Chapter 9: A God among Men

"The sentient races of Thedas never seem to realize their hubris." She sighed, hanging her head. "In a way, Mother was right. Humanity is incapable of ruling itself. The elves allow themselves to endure harsh, hate-filled lives. The Dwarves are endlessly bickering over useless ideals. And the Qunari remain too distant to allow any sort of growth between them and the other nations."

They both stood in the whiteness, waiting for the next memory to appear. Adrian kept glancing at his daughter, thinking about the hardships she must have had to endure in this place. But he also thought of the situation.

It made no sense, as she hadn't even be born yet. Was this image of a little girl simply a way to communicate with him? Adrian knew she had the soul of Urthemiel, the Old God of Beauty, inside her, but he also remembered Morrigan's words.

She was not just a human, and not a darkspawn. The Old God's soul did not destroy the fetal girl's soul, but merged with it. Creating something... human? Could his daughter be called human? She looked like a normal young girl, aside from the heterochromia, though she certainly didn't act like it most of the time.

Adrian knew enough of the Fade to understand appearances are nothing. As Mouse was in control of him, likely the memories he witnessed were equally within the Fade as well as within his own mind. He also knew Mouse was a clever trickster, fully capable of masquerading as his daughter.

Yet he was certain she didn't lie about who she was. Yes, the 12 year old girl image was likely just a projection, but that didn't change who she was: An old god still in the womb, somehow capable of reaching out into his consciousness, to help free him from the grasp of a Pride demon.

"Sentient people are not far from animals. They're stupid, violent, content to be lead around by the nose, and to hate any who they can blame for whatever minor wrongdoing." Adrian could feel his daughter bristle with anger. "And then they expect to be helped. Pathetic. Alaric was only one example of many, men who fancy themselves to be a god."

"And he died for it." Adrian said, unsure if he liked where his daughter was heading.

"But not every person reaches such a fitting fate." She spun, coming face to face with Adrian, her different colored eyes burrowing into his soul. "Your Queen Anora, for example. She is a prideful creature, one who betrayed you. Twice. Yet she is Queen of Ferelden, true master of the throne while Alistair serves as a figurehead."

"Are you implying something?" Adrian stared back, unrelenting. "Anora did what she thought was best for Ferelden."

"No. She did what she thought was best for herself. And her father." Her eyes flickered away at that, but swiftly returned, her intense gaze still there. "She cared little for the Wardens, or even about the Blight. She thought those would work themselves out, as long as Loghain led the charge. No, her focus was on her rule, of her father's rule."

"Her father was disgraced."

"But he was redeemed as well! Thanks to you." She turned away again, as Adrian started feeling rumbling. "In the end, it seems like you only help those that deserve it least. Knowing or not. Yet your actions have changed this country."

"So that answers your original question. No. I won't die for nothing." She paused for a second, thinking.

"You may have done incredible things in your life, but not many of those decisions benefited this world." She spoke slowly, as if recalling something. "You betrayed Jowan, the closest friend you ever had, forced him into a position where not only did he lose his one love, but he was exposed as a Blood Mage."

"He-" His daughter cut him off.

"You abandoned the King at Ostagar to die, left Lothering to darkspawn and abandoned the village of Redcliffe as you decided to rush to Orzammar to get the treaties dealt with."

"I had no choice!" She silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"You saved an assassin, who later betrayed you, then destroyed an ancient artifact that could have brought hope to thousands, simply because of a grudge against the Chantry." She was staring into Adrian's eyes, her gaze cold and unrelenting. "You nearly joined Uldred in his mad quest for domination of the Circle, stopped at the last second by a careless remark on his part. Adrian, you even killed a possessed young girl in the village of Honnleath, despite knowing you could have pulled the same trick that you used on Connor in Redcliffe to save her, or you could have reasoned with the demon."
"You misunderstand the circumstances." Adrian could feel anger welling up inside him.

"Do I? Did I misunderstand the circumstances of how you spared Avernus atop the Warden's Keep, even encouraging his work 'for the good of the Wardens'?" Adrian bit back his words, but he knew she spoke the truth. "Who's side are you on, anyway? You killed Raelnor, the honorable father of a dishonorable man, just because it paid more. Can you be considered a good person?"

Adrian didn't speak, but still he stared into the different colored eyes of his daughter. He had no words to respond with as she laid out the past for him. As she spoke, different memories of these events flashed into the scenery around them. Memories of dark things, indeed.

"The werewolves were a sentient, powerful band of creatures, led by a gentle spirit. Yet you slaughtered them like dogs." Her face betrayed no emotion. Not even one of judgement. This was just stating facts, for her. "And you readily sacrificed the elves of the Alienage just as easily."

"It wasn't easy!" Adrian blurted out, realizing he had tears in his eyes. Behind his daughter, he saw Caladrius work his dark magic as Morrigan looked on, smiling. Sten was impassive and Rayne looked at the floor. "None of it was! I made horrible decisions, I know that. I justified it all with the 'anything to stop the Blight' attitude. I was wrong... but that doesn't change the past!"

"Father... You spared a regicide, a man who nearly killed you multiple times, then put an incompetent fool on the throne." Adrian had no words for this. "And then you accepted Morrigan's ritual out of fear for your life."

"No..." Adrian was shocked. His daughter knew everything, she had peered into his memories and learned more about him than he thought possible. But she was wrong about that. "I didn't do the ritual out of fear. I did it out of practicality. I performed it because it was an easy way to make sure nobody had to sacrifice themselves. I didn't want anyone else to die."

"And so I was created." Her gaze was steady, but her words slightly harsh. "Do you regret me, Adrian? Am I just another link in your chain of bad decisions?"

"That's not..." Adrian didn't have a chance to finish. His daughter turned away as the scene shifted again, spinning violently into another memory. He shut his eyes, hoping the gyrating would end soon, hoping he wouldn't get sick.

What greeted Adrian's senses first was the smoke, the heat and the sound of steel on steel. He was in the courtyard of the fort from the memory where Alaric was killed, except now it was in ruins. Soldiers fought themselves, severe infighting rampant. People cried out for help, only to be rewarded with death.

It was utter chaos. Soldiers didn't know who to attack, but killed anyways, sometimes turning on men who they were fighting besides only moments before. Small bands fought together, only to be torn apart by others, and themselves. Mages flung blood magic and other such spells into the fray from landings above the crowd and Adrian watched one such mage get stabbed through the heart, kicked out into the courtyard, blood pumping from her fatal wounds for a second before she impacted the ground.

"By the Maker..." Adrian's daughter simply wandered directly into the crowd, fazing in and out of various men as they died. When she noticed Adrian wasn't following, she turned, waving him over. The mage didn't come quite so quickly, engrossed with the horrific scene that he was.

When he did reach his daughter's side, atop the grand set of stairs that led to the platform Alaric gave his speech upon, she spoke. It was hard to hear above the din of the fighting, and Adrian kept getting distracted by the violence around him, but he listened nonetheless.

"This is what happens when corrupt men are given too much power." She gave a grand, sweeping motion out over the grand spectacle. Adrian nearly jumped when a man was pushed over the edge just a foot away, tumbling to his doom below. "Alaric's generals turned on each other, each lusting after the Juggernaut armor. Each desiring the invincibility Alaric had become so well known for. Their soldiers followed suit, each vying for a lieutenants favor by killing those that followed others."

"And they caused...this?" Adrian could hardly believe what he was seeing. Brothers fighting brothers. People who fought at each others sides now died at each others blades. It was horrifying.

"Hubris, Father." She looked up at Adrian and, for a moment, he thought he saw a hint of tears in her eyes. "This is all humans are capable of."

ooo

"Rayne?" Ser Gilmore stood in the middle of the hallway, staring disbelievingly at the two elves. Rayne imagined they weren't the prettiest of pairings considering their motley clothes, intense stink and shoddy weapons.

"Ser Gilmore? What are you doing here?" Zevran questioned, his voice kept level. All Rayne and Zevran could do was hope the guards weren't there to kill them.

"I'd ask the same of you! What would traitors to the crown be doing wandering the halls of the palace!" The words hit Rayne hard, for she knew why he'd say them.

Zevran shot forward, dagger held forward. Ser Gilmore tried to defend himself, but the assassin was faster, slamming the pommel of his blade into the knight's nose once, then twice. Ser Gilmore fell to one knee, and Zevran finished him of with a swift kick to the face; the knight falling backwards, unconscious.

"You... Why'd you do that, Zevran!" A tightness clawed at Rayne's chest. Fear. She didn't want to believe it... but her worst nightmare was starting to come true.

"And you'd rather have him call a swarm of guards upon us?" Zevran scoffed. "Help me drag him into one of these rooms. We'll tie him up there and get out of the palace."

"Get out of the palace? But we haven't found Adrian!"

"What more information do we need? This is proof that Adrian's betra-" Zevran was cut off by Rayne as she sprinted down the hall, towards the Chancellor's quarters. Zevran stared after her before following. "Damned fool girl."

Panic tore at Rayne as she ran. She had pushed her doubts inside her, forced them into submission through use of rationalization and denial. That haphazard barrier was now coming undone as Ser Gilmore's words churned through her head. Cold realization coursed through her veins, regretting every step, every movement that dragged her closer to the truth.

The truth she tried so hard to run from.

"You wouldn't do this to me... You couldn't do this to me." Rayne frantically ran now, ignoring all around her. She passed by guards, some of which recognized her, gazing in shock. If not for Zevran swiftly following, struggling to dispatch them, she would have been overwhelmed. Rayne didn't notice, her only focus was the door to Adrian's room.

"Adrian!" She flung open the door, slamming it open so hard the fancy wood frame cracked under the pressure. And she saw him.

Adrian sat, legs crossed, atop a chair leaning against a wall; relaxed, uncaring. He was reading a scroll, too engrossed in it to so much as react to Rayne's presence. Suddenly cowed, Rayne took a hesitant step forward.

"Adrian... I..." Rayne's heart was speeding up; without realizing it, she was afraid. "Why... why are the guards after me?"

She didn't want to hear the answer, as Rayne knew it would only shatter what slim hope she was hanging on to. Mercifully, or perhaps sadistically, Adrian didn't speak immediately. When he did, Rayne felt something different about him. Something... darker.

"The Scrolls of Banastor are such imaginative reads." Adrian didn't even look up, still examining the scroll. "It speaks as if a man could possibly conquer a demon and maintain control as an abomination. Nonsense."

Rayne wanted to yell at him, demand why the guards viewed her as a traitor, but the words caught in her throat. She stared at the man she considered her lover, yet was terrified.

"Such talk of becoming gods, or aligning oneself with concerns far greater than mortal men." Adrian snickered. "I am already a god, I was the moment I stepped upon this land. I need no advice from long-dead abominations of lust or desire. I am more than they ever have been. More than Vilhm Madon. More than EVERYONE!"

"Adrian..." Rayne only found herself confused at his words. Adrian had always been distant, aloof from the concerns of most others. He was always intent on a specific goal, all else being a distraction. But what nonsense was he speaking of now?

Finally Adrian stood, tossing the scroll atop his bed. He turned his gaze upon Rayne. A wave of energy fell upon her, and she could hardly keep herself standing. His red eyes burned holes in her soul, stealing from her the very will to exist.

"Why are you still alive, girl?" His gaze was unflinching, unblinking, his words devastating. There was no feeling, no love, but she denied it still. He had not yet confirmed his betrayal... there was still hope. Still...

"Did you..." The words came slowly, forced out through sheer will, despite the pressure from Adrian, the sheer strength of his mind. "Did you truly... want me dead?"

"Such trivial questions." Adrian raised one arm to the side, palm held out as if to grip something. A mug flew from somewhere in the room, alighting itself upon Adrian's outstretched hand. "Is your kind so incapable of intuition? It seems the world needs gods like myself to lead your kind by the nose, else you would all blunder in the dark. Poor, blind fools."

"Tell me." Rayne struggled to maintain her composure. Her vision was faltering, her mind losing focus. "Adrian..."

"Your mind demands a straight answer from me." Rayne fell to her knees, but her eyes were locked with Adrian's. "Very well. Yes. You were a nuisance, a liability. Your drawbacks outdid your usefulness, thus making you less viable as a tool." Adrian paused, smiling wickedly. "Now I will make sure you die like you were supposed to."

Even in her limited understanding of events unfolding around her, the words rang with a clarity Rayne thought not possible. She was betrayed by one she trusted with her life, by one she trusted. The one shem she actually called human.

Blackness swarmed in on her vision as the betrayal sunk in. She had been right her entire life.

Never trust a shem.

ooo

Ryal found Emer in his quarters, swiftly packing what little belongings he had in a small bag. He looked up, his first reaction to the Captain's presence being one of fear. Then, realizing it was Ryal, his expression changed to one of slight relief. Emer didn't entirely relax, however.

"What're you doin' Emer?" Ryal knew he had to follow orders, but he needed Emer's information first.

"I'm leaving, Cap'n." Emer resumed his hurried packing, throwing the last article into the bag. He shouldered it, heading to the door. "Excuse me."

Ryal didn't budge, instead closing the door behind him. He could see Emer's panic rising. He was cornered, the shadows of realization showing in Emer's face.

"First tell me what you were tryin' to say earlier." Ryal tried to put on a comforting face, but he was never very good at those sorts of things. Ryal could fight, drink and follow orders. Not much else.

"But I..." Emer looked conflicted, his eyes shifty. Ryal knew he was weighing his options. "I just need to go... I gotta... get out of here. R and Taoran... they're gonna come after me."

"Why?"

"It's because... I..." He was acting like he had something to hide, after all. Looks like R was correct after all. Emer was simply trying to sow seeds of distrust. Best get to the job, then. "I never... AH!"

Ryal's left hook caught his jaw, spinning Emer to his right, down stomach-first on the floor. Not pausing for a second, Ryal was on top of him, grabbing his scalp.

"What were you trying to say!" As if it mattered now. Emer knew he was finished. There was no way out of the much larger, much more experienced fighter's grip.

"I... I just-" Ryal slammed his face down once, the crack that resounded likely signaling a broken nose. Ryal raised Emer's head up, menacing him to continue speaking. Ryal could see tears in Emer's eyes. For a second Ryal felt an inclination to stop. "Please... I just..."

"Speak!"

"R was casting a spell!" Emer blurted out, blood spewing from his mouth. Even more confused, Ryal slammed his head down again. Fragments of skin and broken tooth spewed from Emer's mouth as he coughed, sputtering.

"Explain yourself, traitor." Ryal had to use fear to get the answers he needed. It was necessary, or so he kept telling himself. Emer took awhile to continue speaking, his mouth filled with blood and spit.

"I... saw him... Taoran was bleeding! R was chanting some weird things, words I didn't recognize!" Emer was crying now, heavy sobs wracking his body. "It sounded... Tevinter, I think. But I... I saw R talking, and Taoran was just nodding his head!"

"Why is that important?"

"Because... Please... I didn't do anything..." Another slam into the wood floor. Emer was near losing consciousness now.

"That's enough barbarism, Ryal. Needless violence will do nothing." Ryal turned. R was leaning in the doorway, expressionless. "Emer has been accused of treason, attempting to deceive his betters and spreading fear through our ranks."

Ryal stared down at the broken shell of the man. It felt wrong to do this for Taoran, for the Irregulars.

"Kill him." Ryal stared at R, who didn't so much as change his expression despite the morbid orders.

"When Raelnor was alive, we never-"

"Raelnor is here no longer, Ryal. Times have changed, and you would do well to change with them." For a healer to advocate death. The oxymoron was almost funny. Almost.

"It just don't feel right." Ryal could somehow tell R rolled his eyes.

"Well, if you aren't going to do it, I am." R stepped forward, pulling a twisted, cruel-looking dagger from his robes. "Step aside, Ryal."

"The Irregulars ain't how they used to be." Ryal didn't flinch as R neared, dagger flicking between his fingers. In other circumstances, Ryal would have found it odd that a healer could use a dagger so well. "We're heading for dark places, let me tell you."

"Enough. Move aside."

Ryal didn't move at first, simply staring at the approaching man. Finally, he relented, allowing R to climb atop Emer, raising his neck.

"Please..." Emer, the pathetic man accused of crimes that may or may not even be true.

"You'll find no mercy from me, traitor." R spoke slowly, allowing the words to sink in. Emer just whimpered. Ryan noted with morbid amusement he resembled a kicked dog.

"Please..." Ryal wanted to look away, but he couldn't. In a way, he knew he had to see this through to the end. He had to watch a once proud man die, if only for the sake of closure. The dagger was pressed against Emer's neck now, and Ryal somehow knew he was just a piece, just a expendable pawn for his supposed betters.

As R dug his dagger in, Emer's lifeblood spilling across the wooden floor, Ryal wondered just how long it would be before he was expendable too.

ooo

Saul hurried her inside the room, checking the hall before shutting the door, bolting it. Myr rolled her eyes at all the precaution, but didn't comment on it. She looked about the room, surprised by how large it was.

The Gnawed Noble Tavern, despite being overcrowded in the main room, had remarkably few rooms booked, likely because the innkeeper refused to lower his prices. It both disgusted and relieved Myr, as she knew there were people sleeping on the streets because of it, but she knew that if the rooms were easily affordable she and Saul would be the ones out there instead.

Myr realized this was one of the fanciest rooms she had stayed in her entire life. If her memory served, when she lived in the Denerim Alienage her quarters was a mat in the corner of a small room, that room being the home of her entire family. In the Tower of Magi the situation wasn't much better, as the Templars crowded the mages into large rooms, tens of apprentices packed together with no personal space or privacy whatsoever.

She looked to Saul, who was exploring the rooms with an airy, aloof expression on his face. He seemed detached, except in a bad way. His anger had apparently turned into detachment. Not a good sign.

"Saul..." The object of her concern had sunk onto the one bed in the suite, head in hands. Myr sat next to him, wrapping her arm around him and laying her head on his shoulder. He tensed, causing Myr to expect him to withdraw, but he eventually relaxed, even slightly leaning on her.

"Denerim holds nothing more for me. My objective lies in Amaranthine, as you know." It surprised Myr when he spoke first, but she took it as a good thing. "You shouldn't come with me."

"I want to." As much as Saul mystified her, Myr knew she had to be forceful with him. He was stubborn and would not easily accept something he didn't agree with. "And I know you want me there too."

"I..." Hesitation. Myr was breaking through his defenses.

"You said you'd tell me what you're trying to do." Myr looked at Saul, who kept his head facing the ground. "Saul... Stop holding it in, or you're just going to torment yourself."

Saul looked at her, likely trying to finally decide if he was going to say it or not.

"I... My goal is..." Come on, Saul. Myr subconsciously held her breath. "Criminal, a tactic of revenge. I mean to break the law in a violent display of my wrath. Would you still wish to know?"

"Breaking the law doesn't matter to me. I'm an apostate. The law wants to break me." Myr laughed lightly. "If it's illegal, I don't care. You've likely done worse in front of me already."

"I... seek to take vengeance against the remaining Howe's, to slaughter them as they did my family. Every last one of them."

ooo

Saul didn't feel much relief off letting that secret out; in fact, he felt fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of Myr becoming wary. He didn't want her to hate him, as illogical as that was. He knew he had become too attached to the elf, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to let her know everything. He expected a horrified look, a shocked expression. A shake of the head...

She laughed.

Dumbfounded, Saul just looked on as laughter coursed through the slender elf's frame, holding her stomach as her body shook. A confusing reaction and definitely one Saul didn't expect. She seemed almost... jovial? He hadn't seen a reaction of happiness towards anything he had done in a long time, and in a way Myr's action reinvigorated him. It took awhile for her to stop; by then tears had formed on the edges of her eyes. Saul could just barely feel the tug of a smile on the edges of his lips, but not quite there.

"You're... laughing?"

"Yeah... well... I was expecting something like 'I'm gonna burn down a village and drink the blood of babies', not something so simple as revenge." Occasional spurts of short chuckles were intermittent with her speech.

"Most people would view any sort of murder as abhorrent."

"You never lived in the Circle Tower, then." Saul cocked an eyebrow, confused. "See, we lived with the constant, oppressive gaze of the Templars all around us. Occasionally one of us would disappear in the night. Forever. On the rare occasion they actually told us why, it was usually a false accusation of blood magic or other such bullshit." Myr smiled. "We all wanted revenge, for lost friends or false punishment or long-held grudges. Life in the Circle wasn't easy for us."

"But..." It came as a complete surprise. For a second Saul felt as if he was back in the Cousland castle; remembering his teachings from Mother Mallol, how murder was always wrong, no matter the reasoning. Saul usually questioned everything she said, but her lesson on murder had struck a chord.

For the first time in over a year, Saul actually had twinge of hesitation for his goals. Myr was getting to him, but Saul wasn't sure if he should take that as a good or bad thing. He was still going to kill Nathaniel and Delilah... but were his reasons good enough?

Saul was looking at a girl who had friends taken away from her throughout her entire life, a girl eternally oppressed by faceless tyrants, a girl who took a chance of freedom and ran with it, even at the possible cost of her life.

Was his reason for revenge better than hers? Saul could turn back, he could walk back to Fergus and ask to be taken home, not that Saul would. He could forget everything. Myr couldn't. She was forced to live with the decisions of others, yet she held no grudges.

"All I want is a companion, and you're interesting enough." Myr smiled. Saul thought he was affected by it, too. "Even if your quest is one of revenge, I've seen worse than a few dead bodies. I can handle it. Besides, I've heard of the Howe's. They aren't nice people."

"You're putting yourself at risk."

"My existence is a risk." That shut Saul up.

"There's no point arguing it, Saul." Myr cupped Saul's head in her hand, standing so as to look at him face-to-face. "I'm coming with you."

"If the Templars find out you helped a murderer, you'd be-" Saul found himself cut off as Myr leaned in, her lips brushing against his.

The action caught Saul off guard, despite how he always tried to keep himself prepared for anything. She... was kissing him? The feeling was almost alien. He'd been kissed before, but they had taken place such a vast time ago it felt... different.

She held it for a few seconds before parting, backing away a step, blushing. Saul wasn't sure what to do, but she acted in his place.

"Enough worrying about me. You've got bigger problems." Myr smiled again, a sly look on her face. "You've got people to kill, a family to avenge and a beautiful elf to accompany you. Shouldn't you be happy?"

And as odd as it seemed, Saul thought he was.