Congratulations to everyone, both winners and participants. Putting your work out there for other people to read is always nerve-wracking. And thank you, BioWare, for giving us all the opportunity. Although I didn't place, I'm still interested in getting feedback and critiques. I really enjoyed writing these characters and have toyed with the idea of continuing this story.

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age.

Vagary

Ezra sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his back resting against the cold stone wall of the cell. Torchlight from the wall sconces did nothing for the temperature. Desperate for warmth, and struggling to forget the pain in his head, he made himself a cocoon out of his apprentice's robe. He could hear Lara shivering in the cell next to him. A tiny crack in the wall, about the width of his finger, next to his head gave him a limited view of her in nearly the same position. Her shoulder-length auburn hair hid her face and emerald eyes.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what they had done to get thrown in Kinloch Hold's dungeon.

"Lara," he whispered through the crack. "Are you all right?"

"Just fine," she replied, indignant. He heard her sigh. "This is my fault."

"Your fault? What happened?" Silence.

"Knight-Lieutenant Roger," she finally replied, so softly he almost didn't hear her.

Shooting pain in the back of his head accompanied the memory of a sword's pommel meeting his skull. Well, that was rather foolish to throw myself in front of one of those, wasn't it? He remembered flirting mercilessly with Lara on their way out of the dining hall, then being stopped in the doorway, Ser Roger leveling on them the familiar Templar glare. He scolded them for being late – again – and said they had to be punished. Lara protested. Shocked, Ezra had gaped at her like she had grown three extra heads and suddenly turned green. Neither of them had undergone the Harrowing yet. Tranquility was a very real possibility for any perceived offense. Ser Roger had gotten angry, but Lara wouldn't back down. When Roger grabbed her, Ezra, despite having the wiry build of an eighteen-year-old mage, came to her defense. That was where his memory ended.

"Bastard," he spat. Ser Roger was one of the few Templars who had survived Uldred's uprising nearly ten years ago, and also one of the few who never wore a helmet. His uncomfortable, brazen gaze always rested on Lara. The glint in his eyes when he laid his hands on the young female apprentice had made Ezra's blood run cold.

"I guess we're to spend the night down here," she broke into his thoughts.

Ezra ran a hand through his short black hair. Blue eyes searched the cell for any weakness. "Do you think we can get out?"

"It's a cell made for mages, dolt."

Hearing the smile in her voice, he took no offense. "I just thought you might have some ideas in that brilliant brain of yours."

"While I am brilliant, I think we're stuck here."

"They could have at least put us in the same cell. That way I would have been able to admire your gorgeous face for the duration."

Lara burst out into laughter. The sound made his heartbeat quicken and sent heat coursing through him in spite of the cold air.

"Maker, that was awful!" she teased. "Other girls fall for that drivel?"

"I save the particularly ridiculous drivel for you."

Trying to forget their situation through laughter seemed an adequate plan. By now her giggling had become contagious, and neither of them could get themselves to stop. The joke had long since ceased being funny; perhaps the stress made them giddy.

The clang of metal armor and heavy, booted footsteps put an abrupt end to their diversion. Ezra's cell was closer to the entrance, and through the barred gate he saw Ser Roger making his way down the row of cells. He turned his head to sneer at Ezra, but didn't slow his stride. Thinking he was coming for another prisoner, the young mage got to his feet and peered through the bars, to his right, only to see the Templar come to a halt in front of Lara's cell.

"On your feet, girl," he commanded.

Ezra heard Lara shift nervously, and his protective instincts again kicked in. "Leave her alone."

Roger's sword was unsheathed and at his neck before Ezra had time to blink. "Hold your tongue, boy, or I'll remove it."

"Ser Roger," Lara drew his attention away. "Please, forgive me."

She was being submissive, and Ezra hated it. The sword was again in its sheath, but the bars between them kept him from taking action. Nothing would feel better than burying his fist in Ser Roger's face.

"That's more like it." Roger's smile was unnerving, all perverse pleasure and no true amusement. "I'm going to let you out of here," he explained while jingling the keys in front of the cell. "But you have to do something for me first."

In the silence that followed, Ezra could almost smell Lara's fear. After that long moment, Lara asked, "What do you want?" with hesitation in her tone.

"Lara, no!" he cried.

Faster than a charging mabari, a gauntleted fist met his stomach through the bars, causing Ezra to double over in agony. "I told you to shut it! You keep it up, and I take it out on her."

Ezra sank to the floor, clutching his stomach and unable to breathe, and leaned against the wall for support. Roger was a big man, over six feet, and had the muscular build of a warrior who had spent his life training. Lara, a slight seventeen-year-old girl who barely reached his chest, would have no chance against him.

Hearing the cell door unlock made him wish he could break through the wall. Hearing the armor hit the floor made him want to weep. Already Lara was fighting; he could hear her struggling. The resounding slap stilled her, but only for a moment. Ignoring the lingering pain in his stomach, he stood and began pounding the wall, willing it to give way beneath his fists. He begged for help from the Templars at the guard station, but either they didn't hear him . . . or they didn't care. Tears clouded his vision, and he started screaming: pleas, curses, nonsense – anything to let Lara know he was still there and to drown out the cries and animalistic grunts invading his ears from her cell.

Like a caged animal, he paced. Rattled the bars. Prayed to the Maker when doubt troubled his faith. And he cried for her. Every word and blow he heard fanned the flames of hatred hotter and hotter, until rage was all he knew.

He concentrated on her sobs, vowing he'd make the Templar bastard pay for every tear she shed.

What was only minutes felt to be an eternity. No noise was coming from the cell next to him except for Roger's labored breathing. Fear gripped him as he wondered if Lara was unconscious or dead.

"Hey, boy," Roger called. His laugh made Ezra's stomach churn. "Maybe I should let you have a turn while she's passed out."

"You nug-licking shit-eater!" he roared, dispensing fresh rage against the bars. "I'll kill you!"

The Templar began laughing again, but was quickly cut off. It sounded like he was struggling for air, and Ezra hoped he was choking to death. He craned his neck, trying to get a better look, and saw Ser Roger, completely naked, stagger out of the cell holding his throat. Terror filled Roger's gaze, and he reached out to him as if asking for help. Ezra recoiled, and his eyes widened in shock at what he saw behind the Templar.

Lara hovered a few inches above the ground. She seemed in a trance, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted. He hadn't heard her move, and she was rigid as a statue, showing no signs of pain despite the blood running down her body.

Roger turned slowly, fear paralyzing him when he saw her. Without explanation, for Lara never moved, he was raised into the air. The skin on his back began to crack and bleed. He began to breathe, and then he began to scream, an inhuman sound that conveyed agony and suffering. More cracks appeared. Blood was collecting on the floor beneath him. Entire strips of skin began peeling away from his body, revealing the bloody muscles underneath, the ribbons splashing into the pool of blood below.

Ezra could only stare in horrific fascination as the Templar was flayed by an invisible force.

Still screaming, Roger was dropped to the floor. Lara still hadn't moved, and Ezra wondered if she was even breathing. She had to be. Lara couldn't be dead! But Maker help every Templar in this Tower if she was because they would have to put a sword through him before his vengeance was quenched. Ezra, white-knuckled, clutched the bars of his cage.

Something brushing against his leg brought him out of his dark thoughts and he looked down to see a rat scurry out of his cell. It was no surprise, they were in a dungeon. But it was joined by other rats, all with strangely glowing purple eyes, heading for the form on the floor writhing and screaming in torment. A horde of rats poured out of every cell and shadow. He only wondered a moment before they began to nibble, bite, and claw away at the skinless body.

They're eating him alive! Ezra realized, slightly sickened. He tasted bile, but held back. Lara, face devoid of any emotion, never turned away.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. The chewing and chattering of the rats as loud as Roger's howls rang in his ears. When silence descended and the rats retreated back to their dark corners, he opened his eyes to see Lara crumple into a heap on the floor and his cell door swung open. Without a second thought he ran to her, stopping only to retrieve the Templar's earlier discarded shirt to cover her.

He knelt beside Lara, lifting her to pull the shirt down over her head, and then examined her as best he knew how. She was a mess of bruises, cuts, and broken bones. Healing had never been his talent, but he gave it everything he had. Blue light washed over her, mending the worst of what he could find, and eventually she opened her eyes.

"Ezra?" she asked, seemingly confused.

"It's me," he assured.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Is he gone?"

A knife to the chest would have hurt less than that broken tone in her voice. "He's gone. You made sure of that."

"What? How?"

She didn't remember, and he didn't want her to. But before he could stop her, she turned her head and saw the once Templar now a mess of chewed flesh.

"Oh, Maker!" she cried. "What did I do?"

Careful not to aggravate any of the wounds he had been unable to heal, he enveloped her in a comforting hug. "Shh, it's over. It's over."

"Over? What did I do? I don't remember! I could be possessed by a demon!" Frantic tears slid down her cheeks.

The statement made him wonder. No, if she were an abomination, she wouldn't be able to talk to me right now. She's fine. There's nothing wrong with her other than her injuries. She's fine. Nothing wrong.

"We have to get out of here." Ezra cradled Lara's sobbing form in his arms. The flayed and desecrated Knight-Lieutenant lay in a pool of his own blood in front of them, and it was all Ezra could do not to look at it. The man had deserved his fate, but he needed to concentrate on getting his friend help.

"Kill me," she whispered.

"What?" he cried, astounded.

"Kill me. I'm not–"

"No," he cut her off. "We're going to get out of here and go somewhere safe."

"Safety, for a mage, is a fallacy."

I have to snap her out of this. I know she's stronger.

"Lara, look at me." She did. "That Templar bastard nearly killed you, and he deserved everything that happened to him." Seeing the spark again light in her eyes, he continued. "We'll figure this out. We'll find you help. Go to Tevinter if we have to. But we need to get out of the Tower."

"How, exactly, are we going to do that?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'll figure it out. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Lara nodded, accepting Ezra's help with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She wiped away the tears and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Ezra pushed all the unpleasant thoughts aside for a plan of escape. With a delicate, tentative touch, he helped her to stand. "Can you walk?"

She nodded again. "I can manage."

Allowing Lara to lean on him, they made their way down the shorter end of the hallway towards the guard station.

"We're just going to walk right by the guards?"

"I doubt there's any there. They would have come running when Ser Roger– It's probably clear," he amended.

"Ezra, in case something happens, and we don't make it out of here, I just want to say thank you. You've always been such a good friend to me." She stumbled a little and Ezra caught her.

"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen. We're going to get out of here, and you're going to be as normal and beautiful and annoying as ever."

Lara smiled and leaned closer.