Thank you for those that have reviewed/followed/favorite! Also to address a very good question posed to me in regard to this story, No. Solona will not progress out of the tower. This is an alternate universe story that is without the Blight, but not the Grey Warden order. Now, all of this sexual slavery does/will come to a head and serves a purpose. While Solona does not leave the tower, she will change it and depending on how my writing unfolds, may still change the face of Ferelden.

However, I do realize that some of these concepts are extremely dark. I do state that as a caution and also understand that many may not be comfortable reading this. For that I am sorry, but please understand that I have this story planned out in my head and I was a little tired of the 'traditional' CullenxAmell plot lines. Not that there is anything wrong with them, I just thought variety is the spice of life and all.

Rated M. I do not own characters, Bioware does. Please enjoy!

OoOoOo

Solona had spent the last three years as the consort and bedmate of Ser Otto. Though Wynne had been correct that he was indeed kind to her kind, it had become obvious to Solona that he had only accepted her because of the First-Enchanter. It was a fact that had stung for some time during the beginning of their arrangement. It was from the lips of her mentor that she had learned of the special attachment between Wynne and Ser Otto.

In her youth, Solona had been told, Wynne was a vivacious woman with a zest for life. Though Solona could scarcely believe anyone could look forward to existence in this nefarious Circle, she took Petra's word for the events that had unfolded.

Wynne had chanced upon a young and seeing Ser Otto one day. The pair, it was told to her in great detail, had nearly instantly become enamored with one another. It had come as no surprise to the inhabitants when Ser Otto had petitioned for Wynne to be his. Their union had given many in the Tower the futile hope that perhaps not all had been lost between the two worlds.

However, tragedy struck shortly after the First Enchanter at the time fell ill. No amount of healing could cure him from the unknown malady. Many times the halls had echoed with the whispers of poison and murder, no culprit had ever been pinned down. Still times had been wonderful for Wynne then, with her eyes cast in a starry hue of a woman truly in love. Upon the death of Wynne's predecessor however, it was declared that Wynne would take his place.

In the span of a moment, she had gone from belonging to Ser Otto to the Knight-Commander. A mage could not refuse such a position, it was not allowed. Solona had felt a large swell of pity for the woman Wynne must have been prior to being changed to a man she did not love. It was a slight from the Maker himself it seemed, when Wynne discovered she was with child. Petra had been forced to stop the tale in the middle of its telling to dab away tears of sorrow.

The child had been fathered by Ser Otto. There had never been a doubt about it, and Wynne being a healer had known easily who had given her such a precious life. However, because it belonged to her former Protector, the Knight-Commander had given the order for the child to be taken from Wynne after its birth.

Petra confided in a horrified Solona, that Wynne had not even been given a chance to hold her son before he was whisked away and she was forced to see to her own healing. It had been a reprimand from the Knight-Commander for an unintended insult of carrying another man's child. It had crossed Solona's mind that he had not ordered Wynne to rid herself of the babe before the birth, but Petra had corrected what Amell thought was an act of kindness. The Chantry forbade disposing of a pregnancy, as the child might become a powerful mage for their ever-expanding army of magic.

Not four years later, when the Knight-Commander and the Chantry had decided it was time for him to find a new post, another blow was struck. Ser Otto, who had been in-line for the promotion to Knight-Commander, was blinded by a demon's attack rendering him unfit for such a duty as per the Reverend Mother. Solona learned with a heavy heart, that Wynne had wept by his bedside as he recovered though she was punished harshly for it later.

Amell knew only fury when Petra had told her with whispers nearly too quiet to hear, that Wynne had been punished by Greagoir. It had been speculated by many a mage and Templar alike, that Greagoir had Wynne whipped because he and Ser Otto had both competed for her affections. However, Wynne's heart had gone to Ser Otto, something Solona could only assume Greagoir was unable or unwilling to forgive.

Yet, Greagoir had taken possession of Wynne in the end, and Solona feared a similar fate with Ser Carroll. The persistent man had not left behind his intrusive infatuation with Solona though she had belonged to Ser Otto these past three years. Everywhere she turned, he seemed to be watching her, waiting for a single slip so that he could snap up his opportunity to make her pay. It had only increased her fears when Wynne had proclaimed Solona as her star pupil and it would be only a matter of a few short years before the title of First-Enchanter would be handed over to her. Solona had spent many a night lying awake as thoughts of her future hell plagued her. Often such thoughts of what may be thrust upon her in the coming years went hand-in-hand with the nightmares of Ser Carroll.

His eyes had burned insanity and hatred ever since the day he had been informed, like every other one of his ilk, that Solona had a Protector. She bore no illusions he had not spent every day plotting how to punish her in the severest way possible. He was the reason she still feared the night, what demons could not do, Ser Carroll had done. Though her deepest sense of dislike and distrust was still reserved for the pernicious Ser Cullen, Solona had taken to heart the first rule of the Tower. The one she had tried so valiantly to ignore since the day her knees had first hit the gray stone of the tower floor. The only way to survive was to be careful, vigilant even, every moment of every day.

The overly proud girl she had been had become a woman seasoned by the ways of the tower and those that dwelt within its confines. Her coltish awkwardness had faded into a gentle grace. As per her arrangement with Ser Otto, Solona conducted herself in a manner beyond reproach. It was often commented upon by her fellow mages, that Solona acted almost regally. Her demeanor had irked many a Templar to no end. She had come to wield words with the sharpness no blade could compare with. And, much to their irritation, she was never rude or obtuse and therefore could not out-right be punished.

She had come into the same assurance that Wynne had. She understood that she would never leave this place, and to dream of such things was nothing more than a waste of time. The first night she had traded innocence for safety, Solona had long since given up petty daydreams. Some, such as the Mage Anders, still had such foolish notions. She fought to contain the bitterness that such idle thoughts produced.

Though she still cringed from her obligation to her benefactor, Solona submitted without protest. Ser Otto showed a kindness rarely given from a Templar. He seemed to wish their activities to be over as quickly as she had. She held only a mild form of affection for her Protector borne of trust and understanding that his heart still walked in the footsteps of the First-Enchanter.

Ser Otto had been her champion during the unforgettable trial of her Harrowing. Solona had been given the advantage that little her age possessed when entering into the chamber. She had been allowed not to worry over being prey to the lustful advances of men she had, according to the Chantry, the right to deny. Therefore, her mind had been focused solely on her task. Survival. Though death had flirted within her thoughts a time or two, she was unable to give her life over so freely as those that opted to die by demon as a means of escape.

It had been her Harrowing that had sealed her fate as Wynne's successor in truth. That day had been etched into Solona's mind for a number of reasons. The first being her confrontation with the demon Pride, only what seemed to be a scant few moments since she had been pulled bodily from her chamber by the harsh grip of Ser Carroll and Ser Bryant.

Solona had tripped and stumbled in a state of undress down the hall as her feet had struggled to keep pace with the Templars. Her hazel eyes had watered at the bruising strength they had used. She nearly laughed at the thought that they might have believed she would have run. There was nowhere to flee when one lived in a tower with nothing but armed guards all too eager to sever your head from your body.

Her eyes had locked, upon entering the rom which seemed notably chillier than her sleeping quarters, with Ser Otto. He was given the right to witness her harrowing and to be her protection as she was his property. However, Solona had also glimpsed the Templar to his right. Her ire had spiked to nearly painful levels at the sight of Ser Cullen. She was startled when another apprentice was unceremoniously dragged into the chamber before being dropped next to her. They had exchanged a quick and fearful glance. Solona had clamped her lips tightly closed as the First-Enchanter breezed into the chamber with her head held high.

"The time of your Harrowing has come Apprentice Amell, Apprentice Tans," Wynne had stated with formal authority.

Solona had trembled slightly from cold or from fear, she was uncertain. It was the moment every mage dreaded. The unknown held a powerful grip on the imagination of those that were to enter it.

"I am ready," Solona stated quietly with a small glance at Wynne. The barest hints of warmth still radiated out of the elder woman's eyes, yet Solona was not eased in the slightest.

She had been sucked into the fade; no other word was strong enough for the instant push into the realm of magic and dreams. Though her actual test had taken a great deal more thought than skill, Solona had mercifully, seem through the Pride demon's trap of wanting her to free it upon the mortal world. Had she fallen to its cunning, Solona would have been cut in twain.

Therefore, she had been startled when she had awoken from the fade by the shouts of Templars and the screams of other mages. Solona could only surmise that they had also been drug from their beds, the three other apprentices that shared a room with her at one point or another, for their harrowing while she had been in the midst of hers.

She had understood with stark clarity that Apprentice Tans had failed by the abomination that rushed toward her. Solona scrambled from the floor to stand. A strength rushed her limbs that she had not known she possessed, and the clash of metal against flesh brought her a tad from her hysteria. Though she was later unable to recall much, there had been a shout as the abomination ripped through the chest of a Templar. Solona vaguely heard the commands shouted by a male voice as she backed toward a wall. Her eyes were wide with fear and it coursed through her veins making her heart pound in her ears.

As quickly as it had started, it was over when a Templar managed to cut the thing that had been Tans in twain. Solona blinked at the carnage and blood all around her. The chamber had been foreboding enough before it had been tarnished by death. Hazily she looked about the room, her ears unhearing and eyes unfocused.

It was then that she realized there had been some who were wounded. Years under the kind tutelage of Wynne had spurred back to life, as her duty as a creation mage took hold over her senses. Solona started forward to offer healing and any other aid.

"Stay back Mage," the detestable Ser Carroll hissed in disgust.

Fury, cold and yet hot at the same time, rushed within her. Indignation coupled with temper forced her to act in an imprudent manner.

"Command as you will Templar," Solona countered and watched with vicious satisfaction as surprise lit his features, "But either you save them, or Maker help you… get out of my way."

She watched outrage flit across his face before his features shuttered into an impenetrable mask. "You Dare-"

Solona understood she was in for a tongue lashing at the very least, and a harsh punishment or death at the worst. She knew Ser Carroll to be vindictive. She had heard him to be far more. Yet, emboldened by her brashness, she had brushed passed him as if he were an apprentice of little to no consequence.

The other Templars tensed, and the mages cowered in undisguised fear. Their terrified eyes watched her akin to abused animals waiting for another blow to fall upon them. Solona refused to acknowledge them, though they suffered as much as she had. There was no way to help them, no comfort to offer or smile to be given. Bile pooled in the back of her throat as she tried to stop her trembling from being visible to her hated captors.

Truthfully, she had not the knowledge of how to render aid. The sick feeling of helplessness ravaged her heart and mind. A cold sweat spanned her brow as she gazed upon the pallor of death draped over the face of a much beloved friend. The warmth of tears had little time to bolster the feeling of numbness and shock that knotted around her soul.

White hair stood prominent in her sight, and her magic rose to her emotional distress as she noted the unnatural stillness of the prone woman. Her hazel eyes snapped up to gaze at the gleam of horror in the eyes of the Knight-Commander. Solona fought the urge to be surprised that perhaps, despite his deplorable treatment of Mages as a whole, it was possible he had held some form of affection for Wynne.

Conscious thought had yet to form, before Solona was engulfed in the idea that being a creation mage could change this unspeakable outcome. No words could have passed her lips to give warning before she had closed her eyes in concentration.

Her thoughts flooded with images of Wynne. Moments of contentment, sadness, care, and smiling exploded within her mind. Solona heard the song of her magic as it had begun to awaken from its dormancy. She slowly opened her eyes to gaze at Wynne as the floor beneath her had been bathed in blue magic. Its glow cast the hopeless faces within the room into new light.

Amell panted with great exertion. The air around her shimmered with the song of her magic, dancing around her with joyful power that beckoned the widened eyes of every Templar present in awe. She was within her element, though previously unknown. Magic poured from every inch of her. With righteous fury tempered with deep concern she pulled hard on her gift demanding more of it than she ever had before.

It rose in a large wave to greet its mistress. The Templars stilled at the show of power. Their nerves frayed by the perilous scene they had just witnessed. Ser Otto, Amell sensed his attention on her. His warning still rung clearly in her head, yet she would not yield. She was risking all at the she had worked for, all she had forced herself to submit to. However, a keen sense of loyalty and fondness drove her onward despite the danger she was flirting with. The magic swirled around the prone form of Wynne with the urgency of a child coming to a mother's defense.

Solona felt her skin prickle as the magic threatened to overwhelm her. She held on through sheer will and determination. In short, she simply refused to believe the Templars' poisonous lie that Wynne had died. 'No,' she thought in a panic, 'Wynne is not gone. She has not gone where I cannot reach her.' She was tampering with things she knew naught, but still she persisted for Wynne. For one of only a handful of people that had ever cared for a lone female mage tossed into the proverbial lion's den.

Her hazel eyes had clouded over with magic she fought every second to control. Solona pushed, her mind filled only with the goal of grabbing a shred of Wynne's faded magic. Her magic pushed, pulled, jerked, clung, and finally settled over her target. She gasped as her magic jolted against something, Solona could only subconsciously process as being wholly Wynne.

Lost in the song of her magic, Solona was not able to register that Wynne began to cough, lungs drawing greedily at air. Nor, had she comprehend that her magic had bled into more than one person. The unnamed Templar who had fallen as a casualty directly before the mage, began to gasp for life's breath as uncounted sets of Templar eyes widened in her direction.

The light of the world was fading fast for Amell. Her magic drained too fast, in amounts too large for her to quell. Her mind cried out for her to stop, but another part of her refused. Instinct of something she could not begin to quantify urged her not to cease just yet. Instinct warned her that this moment was pivotal.

She pressed her magic harder, the song growing to deafening proportions around them all. The strain became nearly unbearable and she was forced to cry out. The coughing and sputtering had quieted from those she had saved from the brink of lasting death. The song of Wynne's magic rushed against hers and relief swept Amell for only a moment. Panic, fear, and self-preservation soon had pushed the comforting sensation past the point of no-return. Solona fell to her knees, unable to stem the force of her magic.

"Smite me!" Her howl of alarm reverberated off the cold gray stone with a small note of anguish. Several torturous moments flickered passed her clouded eyes. Shame tore through her thoughts. She had been reduced to asking for assistance from those she despised. However, her panic and fear of the unknown blinded her to any other options; and so she clung to the known even if it was hated.

She could sense the unease around her, as her magic spread wildly throughout the room. It ravaged the cracks in the corners, and battered against the novice mages. Their whimpers of protest and apprehension could not penetrate the song of her magic. Solona understood the Templars were wary of this display of unknown magical potential, and from the previous threat. However, her distaste for Templars was only heightened as she was forced to endure this uncontrollable torrent of her song due to their inaction.

Her head snapped to the nearest silver blurred shape. These walking statues without mercy or compassion had one singular duty, and they were failing. Solona had gritted her teeth against a bone-jarring pulse in her talent.

"Damn you, smite me!" She had the heady sense of foreboding. She was doomed already, she understood with a chilling certainty.

The clinking of armor was her only warning before the world nearly turned upside-down as her magic was brutally stripped from her. The Templar's energy was a violation unto itself. Her magic recoiled before it was forcefully taken. 'This pain,' she thought vaguely, 'This pain is paltry by comparison.' A mild sense of contempt filled her few conscious thoughts.

Her ears registered the absolute bliss of silence for a heartbeat. She swayed with the turning of the tower beneath her knees. She narrowed her eyes against the dying light as blackness had begun to overtake her.

Amber eyes caught hers as Solona had crumpled into a heap upon the unforgiving cold stone floor.

When she had come to, it was the light that caused her to wince and not the reverberating pain from her forehead to her feet. The dim glow of the candle light signaled the hour to be rather late, though Solona had been unable to tell how long the passage of time had been since her harrowing.

It was the shifting by the door that drew her attention away from her inner confusion. She felt the tingle of dread as it wormed up her spine slowly at the face that greeted her from the doorway. The light reflected off his armor giving him an even more intimidating presence.

"What you did today was a brave thing, for a mage," He stated lowly. His hawkish gaze bored into her eyes with an intensity she would have credited him only using in scouring the tower for rule-breakers. "Not many would use such a gift to save a Templar."

Solona had the wisdom to remain silent. She could have corrected his misconception easily. It was not glory she wanted, but some quiet time to reflect upon all that had happened and the strange ability she had shown. Wynne had called her a Spirit Healer, though the words seemed foreign and without meaning to one that had not understood the significance.

"I had thought you simply a bawd. There is a chance I might have been mistaken. Perhaps," he mulled with quiet reservation, "you are not entirely without worth mage."

Solona could have borne his blatant insulting manner with more grace, had he not said her title with such contempt. It had not escaped her notice that he no longer called her apprentice, signaling that she was a full-fledged mage and her rescue had not gotten her sent the mage prison. She might have been able to give a blithe smile as a result of his backward praise. However, a defeated sort of mirth filled her and soon it spilled from her lips with the eagerness of fine wine escaping a cracked goblet.

His amber orbs narrowed at her in unspoken rebuke.

"What do you find so amusing, Mage?"

Her hair tumbled around her shoulders as they shook with her half-hysterical giggles. Her tone was nearly flat, her face almost void of any true emotion. Something, she noted with interest, unsettled this over-proud Templar.

"Ser Cullen," Her tone held no bite to it, as her gaze drifted over him with disinterest. "To put it bluntly, I want nothing from you. Praise or otherwise."

He stared at her, and Solona knew what she had said could very well be her death knell. However, exhaustion had caused her normal self-preservation from rising to her defense. She gazed at his hard expression with a feeling rather akin to apathy.

"You should be honored," he ground out as if she were a small child incapable of understanding the simplest of concepts. "Especially considering how quickly you had bounced from one Templar to another for privileges when we met."

Solona felt anger and disbelief rise within her like a tide that could not be stemmed. "Is that how you view it?"

"I know what I have witnessed," Ser Cullen replied as if it where common knowledge that every female mage was similar to a procuress of a sort.

"If all you have come to do is insult me Ser," Solona fought her rising temper lest she cross a line she could not come back from, "I would kindly ask you to leave."

"You think to order me?" He thundered in a roar worthy of any Commander.

"No, though what I think is of little consequence to one such as you who has no understanding," she bit out with contempt dripping from every word.

He sneered at her, and she was beset by the urge to cause him physical harm.

"What is there to understand with your kind?"

She blinked at him once, then twice. Her eyes dimmed as he continued to project uncaring Chantry ideals. Solona lifted her chin to hold her head high.

"That I did not choose to be a mage," She stated softly, the fight had gone out of her from exhaustion and the understanding that this was a battle she would not win. Her hazel eyes speared him with a look of such disdain that she could have sworn he was taken aback. "None of us chose to be little more than vessels for Templar seed and weapons without freedom or the basic rights others have outside these walls."

It was the most she had ever spoken to Ser Cullen and Solona understood why she had avoided speaking with him. The man had the ability to get under her skin with his audacity and bravado. She had never forgiven him for his instant assumptions of her character and person.

And after his atrocious way of speaking to her, Solona decided she would rather spend an afternoon in the company of the insane Ser Carroll. At least his cruelty she could understand.