I Stand Alone

Make me believe that this place

Isn't plagued by the poison in me

And help me decide if my fire will burn out

Before you can breathe...

Breathe into me

10:06 Harvestmere; 09:30 Dragon

"It itches."

Solona sighed in frustration at the Templar sitting on the chair in the infirmary. She had been working with him for nearly three months since the Circle mages had returned from Ostagar. Out of the dozen who had been sent, less than a handful had made it to Kinloch Hold, and only two Templars had survived. Three enchanters had succumbed to the darkspawn taint on their journey home, and the rest had perished on the battlefield with their guardians.

Wynne, Uldred, Petra and Cullen had stumbled into the main hall of the Tower weeks after the battle in the south, carrying a severely wounded Kayal on a liter between them. They had all been exhausted and half-starved, but the four of them had needed little more than a few days of rest and hearty meals to get them back to to a level of health that Solona was satisfied with. The fifth, however, had been confined to the infirmary ever since his return.

She had worried at first that he, too, had been tainted and would have to find peace at the edge of a dagger. But after washing the young man of the gore and dust that had collected, Solona made short work of finding the true source of his fever. An arrow had managed to pierce through his greaves, burying itself in his calf. The wound had gone septic on the trip home, and though Wynne had done as much as possible for him, Kayal had succumbed to fever a few days before they had reached the Tower.

Solona had tried for days to save the leg, but it was already too far gone. It hadn't gotten any worse, but there was nothing that could be done about the infection once gangrene had set in. Fatigued and frustrated, her mentor had eventually shooed her to bed. After a good night's rest, a couple of good meals and a few hours in the chapel later, Solona decided that the best way to save Kayal's life was to amputate.

"It's that or the crutches," she replied, reaching for his hands to help him stand. "Come on. If the pirates in those trashy stories Petra likes to read can do it, so can you."

"Ugh. I don't suppose it's too late for a career change, is it?"

She chuckled softly and shook her head. That he was making jokes was a good sign. Kayal had outright rejected the wooden leg when it had been presented as an option for him, but after a few weeks of working with it, Solona had decided to give it a test run outside of the infirmary.

"Not if you want supper."

"You drive a hard bargain," responded Kayal, finally taking the hand she had offered. He had started using his own strength to get up a few days past, but Solona knew he was still a bit shaky and wanted to make sure he was steady on the artificial limb before attempting to walk. Once he was on his feet, she relaxed her grip and backed away, encouraging him to follow. The first few steps, as usual, were tentative, but as they moved towards the door leading to the Tower's lobby, Kayal gained more confidence and eventually pulled his hand away from her completely.

"Maker, I need a shave," he mumbled, running a hand roughly over his jaw as they nodded at a passing Templar.

"And a haircut," agreed Solona, taking note of how long his shaggy brown hair had gotten over the past few months.

"Oh, no, not the hair. The ladies love the hair," Kayal teased. "I think Anders was onto something with that ponytail..." At the mention of her friend, he stopped and reached for her arm. "I'm sorry, Solona. I didn't mean..."

"I know," she replied softly, sparing him a weak smile. "I'm just worried about him is all."

They continued in silence, but she knew he hadn't meant to bring up her friend in order to cause her pain. When it was discovered that he had escaped in one of the crates bound for Ostagar, Solona was questioned just as she was every time Anders left, and she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of betrayal for it. He had been her best friend for many years, and for him to leave when there was a Blight on their doorstep had stung. A part of her hoped he would stay gone this time, if for no other reason than to spare her the task of having to deal with further attempts to leave. But she also genuinely worried for him, alone in a country that was crawling with darkspawn.

As they passed the Apprentice Quarters, a thick buzz permeated the inside of Solona's skull, and she reached out to lean against the wall. It felt vaguely familiar, and incredibly unpleasant, and a quick look to Kayal told her that he was having a similar problem. His hand was at his temple, and his face had visibly paled. When his eyes met hers, they were wide and panicked, and a split second later, she knew why.

Someone, somewhere in the Tower, had torn the Veil.

It washed over them like a wave, with the sounds of screaming coming from further ahead. This was nothing like what working magic had ever been for Solona, and didn't resemble anything she had felt from what the other mages specialized in. Yet that undertone of familiarity permeated the air, and it was beginning to make her physically ill.

Memories surfaced. Memories long since buried. Memories of death, blood, and a desecrated home.

"Blood magic," she whispered, falling to her knees against the wall. Solona was in a fog of pain, physical and emotional, the screams of her colleagues and friends dulled behind the mental wall she had erected to block the memories that had came flooding back after years of suppression. How long she sat there, she couldn't tell. Seconds. Minutes. Everything blurred together.

Someone, Kayal from the sound of the voice, was at her side, coaxing her to stand, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. People were still screaming, from anger and fear both, and nothing was making any sense.

"Ser Kayal!" came another voice, one she recognized from those years she had thought lost. It belonged to the Knight-Commander, but when she looked up, the young Templar he had once been blended with the stoic face of the man he now was. His armor was spattered with blood, and he held his sword as if expecting to use it again at any second. Beside her, Kayal snapped to attention, struggling to his feet. Solona felt strong arms scoop her up, and she was promptly placed into someone else's.

"Get her and these others to the foyer. We need to seal the Tower from the malificarum."

"What about you, Knight-Commander?"

"I will be along shortly. Niall is searching for the Litany of Adralla, but if he doesn't find it soon..."

Solona couldn't see the look exchanged between the two men, but the part of her that wasn't in complete and utter shock knew what had been left unsaid. The Rite of Annulment.

.oOo.

The library was in chaos. Demons poured through the tears in the Veil as Cullen and his brothers frantically searched for survivors. Graegoir had gone ahead of them to the Apprentice dormitory, no doubt preparing to seal the main doors to prevent the blood mages from escaping the Tower. He was exhausted, and had seen so much death in just the short space of time it had taken to get where he was. But he had to find them. Faris. Solona. He had to make sure they were safe.

"Ser Cullen!"

A girl's voice broke through the cacophony, and when he turned, saw a small group of apprentices huddled in the corner with a fallen Templar. A petite figure was leaning over the armored man, frantically trying to heal him, and Cullen noticed that Faris was fighting a losing battle. He ran to the children, with another weary knight not far behind, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the elven boy crying over the body of one of the senior Templars.

"We have to get him to Solona," he wept. "She can help him..."

"He's beyond even her help now," Cullen whispered, pulling Faris away from the corpse. "We need to leave. It's not safe here."

As if on cue, a handful of demons rose from the floor, and a pair of blood mages cackled behind them. The children screamed, a few of them feebly lashing out with what minute skill they had acquired, and Cullen turned to face the enemy once again. Frantically, he tore through one, then two flaming personifications of Rage, watching as those he couldn't get to fast enough descended upon the apprentices. His companion fell, writhing from an unseen source of pain, and with a final burst of energy, Cullen lashed out to smite the mages responsible.

But it was too little too late. As one fell, the other sliced her throat to rejuvenate his own supply of magic. A heartbeat later, Cullen was being crushed by an unseen force, unable to move, every bone in his body screaming in agony. But everything around him had gone still. The children were no longer screaming. The demonic flames had subsided. Held in place by his invisible prison, Cullen's eyes darted around but could see nothing but the mage before him.

"Do you have him?" asked a voice approaching from the other side of the book case.

"Yes, Uldred. I believe so."

The Senior Enchanter, the very one who had come limping back to the Tower following the disaster at Ostagar with Cullen and the other three, came into sight and smiled maniacally. He approached the trapped Templar, circling him like a cat preparing to play with a mouse it was planning to devour.

"Yes, this is the one."

"What...whatever you want...from me..." Cullen spat, gasping for every breath, "...you shall not...have, Blood Mage!"

Uldred laughed, moving to stand directly in front of him. "You? Ha! I want nothing from you, Ser Cullen."

"But you said..." the other mage started, then shut his mouth when the elder turned his gaze on him.

"We have the Templar. And the boy lives as well, for now. She will come for them."

She? Cullen thought. Certainly they don't mean Solona. But with a final glance at Uldred before falling into unconsciousness from the pain, he knew they did.

**Disclaimer** Bioware still owns it. Opening lyric credit "I Stand Alone" by Godsmack.

Thanks for the favorites/follows/comments on this story &/or my author page. We're back to Solona and Cullen for the next few chapters, but stick around for the long-haul. We'll see Marian again a little further down the road.