Author's Note:

I cut the last chapter a little short because I wasn't too keen on making the entire thing a 8k or 9k chapter, and since I planned a POV change I figured it would be easier to cut off where I did, on a happy note if I could. Also, if I switch POV I plan on labeling them with a small break, it'll be obvious when you see it. I will probably switch from 3rd Limited [focusing on a single character and their inner thoughts and shit] to 3rd person Omniscient sometimes while majority of this story is told through Demeter's eyes, but for future plot reasons I decided to incorporate a wide range of POV styles. If this is annoying or makes this story illogical and hard to read please let me know so I will be able to accommodate and fix the problems. That being said, the next few chapters (with exception to the chapter celebrating the breach closing) will get increasingly dark, especially when being told from the point of view of Demeter, as I am trying to portray this story as honest to possible. This is war. Or will be when Corypheus shows up. Not all sunshine and lilies guys! That being said, I will post warnings above each chapter as to what I figure may be helpful to any reader. I love a good surprise but I do realize things can be triggered and I want to do no harm. I also want to say this story is, once again for entertainment purposes and not glorifying any of the subject matter in any way, shape, or form.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

[this chapter contains GRAPHIC depictions of the following]

ADDICTION AND WITHDRAW

PTSD

ALCOHOLISM [okay guys, spoiler alert but Demeter is becoming an alcoholic]

Sorry for the obscene length of the note but I hope it's appreciated.

Without further adue, on with the story!

-Teresa

_ Third Person Limited _

[Cullen Rutherford]

Cullen was extremely tempted to ask Flissa, the barkeep, or anyone else who would know exactly where Fabulist has been the past few weeks. Oh sure, he's spotted her in the opposite direction a few times, always looking extremely busy or like something needed her attention had just happened to be in the completely opposite direction that he was in and/or heading. He wasn't paranoid: she was avoiding him. He wouldn't usually take it so personal, or act as if it was even a surprise or big deal if it wasn't for the fact...well if it was anyone but her. Theirry had asked him to keep an eye on her and he was doing a cock-up job of it as he'd barely managed to see her for longer than ten seconds at a time. Not to mention everywhere she went seemed to be nowhere he was entirely...welcome. Oh, sure as commander of the troops he could pretty much roam the entire encampment free as he liked but even he knew there were boundaries he shouldn't cross, everyone had established their camps and drew their lines in the sand so to speak. At the moment he was in the tavern, casually looking and asking the regulars if Fabulist had stopped by recently.

"I haven't seen her in almost a fortnight, if not longer than that Curly, I'm not sure where she's getting her ale." The slightly tipsy dwarf seemed a bit disheartened at the fellow storytelling if only slightly alcoholic human's mysterious leave of absence. His eyes were glazing over and his forehead was wrinkled due to the strain he was putting on his memory. A frown grew on his face at the pressure of fighting through his alcohol induced haze. "Sera saw her with some tall elf a few days ago. Maybe she's convinced herself she's really one of them and she'll show up with pointy ears and a grumpy disposition like Chuckles!" A hiccup and a burp let Cullen know that his interrogation of his comrade was over, as the surface dwarf would soon be singing songs with the rest of the regulars of the night. Cullen preferred leaving before they broke out in pub songs.

He didn't even want to be looking for her, not really, if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't find her he wouldn't even be wasting his time asking the local drunks. Everyone knew Fabulist liked her ale as much, if not more, than half the men at camp. He frowned, wondering- not for the first time- exactly where she was from. Sure, women drank like the rest of them but none of them showed such an...affinity for the stuff. He contemplated why she was drinking, as there was always a why...or perhaps a who. She was young, not quite as young as he was when he first became a Templar, around the age he was when the circle fell apart. But she was still in her younger years, not yet ashamed to admit her age. What could she possibly be drinking about?

He felt the familiar headache rise as a cool sweat broke out at the nape of his neck. Cullen fought the dry heave pushing from his gut and rising from the back of his throat, causing his internal organs to convulse with the strain of the action. What meager food he could stomach the smell of during one of his fits left him wanting more. He longed for the deer meat and buttery biscuits of home, even the Templar rations were better than the bland gruel he scarfed down for supper. Sending a silent prayer to the maker that he wouldn't empty his dinner in the snow, Cullen continued on his search of camp. Slowing his breathing in hopes of lowering his rapidly increasing heart rate, Cullen felt his right hand twitched, eager for the addictive release lyrium would give. But he wouldn't. He bit his bottom lip to distract his body from the withdraw symptoms. Times like this, when his withdraw was reminding him of the schedule he would be on while dosing the lyrium in his veins, Cullen would knock back and ale or two (more when the pain started in his arm) to satiate the addict side of his brain. He knew it wasn't a good habit, replacing one addiction with another but alcoholism, as far as he was concerned, was steps above lyrium addiction. And at the moment he could only deal with one addiction, the other he would just have to fix if and when he got the opportunity to do so. The more important one, his lyrium dependency, was the matter at hand and the one that besting it would make or break him. And after what happened at the circle and in Kirkwall Cullen wanted to rid himself of any magical enhancing paraphernalia.

Cullen envied those who weren't easily addicted to things, although he knew of one or two people to completely kick their lyrium habits he hadn't heard of them living long after. One man committed suicide, the memories of his apostate days haunting him to the bitter end. Another man grew too sensitive to sounds and preferred a quite life in total isolation. The last Cullen heard the man would kill anyone who trespassed on his lands, no questions asked. Most people believed the templars needed the lyrium to perform their duty, but Cullen knew better. If Seekers of Truth, warriors like Cassandra, could do the maker justice without the lyrium then he would be strong enough as well...he had to be as there wasn't any other option. Not every problem was solved with magic, he had to believe that. Demons, sure fight magic all day but a strong enough sword would slice through them enough...the hole in the sky was another matter of its own.

He frowned, running a hand through his hair as he stared up at it, the breach. It gave him chills, staring at the green circle that just felt...wrong was the basis and yet barely scratched the surface of the monstrous tear in the sky. Cullen quickened his pace as he reached his cabin, wrenching open the door before the panic could rise in his stomach. Grinding his teeth, he fought the memories rising to the surface. No. He was doing so well. But not enough. Never enough, not without the lyrium he couldn't give his all. Why was he so self righteous? Why did he think he didn't need it...he needed the lyrium. He never should've stopped taking it. Why did he in the first place?

Terror ripped through him as memories from the circle reminded him. Screaming. Magic everywhere, so heavy in the air it was like having a wet cloth held over your face. Templars and apostates alike dead on the floor, some given mercy with a sharp and painless demise while others were still moaning. Feces and urine riddles the stone ground, pouring from terrified bodies and murdered bodies alike. Death in the air like a net keeping him pinned to the ground as the screams seemed to be fighting to drown each other out. His heart beat was pulsing through his body, racing as his breathing hitched while the sobs wracking his chest. No tears fell, just a gut wrenching cry from a beaten man lost to the cage of his trauma. Cullen remembered the day the circle went up in flames, literally, as if it were happening all over again. He no longer saw the walls of his room but instead the scorched bodies of his friends and fellow templars as well as his mage charges, some of their faces ruined beyond recognition. He never thought their circle was one of the bad ones he heard rumors about until that day occurred and his view of the world was forever tainted with the removal of his rose colored classes.

A knock on his door brought him from the dark memories and he didn't realize he was covered in sweat til he brought a hand to his face to steady his breathing. After a moment of deep breathing and ancient Templar relaxation techniques, he found his center and locked his memories back in their cage. "It's open." His voice remained calm as he schooled his face to a blank expression. He was getting better at it these days, with every practice he was able to calm himself quickly.

Jim, a messenger scout, came through the door with a bundle in his hands. "Latest research from the Templar scouts, as well as some recon from the Frostback- still not making it far without drawing too much aggression from the local Avaar and we can't risk any more political scandal or war as of yet. Also some things from The Storm Coast, though The Chargers pretty much summed up the beach in their reports. 'Rain and more rain, dragon and giants.' I don't know how much more there will be there. Harding has the important bits to pass to the Nightingale. Also, message from the herald just delivered by crow. He says for you, only, Ser." Jim was fast talking and Cullen was thankful he'd been working with the man for a while or he knew he'd get lost in his speech. He had no idea how his mouth managed to move that fast while speaking. Maybe Cullen had suffered too many head injuries to ever think and speak that efficiently. Cullen simply nodded to the man, accepting the bundle and bid his friend goodnight.

Jim left, closing the door behind him leaving Cullen to his least favorite part of being in charge: paperwork. It was mundane enough, scout reports about rifts occurring here and there with the occasional bandit. There were a few incidents he would need to mark on the map at the war table, bridges that needed building or nobles that required a finer touch (ie Lady Josephine) to be dealt with or a swift end if necessary (ie Lady Leliana) while there were even a few reports that he was sure the soldiers could handle, even some of the greener ones should be able to swing a simple resource mission. It always gave the boys something to look forward to and Cullen knew that a soldier, a true one, knew that every job needed to be done even if you were over qualified it was better than being sent in under qualified. After making note of what needed to be done, Cullen unraveled Theirry's correspondence. No news from the Hinterlands, other than the obvious bear attacking camp in the middle of the night but nothing Harding's scouts couldn't handle. He would also be heading back, with a few new agents in tow. The final line of the letter caught Cullen's attention more than anything else.

...and with the additional templars I recruited we should have more than enough power to do something about that eyesore in the sky. Now or never and I always chose now, but you know that. No more excuses, I want to finish this as soon as we settle back to camp. Alert the others and prepare everyone. I don't know what will happen when we assault the breach.

So this was it? As soon as Theirry arrived they would ascend on the now ruined conclave and fight the...hole in the heavens. At least according to the apostate, Solas, the first rift that appeared should be the one most connected to the breach and undoing that should, in theory, close the breach. Cullen sighed, once more running a hand through his already tangled blonde curls. All of this riding on theories and magics and a human noble who was in the wrong place at the wrong time...or rather the right place at the exact time? "Maker help us all." Cullen whispered a raspy prayer, not able to keep the desperation out of his pleas to the heavens.

_ Third Person Limited _

[Theirry Trevelyan]

Theirry wasn't nervous. No, he was absolutely petrified. But like any capable leader, he wore a mask of confidence that could inspire his troops to do the unthinkable. And at the moment the most unfathomable thing that has happened since Andraste was currently upon them. The hole in the sky, the tear of reality, was something that sounded like ancient legends...a part of the chant that didn't quite get passed down or written. It was odd, living during such times. Theirry imagined that the people, common folk and people not involved, who were alive when Andraste was probably thought it was a story if they didn't meet her themselves. There's no possible way one person, one entity, could cause such a impact upon the world...right?

Theirry used to think so. He believed the time for chaos and destruction was past Thedas. Sure there was war and mayhem but magical tears in the sky? He was out of his depths and hated the sinking feeling he got in his stomach that told him it wouldn't end here. They still didn't know what or how the apostates (because it had to be a mage, it always came back to fucking magic and Theirry hated it) managed to rip the world open and cause the rifts to appear. But that wasn't the problem at head and all the greatest minds of their world could spend forever asking why but that wouldn't change what they needed to do now; they needed to seal the hole before they could even think about how to go about peace between the templars and the mages. This war wouldn't be so bad if there weren't mages and templars taking out their frustrations on the common folk. Theirry bit his lip as he dismounted his horse, trying to center his thoughts. He never liked casualties, to Theirry their deaths were avoidable...or they weren't doing enough to save people. Soldiers knew their place, they were expendable but civilians, regular citizens that got caught in the crossfire...it left a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of all the lives that were lost and he wondered just how many more, what the world would lose, before all of this was over.

"Herald! We were just going over instructions with the troops, Lady Nightingale has asked every able bodied person to be on stand by when we close the rift. I've gathered your party, they await you in the war room for further orders. Cullen has the templars and he's making sure they're fit for battle, Ser." Theirry nodded briefly at the rundown from the scout, who made it back to Haven a few hours before his own party did. Theirry searched the camp, taking note of the distinct difference between now and when he left three weeks ago.

Everyone was rushing around with purpose, more so than their usual day to day activities. There was a hurried feeling in the air, making Theirry feel slightly anxious but also extremely purposeful. Everyone was doing their job, now it was up to him to make sure their effort was noticed and worth it. Their faith in him, in the strange mark on his hand, weighed heavier than any burden he'd ever experienced. But he was made for this, raised for this, sent to the conclave by the maker for this. There was no doubt in Theirry's mind that he was the only person on Thedas who could fix this problem, and he knew he'd be able to do it with the might of the inquisition behind him. Pride surged his veins as he headed towards his cabin, eager to shed his old clothes for the new armor the blacksmith crafted for him. An occasion like this deserved something special, and he was given the perfect suit to fix the word in.

Theirry arrived at the war table dressed in full armor, keeping his helmet off until they headed toward their soon to be battlefield. Lady Josephine started to speak, but Theirry wasn't focusing on what she was saying. He knew his role in this: close the rift without or at least before dying. It was a simple assignment if not impossibly daunting task. His mark would work on the first rift, right? He sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment and rubbing a gloved hand over his face as he let go of the tension building in his muscles. He couldn't afford to screw this up, not when everything was riding on him, hinging on the glowing green mark on his right hand. It would be devastating if he fucked it all up due to a muscle cramping or locking up in the middle of the battle. There would be a battle, Theirry knew that. Each rift he's closed thus far has yielded demons, each getting stronger by the moment and he knew it was because the longer the original rift, and the hole, was open the more and easier access the demons and spirits beyond the veil had and the quicker they could just pop on over to their side. This rift would be their most challenging one so it was vital they had every able bodied individual on hand in the event the main attack was overwhelmed and chaos ensued.

Theirry suddenly stopped worrying about all of the things that could go wrong, knowing that as long as he did what he needed and everyone was in the right position they would succeed, they had to. Failure wasn't an option so he couldn't even consider it. All of his stress and anxiety disappeared as he heard a voice in his head whisper, "Don't think about what bad could happen, work on making everyone succeed. You won't fail if people die, they know that. Mom and Dad would be proud, Jessie, Laura and the twins would be too." Theirry didn't know where the thought came from but he felt confident and less worried than he was before.

Everyone was staring at him so he straightened his posture and became the embodiment of a man with a purpose in life, because he knew his without a doubt in his heart. "Right, any questions?" His tone was sure, steady, and he gazed about the room examining his comrades.

The room remained silent as Theirry took a moment to gaze at his companions. The Iron Bull looked ready for war, Sera looked ready to stab something and run, Dorian looked bored with the theatrics but anxious to get down to business, Cole was nowhere to be found but Theirry knew he would be in the thick of battle with his daggers when he was needed. Theirry nodded his head and, which a deep breath, picked up his helm and headed out the door and onward unto battle.

Yet Another Note:

I suck at battle scenes and maintaining a frequency to updating.

Let that be known. So I left it like this because I feel like if I continued it, it would be a slow grave I'd be digging with unnecessary shit filling it up. So, there...Don't hate me?

Next chapter we fall back into Demeter's head, and we'll see what happens to Haven through the eyes of someone on the bottom tier of the Inquisition.

So stick around and I promise it won't be entirely sucktackular!

-teresa