This was originally done as a meme for the LJ community, swooping_is_bad. I liked it though, and wanted to share it here, so I edited it up to remove the meme-ish bits. This story is based on my Elven mage. Elf mages probably lead the hardest lives in the whole game universe. And no thanks to what she had to go through, my poor little mage was crazier than a coconut by the end of the game.
Rated PG with some minor spoilers. Amia Surana/Cullen/and various cameo appearances. Warning: very dark story.
No Alistairs were harmed in the making of this story, I promise.
Cullen scrubs his face and hands with the harsh soap. His eyes are rubbed raw. He can't recognize himself anymore.
She has been gone for months now, and still...
He wants nothing more than to be pure again. He will never be pure again.
Screams float from below. Strange, Cullen thinks. He sees a nightmarish blessing in the mirror.
"Let's have some fun, Templar." Uldred stalks from behind.
Cold fingers, empty hate, and the scattered bones of love snake into Cullen's mind.
—
Amia Surana can't help but feel somehow hollow as she leads the ex-templar, Alistair and the witch, Morrigan. They're headed somewhere, Amia can't remember. She feels as though she's a million miles from home and maybe she is. There are no libraries, no Cullen waiting for her in cold, stone halls, where she is going. Only an unknown future looming over her head. She is frightened and lost and her whirling mind does little to help.
Amia has no choice though and silently accepts her fate. Battles and noblemen and saving the world.
From here on out, it is only swim or sink. She alternates between.
—
Cullen knows he is dreaming and yet he isn't. It is only too real. He is standing in a moon-filled valley, his left hand encircling her waist, his right in her hair. His lips pressed to hers...
"Impure" she whispers against his throat.
But he doesn't care and just...
holds on.
He hates her and loves her and tries to forget her. He spins a new life with her, a life made of gathering dust and silken sheets.
—
Amia wavers. Someone is standing too close behind her. She tries to remember who she has brought with her, to the Tower. She almost remembers and then the names flee from her mind. This is her home, crumbling away in a demonic tide. Her family, abominations stalking her. Her heart skips, bile rises in her throat as she slays another once upon a time friend. The tide pushes her forward.
Up,
the Tower circles ever upwards.
Amia takes it one step at a time. One merciful murder at a time. She remembers; Wynne is with her. "Uldred" Wynne explains. "Uldred is the mastermind. Promises of freedom."
All lies. There is no such thing as freedom. Amia is a Grey Warden and a Circle mage, and she is death to those she left imprisoned to fate.
A demon offers blessed rest. Her companions fight it, but Amia does not.
—
Cullen is dancing with an abomination, and he doesn't care. She can torture him, cut him open and he doesn't care. He touches her hair and he loves her. She takes his hand, and leads him to a precipice. "What's down there" he asks. She laughs and disappears over the edge.
Cullen follows, and finds himself in a tunnel. It winds away, up and up. He is lost and he hates her for it. "Amia" he cries, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Not this again."
—
The fade wavers and where are the companions she knew were just with her. She searches, leaving a dream of blood in her wake.
Amia finds Wynne first. Wynne's nightmare leaves Amia wishing she had stayed in her own dream. It hadn't been so bad. Only, too empty.
Alistair's dream leaves Amia shaken. She wants to leave him there, to let him be happy there. Forever eating mince pie. But, she needs him. Maybe, he needs her.
Sten is happy, too. Surrounded by brothers. Love and hate. Life and death. "This is just another cage" Amia tells Sten.
They find each other again. They battle. They win. Of course they win. They are good at delivering death.
She saves everyone and no one is left to save her. Amia feels a tinge of regret. The demon had promised better. Maybe when this is over, Amia thinks. She has more death to face and duty stretching and spreading her thin.
—
"Don't you recognize me, Cullen" Amia cries. No, begs.
"Get away from me. I'll not believe your lies, demon." Cullen squeezes his eyes shut. When they open again, she is still there. How like her to still be there.
"That's always worked before" Cullen groans. "But, you're still here". He turns his head from her. This vision, this nightmare. He hopes he is still caged and dreaming. If he isn't, then it means he is alive and his world will shatter again.
He dreads the things he must face, but he must for the future of Ferelden. Only he has seen what truly lies at the heart of these mages; these filthy, twisting mages.
—
Uldred is dead. Irving is alive. Cullen is a broken shell, but also alive. Amia feels something that must be relief. Cullen watches her, and she, him. She knows Cullen blames her. He will always do his duty, and she fears for him.
There is work to be done. Amia lets her hand graze Cullen's as she prepares to leave. He flinches and looks at her with pure loathing.
Pure.
Amia leads one templar to his future and leaves another templar to his past.
The Tower is saved, but Amia is not. Victory and loss are one and the same, she decides.
—
Templars are too soft for this world, Amia thinks as she sends one to the axeman's block.
No one says anything to her. She has closed herself to all.
There is a small yet sharp needle of painful regret digging into what is left of her heart. "Regret only weighs us down" she can imagine Wynne saying.
Amia regrets the fact that she once had a soul. But she will never tell Wynne this. Wynne would not understand. She should have let the Circle Tower be torn down stone by stone, until templar hands bled.
Amia lets her regret go. It is too late for her. She can do nothing but duty. Her duty was Alistair's doom.
Amia is no longer alive. She only resembles life.
Riordan's words do not scare her.
—
Amia analyzes the archdemon. She is nothing but a Grey Warden. She is nothing but magic and duty and taint.
And suddenly, oddly enough, sadness. This was not what she had in mind, when she was a hopeful, dreaming child.
She looks to the sky and for a moment, feels alive again. For a moment, she is not the destroyer nor the detroyed, but just a simple elven mage with the weight of the world on her shaking shoulders.
She prays to the Maker for his forgiveness, for another chance, maybe. Another chance for them all.
She faces her death and, surprising herself, fears it.