She woke in shackles.

She twisted her wrists desperately as she reached for magic that was locked away from her, face twisting grotesquely as she cursed at her unknown captors. What had gone wrong? She couldn't remember, vague hints of memories slipping out of grasp as she desperately reached out for them, biting down on the panic that rose in her throat and made her heart pound in terror.

The conclave. She'd gone to the conclave, seeking protection for the few in her Circle that hadn't yet been lured over to either side of the war. Maker take it, they'd only wanted to be left alone! They'd thought her noble blood would give her some degree of protection. If only they could see her now, on her knees, hands forced apart in front of her. She burned with the humiliation of the situation.

Had the templars done this to her? Little lost mage, wandering the wilds on her own. She smiled darkly as she recalled the last pair of templars she'd accidentally stumbled on. They'd seen her staff and attacked without hesitation, so she hadn't felt any guilt about cleaning the blood from her robes later. Not that templars were the only possible culprit; given the descent into bestial, mindless slaughter by both sides, she couldn't rule out another mage having done this to her. The reluctance of the Ostwick Circle to join the fight had led to more than a little bad blood.

Then the light flared at her wrist. The pain sent her spiralling back into unconsciousness.

They told her she'd killed the Divine. They told her that she'd ripped a hole in the sky and summoned demons through. They told her that the world was ending and it was all her fault.

Was it? She couldn't remember. The fact that it remained a possibility worried her; she doubted she'd have done it intentionally, but what if she'd made a mistake, somehow pierced the Veil and let the monsters through. The people were right to spit at her feet, she thought absently, as she trailed after the woman who'd introduced herself with a death threat. Pain spasmed through her as the mark on her hand burst into life once more, forcing her to double over in a desperate attempt to catch her breath.

Hands still bound in front of her, she feels like they are leading her like a lamb to a slaughter.

Demons attack, and she manages to get her hands on a weapon while Cassandra is busy fending off another threat. She shivers as magic crackles through her and arcs out to set her opponent on fire, savouring the heady rush of power that seems all the sweeter for her brief captivity.

It's over too soon though and Cassandra is turning to her, disapproval written clear across her face. Evelyn's eyes narrow in response and her grip on her weapon tightens; even if she is to be sent to her death, she will not do it defenceless.

"Drop your weapon. Now."

Evelyn paused for a moment, considering her options. Her tongue flicks out to swipe at her dry lips, wondering how long they'd had her locked up for.

"No."

Cassandra stares at her but Evelyn refuses to break eye contact. She is of house Trevelyan, and a powerful mage in her own right. She does not back down.

Eventually Cassandra turns her back on Evelyn, a sharp noise of disgust escaping her. "Fine. Keep it. I cannot protect you out here."

Evelyn glances up towards the sky, focuses on the sick green light that licks across the heavens. If she were their only (best? easiest?) hope of closing it, she doubts there would be much Cassandra could protect for long.

It turns out she is capable of closing the rifts, though the agonising pain that burns through her body when she activates the mark on her hand makes her wonder if it's really worth it. The world is already falling apart; the Chantry is crippled, the templars have slipped their leash and the mages are free to roam. The combat will push more than a few to become abominations, though it seems they don't even have to be possessed by demons to lose their humanity. Maybe the world should be left to go to hell.

She doesn't know why she continues to fight with Cassandra and the others they pick up. That there's another mage surprises her, as she well knows the Chantry's view on the use of magic and Cassandra does not strike her as a tolerant type. It's clear that the rift in the sky has them running scared, grasping at any possible weapon for this impossible fight. If she survives this, she intends on running for the hills before they decide she is no longer essential.

She is surprised that they'd asked her opinion on what they should do next. She'd picked the mountain path; what did she care about the soldiers who would be killed to create the diversion? Chantry fanatics, all of them. The Chancellor's treatment of her had reminded her too sharply of her own family, of their own piety and utter devotion to the Chantry. She'd been given over to the templars not even an hour after she'd manifested her powers for the first time.

Being allowed to make decisions appeals to her, as does their obvious dependence on her. She thinks Cassandra will sacrifice herself to save Evelyn if it comes to it – she half wishes it will, as she will not mourn her would-be keeper – and they are all careful to protect her, allowing her the opening she needs to seal off the next breach, and the next, battling through countless waves of horrors that appear from nowhere.

She considers escaping while they're all distracted fighting, saving her own skin rather than continuing to risk it against this monsters, against the hole in the sky that she's worried will swallow her whole. It's a tempting idea, but she is not convinced she can fight through the monsters on her own.

She likes the idea of being a hero.

The vision they see in the temple clears her guilt. Someone else had ripped open the fade, she'd just been an accidental bystander. Why she now had the mark, why she'd been the only one to survive, was still unknown, but at least it hadn't been her fuck up. Probably.

She'd never seen a Pride demon outside the Fade before, and the bastard looks even bigger in the flesh. It laughs and bats them away like flies, finding their attentions amusing. She finds herself hard pressed to avoid the whip it cracks all around them, and curses when it catches her calf. She can feel the sharp burn of electricity as it sears the flesh there.

This was not how she planned on dying! She'd spent so long avoiding temptation in the Fade, resisting the glorious, seductive power that they'd dangled enticingly in front of her, and she balked at the idea that it had all been for nothing. She would not let some nameless demon rip her life from her.

Shoving past the soldier behind her, she turned her back on the demon and concentrated her attentions on the rift instead. The mark activates automatically, sending a stream of power up to rift above her, and Evelyn falls on her knees and screams defiance. She turns her head to see the demon hesitate, stunned by the backlash of power, and she realises they can kill it.

When it's dead and they're still alive – barely, Cassandra is bleeding heavily from a head wound, and Solas is leaning on his staff, exhausted – she finds herself the centre of attention once more. Maker be damned, she would not back down now. As her vision goes black, she finds solace in the idea that at least she'd be a martyr to the cause. That they'd still speak her name after she'd gone.