudely grabbed at her before hiking her robes back to her ankles and pushing her back into the Circle.
*&* END TRIGGER *&*
"I thought I heard something—" His hair was blonder, his face sharper, but she'd know his voice from anywhere. Her gaze was nearly as lifeless as those she'd pulled from Kinloch Hold weeks ago but she saw him scan her body, take in the tear-stained, dirt covered cheeks and the small tears now in her robes. You did, she thought with a sick sense of satisfaction, you heard everything. She saw a flicker of pity move through his hazel eyes before he stood a bit straighter and gave a curt nod to his brothers who held the mage up. "I suggest you acquire new robes, mage," he snarled before abruptly turning on his heel.
Years later, when Kinloch Hold contacted the Kirkwall Circle to request the presence of the mages who had been sent away, Magdalene felt no sense of happiness or joy, neither regret or remorse. On the contrary, she felt nothing.
Wynne stood on the steps of the Ferelden Circle with arms crossed and brows furrowed. Only three of the seven mages they'd sent to Kirkwall had returned. Initially she'd thought they'd kept the most promising studies with them, but when she recognized Maggie she knew that wasn't the case. The girl had been an exceptional healer and gifted in herbalism and defense magic. Instead, Kirkwall had sent back corpses. The two women and one man said nothing for weeks, not even to each other, and Wynne had never regretted leaving the Circle so much in her life.
"We're taking heavy losses throughout our ranks," Cullen screamed as Cassandra and the others approached. Behind her was a woman holding a staff and he could instantly feel it, the magic that poured out of this newcomer. It was no doubt the prisoner from the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Cullen cursed inwardly at himself. As if it hadn't been hard enough to place his prejudices behind him. "You've closed the Rifts?" he asked, moving toward the Seeker.
"Not me," the Nevarran said with a slight smirk as she stepped aside. "Her."
His hazel eyes met hers and his heart began beating even harder against his chest. She was even prettier than the last… than the last… He gulped for air as if he'dforgotten how to breathe. He didn't need these flashbacks, to seeing her small, skeletal frame dragged from the isolation cells or Brenton's and Cason's leering grins as they held her up. No. It couldn't be her; a sister, perhaps. He quickly convinced himself that it was a simple coincidence before gathering himself. "I hope what they say about you is true. We've lost a lot of good people getting you here."
The woman quirked a brow and crossed her arms with an amused look, but said nothing. Satisfied this woman was not the one he'd thought – for he surely would have earned an insult with his last words – he relaxed slightly and offered her a smile. She cocked her head, unnerving eyes staring at him before she strode towards him, the swing of her hips drawing his attention despite the chaos around them. "I'm sorry," the woman said, a familiar voice escaping her full lips, "I thought I heard something."