Disclaimer-I do not in anyway own Dragon Age, Bioware or their characters.

Welcome to Chapter 2 of Darkest Skies! So. I forgot to put this warning in the first chapter, but if you don't like dark tones and themes, then this may not be the story for you. Again. This really isn't for the faint of heart.

Chapter 2- Judgement

Bleak was the world. Nothing more than blackness, both around her and in her. Cold water pounding into wounds. Blood, hot and slow like fire down her back. A figure of white, pale hair and paler eyes glittering with cruelty. A scream drowned out by the roaring thunder above. The scream, not her own was enough. Pain blossomed, slow and crystal within her blood stream. She could not yell, could not move, so paralyzed by agony.

The world spun. Stone replaced grey clouds and silence turned into sobs. Low gleaming candle light turned shadows into monsters. There was a sound. Several and a head turned swiftly, only to be choked by chains. A whisper. Demons, begging to be made deals with. The sound again. The clicking of a heel against stone tile. A screech of rusted metal as bars were pulled back and her body skittered back into the nightmare shadows, seeking their embrace from the horror of man kind. The templar mask showed naught, a blank slate that gave more fear than a face. The darkness soothed her, even if it also caused her fear. He chuckled, sounding so human it hurt. Ever closer the metal footsteps came closer. A startled gasp pierced her bubble, chains grabbed to drag her body across. The knife was expected, but didn't hurt any less. Cold and hot, pain and bliss. Looking up, there was a color, blue. Shining from within that cold mask.

Blue. It was always blue. Those pretty sapphire eyes looked downward. This time they glimmered with something akin to affection this time. "Beg." Command. Head shaking, gold and green eyes downcast. A laugh chimed like bells, beautiful and aching at the same time. It made her shiver in anticipation. A slight sting, cold and unrelenting. The blade pressed flat against hot skin, causing the slightest hiss of pain from cuts already made. A twist of a wrist, flesh parting like water. Pain didn't register until moments later. It was both pain and pleasure, bittersweet and beautiful. She hated it. The command and a refusal. Anger this time. Slave and pet, not freedom. Deeper cut this time, almost to bone. A blue skirt, shimmering into blurred vision. Tears perhaps? A whisper, gone unheard from ears ringing in pain. A sigh and leaning down, velvet and silk sliding over sensitive flesh, followed by another slice. The blood was pretty, like ribbons in water.

Azalea Trevelyan snapped awake with fright, shaking and pressing a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Nightmares again. After a moment or two she sighed and wiped a hand across her face to get rid of the cold sweat that had broken out during the night. Aza scowled and looked out the window, her face darkening further when she saw that the storm from last night had carried on into the morning. On some level she had expected it, but at the same time dreaded it. Today was definitely a do nothing day, even if it was barely past dawn. She sighed and slowly got out of bed, going to put on clean clothes and light armor for the day. It was a bit sad that even in what was supposed to be her own home, she was never really safe. 'Then again, I've never really been safe.' She mused to herself in a dry sort of way. Her life had never really been the sort filled with happy days and safety. Trevelyan tilted her head, regarding herself in the mirror and paused. There were so many times when she believed that she couldn't do this, that the almost literal weight of the world on her shoulders would do nothing more than drag her down and drown her. However, a glimmer of determination appeared in her eyes and she lifted the back of her shirt, pulling it up to reveal white scares and swirling lines of blue ink that traveled the expanse of her entire back, from the base of her neck, between her shoulder blades, all the way down. A deep breath entered her lungs and she nodded to herself, seeing that mark, beautiful and heartbreaking all the same. It was a constant reminder of her life, the one she escaped from, the one that had built her to be the person she no longer wanted to be. Aza had overcome that life and she would overcome this challenge. Before she could continue her own little mental pep talk, a knock on her door caught her attention. With a slightly concerned look on her face, Azalea walked to the door while pulling her shirt down and opened it, blinking when she saw Cassandra in front of her face.

"Ah. Inquisitor. I'm glad you are awake. There are things that need to be done within Skyhold that require you attention today. The first and foremost being the judgements of those who have done wrong to the Inquisition. As the leader of the Inquisition, it is your job to put them on trial and judge them for their misdeeds. We'll need you in the throne room in an hour."

With that, the warrior walked away briskly, leaving a pale Azalea holding onto her door for support. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Groaning, she shut her door and leaned against it, trying hard not to cry in frustration. Rainy days were her personal hell and this proved it. For more than one reason Azalea didn't feel like she was qualified to judge the lives of others. Of course, she didn't feel like she was qualified to be the Inquisitor either, but she did that anyway. So, it seemed that she would do this as well, even if it made her sick to her stomach. Trevelyan sighed and got up from the door. It seemed as though she would always be destined to follow a path that was not her own. She went back over to the mirror and shook her head. Casual dress would not do for something so important to the inquisition. If there was one thing that she was taught, that was ingrained into her person was that one must always look the part they play. In this matter she could not be casual, could not be a person or a lady; she must be the Inquisitor. She would be a representation of the Inquisition and all that it stood for. While it was true the organization stood for as a representation of hope for the future of the world, it was much more than that and as it's leader, it was up to her to make the right impression upon everyone. This judgement would be a cornerstone for everything they hoped to accomplish. While many would argue that this was just a judgement, it was a first for the Inquisition and it would have many people observing the on goings. The organization could not afford to appear weak in the slightest. If she were to guess correctly, and she usually did, there would be more than just her own men in that room. This judgement would prove, not only to those that followed them, but also to those that opposed them that there would be no stopping the Inquisition; that they would do whatever was necessary to put the world to right. A last look towards her mirror had her going to her wardrobe and pulling things out, for once grateful of Vivienne interfering in her clothing.

Over twenty minutes later, she stood in front of her mirror again, this time garbed in what she felt far more appropriate for a judgement. Her hair was done up in an elegant, braided coil that wrapped around her head. However, as Aza examined herself in the mirror, the voices in her head popped back up to share their opinion, causing her to sigh in frustration. "I don't think you should be wearing breeches and a tunic for this. They may be made of high end silk, but they still scream casual. Rich casual, but still casual." She frowned, examining herself before stalking back over to the wardrobe.

"Then what do you suggest? The shirt is the only one I have that has the Inquisitions symbol on it. I need to show case our power." The voice snorted in derision.

"Oh yes. Because advertising the symbol of a huge organization meant to take out bad guys across your tits for all the nobles to see is a great idea. More likely they're going to think the Inquisition is a joke and you're just there to pretend to lead and be eye candy for everyone. A figure head that doesn't do a damn thing. If you want to be impressive. Go with the dark blue dress and wear the black cloak with the Inquisition's symbol on it."

"Where the hell am I going to hide weapons? I can't go in there wearing full armor, that would make me seem paranoid and weak, but I can't go in there without anything at all, that would be stupid." This time the second voice chimed in.

"Uhm. Easy. Wear breeches under the dress. Also. Wear the heeled boots that match the cloak and stick a long dagger in both. Oh and you can stop calling us 'voices'. We have names. Mine is Clarissa, or Clary." Aza frowned and pulled off the shirt she was wearing, grabbing the dress and walking back over to her mirror to put it on. She'd need to see the back in order to lace it. It was a bit depressing that the voices in her head gave her more fashion advice than she, herself could come up with. It was even sadder that the voices, at least one of them, had a name. "Oh! Are we giving names now? I'm Anna."

"And there goes the last of my sanity." Azalea muttered under breath as she reached behind her and started to tighten and tie the bindings. When she was done, she walked back to the closet and grabbed the cloak that the first voice, now dubbed Anna, had suggested. After fastening the binding around her neck she went back to the mirror to see what she looked like now and almost took a step back in shock. She almost looked like royalty, except not. There was something about her reflection that spoke of an edge, a hardness that nobles and royals did not present. While she'd always been taught to look the part, Aza could honestly say she looked more the Inquisitor now than she ever did. Perhaps she should start listening to the voices more often. She was ready. Looking out the window and into the skyline, she saw the grey clouds had lightened, if only slightly. The storm still raged, but it was almost time to go down to the throne room. She hadn't even been in the damn room since the day she'd been 'crowned' as the leader of Skyhold and the Inquisition. With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of her bed, waiting. She had decided while she was getting dressed that she was going to be, as Vivienne would say, fashionably late. Timing was, as Del would say, everything; as the Inquisitor she had a busy lifestyle and as such, her timing needed to reflect that. Plus, it would be nice to walk in and have everyone, including the prisoners, bow to her. One would say that it was a calculated display of power.

Twenty minutes later Azalea got up and walked out of her door, her heels clicking in a satisfying way against the stone of Skyhold. Orlesian fashion was so strange, but Aza had to agree with Leliana about the shoes. A lot of them had a thing for heels and while most of the time she was against them, as they were hardly practical for fighting and hurt her feet after too long, she had to admit they were pretty. When she reached the door to the throne room she paused, taking a deep breath and nodded to the guards in front of it. The door opened in front of her and with her head held high, she walked slowly into the room, a small surge of pride as the people, when she passed by them, dipped there heads with murmurs of 'Herald' or 'Inquisitor'. Even the prisoners, those she was to judge, nodded their heads in respect, or possibly fear, Aza wasn't entirely sure which. Only one dared to look her in the eye. She paused, stopping and glaring at the man, the entire room silent. The man quaked under her glare in only a minute and shrunk backwards, manacles rattling as he shifted and ducked his head. If there was one thing she was good at, it was making a scene and giving off shows of power. It was after all, what she was taught to, among other things. Silently Azalea sighed and continued walking, pride and a certain amount of grief welling within her. Only a minute later and she was at her throne, Cullen and Leliana standing at each arm of the chair, Josephine behind it so as to watch the room and take notice of anything going on. Sitting down, she glanced around the room, fully taking in everything and everyone. Banners of the Inquisition streamed around the room, nobles sat in the back while her own team and close followers were against the wall closest to her throne. Josephine called out a name and the first prisoner came forward. It had started, she thought with a grim feeling.

An hour into the so called 'Judgement' and Aza was ready to quit and go back to her room, hibernate and stay the hell away from everyone for the rest of the day. However, Josephine called out another name and an older man came forward, causing Aza to get curious despite her reservations about this particular part of being the leader. He hardly seemed like the type to cause real problems. He glared at her and she raised an eyebrow at him, not once breaking her mask of cold and indifference. When she heard the crime he supposedly committed, she twisted slightly in her seat, turning to look back at the Antivan diplomat with a look of disbelief. He'd been thrown into the dungeons for throwing dead goats on their walls. Looking back the elder man glaring at her she sighed and held up her hand at Josephine, telling the woman to quiet. As amused as she was at his 'crime', she wanted to understand why. Wanted to know why he decided to throw dead goats at their fortress.

"Is there any particular reason you were throwing dead animals at not only my walls, but at my soldiers?" The man coughed and glared at her harder before answering.

"Ya'll killed all my animals. I loved 'em like they was family. Now I ain't got no more animals to support my family with." Aza frowned and tilted her head, trying to think back. A few weeks ago there had been an attack on a village not far from Skyhold. The Mages and Templars had decided to use it and it's villagers as war ground and her soldiers had come in and stopped the fighting. It was entirely possible that between the mages and the templars, along with the Inquisition's soldiers coming in, that he had lost his farm. It wasn't right that he'd lost his only way to support his family. She nodded and stood up on the dais that held her throne.

"Perhaps I can rectify that for you." The man got a wary look on his face and she smiled slightly, trying to ease his fear. He saw the Inquisition as another one of the bad guys instead of the ones putting things back together. "You are a skilled farmer yes? The Inquisition is in need of such a person, someone to take care of out livestock. I'd be willing to offer this position to you. You would, of course, be paid for you work. You'd be able to have the means to support your family, and eventually, buy your own livestock again." He looked astonished, tears formed in his eyes and he nodded eagerly. With a wave of her hand, the man was un-cuffed and he smiled at her.

"Thank you so much Miss Inquisitor. I'll try to do right by your animals ma'am." Aza nodded back to him and the man was sent away, most likely to be escorted to the 'farm' area. The next time she saw her soldiers she'd have to find out which idiot locked up a man for something as ridiculous as throwing dead goats. As amusing as it was, it was also tragic. The man had his only means of surviving taken from him and then he was locked away in her dungeons. Aza sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day and turned to sit back in her throne, leaning back ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the man that was brought up next. It was the one who had refused to show respect when she had first walked into the room. Glacial colored eyes looked at her innocently. They were wide and pretty, framed by almost white blonde hair. His cherub like face gave off the persona of almost perfect innocence. It rankled Azalea, to the point where she wanted to take a rusty dagger and slam it into those pretty eyes. She had known someone almost exactly like him, all pretty eyes and innocence and he had been the most disgusting, sadistic human being she'd ever had the displeasure of knowing. As Josephine read off his misdeeds, her rage only grew. Blood Magic. Human sacrifice. Mind control. Torture of Inquisition soldiers. He was just like Angel. The man pleaded innocence on several of the charges, that he'd only resorted to blood magic to save the life of his little brother. She tilted her head at him in a calculated manner before a dark thought occurred to her. She knew what his sentencing would be and it was the first time she would relish in the power she had during the Judgement. Before Josephine was even done reading off his crimes, Azalea's voice rang out in the room with clarity and authority.

"Tranquility." Everyone in the room froze and looked at her with wide eyes. Only the mage spoke, his voice choked and hushed by shock and fear.

"What?" She blinked and smiled at him.

"I invoke the Right of Tranquility upon this mage." He went white. It took the people in the room a moment to process and Aza let them have it before she snapped her fingers at the soldiers, bidding them to take him away. Dorian spoke up and snarled at her, stepping out from his place along the wall.

"You can't do this! You can't just Tranquil a mage just because you feel like it. You-" Trevelyan stepped off her throne and dais and toward him, face dark with fury.

"I just did. And unless you wish to join his fate, you will step down." As much as she hated threatening other people, especially those that did not deserve it, she had to. There was no other choice. It was more than obvious that her enemies were here and she could not afford to be or even look weak. As it is, Dorian would already be a target for those looking for a way to infiltrate Skyhold. She hated this, more than anything. Aza sometimes hated the fact that she was chosen for this, wished that she had died at the summit. Instead she was forced into this life, so achingly similar to the one she had escaped from only a year ago. Her wish hadn't been to go back into it. Dorian was furious, she saw it written on his face, but he hadn't caught onto her bluff and stepped back against the wall, eyes burning with fury. To a mage, Tranquility was a fate worse than death and she knew this. She also knew just how much it would kill Dorian to see another mage be put through it, more so because it was under her own orders. Of course, that was the point. It didn't seem as though Vivienne or Solas had any issue with her decree, but then again neither of them approved of blood magic in the slightest. With her head held high, Trevelyan walked out of the room, knowing there weren't anymore prisoners for her to judge. There would be hell to pay from Dorian, of that, she was sure. But she wasn't in the mood to put up with it just yet. Instead, she was going to her room to relax and cool down for a little while before going to the war room to face the music.

Alright everyone, there's chapter 2 of Darkest Skies. As the warning above stated, this fic will get pretty dark so if you really aren't into that sort of thing, then this may not be story for you. I should have Chapter 3 up here soon so you guys shouldn't have to wait.

I hope you all enjoy, if not, constructive criticism is welcome, as are wonderful reviews.